Category: Uncategorized

This has been a long week at work. My patience has been tried quite a bit.

Today, I glanced over at that stack of Eckhart Tolle cards that I got earlier this year. It had a long quote, but the message was one I got loud and clear: when you allow yourself to be still, you can feel the life inside your body.

I know. It sounds so…out there, so Earthy. Yeah, well, I can be a little Earthy some times. Apparently, not enough, though, because just the words were enough to instantly connect me to the Life Force inside of me. I allowed myself to feel it, to get drawn into it. It took me over. I felt the energy buzzing through my body almost instantly. I had not allowed myself to feel that connection…in a long time. Probably since last summer in Alaska. The presence of Life is so overwhelming there that it was simple to connect to it, both outside of me and inside of me.

Here…not so easy.  It takes a little more effort, a little more time to make that connection.  I guess I let that get away from me.  If you want to get a sense of what I am talking about, try it for yourself.  Start by closing your eyes.  Sit comfortably.  Let your body relax.  Let your hands fall into your lap.  Begin to focus on the feeling in your hands.  Not the feeling OF your hands, but the feeling IN your hands.  It’s like a subtle tingle, a constant feeling that grows the more you concentrate on it.  You should be able to feel it spread from individual fingers to your entire hand, like submerging your hands in warm water.

That’s is the feeling of life in your hands.  You can start there.

Feel the life in your body.

Someone asked a question about leading people through change, and I went off. In a good way, of course.

Here’s the bottom line: we can’t do things in a vacuum and expect those we lead to simply follow. The world is transforming, and we are leaving that mentality behind. It isn’t the way to generate true passion and realize the potential of those we lead. It just isn’t.

We have to engage people and ask them to take accountability for the end result. More importantly, we have to entrust them with that end result. At some point, every parent has no choice but to watch their child drive off into the sunset. You either help them prepare for that or you fight them every step of the way. You either give them opportunities to learn how to screw up and recover when they are small and the consequences are minimal or you continue paying their bills, giving them “loans,” and digging them out of holes well into their adulthood. Without that line of sight to consequences, the word “accountability” means nothing.

Incongruence bugs me, and incongruence of mythic proportions bugs the crap out of me. Teach the people to fish, for Pete’s sake.

When I was young, probably about 6 years old or so, we lived in a heavily forested area. We lived towards the bottom of a rather large, tree-covered hill. Our back yard was sizable, and it sloped steeply downward. At the bottom of the slope, where the ground started to level, there was a wall of trees. These trees were old. They were very old. Like I said, we lived in what I imagine was a very old forest.

There was a path at the bottom of the hill that was little more than a crack in the wall. The path lead through the trees for several yards before leading to the banks of a large lake. At the end of the path, where forest and lake met, there was a white wooden dock.

I learned to fish off that dock. I learned to stick a worm on a hook on that dock. I learned to swim off that dock. I learned about fresh water ecosystems on that dock. I saw my very first crayfish on that dock. I saw my very first catfish on that dock. I saw my first otter on that dock. I played with frogs on that dock. I dropped nightcrawlers off that dock. I studied the forest from that dock. I ran my hands on the cool bark of a weeping willow beside that dock. I watched my brother kiss a girl from that dock. I watched my mother playing with my little brother in the water from that dock. I watched my father jump off that dock, into the lake, and swim out to his boat. My grandfather told me to “watch out for the cat crap” steps away from that dock.

When I was six years old, there were few things more awe-inspiring to me than that dock. The possibilities it presented were endless. When we moved away…far, far away to another country…the path and that dock occupied my thoughts for many years. Eventually, the dock became a distant childhood memory. However, I never forgot the lessons I learned on that dock. Even when I think about it today, that place holds special meaning for me.

A few years ago, I went back to that lake with my wife. 25 years had passed. The path was gone. All the trees had been removed. The yard runs down to the lake’s edge now. The dock, though, is still there. Just as I remember it. That willow is there, too. I took my wife and my then-infant son to the dock. I stood there with them for a few minutes. I shared a few memories. We talked. But I took a few seconds for myself, to BE there on that dock again. I looked out over the lake, and a breeze moved little waves across its face. My father’s boat is gone, of course, but the memory of riding around on the lake remains. In my mind’s eye, I imagined the boat gliding over the water and slipping beside the dock. I looked into the clear water and saw a group of perch just below the surface, looking up eagerly. I smiled. They couldn’t be the same ones that ate the nightcrawlers I dropped in…could they? Of course not. But I imagined another little boy, maybe around six years old, coming to this dock with a can of worms. I imagined him dropping nightcrawlers, one by one, into the water and watching the fish dart up to eat them. Maybe he wears glasses.

I left and joined my wife and son in the parking lot at the bottom of the hill. We drove away.

Our minds are filled with memories. Some, we revisit often. Others, we hardly recall. Regardless, they are all there. They mean different things to us at different moments. While I am not six years old any longer, there is a corner of my mind that is occupied by a six-year-old boy with glasses two sizes too big. He is a part of who I am today. He makes sure that there is always an awe-inspiring dock in my life. It’s just a matter of listening to him when he points them out. Listening and letting him take the reigns from time to time.

The dock will always be there, no matter where I go.

In order to travel at the speed of light you must become light.

Or so I hear. Theoretically, it is impossible for anything other than light to travel at the speed of light. At least I recall reading that somewhere. The logic is that it takes so much energy to travel at light speed that you actually have to BE energy in the form of light. I have to admit, I am a bit rusty when it comes to physics, so I am sure that someone somewhere is laughing at what an idiot I am.

Laughter aside, there is an analogy here, and I am going to use it. It is quite simple: if to travel as light you must become light, then to have the properties of something, you must become that thing. For example, to have the properties of a successful individual, I must become a successful individual. Or, to have the properties of a millionaire, I must become a millionaire. It is pointless, fruitless, and joyless to mimic the properties of a thing and not BECOME that thing. Subluminal travel? Pffft! Why bother? Where is the joy in that? It must be luminal or supraluminal travel! You might as well settle for a trans-warp drive that only approximates supraluminal flight! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Ha.

See, this world is filled with people who are attempting to mimic the properties of the rich-n-famous or the famously-happy or the happily-enchanted. But they do so without believing that they really ARE these things. Thus, they are not. And that invites misery. I meet these people all the time. They are unhappy. It often shows. And it often rubs off on you if you let it.

Right now, I need to go upstairs and apologize to my wife. Why? Because I allowed myself to be an unhappy person and direct that unhappiness at her. I suspect she will forgive me, but maybe one day she won’t. Maybe one day I will push her so far that something will break. Maybe she won’t leave me, but she’ll LEAVE me, if you get my drift. How tragically sad would that be? Personally, I think very. I am sure she would agree.

Tomorrow, I have to get up butt-ass early and go to work. Why? Because I would like to keep my job. I can choose to go to work unhappy and cranky because of the butt-ass earliness, but I can also choose to go to work happy and anti-cranky because I have a plethora of marvelous things for which to be grateful. I can engage the people around me at my place of work, get stuff done, and do it all with a smile and a wink for all! And why the heck not? After all, if I push my employer…well, won’t they just leave me, too? Like boot me out the door? Worse yet, maybe I will leave in that “not really leave” sense but in that “oh my God, there goes his soul” sense. How tragically sad would that be? Personally, I think very. I am sure my employer would agree.

I wish to have the properties of light. Thus, I must become LIGHT.

I’m going to do something different. I came up with the idea a few weeks ago, but I’ve been hemming and hawing. Today, I decided I am going to do it.

Tomorrow, I am going to see if anyone at work is interested in building a community. Nothing official, nothing Earth-shattering. Just a bona fide attempt to get people together to think about how to work differently. Maybe we’ll work better. Maybe we’ll just find a way to be more human at work and support one another.

What will happen? Who knows?

I think I’ll try to find out, though.

If there is a better way, why haven’t things changed? If we know there is a problem, why haven’t things changed? If there are options out there that work, why haven’t things changed? If we all agree that something has to change, why haven’t things changed? If there are so many people who feel passionately about change, why haven’t things changed?

Why? Because it would require all of us to admit that the way we were raised wasn’t the best way.

So what? A slight injury to your ego is a price I am willing to pay if it means that something fundamental in America might change.

The world would be a different place if children were raised to lead, not to simply follow.

Where do we begin?

I saw a startling video clip the other day. I’ll spare you the details. The clip did make me think about how, moment to moment, we are all participants in a cosmic equation filled with ever-changing variables.

Do not assume that you have any more moments coming to you other than the moment at hand. We are guaranteed nothing. We are not guaranteed that we will wake up tomorrow. We are not guaranteed that we will die tomorrow. We have only the current moment. The next moment may come; it may not come. As your heart beats, understand that there are BILLIONS of other heartbeats on this planet. With every moment, billions of beats…some hearts beat their last, other hearts beat their first. And for so many billions, this beat is just one in a lifetime of beats.

We lose count, so they lose meaning.

Yet, each beat is meaningful! It means something to the life, to the person, it sustains. It means something to their friends. It means something to their family. It means something to a great many people. It has the potential to means something to so many more. Look around you when you walk down the street. Those are all people who can, in some way, be affected by each beat of your heart.

I know someone who can tell you the number of grains of rice they just bought to help feed others thanks to some charity. I don’t know how one calculates such things, but I go with it. There is someone who believes that neighbors can help each other through rough times. She founded ProjectNeighbor.org. I know someone who is taking great pride in helping to make sandwiches for the homeless in Washington DC. I know another who plans to Clean Coppell along with the community. These are all hearts that beat, moment to moment, just like yours and mine. They are not guaranteed tomorrow, but they plan for it anyway, and in their plans, they make time for others. These are just four examples that I heard of today.

I had a conversation with someone earlier in the week who dedicates his life to teaching young men and women. He told me about his desire to help them understand how just one person can make a difference in the history of our species on Earth. They are young teens, so they scoff at the idea. “Adolf Hitler was one person,” he reminds them. “Morgan Spurlock is one person. Do you see ‘supersized’ items at McDonald’s anymore?” He laughed. “I want them to see that one person can make all the difference in the world.” “TO the world,” I thought. To change the world, we have to change ourselves; we have to live an example so great that others can’t help but be affected. Then we’ll know we changed a life and changed the world in the process.”

You don’t have to topple an empire to change the world. You just have to give a little.

One life to another. One heartbeat to the next. No guarantees. Borrowed time. Finite.

Act accordingly!

Somebody sent me a story. It’s really short. It goes like this:

“Some people asked a Sufi master, ‘Which is better, courage or generosity?’ The Sufi master replied, ‘Those who are generous have no need for courage.'”

I was asked for my take on the story. I think the implication is that true and total generosity requires freedom from material concerns. Freedom from material concerns requires a level of courage that I think few have attained, so much so that those who have it would not consider it courage. For them, it simply is.

I sent an Eckhart Tolle quote to a friend. He didn’t like it. The quote goes like this:

“The only thing that ultimately matters is this: Can I sense my essential Beingness, the I AM, in the background of my life at all times?”

He responded: “I” am not the I AM in the background of my life. That would suggest a very hollow existence. I did not create me, nor am I the one who sets the day the creation that is me ceases.”

I told him that I thought he misunderstood the quote. I know my friend was talking about God. My friend is Christian, so I guess I can see how he interpreted the quote the way he did. However, the greater context of Eckhart’s work is missing. When Eckhart talks about “I” he does not mean the thinking, human part. That’s what he call Ego, and I think that is how my friend interpreted “I” in the quote. When Eckhart speaks of “I”, he means TRUE consciousness, the part of each of us that exists outside of the flesh…and is very much a part of the totality of the Universe. You may call that God…or whatever fits your faith. Eckhart maintains, and I agree, that you cannot fully know God or the Universe as long as you are enamored, enslaved, and distracted by your Ego. “Essential Beingness” is the part of you that is closest and most likely to feel your connection to God.

To those who are courageously generous, it simply is. To those who are courageously selfless, it simply is. To those who are courageously…courageous, it simply is. This is how life is lived for a very special subset of people on this Earth. They pepper our shared human history, and we recognize them when our paths cross theirs. For them, everything we admire so much about them simply IS. They know no other way of being.

Authentic living. Essential Beingness. A sense of “I AM” being connected to the Universe, at the core of every action taken. Aspiring to these things is how we change the world.

I was talking to someone today at my kids’ school. My littlest kept walking up to me and kissing my shoulder. He would place both hands on my arm, then gently kiss my shoulder. You know, one of those soft, sweet kisses you can barely feel? He must have done it five or six times.

I re-read my post from yesterday about Mike Wieringo and decided to leave the typos. That one drained me. Sometimes, I don’t take the time to proof my own posts, especially if I’ve written about something that’s particularly moving to me. I’ll have to get better at that.

My friend, Eileen, sent me a nice note today with a parable about writing. I write until I burst.

My oldest kept smiling at me so radiantly today. At dinner he just hung on my every word. And he kept smiling so radiantly. His face is beautiful, and I love to look at it.

I keep thinking about those kisses and that radiant smile as I sit here and write this. It’s distracting, honestly. But, it’s distracting in the best way possible. I guess what I needed today, more than anything, was to know that my boys love me. Somehow, they knew.

That’s all I’ve got. My boys love me…=)

There is no doubt that I am here, right now. I am alive. I am well. I do not plan on going anywhere, figuratively speaking. Well, literally, too, but I won’t be sitting at my desk at the time you read this. What I am saying is that I am still young, and I have no plans of abandoning this Earth.

But my plans aren’t that relevant to the greater order of the Universe. Whether or not there is a Grand Plan doesn’t matter as much as the fact that there is Order and Chaos in the Universe. Order and Chaos stand in opposition to one another yet complement each other beautifully. The result is Balance.

Balance may or may not care what I want. I mean, I can give input, but that doesn’t guarantee a thing. Whether or not one believes in a sentience behind the madness the is the physical manifestation of the Universe isn’t relevant. What matters is that my plan may not necessarily dovetail with the delicate interplay between Order and Chaos. I will get stepped on as the cosmic dancers go about their eternal waltz. It’s just a matter of when.

When I returned from a trip back in August of 2007, I found out that a friend of mine had passed away. He was young, just 43 years old. His name was Mike Wieringo. To say he was a friend in the conventional sense isn’t entirely accurate. You see, I never met Mike. I never spoke to him. I never really corresponded with him. I sent him a note once or twice, but I never got (nor expected a reply). Mike was an artist. I knew of his work in comics, and I was a huge fan. I visited his website religiously. I was often frustrated at how infrequently it was updated. Then, once day, Mike added a blog to his site, and everything changed.

Mike made it a habit of posting often. He’d write about anything and everything. Sometimes he’d write about a project he was working on. Sometimes he’d write about personal things. He went through a period where he found old sketches from when he was a kid and updated them with his adult skills. He wondered whether he was good enough. He shared moments of doubt, moments of triumph, moments of joy. For all intents and purposes, Mike was my friend.

Mike died suddenly. It was a shocked, and it chills me to this day to remember how I felt when I heard of his passing. At that point, I had been visiting Mike online for years. YEARS. He part of my nightly ritual. I always checked in to see what he was up to. Sometimes, I can’t believe it has been over two years. I still miss him, although I stopped going to his site long ago. You see, his brother left the site exactly as Mike left it. If you go there, you’ll see his last post. To the right, there’s a heading entitled “‘Ringo 1963-2007.” Under that is says “Remembrances.” I’ll leave it at that. You can visit the site at http://www.mikewieringo.com/.

Of course, a piece of Mike lives on in everyone he touched, but there is this other part of Mike…this odd sort of relic of the information age…that continues to live on in it’s own way. It is a strange, strange thing to stumble on the blog of someone who has died. These blogs are voices of the living…daily reminders that we are here. But, Mike isn’t here. Yet his blog lives on. Someday, as is the case with all human endeavors, even Mike’s blog will disappear. It has the potential to live on for what may seem like infinity, but that’s just an illusion. Another illusion.

Mike blogged. There is proof that he was here. He may not have contemplated this during his lifetime, but blogging was proof to all of those who read his words that Mike Wieringo, the man, shared this Earth with us. For now, anyway, Mike Wieringo will lives.

I blog, therefore I am.