July 4, 2014 · 4:11 pm

More on Planet Politics…

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It seems way too simplistic to say that my recent experience of lobbying in Washington, DC with the Citizens’ Climate Lobby was incredibly rich.  The reason being that the week provided the kind of experience that demands much and rewards more.

Here’s what I noticed –

First, imagine the collective energy of over 600 people who are committed to the same effort!  The amount of adrenaline flowing was palpable from early on when participants were arriving.  It kind of picks you up and carries you along.  And there’s the energy of meeting so many new people from all over, especially exciting since we speak the same language!  Then two days of getting to know each other while being exposed to valuable information, ideas, opinions and opportunities before setting out to meet with members of Congress. This “setting out” was akin to riding the crest of a wave – a wave that washed over the offices of almost all members of the House and Senate!

The second most impressive aspect for me was that we lobbied in groups.  Simple, yes, but brilliant.  Each of us brought a unique background of experience and set of skills, not necessarily having to do with whether we had participated in lobbying efforts before.  What was more important was how we worked with our group as we met with  the member of Congress or, as often happened, with his/her legislative aide.

Also, I saw the importance of caucusing in the hall before entering the meeting with the MOC.  Establishing priorities, setting out who takes on which role in the meeting, reviewing what we knew about the MOC and checking in with any more tangible connection any of us might have to bring to the mix.  In the broader perspective, we were connecting with each other around our common intention and then, refining our potential for connection with that particular member of Congress.

Finally, being present to the “in the moment” dynamics of the meeting itself.  Seeing how important it was to be aware of when to let go of some detail of our agenda,  when to back off of evidence of climate change or expounding on the data of the REMI report, when to challenge, when to sympathize, how to find that opening that allows you to jump in and land on both feet.

Then, of course, the postscript – what worked, what didn’t, and what’s our next step with this House Representative or Senator to get closer to passing carbon fee and dividend legislation.

Now, take a deep breath, and on to the next meeting…

 

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June 14, 2014 · 11:55 am

Beginning Again

Beginning again is like getting up in the morning.  How does it feel, really, this waking up and beginning the day?  For me, it can be different today from yesterday or any day last week or last year.  I suspect there is some part of each of us that wishes for sameness in the sense of knowing what to expect.  Perhaps we needn’t know every aspect of this new day,  just enough to be reassured that we know what we’re doing – enough so that we can rely on past experience to provide us with confidence in stepping out.

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I have this sense of our bodies like trees with roots extending deep into the ground holding us firm and a trunk and branches reaching up and out to engage with whatever may come our way.  Not an unusual analogy, but if you consider it carefully, one that aptly captures the kind of balance that serves us best.  Some part grounded and some part flexible and free.  Might it be possible to wake up to a new day in this way – with both parts intact?

What gets in the way can be an imbalance – too much ground that turns into stuck-ness or too little so that what lies ahead has the potential to sweep us away.  At least this is how it can manifest when facing the new and unfamiliar, and isn’t that what “beginning again” is all about?  How to find the just right amount?

It may be also that the element of desire or motivation can be an important leveling factor.  If what lies ahead is something we want or is important to us, there can be more energy available for us in how we approach it.  If we are not so attached to it or ambivalent about what we are to do, there is less investment in getting out there to meet it.   I admit the tree metaphor doesn’t work so well here.  Trees undoubtedly don’t have the thoughts and emotions that influence us in our everyday living.  They simply have what they have and do what they do.

The question is how to rise confidently to meet a new day or begin a new project.  Instead of constructing multiple scenarios that may or may not actually happen, what would it be like to hold the present moment lightly as your feet touch the floor?  A more mindful approach allows more space for your energy to move closer to the side of excitement.  It creates an attitude of openness and a healthy intention as you face the day. Some mindful moments of meditation can assist in tapping into what’s there and seeing what you may need in order to regain your balance.  I know many feel this is what happens when you down that cup of coffee in the morning, but I’m talking about connecting with the more enduring energy that lives in each of us.   Isn’t this, after all, the force that allows us to continue to thrive?

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May 24, 2014 · 4:26 pm

Being Horizontal

Lying down, thinking,

noticing what supports me

from underneath

I find myself checking in

with what it means

to be horizontal.

 

I could be sleeping,

flying in my dreams, or

meditating in savasana.

Being very still and

letting go.

 

I could be sick –

too sick or broken

to stand

lying horizontal in my room

or in the hospital

or in the nursing home.

 

I could be at the beach

lying in the sand

or floating horizontal

in between the waves.

 

But maybe what’s important

about being horizontal

is the support

I feel beneath me.

And that, being horizontal,

is just one of the ways

I get to be me.

 

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May 20, 2014 · 12:57 pm

Stepping into Planet Politics…

After participating in the Pachamama Alliance Game Changer Intensive,

I asked myself this question…

 

Who am I now?

I am the same, at the core.

It’s my perspective that’s shifted

 

So that when the voice in my head says

Who do you think you are

Trying to change these things

You don’t know the language

You won’t be able to articulate the argument

You can’t compete with big money power

Who’s going to listen to you

These are not the skills you have

Your efforts will be like a drop in the bucket

 

I can center myself in the moment and

take a deep breath

and from this place

at the edge of my courage

 

Answer

I’m doing what needs to be done

I’m learning the language

It’s not a debate

Not a competition

Someone will listen because we are many in this together

developing new skills

filling thousands of buckets with our efforts.

 

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April 22, 2014 · 3:03 pm

Non-Judgment Day

Seems the deeper I get into what feels like the core of compassion and the closer I can hold it in my everyday attitude, the greater my awareness of the judgments I encounter in others.  It isn’t from my own judgmental point of view but from a place of compassion and caring for the suffering of others.  I say that because the energy carried in the spoken words and affect of these individuals seems burdensome to them – almost as if the people and/or actions they are judging are perceived as a personal affront and hurtful to them.  As they speak their words, it is clear that they are not happy and cannot be so until all the people and situations triggering such negative evaluative emotions are put right – whatever that means…

 

The attitude of exclusion surrounds us and permeates our lives.  On the surface it may seem to separate and support us by emphasizing those who are different or seen as less than.  But it actually serves to isolate those who carry the judgmental perceptions as a shield that defines the speaker by default.  It might go something like this, “If I can see the faults of others, that must be because I do not have them, and my ideas/attitudes are the right ones.”

 

Letting go of judgments requires more than simply rejecting them as they surface in your mind.  And don’t suppose that you can get to a state where they never come up.  It’s the job of the mind to judge.  We need to be able to make judgments about situations that may be life threatening, and this kind of evaluation must be immediate, almost intuitive.  Once again, this is a way of being that developed to enable us to survive.  How is it that it spills over to our everyday living?  How does it become this familiar tool that gives us a sense of being solid and grounded?  What does it take to appreciate that this sense may be a false one?

 

When this way of being determines how we relate to people and situations every day then it has become part of who we are or who we believe ourselves to be.  The more I have noticed this attitude reflected in the day-to-day interactions of those around me, the more I envision proposing a Day of Non-Judgment.  It seems like a great beginning point until I realize that each of us must first be aware of when judgment is present.  I must be able to discern when what shows up is my own opinion or belief.  Then I need to be able to appreciate that this may or may not be Reality or it may be Reality as it looks through my own personal filter.  Given that our minds are constantly evaluating and critiquing, perhaps the more accurate proposal would be a Day of Non-Attachment to Judgment.

 

Richard Davidson in The Emotional Life of Your Brain talks about open, nonjudgmental awareness as a form of attention.  He defines this as the “capacity to remain receptive to whatever might pass into your thoughts, view, hearing, or feeling and to do so in a noncritical way.”   So, how do we take the step back that is required to have a view from a perspective that can be “noncritical?”  Perhaps it’s the quality of attention brought to our judgments.  Instead of embracing them and clothing ourselves in them automatically, perhaps there can be a moment of taking a closer look.  There might be more attention to their shape, texture, color, the energy they carry, their potential to do harm.  Consider the care and attention we generally give to how we look and how we dress.  How would it be to give that same quality of focus to what we wear on the inside?

If we can apply this kind of attention to a single judgment we are having, then we might realize we have a choice.  The choice involves examining the intention behind the judgment – Is it about life or death?  Are we determining a potential danger?  If not, then can we relax into a more open, receptive attitude?  What would it take to allow that?

 

I have a sense about judgments which I experience as a visceral response.  It feels like a narrowing, a posture that shields or protects me somehow.  I experience it as a tension in my muscles which separates me from the other, from whatever or whomever is the object of my judgment.  Conversely, an open receptive attitude is what compassion feels like.  It’s inclusive and the boundaries around it can soften.  It arises out of my core or center, not from the edges of me.  Having the experience of this difference in your body, the choice becomes easier and more natural.  It’s basically the choice to practice this new way of being now, today, and then again tomorrow.  Perhaps a day of non-judgment is possible after all…

 

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April 1, 2014 · 3:53 pm

Taxi Ride

You can’t anticipate who or how the driver will be

Someone quiet or sullen

Someone doing his job

You might wonder if he sees you as the person you are

He may well be asking himself the same about you

Yet there you are, both

mostly focused on getting you where you’re going.

 

This trip the driver began talking as soon as he pulled into the roadway

Complaints about his boss, angry at him for some confusion

I didn’t hear the words so much as I noticed the energy in his voice

So I gathered myself, preparing to be witness to

a ride full of judgment and blame.

 

Then he commented on the ferry ride I was heading for

The energy shifted and lightened as I responded.

A door opened; he announced today was his birthday

I smiled and wished him well.

 

And in the next four minutes of conversation

I witnessed the man behind the wheel of this cab

The whole of his life

His aspirations and deep disappointments

Laid bare before a stranger

 

It was really a very short ride,

but it covered a long journey

One that I was privileged to glimpse

from the back seat of his car.

 

It was, in fact, the most privileged moment of my day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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March 4, 2014 · 11:54 am

Another Time

Help, away from here from where you are
never been to where you’re going to
free from earth, light and soaring
 
Pause.
and let the stillness bear you up
and down.
 
When I was young
lying in the grassy field
at times the same place where deer had lain the night before,
gazing at the sky
 
We told each other stories about the cloud people.
 
Without start or stop, 
we did not understand
the stories were about us.
Our dreamings, seemings,
spirited awakenings that led us 
more to wonder.
 
And in the end we left them
for a time
to sweeten, ripen, grow.
For longings carried with us need to be
reclaimed as much as do rememberings.
___________________________
This poem was written years ago and discovered recently tucked away in a book.
For the related story that emerged January 19, 2014, see
The Cloud People at www.amindfulife.com/the-cloud-people/

 

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February 18, 2014 · 2:06 pm

Full Moon Smiles

The Full Moon may have passed on to the next phase this month, but the experience of it lingers.   What I’ve noticed since a very young age is that the Full Moon has the capacity to elicit a particular response in me.  My first reaction to seeing it is to smile.  I don’t mean a slight upturning of the corners of my mouth but, instead, a broad, beaming smile spreads across my face.  It seems to come from somewhere deep inside and simply overflow.

Interesting that I have never really explored the feelings and thoughts associated with this Full Moon smile.  Why is it that it’s so much easier to put energy into feelings and thoughts that are unpleasant or fear-based?  Those are generally what pull our attention and take up space in our thinking/feeling lives.   They are the ones that torture us, that become the middle-of-the-night voice that keeps us awake.  And we become the loser in the fight against them, trying so hard to shut the door tight and keep them out.

As an alternative to focusing on that which is disturbing to us,  how about spending time with what makes us smile?  How would it be to explore the character and qualities of those things that bring us joy – even if that sense is fleeting?  Bringing the energy of this inquiry to my Full Moon smiles, I’d say the feelings are layered.  The sensation that seems to form the basis of my experience is one of being protected and looked after.  I remember as a child walking the short walk home from the neighbor’s house in the dark, looking up and seeing the Full Moon and feeling safe.  As long as the Full Moon was there, I didn’t need to be scared.  It wasn’t so much that it made me smile as it translated into a sense of being okay with the dark.  Of course, the bolstering of confidence came not from the Moon but from inside me – an awareness that didn’t emerge until many years later.

Since that time, the Full Moon has reappeared with some regularity, barring clouds and storms.  Always there is for me an accompanying feeling of  reassurance, like an old friend.  There is a familiarity that comes with seeing it that is a “coming home” experience for me.  I feel grounded and secure, and it matters not that the feeling may not last.  All feelings and thoughts arise and pass away no matter what we do.   What’s important is nurturing the ability to come back to the sense of smiling.  That sense can be something that is carried inside of us, kind of an anchor to our ground of being.   For me the Full Moon serves as the key to open the door and tap into the joyful energy that is there.

So, where is it that you find your Full Moon smiles?

 

 

 

 

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February 9, 2014 · 10:41 am

Choosing

I lie here in bed reading, being inspired once again by the voice of Alice Walker.   I raise my left arm up, letting my hand descend to rest on my head.

A gesture of nonchalance you might think.

Apparently not,  as there in front of me hangs this wrinkled skin that is my forearm.   It didn’t used to be.

I put the book down and draw my fingers over the creases in my skin.  It feels so soft – not seductively soft – but soft like a form that had lost it’s inner structure.

I smile to myself and consider the choice to be made here.  I can focus on the loss of youth or the passing of middle age, or I can rejoice and feel gratitude for living today.

When I recall a time that I might have died some years ago, that choice is easy.

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January 25, 2014 · 10:00 pm

Her Shaking Hands

She sat on the red vinyl covered chair in the corner of the kitchen.  She might have been talking with my mom, but as I recall she hardly ever said anything.  It would probably be more accurate to say that whatever she said didn’t interest me.   After all, I was very young, and she was very old.  What I do remember was how she would comment on how tall I had grown.  She referred to me as a “long, tall drink of water.”  I still don’t know what that means.

I guess most of the time I was passing through the room, not stopping unless interrupted by the adults.  Generally, I’d be on my way out the back door.  As I ran by I would catch glimpses of her gray hair, her eyeglasses, the wrinkled skin,  the inevitable flowered dress.  And both her hands resting in her lap, shaking.

I was young but not so young that I didn’t know that she had Parkinson’s disease.  That was why her hands shook.  There was a time that my mom gave her knitting needles and yarn thinking that knitting would calm the tremors.  Perhaps by then, the disease had progressed so that it took too much effort to work the needles.  Or maybe it was lack of motivation on her part.  Or maybe she was simply too tired.

Grandma had after all raised 8 children.  She had to be tired.  And by then there were sixteen grandchildren.  No wonder she didn’t really say very much to us.  She had probably had enough of kids running past her.  It seemed to us that we were light years away from the place in life that she was in.  We were full of energy and eager to try every new thing;  she sat quietly in her chair.

We never imagined that we would be like Grandma.  She was an old person with no where to go and nothing to do.  There would sometimes be hushed conversations in the other room about who would take her, whose home she could go to next.  I remember the emotion in the air around those talks – a kind of reluctance and resentment.  Grandpa had been dead for some time, and no one really wanted to take care of her.

I wonder now what it must have been like, to feel burdensome to your sons and daughters.  I wonder now what thoughts and feelings my grandma must have had.  I wonder now if she knew some secret that she kept to herself about being old.  And, if she did, I wonder now why she didn’t tell us so we could understand. 

 

 

 

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