Monday, July 28, 2014

Rediscovering The Track


Boyd Varty, master tracker, writer—The Cathedral of the Wild--and owner of the Londolozi Game preserve in South Africa, writes:

“I’ve learned that nothing is worth doing if it cannot be done from a place of deep peace. If we want to restore the planet, we must first restore ourselves. I believe that you find your way to your right life, your mission, the same way you find an animal. First you quiet your heart and be still. Then find the fresh track and be willing to follow it. You don’t need to see the whole picture; you only need to see where to take the next step. Life isn’t about staying on track; it’s about constantly rediscovering the track.”

Having just made a life-changing decision to sell my English cottage of twenty-seven years, I ask myself: Was it done from the place of deep peace that Varty describes above? I think not. Nonetheless it was—like many of our seemingly abrupt decisions-- done from an unconscious accumulation of experience and awareness.

Still, I think Varty has said it all and I admire the way he wrote it in his remarkable book about growing up on Londolozi land in South Africa. Reading the book, we witness the lively, sometime hilarious and sometimes frightening story of his journey into adulthood that brought him into the wisdom expressed above.

 “First quiet your heart and be still.” That means waiting. Many of us are not so good at that. Waiting. My wise son said about my pending decision to sell my beloved English cottage, “Wait three days, Mom, and then see what you want to do.” I waited the three days—three days are so symbolic—and then I was certain it was time to let it go. Sometimes the wait needs to be much longer than three days. Perhaps, as Ina Garten has written about her decision to begin writing cookbooks, a person might need to wait a year to find “the fresh track.”

Being still and waiting allows the Universe, God, the Great Choreographer in the Sky, to do some things: shift some ideas, create some space and open some minds, including our own. All of the above, and so much more: miracles that we cannot fathom.

Waiting makes us feel powerless because we are not doing anything. In our action-oriented culture, that’s bad news. In eastern cultures there are three acknowledged and accepted states of mind: Yes, No and I Don’t Know. 

“I don’t know?”  People in the west tend to think you are a wishy-washy no-account if you don’t know what to do next. I remember my youngest son returning from a visit to Ohio—where he was born--after spring vacation of his senior year in college, and saying to me, “Everyone wanted to know what I was going to do and I had to say I don’t know. It was awful, Mom!”  (This man—not so young now---has seven television Emmys to his credit.)

A friend of mine retired from teaching a month ago and almost everyone she runs into asks her what her plans are. Travel? Moving? She laughs, waves her hands in the air and says, “Summer!”

Finding the “fresh track” and being “willing to follow it” takes courage. We need to trust our intuitions and also, if we are a bit off the mark at the start, we are urged to be mindful that we can shift our course. Making adjustments, learning from our errors, in my estimation, is the most significant life learning we can accrue. And, as Boyd Varty writes, “Life isn’t about staying on track; it’s about constantly rediscovering the track.”

“Rediscovering the track,” Yes. The process of rediscovery challenges us to remain alert and alive in our own existence. What a great way to live!

***


Check out Unleash Potential, offering personal growth groups in Fairfield on the first Thursday of the month. Expert life trackers, Caroline J. Temple and Lisa Jacoby, are the compassionate leaders of Unleash Potential and my companions on this journey of reflection and self-discovery.  Click here for more: http://www.unleashpotential.us/events/

Sunday, July 20, 2014

That's Crazy!


Oh, come on! Nobody smiles when they are having a root canal. That’s crazy. That’s what the endodontist said when he noticed me smiling through the endless metal and rubber paraphernalia stuck into my wide-open mouth. Of course I was already numbed from my jaw to my right ear, but he was moving along efficiently and skillfully with all those bad-movie tools of his.

“You are crazy,” Dr. Christensen said, with a smile behind his blue surgical mask.

Dr. Christensen is about six feet, six inches tall, is my guess, young and from Utah. You can tell he’s not from the east coast; he has that easy, unforced friendliness of a westerner.

Please do not misunderstand. The night before I was anxious as a cow in the slaughter slot thinking about the procedure. I’ve had one root canal with a different endodontist and that was no picnic at the beach, I can tell you.

This was completely different. Not only was Dr. Christensen really good at his job, but, also, I was different. I lay flat back in the chair thinking about my younger brother who continues to fight cancer, thinking about all the truly nasty things that have been done to him in order to save his life.

 I was thinking, too, about my friend whom I would be visiting in the afternoon. His body carries physical pain in his joints as consistently as I carry my pocketbook. Only he can’t put it down. I was praying that I would be able to relieve his suffering even the littlest bit; I was talking to God and talking to my friend in my mind while Dr. Christensen did his probing and drilling and cleansing.

And suddenly, I was overwhelmed with gratitude that this dodgy tooth of mine could be fixed: not moderated, not medicated and managed, but fixed. Compared to what these two men are going through, having a root canal is a joke.

 And so, with my mouth open like a yawning hippopotamus and stuffed with metal props, drills and rubber protectors, I smiled.


***

Welcome this week to readers from Singapore, Serbia, Thailand, Jordan, Macau and Taiwan. Thank you for reading Life Opening Up. I am wondering how all of you from other countries discover this blog? Through a friend? Through the topic labels?  I would very much like to hear from you. However you discover it, I am so happy that you find time to read it.

***

 To those of you in Ukraine, we pray for you still, for a stable, independent government. We pray for an end to the killing in Syria and Palestine and Israel and we pray for all the families of those who were senselessly killed in the blasting of Malaysian Airlines MH17.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Just Getting Through It



Transitions suck. Harsh language? That's what I would say to you if you were standing in front of me. I wouldn’t try to sound like a writer. All correct and carefully chosen words. I would just tell you outright. Transitions suck. I am in one right now. I have been in many others and every one of them has been an uphill slog. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

Don’t get me wrong either. I know how valuable transitions can be, how necessary, how, often, amazing learning is derived from a difficult life change. I can spout all the trendy—“everything happens for the best”--clichés about the power that is sourced from learning to adjust to a new reality: life without your loved partner, for example, life with a damaged limb, life through a divorce or, as in my case, life without my tiny English cottage in St Mawes on the southern coast of Cornwall, where I have spent twenty five summers.                                            
St. Mawes, Cornwall, England   photo by James Wood

Monday, July 7, 2014

My Jaw Drops


Columbia lost to Brazil in a tight 2-1 match during Friday afternoon’s World Cup tournament. At the end of the game, twenty-two year-old Columbian star, James Rodriquez, was in tears.

Were you watching as Brazil’s twenty-seven year-old, David Luiz--later declared Man of the Match--embraced Rodriquez?

 Having battled it out on the field, they hugged each other hard. When they separated slightly, their arms still on each other’s shoulders, you could see that they were talking, Luiz consoling, Rodriquez, swiping at the tears on his cheeks.

All of a sudden Luiz is pulling his yellow shirt up and over his head, and Rodriquez is doing the same with his red one. The two of them exchange shirts.

My jaw drops.

These two young men who moments before would have crashed into each other to get that ball, elbowed, tripped, shoved, whatever they needed to do to win the game, begin to walk off the field. Their torsos are naked; their arms are wrapped around each other.

 Minutes before, they were soccer warriors fighting for their countries, now they are bare-skinned and vulnerable looking. More importantly, they look the sameTwo young, fit, guys, two human beings shed of the symbols of the deeply felt national differences that have defined them all of their lives, especially leading up to, and during the game.

I had tears in my eyes. What if, I thought, what if, we could all do that? Just peel off, drop, remove, whatever ideas, passions and histories we carry around that create a hostile we/they dichotomy--enemies, even--and, instead, see only the bare skin of each other?

Imagine what this world could become if we, like Luiz and Rodriquez, could strip down to that that which makes us all exactly the same: the utter vulnerability of our humanness.

***
Dear Readers

It’s summertime! Time to be outside. The kids are home and family vacations are planned. Therefore I will be posting the blog just once a week on Mondays until school begins again in September. (Unless, of course, some idea in my head insists upon being written, in which case I will pop up unexpectedly.)


Thank you for reading Life Opening Up. Enjoy your summer!

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Meditation Loses To Sports!


Tuesdays, from 5:00 to 6:00 PM, is my regular senior citizen meditation group.

So what to do on Tuesday, July 1, when America was playing Belgium in World Cup soccer? I sent out an email bumping up the time to 5:30 and although 5:00 is the established favorite time, they were willing to indulge me. As it was, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to see the game through--it began at 4:00—but it was the best I could do. I didn’t want to push them too hard.

When they came through the door the score was tied 0-0 and I was beside myself.

“I’ll turn it off!” I yell from the TV room and leaving it on, I go though to meet them.

“No, no, don’t do that,” they say, in a jumble of voices, as they maneuver themselves into the room.

“We want to watch with you. You can’t stop now,” the ninety-two year-old tells me, as she collapses into the couch and lets her cane fall to the floor beside her.

They want to watch? Yipee!

And so it was. Oxygen tank onto the floor, another cane stashed—only three people this time, as two of the group are away and one had a fall last week putting her thoroughly out of commission, at least for the time being.

And soon: game over. No score. Overtime.

“What happens now?”

“How does it work?”

“Is this when they have that shoot out thing?”

They ask me and I haven’t a clue.

A fast email to my son-in-law, New York Daily News sports writer and ESPN sports radio host, Mike Lupica, whom I am sure is watching the game and who is great. He never fails to give me quick responses.  And, by the way, could anyone have a better sports source?

He comes right back. “Two 15 minute overtime periods,” Mike writes. “Not sudden death. Even if somebody scores, they play till the end of the second overtime. If still tied, then penalty kick shootout.”

We settle back into the couch, knowing now what to expect.

My friends are shouting. “Did you see that? He tripped him! That’s not fair! Penalty!”

“It was an accident. They can’t help it. Their feet and legs get all entangled.”

“OMG! He’s down! He’s hurt. He’ll be out of the game, for sure.” 

 “No. I read somewhere that they fake being hurt so the team can catch their breath.”  

 As if on cue, the player gets up and joins his mates on the field.

 Tim Howard makes another great save.

“Wow! The goalie is good!”

“He’s really good,” I say about Tim Howard who, it turns out, breaks the World Cup record for saves.

Belgium scores and the women moan. "Oh, No! Not now!"

“Why can’t we score a goal? The ball is always at our end of the field!” The woman with the oxygen in her nose complains.

Then we do make a goal and the seniors in my TV room, like the rest of watching America, go crazy.

But we lost the game.

Still, somehow we won. As an underdog team, America has earned a place on the international soccer map. We sure can defend; we are not so good on attack. Even without Mike’s help, I know that.

Meanwhile, a group of senior citizen meditators had some wild and unexpected fun and learned something about the game--I think they really yearned for the shootout drama.  Next Tuesday, instead of cheering and moaning, we will sit still together for twenty minutes. Very quietly. In the “zone.”

It’s all good.

***

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