Step In Front Of The Wall

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

K. is an entrepreneur and asked me to help her with her investor pitch. We met in a small conference room and the moment she stood before me to give her pitch she disappeared. She retreated behind a wall of words that had no real meaning. She is a vital, dynamic woman so it was startling to see how far behind the wall she fled.

We did a few exercises designed to help her laugh and bring her self back into her body. Language is a physical act, speaking requires embodiment and she needed to be coaxed back into her body. Once she felt safe and stepped in front of the wall, we talked. She told me that she wanted to be powerful and I asked her what that meant to her. She used phrases like “owning the room” and “captivating my audience,” phrases that she picked up along the way but had no real meaning for her. When I asked her what she meant by “owning the room” she blinked and stammered. She blinked again when I asked, “Instead of owning the room, why not own your self?” Owning the room is an abstraction. Owning yourself is doable. It is concrete.

It is common to give away the power when standing in front of other people. It is common to believe that “they” are judges and grant “them” all of the power. As judges, their opinion matters more than your opinion. It is common to step in front of others oriented according to what you might get from them. Approval, being liked, funding, applause,…, the list of what you might get is endless and ultimately a commitment to a power-give-away.

K. and I talked about reorienting according to what she might bring to the world. The investors have no power over her dream. The investors are one route among many routes. I asked if she believed in her business and she was enthusiastic. “Yes!” she smiled. Why then, I asked, would she believe that the investors had the power to make or break her business? It was her idea. It was her passion. It was her work. Was she dedicated to bringing her dream to life? She was. I could see it in her eyes. So I asked her to own the dream and give up the illusion that investors (or anyone else, for that matter) have the capacity to make or break her business. Bring it with all of the love and passion and commitment that she feels for her dream. I asked her what she would have to change to orient according to what she brings and bring it with all her heart.

There is no room for judges when you orient according to what you bring. There is no need for a wall of words or a cave in which to retreat.

Be Very Human

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

Being human is messy. We are a mass of contradictions. We say one thing and mean another. We hold others to standards that we do not ourselves hold. We change our minds. We often hear but rarely listen. We misunderstand, miscommunicate, mistake, and simply miss. We judge and run and hide and then pretend that we have courage and conviction. Sometimes we do. Mostly we have courage when we don’t try to have it; courage usually feels like terror. Conviction shows up when there is a distinct absence of dogma.

And we learn. We try again. And again. We gaze at the next hill and wonder what is beyond it. We get back up after being knocked to the ground. We are eternally hopeful even if we do not see it. We reach. We take another step. We desire to get better, be better. We want to know. We read self help books and aspire to create a better world. We want fulfillment and peace.

Recently I watched an irate woman frost a birthday cake. I thought the cake looked fine but she was fuming with herself, thinking she should have done better. When I asked why she was so upset she cried, “Because it matters!” It is the little things that matter. It is the small stuff that rings our humanity.

Another day and I wade through the muck. In the mire I had a conversation that upset me. She saw me retreat and said, “Come back out again.”

I said, “No!” and pouted like a five year old refusing to eat broccoli. I shook my head to emphasize my resolve.

She said, “Please. Please come out.” I looked up and realized that she was not trying to hurt me and that I was being silly. I stepped out from behind my steely resolve. No one wants to be in a shell. We reach toward each other even when it looks like refusal.

We humans are optimistic. We tip toward love even in the midst of the murkiest moments. Lurking beneath the phrase, “I don’t know how I am going to get through it,” is the faith that transformation is not only possible but it is imminent. We get through it every time and we never know how. We understand how only after we have done it. The stuff of life is in forging the path through it. And then we are changed; we are better for the slog.

“Step into the love. Move toward it.” I said. She was hurting. When she scowled I added, “It is all that I know how to do.”

She said, “That sounds like a phrase from Saint Michael! It’s not very human.”

In fact, it is the very thing that makes us human. To step the other way is a path to nowhere. And I know in her despair that she said one thing and meant another. We are both humans. We are messy. Transformation is imminent.

Look Both Ways

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

“The poet and the engineer look at things through much different eyes,” said Saul-the-Chi-Lantern. “When you say, ‘One moves, all move’ the poet understands immediately. Not so with the engineer!” He laughed. “The engineer will challenge the statement and require proof beyond the visual. The engineer will hear the statement as literal. The poet will accept without question that all things move when one thing moves because the poet lives with metaphor. The engineer does not.”

“The engineer will see the body as a structure. The poet will see something divine. Stand still and take a breath and notice how much of your body moves with a simple inhalation. It all moves! It never stops moving. The engineer will see the breath as mechanism. The poet will see breath as inspiration.”

Saul returned to the beginning position of the tai chi form and prepared to lead us through a round. Another thought occurred to him so before beginning the form he turned back to us saying, “One is not better than the other. An engineer sees what is most interesting to her. A poet sees what is most interesting to him. Different lenses. Different purposes. Different passions. Both are responding according to their need.”

Many years ago in a movement class the professor asked us to stand very still and pay attention to the way our body maintains balance. What became immediately apparent is that balance is not an achievement. One is never balanced. One is always balancing. Balance is a constant adjustment and readjustment. Balance is a dynamic physical, mental and spiritual relationship with the movement of the planet, the pull of gravity, the workings of the inner ear, and the tug of the moon creating our inner tides. One moves, all move. Follow that ripple and you’ll get lost in space; every star cluster dances with you.

I thought of Saul’s words as I walked home after class. All are responding according to their need. All are responding according to their purpose. These are statements of individual necessity. One moves, all move is a statement of interconnectivity; individual necessity is a move that moves all and is moved by all. Both/and. Engineer mind perceives separation. Poet mind seeks unity. Neither is right or wrong; they dance.

Weave A Conscious Story

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

Sitting on the plane returning to Seattle I was surrounded by an extended family. They occupied the seats next to me, across the aisle, and the entire row behind me. I was the only non-family member in the immediate 12 seats on the flight and it afforded me the opportunity to revisit an old theme: in telling your self the story of yourself, you are literally creating your world. And what a world this clan created!

I was privy to some inner circle family negotiations and although I tried to be invisible, some of the conversations took place with me in the middle. I was the net to the family volley. Excited exchanges between the parents and children whistled over the net. And then the children huddled and debated their perceptions while the parents wrestled with the details of their version of the story. The story creation on my left bore little resemblance to the story brewing on my right. There were grandparents, too (sitting behind and to my right) and their commentary added another spin to the narrative. A single event in their lives inspired a wide range of interpretations and they were haggling over which story they would tell as the official version. There was little or no agreement and so the heat of the story spin was intense. It was like watching competitive weavers shuttle their thread while pulling apart the pattern of their competition. Their wrangling was rapidly becoming the central pattern of their family tapestry. They were the Fox News and MSNBC of family dynamics; whose narrative would be central and therefore designated as truth (answer: neither)?

Story is relationship. Relationship is story.

Try this game: as you move through the day or the week, see the relationships of your life as story creations. Story creation is a collaborative art; no one does it alone. Together with the clerk at the grocery story you are creating a relationship. You are creating relationship with your coworkers in each and every moment. The relevant question: is this the relationship that you want to create? Just for a day, entertain the idea that you are the relationships that you create. Entertain the notion that you are a relationship creator and what you create is a shared story. Red state/Blue state is a shared narrative. Most antagonistic relationships are built upon an agreement of enmity. What story are you agreeing to tell?

What is the common story that you create? What is the common story that we create? The old theme: it’s not happening to us. We create it.

Take One Single Step

836. 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 thinking today about loss. Every path taken leaves a life path unexplored and therefore unknown. Sometimes that feels like loss. Sometimes it feels like extraordinary loss. Sometimes the grief of the loss is crushing and it reduces you to nothing. And, it is from nothing that the new has space to take shape and grow. It’s a cliché until you live it.

A simple dip into the thesaurus gives me four options: Damage. Defeat. Bereavement. Deficit. The dictionary tells me that loss is a fact: the fact of no longer having something. I think the dictionary is wrong because it assumes possession. It assumes that the loss is a “thing.” Loss, real loss, has nothing to do with possession.

A year ago I sat on a lakeside beach in New Hampshire. I was alone and had a troubled heart because I did not want to do the thing that I knew I needed to do. I did not want to start walking the path of loss. Donna emerged from the woods and sat beside me. She is wise and somehow knew what I was struggling with. She helped me see that my reticence was about the hurt that my choice would bring to others. She helped me see that the hurt was necessary and would begin a path of growth for all involved. When I left the beach that day I knew what I had to do and although it took a few more months to work up my courage, I did it. And the trail of loss began. The trail of growth began.

Little did I know that the trail would take me to a loss at the far end that would be greater – exponentially greater – than the loss that began on the shores of the lake in New Hampshire. Along the way, each successive loss has been like a layer falling off, like the rings of a tree dropping away until only the core remains. This last and greatest loss-layer has brought me to a core. My core. There is no more armor, no more deflection, no more pretense, no more masking, no more illusion. There is only this raw exposed core and an intense amount of gratitude for the first step, for Donna coming out of the woods and all the guides and friends that appeared along the way, and mostly for the clay that for a brief and special time formed a container for heat, healing, exploration, laughter, and a desire to learn to pray. It is in that desire that a new step beckons. It is a call that requires one single step out of this loss and into the space that the new has space to take shape and grow.

Where Are You Going?

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

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!”

Celebrate The Return

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

Yesterday I was present as a very special community gathered to dig a hole. The event was the equivalent of a barn raising but instead of assembling a structure, this community dug a hole and made a pond. People arrived with shovels, plates of food, and bottles of wine to share. They came because someone in their community, someone that they dearly loved, asked them to come and support her. The pond marked a passage from the old into the new. She wanted her friends to celebrate her passage.

I can only imagine that digging a pond by your self would be no fun. It’s a lot of work! Walking alone through a life passage is no fun. It’s a lot of work, too. It’s necessary to do it alone and requires a lot of digging. It requires removing layers of dirt and muck. It requires stepping in new and unknown directions. Ultimately it demands releasing who you know yourself to be, creating space and living with the ambiguity of not knowing who you are or what you are doing. Walking a life passage is a process of internal combustion and internal reconfiguration. One day you wake up and understand that you are different. You have, as Rilke advised, lived into your question.

After the passage you return to your community. You are different and they must learn you anew. Because you are different you bring to the community the wisdom of your passage. Digging a pond with a community of support is a riot of fun and it is easy. People smile. They laugh and share stories of their passages. We dug our hole in a matter of minutes. The dig master had prepared the electrics. Rocks were chosen to line the pond. A liner was laid, water filled to level. A pump and small fountain was readied and placed. The community cheered the pond but really they were cheering the return of the person they loved. They knew that there is no reason to make such an arduous passage when there is no community to return to. The passage happens within the individual but the real boon is in what the individual brings back to the community. That demands a proper celebration.

Create Together

833. 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 came across this morsel of blog-posts-past. This theme of truth continues to show up in my wandering-time:

The difficulty is not in multiple truths, multiple stories; the challenge arises when there is the expectation of one truth. When I believe that your truth must match my truth, that my truth is the right way and yours is inferior, that I must convert you to my truth, then we walk an untenable path.

We step into the dark woods and get lost with idea that there is one truth and it exists outside of us and we must find it out there somewhere. This notion separates us from our capacity for presence; it requires us to doubt our inner truth while spending our days searching for something that is with us all along.

There are many ways. There are many truths. If there is a single story it is something we create together.

See The Poetry

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

It rained all afternoon so when the breeze jostled the branches, water cascaded down on us. Josh said, “When the wind blows, the tree rains.” I loved the image. It made us see a tree that rains. Poetry!

It reminded me that we are not merely the passive receivers of visual information. We are the interpreters of what we see. We are the givers of meaning to everything we perceive. Everything. We are the givers of meaning to everything that we experience. The meaning is not outside of us waiting to be found, we give it, enjoy it, reject it, run from it, embrace it, dance with the meaning or deny it.

Recently I was reminded (again) that the meaning of every symbol I see and sign that I seek is already within me. I assign the meaning. I am the magic. I can believe that “things were meant to be,” or that the shooting star is a sign that I need to follow my bliss. I want to believe that the universe converses with me, leaves me a trail of breadcrumbs that I can follow to fulfillment or some greater meaning. And all the while I know that the meaning is not outside of me. I create it. In this way I am the universe or at least and expression of it.

I mirror the world and the world mirrors me. Joe once told me that we can only know ourselves by what comes back at us from others. We offer. We share. We project. And a response comes back to us. We interpret the response and adjust our offer, refine what we believe about ourselves and the world.

“The wind jostles the branches and the tree rains.” Josh sees the poetry in this world. I see the first star of the night and make a wish. A snake slithers across my path and then another and I know it is time to act on what I already know. I have a hunch and I follow it. I collect data and interpret it. I form a hypothesis and test it until I think I know. I sit still in awe and am certain that I do not know anything.

Wake Up

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

And then came a poem from Rumi came in my email.

After years of numbness and dulled existence it is not uncommon to stand suddenly and shout, “Enough!” The shout is a surprise and you find that you are, for the first time in years, awake. In that moment of self-possession a choice presents itself. Since you do not know who is the target of your shout and are surprised at the vehemence of the shout, you stand there, disoriented and angry at nothing in particular and everything in general. The next moment presents a choice. Go back to sleep – which is comfortable and known. Or you must continue shouting, shake yourself awake, and refuse to go back to sleep – which can be extraordinarily uncomfortable until the blood flows, curiosity takes over, and you orient to a life of full sensation. It takes a while to see and feel and appreciate after being so long asleep.

The poem:

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.”

-Rumi

It takes awhile to stop shouting and stand still to feel the breeze of dawn on your face and listen to the secrets it tells. It takes a while to know what you really want and learn to ask for it in a voice that knows the range between a whisper and a shout. It takes a while to step out through the door and ask yourself, “I wonder what’s out there?”