When one does not judge,
One does not put one-self in a dilemma.
When one is not put in a dilemma
One creates space.
Space reveals reality.
Reality is the true liberty.
True liberty is the state of enlightenment.
The state of enlightenment is Buddha-nature
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
To strip Love
Love is never lost they say, I wondered about that. Love never dies is another cliche used, but is it true?
When I was thirteen I fell in love with someone, head over heels and totally. Puppy love they would call it, but for me it was so much more than a mere infatuation. It was no doubt the deepest love I had ever felt up to that point.
I went back to that love today to test the premises mentioned above.
Although the feelings I then called love were real, the object of my love was not. The image I loved was a character on the TV. The love I felt for this character grew with every weekly episode and so did the flock of butterflies in my stomach. It fueled my fabricated belief that somehow he could be real. During the week I had conversations with him inside my head and I clung to the feeling of safety those conversations gave me.
I don’t have to watch the reruns of the series to visit that overwhelming feeling that the flock of butterflies caused, it is right here, right now. I can stand right in the midst of this cloud of colored wings or choose watch them dance from a distance.
Watching from a distance I can see clearly that not all butterflies are love, some of them are a different colored feeling all together.
There is the butterfly of hope for instance, hope of something better than this prepubescent life.
There is the butterfly to cure of the indescribable loneliness I felt at that time; at least now, in my head, I belonged somewhere with someone and that someone did not think me strange. A someone that would listen to my point of view and ask the right questions. In my head I did not get ignored by the someone that I loved so deeply.
Then there was the butterfly that gave me the illusion of safety, it gave room to spread my wings with fearlessness and be free. The folly of reassurances that when push would come to shove I would be saved by this picture perfect person, but push never came to shove enough to find his car in front of our house and me being whisked away. The illusion did however give me enough strength and stability to face what even injustice I thought I saw.
There also was fairness and the wings of rebellion I felt justifiable righteous in when at night, just before I went to sleep, I told of my day to the poster on the wall. The voice that came from my illustrious love went far beyond the words given to him by writers unknown. He would stroke my hair when I told of my intentions to do right but how it fell apart anyway, and in his eyes I could see pain and sadness when I told of the “right” I did for all the wrong reasons.
I so desperately longed to feel save in his arms and to do right in his eyes that it guided me through the formative years of my life and it made me find my rebellions feet in relative safety.
I knew that it was all an act and that my hero an illusion but even so I clung to it with all my might. I never tough saw the need or understood the need of others to scrutinize the private live of the actor who gave form to my hero, to me act and actor were never the same. It is only in the reruns I realize that you can only play the reality of deep friendship when you have know the reality of such deep friendship and the actor must play a deeper part in the act than I then thought.
But still, it is in my never aging, never changing hero that I had rested my hopes upon and I had him scrutinized my private live. This cocoon of feelings and illusions made me feel save and they helped me grow.
And now when I strip the butterflies of hope and sense of security away from the love, shed the wings of righteousness and I found a place for the revelations of my rebellion, I see the love for what It really was and always will be; an un measurable and unwavering source of energy that is there for all to dip into.
When I strip this love away from the illusion it is not love for the act or the actor, nor is it the love for where or who I once was or where it has brought me. It is the energy of love that fed me then and feeds me now, it is love that stroked my hair and it was the lack of love that I saw as pain in his eyes.
Love has no form but it will take any, it has no purpose, it is the purpose. Love gives no safety but it is safety, it has no hope to give but it is full of hope. Love is not mine to give, but it is given to me freely. It was undying then as it is now and it is never lost but always right here to be found and it is yours for the taking.
When I was thirteen I fell in love with someone, head over heels and totally. Puppy love they would call it, but for me it was so much more than a mere infatuation. It was no doubt the deepest love I had ever felt up to that point.
I went back to that love today to test the premises mentioned above.
Although the feelings I then called love were real, the object of my love was not. The image I loved was a character on the TV. The love I felt for this character grew with every weekly episode and so did the flock of butterflies in my stomach. It fueled my fabricated belief that somehow he could be real. During the week I had conversations with him inside my head and I clung to the feeling of safety those conversations gave me.
I don’t have to watch the reruns of the series to visit that overwhelming feeling that the flock of butterflies caused, it is right here, right now. I can stand right in the midst of this cloud of colored wings or choose watch them dance from a distance.
Watching from a distance I can see clearly that not all butterflies are love, some of them are a different colored feeling all together.
There is the butterfly of hope for instance, hope of something better than this prepubescent life.
There is the butterfly to cure of the indescribable loneliness I felt at that time; at least now, in my head, I belonged somewhere with someone and that someone did not think me strange. A someone that would listen to my point of view and ask the right questions. In my head I did not get ignored by the someone that I loved so deeply.
Then there was the butterfly that gave me the illusion of safety, it gave room to spread my wings with fearlessness and be free. The folly of reassurances that when push would come to shove I would be saved by this picture perfect person, but push never came to shove enough to find his car in front of our house and me being whisked away. The illusion did however give me enough strength and stability to face what even injustice I thought I saw.
There also was fairness and the wings of rebellion I felt justifiable righteous in when at night, just before I went to sleep, I told of my day to the poster on the wall. The voice that came from my illustrious love went far beyond the words given to him by writers unknown. He would stroke my hair when I told of my intentions to do right but how it fell apart anyway, and in his eyes I could see pain and sadness when I told of the “right” I did for all the wrong reasons.
I so desperately longed to feel save in his arms and to do right in his eyes that it guided me through the formative years of my life and it made me find my rebellions feet in relative safety.
I knew that it was all an act and that my hero an illusion but even so I clung to it with all my might. I never tough saw the need or understood the need of others to scrutinize the private live of the actor who gave form to my hero, to me act and actor were never the same. It is only in the reruns I realize that you can only play the reality of deep friendship when you have know the reality of such deep friendship and the actor must play a deeper part in the act than I then thought.
But still, it is in my never aging, never changing hero that I had rested my hopes upon and I had him scrutinized my private live. This cocoon of feelings and illusions made me feel save and they helped me grow.
And now when I strip the butterflies of hope and sense of security away from the love, shed the wings of righteousness and I found a place for the revelations of my rebellion, I see the love for what It really was and always will be; an un measurable and unwavering source of energy that is there for all to dip into.
When I strip this love away from the illusion it is not love for the act or the actor, nor is it the love for where or who I once was or where it has brought me. It is the energy of love that fed me then and feeds me now, it is love that stroked my hair and it was the lack of love that I saw as pain in his eyes.
Love has no form but it will take any, it has no purpose, it is the purpose. Love gives no safety but it is safety, it has no hope to give but it is full of hope. Love is not mine to give, but it is given to me freely. It was undying then as it is now and it is never lost but always right here to be found and it is yours for the taking.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Just a thought
What about that great % of our mind that we ‘don’t use?’
I was pondering that question and I wonder what goes on in the brain anyway, is it just thoughts?
Then I saw a documentary in which a man got his brain scanned, you could see different parts of his brain light up, all depending on the question asked or stimuli given. For instance when he was asked to fabricate a story a different part of his brain was active then when he was asked to remember something and when his feet got tickled a whole new area lit up.
Recent studies have found the part of the brain that lights up when compassion is experienced, a discovery that happen quite by chances when a man was brought in with a knife stuck in his brain, he was “fine” no brain damages except one part of his brain was no longer active and he lost the ability to be compassionate. After researching this they located that part of the brain that lights up in most humans when compassion is experienced. Just to side step a little…they went further and even found that specific area in dog brains.
By now we know that different parts of the brain help us see and hear, store memories or solve mathematical problems.
The labeling of what we see, hear, store or solve is going on in our brain as well. We need labels to make sense of our sensations.
I felt down the stairs a few years back and badly twisted my ankle, a friend of mine found me at the bottom of the stairs screaming in pain. He called the ambulance and sat with me while waiting for it to arrive. This man happened to be a hypnotherapist and we had dabbled with different kinds of awareness for a long time, so it was not strange to me when he ask me to go to a different state of mind, he asked me basically to label the sensation I felt in my ankle not as pain but as a healing and I did. The excruciating pain dissolved in a sensation of warmth and when I arrived in the hospital I could no longer experience the pain. This made it very difficult for the doctor, who had only the labels of pain, to understand the severity of my injury.
My mind thought pain so I sensed pain, my mindset changed and the sensation changed. So now what?
For me I feel that the answer lies in the labeling of the chain of events we call experience. When we dissect and label every link in that experience we almost feel that we can take out one link and understand the whole. It is like saying the engine is the car and can function separate from the body work as a car.
Labeling and dissecting in it self is not a bad thing, when used right it can even help us to experience the whole on a deeper level. But when we get stuck in a label or the need to know the whole while dissecting just one link, we get lost in discussions about right and wrong, left or right, me or you.
For sure there are parts of the brain we don’t use or don’t have access to when we feel we need it. We all have those moments that you know the title of a book, it’s on the tip of your tong, you can almost feel your mouth form the words, but…nothing ...and then when you least expect it a light goes on and you know. So no doubt that there are more parts of the brain that are still in the dark.
Maybe the only way to make full use of our brain is to stop seeing it as separate from the rest of our senses and exercise our ability to be whole, complete with our experiences of creative and linear chain of events. Like an athlete exercising his body or a mathematician exercising his thoughts so we need to exercise our wholeness. So to experience the whole we need to lighten up.
Or as it was so eloquently put by the same kind stranger
As humans, we have the gift of consciousness and the ability to focus our minds on the act of witnessing our existence without judgment or the need to define or know. That’s when we feel God, truth, love…
A kind stranger
I was pondering that question and I wonder what goes on in the brain anyway, is it just thoughts?
Then I saw a documentary in which a man got his brain scanned, you could see different parts of his brain light up, all depending on the question asked or stimuli given. For instance when he was asked to fabricate a story a different part of his brain was active then when he was asked to remember something and when his feet got tickled a whole new area lit up.
Recent studies have found the part of the brain that lights up when compassion is experienced, a discovery that happen quite by chances when a man was brought in with a knife stuck in his brain, he was “fine” no brain damages except one part of his brain was no longer active and he lost the ability to be compassionate. After researching this they located that part of the brain that lights up in most humans when compassion is experienced. Just to side step a little…they went further and even found that specific area in dog brains.
By now we know that different parts of the brain help us see and hear, store memories or solve mathematical problems.
The labeling of what we see, hear, store or solve is going on in our brain as well. We need labels to make sense of our sensations.
I felt down the stairs a few years back and badly twisted my ankle, a friend of mine found me at the bottom of the stairs screaming in pain. He called the ambulance and sat with me while waiting for it to arrive. This man happened to be a hypnotherapist and we had dabbled with different kinds of awareness for a long time, so it was not strange to me when he ask me to go to a different state of mind, he asked me basically to label the sensation I felt in my ankle not as pain but as a healing and I did. The excruciating pain dissolved in a sensation of warmth and when I arrived in the hospital I could no longer experience the pain. This made it very difficult for the doctor, who had only the labels of pain, to understand the severity of my injury.
My mind thought pain so I sensed pain, my mindset changed and the sensation changed. So now what?
For me I feel that the answer lies in the labeling of the chain of events we call experience. When we dissect and label every link in that experience we almost feel that we can take out one link and understand the whole. It is like saying the engine is the car and can function separate from the body work as a car.
Labeling and dissecting in it self is not a bad thing, when used right it can even help us to experience the whole on a deeper level. But when we get stuck in a label or the need to know the whole while dissecting just one link, we get lost in discussions about right and wrong, left or right, me or you.
For sure there are parts of the brain we don’t use or don’t have access to when we feel we need it. We all have those moments that you know the title of a book, it’s on the tip of your tong, you can almost feel your mouth form the words, but…nothing ...and then when you least expect it a light goes on and you know. So no doubt that there are more parts of the brain that are still in the dark.
Maybe the only way to make full use of our brain is to stop seeing it as separate from the rest of our senses and exercise our ability to be whole, complete with our experiences of creative and linear chain of events. Like an athlete exercising his body or a mathematician exercising his thoughts so we need to exercise our wholeness. So to experience the whole we need to lighten up.
Or as it was so eloquently put by the same kind stranger
As humans, we have the gift of consciousness and the ability to focus our minds on the act of witnessing our existence without judgment or the need to define or know. That’s when we feel God, truth, love…
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Shenanigans
When I teach Aikido to kids’ age 6 to 10 we sit in meditation for a couple of minutes at the beginning and at the end of each class. It has become such a normal thing to do that kids that just join the group slot in right from the start. They sit there for minutes perfectly still, eyes closed, breathing in and breathing out. Mothers watch in amazement, their ADHD child sits still. Their “miss talk a lot” is quiet. Every now and then we talk about meditation and I tell them that thoughts are like clouds. When you watch the sky she is never the same, sometimes there are hardly any clouds, sometimes there are many. Sometimes the clouds are nice and fluffy, sometimes the clouds are dark and heavy. All these clouds are perfectly fine as they appear. When you look at the sky you know you can not hold on to any of the clouds, nor can you make them move any faster, they just drift by at their own pace and so should you not hold on to any thoughts or make them move any faster. Telling the cloud that it is a nice cloud or a stupid cloud does not make much different to the clouds but it does make a different to you who is watching. Clouds are just clouds what ever shape or size.
One day I was telling the story again about watching the clouds and how telling clouds they are stupid makes you feel different, one of my kids remarked: “when you say things are stupid, it is like you are blowing smoke out of your mouth, when you blow out smoke all the time, pretty soon you can’t seen anything any more, not even the clouds.
I bowed to him deeply.
It has not always been the normal thing to do, to sit still and meditate at the beginning and end of class. When I started, some eight years ago, things were very different. When I had them all neatly lined up and I would sit in front of them in meditation, some kids would get up and walk around, some would ask me if they could go to the bathroom, some would poke at their neighbor, some would roll their eyes and pretend to faint and some would make funny farting noises and they all would laugh. All the shenanigans kids can think of I’ve seen by now I think.
I had a hard time understanding what it is I needed to do to get them to at least sit still at the start of class. I tried the nice cop bad cop routine, did my best to ignore it for a while, lost my temper a few times, and let the entire discipline slide completely and joined in the fun. What it took to take them with me in the enjoyment of meditation was the realization that all the shenanigans they pulled, I pulled when I started with meditation.
The whole song and dance between me and the kids was a blown up version from the whole song and dance I went through with my teacher and I was still going through with the clouds in my own head.
I could not make them meditate and enjoy it, no more than I could hold on to a cloud; I had been blowing smoke left and right and could not see what I needed to see. So I began with being truthful to myself and see my shenanigans and sit with them, in front of a group of young kids.
Now we can sit together in silent’s me, my kids and our shenanigans, enjoying breathing in and breathing out and every now and then we roll around laughing at funny farting noises.
One day I was telling the story again about watching the clouds and how telling clouds they are stupid makes you feel different, one of my kids remarked: “when you say things are stupid, it is like you are blowing smoke out of your mouth, when you blow out smoke all the time, pretty soon you can’t seen anything any more, not even the clouds.
I bowed to him deeply.
It has not always been the normal thing to do, to sit still and meditate at the beginning and end of class. When I started, some eight years ago, things were very different. When I had them all neatly lined up and I would sit in front of them in meditation, some kids would get up and walk around, some would ask me if they could go to the bathroom, some would poke at their neighbor, some would roll their eyes and pretend to faint and some would make funny farting noises and they all would laugh. All the shenanigans kids can think of I’ve seen by now I think.
I had a hard time understanding what it is I needed to do to get them to at least sit still at the start of class. I tried the nice cop bad cop routine, did my best to ignore it for a while, lost my temper a few times, and let the entire discipline slide completely and joined in the fun. What it took to take them with me in the enjoyment of meditation was the realization that all the shenanigans they pulled, I pulled when I started with meditation.
The whole song and dance between me and the kids was a blown up version from the whole song and dance I went through with my teacher and I was still going through with the clouds in my own head.
I could not make them meditate and enjoy it, no more than I could hold on to a cloud; I had been blowing smoke left and right and could not see what I needed to see. So I began with being truthful to myself and see my shenanigans and sit with them, in front of a group of young kids.
Now we can sit together in silent’s me, my kids and our shenanigans, enjoying breathing in and breathing out and every now and then we roll around laughing at funny farting noises.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
A body to remember
Some 25 years ago I worked as a volunteer in a place that you now would call something like a spiritual learning center but then we called it a safe haven for misfits. We organized all kinds of lectures and played videos from all kinds of Guru’s. We had workshops ranging from Trance Dance to Rebirthing and the Singing of Chakra’s. We opened the center up to teachers in Zen Meditation, Ikebana and Tai Chi. As a good little volunteer, who happened have a craving for the love and attention from the extremely handsome founder of the place, who I felt, hand picked me to volunteer. I plunged head first in all these meditations and altered states of awareness.
Every time I surfaced from one of these mind altering, spirit enhancing body checks I could see me drift further away from the handsome founder and could not see then that I was drifting closer and closer to myself. Instead I plunged back it to another rebirth session or bio energetic meditation. It was there that I first sat on a safu and counted my breath and found my first Tai Chi teacher.
Tai Chi was a course that was not very popular; people rather danced to jungle music with blindfolds on or scream their heads of in cathartic encounter groups. Being the good little volunteer that I was, I offered to “shepherd the course” as we called it. It involved all the hustle and bustle to get a course to run smoothly. So two nights a week I took care of the needs of the teacher, students and center and while I was there I learned some Tai Chi as well.
My teacher was a woman of not many word, she taught as she had been taught by her Chinese teachers and did not see the point in getting students enthusiastic, they either were or they were not. She saw herself merely as someone pointing at the moon and it was up to the students to gaze up. At a time where, in our western society, we wanted to be entertained, enthralled, persuade and encouraged I saw the group of students waver and slowly fall apart. As a good little shepherd I had no choice but to go to the Tai Chi class and it brought me a lot.
She taught “the form” and in the middle of “the routine” she would stop and you were supposed to hold that “stands”. She would walk around and “sculpted” her students in the right shape. At first I thought it was all about the esthetics of the stands and as a good little student I tried to hold on to the form she molded me in to, but after a minute standing like a statue I would feel my muscles burn and I’d flop back into a position that felt more comfortable. I could see the other students flop back too and talk amongst their selves about pork chops and the film they saw last night. Something in me knew that was not the way to get what she was teaching and as I had no where to go and the pork chops wavered in and out, I started to focus more on what she was telling my body when she was molding me into position. One evening she again gently straightened out my fingers, touched my shoulders lightly to tell them to relax, tugged my hips back to where they were supposed to be and there it was, total relaxation.
I could not belief the feeling of energy rushing through me totally free and unobstructed, breathing in and out with every fiber. I felt the power of complete body awareness and I knew that, if I wanted, I could stay in that stands for hours. I did not want to move for fear of losing that sensation, I could hear the talk of pork chops and desperately wanted to share this feeling of total freedom…..but that would mean I had to move and talk and I could not bring myself to do that. Besides I was not the teacher here, I was the student and as the shepherd I knew time was nearly up.
After class I told my teacher about my experience and she said: “now you have got a reference point, they are like little pearls, slowly but surely you will gather enough of them to string together. I saw the moon, I got the principle and now it was up to me to keep my awareness.
I use her lesson from then on and the pearls I found along the way in other disciplines like Aikido, sculpting and working with horses, made me aware how a raised shoulder can hold me back from feeling what I feel and how the flaring of my nostril can keep me from knowing what I need to know.
And when I lose sight of the moon I go back to basics, I plant my feet firmly on the ground and do a move that in Tai Chi is called the preparation. It only takes seconds to see again all the pearls I already have strung together and I smile when I hear all my teachers say: “Zen mind is beginners mind”
Every time I surfaced from one of these mind altering, spirit enhancing body checks I could see me drift further away from the handsome founder and could not see then that I was drifting closer and closer to myself. Instead I plunged back it to another rebirth session or bio energetic meditation. It was there that I first sat on a safu and counted my breath and found my first Tai Chi teacher.
Tai Chi was a course that was not very popular; people rather danced to jungle music with blindfolds on or scream their heads of in cathartic encounter groups. Being the good little volunteer that I was, I offered to “shepherd the course” as we called it. It involved all the hustle and bustle to get a course to run smoothly. So two nights a week I took care of the needs of the teacher, students and center and while I was there I learned some Tai Chi as well.
My teacher was a woman of not many word, she taught as she had been taught by her Chinese teachers and did not see the point in getting students enthusiastic, they either were or they were not. She saw herself merely as someone pointing at the moon and it was up to the students to gaze up. At a time where, in our western society, we wanted to be entertained, enthralled, persuade and encouraged I saw the group of students waver and slowly fall apart. As a good little shepherd I had no choice but to go to the Tai Chi class and it brought me a lot.
She taught “the form” and in the middle of “the routine” she would stop and you were supposed to hold that “stands”. She would walk around and “sculpted” her students in the right shape. At first I thought it was all about the esthetics of the stands and as a good little student I tried to hold on to the form she molded me in to, but after a minute standing like a statue I would feel my muscles burn and I’d flop back into a position that felt more comfortable. I could see the other students flop back too and talk amongst their selves about pork chops and the film they saw last night. Something in me knew that was not the way to get what she was teaching and as I had no where to go and the pork chops wavered in and out, I started to focus more on what she was telling my body when she was molding me into position. One evening she again gently straightened out my fingers, touched my shoulders lightly to tell them to relax, tugged my hips back to where they were supposed to be and there it was, total relaxation.
I could not belief the feeling of energy rushing through me totally free and unobstructed, breathing in and out with every fiber. I felt the power of complete body awareness and I knew that, if I wanted, I could stay in that stands for hours. I did not want to move for fear of losing that sensation, I could hear the talk of pork chops and desperately wanted to share this feeling of total freedom…..but that would mean I had to move and talk and I could not bring myself to do that. Besides I was not the teacher here, I was the student and as the shepherd I knew time was nearly up.
After class I told my teacher about my experience and she said: “now you have got a reference point, they are like little pearls, slowly but surely you will gather enough of them to string together. I saw the moon, I got the principle and now it was up to me to keep my awareness.
I use her lesson from then on and the pearls I found along the way in other disciplines like Aikido, sculpting and working with horses, made me aware how a raised shoulder can hold me back from feeling what I feel and how the flaring of my nostril can keep me from knowing what I need to know.
And when I lose sight of the moon I go back to basics, I plant my feet firmly on the ground and do a move that in Tai Chi is called the preparation. It only takes seconds to see again all the pearls I already have strung together and I smile when I hear all my teachers say: “Zen mind is beginners mind”
Monday, July 5, 2010
Message in a bottle
Have you ever send a massage in a bottle?
I had the idea of sending a message out a few years ago.
So I looked for a bottle that would be able to hold my message and after rejecting a few I found the perfect one. I had never seen a bottle like that and, being the explorer that I am, I tried to learn as much as I could about the kind of vessel I chose for this journey.
Now the writing, what kind of message could I possibly send into the world? I had put so much time and effort into finding the right bottle that a simple “hello” would not suffice. I wanted to send something that would make sense to another, something profound but not pompous, something touching but nothing sentimental, something the other could relate to without it being too personal. This goal seemed to high at times and there were many days where I wished I could go back to a simple bottle with a simple hello. But by now I had made an image in my head of “the other”, that images and the bottle on my desk kept reminding me of my initial intentions.
By thinking about the unknown other and placing myself in their unfamiliar shoes made me rummage through the things that we must share. Things like pain and fear, joy and love, the sense of belonging and the feeling of being alone and slowly but surely my message formed. Exploring my side of these things and by walking a few miles in unfamiliar shoes brought me new perspectives and left me with no reasons to hold on to the familiar and claim it as truth. It took what seemed like forever to find a proper ending to conclude the message but I finally did. After reading it and rereading it, rewriting it and rereading it again the message said: “I’m done, I’m told and I’m ready to be send”
I placed the message in the bottle and there I was, at the line where water meets land and certainty meets uncertainty and I could feel a war raging inside me, letting go or holding on. I looked back at the person I was when I started this idea and smiled, than looked at the person I had become at the end of this quest and smiled. Gently I placed the bottle in the water and saw it being swept away by the tides of change and I smiled. Knowing I had no longer any control over it filled me with a sense of relieve and sadness. Knowing that I’ve picked my bottle and words carefully gave me a feeling of wellbeing and gratitude that was unfamiliar to me.
Over the days and week that followed my mind drifted back to the bottle floating in the ocean of opportunities and I dreamed about “the other” that would find it. Those dreams went from bright pink in where the bottle would end up on a white beach where a handsome stranger would find and read the message and become instantly and forever happy, to dark gray where the bottle would be smashed to pieces and the message got eaten by sharks. I was surprised at how I would wake up from those dreams filled with emotion; after all, I let it go, didn’t I?
The weeks became months and as the tides of changes ripped through my life, the memory of the message in a bottle faded. But the writing continued and so did the quest. I found words of others that were on a similar quest and found things that were lacking in mine. Was rudely awakened many times by the real realization that you should walk the walk if you talk the talk and was overwhelmed by moments of profound joy. Pieces I found along the way began to sink in deeper and I saw that I am “the other”, the handsome stranger and the shark and I could feel how we all suffer and I became conscious of what makes it so and where it will end. It could very well be that all who embark on this voyage will come to the same conclusions but it is I who had to do the walking and be willing to go that extra mile and not just take anyone’s word for it. Having said that, words of others were great and at times instrumental in helping me on my way.
Words like:
“Our consciousness gives us the ability to empower ourselves through choice and experience compassion for ourselves and by extension compassion for others.
Slowly but surely I am becoming a softer version of myself and see “the other” in a softer light and as I visit and revisit words of others I form my own and I get to know “the other me” even better.
And then an unexpected miracle happened, I got word from “the other”, the familiar stranger found my message and said hello and thank you. It filled me with immense gratitude and sense of wellbeing that felt strangely familiar and that’s more than enough for me.
I had the idea of sending a message out a few years ago.
So I looked for a bottle that would be able to hold my message and after rejecting a few I found the perfect one. I had never seen a bottle like that and, being the explorer that I am, I tried to learn as much as I could about the kind of vessel I chose for this journey.
Now the writing, what kind of message could I possibly send into the world? I had put so much time and effort into finding the right bottle that a simple “hello” would not suffice. I wanted to send something that would make sense to another, something profound but not pompous, something touching but nothing sentimental, something the other could relate to without it being too personal. This goal seemed to high at times and there were many days where I wished I could go back to a simple bottle with a simple hello. But by now I had made an image in my head of “the other”, that images and the bottle on my desk kept reminding me of my initial intentions.
By thinking about the unknown other and placing myself in their unfamiliar shoes made me rummage through the things that we must share. Things like pain and fear, joy and love, the sense of belonging and the feeling of being alone and slowly but surely my message formed. Exploring my side of these things and by walking a few miles in unfamiliar shoes brought me new perspectives and left me with no reasons to hold on to the familiar and claim it as truth. It took what seemed like forever to find a proper ending to conclude the message but I finally did. After reading it and rereading it, rewriting it and rereading it again the message said: “I’m done, I’m told and I’m ready to be send”
I placed the message in the bottle and there I was, at the line where water meets land and certainty meets uncertainty and I could feel a war raging inside me, letting go or holding on. I looked back at the person I was when I started this idea and smiled, than looked at the person I had become at the end of this quest and smiled. Gently I placed the bottle in the water and saw it being swept away by the tides of change and I smiled. Knowing I had no longer any control over it filled me with a sense of relieve and sadness. Knowing that I’ve picked my bottle and words carefully gave me a feeling of wellbeing and gratitude that was unfamiliar to me.
Over the days and week that followed my mind drifted back to the bottle floating in the ocean of opportunities and I dreamed about “the other” that would find it. Those dreams went from bright pink in where the bottle would end up on a white beach where a handsome stranger would find and read the message and become instantly and forever happy, to dark gray where the bottle would be smashed to pieces and the message got eaten by sharks. I was surprised at how I would wake up from those dreams filled with emotion; after all, I let it go, didn’t I?
The weeks became months and as the tides of changes ripped through my life, the memory of the message in a bottle faded. But the writing continued and so did the quest. I found words of others that were on a similar quest and found things that were lacking in mine. Was rudely awakened many times by the real realization that you should walk the walk if you talk the talk and was overwhelmed by moments of profound joy. Pieces I found along the way began to sink in deeper and I saw that I am “the other”, the handsome stranger and the shark and I could feel how we all suffer and I became conscious of what makes it so and where it will end. It could very well be that all who embark on this voyage will come to the same conclusions but it is I who had to do the walking and be willing to go that extra mile and not just take anyone’s word for it. Having said that, words of others were great and at times instrumental in helping me on my way.
Words like:
“Our consciousness gives us the ability to empower ourselves through choice and experience compassion for ourselves and by extension compassion for others.
(a kind stranger)
Slowly but surely I am becoming a softer version of myself and see “the other” in a softer light and as I visit and revisit words of others I form my own and I get to know “the other me” even better.
And then an unexpected miracle happened, I got word from “the other”, the familiar stranger found my message and said hello and thank you. It filled me with immense gratitude and sense of wellbeing that felt strangely familiar and that’s more than enough for me.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Bramble and Broom
I have been cutting bramble and broom for days now, trying to clear a piece of land so we can plant berries and cherries.
Cutting bramble and broom that have had the run of the land for years, i did not find neat bushes with easy access or nice rows of trimmed shrubs, you find chaos. Things have grown over each other, in each other, killing each other, taking each others light and space.
I started cutting while full of energy and good plans, but after a while of snipping away at stalks and stems nothing seemed to happen. The chaos was still intact and only seemed to grow after each snip. Time to take a rake and see if I could get something to shift. So I dug in and after a fierce tug of war I could see something moving. But it moved like a thousand headed monster with thorns and slimy black spaghetti like things and when I let go of the rake the whole thing seems to jump right back to where it was minutes before.
Now was not the time to give in to frustration and think all my hard work has been wasted, more snipping was needed. After more snipping, yanking and tugging the dark thorny mass moved and was ready to be shredded and burned. After all that I found that the job had only just began, the thousand headed monster did not give up the fight that easy. By now I had the scrapes bumps and bruises to proof that. Even more snipping, tugging and raking was needed and after that I was left with a desolate piece of land, dark soil without any live, still filled with snippets of what was there before, but freed of the thousand headed monster made from bramble and broom. For the first time in years the sun touches the earth and the wind freely caresses the soil. It is open and ready for planting, or so I thought.
If I would leave it now and come back in say a year all the bramble and broom will have come back in force. The bramble and broom will be very grateful for all my hard work and will use all my snipping and raking to rejuvenate in rapid speed. So now that I see the promised land and my soul wants to plant, my head needs to take control and seek out the roots that lurk beneath the soil, make decisions on which once to dig up and which once to leave and understand that from old roots new grows will form.
Now I was ready to plant new things and keep what ever grows from the old roots under check, keenly, sharply and lead it to where I want them to go.
This story is not only true for clearing bramble and broom the same goes for clearing my heart, mind and soul.
Cutting bramble and broom that have had the run of the land for years, i did not find neat bushes with easy access or nice rows of trimmed shrubs, you find chaos. Things have grown over each other, in each other, killing each other, taking each others light and space.
I started cutting while full of energy and good plans, but after a while of snipping away at stalks and stems nothing seemed to happen. The chaos was still intact and only seemed to grow after each snip. Time to take a rake and see if I could get something to shift. So I dug in and after a fierce tug of war I could see something moving. But it moved like a thousand headed monster with thorns and slimy black spaghetti like things and when I let go of the rake the whole thing seems to jump right back to where it was minutes before.
Now was not the time to give in to frustration and think all my hard work has been wasted, more snipping was needed. After more snipping, yanking and tugging the dark thorny mass moved and was ready to be shredded and burned. After all that I found that the job had only just began, the thousand headed monster did not give up the fight that easy. By now I had the scrapes bumps and bruises to proof that. Even more snipping, tugging and raking was needed and after that I was left with a desolate piece of land, dark soil without any live, still filled with snippets of what was there before, but freed of the thousand headed monster made from bramble and broom. For the first time in years the sun touches the earth and the wind freely caresses the soil. It is open and ready for planting, or so I thought.
If I would leave it now and come back in say a year all the bramble and broom will have come back in force. The bramble and broom will be very grateful for all my hard work and will use all my snipping and raking to rejuvenate in rapid speed. So now that I see the promised land and my soul wants to plant, my head needs to take control and seek out the roots that lurk beneath the soil, make decisions on which once to dig up and which once to leave and understand that from old roots new grows will form.
Now I was ready to plant new things and keep what ever grows from the old roots under check, keenly, sharply and lead it to where I want them to go.
This story is not only true for clearing bramble and broom the same goes for clearing my heart, mind and soul.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
My machete and me
After 2 ½ weeks of working in the woods and cutting hazel, my machete and me became good friends. It’s a very special tool, it came to me by post all the way from Brazil send by a man I don’t know and never even thanked properly.
Time was running out and I knew I had to leave my safe haven soon. One morning I woke up and the sun was shining. After 2 ½ weeks of snow and hail, wind and rain, thunder storms and fog she was a sight for sore eyes. My body ached from the heavy physical work and was stiff after a rough night in a cold tent. I was waiting for the coffee to come to the boil when a thought entered my mind: “I’m miserable”. I thought about that thought for a second and wondered where that thought came from.
I examined the premise of being miserable.
“Do I feel miserable?”
Well my hands are stiff and so is my back, my head hurts from a branch that nearly knocked me out yesterday. I have scratches and bruises everywhere from working in the woods and cutting the bramble and my throat hurts. But still, adding all that up does not make me feel miserable.
So if it’s not something physical it must be something psychological, I checked.
“Do I experience miserable?”
I look out over the mountain meadow and feel happy. I hear the birds sing their morning song and I feel safe. My skin is touched by the wind and the sun and I feel grounded. I smell the coffee in the cold morning air and I feel home. So miserable, no.
“Do I think miserable?”
I’m content about what I have achieved considering the weather, I had some inspiring new ideas, and no thoughts that spell out doom or gloom. In short no thought to classify as miserable.
Yet something in me mentioned the word miserable.
I looked at my machete stuck in a block of oak; might as well say that my machete is miserable. I smiled. By placing it outside “me” and sticking it on an inanimate object it became ridiculous. Miserable, pfff, nonsense. I know my trusted machete friend does not experience feelings or thoughts of being miserable. I also know that the machete and the oak it is leaning into are as much a part of me as the wind, the cold, the sun and the mountain. And miserable we are not.
The balance that I became one with in that moment tells me there is no need to dissect this further, there is only need to stay one with all.
Time was running out and I knew I had to leave my safe haven soon. One morning I woke up and the sun was shining. After 2 ½ weeks of snow and hail, wind and rain, thunder storms and fog she was a sight for sore eyes. My body ached from the heavy physical work and was stiff after a rough night in a cold tent. I was waiting for the coffee to come to the boil when a thought entered my mind: “I’m miserable”. I thought about that thought for a second and wondered where that thought came from.
I examined the premise of being miserable.
“Do I feel miserable?”
Well my hands are stiff and so is my back, my head hurts from a branch that nearly knocked me out yesterday. I have scratches and bruises everywhere from working in the woods and cutting the bramble and my throat hurts. But still, adding all that up does not make me feel miserable.
So if it’s not something physical it must be something psychological, I checked.
“Do I experience miserable?”
I look out over the mountain meadow and feel happy. I hear the birds sing their morning song and I feel safe. My skin is touched by the wind and the sun and I feel grounded. I smell the coffee in the cold morning air and I feel home. So miserable, no.
“Do I think miserable?”
I’m content about what I have achieved considering the weather, I had some inspiring new ideas, and no thoughts that spell out doom or gloom. In short no thought to classify as miserable.
Yet something in me mentioned the word miserable.
I looked at my machete stuck in a block of oak; might as well say that my machete is miserable. I smiled. By placing it outside “me” and sticking it on an inanimate object it became ridiculous. Miserable, pfff, nonsense. I know my trusted machete friend does not experience feelings or thoughts of being miserable. I also know that the machete and the oak it is leaning into are as much a part of me as the wind, the cold, the sun and the mountain. And miserable we are not.
The balance that I became one with in that moment tells me there is no need to dissect this further, there is only need to stay one with all.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Cleaning up the mess
I’m not a good housekeeper, and that’s an understatement. My mum was a very good housekeeper, she was not a good teacher though. Instead of learning me how to clean she taught me that she will do it for me when she is tired of nagging me to clean up. Our house was always tidy, and there were times when I felt that she polished away the homely feel I was longing for. I did clean my room every now and than and had my own method of doing so. I would pull everything out of my closets, drag everything from under my bed and standing in the middle of the chaos think “right” and start to sort everything out, finding the right place for everything and throw out lots and lots of clutter. It would take me days, days in which I enjoyed myself tremendously. Finding lost treasures, setting up collections and letting go of junk. In the end I would have a neatly organized room, I could find everything, knew with clarity what I had and where it was and felt pretty good about what I had accomplished.
Now, over 35 years, later nothing is changed really, I still muck out in the same way, wishing I could be more timely with cleaning up. I still wait for someone else to nag me to clean up and still hope someone will step in and do the cleaning for me. The last 3 days I have been on a cleaning spree, enjoying the result as I went along and discovering myself along the way. The first day I was complaining in my head about all the others that live here for making this mess, feeling very sorry for myself, complaining about how it always me that does the big mucking out. Feeling very happy about the kitchen counter tops being cleared and cleaned I realized how I like spending time in the kitchen cooking but I hardly get the chance amongst all the chaos I too help make and how I apparently settle for this chaos to life in, don’t I think I deserve better? And If so, why not? What will make me worthy?
The second day it was nooks and crannies day, kitchen cabinets, cellar, behind the washing machine, shelves I can’t reach and boxes left over from moving house over a year ago. It is amazing how much you can stuff in nooks, behind doors and away from eye level. But just because it is out of sight does not mean it is not weighing you down. Bags and bags of stuff I once had plans for, what happened to those plans? Stuff bought but not uses and now past its date of being any use to anybody. I can see the fear in some of the purchase, “better buy it now before it or the money is gone” “better stock up just in case” I know where that fear comes from, money is always tight, but that fear is not helping any. I know better than that and while throwing stuff out I reexamine the fears, and promise myself to be more mindful next time I feel the fear creep up and trust that things will work out one way or the other because they always do up till now.
The never unpacked boxes are now unpacked, most of the content is relocated in to the garbage can and I wonder what ever stopped me in my tracks when I started unpacking? And what ever got into me in the first place when I packed those boxes full of useless stuff?
I can see how I have lived in a state of panic most of the time, running from something and clinging to another. Hoping for a permanent state of balance in a permanent state of flux. Wishing balance to be a solid thing wishing flux to go away. I also see that something has changed dramatically over the last few months and while cleaning yet another day I changed some more.
Day three was polishing and washing with water day, having cleared away the clutter I can see how it leaves its marks in filthy streaks and fur balls. While washing away the stains left on the washing machine I wondered how I could ever expect that an appliance made for cleaning could still do its job properly while being dirty itself. I expect my Dharma teachers to be “clean” and I need to be “clean” if I ever want to slip back into my hero role again.
While sponging off the stains with hot soapy water I heard my moms voice in my head: “Now if you are finished cleaning this, you just need to keep it up.” I used to mope when she said that, my cleaning efforts never seemed good enough. Over the years I learned the hard way that she was of course right, but finding a way to do the upkeep has eluded me.
A few weeks ago I finally came around to make a small zendo for one. I cleaned out my bedroom and found a piece of wood, unpacked a safu I bought years ago in a Tibetan monastery in France. Looked for a Buddha and found a tiny one and placed it next to the smallest statue of the virgin Mary you ever did see. Rolled out a banner of the dragon I once was given and all this rolled into the most colorful coziest zendo. I never envisioned something that eclectic and colorful but it is perfect. I’m doing the “upkeep” ever since, lovingly and effortless.
Then it hit me when I dipped the sponge back in to the hot soapy water, everything is already there. The balance and the solidity, the state of flux and the permanence, the chaos and the order, the effort and the effortless, the upkeep and the letting go. I thought of the lessons all my Dharma teachers gave, it has been there all along, the path has already been laid all I have to commit to is the work, both in the daily practice and the big mucking out.
While I’m writing this, sitting outside with a laptop and a cup of tea my neighbor is cleaning too, she is like my mum, immaculate, every few minutes she pokes her head out the window upstairs and shakes her dust cloth out. The wind in blowing my direction and her dust and dead flies are falling in my tea. I’m not sure how to deal with that yet.
Now, over 35 years, later nothing is changed really, I still muck out in the same way, wishing I could be more timely with cleaning up. I still wait for someone else to nag me to clean up and still hope someone will step in and do the cleaning for me. The last 3 days I have been on a cleaning spree, enjoying the result as I went along and discovering myself along the way. The first day I was complaining in my head about all the others that live here for making this mess, feeling very sorry for myself, complaining about how it always me that does the big mucking out. Feeling very happy about the kitchen counter tops being cleared and cleaned I realized how I like spending time in the kitchen cooking but I hardly get the chance amongst all the chaos I too help make and how I apparently settle for this chaos to life in, don’t I think I deserve better? And If so, why not? What will make me worthy?
The second day it was nooks and crannies day, kitchen cabinets, cellar, behind the washing machine, shelves I can’t reach and boxes left over from moving house over a year ago. It is amazing how much you can stuff in nooks, behind doors and away from eye level. But just because it is out of sight does not mean it is not weighing you down. Bags and bags of stuff I once had plans for, what happened to those plans? Stuff bought but not uses and now past its date of being any use to anybody. I can see the fear in some of the purchase, “better buy it now before it or the money is gone” “better stock up just in case” I know where that fear comes from, money is always tight, but that fear is not helping any. I know better than that and while throwing stuff out I reexamine the fears, and promise myself to be more mindful next time I feel the fear creep up and trust that things will work out one way or the other because they always do up till now.
The never unpacked boxes are now unpacked, most of the content is relocated in to the garbage can and I wonder what ever stopped me in my tracks when I started unpacking? And what ever got into me in the first place when I packed those boxes full of useless stuff?
I can see how I have lived in a state of panic most of the time, running from something and clinging to another. Hoping for a permanent state of balance in a permanent state of flux. Wishing balance to be a solid thing wishing flux to go away. I also see that something has changed dramatically over the last few months and while cleaning yet another day I changed some more.
Day three was polishing and washing with water day, having cleared away the clutter I can see how it leaves its marks in filthy streaks and fur balls. While washing away the stains left on the washing machine I wondered how I could ever expect that an appliance made for cleaning could still do its job properly while being dirty itself. I expect my Dharma teachers to be “clean” and I need to be “clean” if I ever want to slip back into my hero role again.
While sponging off the stains with hot soapy water I heard my moms voice in my head: “Now if you are finished cleaning this, you just need to keep it up.” I used to mope when she said that, my cleaning efforts never seemed good enough. Over the years I learned the hard way that she was of course right, but finding a way to do the upkeep has eluded me.
A few weeks ago I finally came around to make a small zendo for one. I cleaned out my bedroom and found a piece of wood, unpacked a safu I bought years ago in a Tibetan monastery in France. Looked for a Buddha and found a tiny one and placed it next to the smallest statue of the virgin Mary you ever did see. Rolled out a banner of the dragon I once was given and all this rolled into the most colorful coziest zendo. I never envisioned something that eclectic and colorful but it is perfect. I’m doing the “upkeep” ever since, lovingly and effortless.
Then it hit me when I dipped the sponge back in to the hot soapy water, everything is already there. The balance and the solidity, the state of flux and the permanence, the chaos and the order, the effort and the effortless, the upkeep and the letting go. I thought of the lessons all my Dharma teachers gave, it has been there all along, the path has already been laid all I have to commit to is the work, both in the daily practice and the big mucking out.
While I’m writing this, sitting outside with a laptop and a cup of tea my neighbor is cleaning too, she is like my mum, immaculate, every few minutes she pokes her head out the window upstairs and shakes her dust cloth out. The wind in blowing my direction and her dust and dead flies are falling in my tea. I’m not sure how to deal with that yet.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
I've lost something tonight
I've lost something tonight. It’s hard to describe what I lost, it’s hard to describe the pain I felt when I lost it. The last three hours I have spent breathing in and breathing out. At the top of these three hours I felt such pain I would have preferred death. To get some clarity I went to my horse, while driving I could feel the tug of war “do I drive into this tree or do I take another breath?” I did take the breath and another and another. I can almost put words to that which I lost, although non seem to fit. Closest I can get is the acknowledgment that I am separate. That I have no connection to no one, least of all with myself. What I lost tonight is the illusion of being connected. I am in fact alone, separate and disconnected, I always was alone, separate and disconnected even before I was born. I yearned for a connection while I love being alone, that’s what separates me from me. That’s what separates me from you. I know the pain that this causes all to well, it’s the pain that propelled me forwards and holds me back. I have lost something tonight, and I’m not sure what I’ll find behind the cracked mirror.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Cellophane and tinted glass
When I was a child I remember getting candy, I liked the sweet treats but I liked the cellophane wrappers even more. I can remember looking through them and being fascinated by how the world suddenly changed. When ever I would look though the red cellophane the world had a different feel than when I looked through the green plastic wrapper. I noticed too that some things would become almost invisible when looking through red and that the same things would stand out when looking trough green bit of plastic. I could play like that for hours, trying to figure out how this magic was possible. I did all kinds of test; one eye green, one eye red, looking through multiple layers of colored cellophane, crumpling the cellophane up and smoothing it out. I remember the shock every time I would look at the world without looking through the small colored filters. The world looked so real, so obvious and so clear it would almost hurt my eyes.
While growing up I think we all get some “cellophane” stuck on our way of looking at the world. Sometimes I’m very aware of my tinted way of preserving reality and I know it is very easy to let my view become tainted. I’m also aware of the tinted and tainted perceptions of others. My tendency is to take in account their colored views and ease new information about myself in gradually or leave whole clumps of myself out as a way of protecting myself.
Now I don’t mind confronting tainted views when the need arises, I can stand up for myself and I think I do a good job of standing up for the world or groups of sentient beings that need protection from harmful opinions. But I must say I’m very careful and protective when it comes to disclosing things about others, for I can not adjust someone’s view or protect individuals from stained looks.
The thing that gets me most lately is the more I learn to see the world as it really is, the more I become aware of the enormous amount of colored cellophane we all carry with us. We view the world, others and on ourselves with unclear eyes. How we hope it will protect us from harm and how save we feel behind tinted glass.
Doing away with the bits of cellophane can hurt and looking at the world with clear eyes is not pain free and there will be nothing to hide behind, but then again, there will be nothing to hide for or from.
While growing up I think we all get some “cellophane” stuck on our way of looking at the world. Sometimes I’m very aware of my tinted way of preserving reality and I know it is very easy to let my view become tainted. I’m also aware of the tinted and tainted perceptions of others. My tendency is to take in account their colored views and ease new information about myself in gradually or leave whole clumps of myself out as a way of protecting myself.
Now I don’t mind confronting tainted views when the need arises, I can stand up for myself and I think I do a good job of standing up for the world or groups of sentient beings that need protection from harmful opinions. But I must say I’m very careful and protective when it comes to disclosing things about others, for I can not adjust someone’s view or protect individuals from stained looks.
The thing that gets me most lately is the more I learn to see the world as it really is, the more I become aware of the enormous amount of colored cellophane we all carry with us. We view the world, others and on ourselves with unclear eyes. How we hope it will protect us from harm and how save we feel behind tinted glass.
Doing away with the bits of cellophane can hurt and looking at the world with clear eyes is not pain free and there will be nothing to hide behind, but then again, there will be nothing to hide for or from.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Tribal individuals
Seeking similarities
Have you ever have this happen to you…you are telling your story to someone, say the story of your recent travels, and that someone says: “I have been there too” and before you know it, you are looking at their slide show and listen to their story of their travel. They are not in the least bit interested in how your story differs from theirs and they are happy finding confabulated similarities. ”Thank goodness we are the same, now I can relax, stay blind for your point of view, stay deaf for your side of things and not feel for you. You are erased by someone imagining similarity.
Defining differences
“Not the same, definitely not the same.” That can be a very comforting thought. You see a cat scratching the furniture at a friend’s house and think mine never does that, mine is different. You hear of kids bullying other kids and you think: “Not my kinds, mine are different”. You know of someone’s fortune or misfortune and you know that theirs is a very different path. The difference you find can make you jealous or have you sigh in relieve: “Thank goodness that’s not me.” For better or for worse you set yourself apart from the rest, after all you are an individual.
So we spent as much energy in finding our differences as we do finding our similarities. Why? As a way to figure out who we are one with and who to cast out?
The same difference
What does that mean we are one, does it mean we are all the same? Or does it mean we are all part of the same organism, the same universe? I belief the last statement to be true, for me this means that looking for differences and similarities is futile, a waste of precious time.
A silly conversation between my foot and my hand popped into my head.
Have you ever have this happen to you…you are telling your story to someone, say the story of your recent travels, and that someone says: “I have been there too” and before you know it, you are looking at their slide show and listen to their story of their travel. They are not in the least bit interested in how your story differs from theirs and they are happy finding confabulated similarities. ”Thank goodness we are the same, now I can relax, stay blind for your point of view, stay deaf for your side of things and not feel for you. You are erased by someone imagining similarity.
Defining differences
“Not the same, definitely not the same.” That can be a very comforting thought. You see a cat scratching the furniture at a friend’s house and think mine never does that, mine is different. You hear of kids bullying other kids and you think: “Not my kinds, mine are different”. You know of someone’s fortune or misfortune and you know that theirs is a very different path. The difference you find can make you jealous or have you sigh in relieve: “Thank goodness that’s not me.” For better or for worse you set yourself apart from the rest, after all you are an individual.
So we spent as much energy in finding our differences as we do finding our similarities. Why? As a way to figure out who we are one with and who to cast out?
The same difference
What does that mean we are one, does it mean we are all the same? Or does it mean we are all part of the same organism, the same universe? I belief the last statement to be true, for me this means that looking for differences and similarities is futile, a waste of precious time.
A silly conversation between my foot and my hand popped into my head.
INT. MY HEAD - DAY
HAND
Well now, don’t you look funny
Well now, don’t you look funny
with your stubby little fingers.
FOOT
Me? Look at yourself,
your toes are way to long.
HAND
What happened to your thumb?
It’s in the wrong place.
FOOT
It’s in the wrong place.
No it’s not. It’s exactly where it
should be, and by the way it’s
called a big toe.
HAND
You can call it anything you like,
but that won’t help you hold
a pen to write your ABC.
a pen to write your ABC.
FOOT
I don’t need a pen to walk from A to B.
HAND
You are a strange creature.
FOOT
Well, so are you.
Foot tapping. Hand crosses its fingers.
HAND
Are you made from bone and skin?
FOOT
Of course I am, and I’ve
got some nails too.
HAND
He, me too, lets shake hands.
FOOT
Sorry, I can’t. I can put my foot down though.
HAND
Mmm, I must be the more
Peace loving one then?
FOOT
Jezz, now you’ve really put you foot in it….
Awkward pauze.
HAND
Lets just agree to disagree.
FOOT
Lets agree we have similar differences.
FADE TO GRAY
Well, you get the picture, these two can argue and debate their similarities and differences for as long as they like, completely oblivious to the fact that they are part of the same system; Me. They are one and I like ‘m both, they have their own use and value and they are as different as they are similar.
So we are putting our energy in claiming our differentness by putting safety pins in our ear or opposing the others point of view just to underline the separation. Like we put energy in singing the same song and wearing the same t-shirt in tribal colors to celebrate our similarities.
While it seems to me that we as tribal individuals should put our energy towards cleaning up the connection we have to the universal system, the universal principle. Cleaning up that connection we have to all, to you, to me, to the sea, to a tree and to the bugs on your wind shield, regardless of what we feel binds or separates us. We are connected whether we like it or not, we’d better start cleaning up our act and polish the connection.
Monday, April 12, 2010
There is a line drawn in empty space
While looking for words to explain the difference and similarities between fantasy and reality I found more words to explain the similarities then words to describe the differences. Being of Zen mind at the time I knew everything is fantasy and reality, in as far as it exists for but a brief moment and is not to be explained in words.
I found this “diagram” in Zen and the ways by Trevor Leggett, it explains it far better then I could.
The diagram below is not a diagram, but only an indication: the existence of the line itself is merely theoretical.
Above that line, the absolute is actual
and the world of distinctions only theoretical
Below that line, the world of distinctions is actual
and the absolute only theoretical
got it? good!
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Communication
Communication is a funny multi level thing that goes way beyond words and still words get the highest ranking and we act as if they carry the most weight.
But just contemplate this for a second or ten.
Most people grow up understanding the words that are spoken and written around them, but what if you grow up understanding neither?
Imagine watching a life long movie in a language you don’t understand, with subtitles you can not read. How would that make you feel? What is there to help you understand what’s being meant? You are left with listening for intentions, translating the looks, interpret the gestures and reading the emotions.
You learn to become an expert in understanding the layers beneath the dictionary meaning of the spoken word.
You get confused by the denial and duality of words and intent and the unintended dishonesty of the tinfoil mask. You get to be more and more precise with the words you pick only to find no one understands or listens anyway.
So you are quiet, biting your tong, biding your time, contemplating your doubts, analyzing their theories.
That’s how I grew up.
But just contemplate this for a second or ten.
Most people grow up understanding the words that are spoken and written around them, but what if you grow up understanding neither?
Imagine watching a life long movie in a language you don’t understand, with subtitles you can not read. How would that make you feel? What is there to help you understand what’s being meant? You are left with listening for intentions, translating the looks, interpret the gestures and reading the emotions.
You learn to become an expert in understanding the layers beneath the dictionary meaning of the spoken word.
You get confused by the denial and duality of words and intent and the unintended dishonesty of the tinfoil mask. You get to be more and more precise with the words you pick only to find no one understands or listens anyway.
So you are quiet, biting your tong, biding your time, contemplating your doubts, analyzing their theories.
That’s how I grew up.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Denial
I can’t deny denial, although the nature of denial is to deny. If I would let her have her way she would deny everything, even her own existence. She is a cunning one; she is a master of trickery and skillfully plays with mirrors and veils.
So who is she, what is her purpose?
Denial is my ego’s over protective mother, trying to shield ego from painful sights and harmful thoughts. Her purpose is to keep my ones so carefully constructed ego intact. She came into existence when I needed a security blanket, a place to hide in times when the world became too scary and confusing. Over the years I’ve learned to recognize her as the uncomfortable feeling of being smothered, as an allergic reaction to her injustice towards my authentic self.
I must admit she still comes in handy when I need some time to think. But I try to shed her veil as soon as possible however painful that might be; although her injustice is always more painful than the naked truth about myself.
I do wonder will I always feel her presence, or is she cunning enough to hide even from the mirror?
I wonder is my allergic reaction towards others, when they are in obvious denial, not just recognition of a denial within me?
So who is she, what is her purpose?
Denial is my ego’s over protective mother, trying to shield ego from painful sights and harmful thoughts. Her purpose is to keep my ones so carefully constructed ego intact. She came into existence when I needed a security blanket, a place to hide in times when the world became too scary and confusing. Over the years I’ve learned to recognize her as the uncomfortable feeling of being smothered, as an allergic reaction to her injustice towards my authentic self.
I must admit she still comes in handy when I need some time to think. But I try to shed her veil as soon as possible however painful that might be; although her injustice is always more painful than the naked truth about myself.
I do wonder will I always feel her presence, or is she cunning enough to hide even from the mirror?
I wonder is my allergic reaction towards others, when they are in obvious denial, not just recognition of a denial within me?
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The hero and the hermit
When I was four and people asked what I wanted to become when I grew up I said: “I want to become a maker of things or a hero”. What a maker of things exactly would be I didn’t know, but for the hero I had a clear picture in mind. I saw myself in a red deux chevaux driving around and picking up sick and injured animals who would magically be healed again. When my parents moved from the big city to the country side the image of the red deux chevaux disappeared and I started saving hedgehogs and snails in de shed, funny enough only the hedgehogs stayed in my make shift animal hospital but the snails all disappeared. My real success as animal saving hero came when I was seven and my brother found a baby magpie. He found it, but not being the nurturing hero type, he handed it over to me. With little guides from my dad, I cut up worms and pushed it down the magpie throat. I had a wonderful time seeing the magpie grow stronger and attached to me. But baby’s grow into adults and the magpie needed other magpie to be really happy, so we looked around and found a rescue center for all kinds of wildlife and they were willing to take our magpie in. Saying my good-bye’s to the magpie was a mixture of sad and happy, I had to say goodbye to a real close friend but at the same time, visiting the rescue center, opened up a whole new world for me. For years after my first success as a hero I tried to save baby birds, kittens, hedgehogs, ducklings, a piglet, a goat and a pony, some I’ve saved, some died but they all taught me big lessons.
When I was sixteen I joined the animal rescue as a volunteer. At first I only had radio and telephone duty, but soon I was allowed to ride “shotgun” on the ambulance and for a while I lived the dream. One day we got a call about a horse that had fallen over in its trailer and was trapped, we rushed over and found the horse lying on its side with its leg caught under the partition, the big cut on its leg was bleeding heavily. I could feel the shear panic of the horse crawl inside of me. There were so many people standing around, doing nothing or doing too much that I froze. I meekly followed the ambulance driver into the trailer and looked at the big cut and then looked the horses in the eye and in an instant I know that the horse knew that it was having its last fight on earth. Silently I promised the horse I would stay till the end. Then it all went very quickly, the horse tried to get up, the ambulance driver tried to get the partition off the trapped leg, the owner cried, the gush became bigger and the partition cut into the main artery, the blood came gushing out in the rhythm of the panicked horses hart, I was pushed out the trailer, others rushed in, the horse was dragged out and a big circle off people was formed to see the spectacle. I stood outside the circle feeling the live drain out of the horse, I wanted to shout: “leave him be” but I didn’t. On the way back in the ambulance I felt drained, the ambulance driver felt all pumped up, when I started to cry he stopped the ambulance, put his arm around me and maybe said something nice, than he started to feel me up and tried to kiss me, I jumped out disgusted and walked all the way home. The walk home took about two or three hours and gave me lots of time to cry and think.
I quit my job at the animal rescue and was done being a hero, or so I thought. The years that followed were filled with ambiguity; to rescue or not to rescue, beings and human beings, connection and disconnection. Then one day I met up with a woman who had her own rescue syndrome. I was lead into the world of psychiatry and a group of hero’s that all were plotting to help people that were in psychiatric care make the transition back into the “normal” world. The hero in me jumped in and I saw more madness than I care to remember, from electro-shock and people who were fine with their medicated lives, to rescue workers that didn’t know when they were beaten by the rescues and the total disconnection between system and syndrome. After three years I realized that most people there didn’t want to be helped at all and that to most people who were helping that was exactly to their liking. I left that world of pretence.
Then I met a ex-junky who had seen the light and started a place where other ex-users of all sorts could come and find their way back into the “real” world. Because he was from “the other side” and had a totally different approach I put my hero energy into that center of pretence and experienced more elaborate ways of using the worlds resources, situations and people than I could ever hold possible. In all fairness I must state that I have learned a lot during that time. The main thing being that whatever I did helped me more than it helped anybody else and I should drop the pretence.
Whenever people would asked me at that time what I would like to be I would said, I want to become a maker of things or a hermit. For a long time I’ve worked on the hermit part, but having neither the money to buy myself a small island, nor the makings of a devotee to become a nun. I had no choice but to be among humans. I’ve met loads of wonderful people, funny people, wise people, strange people, dangerous people, warm people, people in whose company I’d felt save and I rejoice having met all of them, learned from them, connected with them. And as it stands now I somehow turned out to be a pretty good maker of things.
When I was sixteen I joined the animal rescue as a volunteer. At first I only had radio and telephone duty, but soon I was allowed to ride “shotgun” on the ambulance and for a while I lived the dream. One day we got a call about a horse that had fallen over in its trailer and was trapped, we rushed over and found the horse lying on its side with its leg caught under the partition, the big cut on its leg was bleeding heavily. I could feel the shear panic of the horse crawl inside of me. There were so many people standing around, doing nothing or doing too much that I froze. I meekly followed the ambulance driver into the trailer and looked at the big cut and then looked the horses in the eye and in an instant I know that the horse knew that it was having its last fight on earth. Silently I promised the horse I would stay till the end. Then it all went very quickly, the horse tried to get up, the ambulance driver tried to get the partition off the trapped leg, the owner cried, the gush became bigger and the partition cut into the main artery, the blood came gushing out in the rhythm of the panicked horses hart, I was pushed out the trailer, others rushed in, the horse was dragged out and a big circle off people was formed to see the spectacle. I stood outside the circle feeling the live drain out of the horse, I wanted to shout: “leave him be” but I didn’t. On the way back in the ambulance I felt drained, the ambulance driver felt all pumped up, when I started to cry he stopped the ambulance, put his arm around me and maybe said something nice, than he started to feel me up and tried to kiss me, I jumped out disgusted and walked all the way home. The walk home took about two or three hours and gave me lots of time to cry and think.
I quit my job at the animal rescue and was done being a hero, or so I thought. The years that followed were filled with ambiguity; to rescue or not to rescue, beings and human beings, connection and disconnection. Then one day I met up with a woman who had her own rescue syndrome. I was lead into the world of psychiatry and a group of hero’s that all were plotting to help people that were in psychiatric care make the transition back into the “normal” world. The hero in me jumped in and I saw more madness than I care to remember, from electro-shock and people who were fine with their medicated lives, to rescue workers that didn’t know when they were beaten by the rescues and the total disconnection between system and syndrome. After three years I realized that most people there didn’t want to be helped at all and that to most people who were helping that was exactly to their liking. I left that world of pretence.
Then I met a ex-junky who had seen the light and started a place where other ex-users of all sorts could come and find their way back into the “real” world. Because he was from “the other side” and had a totally different approach I put my hero energy into that center of pretence and experienced more elaborate ways of using the worlds resources, situations and people than I could ever hold possible. In all fairness I must state that I have learned a lot during that time. The main thing being that whatever I did helped me more than it helped anybody else and I should drop the pretence.
Whenever people would asked me at that time what I would like to be I would said, I want to become a maker of things or a hermit. For a long time I’ve worked on the hermit part, but having neither the money to buy myself a small island, nor the makings of a devotee to become a nun. I had no choice but to be among humans. I’ve met loads of wonderful people, funny people, wise people, strange people, dangerous people, warm people, people in whose company I’d felt save and I rejoice having met all of them, learned from them, connected with them. And as it stands now I somehow turned out to be a pretty good maker of things.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Emotion vs. Logic
I have always viewed myself as an emotional person, ask anyone around me and they will agree. As a child and young adult I only had an emotional response to any situation. I had soft emotions like feeling all tingly when watching something pretty, falling in love or eating something nice and hard emotions like overwhelming fear, anger for being misunderstood, sheer panic and even hate. I resented logical people, saw them as unreal and could not understand or deal with their logic.
But over the years I have seen myself change through all kinds of meditation and other ways of becoming more aware. I have witnessed myself get all tangled up in emotions and discovered that fear has many faces and functions, and discovered that emotions aren’t as pure as I thought they were.
I picture emotions like a water well; where it come to the service the water is all clear and pure, as its starts to flow, slowly all kinds of debris get into the water, things from long ago, like fear and pain. Pretty soon it is no longer clear what came from the source and what is added. For me meditation gave me tools to filter out the “add-ons”
In the period when my dad slowly lost his mind to Alzheimer, being able to “filter” was crucial. In the first few years no one knew what was happening and it caused a lot of confusion and even more emotions. My dad’s fear came out as anger, my mom’s fear came out in panic and tears, my brother fear came out as detachment and mine came out as filtering everything and becoming very logical.
Over a period of seven years big decisions had to be made, daycare, nursing home, hospitals, morphine-drips, casket, funeral. In that period I filtered the emotions from everyone involved and tried to figure out what the source was, what are our options, how to balance everything out and help make logical decisions. Being the youngest off the bunch it wasn’t easy and a lot of unfiltered emotions came my way. Recently we looked back on that period, my mum confessed that she leaned heavy on my logic and my brother told me he had hated me for being the stronger one and I had to confessed that I wasn’t that confident at all, that I had felt alone and afraid but I just knew someone had to step away from getting all tangled up by emotion, it just happened to be me.
I still see myself as an emotional person but my resentment to logic has disappeared. In having seen both sides now, I know that as emotions can get all tangled up and filed with debris so logic can get all cluttered with theories and opinions.
Emotions are scary things when you are confronted with only the add-ons and its manipulations, same as logic is dangerous when it is all cluttered and full of opinions and judgment.
Emotions are something to admire as a thing of beauty when they are raw but pure, the same admiration I have for logic when it is pure and without judgment.
It made me wonder; when we strip emotion from the debris and we strip logic from the judgment will we find they come from the same source?
But over the years I have seen myself change through all kinds of meditation and other ways of becoming more aware. I have witnessed myself get all tangled up in emotions and discovered that fear has many faces and functions, and discovered that emotions aren’t as pure as I thought they were.
I picture emotions like a water well; where it come to the service the water is all clear and pure, as its starts to flow, slowly all kinds of debris get into the water, things from long ago, like fear and pain. Pretty soon it is no longer clear what came from the source and what is added. For me meditation gave me tools to filter out the “add-ons”
In the period when my dad slowly lost his mind to Alzheimer, being able to “filter” was crucial. In the first few years no one knew what was happening and it caused a lot of confusion and even more emotions. My dad’s fear came out as anger, my mom’s fear came out in panic and tears, my brother fear came out as detachment and mine came out as filtering everything and becoming very logical.
Over a period of seven years big decisions had to be made, daycare, nursing home, hospitals, morphine-drips, casket, funeral. In that period I filtered the emotions from everyone involved and tried to figure out what the source was, what are our options, how to balance everything out and help make logical decisions. Being the youngest off the bunch it wasn’t easy and a lot of unfiltered emotions came my way. Recently we looked back on that period, my mum confessed that she leaned heavy on my logic and my brother told me he had hated me for being the stronger one and I had to confessed that I wasn’t that confident at all, that I had felt alone and afraid but I just knew someone had to step away from getting all tangled up by emotion, it just happened to be me.
I still see myself as an emotional person but my resentment to logic has disappeared. In having seen both sides now, I know that as emotions can get all tangled up and filed with debris so logic can get all cluttered with theories and opinions.
Emotions are scary things when you are confronted with only the add-ons and its manipulations, same as logic is dangerous when it is all cluttered and full of opinions and judgment.
Emotions are something to admire as a thing of beauty when they are raw but pure, the same admiration I have for logic when it is pure and without judgment.
It made me wonder; when we strip emotion from the debris and we strip logic from the judgment will we find they come from the same source?
Friday, March 12, 2010
The Aiki principle
Ri stands for the universal principle, the principle that can not be named, but can be known.
From this two circles are formed.
Doing and not doing.These two merge and manifest themselves in energy, Ki
Energy flows through everything and by creation becomes “tangible” in form, Ji.
When awareness grows we know when a form, be it movement, sound, or object has Ri or lacks it completely. We are moved by it and can’t deny its truth or its beauty.
We instinctively know when we are conned by plastic lookalikes, hollow words, standardized emotions and empty gestures.
So let yourself be moved by Ri and don't fall for empty Ji
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Me and the sea
A few years back I was walking along the beach, like I so often do, only this time I had this incredible urge to go and dive in. The weather was cloudy and not particularly warm and I didn’t have a bathing suite with me, but the need to go in the water was nagging at me like a small child whining for ice-cream. It wasn’t a busy day on the beach, and with a quick look around I decided to go for it, so I took off my shoes and cloths and waded in. The water was cold and I could feel chicken skin form on my legs, but I braved it and plunged in, head first. When I came up, my breathing was short and sharp and I could feel the waters cold reach my bones, but something in me was happy. I started to swim in an attempt to get warm and in the hope it would help me figure out what I was doing there. After a while I got tired and a bit bored with swimming, I wasn’t that cold anymore and the sun had come out, so I thought; “why not float for a bit”. I turned myself on my back and relaxed. I’ve always loved the water and trust it completely, so as soon as I could feel me and the sea have the right balance, I let go. My ears were under water and just enough of my face above water to breathe comfortably, meanwhile the sun warmed my tummy and I let my arms and legs dangled with the current. A voice without words said “that’s right” and I could feel a smile curl around my lips and I let go some more. Soon I lost the feeling of were I ended and the sea began, I could feel the waves kiss distant shores and warm and cold currents meeting. I could reach into the dark depth of this big water and touch the bottom and feel it stretch itself in all directions and wrap around the earth. At the same time I could see myself floating, without it really being in pictures. I felt completely at ease and could have floated there till this very moment if it hadn’t been for a seagull landing on my belly, the light touch of its feet brought me right back into my human form. The encounter startled both seagull and me. The seagull flew off and I let myself sink into the sea. When I serviced I was laughing so loud that a man, who happened to pass by, stopped and stared, I waved at him and let myself fall back into the sea laughing while a seagull cried it’s soul piercing cry. Without any words I poured my heart out in thanks to the sea and the voiceless voice embraced me with a “you’re welcome”.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Mindless less mind
Being someone that always thought to be the dummy by others and myself, I never had much faith in my mind, which now turns out to be rather a good thing. Not having to schlep the burden of formal intelligence around I can fall back on experiencing the world as I’ve always done. The thing that changed greatly though is the calm I feel. I’m no longer scared that what I feel doesn’t measure up to the thoughts and theories others have. I know where I have been and I know where I went wrong. The compass by which I steer is getting more and more accurate and is no longer hindered by the magnet of self doubt. It is okay to not know and learn, like it is okay to not do and listen. The freedom it gives me is immense, and the vastness of the knowledge I can partake in is immeasurable.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Becoming
When I grew up I was told I could become what ever I wanted. So, liking boy’s things, I choose to become a boy and was utterly disappointed that this didn’t happen. So I wished to become black, some how I thought that would make me feel save, this too didn’t happen. By then I got the message. But I still wasn’t happy with what I was and started to search for something that would. Coming from a non religious up bringing, I was send to a Christian school, the thought being that it would give me something I’d lacked at home. Knowing this I felt I had to look outside my home to find something to fill my inner need for something bigger than me.
In first grade my teacher told beautiful stories about a man called Jesus, and I fell completely in love with him. I had a real crush on Him, I made him drawings and crafted little gifts, but where to send them? A friend of mine did come from a church going family, so I asked if I could come with, she said yes. The next Sunday I put on my best cloths, rolled up my latest drawing and nervously waited for my friend to pick me up. It was my first time in a church and was impressed by the man in front that spoke big words, the songs and people standing up and sitting down on cue’s I didn’t see. Than there was the magic moment that people walked up to the man in front. “This must be the time when I can give my drawing” I thought, I started to get up but my friend pushed me back in to my seat. “This is not for you, you’re not baptized”. She said. I sat there, stunned, what is baptized and what just happened? I wanted to stand up and shout: “hey wait a minute, I’m in love with Jesus here”, but I didn’t dare. I never trusted that church again.
I thought long and hard and came to the conclusion that if the man I loved was a Jew I should become Jewish. But when you’re eight or nine, living in a small rural community with only a Catholic or Protestant church to choose from, becoming Jewish is very difficult. I got as far as wearing the star of David around my neck and refusing to do the dishes on a Sabbath.
I still wore the star when I went to a Catholic high school, I even got suspended for a week once cause I refused to take it off. My parents pleaded with me to comply and that whole incident sparked a new way to try to fill the void I still felt within. I started being openly stubborn and against everything. I think I kept that up for a good part of four years, that too didn’t make me happy. It did how ever bring me to a place where I doubted everything and everybody including myself, which left me completely open for new thoughts and spiritual paths.
I fell into a group of seekers that had seen far beyond my limited rural world, they took me to all kinds of guru’s and meditations, they had me sing to chakra’s and talk to empty chairs, they gave me countless books to read, and put me through all kinds of altered states of consciousness and a whole series of emotions. And when I was completely raw and turned inside out they sat me down on a safu and have count my breath from one to ten, taught me how to move real slow Chinese style and had me overcome many fears moving fast like the Japanese mountain echo.
And now as I write this, I’m still becoming and very happily I always will.
In first grade my teacher told beautiful stories about a man called Jesus, and I fell completely in love with him. I had a real crush on Him, I made him drawings and crafted little gifts, but where to send them? A friend of mine did come from a church going family, so I asked if I could come with, she said yes. The next Sunday I put on my best cloths, rolled up my latest drawing and nervously waited for my friend to pick me up. It was my first time in a church and was impressed by the man in front that spoke big words, the songs and people standing up and sitting down on cue’s I didn’t see. Than there was the magic moment that people walked up to the man in front. “This must be the time when I can give my drawing” I thought, I started to get up but my friend pushed me back in to my seat. “This is not for you, you’re not baptized”. She said. I sat there, stunned, what is baptized and what just happened? I wanted to stand up and shout: “hey wait a minute, I’m in love with Jesus here”, but I didn’t dare. I never trusted that church again.
I thought long and hard and came to the conclusion that if the man I loved was a Jew I should become Jewish. But when you’re eight or nine, living in a small rural community with only a Catholic or Protestant church to choose from, becoming Jewish is very difficult. I got as far as wearing the star of David around my neck and refusing to do the dishes on a Sabbath.
I still wore the star when I went to a Catholic high school, I even got suspended for a week once cause I refused to take it off. My parents pleaded with me to comply and that whole incident sparked a new way to try to fill the void I still felt within. I started being openly stubborn and against everything. I think I kept that up for a good part of four years, that too didn’t make me happy. It did how ever bring me to a place where I doubted everything and everybody including myself, which left me completely open for new thoughts and spiritual paths.
I fell into a group of seekers that had seen far beyond my limited rural world, they took me to all kinds of guru’s and meditations, they had me sing to chakra’s and talk to empty chairs, they gave me countless books to read, and put me through all kinds of altered states of consciousness and a whole series of emotions. And when I was completely raw and turned inside out they sat me down on a safu and have count my breath from one to ten, taught me how to move real slow Chinese style and had me overcome many fears moving fast like the Japanese mountain echo.
And now as I write this, I’m still becoming and very happily I always will.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Shut up!
The aim in many traditions seems to be to stop talking to yourself, the idea being that we talk to ourselves constantly and thus keeping the world the way we perceive it and at a constant. You tell yourself what and who you like and don’t like, how you should feel about the weather, the world., how nice the zebra’s and artichokes look on the white wall and that you should be silence while meditating.
There were times that I shouted “shut up” in my head and then shouted “shut up” to what ever was shouting “shut up” in the first place. I would get angry and upset and incredibly frustrated, but I couldn’t stop talking to myself. Then I started to listen carefully to what ever I was saying to myself about the world, about people and about situations, at first I was amazed about what a blabber mouth I was, but getting over this initial shock I started to listen for the opinions I formed and perpetual jousts I hold dear, I started to test them by asking critical or silly questions which was a shock to the system. After a while it became increasingly difficult to take (what I was saying to) myself serious. I still talk to myself, but because I don’t have to take it seriously I am silent more often, and when I do go off in a rattling rampaged I tend to listen to it carefully with a sincere abandon.
There were times that I shouted “shut up” in my head and then shouted “shut up” to what ever was shouting “shut up” in the first place. I would get angry and upset and incredibly frustrated, but I couldn’t stop talking to myself. Then I started to listen carefully to what ever I was saying to myself about the world, about people and about situations, at first I was amazed about what a blabber mouth I was, but getting over this initial shock I started to listen for the opinions I formed and perpetual jousts I hold dear, I started to test them by asking critical or silly questions which was a shock to the system. After a while it became increasingly difficult to take (what I was saying to) myself serious. I still talk to myself, but because I don’t have to take it seriously I am silent more often, and when I do go off in a rattling rampaged I tend to listen to it carefully with a sincere abandon.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Reminiscing
Strange things memories are, they are neither real nor unreal, they are neither here and now, nor are they there and then, they can stir up long lost feelings and provoke the strange chain reactions. The can be awakened by a smell, a sound, a site, a single word, a touch, a taste or a smile. They can be conjured up willfully or pop up unexpected.
Recently I was looking for a comfy chair and came across a picture of a friendly face I didn’t felt I’d recognize, but the smile that curled in the corner of its mouth turned into the sound of laughter in my head. I knew that laugh instantly and sure enough I knew the person behind the friendly face from a lifetime ago.
Pictures, emotions and knowledge all came flooding in, all trying to be first, trying to be recognized, trying to complete the story behind the smile that curled in the corner of its mouth, all with a color of their own, none of them complete by themselves. Like pieces of a jig-saw puzzle.
How easy it is to be swept away by one of those pieces, to cling on to any of those and not complete the puzzle.
How unlikely is it that the smile that curled in the corner of his mouth has the same memories or that it has a picture of what the completed puzzle should look like.
Events may be shared, time may be spent together, situations may be lived through simultaneously, but memories are hardly ever the same. Different value is places on the same event, the same time, the same situation and rightly so.
But now, here I am, and instead of finding a chair I found this memory, this smile and this unexpected longing. Being without a chair I sat down on my kitchen table and wondered about this longing. Was I longing to hear the sound of laughter from the friendly face for real again, was I longing to see the friendly face here and now, was it a longing for a single word of recognition, a touch maybe or was I longing to be back there and then. I sat on that kitchen table long enough for my bum to get sore and find the answer.
My longing is to find all the pieces of the puzzle, complete it, see it for what it really is to me and give it its unique and well deserved value. So I’ll be clearing my kitchen table for now and start puzzling.
I’m still looking for a comfy chair.
Recently I was looking for a comfy chair and came across a picture of a friendly face I didn’t felt I’d recognize, but the smile that curled in the corner of its mouth turned into the sound of laughter in my head. I knew that laugh instantly and sure enough I knew the person behind the friendly face from a lifetime ago.
Pictures, emotions and knowledge all came flooding in, all trying to be first, trying to be recognized, trying to complete the story behind the smile that curled in the corner of its mouth, all with a color of their own, none of them complete by themselves. Like pieces of a jig-saw puzzle.
How easy it is to be swept away by one of those pieces, to cling on to any of those and not complete the puzzle.
How unlikely is it that the smile that curled in the corner of his mouth has the same memories or that it has a picture of what the completed puzzle should look like.
Events may be shared, time may be spent together, situations may be lived through simultaneously, but memories are hardly ever the same. Different value is places on the same event, the same time, the same situation and rightly so.
But now, here I am, and instead of finding a chair I found this memory, this smile and this unexpected longing. Being without a chair I sat down on my kitchen table and wondered about this longing. Was I longing to hear the sound of laughter from the friendly face for real again, was I longing to see the friendly face here and now, was it a longing for a single word of recognition, a touch maybe or was I longing to be back there and then. I sat on that kitchen table long enough for my bum to get sore and find the answer.
My longing is to find all the pieces of the puzzle, complete it, see it for what it really is to me and give it its unique and well deserved value. So I’ll be clearing my kitchen table for now and start puzzling.
I’m still looking for a comfy chair.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Zebra's and artichokes
Some twenty odd years ago a group of friends tried all kinds of meditations and I trailed along. One day they signed up for a za-zen course and I trailed along.
After the first session of 40 minutes staring at a wall, my bum and back hurt and I was bored. I was happy the bell rang and I struggled to get up, we walked for ten minutes or so in silent’s, this was Kinhin the monk explained, then another bell and much to my disappointment everyone sat down on their pillow again and stared at the wall for another 40 minutes.
Finally I was saved by the bell and there was tea. People shared their experience and so did my friends, I was amazed how enthusiastic they all sounded, lots of how inspiring and enlightening it had been. I didn’t dare tell about my sore bum and aching back, not to mention how I had been bored stiff. I must have missed something I thought to myself. So next week I went back. The group had reduced in size and some of my friends had canceled claiming busy lives. But I sat there, trying to focus on breathing in and out, but I ended up making grocery list and painting imaginary zebra’s on the white wall. As the weeks went by my friends gave up one by one, while I sat staring at the wall full of zebra’s and artichokes.
Then one week after 40 minutes sitting while walking kinhin I became aware of the overwhelming sound my feet made while walking, then the sound of my clothes rustling came flooding in. I tried to make sense of this strange experience and as soon as I did the sounds were just sounds, I shook it off and focused on my breathing again, as soon as I did the sounds were back as sensations, I became aware of more sounds and sensations, of my feet touching the floor, weight of my body shifting and the way my ears felt when these sounds hit. As soon as I tried to think about it, it was gone. I got so absorbed in the ability of turning it on and off that I ignored the bell and walked another round. Eventually I went back to my pillow and counted my breathing, and played with this new found ability.
When we had tea and shared our experience I said nothing I just smiled, and bowed to my teacher he smiled and bowed back.
I stayed which him for a few years and discovered the vastness of awareness and the limitations of mind.
We had a strange relationship we laughed a lot but we argued a lot too. In hind side I think I have more a Tibetan Buddhist attitude of critical skepticism, for him as Japanese Buddhist monk that must have been very strange. However I had and still have a great reverence for him as my teacher.
Before he went back to Japan he told me “be kind to mind” I smiled and bowed, but didn’t get what he meant till only recently.
After the first session of 40 minutes staring at a wall, my bum and back hurt and I was bored. I was happy the bell rang and I struggled to get up, we walked for ten minutes or so in silent’s, this was Kinhin the monk explained, then another bell and much to my disappointment everyone sat down on their pillow again and stared at the wall for another 40 minutes.
Finally I was saved by the bell and there was tea. People shared their experience and so did my friends, I was amazed how enthusiastic they all sounded, lots of how inspiring and enlightening it had been. I didn’t dare tell about my sore bum and aching back, not to mention how I had been bored stiff. I must have missed something I thought to myself. So next week I went back. The group had reduced in size and some of my friends had canceled claiming busy lives. But I sat there, trying to focus on breathing in and out, but I ended up making grocery list and painting imaginary zebra’s on the white wall. As the weeks went by my friends gave up one by one, while I sat staring at the wall full of zebra’s and artichokes.
Then one week after 40 minutes sitting while walking kinhin I became aware of the overwhelming sound my feet made while walking, then the sound of my clothes rustling came flooding in. I tried to make sense of this strange experience and as soon as I did the sounds were just sounds, I shook it off and focused on my breathing again, as soon as I did the sounds were back as sensations, I became aware of more sounds and sensations, of my feet touching the floor, weight of my body shifting and the way my ears felt when these sounds hit. As soon as I tried to think about it, it was gone. I got so absorbed in the ability of turning it on and off that I ignored the bell and walked another round. Eventually I went back to my pillow and counted my breathing, and played with this new found ability.
When we had tea and shared our experience I said nothing I just smiled, and bowed to my teacher he smiled and bowed back.
I stayed which him for a few years and discovered the vastness of awareness and the limitations of mind.
We had a strange relationship we laughed a lot but we argued a lot too. In hind side I think I have more a Tibetan Buddhist attitude of critical skepticism, for him as Japanese Buddhist monk that must have been very strange. However I had and still have a great reverence for him as my teacher.
Before he went back to Japan he told me “be kind to mind” I smiled and bowed, but didn’t get what he meant till only recently.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Semantics
It is good to be precise with words when you try to explain something complex. Be clear with what you mean with a words and stick to it. Sometimes it is helpful to make up a new word or expression and stick your meaning on to that, but stick to it.
When you use words like ego and mind or consciousness and awareness, the world and humanity be clear about what is what, this is not to say that you are right when you describe ego, awareness or the world, you just made clear what you mean when you use that word.
It is all too easy to get lost in a battle of words; it is helpful to remember that words in itself hold no truth. Words are like bricks in the road, it is not the brick that is important, not even the road is important, only the journey has value. When you listen to someone’s journey don’t listen for the bricks, listen for the experience, listen for the trip, travel with them, don’t bicker over bricks.
When you use words like ego and mind or consciousness and awareness, the world and humanity be clear about what is what, this is not to say that you are right when you describe ego, awareness or the world, you just made clear what you mean when you use that word.
It is all too easy to get lost in a battle of words; it is helpful to remember that words in itself hold no truth. Words are like bricks in the road, it is not the brick that is important, not even the road is important, only the journey has value. When you listen to someone’s journey don’t listen for the bricks, listen for the experience, listen for the trip, travel with them, don’t bicker over bricks.
Enjoy!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
A theory on theory (2)
Although it is nice to have a theory, it is only a theory. There is no theory in the world that will replace experience.
Theories are nice to have as a way for mind to make sense of it all and as a way to talk about it with others. It’s good practice to be precise with words when you try to explain something complex. Be clear with what you mean with a words and stick to it. It’s also good practice to feel for the experience behind the words when listening to someone explaining their theory. It is like someone once wrote: ”You can sum up all the words to describe God, then you’ve got a list of all words, but you will not experience God”*
Experience is here and now, with every breathe and every heartbeat you can start anew, you just need to choose to do so. There is no need for “it’s too late now” or “but I don’t know how” you are breathing right now aren’t you…., that’s all you need to know.
Experiencing “the answer” or getting past the zebra’s and artichokes, has no form and no rules, there is no right or wrong and it will go as fast or as slow as you need it to go.
So jump on in the water is fine.
Theories are nice to have as a way for mind to make sense of it all and as a way to talk about it with others. It’s good practice to be precise with words when you try to explain something complex. Be clear with what you mean with a words and stick to it. It’s also good practice to feel for the experience behind the words when listening to someone explaining their theory. It is like someone once wrote: ”You can sum up all the words to describe God, then you’ve got a list of all words, but you will not experience God”*
Experience is here and now, with every breathe and every heartbeat you can start anew, you just need to choose to do so. There is no need for “it’s too late now” or “but I don’t know how” you are breathing right now aren’t you…., that’s all you need to know.
Experiencing “the answer” or getting past the zebra’s and artichokes, has no form and no rules, there is no right or wrong and it will go as fast or as slow as you need it to go.
“And it took all that time
just to find yourself,
and that’s how long it had to take
and it was well worth every moment”*
So jump on in the water is fine.
(*quoted freely, Paul Williams, das Energie)
Sunday, January 31, 2010
A theory on theory (1)
There are a lot of theories in the world; Some of them I understand, some of them I don’t. Some of them I can agree with, some of them I won’t. On some of them I’ve spent some time thinking and some don’t get a second thought. Being more of a practical nature I have no theory of my own and I’m not partial to any that were offered up to me, but I wondered how I weigh theories. Well, for lack of a better word, here’s my theory.
With any theory, when it’s new to me, I start by listing and looking for the thought process. Because these thoughts are new to me, hardly any of my old thoughts come into play, I used to think this was because I was a dummy, but I changed my mind on that theory. As soon as I find the thread of the theory, I start to feel my way around, following the thread. Almost like I’m trying to find my way around a ship blindfolded by holding on to the banister, this is just the first step. When I can’t feel the basic outline, I’ll leave it. But when I can feel the outline I take the next step. Step two is taking off the blindfold and try to make out were bow and stern are and the big elements, like where’s the anchor, and what drives the engine. If my instinct tell me this could be a save ship, that this theory has some buoyancy I’ll take step three and try to find out as much detail as I can, almost like a small child questioning everything; What is this? Why is this? And how come...? Then the big test; does it stay afloat in rough seas, if it does, I’ll add this theory to my fleet, cause a ship is a ship and if it’s able to navigate through rough weather it’s fine by me.
But when you ask, I can tell you nothing theoretically about any of these theories, I’ll mix them up even trying to think about them. What I can tell you is my experience sailing any of my ships and how they hold up in rough weather.
With any theory, when it’s new to me, I start by listing and looking for the thought process. Because these thoughts are new to me, hardly any of my old thoughts come into play, I used to think this was because I was a dummy, but I changed my mind on that theory. As soon as I find the thread of the theory, I start to feel my way around, following the thread. Almost like I’m trying to find my way around a ship blindfolded by holding on to the banister, this is just the first step. When I can’t feel the basic outline, I’ll leave it. But when I can feel the outline I take the next step. Step two is taking off the blindfold and try to make out were bow and stern are and the big elements, like where’s the anchor, and what drives the engine. If my instinct tell me this could be a save ship, that this theory has some buoyancy I’ll take step three and try to find out as much detail as I can, almost like a small child questioning everything; What is this? Why is this? And how come...? Then the big test; does it stay afloat in rough seas, if it does, I’ll add this theory to my fleet, cause a ship is a ship and if it’s able to navigate through rough weather it’s fine by me.
But when you ask, I can tell you nothing theoretically about any of these theories, I’ll mix them up even trying to think about them. What I can tell you is my experience sailing any of my ships and how they hold up in rough weather.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Process vs. Result
After thought.
I’m not very result driven, in fact I have a hard time finishing what I start. But I’m a sucker for process, I jump at any change of finding out how something works, be it a machine, how artichokes are grown, a hat is made or how mind works. Process is what makes me tick. I stay away from competitions, be it in sport or in the workplace. I never know where I’m going, I don’t have a place I want to be, a career, a position or an end result, (this last statement is not a 100% accurate, but it’s pretty close). Being very process driven has its perks, The act of judging become a process of weighing. I picture an old fashioned scale, one with two dishes, one on either side. You put the artichokes on one side and weights on the other side, and watch the needle find the center. So the result you are looking for is always balance.
Wait, I have to think about this some more,.... does this mean I am result driven after all?
I’m not very result driven, in fact I have a hard time finishing what I start. But I’m a sucker for process, I jump at any change of finding out how something works, be it a machine, how artichokes are grown, a hat is made or how mind works. Process is what makes me tick. I stay away from competitions, be it in sport or in the workplace. I never know where I’m going, I don’t have a place I want to be, a career, a position or an end result, (this last statement is not a 100% accurate, but it’s pretty close). Being very process driven has its perks, The act of judging become a process of weighing. I picture an old fashioned scale, one with two dishes, one on either side. You put the artichokes on one side and weights on the other side, and watch the needle find the center. So the result you are looking for is always balance.
Wait, I have to think about this some more,.... does this mean I am result driven after all?
Thoughts on judgment
There is a line in a song by Eddy Brickell that goes:
I have played that song and that line in my head for I don’t know how many times. Sometimes I sang it to myself as a heartfelt wish, please stop judging yourself and others. Sometimes I sang this line as a statement of fact, I do have two ways of looking at the same thing, so...?.
It got me thinking what judging means and I have stumbled on a few things.
One way of judging is very black and white, it is either good or bad, right or wrong, true or false, ugly or pretty, guilty or not guilty. I thought about how I feel judged when the verdict is negative and praised when the verdict is positive. Which is funny because a verdict is still a verdict, a label, a canvas, a way to categorize.
Then a funny image popped into my head. An old fashioned jury next to a skating ring, the ones that were there when the Olympics were still in black and white, the ones with serious faces and old fashion hairdos, that would hold up wooden signs with there marks painted on. Those judges would give marks for artistic qualities, how intricate the moves are, and the overall entertainment value or something like that. This way of judging seemed to me to be more fair, after all, a lot more things are taken into consideration. But you still end up with a way to categorize, bronze, silver, gold or go home empty handed.
I use both systems to judge myself, others, food, art, the weather or sounds. So I sing: “free me take the sight out of this eye.”
Then it dawned on me, what if I stop judging mind for judging. Why don’t I let mind do what it is good at and let it have control over concepts, and let mind sort out a way to weigh pro’s and con’s. Mind is no dummy, it knows we are in a permanent state of flux, it knows it is not the be all and end all, but mind does need a place. So today I formalized it for my mind; I gave mind a job; find out a much as you need or can about any behavior of self, others, situation or a subjects, than map out as many merits as is fair to judge these behaviors, situations or subjects on. With the full understanding that anything can change or needs to change at any moment. Mind leaped at this near impossible challenge and finally be able to do what I has always done but now without the fear of being judged, and the rest......the rest feels very free.
“ This eye looks with love,
this eye looks with judgment,
free me take the sight out of this eye.”
I have played that song and that line in my head for I don’t know how many times. Sometimes I sang it to myself as a heartfelt wish, please stop judging yourself and others. Sometimes I sang this line as a statement of fact, I do have two ways of looking at the same thing, so...?.
It got me thinking what judging means and I have stumbled on a few things.
One way of judging is very black and white, it is either good or bad, right or wrong, true or false, ugly or pretty, guilty or not guilty. I thought about how I feel judged when the verdict is negative and praised when the verdict is positive. Which is funny because a verdict is still a verdict, a label, a canvas, a way to categorize.
Then a funny image popped into my head. An old fashioned jury next to a skating ring, the ones that were there when the Olympics were still in black and white, the ones with serious faces and old fashion hairdos, that would hold up wooden signs with there marks painted on. Those judges would give marks for artistic qualities, how intricate the moves are, and the overall entertainment value or something like that. This way of judging seemed to me to be more fair, after all, a lot more things are taken into consideration. But you still end up with a way to categorize, bronze, silver, gold or go home empty handed.
I use both systems to judge myself, others, food, art, the weather or sounds. So I sing: “free me take the sight out of this eye.”
Then it dawned on me, what if I stop judging mind for judging. Why don’t I let mind do what it is good at and let it have control over concepts, and let mind sort out a way to weigh pro’s and con’s. Mind is no dummy, it knows we are in a permanent state of flux, it knows it is not the be all and end all, but mind does need a place. So today I formalized it for my mind; I gave mind a job; find out a much as you need or can about any behavior of self, others, situation or a subjects, than map out as many merits as is fair to judge these behaviors, situations or subjects on. With the full understanding that anything can change or needs to change at any moment. Mind leaped at this near impossible challenge and finally be able to do what I has always done but now without the fear of being judged, and the rest......the rest feels very free.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Limping
I must have been 7 or 8 when my mum took me to a parade, in celebration of some war survived and freedom found. At that time I had only eyes for the million colors and people passing by and had only ears for the marching bands and the applause they got. I had no eye for history or ear for the story of long long ago. There were people in costumes trying to depict a time of hardship and woe and horses in robes and riders that managed to keep their cool. Music from marching bands and brass. Girls dancing and twirling batons. And people on stilts. I felt I would never have enough eyes and ears to embrace it all when suddenly; one steady beat of a single drum grabbed my attention. I tried to see where it came from but it was still too far away. As the sound of the drum came closer and closer it seemed to drown out all the other sounds and it grabbed my heart. When the drum came into my field of vision it filled my world. Behind the drum, a small group of man, all dressed in soldiers uniforms from a time way before my grandfathers grandfathers grandfather was born, one man, beating the drum, walked in a steady pace, the white long drum seemed to cling to his leg and with every step it jumped up as the baton came down. My heart and the drum seemed to be beating in the same pace. I let my eyes wander through the small group taking in as much details as I could, they landed on the last man in the last line and on his left leg. I was fascinated, it was beautiful. Look, mum look, I shook her by the arm, Mum look how skillful that man can limp. My mum poked me; “shush don’t say that, he’s got a real limp”, she whispered. Her harsh shush shook me, but I swear at the same time I could see a big smile on the limping man’s face. I watched his back as the group walked away and I still think it looked a little straighter and distinctly proud.
There is not a parade that goes by that I don’t think about the limping man and my head wants to tell him I never meant no disrespect, while in my heart of hearts I know I paid him homage and I still do. After all these years my memory of that parade is still limping.
There is not a parade that goes by that I don’t think about the limping man and my head wants to tell him I never meant no disrespect, while in my heart of hearts I know I paid him homage and I still do. After all these years my memory of that parade is still limping.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
On teachers and being taught
I am very fortunate to have had several very good teachers. Some were four legged, some two legged and even a few with just one leg, not that it really matters. Some taught me just one class in two minutes and with some I stayed for years. Some acknowledge me as there student, some don’t even know I exist, not that it really matters. Some were brilliant storytellers; some didn’t bother to talk to me at all. Some never claimed to be teachers, some were all too eager to say they were, some pushed me is subtle ways, some just threw me in at the deep end, not that it really matters. What really matters is, was I a good student.
I am very fortunate to have had several very good teachers.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Taiko Oroshi
I sounded the oroshi today. I never done that before, not in front of an audience. I only sounded it once, without anyone looking. There was not a moment of nerves, just preparation. When the taiko was placed and the hanbo found, I calmly waited for the moment I could begin. I stepped onto the tatami, faced the kamiza and bowed. Calmly I walked over to the taiko and bowed, picked up the hanbo and bowed. I took my kamea and a moment of silence and raised the hanbo high in the air, than I let all I knew and all I still need to learn take over. The hanbo came down and hit the skin of the taiko, the overwhelming sound raised the hanbo again high up in the air and the rhythm was hers. First the slow beats that became faster and faster, than slowed down again, the hanbo finding the heart of the drum and mine, then there was silence. I bowed again to taiko and stick, now with a new found respect and immense gratitude. I sat down in seiza and felt the energy rush through me.
I sounded the oroshi today.
Thoughts on fear (3)
Fear, like flu is easily transmitted
Don’t
Unlike flu, fear can be controlled by you.
Do
Friday, January 8, 2010
Thoughts on fear (2)
Fear is an alarm. Don’t let it grow into a air-raid, treat it like the alarm that you keep next to your bed. When it sounds, hit the off switch, have a good stretch and a yawn, think of what you’re supposed to do today, get up, get dressed and move.
And what ever you do, don’t blame the snooze button.
And what ever you do, don’t blame the snooze button.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Thoughts on fear (1)
I once saw a home video of a little girl getting all dressed up by her mum for Halloween. She really looked the part with her pointed hat, black wig and broom and her face all covered in scary make-up. Happy and excited she walked over to the mirror to look at her self and got the fright of her live; There was a witch standing there. That made me think.... maybe fear is just you in scary make-up.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Thoughts on trust
I came across a man and his dog today and had an interesting chat. Flow and his dog Wolf seemed to recognize each other immediately and played to there hearts content. We, although we have never seen each other before, were happy to meet, it’s not every day you come across someone with the exact same rare breed dog and share stories. After praising the beauty of each others dog and the breed, we started comparing. So, the man asked, does Flow hunt? Does she ever, she hunts everything from mice to deer. We both agreed that they go into a zone and are unstoppable. He shook his head and I nodded, “It’s the wolf in them”. So how’s Wolf with other dogs, I asked. Well, the man responded, as long as the other dog is an Alpha, he’s fine, but otherwise.....he can be downright dangerous. Yes, Flow is the same, I need to stay the leader of the pack at all times. He shook his head as I nodded, “ Yep, it’s the wolf in them”. Meanwhile Flow and Wolf were nowhere to be seen. It’s always the same isn’t it, the man said, he never stays with you, not like something like that, he pointed at NaNa who was sitting at my feet. No, I said stroking NaNa’s head, Flow makes these huge loops around me, but she always seems to know where I am. He shook his head and I nodded, “Well, it’s the wolf in them” “They are not to be trusted” the man added. I didn’t say a thing, see, I trust Flow completely. NaNa started to whine as she always does when she gets bored, silently I thanked her for it and gave a sharp short whistle. Within seconds Flow came running up to me, Wolf in hot pursuit. We said our good-byes and went our separate ways, and without a fuss our dogs followed there own pack.
On my way back to the car I wondered why the man didn’t trust his dog. Sure they are a handful, but I trust Flow completely. I know she knows where I am at all times, when she is out off my sight. I trust her to hunt and chase anything that will run away, and I know that, when she sees her chance, she will kill a chicken or even a fawn, but I also trust her to gently pick a kitten out of Mo’s litter and carry it around carefully. I also know that she trusts me completely when I tell her no, or when the world gets to scary for her. She is not at all like NaNa who I trust completely with my eyes and ears closed. With Flow I need all my senses wide open at all times, she is a great teacher. I expect her to be the Tsjech wolfdog that she is, like expect NaNa to be the Canadian Alsatian that she is. So I figured, trust must be determined by your expectations.
By the way, I took the bleu route again, and saw the dreaded hill for what she really is ... just a bump in the road.
On my way back to the car I wondered why the man didn’t trust his dog. Sure they are a handful, but I trust Flow completely. I know she knows where I am at all times, when she is out off my sight. I trust her to hunt and chase anything that will run away, and I know that, when she sees her chance, she will kill a chicken or even a fawn, but I also trust her to gently pick a kitten out of Mo’s litter and carry it around carefully. I also know that she trusts me completely when I tell her no, or when the world gets to scary for her. She is not at all like NaNa who I trust completely with my eyes and ears closed. With Flow I need all my senses wide open at all times, she is a great teacher. I expect her to be the Tsjech wolfdog that she is, like expect NaNa to be the Canadian Alsatian that she is. So I figured, trust must be determined by your expectations.
By the way, I took the bleu route again, and saw the dreaded hill for what she really is ... just a bump in the road.
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Years resolutions
Knowing that change is the only constants, better learn to embrace her.
After letting that one sink in for a moment, became incredibly happy. The immense amount of freedom that will give, sure sure with immense freedom comes immense responsibility, but I can handle that. I’ve got the ability to respond.
Knowing I will die and that is the only thing I can be sure of, better use death as an advisor.
I know my death from even before I was born, better check in with her more often, she knows me most intimately and doesn’t mind sharing her wisdom freely.
And most importantly don’t dilly-dally.
After letting that one sink in for a moment, became incredibly happy. The immense amount of freedom that will give, sure sure with immense freedom comes immense responsibility, but I can handle that. I’ve got the ability to respond.
Knowing I will die and that is the only thing I can be sure of, better use death as an advisor.
I know my death from even before I was born, better check in with her more often, she knows me most intimately and doesn’t mind sharing her wisdom freely.
And most importantly don’t dilly-dally.
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