Year: 2010

Portals of Passion

Photo by Larry Schwarm

Put some soup in a pan and heat it up, you’ve got the makings of lunch. Put a tight lid on that soup while you heat it up, and you’ve got the makings of a mess.

Take a good, smart dog – one with strong instincts – and give him lots of opportunity to express his intelligence and energy, and you’ve got a happy dog who’s a positive and productive part of your life. Keep that dog bottled up all day with no way to pour out his energy or express his intelligence, and you’ve  got the makings of a mess.

You and I are souls dressed in vessels that have designed themselves in this life to be tools of expression for the creative energy and passion that comes from inside each of us. There’s a harmony between the soul within, the vessel that wraps that soul, and the path in life that we wander along. That harmony defines the shape of the expression, and the pressure to express it.

It’s a harmony that’s unique to each of us.

Like the dog who’s kept from using his instinct and intelligence in a positive manner and ends up in mischief, we can end up creating a mess in our life when we fail to keep our lives “in tune”, allowing expression to flow from us in a shape and intensity that matches our design.

I’ve learned this the hard way throughout my career, as I’ve sometimes ended up in “jobs” that required less of that creative energy and passion than needed to flow out of me. Early in my career, this was sometimes a frustrating experience, as I’d continue to try and pour myself into something that just didn’t have the space or desire for it. Sometimes I was lucky, and the job could take every bit of passion and energy I could give it, but sometimes I wasn’t as lucky.

The real maturity came in understanding that the problem wasn’t with the job, or with me. The problem was when I tried to pour more of myself into something than there was capacity to take. No blame. No right. No wrong. It’s just the way of it.

I’ve grown up a bit in my jobs these days. I’ve learned to understand how much the “job” needs and wants of me, and that’s what I give. I end up with a very good and balanced relationship with my job, the people around me aren’t frustrated by me, and I’m not frustrated by the job. Life works out well.

Getting to this point required that I learn to see and feel passion and creative energy for what it is, and to find positive and productive places into which I can pour that energy and passion. Trying to slow it down or bottle it up only leads to mischief and mess. For me, the real revelation came in coming to understand that solving the problem didn’t necessarily mean leaving the job, but just coming to peace with what I could do or be within that job. I only needed to leave the job if I wasn’t willing to accept the form of the relationship that would allow the job to work in my life.

There’s a wellspring of creative energy and passion inside each of us, driven by the source of all such energy. If we look carefully at the frustrations in our lives, there’s a pretty good chance that there’s a mismatch between the output desire and the intake capacity of some expression of creative energy and passion. It might be in a relationship with a friend or lover, a job, a marriage, school, a child, or any number of other relationships that we maintain in our lives.

At the end of the day, there’s nothing we can (or should) do to stem creative energy and passion that boils out of us. To stay healthy and happy, we need to make sure we tune the relationships we’ve got in our lives so that we’re pouring into each relationship enough, but not too much, and that we’re making sure that we’re surrounding ourselves with the right sorts and numbers of outlets (relationships) to allow that energy to flow at the pace it needs to flow.

Grandma’s Glue

I watched a generation slip into memory the other day. She was 101 years old. She’d outlived all her friends, and some of her children. Every bit of evidence I ever saw made me believe she savored every moment life blessed her with. In the end – for the last few years – she was increasingly tired, and ready to go home.

She’d lived life to its fullest, and she was tired now. While she was happy to continue to savor those little moments that life continued to give to her, she looked with increasing longing toward the next transition.

Her soul had left the wonderful vessel that was her body, but we gathered around that vessel nonetheless last weekend, and bid her goodbye. While we were sad that we’d not have her smiling face with us now, we continued to rejoice at the smile that her soul left within the heart of each of us.

It meant a lot to me that I could help to carry the casket within which the vessel that was my grandmother would now rest. The preacher said his words, and we all filed in a line past the crypt within which will rest the vessel that was my grandmother. She’ll take her place where she’d want to be – beside the vessel that was her husband and my grandfather. Her casket waited – they would put it into the crypt after we all left.

I waited at the end of the line, not wanting to feel rushed as we walked past the crypt. It was a tiny and quiet little moment standing there with my brother and sister, in that quiet place, after everyone else had left. We knew we’d walk away soon, and leave behind the deep and penetrating quiet. I took in a breath, pulling the quiet deeply into myself, and let in out slowly, hoping to leave behind a tiny shred of the love I hold for her, hoping it would rest with her through the years.

We left the cemetery, and drove past the house where she’d lived. The house where she raised her children. The house where she raised her grandchildren. We drove past the old house several times, savoring the memories with each pass. Memories of popsicles in the freezer on the back porch, memories of a fresh sweet corn in the summer, and a chicken coop converted to a garage. Memories of warm summer evenings under a giant willow tree in the back yard. Memories of covert bicycle rides down the gravel road to the river for a cool swim on a hot summer day.

The house has belonged to someone else for years now, and it’s a lot less neat and tidy than it used to be. There’s probably not a freezer on the back porch any longer – or at least not one with homemade popsicles. The willow tree was taken down many years ago. The road is paved in asphalt now, and the place we used to swim in the river is silted-in.

But none of that stopped the wonderful memories from wrapping themselves around me, and filling my heart with the warm love that Grandma leaves behind with us.

We talked about whether we’d ever be back to look at that old house again, or to visit with family that we’ve not seen in years. One last time, Grandma had brought us together to say goodbye to her, and while I desperately want to believe that we will, there’s a part of me that wonders if we’ll ever come together again, now that the glue that bound us has moved along.

Makes me stop and think. Where am I the glue? Where is it that I hold people together? In this world where the media and the hate mongers work overtime to push us apart and convince us that “the other guy” is evil, it’s increasingly important for more of us to live the sort of life that Grandma lived, where we work to pull people together rather than pushing them apart.

Amen.

Soul Dressing

It seems that the deity dressed each soul which he sends into nature in certain virtues and powers not communicable to other men, and sending it to perform one more turn through the circle of beings, wrote “Not transferable” and “Food for this trip only” on these garments.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Best Dog In The Field

It’s a circle of life thing.

I’ve been writing quite a bit in the last few weeks about new beginnings, about seeds pulled from their origin to fall and prosper on new ground. About the need to prepare yourself in all that you do, so that when opportunity plucks you from the place where you’ve grown comfortable, you’re ready to prosper and find the blessings waiting in the new place where you land.

At the end of it all, the time of the reaper comes. The winter descends, and your time in this life comes to an end. Hopefully, when that moment arrives, you’ll look warmly at the many opportunities that you were able to seize, and have few regrets over fertile ground you missed out of fear or uncertainty. You’ll smile as you move from this life that you’ve lived as the gift it’s been, and embrace the transformation into something much larger.

Early last week, I mourned the passing a year ago of a dog that was among the dearest and most devoted friends I’ve ever had. Colin and I hunted many fields together, until his eyes and ears failed him, and it became too risky to take him into the field any longer. I strive to be half the man he thought I was, and I hope to have a tiny fraction of the devotion he showed toward me. He lived many years past his prime, and in his final months I carried him up and down stairs. In the end, he suffered a stroke one day while sitting in my office, and I held him in my arms as I helped him pass from this life onward.

Colin never missed a chance to hunt. There’s no doubt in my mind that he could read my thoughts most days, and knew before I ever went to the gun cabinet when it was that we were going to the field to hunt. His enthusiasm for the thing he was born to do – find, point, and retrieve birds – defined every moment of every day for him. I have no idea how the mind of a dog works, but I can tell you that if they have any capacity for thought and reflection, he had no regrets at ever missing an opportunity, at ever passing up the chance to revel in Creation.

I took a friend hunting once. He watched Colin leap from the back of the truck, canvas the field like a fiend possessed for any scent of feather, pound through the thickest of brush in the hopes of finding a hiding place, never ready to stop. He shook his head over and over, saying he’d never seen such obsession and absorption in the joy of a task in his life as the experience of watching Colin succumb to the complete rapture of the hunt.

At that moment when I leave this life – hopefully someday far in the future – I hope to look back over my life, and be satisfied that I succumbed completely to the rapture of the many moments that the path of life presented to me. I hope that I’m satisfied that I allowed myself to obsess over and allow myself to be absorbed in the joys and blessings that surround me with every step.

I was reminded of mortality again at the end of last week, but that’ll need to wait until my next post. For today, I’m remembering my friend Colin, and wishing him happy hunting in that next place where he’s become…

Loss Of The Commons

Common Decency, Common Courtesy, and Common Sense – critical to the survival of a culture. While the definition of each of these might vary slightly culture to culture, I think there’s some foundational common ground.

As a culture, we seem to have lost our bearings with regard to this 3-legged stool that supports a culture. When it happened I’m not sure, but it feels like it’s been rapidly accelerating over the past 30 years. We’ve lost the ability to allow any disagreement into our dialogue, as we no longer have an understanding of how decency, courtesy, and sense can guide us to learn from one another when we disagree rather than hating and hurting one another.

Common Decency

The desire to treat our fellow human beings with respect and compassion. The willingness to forego some comfort or profit in order for another to be more comfortable or to feel some small gain. This notion of common decency is foundational to most religions. In the case of my own religion – Christianity – the entire religion is based on the teachings of a man who gave himself completely to not only teaching these principles, but to demonstrating them in the life he led.

But these principles seem hidden in our culture today, don’t they? There will always be mean-spirited people who lie and cheat and bully others, but a culture founded in common decency will shun and banish those people. How is it then, that people like Limbaugh and Hannity and Orielly and Beck and Olberman survive and thrive on the airwaves of our public square? How is it that Americans continue to shop at stores like Walmart who strive hard to assure that good jobs aren’t available in America, both by continuing illegal and immoral practices to assure that American workers can’t organize, and by producing every product they can overseas in countries that consistently support labor practices that most of us would consider slavery, child abuse, or worse?

We make decisions every day with our wallets – our continual vote in the marketplace. Every time we allow one of these abusive, lying, cheating bullies to appear on a TV that we watch, we cast a vote in favor of what they represent. Every time we make a purchase at a Walmart, we cast a vote in favor of what they represent. We have absolute power to simply set our jaw, and make them go away by refusing to support them and what they represent.

Yet we don’t. Why not? Our refusal to take a stand against these practices makes us complicit in their actions. Certainly supporting the concept of reasonable wages will make our prices rise, but the America I grew up in had the decency to allow my neighbor to make a living wage rather than force him to live in poverty so I can pay a little less for some trinket I might want to buy.

The lying, cheating, bullies are out in force right now as we run up to our election. Will we continue to swallow their pill of dishonesty and lack of common decency, or will we set our jaw and vote with a conscience rather than with our selfish greed?

Common Courtesy

I had dinner with a friend not long ago, and our conversation meandered around to courtesy. As common decency has crept further and further from our relationship palette, so courtesy has become less and less important. Courtesy is an expression of care, concern, and respect for another person. Extending a courtesy to another person is an open hand that lets them see the respect you have for them.

My daughter went through a period when she refused to let me open doors for her. She’s a strong-willed and intelligent young woman, who seemed to see having a man open a door as an expression of weakness on her part. As she’s grown up, I’ve noticed that she not only lets me open doors for her, but will actually pause slightly to give me the chance to open it. She’s come to realize how much it means to me when I’m able to express my respect for her by opening the door for her, and she’s learning to give this gift to me more often. She’s every bit as strong-willed as she ever was, and becoming more intelligent every day. And she’s learning the art of courtesy in a culture that’s working hard to keep her from doing so.

I should mention also that my daughter is teaching me a thing or two about courtesy as well. Although I really don’t care a bit about fashion, and have nearly zero fashion sense, I’m allowing myself to learn from her – how to identify “cute” shoes, what colors go together well, etc. I do this not because I really care about cute shoes, but because these are things that are important to her, and by learning from her, I give her a gift and a courtesy.

The courtesy that our children display is a perfect reflection of what we have taught them about how to express care, concern and respect for other people. How our generation behaves is far less important than how the next generation behaves, and the common courtesy we teach them has a very big impact on that behavior.

Common Sense

Common sense was, at one time, the true measure of a person. If a person has all the education in the world, but lacked basic common sense, s/he was considered to have little practical knowledge. If a person spewed rhetoric that couldn’t stand up to the rigors of logic, s/he lost all credibility.

It was important that a person be able to sew a button on a shirt if necessary, or to understand the most basic principles of how to put something together or to apply common repairs. This represented common sense, and the ability to understand things and solve problems. Today, such things have come to represent “common” labor, and fewer and fewer people can do these things. Worse, they’re often proud of their lack of common sense, making it clear that they don’t have the ability to perform these basic tasks, apparently unaware or uncaring of the lack of common sense this displays.

In the words of Teddy Roosevelt, “If a boy has not got pluck and honesty and common sense he is a pretty poor creature, and he is a worse creature if he is a man and lacks any one of those three traits.”

Lest anyone sense any taint of sexism in this statement, the reader should also know that in the year 1913 – well before there was any sense of gender equality in our culture, TR also said, “Much can be done by law towards putting women on a footing of complete and entire equal rights with man – including the right to vote, the right to hold and use property, and the right to enter any profession she desires on the same terms as the man.”…”Women should have free access to every field of labor which they care to enter, and when their work is as valuable as that of a man it should be paid as highly.”

The decline of common decency is directly related to the decline in common sense. It’s the loss of the common sense required to discern truth from fiction that’s allowed the ascendence of the liars, cheats, and bullies that are paid so much money by the media to spew their distortions and half-truths. The lack of common sense keeps us voting for people who spoon-feed us honey while destroying the orchard, and keep us spending money with multi-national corporations who are destroying the fabric of our economy.

Like every culture, ours is held up wholly by the 3 pillars of civilized behavior – Common Decency, Common Courtesy, and Common Sense. I question how much longer we can stand as these pillars erode around us. The power to rebuild them and make them strong lies completely in our hands. Will we pick up the tools and start to repair the extreme damage that’s already occurred.

Seeds and Journeys

If you’ve been following my last few blogs, you know that this is the time of year I’m particularly fascinated by the finches working the seeds out of the Rudbeckia and Echinacea seed-heads in my garden. Bobbing and swaying at the end of the stalk, they’re undeterred from their attraction to the seeds tucked into the drying seed-heads.

Many of the finches working tirelessly in my gardens this time of year are migratory – stopping to visit my gardens as they journey south. The seeds they coax from my garden are catching a ride through the air, beginning a journey south. They’ll fall on new ground, and find root in new soil, and transform themselves into a new plant in the season of warmth that’ll be coming soon.

It was a beautiful growing season this year. The Rudbeckia grew well, working hard to create buds that would transform into flowers that would attract bees, in turn transforming into ripe seed-heads to attract birds. And now, the garden has done all it can do, and the seeds are handed off to the finches. The journey toward transformation begins.

I saw my oldest son off on a great adventure this week. We flew to LA together, then shared a few beers at the airport while we waited for our next flights. When we parted – he for his gate that would take him to off to Southeast Asia, and me to my gate that would take me up to San Francisco to work for the week – we hugged each other and said goodbye, then walked our separate ways. I stopped after a few steps, and looked back to watch him walk away, till he turned a corner and was gone from my sight. I turned, and walked toward my gate.

I was glad I’d kept my eyes dry as we said goodbye, but I wasn’t able to keep them dry as I walked to my gate. The wet eyes came from pride at the bright and hard-working man he’s become, from shared excitement over his coming adventure, a little from the worry that every father must feel, and just a tiny bit for the loss I feel already at having him so far away from me.

All he’s done in his life to this point has been preparation for this adventure. Like the Rudbeckia plant that worked hard all summer to prepare itself for the finch, he’s worked hard to prepare himself for this moment of transformation. As I write these words, and the finches carry the Rudbeckia seeds south to new soil, his flight across the Pacific takes him to new lands in far-away places, to take root emerge again as the ongoing evolution of who he is becoming.

How often do we look at the life we lead and the seasons within that life as a continuum of growing seasons – where part of each season is the preparation and ripening of our “self” for our next journey of transformation? When the finches come looking for the seeds of transformation, will we have prepared them? If so, will we hand those seeds over and open the doors to new soil, or turn our heads down and hide from the opportunity to take wing and become again?

NOTE: Thanks to Tony Pratt for photographs


Jesse’s Adventure Begins

Jesse and I shared a few beers at the Red Carpet Club at LAX last night, then he got on his flight toward Hanoi, and I got on my flight to San Francisco. I really enjoyed myself, but must admit saying goodbye was tough.

My kids are all adventurers. Seems that each year, one or more of them is embarking on an adventure of some sort to one corner of the world or another. I love that about my children – that they are so confident and adventurous, that they embrace learning and becoming, that they face the whole world with a smiling spirit and outstretched arms.

Whenever each of them leaves on an adventure of one sort or another, the father in me always worries – how can I not? I always mourn just a little for my loss as they venture away from me. Most of all, the pride inside of me always overflows at the adventure they’re becoming, and the way they embrace life.

But this one’s a little different for me. Seems that each of these emotions I’ve come to expect is particularly amplified this time. Maybe it’s the combination of distance and time – a year’s a very long time! But fortunately, all the emotions are amplified, so with the greater worry and loss comes even greater excitement and pride.

I watched him walk away down the concourse toward his gate. Such a strong and confident man, showing little fear as he approaches the portal to the next him. I suppose I’ll carry that image with me for a long time – the image of him reaching the end of the concourse, and turning that corner out of my sight.

I must confess that one of the “amplifiers” this time is news we just received last week from some dear friends of many decades. They recently lost their son, who was not much older than Jesse. Of course, all across the world – every hour of every day – folks are leaving this life and moving on. But when it’s someone you know, and have known for so many years, who loses a grown child, it opens a dark and fearful place inside your soul. I think it’s natural to want to cling just a little more tightly to your own kids – to hug them a little closer – to worry just a little more.

So the image of Jesse turning the corner will stay with me, and I’ll worry just a little more than I usually do (though my kids would say that’s not possible…) The loss I feel already at having him so far away from me is strong and probably won’t get any better soon. But I’ll focus more keenly on the adventure he’s having, and I’ll look forward to emails and skype time.

And when I finally see him again, I’ve no doubt I’ll feel an amplified sense of wholeness when I hug him and feel he’s safe and close.

Cool October Drizzle

Having a bald head has its pros and cons.

It’s nice in the summer, as there’s no heavy mop of hair hindering the cooling ability that the head offers. It’s also nice at the end of a shower – one quick pass with the towel and my “hair” is dry!

Generally, cold and rain fall into the “con” category. That same heat-transfer capability that’s so nice in the summer is a real problem in the winter – I’ve got an arsenal of different thicknesses of beanies that I wear all winter to replace the nice insulating hair that left me some time ago.

Every now and then, though, the cold rain feels pretty good on my bald head. This morning was one of those occasions. We’ve been without rain for so long, and celebrating the chilly drops dancing on my head as I walked this morning was a pleasant reminder that autumn is rushing down on top of us. The sense of impending change that permeates the air in the fall exhilerates me.

I’m sure if I had to endure cool drizzle more than occasionally it would start to weigh on me. Enjoying the rain this morning, I thought of my daughter, as she considers graduate school in Seattle. I spent a desperate lifetime in Seattle one November and December, and don’t think I’d do well with the dark drizzle. But then, if you know it’s just the way things are, maybe you get used to it? I’d worry about her for sure…

It continues to amaze me – even after all these years of living – how much the person that we are is affected by the weather around us. One more of those “place” things that I love to think about…

The Seed and the Journey

American Goldfinch - David Ko

I love watching finches pulling seeds out of ripened seed-heads. They’ll sway with the stalk as it moves under their weight, displaying amazing balance while pulling seeds from the blackened and drying head they cling to.

There are many seeds that only germinate if they pass through the digestive track of a bird, or at least germinate much better if they pass through that digestive journey. In fact, I’ve heard stories of plants that have gone extinct after the bird that feeds on their seeds goes extinct. (This may be enhanced legand, but it certainly seems feasable, so it makes for a good story either way.) Then there’s the story of certain forest trees whose seeds only germinate in the heat of a forest fire, essentially assuring that when the forest does burn, they’re the first plants to germinate in the newly cleared forest, where there’s plenty of light. (This one is well-documented.)

We see this cycle of life everywhere around us – this ripening of a seed, which then becomes the next generation. As a parent, I find great joy in watching my children on their journey of ripening, growing far beyond what I could have imagined when I watched them first sprout. And see them now at an age when yet another generation will soon begin to sprout from the ripening that life now shares with them.

But this process of ripening, journey, germination, and start all over again isn’t something that only exists at the macro level of the passing of one generation to another. Within the life we lead, we should look for places where this cycle is trying to emerge as part of our larger journey through life. We’re not meant to slog along, one step in front of the other, never looking up. We’re meant to mature within each season that life shares with us. Only through this maturing process can we ripen into the fruit and the vessel that’s capable of producing the seed of what we are meant to become next in this lifetime.

The journey of your life to this point has produced the seed of what you can become next. You’ve weathered many storms, and learned quite a bit to become what you are today. But what you are is only the vessel to deliver the seeds of what you can next become. Becoming the better you – the one that your soul and your energy is meant to become next – happens when you let go of the seeds and let them germinate.

The seed itself needs to go on a journey first – it needs some catalyst to help it to germinate. It’s probably different for each of us. For some of us, the seeds our life has produced will germinate best right where they drop. For others, finches will pull from us the seeds we cling to as they migrate past us, giving us a chance to germinate far from where we are today. For others, the heat of some fire is required to break open the seed.

I suspect in most cases, we don’t even know what needs to happen. We probably feel a ripening within us, but cling to the old vessel that we’ve been to this point, afraid to release the seeds of what we need to become next, afraid to let those seeds travel whatever journey they need to travel in order to germinate into the best “next iteration” that we can be. I suspect this is the source of a lot of the depression that we see and feel around us each day.

Are you feeling a bit “ripe” these days? Feeling a bit anxious about what’s next? Feeling a bit underwater or over your head? Feeling a sadness that’s hard to explain?

Maybe it’s time to let the finches take the seeds where they need to go, or let the firestorm scar and open the seed. Maybe the vessel that’s you has worked hard to produce the seed of what you need to become, and now you need to let the seed take its journey and germinate. There’s an even better you that can only emerge when that seed is allowed to take that journey – release it and follow it. Become the better you that you’ve laid the foundation for. Whatever you do, don’t fall down onto the cold damp fall ground and let the seed go to waste.

Embrace it.

Celebrate it.

Release it so you can emerge again – an even better you!

The October Garden

Seed-heads ripen and stand dry on the dead stalks of the Echinacia and Rudbeckia in the garden. The tops of the grasses turn golden as they dry in the autumn sun. The Agastache and Mexican Sage are the last strong flowers in the garden, and with the first hard frosts they die back as well.

To the untrained eye, the garden in autumn represents “the end” of the season, but to the seasoned gardener, the autumn is really the beginning of the next season.

Woody plants cut off nutrients and water to their leaves, as they conserve the energy they’ll need for the upcoming bloom – right after they take a nap… Hardy perennials shed their tops and curl up in the energy of their roots, preparing for the explosion of new growth that’s soon to come – right after they take a nap…

Goldfinches on Echicacia Heads

This is the height of the gardening season for the birds. Goldfinches line up for a place on the drying seed heads to pull morsels out for dinner, beginning the life of new plants that the seeds will produce thanks to the help of the birds. The last of the migrating hummingbirds dine on the Agastache and Mexican Sage, helping them to begin their new year further south. My bird feeders empty twice as fast this time of year, as they’re shared by a few remaining summer residents, most of the new winter residents, and a few migrating guests.

It’s easy to look at this time of year as a time to cut everything back in the garden – to “neaten it up” before winter. But this is a time when the garden needs to stand and prepare for the coming season. Cutting some plants back too fast can trick them into thinking they need to send up new growth now. The multitude of birds depend on the heavy growth that remains in the garden as protection from hungry predators, as well as depending on the seed-heads on the plants as they die back to provide a good diet. For the forbe eating birds, the heavy growth also provides a higher likelihood of some high-protein bug-snacks.

I’ve been moving through a “cleaning out” stage in my life recently. I make weekly trips to the Goodwill store with bags of stuff that it’s time for someone else to have. I’m trying not to go too fast, or to make rash decisions. While it’d be easy to see this time in my life as an “ending”, where it’s time to clean things up as the kids have moved on to their own lives. I choose instead to see it as only the beginning of the next growing season. I need to move slowly through the cleaning process and keep the garden healthy. As the winter moves along, I’ll need to continue to cut things back in their time, and keep the garden as healthy as I can for the next stage of this new growing season.

Happy gardening. Enjoy that standing grass and the seed-heads as the birds enjoy the meal. Look forward to the snow that’ll keep the roots warm as they’re curled up for the winter. Keep checking those closets and corners for stuff that it’s time somebody else took off your hands…