The New In Renewal

I find this to be the most interesting time of year. That period between Christmas or Hanukkah and New Year's Day where we seem to float, a bit disengaged, tangled in the memories of the past year and bursting with the urge to start over. Filled with the need to begin anew and aligning ourselves with visions of resolution. We begin charting a course towards becoming what we feel would be a better person. Most likely we've overindulged a bit with the holiday parties and dinners. It might be that the stress meter is running a little higher than normal particularly if you've had to fight mall traffic or sit next to an unpleasant in-law over the course of a family meal.

Yes, culturally we've set ourselves up for the promise of change. As if one we go to the sea murmuring "My new year's resolutions will solve that ___", "All I need to fix is this and I'll be ___", "Well on the first of January I'll start to ___" - you fill in the blanks. We're primed; we've guzzled and gulped, simmered with apprehension over gifts and family, and in the small hours of the morning hung our heads in remorse at past misdeeds of the fleeing year.

What better time for transformation. The urge is built into our behavior. It's become a part of our societal DNA. We go running hard and then slam up against this wall of promise - the New Year, the New You, the New Life, ah I love the sound of that - who doesn't? What's going on though? It seems like we're bringing to the forefront our weaknesses, our faults and identifying with them. In this post-partum moment we say to ourselves "I need to change". This is all good but the fly in the ointment is that we've've built up this pressure behind it. So instead of examining habits and inclinations and forging a new spirit evoked by gradual change we reach out and proclaim "I must be New!" This is the fallacy of our current lifestyle. We're conditioned to expect that we can get what we want quickly and relatively easy. Simply proclaim the new and improved You hence you are now new and improved.

True change is a laborious process, not altogether unpleasant, but it requires a lot of work, daily work, with a constant vigilance towards keeping on the path. We get all wound up with this concept of New, of being transformed. If we're not careful we mistake the process for the purpose. Rare is the legitimate overnight shift to a new way of being, even less often that St. Paul moment with a vision striking you into conversion, real upheaval, to the core, not merely conversant in the terms of conversion (unless of course you are chosen by God to be a saint, then all previous comments need not apply).

Revolutions, you may notice, generally only replace the people in charge. As The Who succinctly put it, "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss". What modifies societies and people in a permanent fashion is an underlying current of evolutionary behavior. It is wave after wave that reshapes the ledges of the shore just as it is slow tidal movements from deep within that fashion a new life. Ultimate change comes from small actions practiced over and over with awareness of purpose. This is yoga.

I'm not saying don't make resolutions. I think they're good for you and help you focus on what you want. I have a few myself. What I am pointing out is that you should prepare to undergo the long journey if you want permanent change. That brief momentary feeling of victory where you start from a gully of remorse and then climb to the edge and look out over a field of poppies is seductive but misleading. The new you is better served with small, insightful steps bearing a course that aligns with your spiritual nature. Trust that you'll get there without banners and proclamations but simply arrive when your Being is ready to accept what is.

Start by dropping the New from Renewal and work with what's left ~ Real.

photo credit: Sunburst by John Gavrille

The Way Of Love Is Not

This, dear reader, will be my last post on this site. I am finished here. It's not to say that my writing is complete, no, I will continue but I need to focus on other matters and explore a different venue for a time.

More to the point though. If you've followed my posts you realize that I started this venture as a way to chart some of the feelings I was dealing with. These were in response to crossing paths with someone who affected me deeply. I'm still not sure why I gave her permission to reach me so. I don't regret it but it's time to move on.

In general, I've always kept my affairs light and non-consequential, ever ready to leave when the wind blows in a different direction. Here I forgot that and settled into being committed, not only to a person but to a concept. Funny though, I never got the same from her. That was a hard lesson to learn. She said once that a soul mate is someone who pushes your buttons. So true.

Instinctively when we met I knew I wanted to be caught, have my soul dredged, shaken in some unknown fashion. This scared me deeply yet I had a foreshadowing that she was the person I'd been waiting for, for just this purpose. I needed to feel the angst of an unrequited relationship, the longing and melancholy that it brings, those things I'd inured myself against years ago, swearing never to be moved by anyone, never to seem vulnerable. For such a long time and so many encounters I was successful. I touched yet was never touched. I could roll out of bed, throw a coat 'round my shoulders and be off down the road without a backward glance. I left many behind and seemingly now they had returned to haunt me in the guise of my passion for this one woman. Perhaps I fulfilled some need inside for her, she never told me and I was never able to discover my role in her life. This was painful yet I paid my dues. These last two years have been difficult to say the least. In my throes I have visited each distant affair as well as I could remember and asked forgiveness. I am done.

So here I am, not young but not old and not sure how to build a meaningful bond with another individual. In a way I feel brand new, like the fresh pink skin appearing from beneath a scab that you peel off in morbid fascination. I am more open now than I've ever been in my life. It's a little terrifying but also invigorating. I cannot use, no longer have, the same talents I had before to win my way into a woman's favor. It's just me and what I really want is to find a partner to dance with. Someone with a simple grace and an easy smile who doesn't ask for much except that I love her above all else. Now, that will be easy.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Been thinking a lot about ghosts lately. Right now I'm sitting here drinking a red wine called Irony, seriously. I picked it up just because of the label. Tonight I need a little less sobriety and a great deal more appreciation for the irony in this world. It's these damn ghosts that have come around again. Not content to clutter the attic or rattle chains in the basement, they have to come out to sit on my lap, look me in the eye and tell me how much they care for me as they shred my self esteem.

We are all haunted by ghosts. Not necessarily those of the deceased. In fact, the worst ghosts are the images and memories of those who are still around, who we occasionally cross paths with, who once we loved, perhaps still do. These ethereal beings remind us in some facet that we have failed, that a road we might have chosen was not taken. They relish in this, these ghosts. They look at us and moan - "what could have been, what have you missed, why didn't you do this...." in that spooky way that sends chills through you and flips your eyelids back in the small hours of the morning to stare at the ceiling waiting for the next breath and not sure if it's going to come. These ghosts, these hauntings, they feed on us. They need us for their existence and we have no seeming power to dispel them.

I know we are all haunted. It's in our eyes. Some make peace with their ghosts and keep them contained as little mice in the back of the closet. The pitter-patter of their feet is audible but the door remains shut and so they scamper about scratching and are only really noticeable at particularly quiet times. Generally these kind of people don't like quiescent moments so they're always rushing about, always busy just so they're never curious about the sounds coming from the closet. This is not really being honest about your apparitions and believe me, they tend to grow in that closet because they know you haven't forgotten them. At some point when the door does burst open, well then you've got a parade on your hands and you're reaching for the medicine cabinet.

Others keep their ghosts close at hand - dinner companions and pillow partners. They are never far from these supernatural barnacles. They feed their ghosts syrupy concoctions of regret and concern, dumplings of remorse, a main course of flagellation and end with a desert of self denial. Their ghosts are fat and sassy. A collection of malodorous spirits marching up and down the corridors of our lives, imperious in their demands, snapping with disdain at behaviors that don't support their gaseous hides.

We come to rely on our ghosts. They're always there, they're never unfaithful in their demands - they always just want more. More time in our thoughts, more focus of our emotions, more space in our future. But they don't want to give us anything in return - they can't, they're ghosts. They don't exist except in our minds. They offer us nothing but take from us all that they can.

I don't know why we give them this power. Lord knows I would like to sit down with my ghosts and have that conversation but these are intangible drifts of thought. If I could gather them and face them in the light of day I'm sure they would disperse, contrite at what they are doing. No, their power comes from the fact that we don't face them, we flee from them. We always have them behind us, over our shoulder. We always hear their footsteps but we never have the nerve to stop, turn around and take a good look at what a ghost really is. If we did they would simply dissipate. Their power lies in inducing us to run away, to say to ourselves, "There's something wrong with me and I can't face it". This is what emboldens them, this is what keeps them in existence.

In truth, you haunt yourself. These ghosts are of your design. Their presence comes at the cost of your endowments. They rob you of your potential but the dirty secret is, they are you. You choose how large they are, how frequently they come around, you give them permission to haunt you because you don't have the courage to laugh at them. Take heed, I'm not saying this lightly. The harmony of laughter within is spring rain for the Self. To laugh is to be confident in who you are - until you reach that you will always run scared from these apparitions, always feel compelled to pay them the dues they demand. The only way to regain power is to understand that these ghosts serve no lasting purpose and the proper response to their wails of despair and pleas for attention is to smile, acknowledge their existence, then laugh a bit at them and at yourself and how insecure you are at times. Send them on their way and go on with your life, a perfect Being, brushing the dust off your soul.

"Eppur si muove"

"Everything is okay in the end. And if it's not okay, then it's not the end." ~unknown


Been bouncing around inside my head lately - caught up with contagion and catastrophe, the echoing halls, receding laughter and the quiet steps of time - measured and resolute. Through all though one word rises each day as I do. Out of the cacophony it reaches, steadfast throughout my being, reverberating like a bell, at times resembling the sound of a fog bound buoy, at times a crisp, clean, clarion peal beseeching me from a church steeple. The word is hope.

It's a funny word, it's a funny concept. Not sure how to wrap my head around it. I know it's a necessary part of our being but I don't trust it. Nope, not after all these years, not after all I've seen. And yet I embrace it when it does return, as it always will, and not just in an accepting way but naively, with sincerity, as if I had never been here before. That's the wonder of it. Like a drug it alleviates the bad memories and insists that the good was better, more vibrant than remembered. With a little more work, a little more luck - maybe a corner not yet turned - some magic thrown into the mix and the world will be delivered to your door. Ah - how I love that feeling.

And let's face it - we're all hope junkies. We wouldn't be striving the way we are without this hunger. We wouldn't be scared so much that things might not work out because without hope we would have no concept of how it might be. How beautiful and strong our lives, our passions, might blossom. Without hope, well, we really wouldn't care would we? And I know you care.

What I ask myself in my work, in my daily dialogue regarding this feeling is how do I know for sure that what I hope for is really what I want. A litmus test to assess and probe, to understand the liminal behavior that may at times border on neurotic. You see hope is a bit indiscriminate in taste but a demanding lover. Once embraced, hope will not leave willingly. The best we can do is understand that we are going to fail to some extent the rule of logic when dancing with this inamorata. We can be certain of suffering through extreme emotional imbalance and the ever popular pangs of self doubt. And there is no guarantee that by enveloping our lives with this hope stuff that we will achieve what we desire, there is no ticket to this show, no reserved seating - you just get in line and wait.

Yet still I hope. Strongly, fiercely, with resolution I allow this flame to consume me and willingly I burn. Laughing at times, crying at others - I never give up hope, I never will. Hope is the measuring stick by which we judge our accomplishments. There is nothing more precious to our essence than to hope and to find reward from that quest. This is why we risk so much, day in and day out. The delivery through hope, the resolution of hope, is sustenance for the soul. Without hope we do not persevere, we do not grow, we do not exist.

So don't ever question your hope, embrace it and savor it. Certainly monitor your behavior around it, understanding that it is a powerful compulsion but know that your hope is your godliness. Your acts on this earth are all evolved from hope and with innocence it is an alter worthy of your sacrifice.

It's My Nature...

There's an old fable that's been passed around a bit which I'm going to reach for once again to introduce a thought.

A scorpion and a frog meet on the bank of a river. Now the frog is mighty afraid of the scorpion but the scorpion just asks, "Frog - will you carry me across the river on your back?". The frog replies, "How do I know you won't sting me while I'm carrying you?" The scorpion says, "Why then I would drown." The frog mulls this over a bit and reluctantly agrees. Halfway across the river the frog feels a sharp prick in his back and realizes that the scorpion has indeed stung him. He cries out, "Why scorpion, why have you stung me, now we'll both die." And the scorpion replies, "It's my nature..."

How often do we engage in acts of self destruction, in deeds that leave us feeling less than whole, behaviors we perform that leave us looking at ourselves and saying - I don't like what I just saw. How hard do we beat ourselves up when we realize that we've done this. How intensely do we critique our own nature? And perhaps more importantly - if there is an aspect of our being that we recognize as problematic, now I'm not talking about losing five pounds or eating more vegetables, I'm speaking more towards a core personality trait, is it possible to do something different? Can we change our nature?

Well, it begins by accepting what is true. This may be the hardest part. We have a nagging suspicion that something's not right or we'll look in the metaphysical mirror and go "why did I just do that?" All too often we blow it off, blame it on other people or say that's just the way I am. We don't really own the experience - we disassociate ourselves. It's not our fault or they don't understand me so I don't really care.

On the other hand, we may retreat into our own heads and put up defensive walls. We begin with "I'm a bad person" and let the dialogue continue from there, dragging us down in the muck of our own self wallowing. Somehow we think that this will redeem us, purify us in some fashion as if doing penance is our own little way of keeping score with God. "Have I broken even yet, Lord?"

All this begs the question - are you really bad? Is what you're doing really all that harmful? It may leave you with a small distaste but are you hurting people aside from yourself? If the answer's yes then you need to fix this, that's just not good karma. If the only person being maligned is little ole' you then you have the option to either accept it or work on growing into some other frame of mind.

Here is the litmus test. Who is being hurt by the way you act? If it's just you, relax, work on fixing it, chuckle when you fall into old patterns but then realign yourself and go out to test yourself again and again. This is spiritual growth, it's the only game worth playing so enjoy the contest between your will of now and your will to become.

If you're causing harm to others well, that's a much more serious proposition. This may at times be difficult to recognize. A disservice to someone may not be as forthright as dealing them an emotional blow. It may be that you are subtly preventing them from growing towards what they could potentially become. Perhaps you interact with them in a less than honest fashion, leaving the residue of guilt after each conversation. The Universe does not appreciate this.

In this case, possibly, you are the scorpion. Think long and hard here. What you do may provide you some obtuse pleasure or feel justified in your own personal weaving of the the world but ask yourself - am I also drowning in the process?

We can change, we have many options. We can choose not to sting but rather have a conversation and get to the other side. We can seek to avoid crossing the river for it may not be all that important. Some may say, this is the only way I'm going to learn how to swim, so be it but I'm not writing any insurance policies on you. And then there is a faction out there who I have run across that just accept this as the way it is. This is my nature...

For those of you in the last category, inevitably you know who you are, pay heed. The Universe has gifted you awareness for a purpose, do not squander that bounty. Do not let your nature in this limited plane define your existence, rather let your true essence guide you and grow into that being that is your spiritual inheritance. Do not strike when your purpose is merely to get to the other side, you have the choice. Nature is not the final arbitrator of our actions rather it is our intent, our determination, our desire for enlightenment that shepherds our growth and truly gives us the ultimate pleasure. Hold thy sting, enjoy the ride, get to the other side.

The Other Side of Blue

Been feeling sad lately and I don't think I'm alone. Seems like waves of melancholia are passing over and through us. I see it in the faces of the people I pass on the street, as they sit on the subway or wait in line. It's the time of year, it's the weather, it's post-resolution realities, it's the aftermath of the joy and excitement from a change in government, it's many things. I believe a large part of it is that we undergo growth more this time of year than any other. Most of us have taken a good look at ourselves over the holidays, they always seem to bring a reflective mood, and are now setting out on some course of action, some refashioning of ourselves into a newer, stronger persona.

They say sorrow is the Spirit carving space into your soul so you can have more room for love. I buy that. Being inconsolable for a bit is a necessary task much like cleaning out the closet - reorganizing and refolding. We need these sad times. They are what brand the acts of change we strive to undertake with earnestness. Without sorrow we would not have the feeling of "hey, I've been down but now I'm getting back up on my feet". There would be no sense of accomplishment, no momentum to propel us as we journey. It's a needed perspective pure and simple. Sadness is an absolution, a necessary mourning for the changes we are about to undergo. The spring will bring a different you and this is simply a way of honoring those habits and rituals you will leave behind.

The key though is to know when you've had enough. Being down can be somewhat addictive. It's a place where you don't have to take action, where you don't feel as responsible for invigorating your life and implementing events that you want and desire. It's a place where you can blow things off easily and that makes it seductive. Coming out of sorrow is like coming off of a fast, there are right ways and wrong ways. The wrong way is to bounce in and out, taking tepid steps and dragging it on long past the point of its purpose, making it a crutch that you lean on when things get a little tough. The wrong way is to not to be aware and acknowledge that you're ending a period of temperamental discomfort. Sort of just burying everything and becoming super cheerful to all around you. Melancholy is a useful, necessary tool for our emotional enlightenment, we should honor it as such.

The right way is really up to you. It's certainly a very individual thing but be assured within you lies the proper manner and methodology for spiritual growth after a period of such reflection. You just have to find it, as you've probably instinctively found it in the past. I have a whole toolbox full of things that I use. In this period I'll reach in and try different devices to see what works at any particular moment and sets me on the right path.

There's a line a friend said to me many years ago. "You're the kind of guy who, if he was shot down deep within enemy territory, would not only make his way back to friendly lines but leave behind a string of franchises on the way out". Twenty-plus years later I can still pull up that conversation in my mind's vision and it still brings a smile to my face. This is a tool.

I reach for the paints or writing or something creative - you should too. Right now I've fired up the piano and I've been trying wrap my head around some blues. I am so rusty but I've managed to lay down the beginnings of a new song. I don't really know how it goes yet but it includes the line - "Your teeth don't fit that bite mark no more". It may become a classic someday. Another tool. Figure out how to make yourself smile and the Spirit will know where to take you.

So, to wrap things up, it's ok to be sad, particularly this time of year. In fact, it's almost mandatory, you've got to make way for the new. However, when you're ready to start growing, then take off, like a shoot out of the soil and don't look back and don't forget. Go as high and as wide as you are able, soak up the sunlight, reach deep into the earth, prosper and flourish. Become everything you can in the season of You.

The Word is Propitious

It is not the unknown we should fear, rather it is the small acts of indecision that whittle away our self confidence.

The Gentle Way

I was out to dinner the other night with a friend of mine. We were talking about teaching yoga. She's well on the path to becoming a brilliant yoga teacher. Some small tweaks here and there and a bit of seasoning and she will grow into a fine instructor and an even more compassionate caregiver. She asked me about my goals, whether I would continue to advance my studies and teach someday. I am and will I'm sure but I had to tell her that I'm not ready to teach yet. Not simply because I'm still new at this yoga thing with only a couple of years under my belt but also because the role of teacher to me is sacred and it requires an intense period of self study before I can honestly commit to this intention.

Thinking about this took me back many years to one of the first lessons I learned about teaching. When I was young, so very young and so very foolish, I entered the military. I was full of Hemingway and Kipling and thought how romantic it was to be a soldier seeking adventure in foreign countries. This was before these Gulf wars, at a time when it was generally smaller teams that went into the mountains and jungles and performed various tactical maneuvers. I became very good at what I did and eventually found myself in charge of a small unit training for eclectic sorts of combat missions. While on an exercise I made a decision that ended in the death of one of my men, not a bad decision, just the wrong one. It struck me harder than most and it became clear to me that I was not meant to be a soldier, I could not accept this kind of responsibility and still function, still be human, so I left the military.

I drifted then for a while, west and south, heading for the Mexican border. Drinking a good deal and not caring about much. I wanted to forget the past and I knew, instinctively, that if I crossed the border into Mexico I wasn't coming back. I found myself in Tucson and in a bar one night this woman picked me up and took me home. I was too drunk and ended up passing out on her couch. The next morning she cooked me breakfast and we spent the day talking. She had a spare bedroom and I moved in, instead of lovers we became friends.

Bear with me now, this is where the story begins. She had recently joined a judo club, a dojo, to get in shape and she invited me to attend one night. We went to a small concrete building with no windows in an industrial park on the edge of the desert. I'd never done martial arts before but wasn't too worried. I was very well trained by the military in hand to hand combat, in great shape, and knew I could probably handle anybody in there. Such is the cockiness of youth. Well I entered and there was this class being taught by an old man, I say old, thinking he looked ancient, the difference between twenty-something and sixty-something being far greater then than it seems now, now that I'm on the far side. He welcomed me, got me dressed in a Gi which is the formal attire of one who practices Judo and took me out to the middle of the mats. Then he said, let's spar, you try and throw me.

I was thinking, oh no, I'm going to hurt this guy and everybody's going to be upset with me. So I went in easy, a quick grab and push. The next thing I knew I'm on my back and he's bending over me smiling, asking if I'm ok. I was, a little surprised, the ego a little bruised, but I got back up and went at him again with more intensity and vigor. Again he threw me, and again, and again. That night he threw me many, many times until I was exhausted. He never broke a sweat and I never once seriously got him off balance.

I found out later that he was one of the first westerners ever taught the art of Judo, one of the first to open a place of practice in the United States. That he was a gold medalist in the Pan American games in his youth, five times in a row. This was the preeminent competition in the world of Judo in this hemisphere before it was accepted into the Olympics. That he was a renowned Judoka, meaning one who practices Judo and follows it precepts, and people would come from around the globe to study with him, at this little concrete hut in the middle of the desert. He held advanced degrees in Judo, Karate and Kendo, a master in each field.

So I went back and started to learn. He wouldn't teach me any throws for the first months. He insisted before I threw I had to learn how to fall. So I spent my initial days there letting everybody in the dojo throw me and learning how take a fall. Everyone threw me - I was thrown by white belts, by women, by children. My task was to accept the throw and master the fall and then jump right back up and let them throw me again. At the end of some practices he would take me in the corner and he would throw me, hard, fast with no mercy, just a little smile on his face as he waited for me to get up over and over. I think he expected me to leave after the first few weeks and I almost did, several times, but I stayed and eventually learned how to throw and fight in the judo style. I stayed for many years and he and his wife, also a black belt in Judo, helped me grow towards who I am today.

I became a good fighter and quickly got my brown belt. Eventually I decided it was time for me to attain a black belt and I told my Sensei this. Sensei is the Japanese term for teacher, literally meaning "one who is born ahead". This was how everyone addressed him, even his wife, as Sensei. He laughed and said no, I wasn't ready. I knew Judo, knew the moves and the terminology as well as any black belt but a black belt is a teacher and I was still a fighter.

I fell in love with Judo, mastering it, and over the years the relationship between Sensei and I grew but I always remained a brown belt even as those who started after me garnered their black belt. I was so full of ego back then, so full of myself. Sensei, bless him, didn't give up on me. He was determined to teach me what I really needed to learn. I was still wild, just in my twenties. I had gotten a job and was going to college, doing quite well but I had a streak in me of pure selfishness and I wasn't above hurting people to get what I wanted.

One day he came up to me and said, I'd like you to come work with me, help me in my garden. This was something I didn't want to do. I had a full time job, carried 18 credits at the university, and practiced judo or danced whenever I could and generally slept only a couple of hours a night. Giving up what little free time I had to help him out on weekends was not high on the list of things I had planned. Still, I felt I owed him a great deal for what he had taught me over the years and I began to show up Saturday mornings to help him tend his cactus garden.

Now he had this fantastic garden that was laid out in the Japanese style of zen formation with exotic cacti and small gravel gently raked in various patterns. People would bring him cacti as gifts from terrain around the world and he would place them in his backyard just right. It looked wondrous but taking care of it was a nightmare. I would spend four to five hours there, weeding, trimming, raking and leave bleeding, my skin punctured in multiple places, cursing under my breath, swearing that I'm never coming back. But I always did.

He never said much to me, a sentence or two pointing out what needed to be done. I had thought that I was going to be introduced to some great secrets here, he had studied with Masters and was a Master himself. Yet there were no profound lessons, no deep philosophical treatises on the meaning of life or the inner way of Bushido. We didn't really have conversations, we just worked side by side in silence most of the time.

He was a simple man and he reveled in the non complex ways of life. He said as few words as necessary to convey a point and then he left me alone to figure things out. He could see how frustrated I got sometimes, working in temperatures over 100 degrees, how angry I became when I studied the welts on my arm from brushing against some poisonous plant. He knew that I hated coming to his garden and toiling in the hot sun. But he requested that I return each week and because he was my Sensei, I complied.

This went on for several years until I graduated from the university and felt, for the first time in a long while, home calling to me. I'm a New Englander by nature and this is always where I will feel most comfortable. Before I left we talked about my journey with him and reflected on our time together. It hit me at some point as we reminisced that I had changed drastically. It had never occurred to me to compare myself to who I was when I first arrived in Tucson but he pointed out poignantly what he had seen as I had grown.

His observations cut me like a scalpel, not in a bad way but deep and clean, exposing truths about myself that I had not admitted. I left Tucson a man, having arrived a boy. I could now smile at adversity rather than running from it. I was someone who could face uncomfortable, demanding situations and prevail with calmness and equanimity. A ship built for sailing cross deep waters, far from shore.

He had given me a profound gift and enlightened me to the first lesson of being a great teacher. I learned that in actuality, it is the student who teaches themselves. A teacher can really only guide and support. Honest mentoring provides a point of stability not a dominance of will. The gifted teacher will give their charges room to discover and blossom on their own yet not be afraid to demand growth when necessary. This is a fine balance that many who claim to teach cannot comprehend.

A true teacher is only a guidepost and not the goal. A true teacher recognizes the traps that the ego can fall into. Many would come to our dojo just to honor Sensei because of his fame, practice at his feet so to speak. He would humor them and then send them away after a time. Whenever I fell into this silly kind of thinking he would point to the nastiest corner of the garden and say - go in there and clean things up. My adulation would quickly dissipate, this was his intent. A true teacher understands the difference between respect and servility and moves promptly to prevent the latter.

In the end, in the last days as I was leaving I thought about taking the test to acquire a black belt, then I realized, no, it was only a color. I had all I needed.

It is the Heart

In all matters of import, it is the heart that must lead the way. In truth, the mind and body will follow and the search for honesty echo as a chorus to your days. Your passion is the key to opening doors.

Until One Is Committed

"Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness."

This is is the beginning of one my favorite quotes. It is often misattributed to the German poet Goethe. It was actually penned by Scottish climber, W.H. Murray while tackling the peaks in the Himalayas. The last line in the full quote is from Goethe's Faust, hence the misconception. I have a tattered poster of this from my youth that I unfailingly tack up to a wall or refrigerator wherever I may land. It's always puzzled and enticed me, this concept of commitment.

A friend called me brave the other day for some silly reason and my response was that it's only bravery if you understand the danger, otherwise it's just foolishness. I feel much the same way about commitment. It entails a process that is fraught with risk of failure and causes you to reconsider often. If it's easy, comes naturally to you, means little, then I don't consider it a commitment. A commitment has a goal, a destination and the process of fulfilling that quest is, in truth, an act of changing yourself.

A commitment is a journey.

It's not about picking a location, making an itinerary, buying tickets. At this point you can always change your mind, this is just planning. No, it's when you have your butt planted on the plane and the engines are revving for take off, it's when you wake up in a strange room in a new land with sounds and smells tickling your sense of discovery. It's when you look around and realize that hey, I am an adventurer and I'm gathering new and wondrous experiences - here is my growing edge. It takes you to a unique place. It can be as small as losing ten pounds or as momentous as joining in marriage.

A commitment is a journey.

It has a beginning, it has a middle and it has an end. There are high points and low points. You have the opportunity to turn back, quit. It's an undertaking that forces you to take stock of yourself. Who am I, what do I really want, what have I signed up for? It's the emotional turmoil that lends weight to this endeavor, your desire is the fuel, your will the craft that moves you through space and time. This is the magic of commitment, it means that every step along this path contributes to the sculpture that will become a new you.

A commitment is a journey.

Some commitments are transient and relatively benign, a respite from chocolate or an alcohol-less interlude, an opportunity for the body to recover and realign. Some more important, the determination towards health, the intent to foster a relationship. These are deep commitments, life changing campaigns that force you to focus inward and outward, to reevaluate how you relate to that which is important to you. Like any odyssey, it's not only about yourself, it's also the people you meet along the way, your supporters and detractors. It's how you interact with them, allowing them to foster and sustain you or drag you down. The trek is never alone, no mountain ever climbed without a team.

A commitment is a journey.

And in the end, rest, and the contentment of having wandered far yet reaching home once again. The commitment may always remain within but as you internalize it, allowing it to shape itself into a way of life, it becomes as a well worn comforter that you wrap around yourself on a chilly night, tea in your favorite mug, the cat curled in your lap. It is now a part of the sustaining geography of your own locale, familiar routes peopled with old friends and good neighbors. A satisfying confidence that I am a traveler and there is no voyage that I cannot envision undertaking.


Until one is committed
there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back,
always ineffectiveness.
Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation),
there is one elementary truth,
the ignorance of which kills countless ideas
and splendid plans:
that the moment one definitely commits oneself,
then Providence moves too.
All sorts of things occur to help one
that would never otherwise would have occurred.
A whole stream of events issues from the decision,
raising in one's favor all manner
of unforeseen incidents and meetings
and material assistance,
which no man could have dreamt
would come his way.
whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it now.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it!

~W.H. Murray

Don't Think Twice, It's All Right.

So this is the time of year we give things up. Yup, been planning this for a while haven't we. Gonna throw out the old, clean up the garbage, create a brand spanking new ME or least some token to this effect.

Ever wonder why? Make a plan to lose the weight, turn off the alcohol, stop the puffing - these are body issues. Find a mate, end an unsatisfying relationship, buy a dog - these are heart issues. Save more, earn more, work at a better job - these are lifestyle issues. Why do we have all these issues?

Yeah, it may seem like a big deal but these are only physical undertakings of what you really want to modify. What you're saying when you make these statements is "hey, my view of myself needs to change. I want something different". The heart of the matter is not about making resolutions, it's about lining up your self image with the way you want the world to view you, with the way you want to view yourself. It's about how you look at the mirror and whether or not you're happy with what you see.

I mean, isn't that the ultimate resolution? Saying to yourself: I am becoming who I want to be, who I believe I truly am deep down inside. Every other commitment just folds into this. Be careful about what you tackle if you don't understand this basic issue. Success truly depends on how you align your being with your beliefs. If you don't see yourself as a thinner person then the weight may go but it will come back. If you fear being alone or, on the other hand, are terrified at the prospect of someone really getting to know you, then what does that say about the story you have around who you are in a relationship. Don't repaint the surface when structural work is necessary.

The fact that we constantly seek change for ourselves, yearn for growth in our being, even to the point of making a pro forma yearly ritual out of it leads us to observe something inherent in what it is to be human. We have great faith in our ability to become who we want to be. This is magical. Reach deep inside and savor the gift you have to believe in your own true being. It is not a resolution you seek but a revolution. You are looking to line yourself up with how you want the world to view you and how you view yourself and who you truly are. When these three facets form a linear narrative you become a powerful expression of the here and now and there is nothing you cannot accomplish. The resolutions you choose are ok, they are reminders that you want transformation but until you focus on yourself, your core being, and start that dance, they are but small manifestations of what you want and need. You can change, but make it real change, do the deep work and grow to be everything you want to be - do it now.


"I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don't think twice, it's all right"
~Dylan

Is There Balm In Gilead?

There are many kinds of wounds, they scar in different ways. Those of the soul, the psyche, have their own agenda and may last for hours, weeks or even years. The most deadly, most dangerous, are those that we inflict upon ourselves. They have no natural healing rites. In fact we may, in turn, reopen them again and again. There is but one salve for this, that of which artists have discovered to be an elemental truth. Within the congress of creativity lies a purification ritual, cleansing the laceration and sublimating the distress. These acts, endeavors, products of our hope and imagination are the concourse of amelioration.