the gold fish bowl...

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight,
in a bud
was more painful
then the risk                                                                                                
it took
to Blossom.  Anais Nin

A piece of research, I read recently, observed what would happen if gold fish were taken from their bowl and put in a large bath tub. One would assume they would make a dash to splash and play in the larger body of water. They did not. They remained swimming within the confines of their non- existent fish bowl -- their environment.

I create my own fish bowl and it becomes my mini-universe. My inner environment, beliefs, thoughts and perceptions limit my swimming range. A few centuries ago my ancestors thought the earth was square. And what a fish bowl that created -- no sailing into unknown waters. Then, only a few decades ago I considered my body solid, skin was skin, bone-bone and the cat was a cat. I also thought the end of the world was limited to my five senses. Now Einstein tells us it is all an illusion be it a convincing one. Science is proving (which the shamans, Buddhist monks and mystics have known for eons) that it is a multi-dimensional world with parallel realities. And the breaker of limits is: I am 99.9 percent energy with essentially no solidity other than the one who thinks there is sitting here typing. So my fish bowl is having a hard time telling me the earth is square, that reality ends at my limited perceptions.

My outside environment can easily be confined by habit, routines and old patterns. They make great fish fodder. These well-worn pathways are useful, dependable and offer me comfort and security. They are familiar, like family to me. Yet habit and routine done long enough become mindless and automatic, taking life rather then giving it, dulling heart-eyes, zip, zing and spirit. They build up an energy field which I can easily mistake for essence or reality rather than a tool to make life easier. I create them then get trapped which I suspect keeps me from an ocean of life or, at least, a bathtub full of living that I have yet to splash and play in.

What gives me fresh, new aliveness, what dulls it? What takes the shine off my days, my minutes? What keeps me from a big swim in the whole tub? Where am I stuck? Picking up my self-evaluation spy-glass I need some distance, be it geography or head space. When the children were smaller I went to Toronto every five or six weeks for committee work.  It was a different positioning being out of the comfortable, the habitual activity. For a few days, periodically, I lived outside the fish bowl. I was not a mother or wife as much as I loved being both. Distance gave me a new ledge from which to check out what gave us life and what took it away. Tucson gives me the same opportunity -- space, distance, and detachment which does challenge Nova Scotia routines.

Yet, I don't have to go far for the same opportunity, I just have to go different.  The smallest choice, one simple step can result in a meaningful ocean-swim. After writing here at the desk for a spell, I can so easily click on the TV and "numb out" convincing myself, I am just relaxing. Again, good fodder. However, remembering that TV is not exactly a source of fun and laughter, I head outdoors. "It doesn't take much to do a lot" or to swim in fresh water.

Stepping out the front door, I hear a little voice from next door calling, "Gusta".  I've been spotted. And here he comes heading my way, arms extended until they wrap my knees. So much life just delivered itself at my feet. I can hardly see his face for the red hat hauled down to his nose. Two-year old language is hard for me but he definitely has a story to tell and if I could understand, I know it is about the most exciting happening. No fish bowl here, just innocence, fresh eagerness, a child's aliveness and now, mine.

And isn't it at the edges of living, where we are energized, where the "ah ha's" happen, where we are surprised again by this magical, mystical place that invites us to swim beyond out-dated beliefs and old habits. Here, we can splash and play in the rest of the tub, in a new freedom. A place where cattails talk back and a two year old, knowing no limits, has the most exciting story to tell?

photo source: fotolia.com

Halloween heroes and their choices...

Look at the choices you have... Because in those choices, there are whole worlds of strength and new ways to look at things. Michael J Fox

We each want and need personal power. My two Grands, four and five, want it. His place mat for dinner is Superman and hers is Wonder Woman. They also have matching dinner plates. He says, "Look Grandma" and I look to see skinny, little, five year old fore-arms, flexed. He sees strength, power, and has a feeling he can do anything. And I think, how wonderful.

Yet, if things don't go well the odd time, there can be some disturbance to calm water. On their sleep-over this past week-end we were reading about Stillwater, a panda bear, who tells stories about keeping one's emotions stilled when things don't go right. In the stories, ill fortune be-falls a farmer. His horse runs away, his neighbors commiserates with him on his bad luck.  Seemingly, undisturbed he replies, "Maybe." Next day the horse comes back with two other horses. Then his son breaks his leg. Again the neighbors commiserate, the farmer responds, "Maybe". The army comes by but the son cannot go to war.

Thinking this might be an opportunity to make a point, I ask my Grands, "Do you want to be as powerful as Wonder Woman and Superman? "Eyes are focused, ears perked, dial is set to receive. I whisper, "It's magic. The secret power-word is choice, we can always make a choice how we act. The farmer chose not to make a big fuss or have a "melt down" which might have made things worse. I'll bet he asked himself, 'Does upsetting myself make me feel happy, does it give me more muscles?'" Experienced heads nod and giggle as they know the answers.

Then my grandson looks at me with his head tilted. I wonder if he catches the meaning of my meager attempt to explain how to get power or better still how not to lose it. He tells me, "You know when I came into your room my eyes hurt (he was just waking up) but I crawled up on the bed and listened to the story without making a fuss." I had noticed. Maybe like the farmer, he is telling me, as do his sparkling, brown eyes that he had made a still-water choice that worked for him.

Choices are like clay. Mine mold me. I notice my good choices make hard decisions easier, give me more spiritual muscle which helps detachment from negative situations. Also, scientists are discovering that every time we have a thought or emotion we make a chemical* leaving one feeling better or worse, stronger or weaker. Being experienced, I also find reacting and stirring up stormy emotions do not lead me to happiness or to being any kind of Wonder Woman.

I have another little friend who is full of such wonder -- a four year old, who possesses an extra chromosome (Down Syndrome). Feeling invincible, he is going out on Halloween dressed as his super hero -- The Extra Chromosome Man -- with his chromosomes pinned to his chest like medals. He feels he can fly over roof tops and save us all. And maybe he can. After all, are there not, indeed, "whole worlds of strength and new ways to look at things" in our power of choice?


* Joe Despenza, Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself

Does prayer work? A quantum look...

I have prayed without eyes about difficult situations for years, never knowing if change happened and if it did, was it a fluke, mere coincidence or the prayer? This video below allows a view of how powerful our thoughts, emotions and prayers are.

As well, Dr. Masaru Emoto, who is mentioned in the video below, is an internationally renowned researcher and has gained worldwide acclaim by showing how water is deeply affected by our feelings. In fact, through taking pictures he shows how human emotions like anger, fear, happiness and love change the molecular structure not only of water but also changes us.

Below is a link giving a visual of prayer, thought and emotion at work.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNRB6kqVJ4A

Post Script: For some reason I have been waiting to post the above video for a year. (Maybe because I would wish it a little shorter.) Yet, today I heard the news of Dr. Emoto's passing accompanied by the short video (below) of the power we each have. 

http://vimeo.com/109272333

*Dr. Emoto's Water Crystal Scene from What the BLEEP Do We Know
photo source: fotolia.com

human stuff in the "highest pitch of loveliness..."

"Life has a loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things, blue waves whitening on a (lake), soaring fire that swings and sways...holding wonder like a cup."  Sara Teasdale

We arranged tea. I drive to a place that holds memories for the last time. My lovely ex is not there any more. His wife and I have tea periodically. Driving the half hour out to their beautiful home, I knew it was the end of an era. She is selling the house.

The afternoon is warm as the September breeze plays with my hair through the open window. The sun flashes its fabric off the car ahead, light is lacing leaves and wavelets on the cool, blue lake are wearing little "white mustaches".

Divorce leaves its fragments. Some visits at first were an adjustment -- family dynamics, my own dynamics. Those were the early days, things mattered. I was always well received yet life can get in the way of itself, as can I.  At times, I could hardly get in touch with the tangibility and exquisiteness of a simple caring. I knew in my head I cared yet my regular self, my ordinary self dragged along things I thought mattered -- not this loveliness of now I've stepped into or has it just stepped into me?

Coming up the drive, on a little hill sits their beautiful house with it's "for sale" sign. I look through the glass in the back door. She is at the kitchen table in a patch of light basking like a cat with its face to the sun, not noticing I had arrived. Knocking on the glass, she turns, smiles. The tea is steeped.

Somehow on the drive, I had taken a step back into a larger reality, into another self where all was poignant sentiment yet not sentimental. Surprisingly, I had stepped out of the human stuff and those times when things mattered into a caring, the impersonal-faceless kind and yet the personal kind. An awareness of things I had missed because things had mattered -- the situations, the circumstances, the appearances.

I drove away after tea thinking, if only I could have done it all in this "highest pitch of loveliness."* instead of, in things mattering. What had I missed? If I had only known there is a place where human fusses are saturated in light, do not matter in a reality larger then my smaller existence. So much does not matter, is not material, is not real. As Einstein, observed, "Concerning matter, we have all been wrong. What we have called matter is energy, whose vibration has been lowered as to be perceptible to the senses. There is no matter."

On my way home, I pass again the blue lake resting in the late afternoon stillness. The loveliness of this day, the velvet-caring have a perfection, a lightness of heart, spirit and a touch of melancholy. My last trip. I know in deepest knowing, "Oh, this is all that counts, ever counted or will ever count. Situations, circumstances, polarities do not exist, certainly do not matter, were not even substantive. The only thing alive is this dancing right now behind my rib cage -- light, essence, zing, sparkle and radiance. A place I want to be in when I make my transition, a change from particle to stardust. A place where it doesn't matter.

photo source: fotolia.com
* Alfred Sisley

This train is bound for glory...

"This train is bound for glory...no high flyers, no mid night ramblers..." *

Arriving at the hotel to sign in I noticed directly ahead stands a piano resting in all it's majestic splendor. The invitation is out. Coming back to the hotel after the first day touring Copenhagen, seeing the sculpture of the Little Mermaid, visiting the National Art Gallery that piano sat there flirting with me. 

After two years of lessons I now can chord a number of songs. I brought two pieces of music to practice on the pretend piano in my head.  Yet here is a real piano just waiting to be played. I could not resist. Counting out loud "one and, two and", I did not want people in the lobby thinking I could seriously play piano.

And so it began, each afternoon after touring the city, there was the piano waiting -- just for me. On the second afternoon several people sat close by. In the middle of playing "one and, two and" then plunk, plunk I thought how boring for them and for me. So I tried a song, singing and then humming softly, very softly chording to a little Nora Jones, Johnny Cash -- allowing myself to relax, a little.

After the third day of playing, I went out in the court yard (just off the lounge) to do some writing.   This woman looked up from her wine and asked if I was the piano player. Answering with a quiet, little yes, I emphasized "just practicing." She told me she enjoyed it. I wondered if she detected the shock on my face. After a little chat, she and her husband asked me for supper. With more confidence. I went back to my room and wrote out a few favorite songs for my next "practice".

By Sunday, coming back from breakfast and feeling bolder, I could not pass that piano without playing something. Again starting with "one and, two and" I could feel all these fun songs waiting. The foot tapping "Five Foot Two" was begging to be played (the song I messed up in my first music concert three months ago**) and there were others bubbling up behind it. Letting my music-joy take over I could feel these "Boots (music-notes) Are Made For Walking", then came the zippy, little foot- tapping "Five Foot Two" and there, flying in on the wings of feeling came "Some bright morning...I'll Fly Away". Changing pace, I closed my eyes and swayed to the plight of the "Lonesome Whippoorwill" who truly sounds too blue to fly.

"This Train Is Bound For Glory" followed and, indeed, I had arrived. With my musical deficiencies I certainly was "no high flyer, no mid night rambler," but changing octaves, adding some of my teacher's new "fancies", runs and pick-up notes -- I was in love, joy and fun. Glancing sideways I noticed an audience. Unlike freezing at the concert, I didn't care. I was just feeling the music -- a little soft rhythm, a smart, racy-beat.  And a brand new feeling, I am one of those  "piano-bar players" like in the movies. (The bar was only ten feet away.)

Next morning a young man passed me as I was starting my exploration of the city for the day. He turned and said, "Your music in the lounge and your playing are lovely." I walked away thinking,
he repeated the word "lovely", twice! He is right, I had felt lovely. I thanked him.

This morning I am leaving for home. My map of Copenhagen is criss-crossed with yellow high-lighter. I have been where I wanted to go. In the taxi to the airport I feel the gratitude for the hard work of it, the cultural education and even for surviving the countless bicycles one had to dodge at every corner. Through the week, I had muffed some chords, missed some singing notes, forgot some lyrics but when I lost myself in the music it didn't matter, that piano had ridden me to glory. I had discovered a part of myself that felt totally new. I had been a "piano-bar player" in Copenhagen for a week and I loved it.

* A traditional American gospel song first recorded in 1925. It's origins are unknown.
**  June 26th writing: : "Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it."

"I don't care" has an honored place...

"let all go -- the small middling

tall bigger really

the biggest and all

things -- let all go

so comes love" e.e. cummings

An acquaintance, a lovely person, tells me she has several people in her life that seem to be constantly correcting her or "putting her down." Unfortunately, her situation is not unique. Benign actions such as merely forgetting the keys, not wanting another round of visitors or just buying something new can elicit such retorts flung at us like condemnations: "You forget everything", "You'll never change" or "You're a spender." Even in a situation when an honest "No" is said rather than an artificial "Yes", one risks being accused by another or by an inner voice of being a negative person.

Minor fault-finding by those close to us can rob us of our personal power, self-value and our sense of well-being. If targeted often enough we start second-guessing ourselves, leaking value and feeling belittled. As my acquaintance talked, like a beautiful bouquet with no water, she began to wilt, her shoulders slumped.  The laugh she came through the door with earlier was gone. She believed the judgments flung at her. However, I know her to have normal memory, is a care-giver and is cautious about her money. Yet, these judgments erode her personal value like acid. In her defense she concluded wistfully,  "I am a caring person. I want him to be happy, to feel good. I don't want to be a negative person." To which I added, "Maybe a deeper soul-learning is, "I don't care."

These criticisms-judgments can be delivered in the guise of a "suggestion" from partners, family, adult-children or friends. If they are merely observations my acquaintance may need to self-correct but first, it is to discern where the words come from. Whether one forgets, does not want to be social or is simply wrong is not the question. What matters is the intention of the speaker. Where do the words come from? Why does he/she need to devalue, to be critical, to take the other down a "peg or two"?

 Far too often such complaints issue from the accuser's own projections, unhealthy needs and lack of real happiness. As a result, when anyone gives someone else the responsibility to make them powerful, happy and good as the criticizer does, those needs are dysfunctional and cannot be met. Only self-reflection, hunting one's own darker corners, taking responsibility for one's own personal empowerment and well-being fulfill authentic needs. When the criticizer does not self-reflect, the reason might be (often sub-consciously), "If I can get you to meet my needs, if I can feel powerful by having power over you, out there, I will be happy. Then I don't have to do my own deep diving, my own growth work." And sadly, our response, we who are kind and caring, who are the need meet-ers, the great pleasers fall for it. When unhealthy needs are not satisfied, their demands grow larger because pain bodies are big eaters. They must be fed.*

I had to learn early "not to care" and still feel good about myself. Paradoxically, my mother was my first great teacher, followed by others. She was wonderfully wise, caring and well liked. Yet with me she tried to reclaim part of herself -- a happiness, goodness, and love that only she could discover in herself.  As a result, I never quite "measured up".  Eventually I was in danger of "dying of niceness and the disease to please."  Later on, family, friends, divorce, and parenthood were also my teachers.

Reading the great spiritual teachers, I discovered that inner-detachment, setting oneself free from one's own emotional history is a deeper soul-lesson. I gave up trying to meet others dysfunctional needs/expectations which I had no hope of meeting. At the same time, becoming aware of how the feeling of being honest, meeting my own authentic needs nurtured me and surprisingly, others.

Yet, a caution for my acquaintance; letting go, detaching, and not caring can be mis-interpreted as not relating. "The thinking mind cannot understand Presence and so will often misinterpret it. It will say you are uncaring, distant, have no compassion, are not relating. The truth is, you are relating but at a level deeper than thought and emotion...which goes far beyond relating. In stillness of presence you can sense the formless essence in yourself...(with it's) true caring, true compassion."*

I finally had to let it all go -- "the big small middling tall bigger really the biggest and all things -- let all go dear so comes love." And astonishingly, it did; the unconditional kind, the personal and impersonal kind -- a love that has space, air, detachment, lightness beyond any face, hand, or eye. The irony of not caring was that a larger love waited, as did a deeper feeling of honesty, compassion and expansive freedom. I discovered, "I don't care" is an honored and sacred place in which to live.

*Eckart Tolle

photo source: fotolia.com

crow and dog...

As I turn a corner, a crow is hopping back and forth outside a wire-fence where lives a little white dog, inside a wire-fence. Cawing and barking, a great noise was being made. Both would rush the fence, one inside, one out.  I slowed my step hoping to become invisible. Crow struts forward, teasing? Dog, with little face-fir flying in the breeze, attacks again. Crow hops to top of fence -- caw,caw or ha,ha?

Oh, I see. This is a game. Crow definitely has control -- until dog spots walker, me. White fluffy-fir  rushes my way, barking ferociously -- a fierce monster wanna be. Startled, I step back.

Crow, now ignored, tries the old moves. Dog has new interest, me. I slow down to see how this game plays out. After several disappointing thrusts crow daringly lands inside fence! I am still dog's main attraction. Crow hops closer, caw, caw -- dangerously close, insisting on attention.

Finally, dog notices pesky crow dancing in and out, far too close to little, wiggly tail. Dog turns. Do I see a flicker of aggravation?  Then a quick thrust to dispense with this playmate turned nuisance. Flight escape-timing again, executed uncannily.

Leaving, I look back, crow is strutting the grass safe again, outside of fence.  Do I detect a dash of the peacock in that walk?  I continue up the hill thinking, crow loved that game but did dog? Hmm.

Arriving back home, crow or crow-cousin sits on the telephone pole. Looking up, I wonder, what game would you play with me?

photo source: fotolia.com