Unexpected Awe

       I spent much of last week in the wilderness on the Canadian border, as part of a great group of guys who have been traveling boundary waters each summer for nearly 30 years.

       Mid-trip, I took a day of solo retreat on a high bluff overlooking a majestic expanse of big water and picturesque islands. 

       At one overlook, I sat for an hour watching a spider, who clung to pine needles and waved with the breeze as he advanced from various directions, trying in vain to poach a dead mosquito from what appeared to be another spider's web.  All this action took place maybe three feet in front of my face.  Still sitting in that delightful spot, I closed my eyes and tried to meditate – with no more success than the spider trying to navigate the wind and nab a dead mosquito.

       Letting go of formal practice, I sat for another two hours reading the second volume in a science fiction fantasy series.  A recurring theme in the book is that if you try too hard to grasp something, you won't discover its true nature.

       Butt-sore by now and tired of focusing on a book when surrounded by such beauty, I dug out my ipod (something I rarely use) and, over the next couple or three hours, found a number of nearby places to stand and lean and sway and gaze, while I listened to the music of Leonard Cohen.  For me, this was a very sweet, multi-sensory immersion in beauty.

       At one point, as I looked across the water toward a rocky cliff face I'd probably glanced at dozens of times, I was suddenly jolted by its beauty and the awe-filled sense that I was seeing it for the first time.  Greedily, I tried to grab the experience and hang on to the awe I felt.  I searched for words to describe it, so I could keep it with me.  And, of course, it vanished.  And, of course, even though I felt as if it had left me, I knew I was the one who'd left it.

       I re-remembered an old lesson – how grasping never leads to having – and resolved to do better next time.

       Next time arrived about a half-hour later, as I noticed puffs of clouds on the low horizon and was flooded once more with awe.  Again, it was like the first sight of an amazing beauty never before seen.  Again, I was graced.  And again, automatically, I grasped, vainly trying to control what can only be freely and spaciously received.  Awe gone, I tightened in defeat and then smiled, as humor and humble appreciation of my human condition replaced embarrassment over experience lost.

       I see how uncomfortable ego is with the grace of unexpected awe, which arrives and departs by its own rhythms, heedless of ego's efforts to predict it, call it, hold it or control it.

       "Soften," I say to myself.  "Soften to grace.  Practice softening every day, practice receiving, practice staying present in the body – soft belly, soft heart, soft eyes.  Soften, James.  Make ready.  Make room for unexpected awe."

       Maybe next time awe arrives, I'll have more space for it.

Oddly  One

If we follow

Our uniqueness,

We’re all

A bit weird.

Odd ducks

In God’s pond.

Oddly One.

Make Room for Messy

Messy life

Messy love

Messy me

Messy you

Forgive messy

Honor messy

Make room.

Make room

For love

Make room

For life

All messy

Awe worthy

Make room.

       Hearing that I might be looking for quotes to share with you, my friend Richard gave me a beautiful volume, Through God's Eyes, wonderfully organized and annotated by author, Phil Bolsta.  The book brims with over 500 pages of short passages by various spiritual teachers.  Here are three quotes (from pages 56-57) that resonate with me. 

Seeking Love

       "A person desperately searching for love is like a fish desperately searching for water."

                                                         Deepak Chopra

       "Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all of the barriers within yourself that you have built against it."

                                                    A Course in Miracles

       "Love is a state of Being.  Your love is not outside; it is deep within you.  You can never lose it, and it cannot leave you."

                                                        Eckhart Tolle

       When it comes to love, finding is more fun than searching.  Enjoy!

Have Fun

       Dusty and Lefty, two fictional cowpokes on the NPR radio show A Prairie Home Companion, ended a recent sketch with these words: "If you can't enjoy misery, you've got no business being a cowboy." 

       Thursday, after a full day and long week, I went home to mow the lawn.  The day was hot and sticky, and I grumped through most of the mowing.  There was enjoyment to be had, but I missed it – blue sky, a bit of a breeze, flowers blooming, lush and varied shades of green all about, and even some exercise-induced endorphins as I urged the mower up and down our hilly yard. 

       I missed an opportunity for conscious choice on Thursday.  For example, I could have acknowledged my discomfort and grumpy mood, stayed there as long as I wanted, and then looked around for what else was present, for something that might feed my spirit.  I could have, and can, make room for both discomfort and enjoyment.

       No doubt, you've heard the expression: "Any job worth doing is worth doing well."  Right now, I'm more inclined to say:  "Any job worth doing is worth doing with joy."

       Have fun.

Survival Strategies

       For some time now, I've been listening to myself and others from a curiosity that inquires:  "What did you learn early in life about how to survive in the world?"  Those early rules had value.  They allowed us to belong in the family culture into which we were born.  And, as youngsters, in order to survive we had to belong.

       Some kids learn to stay small, to be nice and not threaten anyone.  Others learn to be safe by being tough and fighting for themselves.  Some learn to take care of others and to ignore their own needs – to give and not receive.  Others, responding to scarcity, conclude that giving is losing and that they need to take care of themselves, because no one else will.  Some discover invisibility as a way of being safe.  Others survive by expressing themselves loudly and often.  Many kids learn to mistrust themselves.  Others learn to place trust in external authority.  Still others learn to trust no one. 

       Because the rules have survival value, we learn them quickly and don't easily release them.  We attach to these early conclusions about ourselves, about life and about how to survive.  And, because they're so well practiced, our survival strategies soon become automatic, unconscious and as natural as breathing. 

        But they don't always feel good.  At some point, usually not too far down the road, the original strategy presents its limitations.  It stops serving us.  Typically, our first response is to shore up the old approach by doing more of the same.  Over time, as we begin to sense our imprisonment, we try breaking the rules in an attempt to free ourselves.  And that's when we feel the fear – a powerful, nameless dread and lack of permission, whose job is to hold us back and keep us in place.  At its deepest level, this fear we can't name is about survival.  And so, of course, we resist like crazy the very growth – and freedom to be – we so deeply desire.

       Fortunately, the story does not end there.  Over time, for each of us in our own way and at our own pace, the growth impulse invites us to stretch past the old rules.  We expand our tolerance for the experience of dread.  We don't run from it quite so fast.  We don't return quite so quickly to the "safe" harbor of the old strategies.  Eventually, we come to see the fear for the fiction it is.  We're scared, of course, but not really in danger.   We're just breaking old survival rules and growing into new territory.  

       In fits and starts, we make awkward and unsteady, graceful and inspired movements toward freedom, wholeness, and permission to be – movements that take us from survival toward vitality. 

       This is hard, heroic work – requiring faith, commitment, persistent mindfulness, and the regular exercise of spiritual muscle.  In my experience, it's an ever-unfolding journey – with no end in sight.

A Love Experiment

       In the culture I grew up in, self-love was equated with the sin of pride.  Thinking highly of oneself was clearly not ok, while being rough on oneself, physically and emotionally, was considered virtuous.

       So, it's not surprising that, just two weeks ago while I was sitting with someone in my office, the idea for this experiment first came to me.  Acting on the inspiration, I suggested to my client that, once a day, she set aside time to face herself in a mirror and say the words, "I love you".  

       I've done – and written about – other mirror meditations, but not this one, so I decided to try it.

       The results have been revealing – and healing.  I encountered resistance – even cheated a few times, saying the words, but skipping the mirror part.  Early on, the words felt foreign, a bit hollow, but I determined to stick with them, as an act of faith.  Sometimes, the experience felt neutral.  At other times, a gentle peace came over me.  Once, there were tears.  

       I'm feeling a shift – a loosening, a freeing.  I'm going to stay with this experiment for a while, to see how what unfolds.

       Maybe you'd like to try it.   

       I need to face it:  Lately, Weekly Wisdoms have become Bi-Weekly Wisdoms.  After 4-plus years and over 150 postings, my energy is shifting.  As the practical parts of life have grabbed more time and attention, as I've pushed myself to keep producing on several fronts and as I find myself sometimes running on fumes,  something in me is pushing back, resisting, not flowing so freely.  I want to honor that push back.  And I want to honor the commitment I made to share something weekly.   

       A win-win solution that feels right to me is to post something most weeks, even if it is just a short quote that's come my way or a re-cycling of something I've posted before that still feels fresh to me. 

       So, here's one of the first pieces I posted – clearly relevant to my experience lately.

An Antidote for Exhaustion

       Poet, David Whyte, once asked his friend, Brother David Steindl-Rast, about a cure for exhaustion.  The reply was something like this:

       The antidote for exhaustion is not necessarily rest, though in some cases that may be true.  The antidote for exhaustion is whole heartedness.

Originally posted on May 16, 2009.

       When I honor my heart, it blossoms and energizes me.

       I've been noticing lately the choices I've been making.  Not so much the big decisions about life.  Rather, the small, moment-by-moment choices – to stay attuned in my body, to see beauty, to connect appreciatively with what is.   Presence is such an attractive alternative to the imaginary stories and interior dramas that so automatically claim center stage.

       Here's something I posted a couple years ago that recently caught my attention.  Hope you don't mind the re-run. 

New Now

Feeling bored?

Life a bit stale?

Try opening

Eyes and ears

Skin and

Taste buds

To novelty

And mystery

In this moment

Unfolding now.

Ego ho-hums,

"Same old, same old."

Not true,

Not true.

Spacious hearts

And intimate eyes

Greet and treat

Each life-moment

As unlike

Any other.

Want aliveness?

Adventures new?

All yours –

Right now.

       Looking out the front window, I notice that the crab apple tree, in full bloom just days ago, is dropping her petals and decorating our driveway's dark asphalt in a blanket of white.  I'm reminded about the temporary nature of life's beauties and that, often, one beauty is replaced by another.  I'm called toward deeper appreciation.

       Memorial Day, celebrated today in the U.S.A., invites us to remember those to whom we're connected – which is another way to remind us about who we are.  We're asked to re-member, re-mind and re-orient to the passages of life and to the beauty of the temporary.

       Here's a poem by William Stafford – circulated in group on Thursday evening when the crab apple blossoms were in full glory, sharing their beauty and sweet fragrance with group members as they approached our front porch. 

Our Story

                        remind me again – together we

                        trace our strange journey, find

                        each other, come on laughing.

                        some time we'll cross where life

                        ends.  we'll both look back

                        as far as forever, that first day.

                        i'll touch you – a new world then.

                        stars will move a different way.

                        we'll both end.  we'll both begin.

                        remind me again.