A beautiful sunny morning, with a strong wind out of the south. I was walking along the Riverpark trail this morning, a scenic pedestrian and biking trail that is adjacent to the Arkansas River. 

I had an opportunity to chat with a person that sat on a bench overlooking the river, Sandy (not her real name).  We spoke for about 5 minutes, Sandy seemed frightened.  She is a petite 45, with long brown hair tied in a pony tail, well toned tan body, slender, and eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.  

In her youth she had been in a couple of beauty padgents ... she has a cousin that was on "Bay Watch".  She had a BS in management, she owned a bike, wanted a car.  She wanted to be happy, in this case that meant leaving Tulsa to find work, home was in Missouri, but Arizona was more appealing ... at one time.

Sandy was angry, filling herself with hatred as we talked.  The kind of raw hatred that fightens people.  I'm a fighting Irish, she'd say.  I could feel the pain, the aloness. 

My first attempt to discuss Landmark with a stranger, didn't go as ... planned.  In hind sight, I tried to provide a solution, but I failed to acknowledge her pain ... I got that. 

Landmark Forum,
 

This past weekend I had my heart touched deeply by many people, in so little time, it is inspiring.  

I attended a seminar, Landmark Forum.  Landmark is a forum that helps open up each person to the possibilities in their life.  Those possibilities are created, in part, by being present with others and taking action. I awakened to, life is of the moment, it is as we create it to be every instant of our life, and I truly began to understand what it meant to be present. 

I had many intimate encounters at the forum and made many friends.  There were 137 people in our group, there are more than 100 whose names I may never remember, but no less became part of me.  There are two friends whose moments shared with me are special.

A friend at the forum helped me to understand the power of the moment.  We had been grasping at the idea of what it meant to live in the moment.  Noting that earlier in the day, before we shared there was nothing.  We talked, we embraced, and in those moments we created, then there was nothing. 

Later, riding back from dinner we sat together, we were talking about something, I was listening, I was present, she offered me a deepest complement that touched my core, and within me I saw her for who she truly is, a beautiful woman, I shared, our hands embraced, in our hearts we saw the other.  In those moments we expressed love for another human being.  Before there was nothing, after there was nothing.... in-between there was the power of being, of creating, of life.

I believe that the earth, God, brings to us what we need when we need it, we just have to open ourselves to the possibilities, to awakening.

If you open yourself to the experience, you meet many people.  On the first day a person I had not met, says hello.  She is attractive, we chat for a few minutes.  Coincidentally, the next day we have dinner as part of a group.  During dinner I start to I feel myself drawn to her, but I say and do nothing.  Is it an attachment that I feel?

That evening, as part of the Landmark Process I have an epiphany, on the way home I cry for an hour.  The next morning, she and I arrive in the parking lot at the exact same time, and walk in together.  We are early, I invite her outside, I want to share my discovery, to thank her for being, for helping me remember.  One of my childhood memories, 11 years old, was tied to a young girl "Terri", who could have been her sister.  In the moments that followed we shared intimate parts of our lives, we helped each other. 

Through out the day, when I saw her, I found myself fluctuating between being in the moment and the expectations and fears of an 11 year old boy.  When leaving for the evening, the last full day, we say our goodbyes, and I think to myself maybe she would like to get together over the break, but I take no action, I make excuses.  I leave her behind me, I leave the building alone.  I walk around the building to the other side and there she is, 137 people, and the parking lot is empty except for us, she had gone out the other door.  Well I can't pass up this second opportunity. We talk of having lunch the next day, exchange a couple of meaningful emails, plans didn't work out.  I spent the next day being present letting go of expectations. 

On the last evening of the class she stood up at the microphone to share part of herself with the group, and I saw her for the first time, in an instant, in my heart, as "Whole, Complete and Perfect", and the memory of the little girl as just a story.

The two "stories" are related, there was a synergy between the two experiences, of healing, of awakening, of not being afraid.  There is great power in being present. 

For the Love of Life ...

Tim

I lie back, stars filling the twilight sky. Every few moments a flicker of light, like a brush stroke, paints my vision.

I blink, a tear rolls off my cheek betraying a glistening path, it tingles.

The water feels warm as it caresses my body, I am floating.  I feel like everything is within an arms reach, I am everywhere. The air is black, a soft breeze kisses my soul.  I float like a rose petal gracing the surface of a placid ocean.

   

I recommend taking the time to watch Eckhart and Oprah on the webcast, I read the book, recommended by a friend, and experienced, for me more pieces of the puzzle drop into place.  Then watching the webcasts, gave me the greatest feeling of community, of hope for life, for us.  I suppose that is because, Eckhart and Oprah are bringing the potential for awareness using plain, non mystical references, to an audience that might not have otherwise considered the potential for enlightenment, or might have just dismissed the idea that they were not awake as an absurd philosophy, only to remain sheltered by their ego.

It is amazing to watch life unfold. 

Some prophecies would indicate were on the cusp of a thousand years of peace.

A couple of weekends ago I was on a business trip to Raleigh North Carolina. This is an account of a portion of the trip. The setting is a tenth floor, east facing room, of the round the Clarion Hotel, in downtown. There is never one idea.

I was sitting in the hotel room flicking through the channels, the room was cold and I could start to feel the march of goose bumps across my skin. I also felt the sensation that I get when watching the television, the feeling that I am in a box, a closed in feeling. I haven't eaten in a while. I pick up the room service menu, and skim. The seven-inch pizza with artichoke hearts and crimini mushrooms sound good. What's a crimini mushroom? How about a salad composed of mixed field greens, spicy cinnamon pecans, Bartlett pear and cabernet herb vinaigrette, both sounds good.

But the box is sitting there, staring me down, do really want to eat with a consciousness, zapping box for company, I chill at the thought. I wonder where the restaurant is? I turn on the window unit to warm the room, then leave for dinner.

The restaurant is on the top floor. There is a lounge and restaurant with large panes that almost reach from ceiling to floor. The windows are filled with the nightlife of Raleigh, the twinkle of lights, the church bells, the sirens, and traffic. Memory, it was actually fairly quiet at 7 p.m., 20 floors up, with the soft rock music filtering through the air, masking the life of the city. Peaceful. The lights were low; one other patron was in the restaurant. A rather large man in a dark suit, with black patch over his right eye was sitting to the left, looking into the night. The waiter leads me to a place a couple tables away. I sit overlooking the city. Quickly I request some warm tea. "Hot tea?" he asks. "Yes... please".

Moments later a small ivory teapot appears before me, a teacup, slices of lemon, a selection of Tazo teas is offered. I select the decaffeinated green tea, Lotus.

The other patron considers desert.

The tea steeps, I squeeze some lemon, thin slices are very difficult to squeeze, drop the rind onto the saucer and watch the steam spiral upward. Sip the tea, and open my planner to take notes of the business today. Frequently I look out the window. When the waiter returns with some dinner rolls and I order Divers Scallops for an entree. The rolls, they sit, I poke at them with a table knife, white store bought package rolls, some whole grain pan, perhaps a little crusty, would have been better. With just enough time to sit and finish pondering the nature of the bread, a glass of Chardonnay comes to rest on the table. I swirl and sniff, its light.

He chooses a large slice of chocolate cake.

My Entrée is set before me. At the center is what appears to be a miniature iris, magenta at the edges fading to a white center. I pick it up, the rich fragrance is reminiscent of a field of wild flowers, it fills my breath. I place it back on its bed of light greens, not parsley? Around the flower’s bed, blackened scallops alternate with fried green tomatoes and slices of sautéed mozzarella. There is a drizzle of raspberry puree, in the dim light it is hard to see. I taste it. It's raspberry. I alternate a complete moment of scallop, with that of tomato, with mozzarella, with wine, each flavor filling my mouth in turn. I relish the contrast of flavors and contemplate the walk that I took earlier in the day.

After arriving at the hotel earlier in the day, around 4 p.m., I took a walk to the train station, less than a mile away. I arrive at the tracks just in time to watch a freight train cross in front of the station. Anticipating a long wait, I sit atop some mulch that surrounds the base of a bush, while I watch the train. I smile. I wait. I have been sitting for a bit, when another pedestrian arrives, an older lady, I would guess that she is in her mid fifties, she is in a hurry. "This is the second time this week this has happened to me!" I say hello. "Liquid sodium", I comment, "I wonder what they use that for...?" She looks at the tankers, but says nothing. Wrong audience I admit to my self. How about, "It's a beautiful afternoon..." that worked a little better ... After a few minutes the train passes. I make my way over to the train station and buy a ticket to Greensboro for the morning train, 73 Piedmont leaving at 7:05 a.m. I'll be visiting my brother.

He smacks his lips repeatedly, it sounds perverse, ewe! It’s like I can feel his thoughts, I hope not. I guess he must have really enjoyed the cake.

The spice from the blackened scallops, burns my tongue and lips, not even the wine can wash the sensation away anymore. I set the flower aside and eat the greens.

On the way back from the train station, I pass by a park, a memorial to the Fire Fighters of North Carolina that have made the ultimate sacrifice protecting lives and property. Their names are listed. There is an older gentleman playing with his grandson, a homeless lady on a park bench accompanied by her black bags of treasure, a few pedestrians just passing through, robins and squirrels, daffodils and pansies. It is a small memorial and nicely done. I sit on a bench and relax for a bit. Making my way back to the hotel, it is rush hour, and the cars appear to be cans, the food from cans is never quite as fresh tasting...

The bill is "Outrageous..." he orates, still smacking his lips, pausing in motion for a moment to rub the socket beneath his patch, he reviews the check.

The waiter has cleared the plates from my table. I ask if he has anything light for desert, vanilla ice cream, he offers. After a moment the waiter returns with a glass of ice water, I never asked for the water, it felt so good as the cold water touched my lips. The ice cream, two scopes of rich vanilla bean, two decorative dabs of whipped cream where the two scoops mate, in a bowl decorated along one edge with green, yellow, orange, and red dashed lines, and on the opposite side, four small spots of white and chocolate syrup four point stars. The flavor was rich, with just enough sweetness.

It was a good dinner.

There is stillness in the air. We are moving. Lying down on the deck of the boat, looking up along of the sail, I picture myself drifting through space on a great ship. The heavens rich with the peace and energy from which life abounds, the Milky Way reaches from shore to shore. A deep breathe.

I went to lunch today with a few co-workers. Briefly we touched on the topic of global warming. There is warming. I wonder how warm it will get? There is a benefit to global warming. Global warming provides an avenue to use melodrama, to motivate populations to alter their energy consumption habits, in a way that insulates them from a greater potential tragedy, and mitigating panic.

A greater risk is the continued rise of the world population on world with limited energy resources. A year ago I was having a conversation with a friend when I commented, “when the cost of convenient energy reaches the point where it is more valuable than food people will start to go hungry.” I heard what I believe to be a sign on a news report the other day, people were in the streets of Mexico protesting the price of corn. Corn prices are going up, in part, due to the growing demand for ethanol. People will go hungry so others can move about freely, with great speed.

If anyone is truly motivated to learn more, you could start by reading up on the work of M. King Hubbert, then studying Olduvai Theory. It is not something to dwell on, just the nature of something to understand.

The more enlightened one becomes the greater ones capacity to interact intelligently, with compassion, and the world will need great compassion.

Water laps the hull of the ship.

I had lunch with a friend the other day, I believe it was November, we went to Camille’s.

My friend told me of chance interaction that weighed on her conscious, one that had occurred over the summer. She was in a store, like Albertson's, though it could have been any store. When a man approached her and asked if she would be kind enough to pay for some food, he wasn't asking for money. Her emotions were mixed, and she declined the opportunity.

I like metaphors, and frequently my own experience serves as a means to communicate an idea…

Here is a story, as if seen through the eyes of a person who had been sitting in an airport, waiting for a flight, but was unable to get up the nerve to buy a ticket. Have you ever been there, just waiting, your life hanging on a thread of hope. Maybe it wasn’t an airport. Maybe it was a doctor’s office or a park bench, or watching TV. Or maybe you’re in motion, stepping from one stone to the next, as quickly as you can, just looking at the stones, focusing on the stones, never really wanting to look around, so that the life about you won’t intrude. Hoping that at some point when you have the nerve to stop, that life will have changed, the life you feel you have no influence over, yet it’s your own, and no one but you can change it.

This is where this story starts. Stepping as quickly as possible from stone to stone, apprehensive, as if one were to stop moving, the door might close, but forever leery of crossing the threshold.

About two years ago, it was a cold dark December, around 8:30pm, I was in a hurry, mentally, though I wasn’t driving fast, I didn’t see the lights change color and I hit another car broadside. I was in a van; I can still clearly see the fear in the face of the other driver, in my headlights, as they dove for the passenger side on the car. A large thud, the van veers to the left, then coasts 50 feet to the curb, coming to a rest.

With a sore back I exited the van and headed for the other car to make sure everyone was alright. As I approached the other vehicle, the driver exited from the passenger side, and rounded the hood, emotional, stopping with in 2 feet of me. I stood motionless, it was serene, with tears in his eyes and in an elevated tone of a person in distress he went on about the state of affairs, he had no license, he had no insurance, it wasn’t his car, and his life was over. He was maybe 17 or 18. After a moment others arrived on the scene and they helped him to the ground, his leg was badly bruised. I stood patiently on the sidewalk with other observers, waiting for my turn to be interviewed…

After receiving my ticket the officer was kind enough to drop me off at a local restaurant to wait for a ride. …

I stood looking out the window of the restaurant, at peace, thinking. Another important lesson to learn from this experience, never drive distracted in down town Tulsa, an accident with the same “MO” occurred 40 minutes earlier at the same intersection.

A man paces back and forth, outside. He has a duffle bag and a scruffy appearance, maybe he was in his mid 50's, but he looks much older. His hair was grey and the deep dry curves in his skin suggested that he wasn’t as old as he looked. His posture was weak from neglect. He looked cold. I opened the door and asked him if he was waiting for a ride ... "Yeah, I'm waiting for my limo!" he responded. I paused for a moment, watching, I let the door close. The cold suddenly felt ten times deeper. There was no limo coming. He was just responding to the question that I had asked, like it was a question that he heard over and over.

I invited him in, offered to buy him some food. He had difficulty deciding what to order. The woman behind the counter helped him make a selection, she spoke to him by name, it would seem that Larry frequented their storefront. His life truly was over. Would he die beneath a bridge this winter, next winter, would he be alone, would he be with friends?

I don’t know when I started it, but some time after, I started to carry Sacagawea’s in my car and pocket. It takes effort to changes the habits that you have fostered throughout your life, to stop focusing on the stones.

My advice to my friend was to take a five down to the coin machine in the company lunchroom, and put 5 coins in her pocket. Random acts of kindness are easier to learn to do when you start small. Then, when opportunities present themselves, the bigger things are easier and natural.

I got home from work on Sunday around noon …

… I reach into the fridge and grab a slice of home made pizza, made with my own special honey sweetened, whole-wheat crust, and toss it into the toaster oven. I fill a clear glass imprinted with lavender irises and slender green blades of grass with water. After a few moments of silence the toaster bell “dings”. With pizza and water in hand, I head out to the concrete slab behind the house. The slab is not at all pleasant to sit on in the sun, so I pick up a white plastic patio chair and move it to the shade of a young live oak.

There is a warm gusty wind in the air pressing against my body, enough wind to keep any biting bugs at bay. Overhead, whisps of white clouds race through a powder blue sky, and sunlight cascades through the trees. The light and shadows dance in rhythm with the whispering leaves, with moments of tempo broken by silence. The sunlight bursts forth in all directions as it passes through the water in my glass. I sit in my white chair tasting the honey sweet crust of the pizza and the cool crisp water.

I sit, slowly the stress of the morning empties. I begin to see everything, hear everything, and feel everything. This is really wow.

My son, eight months old falls from the sky into my lap. We sit there quietly. His head is laid back against my belly. Wind gently tossing my long whisps of thinning hair.

My son sits quietly watching his sister play in a shower of water rising from the ground. I wonder briefly, what does he see?

A half hour passes, more or less, and he is getting restless. As he moves around I let him gently slip between my knees, feet first till his toes touch the ground. He stands, grabbing onto the thin white cotton of my slacks. Every once in a while, wobbling just a little. He makes a valiant attempt to hold on for at least 5 minutes. Then like a top with its spin coming to an end, he topples to the ground. I move not a muscle, I watch him fall, landing on his back, left cheek pressed into the grass.

He has a queer expression on his face as if he was deciding whether or not to cry. No tears. His body relaxes, right hand gripping at blades of grass, feeling, touching, exploring his environment. He rolls his head from side to side, smile on his face.

After a while, I lower to the ground to see what he sees, lying on my back, looking up at the light and shadow of the trees. I look to my son. He is looking at me, blades of grass crossing our view, with a smile on his face, and twinkle in his eyes.

I was asked the other day about a Vision for the future ... Do I have a vision for the future? ... How is a vision different from a dream or a fantasy?

I was reminded today, at lunch, of the story "Illusions" by Richard Bach. We were discussing the motivation, empowerment, ambitions, and dreams. I was remind of the introduction to “Illusions”, of the creatures clinging to the bottom of the river, afraid of letting go, afraid of what might happen, the belief that the familiar surroundings would protect them from harm, that staying the same was the safest path.

I was reminded of the quote from George Orwell’s “1984” (see the previous blog entry). I was reminded of a belief that I had when I was much younger, that it would be really cool if we could automate industry to supply our basic needs, so that all could have the freedom to pursue arts and the intellect. There have been numerous Sci-Fi books that included these life sustaining automated backdrops for the plot to unfold, Asimov provides for many such possible outcomes in his writings. I was reminded of my realization, that many will always be content to cling, that fear is so close to their hearts that it defines the limits to their experience. That some will limit their experience, out of fear, to the safety of putting little blue caps on the ends of product on an assembly line, dreaming of a better life, of winning the lottery, or rising through the ranks to pacify their fears by controlling the outcome of others, both perpetuating the dream.

The dream has its foundation, in part, on an increasing, unlimited, supply of energy, to enable the continuous economic growth model. When the well runs dry …

My lunch partner today was the Operations manager at our factory, Kimberly. She had spent the morning sweeping in the back warehouse. Earlier, not related to the sweeping, one of the employees on the assembly line had hit her finger with a tool. Normally, we, management, would go through the process of analyzing the incident, then recommending, implementing and training the workers on the appropriate new behavior, process. This morning Kim changed that, an inspiration to have the operator come up with a solution to prevent the situation that led up to the incident, and to communicate this new process to the rest of the employees. This would provide the employee with a sense of control over their own environment and push them out of their social comfort zone … to communicate, to awareness. Or it will provide sufficient fear of ever having to stand in front of their peers again that they will pay more attention to what they are doing. Hmmmm. '... you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink'.

You change the world by creating opportunities for awareness, empowerment, with each day with, every interaction. And the future will contain pockets of awareness, that if cultured sufficiently will lead to a conscious society, and reach a tipping point, hopefully.

But what is the new motivation? Everyone talks about new economic models, what is the motivation for the masses? “ No matter where ‘they’ go, there ‘they’ are”. Buckaroo Bonzi

Vision … I’m still contemplating the question.

The Party claimed, of course, to have liberated the proles from bondage. . . . In reality very little was known about the proles. It was not necessary to know much. So long as they continued to work and breed, their other activities were without importance. Left to themselves, like cattle turned loose upon the plains of Argentina, they had reverted to a style of life that appeared to be natural to them, a sort of ancestral pattern. They were born, they grew up in the gutters, they went to work at twelve, they passed through a brief blossoming period of beauty and sexual desire, they married at twenty, they were middle-aged at thirty, they died, for the most part, at sixty. Heavy physical work, the care of home and children, petty quarrels with neighbors, films, football, beer, and, above all, gambling filled up the horizon of their minds. To keep them in control was not difficult. —George Orwell, 1984