Category: Mind Body Spirit

Becoming

A young friend was sharing with me recently that she had decided that she no longer wanted to pursue a career in Corporate America, and now wanted to become a social worker. Of course she realized that she’d never become wealthy pursuing such a career, but she clearly felt “called”, and I was impressed with her passion.

This young person will likely truly “become” a social worker of some sort. Who knows where life will take her as she defines herself with this calling, but there’s little doubt in my mind that she’ll follow a path defined by who she’s become, and that the path she follows will be defined by her heart and soul.

In the event that she lives to be 100, will she look back across the years of her life, and say that in her life, a social worker is what she “was”?

How do we define our lives, in the context of our whole life? When you’re 25, it’s easy to think of this year and next year, maybe even the next 5 years. When you’re 50, it’s easier to think of the last 20 years, and the next 20 years.
In the world within which our ancestors evolved, a context of a year or two was really all that mattered. A context of 5 years was a long time, and 20 years was a lifetime.

But today, the context within which we define our lives has changed a great deal. We live a lot longer than our ancestors did – our lives today might span 2 or 3 of the lifetimes of only a few hundred years ago. We’re blessed with lives of relative luxury, with a great deal of time to reflect, and meditate, and re-create. In our lives today, when we come to the end of the path, and face the clearing at the end of life, (to borrow a metaphor), how will we measure and define the life and the path that we’ve traveled?

Will my young friend look back and see the life she lived and call herself a social worker? If she’s lucky enough to travel a path that’s long, and lives to a ripe old age, I suspect not. Even if she works for many years in the field, and does many good things – in the tradition of so many great souls in this world – there’s a pretty good chance that she won’t define herself that way.

I have a good friend who spent 40 years in Corporate America as an executive. He’s been retired for several years now. Each year I notice that the way he refers to himself when he meets people evolves a little bit. When he first retired, he introduced himself as a retired executive – not necessarily in those words but that was the gist of the description. Today, he introduces himself as an outdoorsman who hunts and fishes and cycles. Depending on how deep into the discussion he gets, he’ll eventually get around to the part where he spent 40 years in Corporate America, and retiring as an executive.

But that’s not who he became. After only 10 years of retirement, he’s no longer that thing that he spent 40 years becoming. For 40 years it probably seemed important, but now as he looks back along the path behind him, it was only how he spent his time – it wasn’t who he became.

I had the enormous privilege of spending a couple of hours with my grandmother the other day. She’s 101 this year. She believes that she’s nearing the end, and she hears the clearing at the end of the path calling to her. I believe her, and sitting with her, I hear a little of the whisper that she must be hearing. It’s hard to say goodbye, knowing that the next time we meet will probably be beyond that clearing that calls to her today.

But she’s smiling and happy as she looks forward. She feels the comfort of the clearing as it calls to her, and she’s had enough of the trials and tribulations that a 101 year-old body puts a person through.

We talked much of the wonderful life that she’s had. We looked at old photos again, and she could tell me who all the people were in the photographs. Friends she’s known all her life, grandkids and greats and great-greats, even the spouses. It’s astounding to listen to her tell about the day that a particular photo was taken, and who was there, and what they were celebrating, even though the photo was taken in the ’20’s or the ’30’s.

There’s joy and gratitude in her eyes and in her voice as she looks back down the path behind her, and there’s wonder in her eyes as she looks forward to the transition and the clearing that she’s approaching.

She was a hard-working young woman, a bride and wife, a mom, a grandmother, and a friend. She became an old woman with bright eyes, a warm heart, and a beautiful soul. Nowhere in the resume that she lists today are any of the “jobs” that she held to make money. Oh she remembers them and can tell you about them, but they weren’t who she was, and certainly not who she became.

I’ll miss my grandma when she makes that next transition, when she makes that final crossing in this life, when she “becomes” yet one more time. I hope I’m still learning from her, and taking care about what I want to become in this life.

Falling Through Time

A story that NPR ran recently talks about the “slowing down of time” when a person falls. The story on their website expands the concept to essentially any time that we get “adrenaline charged”.

Probably everyone has experienced this phenomenon at some point in their life, where after some event that was charged with lots of adrenaline, we have memories of the event that are in great, slow-motion detail.

The article had some great information in it, but seemed to focus on a pretty dry perspective of why this might happen – sort of the nuts and bolts of what’s going on in our brain and the rest of our body. While this is interesting for sure, I find that the more intriguing side of this story is really the guts of what we might be capable of in these “heightened states”.

It’s clear that stuff happens in our body that makes us able to perceive time and events in a new way – a heightened state where we see more and react more quickly. Most important is that our senses don’t appear to make stuff up in these states, but rather that they are simply more tuned-up.

Seems to me pretty likely that there would be quite a bit that could be learned in these heightened states – a whole new window into the world that we stumble through every day. Study like this seems to suggest that the world right in front of our eyes is, indeed, bigger than we think it is. There’s more in front of us than we see as we float through the world.

Click here to see the article.

The Artist

I came across a neat idea recently from Diane Fergurson – she says she found it in a handout that she’d saved from years ago. It describes someone’s perspective on what motivates the artist.

As I read this, I changed the concept a bit in my mind. After all, we each have some portion of creative energy within us, and that creative energy wants to escape. Some folks like the title “artist” next to their name, but in the end, I see us all as artists – we each have our own canvas.

I found 2 or 3 that I thought described the gut of me pretty well – where do you find yourself?

At any rate, here’s what she posted:

  • Artist-scientists:  These artists have a personal mission that is similar to scientists.  They attempt to make the unknown, unseen word…real.  They experiment with art simply for the sake of inquiry.  Many times they have no interest in finishing what they begin….especially if they have found the answer along the way.  Like Einstein, they also believe that whatever the ultimate answer… it must be beautiful.
  • Artist-mathematicians:  Precision and the harmony of perfection is sought by this group of artists.  They often engage themselves through a different language to other artists-mathematicians.  Kind of like an art shorthand, similar to mathematicians speaking in formulas.  I imagine those artists interested in Sacred Geometry would find motivation in this grouping.
  • Artist-explorers:  Innovators on a quest to find the new and different.  The cannot stand to duplicate or replicate.  Their truly original expression has ultimate value and they constantly sharpen and hone that singularity.
  • Artist-activists:  The creative impulse of these artists stem from the need to rectify an unfair situation or even the playing field.  Examples of their causes include the environment, gender or racial equality, reproductive rights, poverty or homelessness.
  • Artist missionaries:  Artists lit with an inner fire.  They have found some sort of answer through their art and need to share it with others.
  • Artist-warriors:  Artists who take the activist role to an extreme by using their art form to combat forces that they find unreasonable. The artist-warrior is often on a crusade to fight with personal demons or forces.  Whereas the activist-artist grapples with external forces, the artist-warrior battles internal ones.
  • Artist-healers:  Artists who are healers feel that their art can actually mend the mind, body and spirit of an individual.  They have a revered way of referring to their art form.
  • Artist-mystics:  Artists who believe that a higher force is working through them.  They believe they are a conduit for the universal power of spirituality, love and enlightenment.

Great Article on “End Of Life” issues

This article in The New Yorker by Atul Gawande. It’s a pretty long article, but does a great job of describing many of the practical and “life-side” issues associated with dying. I came across the link to the article through the Speaking of Faith blog.

Reading it made me realize that there are many issues that we need to take on and come to grips with regarding “how we die” in modern culture. Most of those issues happen on “this” side of that doorway of transformation between this life and whatever does (or doesn’t) happen on the other side of that transformation. I’m thinking, though, that the issues on this side are pretty tough to deal with unless you’re comfortable with what you believe about what happens on the other side of that transformation.

Thoughts?

Snow and saddles

For the last few days as we have had nice weather, I’ve been thinking about how nice it is for the plants to get a real spring this year – one where they aren’t demolished by a late April or early May snow that makes them burn lots of energy starting over. How nice it is to see healthy plants exploding from the ground in April.

Then, woke up to snow this morning. Not a lot yet, but you never know. If it doesn’t pile up too much, and the temp doesn’t drop too far into the 20’s, most of them should be OK.

It makes me appreciate the resiliency of the plants that survive here, and their ability to face each new spring with fervor, with no idea what will happen. They just keep moving forward, growing, blooming, expanding.

And then my thoughts fall back to the new saddle that I put on my bike last weekend. The old saddle worked OK, though I knew that it wasn’t the greatest design around for keeping pressure off of critical nerve areas and certainly lacked comfort after many hours in it. But I never thought about it – just kept riding it because it’s what I know.

A saddle is such a personal thing, isn’t it? Each year I go through the process of getting the sit-bones broken in to the saddle. There is predictability to the saddle, the pain it causes, and how it fits. It might not be perfect, but I know it, and know how it fits. Recently someone asked me about my saddle, and my response was the same as it always is: “Sure the saddle isn’t perfect – it’s a pain in the ass after enough hours in it – but I know how it is going to feel and how we react to one another.”
But I made the leap last weekend and bought a new one. Now I have to go through the pain of breaking it in to my butt, and breaking my butt in to it.
It’s new and unknown. A little scary, a little exciting.
As I begin the journey through the middle years of life, I realize that there are many aspects of my life that are like this. There may be some comfortable things that are not necessarily the healthiest for me – some habits that I need to change, maybe some different perspectives that I need to gain.
But like the plants that grow here on the high plains, I need to have the courage to keep growing and blooming, and not be overly concerned about the weather that might surprise me next week.

3 December workout thoughts

Thursday, 12/3:

High today was about 13, so no time in the saddle. However, had a decent workout for about 90 minutes. Just starting to use the weight machines for the legs.
I’m starting to feel stronger – that nice tightness in the legs between workouts. I would sure like to be able to find the time to work on upper body groups too, but that just doesn’t seem real likely right now.
Sit-ups – did 200 first set, 100 second set, then stopped. In between while resting, did bicep curls with little weight – 10lbs first set, 12lbs second set.
The workouts at the gym serve the purpose of helping me stay in shape, but I just can’t find that “zone of presence” – that thing that this is all about. So, I will continue to use this little blog as my point of accountability to use the gym for that purpose, while waiting for the opportunity to participate in some ZOP (Zone of Presence – I like that!)
Talked to my brother last night about potential fishing trips. I think he has resigned himself to no more fishing until spring. I keep looking at the power plant lake at Council Grove, thinking that we can probably fish the smallies all winter there. I really want to get out on some water.
What is it about the thought of fishing that is so attractive to me? For sure I like the “preparation” stuff – the rituals that are associated with the fishing. For both fishing and hunting, these “preparation rituals” are a gigantic part of the activity for me. Getting all geeky over which lines I want to keep in my tackle, when I will use them, what baits and lures I think I want to try out, listening to podcasts to learn as much as I can from other guys. This is big stuff to me.
So, I’ll keep thinking about it, and wondering if we will get a chance to get out this winter or not for the smallies.
One last thought. Why did the Honeylocust keep their leaves so long this year I wonder? I am looking out my office window, watching the birds on the feeders in front, and noticing again that here in December, the Honeylocust leaves are still about 50% attached to the trees. Brown and dormant of course, but like the White Oaks, a good portion of the dormant leaves are still attached.

The Training Plan

For the last 3 or 4 years, I have been pretty busy making excuses for why my fitness level is less than it should be. It was probably 4 years ago (maybe it was 5…) that I had a kick-ass summer, and was in great shape. I felt like I kept up with all but the best on the climbs, and was rarely passed on the flats. I felt like a machine.

Then, in the fall, I ended up in the hospital with what the docs insisted was a heart attack. Long story short, after spending the night in Intensive Care, the docs did one of the catheder deals to watch the blood flow around my heart, and discovered arteries that were clear as mountain morning air. But, they also found that an enlarged heart was squeezing an artery that runs along the front of the heart, which is what created the psuedo heart-attack. Funny thing – the doc took my wife aside to ask about drug use – apparently some recreational drugs enlarge the heart. Nope, she was pretty sure that wasn’t the issue.

Turns out, prolonged intense exercise also enlarges the heart. Duh. Note to self: Maybe cut back on the intensity of the training…

So that became a great excuse for me, and while my mind still thought of my body as the fit machine that climbed those Italian Alps, my body was rapidly progressing toward a lesser and lesser state of fitness, and I constantly justified a lower workout regiment with the whole enlarged heart thing.

I flaked out on a couple of backcountry ski trips in the winter for various reasons, but the reality was that I was not really fit enough to keep up with the younger guys in the trip. I barely survived some long and grueling endurance rides – rides that I should have survived much more easily than I did and not slowed down my buddies.

Then, this fall, my job situation changed, and I had some time on my hands. I started to ride a bit more – trying to find 2 days a week when the weather would let me ride. I have managed to avoid the big “November Gain” that usually happens to my waistline. I am headed toward avoiding the even worse “December Gain” that usually happens. I have a backcountry trip scheduled for early January, and 6 weeks before the trip, I am actually feeling pretty good about being able to perform well.

So now, I find myself beginning to focus on next summer, and what level of fitness I might be able to achieve by May. I find myself looking at rides that I have avoided for the last several years, thinking, maybe…

So I’ll keep a log of how I am coming against these lofty sights. The snow is falling outside, and the temp is about 10 degrees. No riding for the next few days – it will be workouts in the gym for me for the next week I am afraid.

Yesterday, I was able to get out for a quick Canterbury spin before the weather turned bad. Only a 30 minute spin, with a bit of climbing. Tried wearing the warm kit, but it is still (and has always been) too small for me. I need to give that one away – I have no idea what I was thinking when I bought it…

The Beginning

It was on a bike ride recently that I came to understand something really foundational to myself.

Here it is:

  • People pay me to manage projects of transition, and to think strategically. They pay me to move them forward toward something. I am very good at this – seeing future possibilities and good ways to achieve these future possibilities.
  • I talk lots about things like learning to focus on the here-and-now, and learning to really experience “the present moment”, but I am really lousy at it.
  • I have a very “addictive” personality, and this leads me to become very passionately involved in “hobbies” in my life.

So, the above facts sort-of bounced around in my brain for years, and I kept them very separate from each other. My life continued to roll frantically down a path that kept me always focused on the things that people pay me to do well, while at the same time deep inside I realized that I needed to get better at living in the moment. These things seemed very much at odds with one-another, but I never really thought much about it.

It was that third fact that would join the two pieces together, though it took a bike ride on a beautiful Colorado Autumn day to allow my brain to let that fusion occur.

Here is the scene:

I was 45 minutes or so into a ride. It is a common ride – one that I take often. I call it the Crowfoot ride, since it follows a road called Crowfoot Valley Road for much of the ride. It is perfect in that it is slightly uphill for the first 10 minutes or so, then starts to slant more and more upward, until finally it climbs at a nice steep pace for 10 or 15 minutes. Then it flattens quite a bit, but still uphill, for another 5 – 10 minutes. Then you turn around, and head back, and the joy begins as a reward for all the work to this point. I head south going out and up, then turn back north for the ride home. So, this is the perfect ride when there is a south wind. On this day, there was a wonderful south wind.

I had worked really hard all the way out. After making the turn and heading back, it became an easy 25 MPH ride along the ridge with a tailwind. This is such joy for a bike rider – a nice tailwind. I hit the steep downhill, tucked, and flew down at 45 MPH+, letting the bike slow to 30 MPH as the hill decreased.

My G-d, I thought, what is it that I love so much about this? Pure clarity, nothing else on my mind, wonderful ideas popping in occasionally to be mulled around in the idea polisher of my little brain.

And right then, the realization crystallized like a bright shining stone falling out of the polisher. All of my “passions” had this thing in common – they allowed me to focus completely on the thing that I was doing, and within that focus and presence, a joy and peace seeped out and surrounded me with a feeling that I longed for in my life. Those were the moments when the magic presented itself.

Prairie Voice – Part 3

The dance between Venus and the Moon first became visible to me at the horizon as the first hints of dawn began to warm the eastern sky. By that time, I had been sitting in my tree-stand for long enough to feel the cold in my toes, and the site of Venus and the Moon helped me to feel some added warmth begin to move from my soul into my body. I had begun my morning well before dawn, letting Colin out for a quick constitutional, and putting him back in the camper for the morning. After slipping into my hunting clothes outside of the camper, I picked up my bow from its special place, and began the slow and silent walk toward my stand. It was less than a mile to walk to my stand, but in the deep darkness of a night with no moon up yet, and with my desire to move silently, the walk probably took 45 minutes or so.

There is a path that I follow to that tree-stand when it is dark. It isn’t the most direct route, but it is the most quiet. The soil is sandy, and it is possible to pick out the lighter sandy path from the darker prairie grass even on the darkest of nights. As I had moved along the path – walking slowly and quietly – I enjoyed the absolute stillness that is so magical about that time of the day. The path follows an old tree-row for most of the way, and I could hear small movements within the tree row – sometimes a leaf falling through the branches, sometimes a tiny twig beneath the foot of a raccoon.

I rarely use a light in the darkness. An artificial light in the wilderness just screams to the wildlife that a human is present. If I used a light, by the time that I arrived at my hunting spot, every animal within half a mile would be notified of my exact location. In addition, the light from the flashlight would prevent my eyes from adjusting to the darkness, so that when I eventually did turn the light off, my eyes would need to take the time to adjust before they were of any use at all to me. In case of emergency, I have a light that I can use, but I don’t recall the last time that I used it when moving through the nighttime wilderness.

There is a greater reason, though, that I don’t want a light at night. It has to do with why I am even here – why I am walking across the prairie on a chilly morning, carrying a bow, walking softly and quietly. It has to do with why I take such care to control the human scent that is part of me, why I choose to spend this time with solitude on the Prairie.

Many people equate “hunting” with “killing something”. Most non-hunters do this I think, but frankly, I know hunters who do this as well. For me, it is certainly likely that the hunting process will result in meat in my freezer, but this is not why I hunt, and the “killing” is not where I find my joy.

For me, the hunting process is my surrender to my rightful place in this earthly ecos. It is about becoming part of a balance that is much older and much wiser than the technically advanced, climate controlled, risk reduced world that generally surrounds me. It is about coming into a harmony with where I have been placed in this universe, and from that place of more perfect Harmony, I can feel myself more completely within The One.

When done well, hunting finds me leaving behind all that is human reason, and finding deep within myself the wisdom that is a part of the little sphere of earth that I place myself within. It finds me accepting my place as a predator high on the food chain, and accepting as well the responsibility that comes with that place on the food chain. It finds me spending the time to learn how the other animals move in this little sphere of earth, and how many they are, and how healthy they are. It finds me choosing which animal to take, and whether to take an animal. It finds me realizing that when meat ends up in my freezer, it should end up there as a result of a gift that is exchanged between hunter and hunted, and that taking the meat without receiving the gift and blessing the exchange is a blasphemy.

Surrender – a funny word. Sometimes the path to strength and wisdom can only be found through surrender. In surrendering myself to my small place in this little sphere, and in leaving my human ego back at the doorstep of the civilization that I left behind, I am able to find my Self and my Place. And it feels good and right.

And a flashlight disturbs that goodness and that rightness.

Prairie Voice – Part 2

The vastness of the prairie sky at night creates the window into The Infinite with which few people feel comfortable. The stillness required to allow that Infinite to creep into your soul is something with which even fewer people feel comfortable. While we profess to want closeness and connection with G-d, we eschew the very things that could facilitate what we say we want. It seems to me that this is a result of our modern world. I want to believe that when cultures are more comfortable with the magic in the world around them, that they feel more at ease with the Vastness and the Stillness.

This morning, I watched Venus dance with the Moon. It is a monthly dance, occurring in the early morning or early evening hours when Venus happens to be out, and the cycle of the Moon happens to put him somewhere close to Venus. It is a timeless dance – Venus and the Moon.

This morning, Venus and the Moon brushed close to one-another as they took their spin on the celestial dance-floor. I watched them as I sat in a tree-stand before dawn, and watched as the morning light washed the darkness from the night sky. For a while, they were framed perfectly in the cradle of the Cottonwoods above me – smiling at each other as they enjoyed the moment that passed between them…