Hello Dear Reader,

I just found the piece below, online, and I want to share  it with you. After all, “sharing is caring”, right? It was written by Bronnie Ware, a singer/songwriter  from Australia, who spent several years  in the palliative care field, caring for people who knew they were dying. Her words, below, are excerpted from her recent book entitled “The Top Five Regrets of the Dying”.

Bronnie’s Valuable words:

“For many years I worked in palliative care. My patients were those who had gone home to die. Some incredibly special times were shared. I was with them for the last 3 to 12 weeks of their lives.

People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality. I learnt never to underestimate someone’s capacity for growth. Some changes were phenomenal. Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected, denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance. Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them.

When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again. Here are the most common five:

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me. This was the most common regret of all. When people realize that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honored even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.

It is very important to try and honor at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realize, until they no longer have it.

2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.

This came from every male patient that I nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.

By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.

3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.

We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

Often they would not truly realize the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.

It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

This is a surprisingly common one. Many did not realize until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.

When you are on your deathbed, what others think of you is a long way from your mind. How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.

Life is a choice. It is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness.”

Wow!! Thank you Bronnie for this superbly articulated wake up call. Time for all of us to start living so as to stop accumulating new regrets.

Practice tip:

This whole thing is a practice tip! What could I possibly add?

I do have a music track for you however. It’s right on point, and it is sung by Edith Piaf –  in one of her rare English adaptations. Enjoy!

(BTW, the usual caveat): If you are reading this in your email, and the music won’t play, clicking on the title of this post will bring you to my site where it will play

Dear Reader, I will be traveling  soon, and won’t be posting for a while. So, until then

Please, choose happiness, and be kind to yourself.

Metta,

Michael

What Are You Waiting For? Just Google It Already!!

Last week, when leaving the SF Fine Arts Museum at the Legion of Honor, I passed yet again beneath this statue of Rodin’s “Thinker”. We all know this guy, forever thinking. He’s iconic, right?

Only this time, I had this thought: What if Rodin had Google? Would this statue even exist? Would he have had the idea to create it? So, to the laughter of a few passersby, who thought I was nuts, I turned around and shouted at him: “What are you waiting for? Just Google it already!!”

Actually, what if our buddy in the above pic is not cogitating on some weighty matter at all? What if he’s simply trying to remember something small – like what his wife asked him to pick up at the supermarket, or, how many times the Yankees won the World Series?

So, I was motivated to post on the currently hot topic of “ideas” and “thinking”, vs “Information” Are we really in a “post idea era” now – substituting loading up on useless information instead of critical thinking?

Well, what is my mind for anyway? I reckon it’s there to help me navigate successfully through my life, observe and know myself, give and get love (“heart/mind” on this one), support myself and my family, moderate my actions so as to make the maximum possible number of informed and healthy choices, stay safe, not make too many stupid mistakes (at least not irreversible ones) – all of that stuff – essentially to serve me in these and other domains of life.

Filling my mind with vast quantities of useless information doesn’t accomplish any of those things, thus causing it to become my master instead of my servant.

Do I really need to know who Jennifer Anniston is dating right now, whether Lindsay Lohan is in or out of jail this week, or how many new iPhone apps have just been released? Every time I connect to the internet, I am besieged with some new information about some people called “Kardashian.” Who are these Kardashian people anyway? Why can’t I get away from them?

Knowing this stuff doesn’t serve me at all.

And that, I believe, is the correct distinction, the appropriate criteria for whether I should allow information from the internet, the media, and social networking sites into my brain: Does knowing something serve me, allow my mind to do it’s job, and allow me to serve others? Or not?

To contrast, and for clarity on this point, an excellent example of information from the internet which will serve me and that I do want and need to know about, check out  http://maplight.org/

Here I can find out which corporations and special interests’ paymasters have our elected representatives (their representatives really , not ours any more) on their payroll – to pay them to vote against protecting the air we breathe, or to vote for poisoning the water we drink. Knowing this stuff does serve me, and is worth remembering, because here, there is something I can do, and want to do about it.

So, how’s your memory doing these days?

Need to remember something?  Not to worry! Why bother using your brain? Just Google it! Ta-Dah!!!

There’s legitimate controversy, and work being done on this topic. In one such study released by Science Express in 2011, on this issue of memory, the authors of a paper describe four experiments. The results suggest that people expect computerized information to be continuously available, and they actually remember less when they know they’ll have access to it later. People are recalling information less, and remembering instead where to find the information they have forgotten.

Our memories appear to be adapting to technology, for better or worse. Some argue that the changes to our brains caused by instant access to information are damaging, and are similar to aspects of addiction.

Conversely, other results suggest that actively searching online can actually strengthen some brains.

It seems that Einstein, not exactly a shabby thinker himself you’ll agree, wouldn’t have had a problem with “Googling it”. There is a well-known story about him wherein, on one occasion, upon being asked for his phone number, he pulled out a telephone book and looked it up. When challenged: “You, Albert Einstein, can’t remember your own phone number?” He answered, “Why should I bother to remember something that I can easily find in a book? (Google?)

Maurice Chevalier, (in Gigi), had issues with his memory too. He didn’t have Google either, or the phone book for that matter, but thankfully he did have Hermione Gingold. Way better! Soo sweet!! You fellow codgers will remember this, and if you are not a codger, you’ll like it too. Have a look:

Oh Yeah, BTW, the usual caveat: If you are reading this in your email, and the links don’t work, click on the title of this post. It will take you to my site, where the links WILL work.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sISWPzEqHLQ

Are Ideas Drowning in Information?

On the topic of a “Post Idea World”, Neal Gabler, a senior fellow at the Annenberg Norman Lear Center at the University of Southern California writes:

“Ideas just aren’t what they used to be. Once upon a time, they could ignite fires of debate, stimulate other thoughts, incite revolutions and fundamentally change the ways we look at and think about the world… They could penetrate the general culture and make celebrities out of thinkers.

“…If our ideas seem smaller nowadays, it’s not because we are dumber than our forebears but because we just don’t care as much about ideas as they did…Bold ideas are almost passé.

“…The real cause may be information itself. It may seem counterintuitive that at a time when we know more than we have ever known, we think about it less.

“…We live in the much-vaunted Age of Information. Courtesy of the Internet, we seem to have immediate access to anything that anyone could ever want to know.

“…If information was once grist for ideas, over the last decade it has become competition for them.

“…We prefer knowing to thinking because knowing has more immediate value. It keeps us in the loop, keeps us connected to our friends and our cohort…Everyone talks information, usually personal information. Where are you going? What are you doing? Whom are you seeing? These are today’s big questions.

“…What the future portends is more and more information — Everests of it. There won’t be anything we won’t know. But there will be no one thinking about it.

…Think about that.”

Well then dear reader, so what? Do you agree with any of this? Or not? Why am I writing this? Why am I posting on this topic? It’s because, if you, like me, feel you are overdosing on too much information, too much media, and are wanting some clarity, calmness and space returning to your brain, we both need to do something about it:

Practice tip:

Take out the trash!! Recycle your brain!!

To illustrate my point, I’d like to share a sweet story from the “Zenster” bibliography:

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor – a renowned intellectual who came to check him out, and to find out about this “Zen” thing. Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor’s cup full, overfilling first the cup, then the saucer, then onto the floor, and still kept on pouring.

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. “This cup is overfull. No more will go in!”

“Like this cup,” Nan-in said, “your mind is full of your own opinions and thoughts which you have brought to this meeting. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”

To make this very same point, the late Suzuki Roshi, founder of San Francisco Zen Center, chose these just right words:

“In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, in the expert’s mind, very few.” Keep your “don’t know” mind!

How to do that? How to de-clutter? Empty out?

It seems counter intuitive, and contrary to something we have been socialized to accomplish: namely, to learn something every day. But instead of that, I offer the following suggestion for you to consider: Why not try to unlearn something every day?

For creating empty, available and tranquil space in your mind, a meditation practice will help – a lot. Meditation isn’t a big deal. Really!!

It’s not difficult, and there is no need to worry about doing it incorrectly. You can start as simply as possible with sitting quietly, eyes closed (if you wish), without any media playing for as little as 5- 10 minutes a day. Just start with that.

And, the next time you are in a waiting room somewhere, don’t reach for a magazine or your smartphone. Instead, close your eyes, simply  follow your breathing (don’t direct it, just follow it), and observe your mind as though you are a witness, not a participant. Just watch the show as a spectator.

If you find yourself thinking, planning, creating a story, getting involved in the performance, or whatever, this is normal. Everyone does that. Even the Dalai Lama does that. It’s our human condition. So, just smile, and gently – without any reproach – return to following your breath.

That’s it. You are meditating.

Start there, and even that short of a session will leave you feeling calmer and refreshed. Then, if you wish, you can do longer periods.

And please, maintain your “beginner’s mind”. It’s your friend.

Dear reader, please be kind to yourself,

Metta,

Michael

Now...this show? Actually WAS "awesome." THANK YOU!!

Are current events getting to you? Getting you down? They are me.

Just a few recent items: The “killers in high places” (as Leonard Cohen calls them) are still murdering their citizens; priests and football coaches are abusing their kids; the black rhino is now extinct; our “leaders” are arguing like children while our house is burning – on and on…

I reckon it’s always been like this, but in the past it wasn’t in our face all the time. Now it is. The media is relentless.

There’s LOTS of good stuff happening out there too – of course there is – but that’s not what they’re feeding us.

What they feed us is fear and hatred – it’s a lucrative product for them.

While online recently, a pop-up offered me a brief questionnaire: 10 questions to check for signs of depression. I said to myself, “What the heck, I’ll have a look”. As I moved through it, I said to myself “Whoa!!! I’m checkin’ off too many yesses here…Uh Oh!”

What to do?

Jennifer Berezan, a beautiful, beautiful spirit, who recorded a totally wonderful CD called “In These Arms,” suggests on one track that our sorrow for all of this might serve us as “the door to an open heart.” It’s a short track – have a listen:

(BTW, the usual caveat: If you are reading this in your email, links often don’t work. If that’s so, click on the title of this post, which will take you to my site, where the links will work.)

Well, without, in the least, judging anyone who needs, and benefits from meds – if you and your doctor agree that it’s working, of course, you absolutely need to do that – I’m generally not one for pills myself. I don’t like pills much.

Indeed, on the subject of pills: Although I KNOW I’m not even on the same planet with Beethoven, Van Gogh, and Tennessee Williams and countless other creative geniuses and thinkers who suffered from depression – either on the extent of their suffering or their immense creativity…

I nevertheless  do sometimes wonder whether I would ever have had the huge privilege to enjoy their priceless gifts of “Ode to Joy”, “Starry Night”, and “The Glass Menagerie” if these works of genius – and innumerable other masterworks which have enriched my life immeasurably – had been created by artists in all fields of endeavor over the centuries, who had access to Prozac.

Unquestionably, these artists paid a big price. I owe them so much gratitude.

All of which segues perfectly to the actual topic of this post, and a response to the question I asked above: So, what to do?

I recommend this menu: an appetizer of “metta” practice, followed by gratitude practice as the main course, and service practice for dessert.

I’ve found out that even one of these helps me, but these three combined help a lot to snap me out of my “funk.”

“Metta” Practice – Metta, a word in ancient Pali roughly translates as loving- kindness. It begins with the cultivation of loving-kindness towards yourself, then your loved ones, friends, teachers, strangers, enemies, and finally towards all sentient beings – not only the humans. You can do this inside a meditation practice, if you have one, or just cultivate this as a state of mind.

If you listened to just the one short track from Jennifer’s CD, (the entirety of which, is itself a beautiful manifestation of Metta practice), you may have caught the words: “May all beings be happy. May all beings be safe. May all beings, everywhere, be free.” That pretty much says it all.

Gratitude Practice – This one is soo powerful! The title of this post echoes the words of one of my teachers (Norman Fischer) at Zen Center. In a recent Dharma talk he referred to Gratitude as “basic hygiene for the heart”. Wow! That got my attention.

And, recently, I heard Dr. Andrew Weil being interviewed on NPR about his latest book, “Spontaneous Happiness”. He was talking on the subject of non-medication solutions to various illnesses, and on the subject of depression, he went right to the topic of gratitude.

One of his suggestions was the following: Just before turning in a at night, jot down a number of items, events, realizations, or insights from your day which you are grateful for, no matter how small. Weil maintains that there is clinical, mathematical proof, that this works to alleviate the symptoms of depression. People DO feel better after doing this exercise for a few weeks.

This should be sooo easy: If any of us is paying the least attention to what we are doing all day, and to what’s going on all around us all the time, there are countless things – big and small – to be grateful for. The trick is to bring our awareness to them.

Some easy “gratitude examples”:

-to my creator for the spectacular lunar eclipse show I attended at 5:00 AM last Saturday, and my front row seat  on a hill  overlooking the Pacific Ocean

- for the privilege of living in this paradise

- for the privilege of living

- to you, dear reader, for reading this

- for my wish to, and my capacity, to write this

- to my creator, for my fingers

- to, and for, my guests at Martin’s Soup Kitchen

- for having the energy to serve them

Get it? No problemo finding stuff to be grateful for.

But, just in case you need daily inspiration to prime the pump, check out this website created and run by Steve and Jarl – two dear souls and cherished friends. It’s called “Gratitude Twenty Four Seven”. It’s at www.gratitudetwentyfourseven.com. If you decide to sign up, a tip or teaching on gratitude will pop up in your mailbox every day. Have a look!

Service Practice – Our dessert course! Soo sweet! If there is one thing I have learned from my volunteer work at Martin’s, (and believe me, there’s way more) is that service work takes your mind off yourself, your problems, worries, whatever, and makes you focus on others. No matter how tired I feel when I arrive, I am energized and “high” when I leave. Every time. And every volunteer at every non-profit that I have ever worked at walks around with a big smile pasted on their puss.

Lincoln was right: It really does “feel good to do good”.

Dr. Albert Schweitzer is quoted as having told his students: “One thing I know: the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who will have sought and found how to serve.”

And Rabindranath Tagore summed up the connection: “I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy.”

Feeling blue? Do service. I guarantee results.

Practice tip:

This whole post has been a practice tip, but on the topic of gratitude, and guaranteed to make you feel really happy and uplifted, I’ve embedded here a link to an exquisite video sent to me by a wonderful coaching client – a great lady.

It was created for TEDx by filmmaker Louis Schwartzberg. It’s titled Nature, Beauty, Gratitude. It runs just a few seconds shy of 10 minutes. Take the time. You’ll be happy you did. Really!

Here’s the link:

http://www.ted.com/talks/louie_schwartzberg_nature_beauty_gratitude.html

Oh yeah – and don’t forget to turn off the fear and hatred box!

Until we next meet, dear reader, I offer you my greatest love and respect.

And please, be kind – and grateful – to yourself.

Metta,

Michael

"Red" light at the end of the tunnel...

Hello sweet reader,

Soo good to be back with you again.

We are just back from an amazing trip to Turkey, where we had a memorable experience in lots of ways. The people we met, and there were many, were universally warm, friendly, kind and helpful. That part (the people part) was, and always is, the best part of any trip for me.

Due to its strategic location at the crossroads of important trade routes, empires, cultures and religions for millennia, Turkey is very, very rich in monumental man made structures to visit, some standing and some in ruins – a tourist’s paradise!

Indeed, it occurs to me that if, over the centuries, all those kings, warriors, sultans, and priests hadn’t built all those palaces, castles, temples, mosques and churches, (using all the cheap slave labor), we tourists would have nowhere to go. We’d have to stay home and read a book!

And speaking of books, the image at the top of this post depicts the remains of the facade of the library at Ephesus, which was, in the 1st century BC, the 2nd largest city in the Roman Empire, boasting a population of 250,000 people.

One of the very interesting tidbits about this particular library however, completed by the Romans in 135AD, is that the archeologists tell us that it was connected by a tunnel to the whorehouse…REALLY, NO KIDDING!

Can’t you just hear it? “Honey, I’m just going to pop down to the library for an hour. There’s this hot new book by Socrates I want to check out…wait a minute, I AM SOCRATES!” (He lived there for a spell).

Now THERE is a concept: the library connected to the whorehouse. Think of all the struggling libraries everywhere – starving for visitors and running huge deficits. Overnight, they’d be hubs of activity. With all those new members, plus a small toll to use the tunnel, their financial woes a thing of the past. But at what human cost?

"Group Poop"

Compared to the Greeks though, the Romans were prudes: This next pic, also from Ephesus, was of the…yup, you guessed it – the town latrine. Now the Greeks, who as you know, were renowned for their open mindedness on matters of body and sexuality, shared this facility between men and ladies – no walls, no stalls, everybody together – a social event so to speak (group poop?). The Romans, a bit more circumspect, weren’t having any of it: They put up a curtain between the sexes.

Why, you may be asking by now, am I telling you this, and in this way? Well, for me, the connection which segues this lighthearted look at a 2000 year old  library and latrine to a very modern men’s bathroom at the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul was an incident which occurred at the latter, an event which offered me a very unpleasant opportunity to witness a way, WAY darker side of life for some women in Turkey, and for many too many women in other parts of the world. It made me profoundly uncomfortable and I have been turning it over and over in my mind since then because of what it revealed, hence its import for me.

I want to share it.

Hagia Sophia, (in Latin, Sancta Sophia), dedicated in 353AD, was a church for a thousand years more or less, then a mosque, and now a museum. It is huge and totally spectacular, considered one of the wonders of the ancient world (this world too, actually). Because of this, it’s a “don’t miss”, and was jammed with tourists on the day we were there, as it always is.

Laura and I both had to pee, and the line for the ladies was really, REALLY long. The men’s line was basically nonexistent. So far it sounds pretty normal, right? I kept Laura company in her line while we waited, so I know exactly how long the wait was: 20 MINUTES.

Then I went into the men’s. The urinals were occupied. The stalls were empty.

When I was washing up, a Turkish woman, scarf on head, came inside and headed for a stall. Nobody cared. Hardly anyone even noticed her. I did. It was clear she was in real trouble. She really, really needed to go RIGHT AWAY. There was no way she could wait 20 minutes. Who among us hasn’t been in that situation? Who cares if she went into a vacant stall?

Well, the bathroom attendant – Turkish, 30ish, cared…a lot. He cared over the top. He basically lost it, and went berserk. His was not a “this is the men’s room, please leave” kind of command. This was from deep inside. He was profoundly and personally offended on another level completely. This was about something else. This was in the domain of religion and deeply rooted cultural code or dogma for sure. He screamed at her, grabbed her, and threw her out of the room, as though she was lower than a dog. Indeed, most of us wouldn’t treat a dog in the way he behaved.

Wow!! What a contrast from that shared bathroom at Ephesus 2000 years ago!!

In parts of Turkey today, particularly in the South and Southeast, arranged marriages, many forced, still take place without the consent of the teenage girls (or the boys for that matter), who have been “promised” by their fathers. The girls are obliged to obey. The consequences of not doing so are most dire.

How dire? As dire as it gets.

If you are unfortunate enough to have the wrong set of parents,

and if you have the temerity:

to date (let alone fall in love with), and sometimes even “Facebook” with a boy of whom your father doesn’t approve…

or,

to refuse to marry the stranger to whom your father has promised you at age 2…

or,

to try to save your own life or that of your children, by leaving a husband who may be beating you or your children to death…

Your family will divorce, cut you off, and ostracize you completely, considering you as nothing more than a prostitute. It will be as though you are dead to them.

AND, if you STILL have the courage to persist, you will ACTUALLY BE dead to them, and to everyone else too, because there are still instances – more than we would like to believe – of so-called “HONOR” killings.  Your father AND your mother will arrange your murder. If you run, they will track you down.

When the laws  in Turkey were more lenient for murders committed by youngsters 18 or under, and the jail terms were less, your parents would instruct your brother to kill you. But when recently, in their effort to put a stop to all this, the Turkish government (to their credit) removed  your young brother’s favored legal position, your parents found another way to salvage their “honor”.

So simple: Instead of losing 2 children (you to your grave and your brother to jail), your parents will lock you in a room and apply maximum pressure on you to kill yourself (“jump from a bridge or a building…whatever works – we don’t care…”), thus sparing your brother from a jail term. Nice, huh?

Unbreakable bond??

All this is done in the name of preserving the family’s “honor” in the community, which is why they call this monstrosity “honor killing”. According to a June 2008 report by the Turkish Prime Minister’s Human Rights Directorate, in Istanbul alone there is an “honor” killing every week, and 1000 such reported in the last 5  years. Since it is obviously the families’ intention to cover up these crimes rather than expose them (after all, they KNOW who the killers are), imagine how many of these crimes remain in the shadows. The Istanbul Branch of the Human Rights Association warns of a recent surge of violence against women, including murders and suicides.

Turkey is not alone in all this. There are plenty of similar stories and grisly statistics from all over the globe, including North America and Europe.

Brave men in Saudi Arabia doing their job

Because I am always so conscious of trying to resist being in judgment of others, (after all, if I judge others, who’s gonna judge me?), I have been trying for weeks to find the slightest shred of  “honor” in all of this. Heck, never mind honor, just some kind of “understanding” so I can file this somewhere, anywhere, in my consciousness and move on, but this time I’ve failed.

All I can find is horror, revulsion, and incomprehension. Hence, the title of this post.

Practice tip:

Now, as for my customary practice tip at this time? HA!

How can I, who don’t know where to put all this myself, or where to go with it, possibly offer you advice?

My friend Daniel had a suggestion though, which feels right to me.

He suggested: “invite your readers, the men AND the women too, to search inside themselves and honestly scrutinize their own attitudes towards women and themselves; to discover if they are comfortable with what they find there. I think that is a great idea, so there it is.

A really serendipitous event occurred for me this week, which may help you do this. We were privileged to spend an evening with Julia Butterfly Hill and listen to her reciting some poetry from her brand new book of poems and stories called “BECOMING”. (BTW, the poems are wonderful).

Many of you may have heard about Julia due to her well known and unbelievably courageous 2 year tree sit in Luna, in Northern California, which action saved a grove of old growth redwood trees from destruction, and brought the attention of the world to this issue.

Julia demonstrates and lives at the highest level of personal and professional integrity of anyone I have ever met – often at enormous personal risk.

She wrote, and read this poem to us. Perhaps it will serve to guide you in your own inquiry into how you see and behave towards women, and if you are a woman, into how you see yourself.

Dear reader,

Please respect, and be kind to, yourself

Metta,

Michael

Women And The Earth – Julia Butterfly Hill

You are afraid of my darkness

because that…

is where

the magic is held.

You cannot control it,

so you destroy it

and oppress it

and use a book written long ago

as your excuse

and then blame it on the women…

the loss of the Eden which is me.

See, I am the Goddess…

See, I am the Goddess,

the part of your God

that you wish to get rid of

because I hold the magic…

in the dark, moist caverns

I lie and live and thrive.

I am the womb

of life’s gestation.

I am the darkness

that holds the space for the light.

We could not see the stars

without the night.

Those green shoots,

the children of tomorrow,

they are held within

my darkest depths

until they are called forth.

I am the understanding of balance.

I am the knowing of gods and goddesses.

I am the Great Mystery

and it is this uncertainty

that scares you.

I would rather grab hands

with thousands,

run off cliffs

to be swallowed by the sea,

than to give up

the magic

that is me.

I will be consumed by the fire

that you thought would kill me,

and I will come back

stronger than before.

I am the phoenix

arising from that flame.

And I will hold the hands of thousands,

emerging from the seas,

wetlands, deserts, prairies,

caverns, mountains, and trees…

and I will call forth

the magic

that is me.

How Tranquil Is This?

Greetings from our forest home in  Vermont’s NE Kingdom. Soo good to be back with you, and wow, do I ever mean it. Don’t get me wrong, I always mean it, but this time is especially sweet.

I reckon you’ve heard something abour Hurricane Irene, and her visit to Vermont. Well, she came, stayed around a while, made quite an impression, and in the process became a huge teacher (and coach) for yours  truly. One of a good coach’s main jobs is to help us learn stuff, or remind us of things about ourselves that we may need to learn or remember – some good, some maybe uncomfortable, but all necessary.

So, as you can see in the photo at the top we have this idyllic brook /waterfall which flows past our deck. When we are here, I switch into gratitude mode several times a day for having the privilege to live in and enjoy this paradise. It is never lost on me, and this is just one blessing. Actually, I go into gratitude mode, very often every day, for all the other blessings, too numerous to mention, bestowed on me. I like to say that my entire life is a blessing, and that “my address is gratitude – I live there 24/7.” 

So, when it started to rain early Sunday morning, I wasn’t too concerned, because our cabin has withstood years and years of spring runoffs without incident. But, as the day progressed, with the rain heavy and incessant, and our brook rising and rising and rising still more, I witnessed my mind moving from “no problemo”, to concern, to anxiety, to full blown fear. We could actually lose our home. Really, it was possible.

Just below is a video I took from our deck. I took it shortly before we reluctantly vacated to spend the night just across the brook, but on higher ground, in the cabin and company of our dear, dear friends, Deb and Dan, and their beautiful son (our Godson, I’m proud to say) Ethan.

(BTW, if you are reading this in your email, I don’t think the video will play. You’ll need to click on the title of this post which will bring you to my blog, where you can play it).

Irene, Vt.,2nd

I remember my state of mind (no mind now, just fear), as I tried to decide what to bring. What do you need if your house is going to be gone?  Toothbrush? (Ha! My dentist would approve); Change of undies and socks? Towel? Passport? ID? iPhone? Some food? What food? Ridiculous!  

All my life, when I would see folks who actually did lose their homes in catastrophes in tearful interviews on TV, of course I always felt awful for them, and wondered how they could cope with that, but now that I was getting just the tiniest taste of what it must be like, I didn’t like it at all.

Yann Martel, in Life Of Pi, said that “fear is life’s only opponent; only fear can destroy life”; and Krishnamurti described fear as ”the movement from certainty to uncertainty” – an apt description of this event for sure: I felt entitled to be afraid, but not at all happy in that domain. 

   I tried meditating – something  I would recommend to my coaching clients, or anyone actually, in such circumstances – and it really did help quite a bit, but I have to say that notwithstanding all of the methods and techniques for  handling stressful, fearful times, nothing even comes close to the benefit of the loving support of family and friends. Thank you Monk, Deb, Dan and Eth!!

Dinner was fine, but appetite missing, and between  board games, the NY Times Sunday crossword puzzle (Eth, you are amazing!) and good conversation the evening passed. “Sleeping” was mostly about lying flat, eyes shut, and listening for the sound of our house collapsing.  

Which didn’t happen!!!

At 6:00 AM Monday, we walked down the hill and VOILA!! A HOUSE!! –  lots of cleanup to do, but still there. We were soo lucky! Very, very sadly, many many folks in central and southern Vemont were not so fortunate as we were.

Ah, the sweet joy of sweeping up leaves, clearing debris, and putting your things back in their designated places – the “places” are still there! The joy of switching on the lights and loading a Mozart concerto onto the CD player. The little things, the littlest things, which even I, the guy who imagines he “lives in gratitude 24/7″ never thinks about – and that’s my teaching from Irene: Of course it’s the big things, but it’s the little things too.

It’s so hard to hang onto and live in that state of mind, of gratitude and composure, especially in our media driven culture -  just 2 or 3 visits to the internet, talk radio (the fear and hatred box), and news on TV (What? 70 beautiful children murdered in Norway? Where can I find a container to hold that?) I can feel it all slipping away, right back into my old habits.

What can I  do to stay balanced?

Practice Tip: I’ve decided to take on a self observation exercise wherein I will stop what I’m doing 2-3 times a day, just for a minute, take a breath, and reflect on some of the things – not so much the biggies, like my creator giving me another day,  my miraculous sunbeam Laura giving me her love, and you dear reader, for the privilege of being in relationship with you - but the little things: like how really great this OJ tastes, the pleasure of a good conversation, and a hug from the local postmaster (have you hugged your postmaster lately?) Anyway, perhaps you’d like to try this out. Let me know if it works for you.

Dear Reader, I’ll be out of the country for a month or so – back with you in October. Until then, try to keep your balance, and please, be kind to yourself.

Metta,

Michael

Everything Changes. Nothing Remains Without Change. (The Buddha)

Hello dear Reader.

It’s good to be back with you. I know it’s been a while, but I don’t like to pester you with a bunch of words based on some artificial schedule as in: “Oh, it’s been 2 weeks, gotta write something.” My words to you, for better or worse, come from my heart – what I’m thinking about, or feeling – which I want to share, and I never know when that is going to happen.

We spend our summers in Vermont, in the cabin we used for weekends when we lived in Montreal. The experience of my trip here a few days ago stirred up some memories, which led to a reality check about just a few of the changes which we are all living through and must make room for. I thought I’d like to share some of that.

Want to know what love is? My sweet Laura got up & drove me to SFO, in time for a 5:40 flight. Big, BIG “see you in a week” hug – best part of the day!

Then, I inject myself “into the system”. I ask myself: “I wonder where I’m gonna sleep tonite?” I go in.

First up: The bag (& money) drop, where I actually do drop my bag, and $25.

Security isn’t open yet. It’s 3:55 AM, 5 minutes to go, so I have the opportunity to watch the Homeland Security folks setting up our maze. Now, I have to say that going thru a maze isn’t so bad if it’s filled with people. It kind’a makes sense – Disneyland, the bank, customs, even security at the airport – it keeps things organized. But, if you really want to feel stupid, be the first one to enter one and walk alone 50 feet back and forth in order to go 10 feet straight ahead…humiliating!

Next up, surrender my shoes, belt, and all my possessions into the conveyor, praying they wouldn’t find an excuse to confiscate my two cheeses – who knows, right? They can have my toothpaste, no problem, but please, not the cheese…”don’t move my cheese…”

Then, it was time to get naked for the unseen operator(s) of the body scanner gizmo. Who are those people anyway, and where are they?

Finally, all dressed again. Time for breakfast: $8.95 for a breakfast Panini, $3.50 for coffee, and $2.35 for water. A memory pops up: I’m sitting with my dad at Schwartz’s in Montreal, and the waiter announces that the price of the smoked meat sandwich has just been raised from $0.35 to $0.40. My dad hollers to the server: “What? 40 cents? I used to pay a nickel for these!!” Now, 60 years later, he turns to me at SFO, and asks: “did you just pay $3.50 for coffee and $2.35 for water? FOR WATER???”

On board, 27C is a really narrow aisle seat, but necessary – male geezer plumbing issues. BTW, about those body changes? Now THAT, (to quote Obama in ’08), is “change you can count on”. My seatmate is a really big lady, squashing me, causing my shoulder to protrude into the aisle. That part would be OK, except that the two stewards are also big people. So I get bashed every time – really, every time they pass me.

Now, those of you who know me know that I’m not exactly Boney Maroney myself, so I hardly have cause to complain, but that, plus the tiny bag containing six pretzels they offer me, does ignite the memory of my first flight anywhere, in 1959, to Europe, on a BOAC (before they became BA) “Comet” aircraft, – the world’s 1st commercial jetliner. I remember a dude in a starched white jacket & black bow tie carving CHATEAUBRIAND (yeah, Chateaubriand, I’m not kidding!) in the aisle, serving it on English Bone Chinaware, and asking me in a heavy British accent: “How do you like your meat cooked sir?” HA!

Actually, I have another really clear memory of that trip – the LIDO nightclub in Paris: dozens of gorgeous, bare breasted Parisian ladies dancing their routines really near our table, wearing sparkly G strings, a few feathers, and nothing else. Oh yeah, almost forgot…shoes. The show, I remember well – the Tour Eiffel and the Louvre not so much. What can I say? I‘m a sixteen year old guy, first time in Paris. Cut me some slack here, OK?

But, I digress…

And now? Now, I skip the LIDO and head straight for the Louvre. Now THAT’S a change…huh? Being OK with this one is a toughie I admit, but thinking about  it makes me smile – a life change!

Bottom line? It was a really good day. I got from San Francisco to Vermont in ONE DAY, and safely. When I’m moaning and whining to myself about the security, the pretzels, and the narrow seats, I like to think about Lewis and Clark, and what they endured to make the same trip.

And then, when I got here, something really real. The patient, enduring waters of Pacific Brook, tumbling right past my deck, on their way to the sea, asking me: “Michael, where have you been?” Soo worth the trip!!

I have a Godson who I am crazy about. Around about when he was graduating from high school, he said to me: “G-Po, my friends are all going in different directions. Everything is changing and I don’t like it. I don’t like this thing called change.” My response at the time was something like: “Eth, this thing called change – make friends with it, or you’ll never be happy.”

How often do I struggle to follow my own advice.

Dear Reader, make room for change, and please,

Be kind to yourself,
Metta,
Michael

"I didn't do anything real until I was 50."

In the spring of 2002, I attended my daughter Julia’s graduation from Smith College in Northampton Mass.

Obviously, the best and biggest part of that memorable weekend was about our wonderful Julia – our happiness for and pride in her. Like most of her classmates, Julia was just shy of 22.

But there was another great woman there that weekend (there were many actually) – but one was a really big teacher for yours truly. (It’s college, so learning needs to happen, right?)

Her name was Anne Martindell – a classmate of Julia’s. She too graduated with a B.A., but with a major difference – a 65 year difference – Anne was 87… that’s right… 87.

I should add, that at this time, we had just made a big move to California, and just shy of age 59 I was considering what I wanted to do with the time I had left, and feeling very like it was too late for me, for a new career – washed up at 59 – poor me…yada yada…

Then, just in time, just for me, (thank you Smith College) onto the podium, pops Anne.

She spoke. What a treat! I was riveted. She talked about her life. A few choice tidbits as I remember them:

“My father ripped me out of school because he thought that a career in the law was not for genteel ladies. His vision for my life was marriage and babies – that’s all.”

“I didn’t do anything real until I was 50.”

“I’m here to tell you ladies that you CAN have it all – family, career, all – but not at the same time. You have to have it sequentially.”

“I’m considering graduate school. If I do that, I could get a really good job.”

Anne died in June 2008 at age 93, almost exactly 6 years after “commencement”. I found her obit in the New York Times. Some excerpts:

“Anne C. Martindell, who entered politics in her 50s, found true love as ambassador to New Zealand in her 60s, earned a college degree in her 80s and published a memoir titled “Never Too Late” in her 90s, died on Wednesday in Princeton, N.J. She was 93.

“Her birth, her breeding and her iron-willed father seemed to have condemned Ms. Martindell to a life she later dismissed as utterly conventional — “I didn’t do anything real until I was 50,” she once told a reporter — but feminism and the 1960s changed all that.

“Her memoirs describe a pampered but miserable childhood. Her sickly, mentally unstable mother, the former Marjory Blair, was the heiress to a railroad fortune. Her cold and distant father, William J. Clark — an alcoholic, she later discovered — was a prominent lawyer who in 1938 became a judge for the United States Court of Appeals for the Third Circuit.

“After attending private schools in Manhattan and Princeton she entered Smith College in 1932.

“When, in her freshman year, she announced to her father that she intended to earn a degree and study law. He was horrified. By parental decree, she dropped out of school.

“She married George Scott Jr., a stockbroker, with whom she reared three children. The marriage ended in divorce after 13 years.

“In 1948, she married Jackson Martindell, the publisher of Who’s Who and had a fourth child.

“In addition to her children, she is survived by nine grandchildren; and six great-grandchildren.

“In the 1960s, dismayed by the United States’ involvement in Vietnam, she began raising money for the 1968 presidential campaign of Senator Eugene J. McCarthy.

“She then agreed to become the vice chairwoman of the New Jersey Democratic Party.

“I was appalled at how women were treated in politics — good for making coffee and licking stamps, period,” she said.

“She pushed. Once, arriving at an important meeting, she was refused entry, lest she be offended by the four-letter words the men used. After using some profanity of her own. She said: “Now, let’s get in there and get to work.”

“In 1972, Ms. Martindell chaired George McGovern’s New Jersey campaign and  led the state’s delegation to the Democratic National Convention (the only woman to do so).

“In 1973, Ms. Martindell won a seat in the New Jersey Senate ousting a seemingly entrenched Republican incumbent. Her first act in the Senate was to prepare a resolution calling for the impeachment of President Richard Nixon.

“In her four years as senator, during which time she and her husband separated, Ms. Martindell focused on women’s rights, education and the environment. She helped create the New Jersey Division on Women, one of the first state-level offices in the country that addressed exclusively issues affecting women, including job discrimination and domestic violence.

“In 1979, she was named ambassador to New Zealand and Western Samoa.

“During her three years as ambassador, Ms. Martindell fell in love with New Zealand — and with one New Zealander in particular, Sir Mountford Tosswill Woollaston, a landscape painter better known as Toss, whom she later called “the love of my life.” He died in 1998.

“Her devotion to New Zealand outlasted her tenure as ambassador. In 1986, disturbed at deteriorating relations between the United States and New Zealand, which had banned American nuclear submarines from entering its waters, she founded the United States-New Zealand Council to foster closer ties and better understanding. The council is still in operation.

“At Smith, on graduation day, Ms. Martindell, then 87, also received an honorary Doctor of Laws degree. At that time, she was the oldest graduate in Smith’s history.

“I could get a really good job?” Ha! What a joke!

…And not too late for Larry, either:

"I wanted my guitar to sound exactly the way I felt."

South African ex convict, now Pop Star Larry Joe’s background and story, is as different from Anne’s as one can possibly imagine – with one very obvious and inspiring exception.

When Larry Joe was 13, his parents moved to a small house in Douglas. His father was unemployed and his mother struggled to make ends meet as a teacher. When he got home from school, there was no food. His sister would tell him that she had a headache for bread and cheese, but there was nothing to give her.

He started hanging with the guys on the corner, who talked about stealing, and then started doing it. “I saw guys coming with expensive stuff, you know, and they were bragging. I started walking around with them.” When he got cash, he sneaked it into his mother’s purse. She caught him moving stolen goods into the house and begged him to stop it, but by then he was addicted to Quaaludes and had to fund his habit.

At 17, he moved to Cape Town and fell in with a crowd of guys who drove fancy cars, wore gold jewelry and cool clothes, and did robberies, some violent. The police were on to him now, so he ran.

He ran for seven years, until his grandmother talked him into giving himself up.

Prison set him free.

"One is never too bad to be good."

“In prison you think about everything” says Joe. “I thought: all these years, I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. I decided just to be myself. So I started behaving like a gentleman. One is never too bad to be good.”

He asked to be put into solitary confinement, where he spent many months, and he started to write songs.

“I started to put my feelings into words and music: “I wanted my guitar to sound exactly the way I felt.”

He strums his guitar and sings, his voice has been called “so sweet that it’s heartbreaking.”

“Crazy Life” was recorded in a single cell in the Douglas Correctional Centre. To improve acoustics, they piled mattresses against the wall. The album was released on 13th December 2010, the same day that Larry was released from prison.

Have a listen and a look.  I promise you a treat:

So…Anne Martindell and Larry Joe “on the same page?” You bet! They both understood that it is “Never Too Late” to achieve their dreams. They kept their eye on that. Then when they could, they acted.

Inspiration for every one of us.

Practice Tip: Looking back from 93

You are 93. You are looking back on your previous 25 years.

1.     What kind of life will you have wanted to live during that quarter century

2.     What kind of person would you have needed to be to make the most of that block of time?

3.     What relationships could you be open to, what projects could you launch to create that life?

4.     What new practices could you initiate right now to bring out these qualities in yourself?

5.     What actions will you take?

Dear Reader,

Please be kind to yourself,

Metta,

Michael

"Totally Nuts? Really? Who Exactly?"

“My mind is like a bad neighborhood. I try not to go in there alone.”

I love this quote from Bay Area author Annie Lamott. At first blush, it’s really funny, but for many of us, despite the fact that we really do need to observe our thoughts and actions carefully, so as to take ownership of all parts of ourselves, it’s very accurate. Indeed, an important part of my coaching work involves self observation practices and exercises. But, Annie is right – sometimes visits can be scary.

I’ve posted a number of times about my Thursdays at “Martins” a SF homeless shelter, my favorite day of the week because of the big learning that happens there for me. Last week was no exception. This time I thought I’d share.

After parking and on my walk to the shelter, I was “buttonholed” by one of our guests. I recognized him. Since we were headed to the same place, I decided to walk with him. He had, as usual, his ancient, thick, tattered bible in his hand and was reciting it, from memory, in monotone, like a mantra, and very fast. I tried, but most of what he was saying I couldn’t understand, with the exception of numerous references to Jesus, sinners, kingdom of heaven, and the devil too. He appeared to me to be totally lost in his bible, in his words, in his own world – completely oblivious to what was going on in the ”real world”, where I live. I’m sure you get the picture.

Anyway, we got to the corner of a very wide, two way, busy traffic street. I stopped to wait for a green light. He took off. It was amazing watching him dodge the cars: slowing down for the faster cars, speeding up to get ahead of slower cars, and stopping when he needed to not get hit. Exceedingly nimble and alert – like a downhill skier on a slalom course – body as close as possible to the “flags”, to get around them without knocking them down (in his case, being knocked down) – and very, very much in this world, not in his bible. When he got to the other side, he turned to look at me – stlll waiting for the light.

Although his choice was not prudent or wise, nevertheless a big and important part of his brain was fully functional and taking excellent care of him. I couldn’t have managed his feat.

Are people who we observe in the street talking to themselves really cuckoo? What is that exactly? We all, every one of us, have an endless stream of conversation going on inside our heads, all the time – the voices, talking to us. But because it’s silent, we call it thinking. How big of a step is it really, to be having that conversation out loud? Not that big I reckon. Gotta be careful who we call cuckoo.

But I wasn’t done learning.

Towards the end of the shift, in order to let the dishwashers catch up, we switch from soup bowls to paper cups for the last 20-30 minutes. Our guests can have as many as they want. One guest was coming back every 60 seconds or so asking for two more cups full each time. Nobody can eat that fast, so I knew he must be filling a container. We have a takeout counter where we offer to fill jars and bottles for takeout, so I offered to fill a container of his choice with as much soup as he wanted so we could stop sending paper cups to the landfill needlessly. He refused. I offered again. He refused again. I followed him outside and observed him filling a green garbage bag with soup, salad, and bread (we offer salad and bread with the soup) – all together in the same bag, all mixed up.

I freaked – not at him – but I freaked. I had to stop to take inventory of all the out of control thoughts and feelings going on in my brain (all mixed up together, just like the mess in his garbage bag). The list: shock, disbelief, revulsion (eew!! how can someone eat like that?), anger (a lot, for the needless trash), compassion (not enough), shame (for my anger), and a weird, crazy kind of awe and respect for his survival skills (which I know I totally lack)…what a brew!!

Do we really believe we are the boss of our mind? The job of a lifetime. No wonder we need to meditate!!

Now, while you are reading the practice tip, which I pray you will do, because it’s from the Dhammapada, is on point, and is unbelievably wise, click on the link below, and listen to what John Lennon had to say about “Mind Games:”

BTW: If you are in your email, the link likely won’t be there. To listen, click on the title of this post. You will get to my blog page. The link is there.

Practice tip:

We are what we think.

All that we are arises with our thoughts.

With our thoughts we make the world.

Speak or act with an impure mind

and trouble will follow you

as the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart.

We are what we think.

All that we are arises with our thoughts.

With our thoughts we make the world.

Speak or act with a pure mind

and happiness will follow you

as your shadow, unshakable.

Your worst enemy cannot harm you

as much as your own thoughts, unguarded.

But once mastered,

no one can help you as much,

not even your father or your mother.

(trans Thomas Byrom)

Dear Reader, Please be kind to yourself.

Metta,
Michael

THIS, is a butterfly

I reckon most of us have heard the famous quote: “When a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world it can cause a hurricane in another part of the world.”

According to Wikipedia, “the ‘butterfly effect’ as the term was originally called, was the brainchild of MIT meteorologist Edward Lorenz.

“In 1961 while working as an assistant professor in MIT’s department of meteorology, Lorenz created an early computer program to simulate weather.  One day he changed one of a dozen numbers representing atmospheric conditions, from .506127 to .506.

“That tiny alteration utterly transformed his long-term forecast, a point Lorenz wrote about in his 1972 paper, “Predictability: Does the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wings in Brazil Set Off a Tornado in Texas?

“Lorenz’s meteorological investigations eventually became called the “butterfly effect,” the concept that small events can have large, widespread consequences.

“Translated into mass culture, the butterfly effect has become a metaphor for the existence of seemingly insignificant moments that alter history and shape destinies.”

This was no butterfly.

The horrific images coming at us from Japan, along with everything else they show us, serve as yet another reminder of how all of us, everywhere, are connected. And this is not only about “mother nature” either. If “we” spill 205.8 million gallons of crude oil into the Gulf of Mexico, that goes there. If “they” are obliged to release radioactive steam from their nuclear reactors, that comes here. What happens here – what “we” do, impacts “them”. What happens there – what “they” do, impacts “us”. We/they, are one.

The proof, (if we needed it) that we are one, arrived direct from Asia, from across thousands of miles of ocean – nonstop – right on our doorstep (our “dockstep”, actually), even before the photos from Japan. We live in a houseboat in San Francisco Bay. This clip was filmed and posted on You Tube by that sweet Ashley, our next-door neighbor. I’m sure she won’t mind if I share. Have a look.

Practice Tip:

By now you know that I close all my posts with the word “Metta”. I’m often asked what that means:

“Metta”, in Pali, means loving kindness, and active interest in others.

Its cultivation is a popular form of meditation in Buddhist practice. It begins with the “meditator” sending loving kindness to him/herself, then their loved ones, then strangers, then “enemies” and finally all sentient beings. For this, you do not need to be a “meditator”, just a loving, concerned, human.

This would be a really good time to offer “Metta” to those deeply suffering in Japan (and all beings everywhere).

To help you do that, click on this link to a video showing the creation of a beautiful, beautiful, CD created by Jennifer Berezan and Friends, called “In These Arms”. This video demonstrates the essence, the very heart, of “Metta practice”. You can watch and listen, or, if you prefer, just listen while you send loving kindness out into the world.

*BTW, If you are reading this in your email, the media links won’t work. Click on the title of this post, which will bring to this actual post on my site. There, the links will work.

May all beings everywhere, be happy.

May all beings everywhere, be safe.

May all beings everywhere, be free.

Dear Reader, please, be kind to yourself,

Metta,

Michael

Now THIS...is TRAFFIC!!

Crossing the street in Saigon and Hanoi (and doubtless many, many other Asian cities) is an act of faith and trust. Intersections with traffic lights are scarce, and so at some point you have to take a deep breath, and insert yourself into the flow of scooters, cars and buses coming at you from all four directions at once.

I figured out that the “trick” is to make no sudden moves – just proceed slowly and steadily – so that hundreds of drivers at the same time can take note of your presence, predict your intentions, and allow for that on their “radar”. Basically, it’s  a partnership of sorts, and it works. I crossed dozens of times.  I suddenly had this image of myself as a rock in a stream – the “waters” parted for me, and came back together after they passed me by.

There is a beautiful brook which passes in right front of our cabin in the Vermont woods. Over the years, I have had countless opportunities to observe and contemplate the patient & soft (yet strong ) waters while they tumble and (and pare) their way to the sea. They come up against a rock or other obstacle, pass around (or sometimes over) it, then join up and continue on their adventure. For some reason, I don’t really know why, I’ve always identified myself with the waters, and never the rocks.

The soft overcomes the hard

But after Saigon, I want to understand the rocks too.

Right now, what’s coming through to me from the rocks is an example on aging successfully. I mean, these rocks know that eventually they are toast. After all, the Grand Canyon is there today – all carved out by that soft, patient stuff called water, and time. And, do we hear them moaning and whining about it? Nope! They accept the inevitable with grace and a smile (well maybe not a smile). So, that’s today’s teaching for Michael from the rocks. Imagine, if we are willing to listen carefully, even rocks will speak to us.

Practice Tip(s):

1) With respect to photo #1: Altho I successfully crossed “dozens of times”, I don’t recommend it. (Indeed, I do admit that I heard the word “idiot” cast in my direction more than once, on telling this story this story. Hmnn…could they have a point?). Anyway, maybe try harder to find a traffic light. OK?

2) Way easier to hear though, than the voice of the rocks, and on this very point of right attitude in aging, is the voice of poet Fleur Adcock. I love this poem. You will too. It’s called “Weathering“:

My face catches the wind

from the snow line

and flushes with a flush

that will never wholly settle.

Well, that was a metropolitan vanity,

wanting to look young forever, to pass.

I was never a pre-Raphaelite beauty

and only pretty enough to be seen

with a man who wanted to be seen

with a passable woman.

But now that I am in love

with a place that doesn’t care

how I look and if I am happy,

happy is how I look and that’s all.

My hair will grow grey in any case,

my nails chip and flake,

my waist thicken, and the years

work all their usual changes.

If my face is to be weather beaten as well,

it’s little enough lost

for a year among the lakes and vales

where simply to look out my window

at the high pass

makes me indifferent to mirrors

and to what my soul may wear

over its new complexion.

Sweet reader, please, be kind to yourself,

Metta,

Michael