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Wednesday, September 21 2011

River Lessons

 

       I've just returned from an awesome, memorable journey – 3 days on the road and 7 days paddling with a good friend 100 miles down the Green River in eastern Utah.  For me, traveling offers not only a break from old routines but also a chance to break old routines and patterns.  Traveling teaches.  And the Green River, as it winds through towering canyons and sacred lands, is a master teacher.

 

       It's hard to ignore beauty when I'm surrounded by it – the lush green of grass, thicket and tree and the stark, striking, arid, awe-inspiring walls of rock along each bank.  These sheer cliffs have guided the river's flow and soaked up sunshine for centuries, concentrating and containing the energy of this wondrous place.  In the presence of unusual beauty, I'm reminded again of the difference in my inner landscape between times when I'm noticing beauty and times when I'm not.

 

       River is a great metaphor for life.  It flows in one direction – forward, into new territory.  Paddling against the flow, even for short distances, is exhausting.  I think of how often I paddle upstream in my mind, regretting the past, imagining do-overs that could never be.  I feel the weight of wishing I'd done this or not done that and the way my energy depletes as I carry that weight.  I'm invited to let go. 

 

       With all its twists and turns, the river constantly takes us into the unknown, where surprise often awaits – the sandbar hiding just under the silty surface, the fierce swarms of mosquitoes lurking in the brush along the bank ambushing us when we get too close, eddies, whirlpools and countless other obstacles along the way.  We learn to go with the flow, but not to do so passively.  We try things.  We learn from experience and from what we call "mistakes".  We discover the need to choose in the absence of information.  We pick a place to stay the night, not knowing if a "better" campsite is just around the next bend. 

 

       Traveling the river is sometimes messy business.  The silt in the river makes it impossible to see beneath the surface.  My first step out of the canoe was an introduction to a sticky muck that took 20 minutes to wash out of my sandals.  (After that, I went barefoot.  Cleanups were quicker.)  There were times when I was up to my knees in gooey stuff.  Debris from recent storms typically floats with us downriver, cluttering the water.  And, of course, there's the inevitable collisions and messiness among traveling companions.  All part of the journey.

 

       The river invites humility and humor.  It teaches mercy.  I'm invited to go with the flow, to learn from experience and embrace myself as a learner, to smile and forgive – forgive myself, my companions and life itself.  In this moment, all is what it is and cannot be otherwise.

 

       In this moment, I'm here.  I get to choose.  I get to move forward.  I get to remember that I'm not in charge.


 

      

Posted by: AT 11:02 am   |  Permalink   |  Email
Thursday, September 08 2011

       In a session yesterday, focused on the wound of shame, this thought entered the conversation.  Later, it re-organized in verse.

 

 

 

Universal Solvent

 

Love is the

Universal Solvent.

 

All wounds melt

Into its healing

 

Grace.

 

Don't fight

The wound.

 

Bathe it in love.

Let it dissolve

 

Gently.

Posted by: AT 09:53 pm   |  Permalink   |  Email
Friday, August 26 2011

Smart and Lucky

 

       I'm fascinated by what science is telling us about the origin of the universe.  Apparently, we (and I use the term loosely) have a pretty good idea of the story back to about 10 million trillion trillion trillionths of a second after the big bang, when the universe was so small you'd need a microscope to see it. 

 

       I'm amazed at how infinitesimally small the universe was at the beginning and how unimaginably huge it is now.  Talk about a growth spurt.

 

       My latest venture into that arena is an ambitious and delightful book by Bill Bryson, A Short History of Nearly Everything.  Here are a couple quotes.  The first touches on just a couple of the hundreds of things that had to go absolutely, perfectly right in order for the universe to be what it is today. 

 

       "If the universe had formed just a tiny bit differently – if gravity were fractionally stronger or weaker, if the expansion had proceeded just a little more slowly or swiftly – then there might never have been stable elements to make you and me and the ground we stand on.  Had gravity been a trifle stronger, the universe itself might have collapsed like a badly erected tent, without precisely the right values to give it the right dimensions and density and component parts.  Had it been weaker, however, nothing would have coalesced.  The universe would have remained forever a dull scattered void."  (p. 15)

 

       From other reading, I know that a host of other things had to be just right.  For example, matter gets denser and contracts as it gets colder.  Water does, too – except just before it freezes, when it expands and becomes less dense.  Thus, icebergs and ice cubes float.  Were it not for this special and mysterious exception, earth would have quickly turned into a giant ice ball – certainly precluding our arrival.

 

       Speaking of our arrival, the second quote relates to the millions of things that had to go just so, in order for you and me to be alive.

 

       "If your two parents hadn't bonded just when they did – possibly to the second, possibly to the nanosecond – you wouldn’t be here.  And if their parents hadn't bonded in a precisely timely manner, you wouldn't be here either.  And if their parents hadn't done likewise, and their parents before them, and so on, obviously and indefinitely, you wouldn't be here."  (p. 397)

 

       If you go back 25 generations, he goes on to say, "there are no fewer than 33,554,432 men and women on whose devoted couplings your existence depends."  If any one of our 33 million ancestors meets someone else, dies prematurely, or gets a headache at the wrong time – no me or no you.

 

       As I sit in awe with this information and allow the amateur cosmologist in me to wonder what it all means, a short, and by no means complete, answer comes to me. 

 

       The universe is very, very smart.  I am very, very lucky.  And everything unfolds – just right.

 

      

 

      

 

 

 

      

Posted by: AT 12:03 pm   |  Permalink   |  Email
Thursday, August 18 2011

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.

 

      

 

      

 

 

Posted by: AT 10:37 pm   |  Permalink   |  Email
Sunday, July 24 2011

 

 

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.


 

      

 

      

 

         

 

      

 

      

 

      

 

      

Posted by: AT 11:47 am   |  Permalink   |  Email
Tuesday, July 12 2011

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.

 

 

Posted by: AT 10:20 pm   |  Permalink   |  Email
Friday, July 01 2011

 

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.

      

Posted by: AT 09:58 am   |  Permalink   |  Email
Wednesday, June 22 2011


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!

 

 

 

Posted by: AT 10:28 am   |  Permalink   |  Email
Sunday, June 12 2011

 

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.

 

     

 

     

 

      

Posted by: AT 06:30 pm   |  Permalink   |  Email
Sunday, June 05 2011

 

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.

 

 

Posted by: AT 04:20 pm   |  Permalink   |  Email


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