Truly Powerful People (461)

461.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

In a recent post I used the phrase, “embracing your inner odd” and it filled the mailbag with letters of recognition. Apparently, my odd-tribe is much larger than I realized!

Secretly, I’ve believed for years that despite all appearances to the contrary, we really desire to be on the island of misfit toys. Despite all the suits and ties, all the career-track choices and ubiquitous McThought thoughts and pressuring peers, it is our square wheels that make us special. It is our missing buttons that make us unique. Too much similarity and we start to disappear. Therein lives the dragon. To appear, to be in view, we must show our oddity.

We want to fit in. It is among the strongest impulses in the human canon of desires. E.O. Wilson suggests that belonging sits atop the list. Banishment makes us food for lions; it is our pack-ness that makes us safe. Fit in or perish. Odd wrinkles brows and makes bystanders avert their eyes to prevent any embarrassing association. Therein lives the opportunity. To show the odd is to upset the norm.

Throughout history the centers of great innovation have been cultural crossroads. Where differences cross paths innovation thrives. Difference knocks us out of our comfortable assumptions. It’s the oddity that joggles new perspectives and opens the door to “what if?” Suppressing difference pours water on the fires of invention. Eliminate the odd and uniformity, stasis, and stagnation are your reward.

The inner odd provides the same service to your personal crossroads. Muting yourself, gagging your inner odd, stifles your possibilities. It limits your view. The comic, the eccentric, the alarming trickster within is meant to keep you from taking yourself too seriously so you can open. As someone once told me, “Humor is the path to confidence.” Your inner odd is a jester whose gift is to question your attachments and harass your assumptions so that you might put down your rulebook and see the possibilities.

Truly Powerful People (460)

460.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

A week ago, Judy came to my studio and we talked for hours. When we talk, time has a funny way of condensing: 3 hours becomes three minutes. It is not uncommon for us, 3 minutes into our conversations, to notice the sun setting, the day slipping into night. We jump up, look at a clock, eyes popping at the time; with Judy I always feel the need to make sure my clock is not broken or that it didn’t somehow slip into east coast time. It is one of my favorite aspects of our relationship: so engrossed in our banter, we never have slow goodbyes – the ferry is about to sail or the meeting has already started; we rush to the door like teenage lovers whose parents came home early.

In our last “good god look what time it is” revelation, Judy pulled from memory this poem by Naomi Shihab Nye:

Red Brocade Pillow

The Arabs used to say,
When a stranger appears at your door,
feed him for three days
before asking who he is,
where he’s come from,
where he’s headed.
That way, he’ll have strength
enough to answer.
Or, by then you’ll be
such good friends
you don’t care.

Let’s go back to that.
Rice? Pine nuts?
Here, take the red brocade pillow.
My child will serve water
to your horse.

No, I was not busy when you came!
I was not preparing to be busy.
That’s the armor everyone put on
to pretend they had a purpose
in the world.

I refuse to be claimed.
Your plate is waiting.
We will snip fresh mint
into your tea.
.

Isn’t it lovely? Being busy is the armor everyone wears to pretend that they have a purpose in the world. How nice to stop pretending – even for a moment – and go back to the real purpose of living. Your plate is waiting.

Truly Powerful People (459)

459.
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 while having a video chat with my home-away-from-home-people-I-adore in Nebraska, Lora shouted over my shoulder into the screen, “Don’t believe a thing he says. He exaggerates.” To my shock there was general agreement from Nebraska. “We know!” they chimed in unison. “He’s a story teller.”

Seeing an opportunity to feign disbelieve and betrayal, I cried, “What! I always tell the truth!” My brow was knit, my eyes wide in manufactured incredulity (not easy to do. Try it but if you sprain your face I will deny that I suggested it. You are on your own). Thinking I would win at least one voice of sympathy (Jill…) I was truly taken aback when both sides, virtual and actual, said, “Liar!” Not knowing when to stop I put my head on the keyboard and sighed, “I can’t believe this. I’ve never lied in my life.” With the explosion of loving mocking laughter and riotous derision I knew I was bested – and was grateful for it. “Well. Occasionally I might exaggerate,” I admitted. “Occasionally!” they crowed. “Always!” They see me and love me for what they see.

Sometimes when working with groups I guide an exercise called See And Be Seen. It is a powerful moment when a group recognizes that Seeing is easy, directional, outward; To Be Seen is another story. To Be Seen, one must stand still, open and allow. It requires vulnerability and trust. It is where presence becomes possible. In our too fast world it needs to be a conscious act. We choose to be seen or not. We rarely see what is right in front of us; we rarely let others in to see what is most important in us. Look beyond the role and you’ll find treasure every time.

I am fortunate to have in my life so many wise and powerful eyes willing and capable of seeing. These amazing women who are teaching me to stand still and open my heart.

Truly Powerful People (458)

458.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

When the bird shot from behind me, passing just inches above my shoulder and grazing my ear, I was surprised and ducked – a now natural response given my relationship with assassin crows. My trigger response of duck-and-cover when I hear the woosh of wings coming from behind has saved my head a good number of divots; crows treat my noggin like a rookie golfer treats a tee. Crows in argyle socks and sleeveless sweaters! A funny image until you realize that in this metaphor I am the green grass about to be clubbed.

It might not seem too unusual for a finch to fly a sortie by my head except we were inside a building. I opened the door to my apartment and the panicked finch came from nowhere, cleared my shoulder and discovered the tricky thing about glass: sometimes you can’t see it. Once while walking across the Reed College campus, Patti and I were having a particularly passionate conversation. We came to the administration building and as I walked through the open door Patti walked into the glass panel next to it. She was as stunned as the bird. She found herself sitting on the ground, her glasses hitchy-screw on her face, small cartoon stars swirled above her head. Trying to make good of an awkward situation I came back through the door and said, “I didn’t see it either.”

The bird recovered faster than Patti and flew behind the jade plant. Lora was in the apartment and we quickly opened all the windows and balcony door. Not knowing what to do, we did what people do: we stood still and looked at each other. Lora said, “What was that?” I made a face and she said, “I know it’s a bird! Where did it come from?” I didn’t have an answer as I had no idea why a bird was lurking in the inner hall of our apartment building. I wanted to say, “It’s the UPS guy and he just shape-shifted into a bird!” but I didn’t. Sarcasm was not appropriate while the bird was still in the room.

It took two more attempts for the finch to find freedom. We ran about trying to be useful, somehow imagining that we were herding the bird toward an open window. I can only imagine that the newly escaped finch met his pals later at the Finch Bar. Rubbing his sore and battered beak he said, “Damn. The weirdest thing happened to me today.” His drinking pals, always sympathetic, shared a knowing glance, bought their friend another berry drink, and quietly hid his keys.

Truly Powerful People (457)

457.
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’m on the bus with 3 ladies from Wisconsin. They landed in Seattle without a plan and the wrong clothes for the weather we’re having. They came prepared for summer and were not prepared for the cold winds and freezing rain. It has not dampened their spirits. They are on an adventure and the wrong clothes are now part of a big story of stepping off the edge of the farm belt and into a new land called Seattle.

They’re asking me for tips: where to go to buy wool socks, what to do at the Market, how to best get around. Note: they purposefully did not rent a car because they wanted to navigate the city, to ask questions, to bump into people, to get lost; their plan was to step out of easy and into relationship. “People are so friendly here!” they exclaim. I am stunned at their brilliance and realize that the 3 ladies from Wisconsin are actually Midwestern-Buddha-ladies-in-training. They are not from the big city so talking to strangers is, in their rulebook, polite, so they are talking with everyone. The culture of the bus transforms as the usual stone-faced crowd opens and giggles with the Buddha trio.

We hear a harrowing tale of the drunk man that sat at their table the previous evening. “We were having margaritas!” they declare, “But he was too young for us!” and giggle riotously. “But we did ask if we could borrow his car.” They smiled knowingly as the nearest Buddha to me leaned close and whispered, “We didn’t want him to drive home in that condition. Plus, we thought we could stop by the store for supplies on the way.” Then, she winked.

“Do you have a plan for the day?” another rider asks, wanting to join the fun. “NO!” The Buddha trio chime in chorus. “We want to see what the day holds.” Buddha number one affirmed. “We’ll know our plan when the day is done!” added Buddha number two. Buddha number three smiled and announced to the bus: “Isn’t this great!”

Truly Powerful People (456)

456.
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 hiding today. My heart is breaking for no particular reason. Some people call this, “getting up on the wrong side of the bed.” I think they must experience heartache as anger. They skip the heart part and go straight to throwing punches. To let your heart break often requires tears. Pushing back is less vulnerable. Break something else and perhaps the heart will remain intact, or so the theory goes.

I was tempted to blame this heartbreak on the weather: June is having an identity crisis and pretending it is January. I opened my eyes from sleep and heard the cold rain. In the Pacific Northwest there is a unique color grey that shrouds the time of day: 7am could be noon or 5pm. Timelessness. But, in truth, the heartache was with me before I opened my eyes. I felt it as I swam to the surface from my dreaming.

Once in Bali as I swam to the surface from sleep I heard the doves cooing and it was so beautiful that my heart broke. I lay in my bed with the sun streaming through the open screens and knew I was in heaven (it is not some other place). I learned in my Bali time that being fully alive requires a willingness to feel the full range of life’s emotions. To protect myself from heartbreak is akin to cutting red out of the color wheel. Comfort is nice but not very useful if you desire being fully alive.

Recently I saw a powerpoint presentation on what’s coming down the road in technology. One of the slides in education technology said, “Full Body Learning.” When with my aching heart I got up on the side of the bed I always get up on, I thought, “Ah, a day for Full Body Learning. Hello heartbreak.”

Truly Powerful People (455)

455.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

(continued from 454)

Alan: The point of meditation is to be more fully present (life is a meditation).
Diane: Imagine yourself as sacred and watch all the separations disappear.
Judy: We are nature observing itself.

Ana-the-wise once told me that my goal should be to make all the world my studio. In other words, to drop the notion that there is a single place where I create or am most creative; that my artistry is my being and not in my doing. This is a more powerful thought than it might first appear. It is a thought with serious traction especially when you are ready to drop any notion of separation – when going to church on Sunday does not a worshipper make. In other words church/synagogue/mosque etc. is not a place to go – it is every place and how you are in it matters. I cannot leave my studio and believe I leave my creative impulse behind without a serious cleaving of my self from my self. If all the world is my studio, if I am always in a sacred place, then the relationship I have with myself must be primary; the story-I-tell-myself-about-myself and the world needs to be conscious and intentional.

Diane’s lesson of developing a better relationship with your self (entertain the realization that you are sacred – try it), ignited within me a chain reaction of thought: 1) If I truly pay attention to the relationship I have with myself and give it as much nurturing and attention as I give other relationships, I learn that 2) my thinking matters. My thinking is how I interpret my experiences. I learn that my thinking can continue swirling in the reactive whirlpool (science tells us that the vast majority of the thoughts we think everyday are the same thoughts from yesterday – don’t ask me how the good folks in the lab figured that out but they did) or I can 3) learn to direct my thought. I can place my thought on what I choose. I can choose my thought. This is a muscle to be exercised not a bit of magic from a hat. You’d be amazed how many times a day I catch myself spinning in a drama-loop and say to myself, “Is this where I want to place my thought?” The answer is always “No.” And, when I ask the question my preferred thought placement is always crystal clear and easily available. 4) Where I direct my thought matters because it determines the world I see and how I am in it. It is a creative act.

When I am in my studio I rarely “think.” I am in a quiet space, a still place, clear and alert and something “comes through.” Why would I limit that potent powerful way of being and confine it to the room I call my studio? Why would I not craft my life to be 100% in the studio?

Ana-the-wise is aptly named: All the world can be your studio. Diane knows it begins with the realization that you are sacred and should treat yourself as such. Alan understands that the point of this life (cradle to grave meditation) is to be fully present so you can do as Judy suggests: revel in nature observing itself.

Truly Powerful People (454)

454.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Once, a few years ago, in the class that Alan and I co-facilitate, we had an important conversation about meditation. We’d begin each class with a group meditation and the class participants went deep. They went away. And as they slowly bobbed back to the surface we bumbled into a discussion about the ultimate point of meditation. Alan said, “The purpose of meditation is not to take you away, but to bring you more completely into presence. The purpose is to wake you up to this moment.” It seems obvious but the conversation was a revelation for me.

A few days ago, Judy-whom-I-revere and I took an arm and arm walk through downtown and she told me that she believes our reason for being is to give witness to this extraordinary planet. She said, “We are nature observing itself.” Isn’t that extraordinary!

I am taking a course from Diane and the foundation thought is what she calls “Divine Realization.” The realization is that you and I are sacred and for reasons too numerous to count we discount ourselves as less-than. She is teaching the practice of developing a better relationship with your self: know your self as sacred and you will see the sacred in the world. It’s a powerful practice. What if the relationship you have with yourself was primary? What if loving yourself was the most important thing you did all day – what if tending the inner garden was more important than the to-do list? I recommend it. You’ll be amazed how much better you become at bringing your best self to the world when you actually pay attention to your best self. Awareness alert: It will require you to let go of your Victim attachments so do not get on this bike until you are ready to ride.

The point of meditation is to be more fully present (life is a meditation). Imagine yourself as sacred and watch all the separations disappear. We are nature observing itself. How’s that for a feedback loop!

(to be continued)

Truly Powerful People (453)

453.
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 never knew Margaret before Alzheimer’s. She was well into the disease the first time I met her. Even then she had more life, more piss and vinegar (as my grandmother used to say) than almost anyone I knew. She was an outrageous flirt and we made eyes at each other from across the room. And then she’d laugh and put her fingers to her mouth and say, “Oh, my.”

Margaret was filled with fun. Play was the core of her apple, the seed of her being. One night we took her to dinner to tell her that we had to move her into an adult care foster home; she’d nearly burned the house down a few too many times and was no longer safe even with the live-in caregivers. Lora cried when she told Margaret we were going to move her from her home – and through the ravages of the disease I saw the power of a mother reach through Margaret as clarity came into her eyes and she took Lora’s hand and said, “Honey, I know you are doing what you think is best for me.” And then she disappeared again, back beneath the waters of confusion.

It seems to me that each year the disease eats a layer of her being, slowly stripping away her personality and 14 years into the disease, long after she no longer knows who we are or who she is, her core of playfulness remains. And, not surprising, the core is really a membrane of play wrapped around a heart of gratitude. She is a fragile little bird in body and a giant of gratitude in spirit. I love to visit her. I love to sit with her. She rarely responds to us but when she does, her face lights up, her blue eyes shine, her smile grows and she says, “Thank you,” and then she drifts away. I find myself so honored, so moved to know such pure gratitude that I touch my fingers to my lips and respond, “Oh, my.”

Truly Powerful People (452)

452.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

In mid-form today, Saul-the-Chi-Lantern swirled from the practice and into a tale. We were midway through class and midway through the form and apparently being on the midway inspired a story in him that reminded me of old masters and why our ideas of learning are so far off the rails.

His tale was of a certain school of thought in Tai Chi in which a newcomer will practice the form for 2 years before being allowed to do exercises with another person (he called them circle exercises). After practicing circle exercises for 13 years a student might advance to the status of beginner and be allowed to actually touch another person in the practice; to work with the energy of another. 15 years of continual practice to consider yourself a beginner. That’s akin to a college senior saying, “Now, I am ready to begin.” Imagine a diploma, not as a completion, a marker for arrival, but as an acknowledgment of readiness to begin.

When I was young the only thing I wanted to do was paint. I used to dream about being shipped off the to the master, to learn by apprenticeship. I’d sleep under the bench, I’d spend the first few years learning to clean the brushes and mix the paint and watch. I might, at age 9 be allowed to hold a brush, to do exercises on used canvas. I might at 12 be allowed to gesso the canvas, to prepare the ground and glue and perhaps paint the under-layer. I’d be drawing all along and learning color and technique and perhaps at 15 I’d be allowed to paint the sky or the clouds in the master’s paintings. And, if I started at 7 years old I might, by the time I was 25, be accepted into the guild. I might be ready to begin. And if I continued to grow, to paint everyday, when I was 50 I could take students of my own. This was my little kid ideal. Learning by doing has always made more sense to me than incarceration in a desk and abstractions. I’ve always understood mastery was so much more interesting and rewarding than arrival.

At the end of his tale Saul-the-Chi-Lantern stepped back into the form as if he’d never left it. He is a master. He was a beginner 40 years ago after 15 years of practice. He is poetry and power and humor and lighthearted. At 70 he could throw me across a room using my own aggression. He assumes nothing. He reminds me each week what a human being can be when they give up the idea that the wealth is in the acquisition; Saul knows the wealth is in having a story to tell.