Friday, January 11, 2013

What I Really Want To Do (Part Three)


Okay I'm still circling the room bobbing and wiggling and my new life coach then asks.

"What's keeping you from accomplishing these goals?"

This is a good example of how life can get very complicated.  I'm being asked to answer a question based on my incomplete answer to a prior question.

I suggested that part of the problem is that I didn't want to force the issue.  I didn't want to soldier on waiting for the hearfelt stuff to kick in.  I wanted my gut and soul to lead the way not my head.

I'm going to copy and paste a blog entry I made in April, 2011 just before my last day at work.  It fits here.  I love both of these Rumi poems.  I think the sentiments expressed capture why, at this point of my life, I'm choosing to "amble" instead of march.

From Ruminations published 4/19/2011.

RumiA colleague gave me a copy of "The Essential Rumi" for a retirement gift. (my last day at my current job is this Thursday 4/21/2011)  I have had brief exposure to these writings in the past but tended to shy away from them mainly because the people who would refer to Rumi seemed alien to me.  Well I think I may be turning into one of those aliens. Either I've evolved or gotten desperate but most of what I've read have gone straight to my heart. (I'm also becoming a big Bryan Adams fan which I don't understand either, Okay that's Straight from the Heart... same difference.)

Every object, every being,
is a jar full of delight.
Be a connoisseur,
and taste with caution.
Any wine will get you high.
Judge like a king and choose the purest,
the ones unadulterated with fear,
or some urgency about "what's needed."
Drink the wine that moves you
as a camel moves when it's been untied,
and is just ambling about. 
(from The Many Wines, p.6)

and this from Burnt Kabob, p.8

But listen to me: for one moment,
quit being sad. Hear blessings
dropping their blossoms
around you. God.

I hope that today I will be able to hear and feel the blessings dropping around me.  I wish the same for you.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

What I really want (part two)

In my prior blog I mentioned that I felt like I was holding back something important when I tried to answer the question "what do you really want to do with the rest of your life?" ...some fundamental admission that might open the door to a deeper understanding..

There were some things I'd really want but I didn't list because they were too... outlandish? personal?  threatening?  Some of these certainly hover in the shadows of repressed desires.   Not all of which are sensual...things that I've put on a back burner because I have chosen other priorities.   I'm comfortable letting these sleeping dogs lie and I'm fairly sure that they're not the missing links in this puzzle.
 Take it away Mick... You Can't Always Get What You Want!   Earlier video of this song is an interesting contrast.


I wonder what Mick really wants to do before he dies?


Monday, January 7, 2013

What do I really want to do with the rest of my life


I recently had a "life coaching" session where I was first asked to dance around a musicless room and let my body do whatever it wanted to.  The coach said that often resistance we feel is trapped in our muscles and some free-form movement can help release it.  Okay.  So I'm walking in circles, simultaneously rolling my shoulders and head and bobbing up and down. Feeling silly but eventually looser and more at ease.

As I was moving  I was asked what I really wanted to do with the rest of my life.

Say what?

My initial response to this surprised me.  I wanted to say "to hell with this" and stop the session. Whoa. Talk about resistance.  I held my tongue and decided to take a chance and go forward.  Choosing to let trust trump fear.

I don't remember exactly how I answered the question but I do remember the main things I said I wanted to do before I bit the big one...

- try to be as close as possible to the people I loved
- be closer to God.  (I can't believe I said that. Especially with a capital G.  I thought I chucked all that God stuff a long time ago)  Maybe another angle to approach this would be to say I'd like to be as alive and as awake as possible.
- be passionately involved in something bigger than myself that required me to use and develop my creative talents.
- be a better golfer

Hmm.  What about service?  How does the Buddhist concept of non-attachment fits these goals?

The fact is that while I was saying these things, there was a small voice telling me it was all bullshit. All these things are important and I really want them but why the hollow feeling after I say them out loud.  Why the empty and sad aftertaste?.  Is it because I'm putting my short-timer status in the spotlight?  Death lurking in the shadows? Yikes! Maybe a little but it probably has a lot more to do with the fact that I can't shake the feeling that something's missing.  Something fundamental.

That's pathetic.  If I was told today that I had one month to live I'm pretty sure I'd figure it out tout suite.  And the sad fact is I do have a terminal illness...life.  And I'm getting fairly frustrated with all this floundering around while the clock is ticking.

The other side, and it's a big one, of this multifaceted coin is that I'm pretty damn happy with my life.  I'm filled with gratitude for its blessings.  I just, selfishly?,  want more.   "Hey why not ask for more?" Once again Leonard Cohen is the man.

This  Peanuts cartoon ran in today's paper.

Peanuts

More on my coaching session next time.  Keep wiggling!



Thursday, January 3, 2013

The Pain of Entry

For the past year or so I've been swimming  three times a week at a local high school pool. In order to get a lane to swim in I have to get up at 4:45 AM and be poolside by 5:30..  I don't mind the getting up as long as I go to bed early enough.  The toughest part, by far, is jumping into the cold water.  It only takes about a half of a lap of swimming to get used to it but the initial shock of entry is hellish.  I used to sit on the edge for awhile to delay the pain.  Now I'm forcing myself to get wet right away.  It's a lot better that way.  Still terrible but better.  I always feel wonderful after a swim and the sense of well-being I have lasts through most of the day. On the days that I swim  I consciously catch myself feeling good and tell myself to remember that that it's been bought and paid for.  It's because I pushed myself to get up at an ungodly hour and to jump in an ice cold pool.  Despite this, on the day before a swim, I  find myself dreading the coming morning.



I recently made a commitment to write for thirty minutes each day.  I've missed some days but overall I'm writing a lot more.  I've come to realize that the emotions I feel when I'm trying to begin writing are almost exactly the same as when I'm sitting at the edge of the pool bracing myself for the cold rush of splashdown. I don't want to get into it.  There's a strong resistance to turning on the computer and  typing the first words. I don't know what adjective to use to describe this emotion.  I do know it's extremely uncomfortable and is almost the exact feeling I have when I'm standing on the edge of the pool.  Likewise it dissolves almost immediately after I begin writing, just like it does once I start swimming.  Both activities are satisfying and comfortable once begun and rewarding enough to make me want to keep on wanting to swim and write despite the pain of entry.

What's going on here?   This is fascinating to me.  I understand my my reluctance  to experience the shock of entering a cold pool.  I'm not so sure why it's so hard to begin writing.   The fact that the feelings are so similar should tell me something. Shouldn't it?

If I can figure this out maybe my writing will improve or maybe the insight will be so profound that it will dissolve resistance to tackling any challenge.

 In talking this over with my wife it seems this resistance to taking on ultimately rewarding tasks is a fairly common thing.  We discussed how there's some things we do where there is absolutely no reluctance such as her playing piano or me playing golf. but we each also had a long list of things it's hard to get into such as exercise or writing.  What's the difference?

It's interesting to me that the word "playing" is used to describe the things we both are most enthusiastic about. Maybe that's part of it.  There's not much of a contest between doing a chore or playing.  So if I start thinking of writing, going to the pool and a whole bunch of other things "play" they'll be less of a struggle to get into. What makes something play and what makes it work?  This is getting messy.

When I was an addiction counselor one of the most effective tools was cognitive behavioral therapy.  One reason it was helpful is that it can be easily explained and understood.  It's as easy as A,B,C.

Activating event (sitting down trying to begin writing) + Belief ->  Consequence ( negative/reluctant/resistant feeling.)

According to this model a negative consequence to an event can often be traced to your belief about the event and not the event itself.  Change the belief and you can change the consequence.  Simple to describe but not that simple to do.

One of the tricky parts is figuring out what the operative belief is.  Sometimes it's easy...cold water is uncomfortable and jumping into the frigid water sucks.   Often it's not so obvious...resistance to writing.   Er..maybe the nuns at St. Joseph's scarred me for life by making me write "I will not be a bad boy." a thousand times. Writing equals punishment?  What about all those hellish term papers I was made to research and write? Maybe the belief would be "I'm writing because I'm being bullied into it.  I don't like being bullied.  Writing sucks."  All very deep and mysterious.

I think I'd probably need a long-term psychoanalyst to figure out some of this deep-seated crapola.  Short of that I've got this blog, but, as you may have noticed many of my self-exploratory adventures seem to turn into dog-chasing-tail cartoons. But that said, I do believe that much of my reaction to things is based on thinking that may have made sense in the past but often has no logical relationship to the current situation.  I think it helps to try to take a look at what I'm saying to myself and try to change the script if it isn't helping, even if I don't understand why or how the original story was written.






Friday, December 21, 2012

Crash Landing


As some of my regular readers may realize there are recurrent themes in these ramblings.  One of the most persistent is what to do about loss and impending loss.  That this is an issue for a sixty-five year old retiree is not surprising.  What also may not be surprising is that my attempts to answer this question have, for the most part, been strained and muddled.  The fact is there seems to be a myriad of approaches to coming to terms, answering?, dealing with? the issue of loss.  The approach I embrace at any particular time is more a function of immediate reality than some eternal truth.

Case in point.

I spent  much of the past month working to bring a car to my daughter in Tucson.  We had a 2003 Sentra which my wife and I agreed we wanted to give this very brave and gifted but currently financially challenged offspring.  I had new tires and a new stereo installed and spent five days driving the car to Arizona.  I spent several wonderful days with my daughter who deeply appreciated the gift.  It was a big step up from the bicycle she was using. This past Sunday she called us and tearfully reported the car had been hit in the middle of the night while it was parked in the street outside her apartment.  The driver didn't stop and the car, which had no collision insurance, was too damaged to be worth fixing.  The police said they'd keep a look out for a vehicle with a damaged front end but gave her little hope.



She was very upset but described the process of dealing with the loss as a "spiritual exercise."  So would I.  But I guess the point I'm trying to make is I'm not as sure as I've been in the past about what the substance of this exercise should be.

Acceptance of loss and impermanence as norms not an exceptions is a beginning step that still feels right.  Sure nothing lasts,  try to stay in the present, appreciate the moment etc.  but that doesn't help very much with the anger I feel about the fact that someone hit the car and then left, leaving my daughter to deal with the aftermath and that once again she'll be bicycling on busy city streets. The parent in me wants to protect her .

Maybe another loss I have to accept is my role as a parent.  She's not a child anymore.  We've done pretty much the best we were able.  She is making life choices that are putting her well outside the mainstream and  beyond many of the traditional sources of security.   She is courageously trying to live life as authentically as possible.  I deeply respect this but it scares me. 

So she's back on her bicycle and  the work and money that went into getting the car to her is lost.  My role as a protective parent is, for the most part an anachronism.  I end up feeling, once again, that there's not much more to do than to suck it up, accept these losses as par for the course and try to live life from moment to moment with an open heart. Meditation, exercise, eating right, drinking less, writing this blog, working to find friends and community, and seeking out art and beauty also help. I think that I should also try to forgive and feel compassion for the person who ran away after the accident.  The anger/resentment is a poison not worth carrying.

All of this is not a clean fix by any means but it's the best that I've got at this stage of the game.

So I continue to go forward struggling to accept the inevitability of loss, still thrilled to be part of this journey of sorrow and joy called life. 

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Sandy Hook Elementary School Tragedy

This week a twenty year old man walked into Sandy Hook elementary school in Newtown, Connecticut and killed 20 children and six adults.  He had three guns with him. The one that was used the most was a semi-automatic A-15 assault rifle.  A type of gun that used to be banned in this country.

The horror of children being murdered is beyond words. Two moments in the aftermath of this tragedy stand out for me. In both a leader took on the burden of trying to speak of the unspeakable.  President Obama's speech at a Newtown memorial and a sermon given by Douglas Taylor at the Sunday service of the UU church in Binghamton were able to capture the deep sorrow felt by so many but each also gave glimpses on how we might move positively forward.  I am grateful to both of them.

Here's a link to the president's address in Newtown.

Douglas Taylor's sermon has not been published on the church website yet.  When it is you can find it here.  The title of the sermon is Faith in Hard Times. It was presented on December 16, 2012.

Another part of the service that had a deep impact on me was a reading of a piece entitled "Gratitude is not enough" by Elizabeth Tarbox.  This is a meditation taken from her book Eveningtide.Meditations.  It was selected and read by Libby Anderson.  Here are the last two paragraphs...

"Well, I refuse to lie down and be good.  I will not heal up neatly, sutures in a row, no scars. No I will not. I will shout out that I am here and hurting and I will demand of life that it return my shout decibel for decibel. I will speak of justice and kindness and beauty and truth and I will try bravery though I am a coward, and I will honor wisdom though I am a fool.

I will find other broken people with divinity shining through their pain, to remind me that the human spirit is hard to defeat, that the world is young yet and we are just an idea, that love is not for ever, but a little love once in a while is worth the risk of keeping the door of your heart wide open.  And I look for goodness and know it when I see it, and I see it in you and your children and you dreams.  And I can never be grateful enough."

Here's to all the broken people who continue to get back up and let their spirit shine through their pain.




Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Leonard Cohen/Grace/Art


I'm becoming more and more convinced that art is an important way for me to find harmony and balance when things get crazy. To help me feel less lost even though I don't know where I am.

Leonard Cohen has helped a lot recently. His artistry gives substance to the ineffable. The previous blog entry has a link to an interview where he talks about grace.

LC: well im bothered when i get up in the morning. my real concern is to discover whether or not if im in a state of grace, and if i make that investigation and discover that im not in a state of grace i try to go to bed.

Host: what do you mean by a state of grace? that's a phrase i never understood.

LC: a state of grace is that kind of balance with which you ride the chaos that you find around you. its not a matter of resolving the chaos as there is something arrogant and war-like about putting the world in order but having that kind of an escape ski, down over a hill, just going through the contours

Host: you have lost me

Here's the link to the video clip

So I write this as an encouragement for me and, perhaps, for you,  to invest more in the production and appreciation of art.

I'm not sure what I'll try to produce. I've written songs in the past. Maybe painting or poetry. This blog rarely approaches artistic expression but I think pushing myself to write on a regular basis will help me become better at expressing myself effectively. 

 In terms of appreciation I've found that memorizing poems and song lyrics can be a great avenue for deeper understanding and engagement.  I think I will commit to learning one Shakespeare sonnet and one Leonard Cohen song during the next week.  I will also explore going to the art museum at Cornell.

One thing I've written lately that I like is a prayer I included in the “psychodoodle” blog a month or so ago.

 Here's what I wrote...

Deep power in which we exist
May your guiding light
Help us grow joyfully in unfolding grace;
Live with an open heart;
Dwell in wise silence;
and
finally
once again,
Find
Our eternal home.

Works for me.

It's exciting opening up a door and not knowing what's on the other side.  I hope it's not a pit bull.

Beware. Ferd, the artist, is rising.