She Pours Herself Out

In the dark hours of winter and advent, I find some time to sit in the quiet stillness and breath and sit. Thoughts and prayers and hopes and fears weave in and through the stillness. I’ve learned that these times are necessary training to prepare my heart for moments like this……

A picture sent to me on a busy day. A picture of the woman who is the love of my whole life. The woman I love with my life. And she pours herself out for others. When she tells me of her days spent caring for her patients or spent with our kids, I hear her love, her respect for others. I look up to Lauren. When my job seems hard and I don’t have the drive to care more thank is convenient, I think on her and the power of her love. I feel pulled to love like her.

We don’t often get great pictures of her. She is often the one taking the picture. And if she is in the picture she is holding someone or she’s modest and doesn’t like the light of a camera. I understand. But these pics, she’s radiant. trust me, I live with her…. she looks like this most of the time. She is beautiful with a beautiful heart.

We Walked Along the River and Found the Current Soothing.

We walked along the Stones River on the Greenway path. The current was fast but patient. Watched the water curl and swirl and eddy and flow. The river was soothing this morning. We looked at the trees and the bushes and heard all the creatures going about their day. Our walking pace was steady but not hurried. Time in no shortage this day.

As we crested a hill, we stopped to stretch and drink a bit of water. The air was cool but the sunshine warm and bright. We walked along. We talked about all the small things that often are left unsaid for busy schedules and pressing tasks. Out talk was of the small things, the daily things. Of friends and family, of life and living, of joys and sufferings.

We walked along the river and found the current soothing. Sycamores are every where along the river. Passing under a leaning branch, I noticed a herring bone pattern on the underside of the tree where rain had hit the smooth surface of sycamore and run along the underside of following gravity’s pull. The pattern was symmetrical and regular. I had never noticed before.

Every so often my wife would wince of exhale harshly, sometimes putting a hand to her belly which is very swollen with or baby son. She is incredible and I am in awe. I am sure she got tired of me asking if she was all right, if we need to stop or if she was having a contraction. She never seemed annoyed by me.

We talked a lot of family. Ours is soon to be expanded by son, due in the next weeks.  We talked about everything, so it seemed. We talked of art and beauty, of humor and pain. We talked over our preparations for our coming son, of the incredible little girl our daughter has become. We walked along the river and found the current soothing.

We talked and walked along the river and I got the clear and specific understanding that this is our life; walking together, sharing our time, no hurry, watching nature happen around us, breathing in, breathing out and walking along the river. There was nothing extraordinary about the morning. A sunny, beautiful, clear morning toward the end of a cold winter. We find our lives where we are at the moment, and that moment is ordinary and precious and golden.

I so love these times with my wife. I never imagined my life would take the turns and arrive at the place I am today. I could have never planning to be the man I am on this morning. Grateful and humble are not enough to describe my heart. We walked along the river and found the current soothing.

In Service

I sat in the backyard on a sunny midday just before the weather turns cool, beginning a march toward winter. I think on my last statement of protests and contempt in the unfolding of events. Little events are what I am talking about. The goings on in my small personal universe. I was angry about one door closing but very grateful another opened. I was frustrated about a situation but the wheel comes around and a situation becomes something positive that I did not expect.

Then, while watching the songbirds begin to eat on the newly refilled bird feeder, I think on big events. The goings on of the world. Population explosion, melting ice caps, scarcity of food or water, world hunger, climate change, pollution of the Earth and of the Spirit. All the calamities that our people are living in these days. And I feel a bridge in understanding. A bridge of thought realizing that no one knows what is for the best.

As a parent, I often fall to comparison between of Maker and parents of a child. A child does not understand. A child cannot comprehend being denied one thing because something much better may be waiting. A child cannot understand suffering and destruction so that something else may grow and flourish. I can’t understand suffering and destruction either.

I can surrender my misunderstanding and allow truth to take its place. It is not my lot to understand or control. I feel directed to act according to my nature. And to make an  effort to express the parts of my nature that heal and serve and help. I am not to understand, though I may try. I am to express my medicine and leave the plan to the Planner.

Thanks for reading.

The Anatomy of the Sink Hole

I pay attention to world events in a different way now. A few weeks ago, my wife took a trip to Germany. She was gone for almost two weeks. My attention and anxiety was constantly drawn to her. The smallest piece of news that could effect her drew my rapt attention. I am not a worrier but I had a raised baseline of concern for her and world events. Each night my prayer was for her safety and for her return to our home.

I found that stories that might not have raised much attention, now send me to the laptop or to the cable news in research of deeper coverage. I became more aware of concerning stories once I had a concerning interest, namely the safety of my beloved. Stories of danger in Europe have always been there. But danger on a global level has increased and now that my most precious is abroad I notice them more.

I listen to the daily news. I am aware that the news does not always report the full story. Media is not the source for all  information. The media is there to inform but also to get your attention and to entertain. Truth and value are too often victims of greed.

I try to listen to news with my heart. I listen for the story under the story. Look for what the source is not saying. In this way I look deeply into the story of the sink holes.

All around the world, sink holes are opening. Some are not unexpected in areas prone to them. But , many are completely unexpected. And there are so many. My heart tells me there are more because the Earth is suffering. Small things are beginning to collapse. Small collapses. Also, because we as humans are draining the Earth of oil and water and fracking the Earth at an alarming rate. We are drilling where we should not. We are blasting apart the very foundations of our Earth. We are draining and polluting our aquifers. We are learning that the parts of the Earth we believe are indestructible are in fact fragile.

My mind also tells me that there are more sink holes noticed because we humans now cover more of the globe than ever before. We are noticing the holes as the open because we were in more places. That is likely true.

Are there more sink holes or are we just noticing? The answer: We notice the rising number of sink holes because we cover more ground and because sink holes have increased in occurrence.

There are more Earthquakes and storms than anyone can remember, more weather anomalies than anyone can explain. Is this all because climate change, or better science or a global breakdown of systems once thought to be indestructible. The answer in my own heart is all yes. All of the above.

We collectively see disturbing news all around us. The number of deeply alarming events increases every day. And we are noticing these events more.

We pay more attention because we all have loved ones in harms way. No one seems safe. Sink holes can occur any where. And sink holes here are only a metaphor for awful, violent, horrific events that I will not to give energy to here.

No where is out of bounds, no one is immune. We find that things once thought safe are dangerous. Places once thought solid are really porous. Forces of nature are behaving unnaturally.

This is a time to pay attention. To stay awake and stay aware. Not only in the media but in every place we go. Pay attention to the outside world and pay attention to what your heart is telling you. Check with your guts and stay vigilant.

My wife is home. She is safe and we are grateful. But I find I am not relaxed now that she returns. I still listen to the stories of the world with concern. I try to look deeply at events. And I am trying to look deeply at my own feelings and reactions to the world. I try not to fear. I try not to worry. I put effort instead toward loving and compassion and understanding. That is my prayer tonight.

A Narrow Path

I was baptized on my birthday. For many months now I felt in my heart that this was something I wanted to do. I have read and meditated and researched. While I feel that the act if baptism is an outward sign of what had all ready inwardly taken place; the preparation has deepened my understanding of my reality.

The morning of my 33rd birthday, I walked the woods of Camp Marymount, a place I have long called home. I walked around the lake and through the hills. I drank from the spring and walked up to a former sweat lodge site. I continued wandering the forest till I came to the Outdoor Chapel where I was married many years ago. A creek runs along the forest floor and I followed it. I found a deep pool and sat down for a time. Later I found a fallen maple tree lying across the stream. I sat on the tree and prayed and breathed. After some time I wrote in my prayer journal.

I am prepared to walk this Narrow Path: Giving all my Love, all my life away for the love of my people and my family and Earth and Creator, for my reality and to the Spirit. A narrow path, of compassion and forgiveness, of faith, of generosity of commitment. To hold the moment, to live and remain in the moment. Don’t fall to fret or fear for the future, nor lose  power by dwelling in the past.

The Narrow Path: To look ever deeper for more full understanding of reality. The way of emptiness and clarity. To surrender to Spirit and pour out myself for others.

The Way of Christ, the Way of Zen, of Suzuki, of Hanh, of Stalking Wolf and Brown. A claim of my spiritual lineage.

The Narrow path is the way of compassion, of awareness, of openness, of love and always inclusive.

As it is written:  for wide is the path and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many will find it. But narrow is  the path and difficult is the way which leads to life, and  few will find it.

Early that afternoon, my Father and wife and child came out to meet me. It was a cold windy cloudy day. We walked down to the woods together. I carried the Bible that belonged to my mother. I carried a hollow bone of a deer leg and the underside bones of a turtle that I had found on my walk early in the day. Towels also we carried. It was cold.

Reaching the bank of the stream, we said a prayer, I read a Psalm. My wife said some wonderful words and my father read a few passages out of the new testament. I stripped to shorts and my father and I got in the water. I knelt, then sat, then Dad laid me back submerging me in the frigid stream. Cold but exhilarating. I will not share the words to describe how I felt afterwords. That afternoon will be with me always.

Dead Spaces

He did not see the show, he saw his phone. This photo is from the internet. I did not take his picture. That would be pretty funny if I had.

A few weeks ago, my wife and I went to see an old friend’s band play a show. There was a young man a few paces in front of me holding his phone in the filming pose. You know, phone eye level but off to one side. His eye shifting from the large screen to the stage and back every few seconds. My attention was drawn to the screen. I want to see the show with my eyes not through a phone screen between my eyes and the stage. “Put your phone down” I hollered at a low volume. A few voices behind me echoed the call. And he did.

While he watched his phone, he was not at the show. His attention was not around him. His energy was not with the people preforming. He did not see the band, he was looking at his phone!

While consumed with the smart phone, you are not involved in the world around you. Oblivious to your surrounding is a dangerous way to move though the world. Dangerous in many ways, not only to your body, to your spiritual, emotional awareness. Text while walking a city block. How many people passed you? How many men? How many women? Who made eye contact with you?

Look at your phone while riding up a few floors on an elevator. How many stops were made before yours? How many people got into the elevator? How many got off? What were they wearing? Where were they going?

Are these important questions? They are important if you are alive.

We stare at our smart phones as dumb mammals wrapped in  pockets of no attention, the absences of awareness surrounding people.

I train to see dead space. From the earliest lesson at survival school, there is talk of dead space. Dead space the the mostly physical (often emotional/spiritual) area that is devoid of attention and absent of concern. The vacuum of awareness. The places that go unlooked at, unnoticed, and unseen. Everyone has them. Even when we try to eliminate dead spaces, they remain.

Walk into a room and notice where your attention does not go. Especially in your home, your car, your normal routes and routines, dead spaces are the areas you nearly never look at, the corners that are rarely noticed. Dead spaces are more frequent in your normal ruts.

A tourist looks around and tries to see everything. Walk into a room or a scenic view for the first time with interest and concern, and dead spaces are few because the attention given to reality is so great.

But look at a person using their phone. Texting, surfing, streaming, sharing, whatever. There is a visible tube of awareness pouring out of their faces and pouring into the small rectangle in their hands. To me, the phone appears to be actually sucking the attention out of the face.

Don’t trade your eyes for the camera lens on the phones. Don’t sacrifice your hearing to the ear plugs and signals of a new message.

People die because they do not pay attention. They walk out into traffic. They drive off bridges. Likewise, animals fall victim to hunters because they did not pay attention.

It is becoming a familiar paradox. The more we are connected via text, email, internet and media, the less we connect to the person sharing a room, or a meal, or a train. We can move though the world and share tons of thoughts with thousands of people without using our voice, only our thumbs.

I am terrified of this reality.

I recently watched an old episode of West Wing. One of the character’s cell phones rang during a meeting. He appeared embarrassed. He excused himself and answered the call a little put off the person had called him at all. That was ten years ago. What a change. This day, his phone would silently alert that he has a text and he would respond while still sitting in a meeting. To my sensibility that is very rude.

I believe our species to be in crisis. Everything is a crisis these days. Climate crisis, financial crisis, political gridlock crisis, people all over the world in crisis. Our awareness is also in crisis. What is the tipping point of our ability to give attention to our real world? How far will this go?

Starts with the Spirit

Holding Our Breath

Like many people, I watched the Superbowl last Sunday  I stood by the couch folding the weeks clean laundry  When the voices of Jim Nance and Phil Sims suddenly fell silent, my attention was pulled from the clean towels to the upper deck of the Superdome. He heart sped up. I waited for the worst. Blessings come in abundance and a thousand a one prayers were answered  There was no catastrophic event, no horror waiting in the darkened seats. I feared the worst. Didn’t all of us fear the worst.

This should be a mark of the times. How our attention, our awareness has shifted. Shortly after September 11th, the government made a colored code for the level of concern and fear we be at in our daily lives. Once the level was set at emergency, did it ever come down? How can we ever lower the level of concern. We can’t. Once we react by placing  armed guards in kindergardens, they will never be dismissed. Horror has broken through to the realm of possibilities. Events of terror fantasy and violent fiction has become reality.

A few weeks ago I stopped by the store on my way home. I had a rough sinus infection that kept me awake the previous night and wanted to get some nyquil so I could sleep. The machine buzzed an alarm when I ran the bottle through self check out. An attendant came over to me to check my ID.

She spoke in the grocery store small talk, ‘What’s the world coming to’, she said ‘when I have to card you for cold medicine? Can’t trust no one for nothing. I have a little boy myself, hardly a year old. what kind of world will he have I wonder’ she said.

I don’t know any answer to that. But that making the world better for my children starts with me. Teach the children how the world is and how we hope the world would be. What can we do about the amount of fear and doubt and greed in the world? We start by not becoming hard, or cold, not succumbing to the fear. People have guns but the answer is not to get a gun myself. People fear each other but we can’t join in that and close off to relations.

These are no answers. i have no answers and I would not presume to tell anyone how to live. But for my family, we will hold faith, share love, starting in our own home and in our own neighborhood. I feel that is starts in my own garden, in my own heart. Amen

Holding Our Breath

The Veil Thins

This Advent season has been fast. I look for time each day to slow down, notice the air passing through my nostrils and the feel the moment.

Christmas is a season of teaching for these moments. In my heart I hold the moment to moment stillness of a Christmas night. The cold air makes each breath visible. Stillness also means quiet, as if the world speak in a whisper, the way we might whisper in a church, in the presence of the sacred.

And this is sacred. Christmas is a joining of Heaven and Earth. A joining of Creation and Created, of ether and earth. A time when The Star comes burning toward Earth. Comes close enough to glimpse behind the veil of creation.

In the cold, still, long darkness, anything is possible. Even evil can break through if a path is made. Christmas is no stranger to the slaughter of the innocent. A spark may ignite a into fire. Ice may break into flood. Great joy may be broken into deepest sorrow. Whispers seems as loud as thunder. The divine feels present. Like a secret being poorly kept. A Presence just behind the curtain.

And a joining is taking place. A celebration of light come to the darkness. A joining as in a marriage. The occas

ion of becoming both gift and given. And we celebrate the giving of what? Of our selves, of our love, of our attention and concern for each other. We become the gift, freely given and lovingly received. We are there for each other.

These long nights when we recognized and rejoice in the divine light we carry and share with one another. This is the good news and the Coming that brings us so much happiness. We long in excitement not for the material possessions but for the presence of Spirit.

My goal this Christmas, my intention in this night I spend awake: To deflect the cultural greed and selfishness that circulates among us and to shine back love and giving. Making my self the gift to the world. I aim to bring my most divine, my most infant, most innocent self to the world.

Waiting in the Dark

It is dark early in the evening. I walk off the elevator. The hospital is sterile, brightly lit, quiet but only muted. There is a emotion vibrating beneath the hard tiles.  The floors above are full of held breath, choked back tears, silent waiting moments.

I cross the courtyard which is vacant in the evening. The crossed brick patterned reflects the fluorescent sheen. The night shift staff is settled in their chairs and the day shift are all ready in traffic. I have been waiting for a close friend and teacher to live or die. I have been waiting to learn that a child will soon join us. I have been waiting for my shift in the Emergencyt o be over so I can go home and hold my wife.

These three or four blocks between the hospital towers, two red paper dolls and the expansive deserted parking lot with my truck waiting by a honey colored street light, these blocks are my time out of waiting. I walk step after step in the frost of late autumn and the dark that holds before the advent. I try not to rush. But my pace cannot fall too slow either. For there is too much potential change to linger on this walk.

Instead I walk in a regular pace, breathing deeply. Try to control all the worry and doubt and fear of not knowing what is around the next corner. The pain and concern of the unknown is the worst just before the turn is taken.

As a boy I feared the head lights of the oncoming cars because I could not see past them. And the fear and doubt builds and builds and reaches a crescendo to the instant before the car passes.

These times of waiting are unending. That car never passes. The corner is never taken. And the greatest fear though never realized is never out of range to possibility. But I walk the same steady unhurried, tense pace. I keep awake in the darkness. Eyes open to the coming change. I had vowed to stay awake but this is exhausting.

I look up and wait. I pray and hope and Wait. The advent is approaching.

Without a teacher

Master James McLain

In years of karate training, nothing feels quite as good as praise. I don’t seek the praise and approval of my teacher, but it sure makes you feel incredibly good when that praise comes. And it comes sparingly. My Sensei is a man of few words and simple statements. He tells you when he is proud of you as a student. He tells you when he thinks you are training hard. He tells you when he thinks  your technique is looking good.

These comments are not the reason I train. Praise is not my motivation. But these praises can put me on top of the world. I feel my self esteem and confidence grow following these interactions. The felling is from childhood. It is the same praise that made my cheeks flush as a small boy. Pride, acceptance, and encouragement are powerful.

Sensei is very sick. His health is not good. And I find that our days of training might be coming to a conclusion. I do not want anything to do with this praise any longer. I don’t want to find this feeling anywhere anymore.

My mother passed from life many months ago. I have learned to live as a grown man without his mother in life. The possibility of losing Sensei feels like a similar vacancy  Is is a felling of lonely  independence, of self reliance of  on-your-own-ness. This feeling is sad but strengthening.  It saddens because this phase in life has come upon me. A phase when I am the grown up, by myself only, and looking for no confirmation.  But it feels strong for the same reason. Because I have become fully a man, grown and independent.

I may have more teachers in karate. Teacher is what “sensei” means. And I will surely keep learning for the rest of my life but, no longer will I accept that kind of praise and encouragement. I want to live life free of the need to receive it. Not from my Sensei, or my mother, or my boss. It will not effect me again.