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.

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 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.

Only the Curious Have Something to Find

They say that the superstitions of a child contain the wisdom of the universe. The magical insight that all things are possible when approached with the innocence of belief. Today I was walking along the waterfront, sort of mulling over this past year. I was reflecting on the interactions I'd had with various people and one person in particular. This was someone I'd had trouble communicating with. We never quite got our act together. She tended to leave quotes scattered about as if they were clues to her inner working. And me, I played into it, treating it like it was some sort of game, where, if you guessed the riddle or said the magic word, a prize would drop down from the ceiling and an announcer would suddenly boom out - "Congratulations, you are now going to live happily ever after".

Some of the passages I understood but many were paradoxical in meaning or could be applied across multiple intents. So I was walking along dwelling on a particular quote and the circumstances around it, mostly saying to myself, ok, you've got stop over-thinking about this kind of stuff and really, just move on, when I hear the chorus of a song coming from the outdoor speakers of a cafe I was passing by. The last line in the chorus, literally, is the quote I'm thinking about - "Only the curious have something to find". I kid you not.

How strange is that? Turns out the words I was pondering are from a song by a band called Nickel Creek. Playing at that same moment as I was walking by. The universe is a funny place. Well this took me in a whole different direction.

One of my favorite phrases is from a cult movie called Repo Man. It goes like this

"They don't realize that there's this, like, lattice o' coincidence that lays on top o' everything."

Personally I think this is brilliant just for the juxtaposition of lattice and coincidence. Lattice pertaining to structure and coincidence signifying randomness - structured randomness - the boy physicist in me quivers in delight at this mental maelstrom. Wish I'd written this. More importantly, I believe there's a good deal of truth here.

I tread lightly now, as this is the house of belief. We each have different dwellings but in some fashion they all provide shelter for the soul with the requisite access and egress. We all have rules whether we're conscious of it or not, of the way the universe works. My rules may be different from yours, but neither are right or wrong. Indeed, your rules are, in some fashion, your definition of what the universe is and inherently influence how you perceive events.

I believe, if you'll bear with me, two distinct things. One is that the universe encompasses a guiding force. I'm not sure about the mechanism or the reason but I believe deeply that the universe is a conduit of sacred design in some fashion for all of us. I haven't committed yet to the concept of a higher being or even a greater intelligence, no, I actually believe the word intelligence is not profound enough to describe the process that forges our being. It's more like cosmic river banks. Within these corporeal confines we flow and interact. In our everyday world it is gravity and motion, the basic physics of space and time, that determine the heft and hew of a river's course. In terms of our souls intertwined with fate, these forces, metaphysical in nature, are love and fear, hope and desire and many, many more shapers of our essence, our being. And much like the proverbial river, there are spiritual embankments that guide us while, in turn, it is our actions and interactions that cut anew shoreline, sending us in directions unforeseen.

My second belief pertains to what happened to me today. I believe that the universe is in constant contact with us, which is obvious but not so clear. Further, I think that the universe is continuously trying to communicate with us. Strange as it may seem I trust that it (I know, a little weird here), wants to try to explain itself and more importantly, give us a greater say in the ways things are flowing. I truly feel that one of our reasons for existence, why we cycle through this dance again and again, is to eventually marry our consciousness with this flow and contribute to the guiding nature that is this river.

Stay with me now. Assuming that this is the case, then I propose that the universe has provided us with the greatest gift told. It answers all our questions, all of them, all of the time. What I'm saying is that any and all responses to any question or request we can think of already exists and is, at this moment, fully incorporated into the reality around us. We have all we need to find any truth, sitting right in front of us. The only constraint is in our ability to interpret what the universe is saying, or if I may conjecture further: the only real limitation is our capability to pay attention. Coincidence, superstition, the acts that occur seemingly at random moments should not necessarily be chalked up to the turn of the card, á la Einstein's famous quote, "God does not play dice with the universe".

Often it is the Greater Voice and we should pay heed. However, like the mythological benefactions of ancient Greek gods, interpretation is the dilemma. I can say with certainty, "this means something" but what, what exactly does it mean? Here lies the enigma, the quest for answers. Where is the key that unlocks understanding and offers sustenance for our oft bewildered minds.

I'm betting that it exists within our own being. It is held in the experiences of our life, our past. It is our own self awareness, the steps that define our journey. At that moment of strange attractors, the universe is saying stop, look deep inside, and voilà, another opportunity to study and find reason and purpose based on who we are and who we want to be.

The augurist is indeed a caretaker of the heart.

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.

Song of the Soul

Just saw a movie called Enlighten Up. A very good documentary on one person's search (actually two, the subject and the director) for a transformative experience though the practice of yoga. If it comes to your area and you're at all curious about yoga then you should check it out. If you're the type who thinks about spirituality in general, then there's some darn good points being made here, worth a look.

It really got me to thinking about what is it to have a spiritual quest guiding your sense of purpose, that is, to feel that some portion of your life is spent searching for meaning. I've been struggling with this lately. I'm not even sure what the question is though I know from the feeling of non satiation within that I need something more out of this life than what I learned in school and from my peers and parents.

I have a friend who idea of bliss is to sit out on his back porch tossing down beers and listening to conservative talk radio. This is what makes him happy. He's put in a hard day of work, he has a great relationship with his wife and children and is a pillar in his community. He knows what his life is about and he's happy. He's accomplished what he set out to do. In no way can I fault him, though our political views are quite diametric. In fact, I thoroughly admire him for the strength of his convictions.

As I was going to a meeting this morning I passed a man on the street, a small, gnome of a man with wispy white hair and and grey stubble across his face. He was in fatigues and a t-shirt, bent a bit by a large pack on his back filled to the brim with clothing and a sleeping bag. Around his waist was a utility belt garnished by the accoutrements of one who lives off the land - knife, flashlight, canteen. At first I thought, ok, another homeless guy; the streets of Boston are filled with them, especially near the financial district. But as I passed, I looked at him and we locked eyes for some time. In a flash, I realized, this was not a homeless person, rather this was someone who carried his home with him wherever he traveled. He was completely comfortable with who he was and he was laughing at us, I could tell by the glint in his eye, as we passed by, dressed up in our suits and ties.

All day I thought about this. The little guy on the street seemed happy, my friend, the conservative, a very happy person. What do they have that so many of us don't or at least feel we need to search for? What makes them happy? It occurs to me that these are two individuals who have been successful at defining the boundaries of their being and in doing so are now capable of filling themselves up and taking measurement. Perhaps, happiness is thinking that you're full or near full with experience and you've done what you can to reach the edges of your defined existence. That's not to say that they not capable of experiencing more and newer things but each fresh cognizant tickle now falls neatly into a belief structure that they have built and maintain.

And what of the rest of us, the restless and discombobulated, those who seem to be seeking, yet never quite finding, that inner peace? Are we a different breed or are we missing the boat entirely? Should we just hang our hat on something and say, that's it, I measure everything against this and my degree of happiness is now set to the meniscus of experiences I may have.

My gut (and translate this to mean my ego) says that no, we're searchers and there's a holiness in this act, a justification in terms of the universe keeping an accounting of our endeavors. At some point we get payed back for all this and we get that thing, that stuff, that enlightenment moment, and that, of course, is a neon sign in hot pink pointing to HAPPINESS.

Are you buying this? As I write it out I'm not so sure. What is the end result of this archaeology of the soul? A friend asked me the other day - don't you want to be happy? In truth, I couldn't answer. Would you give up the journey if you knew that at any point you chose to stop, you could plant your flag, set up camp, and happiness would find you. Is it a trade off?

When You're Skating On Thin Ice, You Might As Well Dance

If we're willing to give up hope that insecurity and pain can be exterminated, then we can have the courage to relax with the groundlessness of our situation. This is the first step on the path.

"When Things Fall Apart" - Pema Chödrön

Happiness is...

A friend stopped me as I was coming out of yoga class this morning; gazing at my face she said, "boy, you look different. I don't know - you're brighter, you seem more buoyant." We hadn't seen each other in a while and she continued to remark that I was like night and day from only a couple of months ago. I wanted to tell her it was my new boxers - the ones with the puppies on them, only I was in yoga gear so it was obvious I wasn't wearing them. I just smiled, made some self-deprecating comment and went on my way. But I continued to think about what she said. It's so hard sometimes to notice ourselves and how we are changing as we appear to others even as we change internally.

Then it hit me as I was walking to work. I was smiling at people and gosh darn it, they were smiling back. I was happy. It's funny, I hadn't realized it until someone pointed it out but lately I've been very happy. Normally I'm in a pretty good mood but this was different, this was simply relaxed intent with internal sunshine just pouring out. As I paid more attention I could see how it was affecting the people around me, more laughter, more smiles, more ease in dealing with the trivial day to day things.

Where did this happiness come from, and how do I bottle it? There's got to be a market for this.

I've spent some time pondering and here are three key insights :

1. In a relationship, I'm the prize. My potential partner may see it the other way around which is great but if I don't get acknowledgment that I'm something special then I'm wasting my time. There are many out there who will value you to the degree that you're truly worth - go find those people and be with them. You will be happier.

2. Find a spiritual path. It may be nebulous and circuitous but as long as you accept that you are on a journey and the guiding light is your soul beaming out in search of something then all actions are indeed meaningful. This will make you happier.

3. Create, Create, Create. - did I say create? This is the fountainhead through which the universe flows. The act of creation is blessed. That we can bring together disparate parts from a field of our choice and contribute in a measure that reflects what our heart, our being is feeling is a miracle not to be denied. That this may inspire us and others reflects the only true communication between souls. Create art, create relationships, create progeny - into all pour your entire being with joy and fear and then stand back and let the world admire. This will bring you happiness.