You've Got To Believe It's Getting Better

"It seems like the chaos of this world is accelerating, but so is the beauty in the consciousness of more and more people"

~ Anthony Kiedis ~

"When I was a kid I drew like Michelangelo. It took me years to learn to draw like a kid."

~ Pablo Picasso ~

"When I was a child, I spoke like a child, thought like a child, and reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up my childish ways."

~ 1 Corinthians 13:11, International Standard Version ~

Take a good hard look at the quotes above.  The first two are inspiring for me.   The last one, well........for me that's exactly the problem these days.  We're resisting our ability to live in childlike wonder.  We all have an inner child that needs, not stuffed, but nurtured.  It's who we are at our very core.  Stick with me here.

The whole Chik-Fil-A-who's right or wrong-hate-love-chickengate thing over the last couple weeks has forced me to reexamine my entire belief system.  I think it did that for a lot of people.  I can tell you, without hesitation, my beliefs in the goodness of humanity, and the potential for an enlightened and peaceful future (someday) are firmly in tact.  Apparently cognitive dissonance works both ways.  I offered a challenge some time ago to a group of people who follow a particular doctrine, to present me with historical evidence of the validity of their deity's existence, using a source OTHER than their religious reference OR a source that doesn't use said reference as THEIR primary source, and I would rethink my position.  Not one met the challenge.  In fact, I don't think anyone tried.  But I digress.

In the midst of all this surface tension there lurks an undercurrent that I keep hearing over and over.  Like my little 138 number, I seem to be seeing it everywhere lately.  It takes on a couple different forms but goes something like this.  "What are we teaching our children?"  Or  "Our world/country/county/city/whatever is in so much trouble!"  Or still, "We need to get back to biblical values."   Add quotes to any string of words you like.  The bottom line is, there are those among us who believe our population is destined for destruction because we aren't following a Christian/Muslim/Hindu/Buddhist/Whatever doctrine.  "God" is displeased and he's going to bring down the thunder.  I just can't seem to share that perspective and I'll tell you why.

Many people I talk to today think our children are soft, spoiled and unaware.  They're obviously talking to a different group of children than I.  Sure, kids today probably spend more time indoors playing Nintendo or watching TV.  And we've all assumed that's a bad thing.  Granted, it's a DIFFERENT thing than when I was a kid, but who's to say it's bad.  It's how things are.  It's where technology and evolution is leading us.  And here's where the naysayers are digging in.  I'm actually encouraged by the generation of kids we're raising.  It's MY generation that seems to be making a mess of things.

Almost without exception, the kids I have the pleasure of being around today are more globally and ecologically aware.  They get the connection.  They're beginning to realize that borders are ridiculous and survival of the species means a spirit of cooperation.  They're finally beginning to grasp the notion that war is ludicrous at ANY level.  (Yeah, we didn't even come CLOSE to getting that one.)  They ask tough questions and are no longer swallowing ancient lore of any kind without some type of evidence.  Largely gone are the days of "I believe this or that because my parents said so."  Kids want evidence now.  Blind faith is disappearing.  And.  THAT.  Is.  A.  Good.  Thing!!!!  There's an increased love of The Arts, and Science is emerging as a place to explore with that childlike wonder we talked about and not just some class that requires a grade.  And these kids are going to bear children that carry on that legacy.  These kids are getting it.

So you want to know how I know?  I know because the establishment that has kept us under the tyranny of dogma is crying out with a gnashing of teeth.  The thin vail of religion is being questioned.  And that may be nothing new, but the days of killing people for their questions are mostly gone and the curtain is being opened one generation at time.  And THAT, my friends, is called a "threat" to those that live behind that curtain.  I know.  I used to live there, too.  Can you begin to imagine the economic landslide that will take place when the curtain finally falls?  Religion is a multi-billion dollar industry.  Collapse the foundation and you may very well collapse the whole thing.  Many kids today understand that may be exactly what needs to happen.  Our kids may be "spoiled", but they certainly aren't arrogant or naive.  They see the fragility of our existence.

I guess all I'm trying to say is this.  Fear not.  Everything is happening exactly the way it's supposed to.  Whether you're Christian or Atheist, we can probably agree on that.  Every battle line that gets drawn is forcing people from both sides to step towards it, baby-step at a time, whether they realize it or even want to.  Eventually............and it may be many generations from now, an entire planet (or maybe even universe) of people will emerge that stand at the line shaking hands.  We can't be on opposite ends forever.  It just doesn't work that way.  And although it may seem like such a long time from now, man hasn't been around that long.  (Unless you believe that whole "the earth is only 10,000 years old" thing.  In which case, don't even get me started).  We'll figure it out.

Believe what you want to believe.  Whatever it is, it's vital to getting us where we need to be as a species.  We actually need opposing views to find SOLID ground.  Have faith.  Believe.  We're all basically good people.   And I think our children are the first in a long line that are getting it worked out.  I only wish I was going to be here to see it.  But in the meantime.........

Live in childlike wonder.  It's who you are.

Namaste        





Ramblin' On River Odyssey (Final)

"When you think about it, life is really just a river."

~ Matt Leatherwood ~

"Excuse me, sir," I gently inquired from the back of my loaded canoe.  "Is this Nebraska City?"

"It is," he said as he glared down at me from the boat dock as if some hippie had just shown up to invade his quaint little town.

"Is this the only place I can get off the river?" I pressed just a bit further.

"It's as good a place as any," was all the gruff little man trying to launch his flat bottom boat could muster.

"Yes, sir, this is a fine place," I smiled.  "But is it the ONLY place in Nebraska City to exit the river?"

He scratched his chin, now both clearly puzzled and annoyed.  He went on to say something about a bridge a little further down and some giant embankment next to the grain elevator, but I stopped listening.  It was evident.  The river odyssey was over.

I had just rounded the last bend before the site of civilization began to appear.  As the grain elevators, houses, and finally the park and boat ramp came in to focus, I was filled with a sense of accomplishment and sadness.  After many, many years of discussion, dreaming and planning, my trip was coming to a close a full half day sooner than I expected.  I pulled the cell phone from the waterproof case where it had been stored most of the trip and called my friend to see about being picked up.  He said he'd be there in a little over an hour.  He arrived on time, we loaded the gear on the jeep and headed to town for lunch.  After 4 days of fruit and MRE's, I was hungry.

We stood at the counter of a local fast food joint and ordered our food.  As they called out the total, I reached in to my pocket for the first time in 4 days to produce a debit card which I used to pay for lunch.  As I handed the young teen behind the counter my card, the full weight of the trip being over began to sink in.  Like a movie scene where I was being sucked down a worm hole, I became firmly, if not roughly planted directly back in to civilization.

Lest I begin to sound overly dramatic, let me be clear about this.  I get the fact that I'd only been on my own for 4 days.  I hadn't been stranded in the Tundra, foraging for food and melting snow for water.  I wasn't stranded on some deserted island ala Robinson Crusoe for years on end eating only coconuts and fish.  I had merely been basically alone on a canoe, truly not all that far from civilization, for a meager 4 days.  Anyone could do that standing on their head.  There was no inherent danger and I was on charted waters.  Yet, for 4 days, I completely removed myself, as much as possible, from people, traffic and noise.  I'd spoken less than a dozen words to another human being during that time (I DID talk to myself a bit and even asked Eliot a couple questions) and was entirely alone with the voice in my head.  Very few people take the time to listen to that voice, yet we all have one.

I've already told you all about the lessons the river refreshed for me.  Being back in a small town and then finally back in a city like Dallas, Texas was, at first, overwhelming.  Everything was bigger.  Noises were louder.  Traffic was heavier.  My patience was shorter.  Now, I know what you're thinking.  "Where's the gratitude, Matt?  You should be refreshed and alive after a trip like that."  I get that.  I really do.  And I'm grateful beyond measure for the opportunity to experience a childhood dream.  But what really hit home for me upon my return to Dallas (and I'm just being honest here) was the complete insignificance of all that surrounds me in the big city.  On top of that, I felt deep sadness for those that heard only their loud radio, breathed in dirty exhaust and drudged on day after day in a job they hate.

The virtues of labor and responsibility and all that aren't lost on me.  That's probably a discussion for another time.  What I know with absolute certainty after being alone on the river, is there is more than this.  There's more to see, more to appreciate and more to experience.  There are wondrous things out there.  Dear god, how I wish people would stop long enough to see those things.  There are miracles under foot everywhere you turn, but many you'll only find if you're quiet and still.  They don't come blaring a trumpet.

I had this very thought today.  Each and every one of us start at the same place.  And regardless of the paths we choose, jobs we take, mistakes we make or miracles we perform, we ALL end up in the same place too.  It kinda makes all the things in between much less worth worrying about.  "No one gets out alive," is the quip that belongs there I believe.

Life isn't like a river.  Life IS a river.  Every little stream, creek, and river are all flowing to the same place.  Somewhere along the way, they are ALL connected.  Just like people and the way they interact with each other.  Life is flowing and we're all flowing with it whether we're fighting or resting.  As we go, things and people come and go and there simply is...no....going....back.  If you're in a place of calm now, big waves are coming.  If you're in the middle of a giant wake now, calmer water is just ahead.  That's just how it works.  That's the river.  That's life.

Will you do this?  Will you make time soon to sit still and be quiet?  Will you take a trip you've always wanted, or see something you've always wanted to see?  Will you take up that hobby?  Or for the love of god, will you just give someone a hug?  Life is flowing, it's passing and there are going to be periods of calm and storm.  Just go with it.  Live it.  Enjoy it.  You and I started at the same place and we're finishing at the same place too.

Stop sweating the small stuff.  Life is a river.  Go with it. 

   

  

Ramblin' On River Odyssey (Part III)

“As we sail thru life, don't avoid rough waters, sail on because calm waters won't make a skillful sailor”

~ Unknown ~

"It is a mistake to try to look too far ahead.  The chain of destiny can only be grasped one link at a time." 

 ~  Winston Churchill ~

In a recent training operation put on by my local Urban Search and Rescue Team, I learned the significant difference between "information" and "intelligence."  Information, of course, can come from a variety of sources and may or not be useable or even accurate.  Intelligence, on the other hand, is that bit of useful and accurate information found hidden in the mountains of information.  In this particular case, a well-meaning friend who informed me barges were no longer pushed up the Missouri River could be classified as information.  The fact that I actually MET a barge being pushed up the Missouri River would be classified as intelligence.  Unfortunately, that bit of intel was a bit late.

I was still on the final leg of my odyssey and had just waved so-long to my coyote friend.  Overcome with the joy of my trip and meloncholy of the impending end, I settled back in the Ramblin' On for an easy coast to my final destination; time, mileage and speed unknown.  I found a smooth, easy current along the west bank of the river and just let my mind wander.  The view was a little fuzzy at first.  In fact, I wasn't so sure I wasn't imagining things, much like one would after days in the desert.  But as the object grew closer, there was no doubt.  I was about to meet a barge.  Information decoded.  This was solid Intel.

I moved yet closer to the west bank, hoping to pass the tug pushing four large tankers on his port side.  As the vessel approached, it seemed the pilot had other ideas as he loomed closer and closer to the same bank while trying to negotiate a wide, sweeping turn of the river.  It became evident I would have to cross to the east bank or be swamped.  I stowed my camera in the water-proof case and, for one of the few times on my trip, paddled as if it meant something.  I dug in deep and came about for the opposite shore.  I made it in ample time to grab a picture of the vessel as it passed.  And then came the obvious realization:  I was about to come face-to-face with an enormous wake.  There was no avoiding it.

I understand enough about boating to know the best way to handle an onslaught of waves is head on.  In some instances, meeting them at a 45 degree angle is best, but I set the bow for a direct hit by the large waves and braced my feet inside the canoe.  And then they came.  Large, rolling clouds of water pitched the bow of the canoe up and then down, up and then down.  It was actually a nice change to the peaceful floating I had been doing and the initial attack of waves faded quickly.  But the wake on a large body of water like a lake or ocean is one thing.  The waves trapped inside the banks of a river are quite another and I momentarily overlooked that fact. 

As each round of waves passed, they ricocheted off the opposing bank and came back for another round, this time hitting me from behind.  At the same time, waves initially moving away from me, hit THAT bank and came back at a much different angle, eventually mingling with all the other waves and making a sort of hodgepodge of wavery.  It didn't matter which way you pointed the craft, the waves were coming from every direction.  It was only mildly frightening and soon things began to settle.  To my surprise, however, I was MILES downstream and past the barge before the waters returned to their usual calm.  It was in that vortex of waves and the ensuing choppiness of the water that I realized my third lesson.

Life comes with rough waters and they take time to settle.  I feel certain that each and every one of us have been floating along in calm seas only to be met face-to-face with a surprise occurence that left huge turbulence in it's wake.  And I'm betting that in most of those instances, we've chosen to meet the waves head on or be swamped.  That's generally what we do.  It's what we HAVE to do.  But the most important realization about my own recovery from a huge barge in the river of life was the behavior of the waves AFTER.

Anytime we're met with rough waters, the initial crash of waves is the most brutal.  Or at least we think so.  They pass momentarily and we think we've made it beyond the worst of it.  And then the second wave comes, followed by a third.  Soon the waves are all crashing around us and we realize that as difficult as the first hit was, there's plenty of confusing, rough, and perhaps more difficult water ahead.  We do our very best to keep our "canoe" pointed in the right direction and hold on for dear life.  After some time, the worst of it IS truly over, but it is miles and miles before our waters return to calm.  That's how we grieve.  That is the process of healing.

If there is one constant in this life, it's change.  If you're drifting in calm waters now, make no mistake.  Rough waters will come, perhaps even when you least expect it.  If you're fighting rough waters now, you can be sure the waters will calm once again.  Just don't be surprised if it's a bit further downstream than you expected.  That's just how life flows, remember?

Don't fear the unexpected or oversteer the boat.  Rough waters will come and when they do, simply do your best and know things will be calm soon.  Use this tidbit of information and convert it to useable intelligence when you need it most.  Because you will.  At one time or another we all will.  And no matter how rough the waters get, try to remember you're still on a boat coasting down river and you're still afloat.  Even at it's worst, that ain't so bad. 

Happy boating.    

  



Ramblin' On River Odyssey (Part II)

"In three words I can sum up everything I know about life.  It goes on."

~  Robert Frost ~

"The past cannot be changed, but the future is still within our reach."

~ AGHS Class of 1979 Motto ~

I, Eliot and the canoe inched along in total silence as we drifted aimlessly down the Missouri River.  There were no sandbars to navigate.  Nothing but open water and smooth sailing required that I occasionally only rudder the boat to maintain direction.  With my feet up and hands locked behind my head, I leaned back in total bliss, enjoying the moment as the morning sun danced off the ripples of the water.  And there he was.

In complete ignorance of the approaching foreigner, a young coyote came to the water's edge seeking food and water.  I came to full attention and tried ever so quietly to sit up, remove my camera from it's water-proof case, turn it on, adjust the settings and prepare for the shot.  After what seemed like minutes, but took only seconds, I turned to zoom in on this gorgeous creature.  But since the river was flowing at a blinding speed of just over 5 miles per hour, he was already a hundred yards behind me.  I did my best to twist in my seat for one last view of the coyote who was now standing on the bank in a puzzled stance, probably having never seen a long silver fish skimming the water.  In desparation I zoomed out to the limits of the lens and hoped for the best, grabbing one of three shots you see above.  And then it was gone.  The moment, the opportunity, the coyote, the experience....................vanished. 

I was on the final leg of my river odyssey before I became aware of two important additional life-lessons, free for the taking from the power of the Mighty Mo.   On day one, of course, I was schooled in the art of going with the flow of the river......of life.  Because of that vital lesson, I spent the next two days of the journey more relaxed, perhaps even more "in sync" with the river.  Sure, there were many more sandbars to navigate, rain and even a thunderstorm to escape, but I took them all in stride.  They were part of the experience and I had been reminded to quit fighting.  Some of my best memories of the trip are of being temporarily stuck on a sandbar and dragging the canoe to open water, or scrambling up the wooded bank of an island to seek cover from an approaching storm.  It was wonderful.

But on this day, my final day, as the coyote and his puzzled expression disappeared behind my relentless progress downstream, I was reminded of my next lesson.  While on this little odyssey, I had observed many wonderful things, animals and landmarks.  Some I stopped to explore.  Others received an idol glance as I floated by.  Yet every experience shared one very important characteristic.  They were behind me.....past......gone.  No matter how much I wanted to go back and relive each experience, it simply wasn't possible.  The river flows relentlessly downstream, remember?

It doesn't take a river trip to see where I'm heading with this.  It's life.  Directly behind my first lesson of life's flow, came the part I simply couldn't ignore.  As life flows, experiences pass.  And then they're gone.  The MEMORY of the experience remains (or at least it usually does), but you can't go back to relive it.  That's the beauty of living in the moment.  We hear about that a lot these days, don't we?  "I'm living in the moment."  Or, "I live each moment to the fullest."

But those are different aren't they.  EVERYONE lives in the moment.  It's not really a choice.  Each of us has only this moment in which to live.  Some of us just realize it more than others.  But I digress.  We were talking about the past.  You know, that thing that happened just seconds ago. 

Each and every one of us has "a past."  It's there alright.  It's there in the form of a memory, an experience, or maybe even a life lesson.  But that's all.  You can't go back there physically any more than I could paddle upstream against a strong current to linger a bit longer with my coyote friend.  And even if you could, it wouldn't be the same as when you left it.  Surely you've revisited your home town or old vacation spot thinking you'd be able to relive a past event only to find everything had changed.  Life flows.  Things move past us and then they're gone.

We have a choice, as so boldly pointed out in the quote by our loving Dr. Seuss.  "Don't be sad it's over.  Be happy that it happened."   And that's the truth.  We can spend our lives dwelling in old memories or struggling to relive them.  Or we can simply be happy they happened, add the experience to our inventory, and move on.  I can wish for more time or a better picture of my friend the coyote, or just be thankful I got to see him at all.  Because just like on that river, you can look back for a last glance, or even try paddling back, but life flows and just around the bend is your next experience, your past obstructed from view.

So let's be happy that it happened, shall we?  I know it's easier said than done and I have certainly failed miserably at being happy on more than one occasion.  But I keep moving forward, keep flowing and keep logging a new "past."   Be happy.

What's done is done.

  

    

Ramblin' On River Odyssey (Part I)

"Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it."

~ Norman MacLean ~

"On a river, life's most important lessons are right there for the taking."

~ Matt Leatherwood ~

Had I known that some of life's biggest mysteries could be solved by taking a solo trip down a river in a canoe, I'd have done it years ago.  The truth is, I DID do it years ago, but with other young boys in Boy Scouts.  There wasn't a prayer I'd even begin to grasp the significance of the river's lessons at that young age.  And even as an adult, I'm not sure comparing the river with some of life's biggest challenges would have been as obvious without my long trail of experience.  But the lessons are there alright.  And they're obvious if you know where to look.

Maybe this trip wasn't so much about learning NEW ways to look at life as it was about reinforcing those things I'd learned and forgotten.  Like most people, I learned a few things from my parents.  Well,  at least they TRIED to teach me a few things.  To some advice I listened.  I ignored others and insisted on ambling along lifes path learning things on my own.  That's a little painful, but as it turns out..........necessary.

This 75 mile trip down three rivers close to home was actually over 35 years in the making.  It didn't take that long because of the intricate planning or training involved.  It took that long because, for all those years, I had made other parts of my life more important.  And as it turns out, that's exactly as it should be.  Everything, as we know, happens as it should, when it should. 

The bridge 1/4 west of my childhood home offers passage over Salt Creek, which from there, flows approximately 10 miles to the Platte River.  From the mouth of Salt Creek, the Platte flows (sometimes faster than others) about 35 miles to the Missouri River.  From the mouth of the Platte, the Missouri leads eventually to the Mississippi and then to the Gulf of Mexico.  My trip ceased at Nebraska City, Nebraska, some 30 miles from the mouth of the Platte River.  If my math is correct, that's 75 miles.  It took me just under four days.

With the help of a friend, I loaded and launched my trusty canoe (The Ramblin' On) under the bridge where I had spent so many hours exploring as a child.  Accompanied only by my trusty sidekick, Eliot, (a stuffed Harley Hog given to me by my daughter) I set off down river to parts unknown.  The emotion of actually doing something that you'd only TALKED about doing for so long is difficult to describe.  Surreal probably comes closest, yet doesn't quite explain it fully.

Taking time away from work and family and other worldly expectations doesn't come without a certain level of guilt for me.  I'm working on that.  I didn't actually ask for a sign nor did I expect one, but within 200 yards of leaving my launch site, a clear sign is exactly what I got.  Two fabulous Red-Tail Hawks began circling directly above my head and repeatedly screamed at me with the sound most people only hear in the distance of an old western movie.  They weren't trying to scare me off.  They weren't threatening.  They were welcoming.  It was the most comforting feeling I've had in some time.  I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

For several miles the trip went as planned with only minor navigational issues and short periods of dragging the canoe over shallow waters.  It wasn't until near the end of the day, after basking in the glow of this amazing adventure, I discovered I'd been protected by tall trees on both sides of the river from a fierce wind.   With only two miles (that's an estimate to be sure) remaining to the mouth of Salt Creek, I was met by 30 mile per hour gusts that made navigating the loaded canoe impossible.  No matter how hard I paddled or ruddered, the wind blew the bow of the boat in whatever direction it chose.  I went sideways and backwards more often than I went forward and the wind unwaveringly pushed the vessel towards the opposing shore.  Like a pilot flying "dead stick", I was completely helpless.  Or so I thought.

After nearly an hour fighting the wind, I decided I'd be better off just dragging the vessel downstream.  I dismounted in an attempt to tow the boat downstream and immediately sank to mid-thigh in mud.  Initially disheartened, but not defeated, I struggled another 1/4 mile downstream taking one agonizing step at a time.  And then I did something I would never have considered 10 years ago.  Maybe even 2 years ago.  I gave myself permission to accept the fact what I was doing wasn't working.  I moored the canoe, grabbed my bed roll and took a nap under a shady Cottonwood.

It was a relatively short snooze and when I awoke, I took a leisurely hike down the shoreline to see if I could spot the Platte River.  It was still out of sight and the wind was still howling.  And then it hit me.  "It's easier to pull a rope than to push it."  In other words, there's nothing in the canoeing manual that says you have to paddle from the back.  I rearranged my gear and paddled from the bow of the boat.  Problem solved.  And therein lies the first and probably most important lesson I took from the entire trip.  Luckily, I learned it (or perhaps RElearned it) on the very first day.

Life is EXACTLY like that.  You're coasting downstream, aglow with the happiness of a life well-planned....well-deserved.  It seems impossible the smile could EVER be removed from your face.  You make one little turn around an unknown bend and WHAM!!!  the wind hits you in the face, blowing you completely off course.  And I can't speak for you, but so many times I have done in life precisely what I did in that canoe.  I fought.   I paddled harder.  I leaned fast on the rudder.  I dug in.  I pressed on, knowing what I was doing just wasn't working.  I became tired, frustrated, disheartened.  But just like on that river, I realize now I have a choice and it's a very good choice.  I can stop what I'm doing...........I can actually do NOTHING and wait for a new perspective. 

Many times I've hoped the new perspective would be calmer winds.  But the truth is, calmer winds won't always prevail.  A new way to navigate those winds just might.  I could have kept fighting the wind which was clearly unconquerable.  I took a nap instead.  With a new perspective, I was able to move forward.  But I learned something else too.  Even as the wind blew and it seemed I was making absolutely no progress, I actually was; steady progress in fact.  You see, no matter how hard the wind blows or how shallow the water gets, the water still flows.....always.  All that time I thought I was getting nowhere, the flow of the river was carrying me downstream ever so slowly.   

And therein lies the lesson.  Life flows.  You can fight it or you can go with it, but make no mistake;  it flows.  No amount of turbulence in the form of trial and problems will interrupt the flow.  You may not recognize it.  You may think your "wind" has stopped your progress altogether.  Take a nap.  Change your perspective.  If you look downstream it will appear as though you're getting nowhere.  But if you look to the shore right next to you, you'll discover you're moving.  You can't HELP, but move.  It's what life does. 

The end of Day One found me at peace, in a small tent without stakes (which I apparently forgot), looking out over the Platte River as the sun set, it's orange glow reflected off the rippling water as I reflected on my day.  Life flows.  Life has a rhythm.  You can go with it or you can fight it.  It's your choice to make.  But whichever you choose, it WILL move on and you will move with it.  Remember that sometimes doing nothing is exactly what you need to be doing.  If you get hit with a high wind and you're tired of fighting, take a nap.  It'll change your outlook.  The river is going to flow anyway.

Lean back.  Lock your fingers behind your head and kick your feet up on the side rails.  It's gonna be ok.  Just go with it.

"It"

"Just get over it"

"You can do it" 

What is this "It" of which you speak?  Who, what, and most importantly WHERE is this elusive "It" to which you refer me?  You can do It.  Time to get over It.  Is It different than This or even That?  As in, "This too shall pass" or "I've been through That."

Many modern-day scientists, specifically physicists, are blowing the doors off Newtonian physics.  What we, in this generation have known to be true, simply is not.  The old laws of physics no longer apply.  Experiment after experiment at the subatomic level have proven beyond reasonable doubt things move at random.....and in order.  Confusing, right?  The Quantum has shown us that we are moving away from a world of either/or to a world of both/and.  It's fascinating.  What is now routinely referred to as the Space-Time Continuum, shows us that all things, at least at the subatomic level, are happening at the same time AND different times......all at the same time!  And guess what?  ALL things are made of subatomic particles........energy.  You and your kitchen table both come from the same place.

So what exactly does that mean for someone like you and me?  The implications are infinite.  And I can only speak for me at this juncture, but for me, this brings confusion.  What all this science means is that there really isn't an "It" versus "This" or "That".  It means we're all related....all connected.  It means time is relative and what seems like it took so long really didn't and what seems so far away really isn't. 

So in fashion fitting the title of my blog, I've rambled about all that physics stuff to get to this.  My head is completely wrapped around the implications of modern science (I don't GET it, but I see where they're going with it), yet my heart is not.  And therein lies the challenge of the human experience.  In the head vs heart arena lies the challenge of reconciling being human with being spirit.  You see, I completely get that the one I love isn't really so far away, yet my heart aches for her physical presence.  I understand that there truly is no separation in the overall scheme of things, yet my heart feels the emptiness.  My head knows time is not linear and what seems like forever isn't really so long.  It knows that two years went by in an eyeblink, yet it was really a lifetime.  But my heart......my HUMANness, just doesn't understand.

So what does one do when confronted with the advice of those so well-meaning when told "you should get out more" or "it's time to get over It?"  Well........I don't know.  Because for me, there is no It.  There is simply now and the daily "struggle" (I despise that word) to understand being human; to understand the truth that I am only spirit having a human experience.  So as a human, I heed certain pieces of advice and put one wobbly foot in front of the other and check for footing.  Sometimes the step feels solid.  Sometimes not.  But in the wake of not seeing my path clearly, I put faith in the concept of well-meaning friends and science and move forward.  That makes sense, doesn't it?  Well, doesn't it?

This is clearly a rambling of epic proportions.  All my studying, reading, meditating, and reflection make it perfectly clear to me that all is being orchestrated exactly as it should be.  But today my human is weary and would give nearly anything for one more touch, look, or word.  That's just the way It is.  So for today I'll let my head try grasping the wonder of science, while I do my best to embrace the emotions of my humanness and know they're leading me somewhere. 

Life is a wondrous event of learning and growing, but it isn't only that.  It is an opportunity for Joy.  Today I'm missing mine, but it isn't so far, and the wait not so long.  It only seems that way.

Namaste     

This Side Or That?

“Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.”   
  ~ Anne Sexton ~

“All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children.... I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.”   
      ~ Anne Sexton ~

“I am alone here in my own mind.
There is no map
and there is no road.
It is one of a kind
just as yours is.”   
      ~ Anne Sexton ~

“Anne, I don't want to live. . . . Now listen, life is lovely, but I Can't Live It. I can't even explain. I know how silly it sounds . . . but if you knew how it Felt. To be alive, yes, alive, but not be able to live it. Ay that's the rub. I am like a stone that lives . . . locked outside of all that's real. . . . Anne, do you know of such things, can you hear???? I wish, or think I wish, that I were dying of something for then I could be brave, but to be not dying, and yet . . . and yet to [be] behind a wall, watching everyone fit in where I can't, to talk behind a gray foggy wall, to live but to not reach or to reach wrong . . . to do it all wrong . . . believe me, (can you?) . . . what's wrong. I want to belong. I'm like a jew who ends up in the wrong country. I'm not a part. I'm not a member. I'm frozen.”   
       ~ Anne Sexton, Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters ~

Yesterday, my daughter shared with me the results of a project she did for her Freshman English class.  It was one of the few "A's" given and it was a beautiful tribute/biography on the life of Anne Sexton, a Pulitzer Prize winning poet who tragically committed suicide in 1974.  I was a bit concerned, at first, by her choice of subjects, but she assured me her choice was about Ms. Sexton's style, not her suicidal tendencies. 

After looking over the project, complete with analysis of various stanzas from Anne Sexton's work, I couldn't wait to read some of her writing for myself.  Admittedly, much of it is dark stuff.  But I also found much of it to be extremely raw, honest, and captivating.  This was a woman who, despite her success and talent, struggled her entire life with depression.  Her work reflected her struggle.  In fact, writing was actually prescribed to her by a psychiatrist as a way to deal with her depression.  I guess in the end that didn't work.  I wonder if anything would have.

More recently, Don Cornelius, visionary and founder of the famous program Soul Train, was found dead in his home, the victim of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.  After years of success in the entertainment industry, paving the way for a huge number of black entertainers, at 75 Don Cornelius decided enough was enough.  Enough of what?

According to one source, there were 34,598 suicidal deaths in 2007 making it the 10th leading cause of death in America.  It accounted for just over 11 deaths per 100,000 people and there were 11 ATTEMPTS for every "successful" death.  Staggering.  But it still begs the question, "Why?"  You can read all the risk factors for yourself, but in the end the answer to that question is, "We don't really know."

Since I was a young child, I've been fascinated with mortality.  Perhaps that fuels my passion for old cemetaries.  Who are we?  Why are we here?  Where did we come from?  Where do we go?  Is this all there is?  What....is.....NEXT?  Religion, both ancient and modern have been trying to supply us with answers to those questions since the beginning of time.  None of the explanations have ever been adequate for me.  The truth is, unless you've been there AND back, you just don't know.  NOBODY knows.  It's all just an educated guess.  (Or uneducated.  Take your pick.) 

So why do people like Anne Sexton and Don Cornelius (and thousands upon thousands of others without names or faces) decide to end their life on earth?  Is it a decision or is it simply the end to a long illness, void of any choice?  What brings a person to the point where WHATEVER it is on the other side has to be better than what's on THIS side?  What makes the unknown more attractive than the known?  I've often wondered whether people that get to this point just don't get "it" or if by some odd chance, they're the only one's that do. 

I know this.  Anne Sexton and Don Cornelius were both enormous talents, yet that wasn't enough. What is?  Anne couldn't silence the words in her head that wouldn't come out.  Every one and every thing is interconnected.  It's a universal law.  So what makes each path so unique?  I guess we won't know until we're on the other side.  Anne Sexton's work spoke to me in ways no poet has for a very, very long time.  I'll leave you with couple of her poems.  RIP Anne Sexton and Don Cornelius.  You were enough.  You're still enough.  We believe in you.

 

WORDS, by Anne Sexton

Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be as good as fingers.
They can be as trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.
Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.
Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say, so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren't good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.
But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Words and eggs must be handled with care.
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair.

  



Admonitions to a Special Person, by Anne Sexton

Watch out for power,
for its avalanche can bury you,
snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain.

Watch out for hate,
it can open its mouth and you’ll fling yourself out
to eat off your leg, an instant leper.

Watch out for friends,
because when you betray them,
as you will,
they will bury their heads in the toilet
and flush themselves away.

Watch out for intellect,
because it knows so much it knows nothing
and leaves you hanging upside down,
mouthing knowledge as your heart
falls out of your mouth.

Watch out for games, the actor’s part,
the speech planned, known, given,
for they will give you away
and you will stand like a naked little boy,
pissing on your own child-bed.

Watch out for love
(unless it is true,
and every part of you says yes including the toes),
it will wrap you up like a mummy,
and your scream won’t be heard
and none of your running will end.

Love? Be it man. Be it woman.
It must be a wave you want to glide in on,
give your body to it, give your laugh to it,
give, when the gravelly sand takes you,
your tears to the land. To love another is something
like prayer and can’t be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.

Special person,
if I were you I’d pay no attention
to admonitions from me,
made somewhat out of your words
and somewhat out of mine.
A collaboration.
I do not believe a word I have said,
except some, except I think of you like a young tree
with pasted-on leaves and know you’ll root
and the real green thing will come.
Let go. Let go.
Oh special person,
possible leaves,
this typewriter likes you on the way to them,
but wants to break crystal glasses
in celebration,
for you,
when the dark crust is thrown off
and you float all around
like a happened balloon.

 

 



I Believe In You

 

“We think sometimes that poverty is only being hungry, naked and homeless. The poverty of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty. We must start in our own homes to remedy this kind of poverty.”

~ Mother Teresa ~

One of my dearest friends recently posted the following personal story on Facebook: 

Jon and I shared some money with a homeless man yesterday. The man thanked me for being a 'good, Christian woman' and said he would pray for me. I told him that while I believe in prayers, I do not believe in God.

His eyes grew wide and he stood up and followed us to our car. "So what DO you believe in?", he asked.

I said, "I believe in you".

I spent the first 11 years of a career in the fire service working as a medic on one of the busiest rescues in town.  At the time, perhaps one of the busiest in the country.  The neighborhood I served was overpopulated with the "underprivileged", poor, and homeless.  Having come to Texas from a small town in the Midwest, the images I saw took some getting used to, to say the least.  It took some time and exploring many layers to understand the sadness of the downtrodden.

At first I was saddened by the large numbers of people who seemed to have had such rotten luck.  Over time (and I have no scientific evidence, merely my own experience to support this)  I learned that a VERY large portion of the homeless population where I worked were homeless by choice.  Or should I say, they STAYED homeless by choice.  For a long time this observation changed the way I viewed the plight of the homeless.  "If they choose to live that way," I would tell myself , "why on earth would I feel sorry for them?"  I used to give them money, then stopped.  I learned they usually bought alcohol with it anyway.  I started out treating them with gentle kindness, then stopped because they were "milking the system." 

Then one day, for no particular reason, a question popped in to my head that forever changed how I view the homeless and my fellow man.  "How many," I wondered, "of these homeless dreamed of this life as a child?"  I didn't interview any of them, but I don't have to to know the answer.  It's zero.  I feel certain that every single one of these fellow humans dreamed of being a doctor, lawyer, teacher, engineer, firefighter, police officer or ballerina.  At the very least they grew up believing they'd have a good job at the factory or mill just like their father's before them.  Not one.  Not.....ONE, woke up one day in the third grade and said, "Boy, when I grow up, I wanna be homeless and live in a box!"  

For reasons many of us can never fathom, each of them either made a bad choice or had an undesireable choice made for them that landed them on the street.  There are huge numbers of drug addicts, alcoholics, bi-polars and schizophrenics living in cardboard boxes under a bridge near you.  But they didn't plan it that way.  And whether or not they have the option of changing their situation isn't for us to decide.  The most important thing is that we remember how things were for us as children and remember...."there, but for the grace of (insert your own deitic choice here), go I."  

It's complicated.  It really is.  And how I've felt about those living in shelters and on the street has changed over time.  Maybe most of them could reinject themselves into "normal" society.  Maybe not.  But complicated or not, my friends Denise and her son, Jon, simplified how we should feel about, not just the homeless, but each other with four simple words.  "I believe in you."

How many of these people would have had a different path altogether if a parent, teacher, or some other loved one had simply said and then demonstrated, "I believe in you."  How many of them would find the courage to get off the streets if more people like my friends gave them a hand up and said, "I believe in you."   Not, "get a job, you bum" or "why don't you take a bath?"  or "just say no to drugs and alcohol."  Just....."I believe in you."  Because in the end, isn't that all any of us really want?  Isn't being recognized as a valuable human being and being validated by just one caring person what matters?  I know it matters to me.  And I know it matters to those living along side the railroad tracks in a box, too.

You don't have to be a Christian to be loving.  All we really need is just to believe in each other, warts and all.  I believe in YOU, Denise, Jon and all your family.  You're a shining example of what each of us should remember.  Look for the best in each person you meet, and that's what you'll find. 

Love and Light,

Matt





The Mighty Oak

“From the withered tree, a flower blooms”

“The infinite is in the finite of every instant”

~ Zen Proverbs ~

This morning I went to the Maria Kannon Zen Center to "sit" or practice Zen before my drive to Nebraska.  Although Zen is not something you just "get" overnight (it takes 10, 20 or 30 years to master), I do believe Spirit spoke to me this morning louder than he has spoken since I was in college, alone in the woods on a retreat. 

A "sit" at this center is generally 90 minutes long; 25 minute periods of Zazen (seated meditation) interspersed with 5 minutes of Kinhin or "walking Zen."  It was during this period of slow, methodical walking that Spirit spoke.....through an oak floor!!  You see, the floor of the center is made of the most incredible solid oak flooring.  But it creaks.  The first time I visited the center I was annoyed by the loud creaking of the seasoned floor.  It was a distraction and I found it hard to "become one with my breathing."  But today, as each person in the room stepped across the floor, those boards spoke to me and to each other.  No.  They sang!

It was then I opened my eyes fully and noticed the intricate shapes and colors unique to each piece of flooring.  Laced together by years of wax and polish, they created an artistic masterpiece that made me smile.  That's when it occured to me.  Each of these pieces of oak flooring had once been a tree.  They were once a majestic tower of beauty filled with wondrous branches and leaves.  Yet, the beauty of these fine pieces, there for me to enjoy, could only be discovered by cutting down the tree.  This magnificent oak was either cut down or it fell down.  From there, it was ripped and cut and sliced and planed and sanded until these fine ornaments were exposed. 

Sure, some of the tree was just leaves.  They fell to the ground each year to help fertilize the soil.  Other parts were acorns which fell and grew to be new trees; a process of renewal.  Still other parts probably became another floor somewhere, or a chair or a table or whatever!

The point is, the tree didn't complain.  It didn't whine and moan about it's bad luck in being cut down.  Each and every part had it's mission in the life of that tree and each did it without complaint.  The leaves fell.  The acorns grew (or were eaten by squirrels).  The trunk was cut and scattered everywhere in the shape of furniture or floors.  And it occured to me today that the boards of that floor we sat and trod upon, once a mighty oak, fulfilled their lot without complaint.  They are simply happy being a floor.  In fact, being a floor makes them sing.

This could easily be an amazing metaphor for how we should model our lives.  But in fact, it IS life.  Like that mighty oak, each of us will be cut down, ripped, planed and sanded in to something more beautiful at one time or another.  For some of us, it will be MANY times.  The question is, will we accept the new beauty in store for us or will we fight it and complain every step of the way?  I'll be honest.  I've been known to put up a fight regarding change now and then.  But after this morning, I think I finally get the message.

I'm being ripped and planed and sanded right now.  I was a mighty oak, but now I'm going to be something even better!!  And the best part of all is, just like the floor at the Zen Center which will someday rot or burn or otherwise be "destroyed", I too won't ever be finished.  When the floor rots away or burns someday, it will create the space and opportunity for NEW life.  It will become carbon which fertilizes a mighty oak.  And the circle continues.

We're never finished.  So today, I'm going to do my very best to follow the example of the mighty oak and that magnificent floor.  I'm going to become the most amazing thing I can be at the hands of Spirit.  And I'm going to do my best to do it without complaining. 

Namaste

Dancing Shoes

Dancing Shoes

Original Poem by Alex Leatherwood

Dancing Shoes,

The way they lightly flitted onto those feet,

Unaware of the changing of a life of a little girl.

Beaming, those chubby cheeks did,

When she realized the journey of movement would bring her the happiness craved.

Dancing Shoes,

Like life shown from them when those feet flew across the floor.

Twelve years of blissful torture,

Repeat, Repeat until done right and those shoes carried her on its wings,

The dream of completing the journey in her reach.

Damned Dancing Shoes!

Burning with regret, thrown into a closet

Remembering they had let the little girl fall, fall

Like a rock falling off of a cliff.

The dream, her heart, the shoes,

Gone, the End.

The little girl,

No longer hopeful, like when the sun comes out signaling a new day,

But now like a frail flower, that hasn’t been watered.

The girl, not allowed to put on her dancing shoes again,

Tries to find a new pair that kiss her feet softly,

Walking bare-foot everywhere, searching.

The girl,

Knowing the dream has been flung out the door,

But still opens the closet, looks down,

Picking the dancing shoes up, cradling them like a new born child,

Tries to see if the glass slipper still fits.

Her lonely feet, trying to shove their way in, failing.

The girl,

This time,

Builds a shelf for the dancing shoes,

Not throwing, but gingerly, kissing them slightly,

Puts them on the shelf, her last time to see them,

The end of the dream, the beginning of another.

It's Time Again

“Defer no time, delays have serious ends.” ~ William Shakespeare ~

“We don't have an eternity to realize our dreams, only the time we are here.”  ~ Susan Taylor ~

Almost every year I've taken time to write some quip about reflecting on a new year.  This year, I thought I wouldn't.   "What's the point?", I pondered.  Every day is the beginning of a new year.  This date we've set arbitrarily to allow ourselves a new place to start is available every day.  So why wait?  Every morning we wake up is an opportunity to start a new day....a new month....a new year.....a new life.  Sure, we assign these arbitrary periods of time numbers so we can keep track, but make no mistake, time can't be harnessed by numbers.

There seems a common theme for me lately.  Ok, so there have been several, but this one tiny item has kept me up at night.  This question of time.  The common sentiment has been this and it has come from a plethera of the most loving and well-meaning sources:  "Time is your friend here."  or "Time will be your friend if you let it."  I think not.

I'm 50 years old if you're using the modern-day Gregorian calendar.  But that number is arbitrary.  Like love, time just "is".  This friend of mine, Time, is a relentless foe.  He doesn't stop for heartache or a bad day or even a good day for that matter.  You aren't allowed to wallow in the bad nor bask in the good.  Perhaps that in itself is a good thing.  Time doesn't listen when you say, "Hey!  Time out!  Hold on just a minute so we can talk."  It ignores your request and marches on....relentless....unfeeling.

And unlike anything I would remotely consider a friend, time sets limits and expectations.  You only have so much time.  There's a limit.  Only so much time to do whatever it is you have to do, whatever that is.  And it's secretive.  You're never sure just how much time you actually have.  I'm blessed to have had more time than many, but I also won't have as much as some.  My clock continues to tick toward the end, and yet thousands today have a clock that has just started.  Yet I fully realize, and not without some resentment toward Time, that today many clocks have simply run out.

Now you can certainly argue that BECAUSE of time, we must live in the moment...not dwell in the past.  Without Time, there would always BE enough "time" to do the things that need done, say the things that need said, right the things you've done wrong.  But that simply isn't the case.  Time requires that if there's something to be said, or someone to be loved, the moment is now.  "Don't let this moment pass," it says.  And yet because Time is a foxy foe, it asks us to wait.  "I'm your friend," it whispers.  "Trust me.  All good things come to those who wait." And so we wait for an end with no promise.

Please understand.  I am a huge proponent of living in the "now".  I am, admittedly, not a master in its practice, but I do my best not to live in the past and not project a future.  But as much as I'm "spirit" and thereby not bound by time, I am also human and thereby subject to the frailties of that existence.  How do you fool this foe?  You can't, obviously.  Time has no rules or conscience.  Like any annoying pest, I can only do my best to ignore it by living fully in the moment.  But Time has a loud "tick" and only the most enlightened learn to completely ignore it's relentless nagging.

A Tale of Two Cities begins, "It was the best of times.  It was the worst of times."  There is no best or worst.  There is only Time.  And Time marches on.  As much as I'd like to embrace Time as my friend, every fiber in my body sees it currently as only my nemesis.  Oh I'll wait to see what each new day brings.  I'll wait to see what life unfolds.  But I'll do my best to ignore this gnarling beast who gnaws at my ankles by living in the now.  Because let's face it, Time sets the rules.   And it sets the amount for each of us. 

Time:  The entire concept seems such a waste and yet, you don't dare waste any of it.  Do it now.