R.I.P. Aaron Swartz

R.I.P. Aaron Swartz

A vibrant, talented young man is dead. A troubled society needs to do more than merely mourn this insensible loss.

Aaron cared deeply about life. He acted on behalf of us all. Like the early leaders of his country, Aaron Swartz championed for free speech and basic rights. Today, however, instead of respect and support, he found harsh intimidation, for his efforts. 

Our criminal justice system wanted to "make an example" of him, charging him--as if he were a dangerous criminal--for downloading articles without permission. Imagine being 26 years old, and facing 35 years in prison with millions of dollars in fines. Such harsh, cruel, insensitive action by a corrupt system has consequences. 

The insensitive over-reaction of a country that fails to value the principles he embodied is inexcusable. My heart aches at the tragic results of such skewed priorities. False accusation and unjust imprisonment of innocent people is unacceptable. Aaron's courage and bright spirit encountered the stone wall of corporate greed and societal indifference, instead of an appreciation for truth.  

His determination to uphold free speech was no match for the practice of monopoly and power in our complicit society. This is a very sad statement of what our system values. What a horrific message it sends to our young people. Aaron's spirit inspires me. I want to support the fine example of his life-work. 

Our world was robbed of a bright light. His family, friends, and colleagues will not feel his amazing smile again. Aaron Swartz will not wake up. His died in his room: an apparent suicide. For Aaron it is too late. Will we wake up before it's too late for others?  
 

In Aaron's own words:

     "The problem is that the topics, which are most painful also tend to be the topics that are most important for us: they’re the projects we most want to do, the relationships we care most about, the decisions that have the biggest consequences for our future, the most dangerous risks that we run. We’re scared of them because we know the stakes are so high. But if we never think about them, then we can never do anything about them. 

    Yes it’s painful, but the trick is to make that mental shift. To realize that the pain isn’t something awful to be postponed and avoided, but a signal that you’re getting stronger — something to savor and enjoy. It’s what makes you better

    Pretty soon, when you start noticing something that causes you psychic pain, you’ll get excited about it, not afraid. Ooh, another chance to get stronger. You’ll seek out things you’re scared of and intentionally confront them . . . The trick is: when you start feeling that psychological pain coming on, don’t draw back from it and cower — lean into it. Lean into the pain." 

~  http://www.aaronsw.com/weblog/  ~

From what Aaron says here, it is obvious that he grasped the value of facing pain and fear, whenever Life provokes us. And yet, Life is a continuum. There is a wide range between the extreme edges of polarized perspective. Generally we hang out somewhere in the middle of this continuum. Like for all of us, Aaron's own wisdom and insight had limits--he was unable to make this particular "mental shift". 

When innocent impulse is treated as a crime; when genuine trust is stretched beyond any comfort zone of rational understanding; when we live in an atmosphere that fails to consider the consequence of its actions upon the individual human spirit; when the threat to personal wellbeing overshadows trust, innocence, and the beautiful zest of true vision: OUR SOCIETY IS IN BIG TROUBLE.

Mirrors on a Revolving Door

     Loss

 wants embrace, not resistance

Disapproval

is no reason to feel shame

Pain 

wants attention, not banishment

Healing

can take clever detours

Security

 may be an addictive substance

Knowing 

with certainty is one way to cling

Nothing 

is necessarily what it seems

~ ~ ~ 

Everything and everyone is a Messenger facing us like a full length mirror on both sides of a revolving door, whose every image reflects the one friend we fear above all else: LIFE! 

How often do we stop before the mirror? Behold what we see, exactly as it is in just this instant? Then, simply take the leap: Open ourselves to its territory. Or not?

The oppportunity is ours. We deny such opportunity to show up, at our own peril. There's no right/wrong choice. Each and every juncture is a golden moment of possibility. 

It's just that  n o t i c i n g  can open a doorway, which might otherwise be overlooked. 

It may be an obvious 'yes' or an obvious 'no'. It may be uncertainty (another totally valid doorway). The secret is: it really isn't actually up to us, at all!

If we show up, if we are 'there for the moment', if we register THIS--really fully register every single 'this', that we encounter--with our entire being, then LIFE itself is what sees through our eyes. And the 'me' who might have felt 'on the spot' is relieved of any pressure. 

True 'noticing' is a sort of seeing, whereby 'the me' is seen through, just as 'the you' is seen through. And what's left is LIFEFORCE meeting itself, in the 10,000 forms IT takes.
 

On My First Day Of Retirement: "The Container"

This is my first day of retirement. That's me on the day I graduated, summer of 1967. Since then, I have "been a nurse", except for one year when our son was only 3 and I got to be a 'stay at home mom'. We had moved to a small town with cheap rentals, for my husband's first job, as a brand new Librarian. It gave me a taste for freedom that I've never forgotten: just being nothing in particular! All of us, of course, are much more than, "NICU NURSES". I've been mother, wife, friend, student, hiker, writer, dog-lover, meditator, vegetarian, and numerous other things--yet not inclined to identify, exclusively, with any one of them. 

Yesterday was my final day after 20 years in the same NICU. So, just like I've always done upon arrival, I scanned my badge to open the double-doors leading into the nursery. But this time I was doing it for the last time. It occurred to me that this badge would never again admit me into the hospital building, nor the Neonatal unit. In the act of that swipe, and with the sound of that buzz, some 'reactor site' was triggered within my being. 

The doors opened up; I stepped through; my stomach flip-flopped and something started to flutter inside my chest. Even though I've been ready and eager to fully inhabit my richly rewarding unemployed life, it became instantly clear that the cells of my being felt differently. They had their own ideas about what I was doing. As far as they were concerned, "I belonged" electronically and monetarily to this place. Some strange 'sense of bondage' has routinely roused me from sleep at 5 am on countess dark cold mornings, to drive over the mountain pass and step into a fast pace, high tech, critical care environment. 

I remain confident that I will not be someone who feels 'lost' after retirement, nor uncertain about what to do with herself. I rarely get enough sleep because of this cherished LIFE that constantly tugs at my skirt. I truly doubt its possible for me to ever feel bored or restless with 'free time'. But I hadn't even considered 'separation anxiety' and there was something else I did not expect, and for which, I was not prepared.  
 
After I put my lunch in the break room refrigerator and signed in at the front desk--feeling shaky and vulnerable--I looked up to see all of my coworkers gathered there smiling at me, warmly expressing their acknowledgment that "...this is your last day!" I knew they had all brought food for my farewell potluck. I tend to be a 'low-profile' person who works quietly in my corner, rarely expressing my feelings, unless casually. I did not even realize that my shields were down until the feeling of baffled disorientation occurred after that experience of 'passing through the threshold doors' for my final shift. It felt like I was being stretched between two very different worlds. 

I stood at the desk, looking from face to face. I tried to speak but the words choked over themselves. I knew a torrent of tears would burst forth. So all I could do was stare back with a strange smile and shake my head. This was NOT how I would have imagined my last day--if I'd given it any thought at all. I'd been too busy 'waiting for it'. 

I will genuinely miss the time spent with my coworkers and the privilege of caring about what happens in their personal world. We have forged bonds of caring. We trade intimate stories about mundane, and monumental, moments in our lives, which I will no longer share on a day-to-day basis. I will miss the families of 'our babies'. I have loved being able to usher them through their time of crisis at this important, emotional juncture in their lives. But it wasn't any of this that caught me--like getting the wind knocked out of your lungs--as I stepped through the mechanical whoosh of those automatic doors when they opened out to 'take me in', like they've done for countless mornings now.  

My last day was spent straddling realities--much like these recent months have been. Caring for my patients and their parents, going to the farewell potluck, touched deeply by the 'flower child' plates & napkins! The bouquets of fresh flowers, delicious vegetarian dishes, & thoughtful desserts. Gratefully receiving little gifts, cards, and hugs from those nurses and doctors who reached out personally (and who will always be fondly remembered for their kindness and TLC, while I was on the verge of tears--sometimes unable to hold them back) much to my ongoing surprise. 

I doubt that such sudden, unexpected emotion would have surfaced--laced with such sadness--if I felt certain that I'd be returning part time, as so many retirees have done. In fact 'the old me' would have prepared extensively for this day. Would have written farewell notes for my coworkers, and obtained phone numbers and promises of staying in touch. But current circumstances make it impossible to know what the future holds from week to week in a county hospital that relies upon funding at a time when it is scarce. Yet, none of that is the 'real' reason for being taken by surprise so often, yesterday.

Over recent months, along with all the necessary meetings, forms, office appointments, interviews and decisions, required to accomplish the feat of actual retirement, there has been an unprecidented onslaught of change and loss in my personal life. Plodding through, I have managed to accomplish the necessary tasks but it has taken a toll. Too often, we do not fully face, nor realize, the extent of depletion and stress, caused by our increasingly chaotic attempts to navigate the collision courses that we face in life today. 

Generally, I tend to meet such challenge with full awareness of the content, impact, and toll it takes. It's never easy to do this because--for starters--discomfort is seldom welcome and resistance is usually the first impulse to surface. Difficult as it may be, however, I'm well aware that the more closely we do look behind the scenes, the more we begin to notice. Doing this sheds insight upon our coping mechanisms to help us understand--and hopefully transform--our auto-pilot responses.
 

The real culprit, for me, was what led up to this day, and how I dealt with--or failed to deal with--everything that's been on my plate. When the time finally arrived to navigate the entire retirement enclave (existing like a high-needs child within the greater territory of 'my life') I had very little energy and few resources left. My brain has been spilling over with it all. Thoughts keep colliding as life is asking me to face too many dead-end roads, all at once.  

Concepts are containers, which 'hold' our thoughts together and keep them from spilling out. What happens to our concepts, when the content that forms them, is emptied out? Quite frankly, my 'concept containers' have been dissolving. Their crucial 'storage function' has been shrinking and melting. A concept creates a 'framework', and safeguards it until it is no longer needed. Then the container is either emptied, discarded or recycled. When the thoughts are removed from such a container it leaves empty space inside. What will that be like as the remaining bits of this clutter are set free? I'm so ready! 

Work is a container too (our profession, our job) and we inhabit it until we don't anymore. If "I" am emptied out of my 'being a nurse' container, it will be an interesting adventure to embrace the new space that becomes available in my life.

This turbulent time has shown me what occurs when we continue to hold a magnifying lens beneath a steady beam of bright light: it starts to burn. Our own Awareness is a powerful force. It shines upon the 'object' of our attention. Light and vision--when brought together will expose much more than we can imagine. Simply put, our shields and coping skills are safeguards against going to fast, or to far, all at once. Such exploration can bring transparency, within the midst of intense involvement. However, it can also reveal more material, than a particular instant might feel capable of handling. Timing is an important consideration. Whenever possible, we need to bite off only what we can chew. At the same time, I'm learning to trust that whatever Life does bring, is exactly what wants to be seen. Everything deserves it's moment to bask in the light of our full and undivided attention.

~ ~ ~ 

Conditions To Flourish - A film & a Question

When my 32 year old son was an infant I decided to 'homeschool' after reading an article in Mothering Magazine. Intuition told me this would provide the most optimal 'conditions to flourish', for us. The adventure enriched our lives immeasurably. 

Teachers became family friends. Nanda, an artist and mentor for the kids, stayed in touch with many of us and she recently brought her camera into the homes, work-world, and activities of grown homeschoolers to document where their lives had led and what they thought in retrospect about their method of education. Her newly released 'must see' film brings brings the viewer into the life of these kids now. As they look back we experience their intimate journey. 

 

Conditions to Flourish  

~ Reflections from Former Homeschoolers ~  

(DVD by Nanda Current)

Upon viewing Nanda's beautiful documentary, my eyes teared over. I never expected to be so moved by what I thought would be a 'factual, yet personal, review'. This scenic tour of a coastal California town, where these kids grew, with 'education' effortlessly integrated into the fabric of daily activity, springs to life with intimate glimpses of their very real world, then and now. 

This informative film answers many questions (inevitably raised whenever someone finds out that '...you home schooled??'). It shows and tells--not merely with words--but by letting you step inside the actual terrain, yourself. I was nudged back to the time when we first wondered what Santa Cruz might offer our 5 year old. 

My first phone call led us to a beach party at Twin Lakes Lagoon, near the Yacht Harbor, a spot I've always considered to be the 'heart & soul' of Santa Cruz! Enlivened by seaside, surf, and moist sand, we dipped our toes into a life that would become radically different from any sort of 'schooling' I'd ever known. We met others who were seeking the same thing. Talking with moms, while our kids played, we found community together. We planned outings, shared projects, and experimented. 

We explored places and did things that the children liked. This 'type' of homeschooling was 'child led' through paying close attention to the interests and activities making up any given day. "Lessons" existed in the form of whatever was taking place. We went where life beckoned. This meant we got to pay close attention to inner stirrings of passion and possibility. The children realized that their interests would be taken seriously.

Often, what we tend to take for granted, turns out to be an utter miracle when seen as brand new & unique, with an eye to everything it might have to show us. Youth--if allowed to follow their natural inclination--will gravitate toward just such ordinary 'miracles' and if we let them, they will show us how curiosity, genuine interest, and spunky inclusion can teach us everything there is to know. 

Back in those early days when it was just beginning--there was thrill and sustenance at being part of a thriving, supportive movement where anything might happen, and everything did! Dynamic, productive 'resource streams' appeared, spanning an array of curriculm options from traditional, alternative, and unschooled (a term for no structure or curriculum at all). 

Our own house had a revolving open door where kids, parents, and teachers came and went at all hours. It was a time of vital immersion in a world of libraries, field trips, and daily life. Eventually, a rapidly growing 'homeschool resource center' was formed, complete with classroom space, an outdoor amphitheater and endless grounds of field and forest, drawing families by the dozens, multiplying rapidly over the years that would follow.

As I look back upon this idyllic era of groundbreaking community energy, it's clear that Santa Cruz was an explosive mecca--one among many--where families sought a new approach. Homeschooling blossomed like plants: a few families here and there, at first, until huge grass-roots 'gardens' (learning collectives) developed. We entered into a 'brief window' of freedom, potential, and natural unfoldment whose expression, continued to morph and grow. 

Now 'homeschool' programs exist in public schools everywhere. "School Re-formed" is a professional blog, which probes the roles of schooling, teaching, and education in refreshing ways. Nanda posted a guest entry there, Leadership Begins at Home, where she shares what she discovered through her adventure of documenting the span of this Grand Experiment.

Looking back, now, at the vast degree of networking and connection, I recall the sense of spacious potential, which characterized our moments. Time, itself, has come to feel more compact and move much faster--as if less options exist. We were extremely engaged in unceasing activity, and yet there was a lightness then; where there's often an impression of density now.

Is there an actual shift in the ongoing structure of the Universe itself? Was it youth, and the malleable environment? Was there more permission for passion to fuel a 'creative force' within such productive, dynamic experimentation? Did being part of that Stream of Aliveness confer an ease of flow and participation? Or did it merely feel like it was spacious because The Dance itself was effortless, born of purpose and impulse? Infused with some essential interior design? Do such 'junctures of opportunity' simply come and go on their own timetable? Or is there an essence to such a dance, that exists in potential everywhere, at all times?

Reading Nanda's blog and watching the trailer of her powerful film, once again, these observations, insights and questions arise, contrasting paradigms of different natures and times. As we age and "life winds down", we expect it will get easier to experience the 'space between things'. We presume there will be less pressure at the fast pace of a world racing onward since the Golden Years are 'suppposed' to make less demands upon the time and energy of a 'wise elder', and historically, less obligation.

But as I look around there are grown children moving back into their parents home, within the 'workplace world' of a faltering societal paradigm, without the steady evolution of security, or 'the givens' we had envisioned. The whole order of expectation has been turned topsy-turvy. The 'fruits of our labor' no longer yield the projected expansion at this time of Broken Promise. Grandchildren are being cared for within 'extended family' settings once again. Companies on a wide scale now reject--or eject--the seasoned workers (who thought they could take their 'golden years' for granted) with little or no compensation. And the mantle of responsibility is being passed along to an eager 'youth-force' with ready, capable, open hands--and yet--with college degrees that fail to yield the positions they are trained and qualified to assume.

This sort of dissonance is widespread, affecting the depth and timber of human experience. We see reactions ranging from a restless, distressed heartmind, to rampant ennui of body and spirit, while the very fabric of our societal and personal paradigms are shifting at a pace far too fast for us to comprehend. It seems we are facing new territory, as a species and a planet. So when I think about the title of Nanda's film, and ponder what it means for us right now, it makes me wonder: What ARE the necessary CONDITIONS TO FLOURISH as we face an uncertain future? In our exuberant innocence at the inception of 'The Homeschooling Project'--we could not have imagined, nor foreseen, such changes.

As these young adults step forth, now, to take the helm, what resources might they bring to the table? Will they summon unknown forces that could surprise themselves and meet the dilemmas of the world they inherit? I have always assumed that this would be the case. Having lived life as a Homeschooling mom, there are things, which did change me--ways I've come to view life differently. For example, I may not have answers, however, I am eager to see what happens next...

* illustration credit: http://www.dublin.k12.ca.us/domain/35

The Empty Nest

Now, it all comes back--that first instant after we returned home. Our house had never known the sort of quiet, which awaited us once we stepped inside, after our son  moved out. We had carried his boxes of stuff from the car, settled him into his dorm room, met his roomate, and were immediately dismissed, as he eagerly waved goodbye, ready to embark upon his new life: AWAY from home--and us! I have 2 friends, facing the 'empty nest' as their sons are leaving home right now. Wanting to reach out to them, I wrote these words...

". . . Mostly I'm imagining the moment when you both got back and walked into the empty house. And How it will grab you--over and over, when you least expect it. And I want to take your coats & make you both a big salad and a glass of wine and and hear all about your adventures and laugh hard at the stories you tell, and cry at the moments of parting, and of parenting--light or heavy--but all part of a much bigger package that has been SO VERY WORTH-WHILE..."

 
  ~ ~ ~

While we delve through details and enjoy the memories, it activates a deeper vortex. As this passage rekindles each transition of love and loss we've ever faced; we recognize the 2 sided coin that it is. There is more to be faced in that first empty hole we stare into, than merely missing our son or daughter.  Our hearts break open to the entire realm of joy and grief within the precious impermanence of it all. 

We celebrate the steps our kids take, into the life that is ONLY theirs. We appreciate their excitement along with the underbelly of risk and uncertainty we know they also face.  

We take comfort in knowing that our kids embark upon a path, which will intersect with ours forever--even though we would not say this out loud quite yet! As moms & dads who cherished those demanding, intoxicating childhood years together, our aching hearts are soothed by the promise of a well-deserved, brand new relationship with the individuals--whom we will discover them to be--as they grow and mature. We know this BECAUSE we know that Life gave them the best  nourishment and support, possible, through the 'trial and error journey' of their unfoldment, within the custody of OUR constant care.

So we smile and text them and say "have a good life!" And after we've sent the text, with tears in our eyes, there is lightness in our heart because we know that we will always be a significant part of their world. So we pat ourselves on the back because we know we 'did good' !!!!!

And as we let this in--we also know that they know this, too--and somehow that is enough . . ."

~   For Lori & Brad. For Deb and Curt. For each mom & dad embracing an Empty Nest   ~

Promise and Loss

"Don't peer over, just Leap!" says Life,
"It's Now or Never." Paralyzed at the edge

fear whispers: Nothing can be ignored.

Irresistible images flirt
steal center-stage with shameless glee, 
certain to capture our very soul.

Sand castles gleam, splash, promise
Everything can be ignored. But--if we 
trust time--eternal sunshine never arrives.

Haunted by Winter Landscapes of Loss
already gone--fist open; fist closed

slipped through our fingers. What holds on?

Heart-tendrils spring from empty space 

criss cross, mesmerize and ignore
the nothing that's everything.

What is seen forgets how it came—beaming

through prisms AS Seeing, itself—since

'What you’re looking for IS What’s Looking'.

Not knowing THIS leads us through landscapes

where loss and promise take turns

holding our hand until we leap.

Stephanie Laura

Up against a wall (Rilke's Gold Mine)

The meeting had drained me. After cross-currents of discordant conversation, I stepped outside and welcomed the chilly wind nipping at my cheeks as I approached my car. I turned on the CD player and drove away in a haze of static. Heading into the mountain pass that leads to my home, heavy swollen clouds loomed overhead. 

I wasn’t hearing the CD so I turned it off. I’m trying to FACE troubling energies rather than avoid them. Static warns me when inner turbulence is present. Resistance merely masks what festers and makes me unavailable. Tight sadness burned like a knot inside my chest. Everything in me wanted to get away from this feeling.

Constricted--as if blocked by dark, musty rubble--I felt stuck. Swirls of vague sensation made it stuffy. Hard to breathe--and yet, a sense of potential lurked. Who knows how close we might be, at any point, to striking gold! Rilke captures it well: 

Pushing Through

It’s possible I am pushing through solid rock    
in flintlike layers, as the ore lies, alone;
I am such a long way in I see no way through,
and no space: everything is close to my face,
and everything close to my face is stone.

I don’t have much knowledge yet in grief
so this massive darkness makes me small.
You be the master: make yourself fierce, break in:
then your great transforming will happen to me,
and my great grief cry will happen to you.

Rainer Maria Rilke
(Translated by Robert Bly)  

Why do I struggle to keep others from seeing how deeply hurt I feel? What am I afraid of? Is 'exposure' really dangerous? What might happen if I actually 'gave another the advantage' of glimpsing how I truly feel? How much energy does it take to hide or pretend? How true are all of my ideas about what's 'good' or 'bad'? Sometimes it seems like I've gotten everything backwards.

Trees part around a steep curve revealing misty swirls settling over a sea-bound canyon, filling the basin with cloud-creme. Wind enlivens everything. Opening my window I take a whiff of cool moist fragrance. Drawing powerful nourishment from the companionship of foliage, wildlife, sky and the changing elements, my shoulders finally soften. A sigh escapes as I marvel at Life's inscrutable honesty, and inherent order. It pierces the armor I have unknowingly accepted, frees me from the prison of safety and self-consciousness. 

Human animals are merely another aspect of nature. What we witness in each other, is simply a mirror image. Obviously this common plight includes a propensity to distort reality. When tension, fear and irritability surfaces, it is usually because we're unwilling to acknowledge our own pain.

Any pain we inflict upon each other

is merely our own heartbreak

not fully acknowledged 

to ourselves

Being exactly AS and HOW we are at any given moment without approval or rejection, justification or defense, is not dangerous, but rather truly sane and honest. The only source of real safety is admitting what we try so relentlessly to deny: our innocence; our sincerity; our vulnerability; and our ignorance. This opens a doorway to what matters most for all beings. If we take this leap at the very instant when we stand face to face with uncertainty, we begin to discover an amazing secret. Try it out! 

Trust is the doorway that will take us there.

On the other side of the mountain pass a valley opened into the late afternoon sunshine, boring holes through the cloud-fabric. Rays steamed forth. It made sense now: what a relief to discover how the tapestry is always a result of every thread within the woven warp and woof, which holds the form in place. Hidden images glimmer here; glint there. Each one demands my undivided attention: Everything yearns to have its moment in the Light!

My dialogue is only just beginning.

How to Untangle Knots (My mothers yarn)

I am obsessed with fixing broken things. I discovered this talent early on. I would untangle knots and thread needles for my mother. When my baby brother's swan shaped, night light shattered, I spent a week gluing the bumpy milk glass back together. Years later, after wasting an entire day--when my son was in high school--trying to find one lost item, I fessed up to my addiction.

Why do this? Eventually, I realized none of these items were THAT important (part of me knew this all along). I was after something significant. My earliest impressions suggested that something was 'not quite right' with the people and situations around me. Nothing calibrated. A project of inquiry began, fueled by fierce determination to get to the bottom of this problem. This quest has ruled my life.

My inquiry uncovered some basic questions:

What is it that I believe has been lost, broken or hopelessly entangled? Is there anything that isn't lost, broken or hopelessly entangled? Can I get to the unbrokenness by fixing broken things? If not, then what?

My approach was counter-productive (wasting time, draining energy, trying to solve endless 'problems' one by one). It seemed futile to be driven by such blindness. 

I actually just want TO FIND the realm that exists BEYOND problems and dilemmas.

I already knew that such a realm existed because IT's rays had often pierced the cloudy haze of chaotic life to reveal a sparkling, clear, spacious emptiness that enfolds us all. Yet there seemed to be no doorknob on this side of the situation. ENTANGLEMENT turned out to be my guide. The puzzle of 'The Tangled Knot' became my invisible doorknob. It started with my mother and her knitting hobby. 

I would hold a mass of my mothers tangled yarn in my hands and look at it.  Tight. Impossible to see where the snags and snarls had locked up the strands free flow. Space was obviously needed. So I began to loosen the entire ball of yarn by gently pulling at it from all angles in order to enlarge the size of the skein itself. By expanding it outward, more space was created within. I intentionally did NOT try to untangle any of the knots (because it became quite clear, early on, that by doing so they would only become hopelessly locked). 

Instead, by letting space breathe through the tangles, it was easy to see which direction each thread took, and how these threads crisscrossed each other. With such visibility there was room to gently maneuver the threads. It took time, but the entire ball of yarn would eventually become untangled. It was a relaxing endeavor whereby the value of SPACE was being utilized, appreciated and experienced. 

There was a sense of satisfaction each time I succeeded--as if I were 'on the trail'. Others liked it. I liked it. Thus began a life-long habit of following the trail, doing what I could do well. Unfortunately, I could do many things quite well. So it took decades before LIFE finally brought me to my knees in utter helplessness and despair. Once the more effective invisible doorknob of FAILURE began to haunt me--only then--did the real territory began to fully open itself. 

When we fall short of the standards we have subscribed to, it can feel like failure. Or Life, itself, might intervene to knock us off the 'safe & narrow' path we tread. Yet, even as this happens, we can easily miss the fantastic opportunity presenting itself: Hoping to avoid this thing called 'failure', we tend to run as fast and far away from it, as we possibly can. Rather than peer more deeply between the threads of its foreboding fabric, we fortify ourselves against it's insinuations; we seek images and beliefs designed to counter the bad ideas, whispered by our worst fears. 

One day, I finally reached my threshold, got fed up with being afraid, and stood up to FEAR, itself.  I was working in the NICU, when this happened. On my way to attend a high-risk delivery of a premature infant, I felt wearied by the continual sense of inadequacy that had always haunted me in my job. So I asked fear, itself, "What are you?" Thus began the longest walk down the hallway to L&D that I have ever taken before or since. 

I discovered that Truth was the opposite of everything I thought I knew: There is nothing to fear. There is nothing to know. There is no one to be. There is nothing to do. Yet, everything will happen, with and through LOVE if only we get out of the way and allow it.

See Waking Up to What We Are. (by 'swanfether' WHO IS 'ME', on the site where it is posted) if you want to know the 'STORY' of my long walk down the hall. Or better yet--see your own life, which is no doubt full of your own version of such discoveries . . .

WEARING NOTHING (IN PARTICULAR)

I want to wear something that

expresses nothing, in particular,

suggests nothing, in particular,

and defines nothing, in particular. 

Can a piece of clothing refrain 

from embellishing style, genre, or image?

De-Emphasize the particular?

What sort of fabric, color, and design

is not 'particular? I want a 'fit' that won't try

to hide, describe or convey.

What might entice the mirror to reflect ‘NOTHING’?  

How accurate is a mirror when it only offers

an endless series of "SOMETHINGS"?  

Do we notice the fissure this creates? 

The way it ruptures the unruffled surface 

of tranquil absence?

How Illusion wrinkles innate Presence 

and populates    E m p t y   S t i l l n e s s  

with hallicunations?

When clothing continues to promote 

an image, where none is sought, wanted, 

helpful, or true—then what? 

It's quite tempting to seek stuff that blends in 

or find clothing that broadcasts bulletins like:

“Ignore this person—‘she’ isn’t really here anyway

please look elsewhere if seeking someone

who’s anything at all.” 

But I know that’s not ‘it’ either. 

What  ‘IT’  is, 

I do not know.

I only know that NOTHING inside my closet ‘feels right’ 

and the very idea of “right” fails to fit anything I try on.

There’s a sense of ‘no not quite that...' But

no reason why ‘this sense’ is so. 

It just is.

I keep scanning for another sense;

One of ‘Yes, this will do.’  Some sign 

that such signals might exist. Confirmation

that IT can inhabit every smidgen of Beingness.

How long must I wonder? 

Meanwhile, what do I wear ?

Stephanie Laura            

TREE poetry

PART  ONE 

Everyday a new poem appears in my mailbox. Today's poem was about TREES. I was raised by a grove of Eucalyptus trees, in the undeveloped San Fernando Valley. They taught me more about life than almost anything else.

Michelle Taransky's poem contains trees, rivers, woodworking and the things we do. But mostly its about loss, change, relationship, understanding--and those huge gaps--where SPACE lives, always eager to swallow us up. It was while sitting on the trunk of a tree my father had cut down, that the meaning of life, pulled me into its mystery. I was 10 years old.

THINKING, IT'S OK TO DISCUSS

This— The best tree

 27 yr old 'ME' at a Eucalyptus Grove 

Is sick now, now discuss

Where to look, discuss:

The cause, and, if

Possible, discuss who

Could have prevented

The workers who are working

To prevent, and if it happens then

Prepare to discuss how bodger* will

Recognize people saying "sick"

Everywhere, discuss how to handle

Discussing one sickness as if

That sickness is the other

Sickness— Ok, sickness

Ok to say ok discuss

Discuss the landscape

When it changes from woods

To sorry. To not the ideal

Tree to use as the marker

Beginning a discussion by a river

May confuse explanation with
   justification,

And, how to avoid, when I say I need

A new chair to work, you think:

I am using the chair as a metaphor

by Michelle Taransky

(http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/22648)

* A bodger is someone who works with wood

PART  TWO

     Early one morning, nearly a year ago, the majestic Live Oak tree that has been growing for decades at the edge of our property, crashed to the ground, demolishing all that lay in its path. Life's 'BEFORE' was magic charm with flagstone steps across the green. 

. . .  a courtyard gathering place with climbing vines, shade, and festive colors

The THUD woke me up--literally--out of one life and catapulted me into a very different world.

My inner landscape was emptied out, as well.

Strange how realignment can 'take away' what has felt like "given's" 

to open up gaps and vistas,
where barriers and boundaries once prevailed.

Now, nearly a year later, the 'AFTER' of our front yard still looks empty and barren. 

Our neighbor drove home from work, after she got my call, to survey the damage. The tree was on her property. Both of us were drawn to this stretch of land, largely because of the lovely old oak at the common border.  

     "How bad is it?" she asked me over the phone.

     "Prepare yourself. Half the tree is laying across our yard and blocking the entire street." I explained. We stood in her driveway embracing after she got out of her car, still stunned.

     "I wonder what this means?" she murmered, "This is no small things that's happened here." Her astonishment was intermingled with the awe that happens when Nature's force makes us small. And her insightful trust that Life creates out of pattern, somehow.

     "Nothing will ever be the same." I whispered back. But even then, I had no idea how drastically the entire tapestry of our lives would be affected. 

 PART  THREE

     In the aftermath of dealing with debris, rupture and repair, our family faced upheavels to pocketbook, heart, and the essential 'identity' our property had embodied. There is much more LIGHT and SPACE everywhere--on every level--as a result. Unseen consequences continue to ripple out. The fabric of interpersonal dynamics initially mirrored the disarray of the parched, unruly wasteland out front. Both were equally disrupted (exposed) by the vibratory THUD that shook the house that morning. 

     Although I would not want to relive this year again, I am grateful and amazed at the transformations. Sometimes it takes an external nudge to disrupt the status quo; to start THE CONVERSATION rolling. Reading the words of Michelle's poem, I recognize this sense of wading into uncomfortable territory with hard questions and unwelcome consequence. How one has to push through layers of resistance:

Ok to say ok discuss

Discuss the landscape

When it changes from woods

To sorry.

     So many layers exist. They serve their purpose well: to shield and deter. Yet, pushing through these layers, anyway--because we are forced to do so OR because Life simply makes things impossible to ignore--we cross 'forbidden' safeguards. We enter awkward truths and grieve what must be seen; done; known. This includes facing the programed scripts of condemnation that come with "sorry". These and so much else, fall like dead leaves into the SPACE that holds it all.