The Courage of the Artist

"I think that sometimes the beauty in art is not in the image itself, but in the delayed reaction of the viewer. It is beautiful if it inspires deep emotions in the viewer, including disdain. And partly too, the beauty is in the courage of the artist—the willingness to explore his or her inner world." Roderick McIver, Heron Dance

If you haven't been introduced to Heron Dance, I hope you will visit McIver's site. I received their newsletter years ago and have enjoyed lots of aspects of their work since. Recently I read the bit McIver wrote and quoted about Matisse in the painter's early years of exhibitions, when his paintings were jeered at by the public. The overall collective responses seemed to be ridicule, because the images or portraits were not what "the public" thought was appropriate as a "realistic representation." Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas bought one of the paintings because it was disturbing. This gave Matisse confidence, and he painted a new portrait of his wife, this time emphasizing aspects that were ridiculed before (the green line on her face, for example - see reference for the description).

I remember an old New Yorker cartoon which showed an old guy in a white toga (or something), long white beard, sitting lotus-like on top of a mountain peak. The caption said something like, How's that enlightenment working for you? When I think about courage, and about art lately, this cartoon comes to mind. Over the weekend I went to my 3-year-old niece's birthday party, which was attended by her friends of many ages. What joy it is to be with such joyful energy! She, even so tired her eyes glazed over, was a bundle of energy, smiling, jumping, dancing, bouncing the brightly colored balls given to party-goers.  I'm so glad to have such reminders of this joyful exuberance - with my tasty (adult) margarita in hand, I danced to the happy sounds of the steel pan band along with the others, and it was wonderful.  Later in the evening, when my eyes began to water and itch, and my sinuses began to hurt, I suddenly remembered that some chemicals in some margarita mixes are "poison" to my sinuses! I began to drink more water to ease the flow. This didn't diminish the joy I felt during the party  - it reminded me of how we, as adults, are responsible for learning these details of what supports and encourages that "pure joy" that keeps our feet happy, our sinuses open, and our cells singing. When we are children, our parents guide us, protect us, enjoy and support that joy of life - if we are in tune with this responsibility and love it and ourselves and our children.

My brother and his wife are good hosts, and they tend well to encourage everyone's comfort. The party is not just a "child's moment," but our moment of acknowledging this beautiful child's creation, and the family of friends who live busy lives coming together to enjoy collective moments of celebration. I think of this and how I am host of my own cells, my own brain, my own energy every moment that I breathe and move. A true artist of life, to me, lives the exuberance of a child and the responsibility of a spiritual human being. As I live I keep learning what it takes to use my mind in this ethical energy which is our design as a living human being.  Live well, choose wisely, love forever. Next time maybe I'll (think) remember the sinus-bomb before I have the margarita!  The guacamole was fantastic!

Jamie Oliver's Help - Living Our Truth

“I wish for your help to create a strong, sustainable movement to educate every child about food, inspire families to cook again and empower people everywhere to fight obesity.” 


TED is a small non-profit dedicated to Ideas Worth Spreading, and Jamie Oliver is their 2010 prize winner. I watched his presentation a few weeks ago, and it lit more sparks in me about what we can each do to LEARN, to "save lives," beginning with our own. As I've watched Anderson Cooper and so many more covering the stories, the real dramas in Haiti over the last 6 weeks, I've been profoundly reminded of how easily distracted we are with so much, in our world of "so much." When Anderson Cooper relayed how tears would well up in his eyes at random moments, such as climbing a stairwell, how people he met clasped his hand hard and warmly, looking right into his eyes, my heart was touched by the beautiful humanity we are, when love is visible as we live. Living love, for me, now also means understanding this miracle of our design as energy and matter. In Jamie Oliver's video, he shares a moment with friends he made in West Virginia. You're killing your children, he says to one friend, a mother whose eyes fill with tears as she sits facing him, touching, listening intently. We can change this, he says. Ignorance is what kills. Why do we pay more attention to killing than we do "saving," healing, learning?

I think of my Dad and his simple appreciation of all life offered. He had such an appreciation of the gifts of life, and how the truth of life was in the living, the humanity before the abundance of " things." I've been reading Kathy Oddenino's first book again - The Joy of Health (1989), as we prepare to reprint it. The information is more important now than ever. As we work with the book I am reminded, Our thoughts are living energy. Awareness is not static, but it is a fluid sense of knowing self.  I'm eager to begin this year's focus of classes on The Joy of Health, because this is lifetimes' worth of growth potential, and, as Sean Penn said on Larry King last night referring to helping Haiti, this is a turning point - we can make a difference NOW that will affect all of our relationships, as a country, as nations, as a world. Beyond that, my/our choices affect our past, present, and our future.

I'm reminded NOW to "smell the roses."  To love.  We are energy. What gifts.

We Have a Lot to Learn!

While going through some of my parents' papers, including some letters from their early time in Nigeria (mid-1950s), I came across this. A double-sided photocopy with no other references. I have no idea where it came from or when.  So far in my immediate Google search, I haven't found the exact copy. Thinking about Kathy Oddenino's upcoming Joy of Health class (Feb. 28) makes this find all the more amusing and emphatic! It's always important to "get a second opinion"! Do most modern "medicine men" really have "low vital energy"? Superstition? Spirits? Gold sickness? Primitive cutting? Machines? Poisons? A good laugh. We have a lot to learn!

"Notes on Primitive & Superstitious Practices of U.S. Medicine Men Observed During Visit"

By Dr. Baba Sigidi, Oka Village, West Africa

In the U.S. all sick people must leave village and go to house of medicine man just to get naming-of-sickness. They wait many hours with other sick people. They have much time to teach each other names of new sicknesses, medicine man then must treat each man for his sickness plus several new ones that the sick man learned while waiting.

Medicine man cannot see inside body without special machines that damage the body. He cannot see spirits of dead ancestors or elementals near sick man. He cannot see colored light around head made by sick man's spirit. We meet many medicine men here, but none are able to see spirit activity. This is shocking to us and we wonder how U.S. doctors have remained so primitive while our medicine has advanced so far.

In first room we watched medicine man try to have an eye and cheek sickness. He had forgotten his demon masks and tried to scare the evil spirits with ropes from his ears to look like snakes and a large round shiny eye on forehead. But it did not fool evil spirits. They called uncles and grandfathers and all the spirits were rolling on the floor having a good laugh.

Dr. Chan wonders why no one in medicine man house can see spirits work? At least one child in ten is born with this gift. Where are they? Why aren't they used as medicine men in U.S.?

Do U.S. people have special disease (like the white-hair-pink-eye disease) that goes from father to son and which blinds them to spirit? Very puzzling. We must do special research on this. Maybe it is just superstition which blinds them, bu tit is hard to believe that such ignorance still exists in the 20th century.

U.S. medicine men still do the cutting medicine which most of us gave up many centuries ago, we see much cutting and killing of body parts in these medicine houses, but the sick man's will to live and the spirits of his ancestors are able to save him in spite of this barbarism. It seems that this is how the great spirit makes Americans survive. He gives Americans cutting medicine to eliminate the weak and to control the population so that he can save famine for us.

For example, a sick man who is going to have body parts cut out, is given strong poison to drive his spirit out for several hours. This they do to reduce noise of screaming in medicine house, but it makes much more work for ancestor's spirits who must work extra hard to keep sick man's spirit from continuing on to the home of ancestors. Sometimes a sick man doesn't have enough ancestors to save him from both the poison and the cutting.

Other poisons are given to drive out sickness but this works poorly because many times poison does more harm to body than sickness did. Must send root and flowers specialists to help them learn proper way to drive out sickness without killing body. (Also send out latest technical journals on uses of urine and manure.)

Many U.S. medicine men seem to be suffering from the epidemic of gold sickness which has swept the world in recent years. Their minds are so occupied with dreams of gold do nothing but collect gold from the sick people and whole houses of helpers who count the gold. They have other helpers who loan beds and healing equipment to sick people in exchange for much gold. As we have learned in our own countries, no one is safe from the gold sickness. It has destroyed some of our best medicine men. U.S. medicine men must be taught the special prayers to cure gold sickness because if it does not stop, we fear the American sick people will start cutting off body parts on the medicine men.

U.S. healing equipment is very poor, absolutely no imagination- no masks and costumes. During cutting of body parts they all use same pale green cloth without decorations on them. No wonder they have trouble controlling evil spirits. Those masks could not scare running nose-sickness. No rattles observed. Not enough noise in curing room - need gongs and bull roarers. Evil spirits falling asleep with boredom.

Most medicine men here have low level of vital energy and are not strong enough to battle with sickness spirits. This is because of poor diet in U.S. wood grubs and seaweed not regular food for U.S. medicine man.

Our last day we visit special government house for crazy sickness. We see many people with evil spirits controlling their mind, but medicine men do not know how to start treatment. They know nothing of prayers and meditations. Nothing of root teas, we also find out why we do not meet anyone in U.S. who can see spirits and see into body organs. In America it is called a sickness and people who have it and talk about it are put in crazy house for their time on earth.

Then we find idea for our foreign aid program. We will tell our governments that gold, which we have plenty of in our countries, will be sent to U.S. and given to medicine men if they promise to stop primitive and superstitious ways. This will make America healthier right away. In return for gold, U.S. government will send us all the people from their crazy houses. We will exorcise them and return them home quickly. We will keep those who have spirit vision and make them strong with seaweed, wood grubs and sexual revitalizations. They will be taught by our best medicine men in the jungle villages in the ways of modern demonology, use of natural foods, naming of sickness by spirit colors, balancing of energies, acupuncture, etc. When they are skillful, we will send them back to native villages in U.S. to teach their fathers and brothers to give up primitive cutting and poisoning and learn our modern ways which are better and safer."

Sights to share, debris Elsewhere

Value the Passing Time

This morning I read a review of Roger Rosenblatt's book Making Toast (Ecco) in one of my favorite newsletters, Shelf Awareness.  Rosenblatt's book, according to the review, goes "beyond the 'tragedy memoir' genre.' It becomes a celebration in the face of sorrow, and every emotion will surface as you read this testament to what love, in the hands of an extremely talented writer and true father, can accomplish."  In 2007 the Rosenblatt's 38-year-old daughter died suddenly. The memoir is a book about continuing to live. He says, "As far as I can tell, this is how to live- to value the passing time."

I have always appreciated the beauty and grace of spare writing which tells the truth. Always, such writing is powerful, evocative, and even haunted sometimes by so much more emotion than a word can hold on a page. This, the felt and unseen, is part of its beauty. Hemingway is famous for such spare words and intensity of emotion. Raymond Carver. Others. Think, then, of a style in the form of Garcia Marquez, the "magical realism" of the famous 100 Years of Solitude (which I loved). 100 Years was first published in Spanish in 1967. Marquez's book awakened within me an excitement and deep comfort which I had not felt before in the mountains of fiction I'd read to that point. The lush, evocative jungle he created with such precision was so inviting to me. My mind recognized the thick density of emotion and sensory beauty, yet craved the simplicity of style which did not have to "spell it all out."

I look forward to reading Rosenblatt's book. I have grown to appreciate and value the passing time, too, in my 40+ years (multiply by 3). As Rosenblatt comments to his interviewer, it's no longer a role, it's life. As I have watched the newscasts over the past week, relaying the tragedy and courage and challenges of the earthquake in Haiti and its aftermath, I've felt the heartbreak and admired the courage. I've appreciated the frustration so many have felt, with the challenge of logistics and the lack of basic survival supplies. Tempers flare. Compassion is evident in so much and so many. As Rosenblatt says, it's not just about "moving on." When somebody dies, the only true memorialization is memory. Children learn language to tell the stories already in them.

"In no way am I more reminded of this than when I look at a small conch shell I have kept since I was a child. The shell, nothing extraordinary, contains for me a distillation of blissful days I spent on the beach when I was young. Years later, I recall those happy times, holding the shell to my ear, listening. I believe I hear the rush of surf hitting the shore, the crash of breaking waves. It is a universal fantasy, shared by every child ignorant of the facts of science, but it is also the truth. In the voice of seashells, in the echo of blood rushing through our veins, the waters of life, the sea, are singing."  (Waters of Life, Deborah Cramer, 42-3)


One image today stays in my mind, on top of others. In an instance of looting and anger shown on a downtown street, one little boy was hit in the head by a rock. His head was red with blood, and he was clearly dazed. He rubbed his face with his hands, as we see children do so often when they're in bathtubs or swimming pools, wiping water from their eyes so they can see. His were red with blood. He looked at his red hands and rubbed again and again.

As I think of loss, of life, of love, faces and feelings and memories crop up. I remember my Dad's sweet face the day before he died when my brother and I were visiting him at the Nursing Home. Dad asked simple questions about what was happening in the news. Mike mentioned the Super Bowl, and said, Dad, do you remember what the Super Bowl is? Dad smiled that wonderful smile and shook his head. I used to, he said. He valued the passing time always. He taught me to think about this more. His philosophy of life was for the living, and for the appreciation of dying, too. They are part of the same cycle of change. Religion, especially as my parents lived their religious faith and philosophy, taught me to think on this cycle of change. Spiritual Philosophy taught me to understand eternal life as energy and to value what religion aims to do. This I love.

I think of Dad's face, the way his skin moved, and the way he made faces, raising his eyebrows (Brezhnev, as we called him when he did so), the way he spontaneously began to sing. He cared about the lives of others.

In my rush to accomplish tasks sometimes, especially now, I have to be reminded of the energy of life itself, and the beauty of this energy, why we must honor it and cherish it, nurture ourselves as we live and share our lives.  Each memory of love slows me down, quickens my heart and mind.  "You can't pray a lie," Huck Finn said, and he's a character in a book! He knows the truth.


Dad reminds me still, value the passing time. Love. Each image shows me. Begin by loving the self that you are. "In the positive emotional approach to our lessons we consciously feel the excitement and enthusiasm of our physical experience rather than seeing our physical experience as a negative event or crisis. Lessons can then be consciously learned in happiness, peace, and joy. When we begin to accept personal responsibility for our beliefs and behavior, we will be consciously choosing to live from our emotions of love and caring." (Healing Ourself, by Kathy Oddenino, 97)

Invictus

Recently I finished reading Say You’re One of Them by Uwem Akpa. The final story in the collection, from which the title got its name, is a powerhouse of a finish. It made a great impact within me now, too, as I’ve been thinking a lot about my father and his trip to Rwanda in 1994. 1994 was the milestone in Rwanda for the genocide which is almost unimaginable to grasp. According to records, over the course of about 100 days (April – July), at least half a million people were killed, and estimates have suggested as much as 20% of the Rwandan population. Tribal tensions were built into bonfires of fear and aggression, and the history of the trail of thought into action is a fascinating one, just as each person’s path, creating “points of power,” can be fascinating to study as we live our ives. The Nigerian with the “underwear bomb” is one example I think of, as I watch the news and the stories continue to unravel a history, a life, a path of one man’s mind and its ripple effects as a living energy in the world today. I haven’t yet seen the film Invictus, but watching the trailers, seeing Morgan Freeman in the role of Nelson Mandela, absorbing the scenes and the energy ripples of South Africans who lived these times and the changes they were willing to make to “better” their world, inspires me. What courage! “Taking the high road,” staying the course of the Ethical Values which make us human is not always an easy task, yet its rewards are infinite, and everlasting.

I looked up "Invictus" and learned the Latin definition ("unconquered") and also found William Ernest Henley's 1888 poem. The poem's title, "Invictus," was added by Arthur Quiller-Couch in 1900 (The Oxford Book of English Verse). History says Henley wrote the 1875 poem from a hospital bed (he had tuberculosis of the bone, and his leg was amputated below the knee.)The last two lines of the poem are, "I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul." One main Google reference to this quote is Napoleon Hill's best-selling "Think and Grow Rich." It feels good to connect the dots to deeper layers of history, knowing, culture...dig deeper...

As 2010 begins, I think of these examples. I feel the very real horror, fear, and despair so skillfully displayed by Akpan in his stories of these African children, and "their" adults in the throes of change. I feel the weight within our history of these atrocities, and the call within us to rise to a “higher order” of life and living. To keep the peace and calm within my own life, as I love the laughter that rises inside, is to cultivate and nurture the ethical energy within me and in my world. Children trust love as true. They remind us what broken promises mean, how such broken dreams crush the vision and world we imagine is real. As my mother was dying I watched her absolute will to love, as she resolved to eat when she could, because she knew she must, and because she knew her twin sister loved her as she fixed something she might want and that might satisfy in that moment of need. When I feel small frustrations within me, with some detail of my life, I remember these things. I feel the courage of love, the absolute power of simply being guided by love. I take another sip of delicious black coffee, and thank those who grew the harvest, and those all along the way who brought it “to my feet.” What a pleasure.

New Year's Day

Thank you, all of you pioneers, you creative beings! You know who you are...

As the last few weeks of 2009 have wound down, I have been thinking a lot about originality and creativity.  I remember flashbacks of moments in my life when I have felt absolutely creative, full of the untouchable spark that lights the moment like a comet in the sky of daily activity, just as I remember the sensations of weaving the tapestry of “ordinary” moments, time ticking by.  I remember once many years ago (eons) when I was visiting a musician friend (Tom W) in Madison, Wisconsin.  I’d never been to Madison, and had never visited my friend in his old “haunts” there. We’d met in graduate school. He was, and is, a musician extraordinaire, a tinkerer, an inventive mind, a family man, someone whose thoughts hum always, and his fingers follow, his voice humming too.  One night during the visit a number of his friends dropped in, and each of them seemed to play different instruments.  There was a piano in the room, so I wandered to the bench and listened. The room was rather dark (it was winter, so very cold outside), lit by lamps, and so many hands, voices, people playing different instruments was its own cacophony which delighted and fascinated me. The hum of creativity and their complete attention to the music-making in the moment was wonderful. I looked around for some sheet music. (I’d studied piano.) I was inspired and encouraged to join in. Yet I realized the block in my mind of, without the music, what could I add?  These were all musicians, each playing, doing “their thing.” I’m no musician. The thought surprised me, and I’ve thought about it since, whenever prompted – by the comet spark of Music within me, by the joy of others’ in their delight of creating, by the disparity of those who revel in it and those who keep to the more “ordinary” moments as though they have no music within them.  We are all made of music.

I love encouragement. Visiting my family during Christmas, I had the privilege of basking in the beautiful creative joy of my almost three-year-old niece. Her wonder, delight, expressed in laughter, her soft inquiring voice, that insistent smile, and the way she moves – all reminded me of the joy of just expression, when shared as the love of life.  As she anticipated the arrival of her grandparents, she ran to the door, carrying her doll, looked through the panes to see if the car was theirs, then jumped up and down with absolute delight, saying, This is Fun!!!  I laugh every time I think of her, and of her joy which she shared so freely.

I resolve to celebrate and share ever more these moments of life, and the joy of health, laughter, family, friends, creation itself and all I can add to it.  To the sweeping strokes of blue I’ve felt this year (2009), I will add more of the gold, the glints of light and white cloud which so delight me as I capture the images of sky above and around me.  My mind is ready for more, the nuances of exploration as we think through and live the joys of creation.  Here’s to the music makers within us all! The art of expression.  Art encourages us to live beautifully – as a friend pointed out last night, the four levels of us as energy encourage us to consciously choose, to live, to know – who we are, who we want to be, the potential within us, and the joy of understanding that we are Spirit beings learning to be human. Happy New Year(s)!

The sun is a painter and a sculptor

"It is the unqualified result of all my experience with the sick, that second only to their need of fresh air is their need of light; that, after a close room, what hurts them most is a dark room. And that it is not only light but direct sunlight they want. I had rather have the power of carrying my patient about after the sun, according to the aspect of the rooms, if circumstances permit, than let him linger in a room when the sun is off.  People think the effect is upon the spirits only. This is by no means the case. The sun is not only a painter but a sculptor. You admit that he does the photograph. Without going into any scientific exposition we must admit that light has quite as real and tangible effects upon the human body."   (Notes on Nursing, Florence Nightingale, 1859)

I was at the coast in Wilmington (NC) during Christmas. When I drove there Christmas Eve, the sky was a strong clear blue, the air chilly. Later that evening, the temperature dropped. Rain began to fall, and into the next day. Christmas day was cloudy, and we had reports of hard rain.  Wind blew hard. For dinner, our cooks adapted their grilling plan with the sideways rain and strong wind. (The steaks were delicious!) Before I drove home, the following day, I went to Wrightsville Beach and had a walk on the sand by the ocean. The sky was grey more than blue, no rain, and the waves blended into themselves, smoothing out on the multi-colored sand. I breathed deeply.  It felt wonderful. Surfers in wet suits jumped and paddled in the grey water. When I read this sentence in Florence Nightingale's Notes on Nursing, I thought of experience as a wave itself, each memory cascading together, with the deep breaths reminding me in this moment of how wonderfully infinite they were and we are.

Healing. The basics of healing are and have been so easily forgotten. I am glad to be reminded, and so glad for the Earth, wind, sky, our family of life.

Holiday Sky Dance

Live and Let Live

 "London gravesites double up to accommodate the dead."  AARP Bulletin, December 2009.

I might never have guessed that the same person who wrote The Time Traveler's Wife wrote Her Fearful Symmetry. I like this aspect of Audrey Niffenegger's work - and I prefer the tour-de-force pace of The Time Traveler's Wife. That book gave me a narrative ride I hadn't had in years. I marveled at this debut novel; I marveled at her careful building of this "fractured" world; I marveled mostly at the regular clipping pace and rhythm of the language as the characters lived and hurtled through their world. I saw the film too, and liked it - though, typically, the two seemed only loosely related, similar siblings not identical twins. I appreciate the imagination of all artful image-makers.

What I also find fascinating in Her Fearful Symmetry is the explanation, if somehow appropriately thin, ethereal, of ghosts, of the relationship between energy and matter. The Chapter, Her Electrical Nature, for example - the lingering ghost discovering her powers, with concentrated focus, to affect electrical elements (dimming lights, etc.).

I love her choice of the Beatles' lyric at the beginning. Such a perfect opener for this book. "She said, 'I know what it's like to be dead. I know what it is to be sad.' And she's making me feel like I've never been born."

There is a lot of coming and going, a lot of clinging and cleaving, lingering, a lot of nesting boxes; juxtaposed with the open-air, old, historically dignified cemetary, complete with devoted supporters and knowledgeable tour guides. The underground tube, maps, getting lost amidst crowds, moving alone in a world crowded with ghosts, and love urging personalities out of nesting boxes into the sunlight of the street. To simply move, get out of bed, energies must be summoned, focused, to act, and we come to know our powers. We must also come to accept that so much is beyond what we may expect or believe. Add this to the consistently growing exploration of the "ghost-world," seen on television, in movies, in books.

Know what it means to be dead?
Know what it means to live?
Be careful what we wish for.
We live and learn. Tea and toast. Love.

What I enjoy about the logic of life is that answers always come. Some details I missed lingered, because they were keys to the nature and change of ghost to animation, in the story. How did Elspeth's ghost get back to the flat from the apartment, if she couldn't leave the flat? Valentina's much quicker way of solving the mystery of escape, freedom, made me smile. Be open. Open wide. Feel the new sensations. Trust. Do. Live and let die.

I was born the 3rd of triplets to a mother who was an identical twin. (Mom died in October, so I have to get used to saying, past tense, "was.") Her spirit lives, her energy presence as I knew her, lingers.  The multiple mirror creation in my life made me even more curious about this "twin powers" story. Open your eyes. See what's inside them.

Views from the Road

The quest for knowledge, and learning today

Mark Schwehn's Exiles from Eden: Religion and the Academic Vocation in America:

"The quest for knowledge of the truth, if it takes place in a context of communal conversation, involved the testing of our own opinions. And we must, of course, be willing to give up what we think we know for what is true, if genuine learning is to take place. At times, this will be easy, as when we learn that we were mistaken about some geographical detail or another. But much of our self-knowledge as well as our beliefs about what is truly good for us are not simply matters of what we know but matters of who we are. We thus often risk ourselves when we test our ideas."

I read this quote after following a link on Paul Harvey's post (Risk, Wisdom, and Education), which quoted John Fea's blog essay What is a Liberal Arts Education? Risk and Wisdom. I am always interested in people's ideas about what learning truly is. I've changed my thoughts and understanding of learning during my lifetime. I've always appreciated learning at some levels, and enjoyed it. Still, as I've learned more (to expand my mind-fields), I've deepened my understanding of learning as the conscious integration of knowledge which becomes our active (dynamic) truth of that moment.

I've explored the same thoughts that some of the students quoted here have expressed. It's an odd idea, really - we believe we are expressing our individualism, our "freedom of speech," our Rights, when we say we are offended by something, as students, and demand to choose for ourselves. It's a fascinating pattern, I think - for me, because I have not had children, I suppose I gain from this in a way parents already know. This inherent pattern of parents teaching children, of children being either open or resistant to learning, the dynamics of same, continues and repeats itself in so many ways. The rebellious adolescent mind does not want to be "told what to do." I am belligerent in my demand for my rights, for my self-expression. Yet until I mature my own mind, my self-expression and my expression of my rights are not tempered with the love (Ethical Values) which guide a truly mature and wise mind.

As Paul wrote in his post, "it's a strange sense of entitlement indeed, to demand not to be educated in literature, in a class on literature. " I see this parallel in life - and, as Kathy Oddenino wrote in her books: we think we are open to learning but we resist being taught. I have certainly lived with this attitude, and I thought about it when I taught literature to students too. Applying this to life in general, and to what Spiritual Philosophy has taught me, I recognize this pattern as one we, as humans, created as a way to "grow up." We have to be open-minded to question our perceptions, our beliefs - about ourselves, about life, about love, about death, about change, about learning. We have to want to THINK!

The passion for learning, which is based in love, makes learning, and therefore living, a joy. This would have sounded trite to me at one time; or, I might have thought I understood it, without really thinking about it further. As my heart opens to the vicissitudes of life (experience, including the smiles which come as morning breaks open, the sadness I share in my own or a friend's loss, the scare of the vulnerability of death as we know it, the absolute joy of the love in true friendship, the refreshment of the first taste of bold organic coffee in the morning), I appreciate the creation of context all the more. With each choice, I create.

Heroes, Internal Eternal Human Values

Thanksgiving night, my sister and I and a few other family members watched part of the CNN Heroes program honoring 10 nominees for "hero of the year," and acknowledging the good, productive efforts of many. I love the program, and each time I watch it, remembering bits and pieces of profiles I've seen throughout the year, I think more deeply about what it means to be human, and what courage it takes to live a truly human and humane life.

When I mentioned to my cousin that our focus of study in Spiritual Philosophy is the Ethical Values, he told me about a very popular Harvard Professor whose classes are now full and growing, and whose dialogue focuses on values, how and why we choose and believe as we do. He gave me an example he heard in the class, and said he'd send me the info - it's fascinating, he said!

All during the holiday, I thought about what motivates me in my life. I thought about this as we created and lived our familiar rituals, including the constant changes big and small. I'd bought my plane ticket early (as Thanksgiving is the busiest travel holiday of the year), we'd all made our plans to be in Memphis (even though Mom had died in October, and Dad in February, and their house is now empty). Cousins made their plans accordingly as well. As we ate familiar food, saw familiar faces, took naps, laughed together, threw the football, washed dishes, I thought about the nature of rituals and how we want them to become "second nature." Yet they require conscious planning, thought, execution of a plan.

Ferrell McCollough, a fantastic photographer, wrote a great post on his blog called The Creative Plan. He explained his creative plan. The deliberate creation to fulfill a "look" or a vision in his mind - intention carried out by active pursuit,planning the necessary physical details, always open to change-in-the-moment. When I read this, I thought again about our rituals of life, and what motivates me in mine.

If true learning is truly unlearning what we think we already know, then we have one more validation that change is the only constant! Without Mom and Dad's physical presence at Thanksgiving, our biggest annual family ritual, change was evident, yet love lives on, life goes on. I felt my Mom's presence in every twinkle in my Aunt's eye, in every laugh she offered, in so many gestures she made, stirring her coffee after adding sweetener, touching her hair. I felt Mom's smile and sigh when I turned toward another on the couch, and when I rolled over in bed as I spoke to her in my mind. I miss you, Mom, I said, smiling, and with tears rolling down my cheeks. I had visions of Dad as his old smiling self, his sighs, his simple pleasures, his love of life and of people. I asked questions.

What motivates me? The energy of life and love is my creation, and the growth and change of my own consciousness as an energy being is the ultimate in self-motivation. The branches of that tree are many - all I enjoy about life, and the crazy details that sometimes make it up. Sometimes I feel I am gathering too many thoughts, details, ideas, plans in my arms like a big load of warm laundry from the dryer, to the next stage of folding. Socks drop. I'm learning to appreciate this sense I've grown into, and in small ways always had, of life being so BIG, so full, and my arms so small. Energy is real. The image of myself as running with balloons always fits, stooping to taste chocolate ice cream and keep it from dripping onto my clean dress, squinting into the sun, and, always, studying the waves in water. We have a lot to be grateful for, as Dad always said. Energy is Real.

Happy Thanksgiving...go fish, football, sunshine, Food...Family...Memphis, TN

Gifts

My mother died about two weeks ago. My relationship with her has been one of many colors, nuances, dynamics. Learning Spiritual Philosophy has given me the greatest gift to understand not just myself but also my mother, and therefore to heal nuances of misunderstanding and enhance so much love within our energy fields, which is a gift of eternal lifetimes.

I always thought of my mother as smart, responsible and capable and compassionate. (I say “always” now with a new sense of appreciation and wonder - as long as I can remember, at least, and perhaps this is just an example of how we come to believe, accept, that “what we think, is,” what we think always was,” until our memory and sensory awareness expands beyond that concept or moment-in-time.) I did not always think of my mother as understanding, being a child and teenager myself once and an adult often of a mind all-consumed with “knowing it all.” An “I know it all” adult is less easy to smile about than an I-know-it-all teenager, it seems to me. It was always clear when my mother did not want to talk about some subject, even without words. Some things didn't need to be said, my mother believed, and that included so much that was said. Just pay attention, she'd say. The You'll understand was implied. As I got older I began to truly appreciate my mother’s exquisite sense of humor, and her understanding. Her dry humor was at times playful and often profound. With simply a smile sometimes, we acknowledged understanding the bond of thought which went so far beyond what any paragraph could explain – except when we say that Energy is real, and love always pleases the senses.

As my mother lived her death, she taught me more too. Her stoic courage never overwhelmed her playfulness in simple moments that pleased her. I’ve learned that loss and grief are symbols we create to show ourselves that we are eternal as energy. Each relationship we create and live offers us so much to be grateful for (as my Dad used to always say), and so many reminders that we are never alone, never separate (only as physical matter), always one, sharing our energies as we share our lives.

Thank you to all of our mother’s friends and relatives who have acknowledged what she has meant in your lives, simply. She would approve, and absolutely appreciate all of your expressions of love and remembrance, as we do.

"Always, deep inside the motivation of knowing from the soul and the inspiration to grow from the spirit will give them a sense of joy in overwhelming adversity. In the most challenging times there will be a consciousness of a tiny, joyful light within. That light is the vision of hope that shines with total undaunted faith within self to overcome all odds and be successful."(Sharing,by K. Oddenino, 278.) My mother was undaunted by life and by death. She loved. What a legacy.

Mother-Love

Margaret Anne McMullen Martin, remembering when....




"Get off the horse. Before all else, listen. The pathway to change is through relationships, and you can’t form a relationship if you’re not at eye level." Tim Shriver
"Life hangs by the thinnest of threads." Kathy Oddenino

To The Inn and Beyond

What a beautiful day yesterday! Invited to Sunday brunch at the lovely Carolina Inn, which is always a feast for multiple senses. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. If you haven't been, please do.....! Thank you, my good company!

What We're Open To

"Each lesson of life is truly a lesson of love." (Sharing, 101)

"Integration is essential to your individual growth process. Keep that foremost in your mind, and look at yourself in total love with total positive energy. It is your love of yourself, your belief in yourself, and the positive energy that you will create from that love, that will help you to integrate, to balance, and to evolve without fear." (Sharing, 136)

During my quick weekend trip to Memphis I read chapters of Kathy Oddenino's book, Sharing: Self Discovery in Relationships, as I sat in the airport, on the airplane, and in between other transitions from room to room. It was great to read this book in the midst of the busyness of a place like an airport, and the intensive energy of people and things compactly placed in a flying cylindrical tube. I checked my email while waiting too, and received a message from a childhood friend and classmate who had read my book. It was fun to read her feedback, which included a poem she had written about me when we were in 10th grade. The poem described a person "closed inside her shell," the fun and laughter and also the "cloak of humor" I wore. "Somewhere deep inside of her lies a mysterious person that no one but herself knows. Or does she even herself know?"

I really appreciated her email, and it was perfect timing for her to send this while we're doing this first Online course on Sharing! "Will I ever know her well?" she wrote in our sixteen-year-old-time. How wonderful it is for me say that Yes, I do know myself well now! Her poem shows me- what change can mean, and how familiar such a wall, such shelling is. Each person, each personality has his/her own energy field/s. Where we've grown, how, what we're open to.

"Know Thyself!"

The Chain of Life

Loving yourself allows you to love other people.

"This could be compared on Earth to the most creative jeweler designing the ultimate in beautiful chains. Life is the ultimate in a beautiful chain. Each link grows from the last beautiful link until you have an unbroken circle of beauty. Within that chain of family and friends who love you is the strength to break the fear of separation and enhance the beauty of creation." (Joy of Health, 221)

I’ve been thinking about this paragraph since I read it a few days ago. With our first Online Course using Kathy’s third book, Sharing: Self Discovery in Relationships, I’ve seen the beauty of “sharing” energy in new ways. The art of communication as creation happens, as we live the changes inherent in life’s (creation’s) design, is teaching me, again, to enjoy the absolute beauty of creating through the energy of love. As a friend said, You know, truth makes a mind do funny things – it compels you to act! One phrase that Kathy said stands out in my mind: It is very important that we not lose our own voice. The ethical patterns of us, and within me, emerge as I let them, as I honor them.

“Diplomacy, democracy, grace, civility” – are words that come up often, and as a collective body we are struggling to accept and live, to understand. I recognize the tiny little energy bursts I feel as these “grace notes” reveal themselves to me in my mind, and my emotions dance around. Talking with my Mother last night fed that light of love within me in a way only a mother-love can. She had told me earlier that two of her new friends, staff at the Rehab Center where she stayed for a few months, called yesterday to say hello, see how she is. She laughed gently when she told me that upon hanging up the phone with one of them, she said, I love you. A minute or so later the woman called back and said, I love you, too, Mrs. Martin. Mom was amused at the fact that she had called back so quickly to say so. This brought tears to my eyes, because such a simple story reveals the way love heals, how change happens, how love expands as we communicate, simply. I felt “enlightened” because she shared her story. For that instant, in my own time and space, I felt the joy of that love shared. What a gift. I'm holding it within me, along with the infinite other moments of joy that have impressed themselves into my stream of conscious life.

Loving ourselves allows us to love others. Energy is real. Allowing the Spirit the freedom to be is the mind’s ultimate gift to itself. Acknowledging the love of spirit, of infinite energy, is appreciating the jeweler within each of us, and all of the “energy sharing” creation uses to fulfill its intention of beauty, freedom, love, and the truth of life as we live it.

Here’s another great reminder from Joy of Health, which brings me full circle:
“Good relationships contribute to good health and joy. They should be cherished and nourished, just as you would cherish any material possession in your world. Indeed, a good relationship is far more valuable to the world of man than any material possession could ever be. … A soul does not grow without the contact of other souls. The drama of life would not be much of a drama without the interactions that relationships provide.” (JOH, 254)

"If You Want To"

In the last Spiritual Philosophy seminar, this stood out: "If we miss how our life controls us, how will we be able to control our life?"

Remember the Rolling Stones' song, You Can't Always Get What You Want? The often-quoted "you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need" is relevant here! The song was recorded in London in November 1968, and features the London Bach choir. I remember my mother saying to me so many years ago, You can't always do only what you want to. Mothers and fathers learn this differently than those of us without the gift of having children.

When I heard the phrase "if you want to" yesterday it got my attention. I keep thinking about the idea that our growth develops from our own needs. From some mouths, the words "if you want to" may seem dismissive or unkind, and from others assured elements of an energy stream which honors itself, its "host" energy, and the reality of energy interaction.

As I have been constantly learning to "Know Myself," and to "know what I want," I love this lilting, playful pattern which shows itself to me as I grow and change. Memories flash into my mind of other times (and energies), when I lived aspects of some of the patterns I live today. Now I let them run through my mind, fleeting glimpses of boys I was, of girls, women with a harsh dictum of running a household because governance as a body politic was another realm to women in those times. I recognize the reflective nature of energy, and how we expand and contract patterns as our energy fields move and change. I recognize frustration as the compaction or suppression of my own energy, and a shadow of its former self as the volcano image inside which has to diffuse. This is how I came to the image of "the volcano inside" so long ago, and as I described in my book. I feel how my energy compacts in these moments, and I hear the sound of my voice more like "barking" than soothing, more like a rush or muted "fire and ash" than melody. The love of life slowly becomes the way a plant grows, delicate and fragrant in its expression, and delightfully part of all that inhabit its "universe."

Honoring the truth of "what I want," what we create as our reality, is one of the beautiful gifts a mind can receive, and give. Creating a comfort zone for ourselves as we live our lives, as days pass, as energy moves and changes, is an art form which is delightful, sometimes challenging, and always an amazing phenomenon of human consciousness. What I want is to always honor these memories which cherish truth, to laugh always as I enjoy these memory-fields, and as I honor those I love and the energy of life in its multiplicity of constant change.

It is minds that go beyond the "boxes" and bones of what we have already thought before that lead the way into the future of our past, which becomes our present. The simplicity of creation is only truly revealed when we understand and honor its complexity - or, the other way around. I feel like we are in Homer's odyssey, the journey of yet another life, and determined to know, to map, the sea, sky and shore. We are and we bear treasures! Love is eternal, and its expression is simply the most powerful energy field in the Universe.

"For a worthy quest always leaves good traces behind it, and more treasures are won by heroes than they visibly brin ghome in their own day. A more careful examination of the true office of philosophy may serve to show us, in fact, both why final success in it has been unattainable and why the partial successes have been worth the cost." Josiah Royce, The Spirit of Modern Philosophy