Madonna's Passing

       Joanie's mom, Madonna, passed on peacefully three weeks ago.  Her kids and grandkids were with her during the vigil, surrounding her with love and feeding her rich double-dark chocolate ice cream.  Her last tastes were of this all-time favorite food. 

       Death teaches us, it brings us together and reminds us of what's important.  For example, the fly-in fishing trip to Canada that friends and I had been planning for nearly a year suddenly wasn't what was important any more.  I let it go and was blessed many-fold in return by the teachings of this shared experience and by a deepening connection with Joanie and her clan.

       There was a time at the hospital near the end, when I was the only man in the room.  Keeping vigil with Madonna were her three daughters and one of the granddaughters.  It was awesome to see how natural and fluid these caring women were in that situation, conversing and reminiscing, laughing and crying, at ease with their mother, themselves and their feelings.

       Death is a mystery to us.  It asks us to make room for two apparently contradictory truths.  The first is:  Madonna is gone.  Over time, each in his/her own way, the members of her family will come to grips with that truth.  The second truth is:  Madonna is still with us.  Depending on one's cosmology, Madonna remains alive in our hearts or she remains literally alive in a realm of spirit.  Either way, our connection with her is permanent.  Either way, we still have access to her.

       All the little deaths in life – the losses, the leave-takings, the disappointments, the countless invitations to let go – prepare us for that larger letting go.  We sure need the practice, because letting go is not easy for us.

       Madonna lived generously and joyfully.  She loved and laughed.  She traveled and tasted so much of life.  She cherished family.  She was graceful in life and graceful in death. 

       Love helps us live that way.  Perhaps chocolate does too.

A Slice of Life

       It's been almost two weeks since we returned from the Superior Hiking Trail.  While memory fades a bit, I still carry with me a felt sense of the experience and an eagerness to return to the trail next month.  During a meditation, (it was on the morning after my last posting, in which I promised to tell you about the trip) a thought arrived that helped me story the experience in a new way.  Here's the story.

       It was a challenging hike – lots of roots and rocks, rivers and creeks, valleys and peaks.  The gorges were gorgeous – and steep.  Climbs were arduous.  Descents were tough on old knees.  There was an intermittent, occasionally excruciating, pain in the ball of my left foot that mysteriously appeared and disappeared.

       We set out amid fields of daisies and blazing orange hawkweed.  Ancient cedar groves were followed by an aging birch forest.  Later, a long stretch of young spruce crowded the path, caressing our elbows.  On the fourth day, after a long stretch of pine and mixed woods, we wandered through miles and multi-generations of maples.  On our last night, we were surrounded by old Cedars again, as we immersed ourselves among the boulders in a luxurious, cascading stream, cooling aching feet and weary legs.

       We thoroughly enjoyed a couple of beautiful campsites.  At our first site, we were surrounded by a fork in the river, sparkling water flowing along two sides of a narrow peninsula – our three tents pitched practically on top of each other.  It was amusing that night to hear the harmony of rushing waters and snoring sleepers.  We also did our best to enjoy a couple campsites that weren't so beautiful, near water that wasn't so tasty.

       On the third morning, we woke around 6 a.m. to the sound of thunder.  The dawn was dark.  Quickly packing tents and stuffing bags, we got the important stuff in plastic, just as the rain – and breakfast – began.  We hiked 8 miles that day in a rhythm of rain that alternated between downpour and drip.  For me, it was a refreshing break from the heat and humidity – only a temporary relief as it turned out.  The next day was oppressive – like I imagine equatorial tropics – hot, humid, buggy, windless.  We hiked in muck, miles of ankle-deep mud.  Every now and then, a breeze blessed us, as we ascended along ridges overlooking Lake Superior.  The views were spectacular that day.  The day before, similar vistas went unseen.

       During most of the journey, we were serenaded by birds of various kinds.  Joanie and Rosanne told us their names.  One evening, Roger and I watched a pair of enormous beavers frolicking in a pond.  (I guess you're never too old to have fun.)  And they were having great fun, till they noticed us and slapped tales on the water, angrily informing us that we did not belong there.  I heard their message, but didn't agree.  Sometime during the second day of hiking, I had started feeling like I was part of all this.

       On the trek, we encountered all sorts of life: butterflies galore, hundreds of worms wiggling to the surface trying not to drown in the rain, slugs that slimed our tents and cookware, ticks and pretty much every variety of biting insect there is up north.  We saw lots of wolf scat, but no wolves.  Imbedded in one pile was the hoof of a young deer – a sad story told by its remains.

       There were tasty ripe raspberries and wild strawberries along the trail and long patches of immature thimbleberries that hikers will enjoy in a couple weeks, if the bears don't get to them first (the berries, that is).  There were varieties of mushrooms, with hues of gold and orange and brown and off-white.  One white one I particularly remember looked like a golf ball on a tee.  The mushrooms, of course, would not be tasty.

       There was up and down, awesome and ordinary, slogging and smooth sailing, enervation and exhilaration, pain and pleasure, breeze and stillness, beauty seen and beauty clouded, berries and butterflies, bugs and slugs, tastiness and toxins, teeming life and end of life.  

       The trip, I realized, was like one of those pizzas with everything on it, where one slice contains all the ingredients.  I could see that all of life was represented in those few days and that our hike reflected the wholeness of life's journey.

       What came to me, during that morning meditation after last week's posting, was this thought:  Each moment is a slice of life!  Like a strand of DNA, containing all the information for an entire organism, all of life is fully present and fully represented in each present moment. 

       Maybe it is all here now.

Three Quotes

       I returned late last night from a five-day backpacking adventure on the Superior Hiking Trail.  I'm hoping to tell you about it, and I see that the experience needs to percolate a bit, before a coherence emerges.  With the challenge and the beauty, the exhaustion and exhilaration, and a wonderful variety of experiences, wisdom can't be far away. 

       It's not here now.

       So, here are some favorite quotes to tide us over till next week.  Chances are, you've heard them.  Hopefully, they bear repetition.

       "It's impossible to get better and look good at the same time."  (Julia Cameron – great inspiration for lifelong learners)

       "What anyone thinks about me is none of my business."  (I don't remember the source, but I'll never forget the thought.)

       "You are, already, that which you seek."  (Richard Moss – a wonderful invitation to relax and to trust who we are.)

       It's midsummer.  Dream happy dreams.

Drama Remedy

       I love being an introvert.  While I'm friendly and sociable on the outside, the interior is my true home.  I'm regenerated by quiet times in the wilds of Mother Nature and by adventures in the wilderness within.  There's richness in that inner life, creativity in the quiet – ideas, speculations, stories, things to be written and shared.

       However, there is a downside: drama.  While imaginary conversations and creative inner realities can be entertaining – like going to the movies or reading a novel – more often than not, they create suffering.  I get caught up in stories of judgment and woe, painting dark and dangerous inner landscapes.  When I go unconscious with drama, what's true out there often gets distorted by "realities" in here.  I know extraverts also have challenges with inner drama, but, as an introvert, I feel particularly vulnerable in this area.  (That may be a story, as well, but for now I'm sticking to it.)

       The other day during a drama-laden meditation, a suggestion came my way:  Breathe light into the belly and exhale drama out through the third eye (at the center of the forehead).  I imagined butterflies flitting out my forehead into the universe.  (Bats might work as well.)  As the drama cleared, like water from rusty pipes, I experimented with inhaling light as before and exhaling love – first through the forehead and then through the heart.  At some point, I slipped into quiet spaciousness. 

       A couple days later, another suggestion arrived:  Observe the drama.  It points us toward our wounds and, if we're mindful, toward healing.

A Healing Story

       A physician friend of mine, one of the most heroic people I've ever known, wrote in response to last week's wisdom.  I was touched and thought you might be too.  

     "Yes, isn't that it?! The Lakota traditional healer, Fools Crow, talked about being a 'hollow bone' for the spirits to work through - that healing comes from them, and we are just the conduit. 

     "Once, at a cancer retreat in a remote area, I developed one of the worst migraines of my life and laid there flattened in the lower level, when a lady kept sitting by me doing her knitting.  I remember being annoyed by her presence.  After a while, she quietly asked if I would like to be rid of my headache (!) and when I assented (another requirement), she touched my head and said, 'You think this is where your headache is coming from - your head - but it's really down here (base of my neck).'  She fluffed her hands around lightly in my hair and I thought 'no way is this going to do anything!'

     "Suddenly, boom, the headache was completely gone. She told me she had been in CD treatment and everybody had their meds taken away and they were all sick with headaches and one lady asked her to rub her neck and suddenly the lady's headache was gone and that's when she realized she had this gift. She said it is only for headaches and doesn't know why she has it, but attributes it to powers outside her. She went on to heal them all as they lined up in front of her... I walked upstairs and tried to tell everyone what just happened and they didn't 'get' it. I was just stunned. Ever since then I really believe in those things.  A few weeks after this, she died of metastatic breast cancer."

       Healing abounds.  Its miracle occurs daily in our lives – usually in small ways we hardly notice.  Sometimes, we heal dramatically – as in this story and many others.  Healing often includes a physical cure, but not always. 

       Notice its happening.  Notice, it's happening!

One Heart Healing

       Not long ago, Joanie awoke with a sore throat and asked for a healing.  My usual approach is to open to the loving energy of the universe, inviting it to gather in my heart and flow outward through my hands.

       This morning, however, I'd been fretting about work and was having some trouble focusing.  As I began the healing, a doubt arose.  "What if my heart isn't pure enough and I'm sending 'contaminated' energy?"

       Almost immediately, an answer arrived.  "Let your heart remember its union with the One Heart.  Let the One Heart be the healer."

       Once again, I get the message.  It's not about me, and it's not all up to me.  Relieved in spirit - and relieved of duty - I step aside and let the universe work its magic.

Joy Job

       For many people I see – including, sometimes, the guy in the mirror – an inner judge, a kind of killjoy, drives our doing.  Do more.  Do better.  Do faster.

       As I sat with someone recently, this message arrived:

The joy is

just as

important as

the job.

Five Winners

       I love to think about relationship from a spiritual perspective.  I'm enchanted by the mystery of it all and intrigued by the notion that intimacy is a dance of uniqueness and oneness.  I'm inspired by the idea that every act of human love contributes to an expanding universe of Love, and I'm heartened to remember that, goofy as we are with each other at the level of personality, we're all madly in love with each other at the level of soul.

       In my work as a psychologist and relationship coach, I usually approach the subject more pragmatically.  I'm likely to focus on skillful communication and win-win problem solving strategies.  I invite clients, especially men, to consider the principle of "enlightened self-interest."  From this perspective, generosity is good business.  If we listen respectfully to our partners, honoring their needs as well as our own, we're much more likely to achieve our heart's desire.

       In The New Rules of Marriage, Terrence Real has written a powerfully practical book about intimate relationship.  In last week's posting, I reviewed five relational strategies that don't work.  Here are what Real calls: "The Five Winning Strategies."

·        Shifting from complaint to request – moving from a focus on what's negative in the past to positive possibilities for the future.  More specifically he advises:  "Don't criticize, ask! …  Criticizing what your partner has done wrong rarely engenders an attitude of increased generosity … Great relationships mean more assertion up front and less resentment on the back end."

·        Speaking out with love and savvy – remembering that you're talking to someone you love and being clear about what you want to accomplish.  He's speaking here about a deeply respectful style of assertion that empowers your partner and helps him/her give you what you want.  "A disempowered partner is seldom generous." 

·        Responding with generosity – listening to your partner with a generous heart, temporarily setting aside your own agenda, responding generously, being of service, giving what you can.  "When listening with generosity, points of contention become points of curiosity … When your partner confronts you about some behavior or character flaw, do a one-eighty on defensiveness.  Rather than deny whatever you can, admit whatever you can … Transform argument into acknowledgment."

·        Empowering each other – How can I give you what you want and help you give me what I want?  In relationship, we commit to teamwork, to helping each other succeed.  This, of course, requires overt conversation between partners about how to succeed with each other.  Terrence is not inviting a covert manipulation, as in:  How can I get you to do what I want?

·        Cherishing – cherishing what you have and keeping it strong, moving from appreciation deficiency to appreciation proficiency.  Focus on what you have rather than on what you have not.  Notice what you love about your partner.  Feed your connection.  According to John Gottman, healthy relationship requires that positive interactions outweigh the negative ones by a factor of at least five or six to one.  Sometimes it's a bit of a stretch for us to have it so good.  So, we need to ask ourselves:  How good can I stand it?

       Terrence Real summarizes this way:  "These winning strategies equip you to succeed in the critical tasks of getting, giving, and having.  The first two strategies, shifting from complaint to request and speaking out with love and savvy, help you get what you need.  The second two strategies, responding with generosity and empowering each other, help you give everything that you can to your partner and your relationship.  The last winning strategy, cherishing, helps you grow, sustain and honor all that you have."

       Works for me.

Partnership

       Ordinarily, I'm not a big fan of self-help books.  Last week, I bumped into one, The New Rules of Marriage by Terrence Real, that really (pun discovered, not intended) speaks to me – and I've only read the first half.

       Terrence lists five relational strategies that don't work:

·        Needing to be right – trying to convince your partner that your point of view is the correct one.  Actually, who's right matters little in relationship.

·        Controlling your partner – almost always generates resistance, a great way to get stuck in power battles.

·        Un-bridled self-expression – often confused with honesty, letting it all hang out, without regard to the effect on your partner, usually does more harm than good.

·        Retaliation – when we get hurt in relationship, we often feel victimized and, perhaps, entitled to retaliate.  We tend to think that if we punish our offending partner, we're more likely to be safe from future "offenses".  Not true.  War begets war.

·        Withdrawal – when we withdraw emotionally or physically from connection with our partner, relationship withers.  There are times when we need to pull back to re-group, but that's always with the intention to re-engage.  There are also times when we make a conscious decision to accept some aspect of a relationship, rather than fight a losing battle.  This mature letting go is not a withdrawal of connection or affection.

       So, what does work?  Terrence Real presents a model he calls "relationship empowerment."  Here, we move past the personal empowerment model, where I advocate for me, you advocate for you, and we both presume this path will lead to a good result (which it sometimes does).  In the relationship empowerment model, we are invited, not to settle for "good", but to go for "great."  We honor the individual, we listen deeply to ourselves and to each other, and we work together to give birth to something larger than me or you – a relational entity, an "us".  We advocate for us.

       This is not a co-dependent model, where we assume responsibility for each other.  It's a partnership were we are responsible, together, for what we create.

       This level of partnership:  As an approach to marriage (and other unions), it has a nice "ring" to it.

PS.  Stay tuned.  Next week, I'll share some thoughts from the second half of the book, including five strategies that do work.

Alone and All One

       As I approach the mystery, I see life – especially relational life – as a dance of uniqueness and oneness.  We are alone and all one.

       Here is a passage from the book, Who Dies, by Stephen Levine that speaks eloquently of life's invitation to embrace both aspects of being.  The Levine quote is followed by a poem I wrote years ago, Oddly One. 

       Enjoy.

       "As soon as the mind's conditioning to be someone arises, a kind of pain comes into our heart.  A feeling of being alone.  It is the loneliness of our separateness.  Our alienation from the universal.  But when we sit quietly with that loneliness and let it float in the mind, it dissolves into an 'aloneness' which is not lonely, but is rather a recognition that we are each alone in the One…. To change the intense loneliness of our personal isolation into an 'aloneness with God,' we must gently let go of control and stop re-creating the imagined self.  We must surrender our specialness, our competition, our comparing minds."  Stephen Levine.

Oddly One

If we follow

Our uniqueness,

We’re all

A bit weird.

Odd ducks

In God’s pond.

Oddly One.