Do What Is Best

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

Judy (she-that-I-revere-but-saying-so-makes-her-wiggle) read a recent post about voice-less-ness and mind reading and sent me this gem:

“My 90-year old friend gave me the gift of a lifetime when she taught me the phrase, ‘What’s best for me is…’. It frees me! If someone isn’t interested in what’s best for me, well, then, I may not need that energy in my life. I pass it on, with love. It’s been a long journey to get here.”

What a great statement of boundaries! What a terrific statement of self-love!

On a recent trip I had the opportunity to spend time with several of my elders, people who are in the sunset of their lives. They shared this common trait: They have no time for pleasing. They are clear about what they want; there is not doubt about what they need. The games are no longer interesting to them so they are fairly free to express their thoughts regardless of what others might think. It was refreshing.

It has been a long journey for me to get here, too and I wonder why this simple center is so hard to come by. As Judy said, “It frees me!” Caring for yourself, attending to your needs as much or more than you invest in the needs of others would seem to be a first principle. I’ve learned that you cannot truly serve others until you learn first to do, “What is best for me.”

In some traditional societies the grandparents primarily raise the children. The parents are too busy working the fields and attending to the rituals that sustain the community. The parent’s knowledge has not yet aged into wisdom. With the grandparents ever present the children are steeped in the wisdom of age. Who might we be if, as little children, our 90 year old grandmother looked at us and said, “Let me teach you a phrase….”

Take A Peak Beyond Appearances

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

Pal is a taxi driver. He was the driver at the head of the cue so he gave Lora and me a lift from the airport to our apartment. It’s a twenty-minute ride, no time at all yet enough for the story of a life. In 20 minutes we learned that Pal is from the Pujab region in India. He has lived and worked in the US for 25 years. With the exception of his father, his family now lives in the United States. He was mugged during one of his graveyard shifts at the 7-Eleven because he would not buy stolen property from a man who wandered in one night. He is a Sikh though he no longer wears his turban; he’s cut his hair and his beard. To a Sikh, cutting the hair and the beard are not done without good reason. Pal’s reason is safety. In the United States he has been beaten for his appearance. It’s better to fit in than to be beaten.

Central to the Sikh’s belief are radical notions like the equality of humankind and universal brotherhood. In my twenty minutes with Pal I learned that he was generous, gentle, bright, present, and open-hearted. He was not in a hurry. He loved his family. He worked hard. We unloaded our bags from the taxi and stood with Pal to continue our conversation. He showed us a picture of what he looked like before he went into hiding by cutting his hair and beard.

When Pal drove away I was awash with conflicting feelings. I was so grateful for our magic taxi conversation and his generosity – and equally saddened that in a country that prides itself on individualism, this man, this good man, does not feel safe being an individual. He was not beaten for his actions; he was beaten for his looks.

Once, someone I love but do not understand told me that, “not all Americans want this diversity thing;” an odd sentiment in a country comprised of immigrants. Evidently the diversity in his neighborhood made him uncomfortable and rather than walk toward it and meet his neighbors he chose to close his front door and fear. I wonder if he would have recognized Pal’s kindness or held him suspect because he looked different.

Of this I am certain: those who do not want this “diversity thing” are missing out. This “diversity thing” is a human thing and there are extraordinary treasures (human beings who do not look like you) all around. It only takes a moment to peak beyond the appearance, ask a question, and find the riches.

Story Is A Verb

482. 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 have a different understanding of the word “story.” To me, story is not a thing. It is not a noun. Story is a verb. It is an action. It is dynamic. I believe we story ourselves. And, because we story ourselves, we can story ourselves toward what we desire to create or we can story ourselves as fast runners from what we don’t want; we can tell a story of resistance.

Last night I taught the first of four classes in a story cycle called Seek The Bear. I have worked with stories my entire life. I integrate my understanding of story in every workshop, every class, every facilitation, every coaching, every performance, and every painting that I paint. It is ironic to me that last night was the first time I taught a class specifically about story. In the class I am telling an ancient story and opening the metaphors so the participants in the class might see their lives as a story – and not just any story – but their version of the ancient story. I am teaching this class so the people in it might recognize that they are not as isolated as they think; that their lives are as universal as they are unique.

I went back to school because Joseph Campbell said in a lecture, “Our mythology is dead. If you want proof all you need to do is read the newspaper….” I needed to know what he meant by that. I learned that we have lost our stories; we have no central living narrative. We’ve legislated the life-blood from our stories, reduced them to rules, a confused morality, an empty ethic. The body of the story remains. The heart will beat again and the blood will begin to move if we remember that story is a living thing. A living mythology requires only this: every story is your story. What if you knew that you, too, have been thrust out of Eden with your insatiable desire to know? Curiosity is our greatest gift, is it not? This story is your story and my story. Each of us walk through a world of dualities driven by our insatiable desire to return to the garden (unity). We are, all of us, Pandora, Eve. The turn around point is a metaphor called the virgin birth – the birth of your heart. As Joseph Campbell said, this is not a story about a weird happening 21 centuries ago; this is your story and my story, it is a guide, a living, breathing, dynamic meant to open our hearts and illuminate our path up the mountain.

Use Your Voice

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

Sho, Joe, and a host of others have asked me to start giving titles to these posts. Joe told me I wasn’t helping myself. Sho told me it would make it easier for people to find a past post. Both are wise men and I trust their counsel. Both are friends who have my best interest at heart. Both have offered me the gift of the tough conversation, contrary points of view, and some well deserved dope slapping (my head used to be symmetrical. I am a slow study).

When I was younger I placed limits on my voice. I could not ask for what I wanted; I ran from difficult conversations; I feared offending anyone so I offended everyone. Had I a motto it might have read, “Deflect and dissipate.” The family crest would have proclaimed, “In any case, hide.” I saw life as a walk through a minefield. I’ve worked hard at removing the limits from my voice; I knew I had full possession of it the day I told a client, “My job is to serve you, not to please you.” In fact, I have learned that pleasing is often a lousy intention and usually has strings attached. It is not such a great thing to be liked when the price of being liked is your voice. So, having become an expert at treading on eggshells, having tossed away so much power, I have great appreciation for friends who are dedicated to serving me, to helping me grow, and not so invested in pleasing me.

It seems that voice-less-ness has been a theme these past few weeks. I have been traveling and engaging with several communities. I’ve been witness to an abundance of word swallowing. This is how I know: Voice-less-ness never comes to the party alone. Voice-less-ness has a cagey companion, a shadow of a shadow named Mind Reader. They dance together. Try it: withhold your voice and you will almost immediately expect others to read your mind. “They should know…,” is a common inner monologue of the voice-less. Another clue: clamped expression escalates inner chatter; you can see the intensity of monkey mind writ large on the faces of the self-strangled. Energy must find expression so another characteristic of voice-less-ness is manipulation: despite Mind Reader’s expectation, others usually can’t read our minds so we channel our desires into less direct, more insidious routes of getting what we want.

This is what I learned during my years of voice-less-ness: hell is not a place you go for an ill spent life. Hell is a place you create when you plug your voice. Do yourself a favor: taste a little bit of heaven and ask for what you want, say what you think, and cease expecting your mate, family and friends to channel The Great Kreskin.

Truly Powerful People (480)

480.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

My grandfather is 103 years old. His mind is sharp and his body is worn out. He wheels around his retirement home in a space-age scooter, cutting sharp corners, pivoting on a dime, covering the distance to the dining hall in less time than I could run it. Until yesterday it had been eight years since my last visit, too long. For an hour we sat and he told us stories of his life, this man born into a horse and buggy world.

He is ready to go but insists that hell is full so he’ll need to stick around a bit longer. As he told stories I wondered how this world of computers, cell phones, and the internet must look through his eyes. He was born a few short years after Orville and Wilbur Wright lifted humans into the possibilities of flight. He saw two wars to end all wars that gave rise to atom bombs, nuclear power and the industrial military complex (he was at Pearl Harbor on that day of infamy), the rise of radio that gave way to television, refrigerators, moon walks, microwave ovens, international space stations, the rise and fall of the Soviet Union, the Hubble telescope, and this thing called Google,…he has lived an extraordinary life in an extraordinary era.

It was not lost on me that, when asked about his life, he talked about the day he met his wife, a trip over the pass when the Model-T ran out of gas and people trusted him with a gas can, an aunt that read fortunes and gave him and his new bride a place to stay for the night. He talked of friends and relatives and his children.

Earlier in the day he’d taken a fall and he talked of the woman who held his hand as they waited for the paramedics to arrive. He was fine, reseated in his scooter, and the kindness of another human being became the center of the story. As I listened I recognized that the events and inventions are trappings –miraculous to be sure – but they serve only as the circumstances of our lives. The real story is in the people that we walk with on our passage through this planet and how we are with them. When I am 103 will I spend much time thinking about the gadget that connects me to satellite radio, the anti-gravity chair that zips me to the dining hall? Probably not. I’ll be grateful for the new easy knee replacements and non-invasive surgeries. Perhaps I’ll have new straighter teeth. However, when I fall, I hope there is someone available to hold my hand and wait with me until the paramedics arrive. And later, I hope someone comes to visit so I can tell them my story of the kindness of strangers, of the day I met my love, and the people that made my life rich beyond measure.

Truly Powerful People (479)

479.
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 will come as no surprise to you that I have a twin. He is 9 years old, a toe-head blonde, sports a world-class smile, and he can easily out run me in our perpetual game of chase. He is a kind and gentle spirit so he loops back making it possible for his old-guy-twin to stay in the game. His name is Ian and he reminds me what is truly important in this world of too much busy work, worries and woe. He reminds me to play-to-play; he reminds me that the whole point of life is to become better and better at playing.

Recently our game took us to the river. He was already hiding when I arrived. He was concealed within a shallow pool; only his eyes above the surface, watching for the moment I might see him. It was such a clever hiding place that I passed him several times before catching a glimpse of my alligator twin. He popped from the pool and the chase was on. We dashed across sand bars, splashed through pools, leapt over sticky bushes, and finally collapsed in the shallows, buried our hands in the sand, anchors in the gentle current. That was the moment we transformed into water bears. No salmon was safe.

Ian reminds me of what it was to be young. He brims with delight. His cup is overflowing with hope and imagination. When we play our game there is nothing more important in the world; the concerns of the day vanish, the worry-attachments fall away. We run. We laugh (I wheeze). We imagine. We create.

We’ve played our game in the halls of a school, over and around a boardroom table, circling and circling his house, and now we’ve carried it into the Platte River (my favorite iteration). Our game can be played anywhere, anytime. If you happen to be standing where we are playing you will become a potential hiding post. Stand still. Imagine that you are a tree or a statue. We will. Better yet, spot your twin, and join the game.

Truly Powerful People (478)

478.
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 the day before I travel. I’ll be on the road for ten days and I’m excited to go; there is a bit of gypsy blood in my soul and it has been too long since my last adventure. I like these packing days because the usual patterns of my life suspend. I prepare; the abstractions fall away, my actions become concrete, there is a specific tangible achievement. That is a rare thing in my life. I generally live in the land of the ambiguous; transformational work is not for the engineer-minded. It is a life built upon discovery and clearing debris. No amount of math will solve for the equations. So, packing a bag for travel is nice. I know when I’m done.

Preparing to go is a combination of cleaning and reviewing. The work of planning the workshop is done. The notes and drawings that litter my desk and circle my chair are now “inactive” – so I can sort, file and throw. I’m an out-of-sight-out-of-mind guy so if I file things prematurely they disappear from my mind forever – thus the nest that rings my chair. The piles are necessary. They are living-thought-articles and although I recognize that it might look like a mess to some, it is never static clutter to me. It is a thing of beauty. It is a moving map of thought. My desk and the surrounding space are like a Jackson Pollock painting: a record of the motion of my work, a paper symphony of the inner workings of my heart and mind. Lovely chaos. Swirling patterns of possibility.

On packing day everything simplifies…. I will take it or I won’t. Do I need it or not. As I sort my piles and put them away I am aware that I am also cleaning the canvas. Not only am I preparing for travel I am preparing for the next “painting.” Making space for the next project. Inviting the next wild idea to come out of the cave and romp with me. Packing day is a perfect ritual of closure, necessary for opening to the new.

Truly Powerful People (477)

477.
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 meditating on rage. Call it fire in the belly or call it “enough already.” This is not a meditation on simple anger; it is an internal forest fire. It is nature cleaning away the debris, opening channels of blocked energy, and making way for new life.

Rage, at first might look destructive – the forest fire rages out of control – and the aftermath of this rage is nutrient for the soul, rejuvenation of a landscape, and the long-term health of an ecosystem. The fire serves a purpose. The rage is an energy released. It is the fire of alchemy. It is a natural cycle.

I am not talking about road rage – people snapping because they feel so powerless that they explode – that is not the rage, I mean. My meditation is on the ferocity of love, the mother bear protecting her cub. The rage I am pondering assumes power is already at the center, it is the forge and hammer. It is the love of self sufficient to say, “This is the line and you will not cross it.” It is the love of self to say, “This will not stand.”

Where is our rage? Where is your rage?

I recently watched an interview Bill Moyers did with Thomas Frank about money in politics. The question implicit throughout the interview: where is our rage? What happened to the people in these United States that we now so willingly participate in the rape and pillage of our political system? Rather than rise in our rage like a fire and burn away the clutter and abuse, we took a seat, turned on our televisions and asked for more. We sighed, “Oh, Well,” when our supreme court sold our political souls in the Citizens United ruling. We tuned into Fox News or MSNBC and divided ourselves, turning our impotence on each other. It’s an old strategy of control called the giddy masses: If the people turn their rage on each other they will cease to focus it where it will do any good.

I was a little kid in the 60’s and my first memories are of a neighborhood with no fences. There was one big backyard commons where people talked and watched over other people’s children. There was rage stomping around the adult’s conversations – and their love had teeth. I had the sense that my parents cared for their neighbors and I know the neighbors certainly cared for me (literally). It seemed to me that we were in something together; agreement was not a requirement of the community; disagreement was catalyst for conversation and action. I’m certainly romanticizing a childhood memory. There were 4 billion less people on the planet so perhaps it was easier to talk to your neighbor – though that equation makes no sense. People are spatially closer and communally farther apart.

It leaves me wondering where’s the rage? What happened to our self-respect?

Truly Powerful People (476)

476.
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 paraphrasing an email from Megan-the-brilliant. She recommended a book to me, “Take The Lead,” by Betsy Myers.

Megan: “It’s about how leadership in the 21st century is much different than our ideas about traditional leadership – and this includes parenting, teaching, etc., as “leading” opportunities.

“Myers writes about this guy, Warren Bennis, who understands leadership as self-knowledge… She goes on to write:
‘That successful leaders are those who are conscious about their behavior and the impact it has on the people around them. These leaders are willing to step back from the fray and get an accurate picture of what is working in their organizations–and in their lives–and what is not. Moreover, they want to know the why. They are willing to examine what behaviors of their own may be getting in the way. Successful leaders understand that if we don’t lead consciously, it’s easy to repeat patterns that could be keeping us from achieving the results we are hoping for. The toughest person you will ever lead is yourself. We can’t effectively lead ourselves, which starts with knowing who we are.’

This makes me think of the work that you’re doing in the world. Powerful People, yes?”

Yes. Lead first yourself. And you can’t do that if you don’t know yourself. You can’t do that if you are invested in the idea that others are responsible for how you feel, think, see, etc.

More from Megan: “The other thing I noticed this week? In how many places have we disconnected the “word” from it’s “meaning”…. the language from the action…! We talk about teaching as though it is separate from learning…. but

If they’re not learning, we’re not teaching.”

And to Megan’s thoughts I would add: when teachers are not allowed to teach, no one learns. What does it mean, “to learn?” What is the purpose of “learning?” Hint: information transfer is not learning. As any bumper sticker will tell you: information is not knowledge, and knowledge is not wisdom. Why would we shoot for anything less than wisdom? Hint #2: you can’t test for wisdom.

(oh, man…here comes a rant): Here’s an example of Megan’s observation that we separate word from meaning: excellence is never achieved through standardization (think about it, please). Yet we blather on an on, decade after decade, pouring our energy and our resources into standardization of education as if it were the holy path to excellence. If you want to dumb down your society, race to the bottom of the education ladder (and we are doing it), define excellence according to a notion of standardization. Better yet: make a test of standardization, position it as the central driver and definer of the verb, to learn. Structure your system around the passing of the test, refuse to acknowledge the disparity of resource (meaning, of course, only standardize the expectation but do nothing to standardize the circumstance, i.e. fund your schools according to the property values around the school – an excellent strategy for keeping the wealthy schools fully funded and the poor schools very poorly funded) while simultaneously binding available resources, teacher’s pay, etc. to the score on the test. Place the accent on failure (always a good strategy for making fear the driver of the system). Being so short sighted it’s no wonder we are so willing to offshore our economic health and outsource our thinking.

Forcing people to follow is not leadership. Lying to people so they might follow is not leadership. Leaders – true leaders – lead; they do not manipulate. True leaders can see beyond their profit motive and bottom lines. True leaders are dedicated to empowerment in others because they are seekers of self-knowledge (end of rant).

One of the many reasons I believe Megan-the-brilliant is brilliant: she’s awake.

Truly Powerful People (475)

475.
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 just listened to a very interesting interview. Jon Katz has written a book, “Soul of a Dog: Reflection On The Spirits of the Animals At Bedlam Farm” – book about soul and animals. He spoke of a survey taken a generation ago asking people if they believed their animals had souls; 98% of responders said, “no.” Recently, another survey asked the same question and 98% of responders answered “yes.” The doll flipped in a single generation.

Socrates and Plato wrote about the soul and believed that it was unique to humans; at least the human version of soul was something entirely different than the energy expressing through our farm animals, pets and all things wild. Western mythology would have us believe that we can sign away our souls for money, sex and power; that our souls are in constant danger of compromise and require vigilant, austere, restriction.

I think souls like to play. Many eyes in this world see soul in every tree, flower, spoon, and coffee cup: everything has a soul, everything is soul so there is no notion of temptation or need for protection, fear or redemption. Lack of appreciation is the single trip line. Forgetting that you are a part of everything is akin to casting yourself into hell. There is no judge or rulebook or condemnation: separating yourself from the whole is an inside job – you do it to yourself.

I remember watching an interview with Gary Zukov, physicist and author of The Tao of Physics; he was asked, “Where is the soul?” and replied, “Where is it not.” The audience applauded. I appreciated his answer and wondered how many people in that audience recognized themselves as soul-full – or was their applause aspirational: they wanted to experience themselves as an expression of soul. To recognize yourself as soul-full means you first must see everyone and everything as soul-full. I wondered how many of the audience members looked at the cabs (or the cabbies) that whisked them from the studio that day and thought, “I am soul participating with soul.”