Are you having a busy week? I'm not. Oh, my calendar and to-do-list are plenty full, as usual: appointments, meetings, writing projects, household projects, pitching-in projects, activist activities, email and phone calls to catch up on, matters to check on (Where's my refund for those down mittens I returned last month? What's happened to the guy who's supposed to be re-staining our house? Why isn't insurance covering my upcoming dental work?). But I'm not going to say I'm busy. You know why? Because I have purged that word from my vocabulary, at least as it pertains to my own doings. The inspiration for this linguistic vanishing act came from an editorial I read in Mother Earth Living in early 2015. "For many of us today, 'busy' isn't something we are from time to time when we're working on a big project. It's the state of our lives. It's our default setting," wrote the magazine's editor-in-chief, Jessica Kellner. "Being busy. . . validates our existence in an unsure world—if we're constantly busy, our lives must be important." But all that busy-busy-busyness can feel awfully frenzied and stressful, can't it? Don't you wish you could still do all the things you need and want to do, without feeling frantic? Maybe you can. Maybe you just need to trick your brain, Kellner suggests. She cited a number of studies showing that simply changing one's mindset can have profound physical effects. For example, septuagenarians instructed in an experimental setting to live as if they were 22 years old sat taller, performed better on manual dexterity tasks and even looked more youthful after only five days of thinking young. Could a similar mental ploy help alleviate our sense of overload? Kellner thinks so. "Perhaps if we stop saying we're so busy, we'll stop feeling so busy," she concluded. "By aiming our thoughts toward serenity and calm, we might actually achieve serenity and calm—without changing anything about our daily schedules." Intrigued, I started my own experiment, simply substituting the word "full" for "busy" when thinking and talking about my everyday activities. The change was subtle, but almost immediately I noticed a difference. "Busy" had felt like a burden. "Full" felt like a blessing. How fortunate I was to have so many interesting things to fill my days. And if they weren't all so interesting or rewarding, well, that's where another mind-shift could come in handy. This one I came across more recently in a blog post by Bella Mahaya Carter on She Writes, a website for women writers. Carter shared her own to-do list from a recent day—a familiar-looking litany of pleasant enough activities (yoga class, edit memoir, write thank-you notes), along with a fair share of less-appealing tasks (clean kitchen, unpack from trip, grocery shop). Admitting she probably wouldn't get to everything on the list in one day, Carter wrote, "It helps to remind myself that it doesn't matter if it takes me two or three days to complete these items. What does matter is that everything on my list I'm doing for love." Everything? Really? That's pretty much how Carter reacted when she first heard the love-centric notion, put forth by spiritual psychology pioneer H. Ronald Hulnick. When Hulnick told Carter's class at the University of Santa Monica, "The only reason to do anything is for love," Carter was skeptical, and immediately started thinking up exceptions. But then she stopped herself and decided, as an experiment, to act as if it were true. Her to-do list didn't change much, but her approach to doing the things on that list did, and life felt lighter as a result. "For example, instead of complaining about cleaning my house, I focused on how much I loved my family and my home, and how great it was that I was able to clean my home," Carter wrote. "It also occurred to me that I was lucky to have a home." The love filter also helps her choose new activities. When asked to do something she's not sure she wants to do, she asks herself: Where is the love here? "I root around and sniff out the love. If I don't catch its scent, I say no and move on." Though I'm having a little trouble finding the love in toilet cleaning (don't ask me to sniff that one out!), I'm trying to keep Carter's words in mind as I decide how to allocate my time each week. Now, let me ask you again: Are you having a busy week? Photo of Bella Mahaya Carter: http://www.bellamahayacarter.com/
All other images are free-use stock images.
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Late last year, I was scrolling through Facebook posts when I came to one that stopped me short. Posted by my friend and former University of Michigan colleague Lara Zielin, it began: My last post of 2016 has taken me all year to write. I haven't wanted to admit this, but here's the truth. . . Lara went on to reveal that her thriving career as an author had withered. She had been in a slump for the past twelve months and had even questioned her own worth. My first reaction was sympathy. As a writer who's trying to become a published author, I know how difficult and tenuous the whole process can be, and how one's self-esteem rides up and down on successes and failures. My heart broke at the thought of sunny, upbeat Lara being knocked down. As I read on, my sympathy turned to admiration. Most of us use social media to trumpet successes and share happy occasions. How rare it is to read such a frank account of, as Lara put it, "humiliating failure." Lara's year-end post ended on an optimistic note, but rather than giving that away, I have asked Lara to tell you herself about facing failure and moving forward from there. Here's Lara: Do you ever feel inexplicably drawn to read a particular book? This happened to me recently at Barnes & Noble, when I looked over at the new releases section and felt the mysterious pull to read FORWARD, a memoir by soccer player Abby Wambach. Mind you, I don’t like soccer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a game in my life. And I had no clue who this woman was or why I should care about her story. But the tug toward the title wouldn’t relent, and I took it home. Turns out, the universe was right. I wasn’t far into the book—12 pages to be exact—when this passage hit me over the head: I love [soccer] for what it gives me: praise, affection and, above all, attention. When I’m on the field I don’t have to plead to be noticed, either silently or aloud; it is a natural by-product of my talent. I loathe it for the same reason, terrified that soccer is the only worthwhile thing about me, that stripping it from my identity might make me disappear…Already I know I’m incapable of falling in love with the game itself—only with the validation that comes from mastering it, from bending it to my will. I read the words again and again, marveling that someone was brave enough to articulate what I felt, too. Only in my case it wasn’t soccer—it was writing. Or, I guess I should clarify and say writing novels. Writing books was the only thing I’d wanted to do since I was a little kid. I can remember the first story I wrote, when I was eight years old—not the text itself, but what the paper looked like, and what the pencil felt like in my hand. I’d write so much over the next decades that I would give myself a callus I still sport to this day, a permanent rough spot that has altered shape of my finger forever. It didn’t take long before the idea of what writing could do for me went hand-in-hand with the act of putting words to paper. This will be how I become famous, I would think. This is how I will leave my mark. This is how I will show people I matter. That I’m worth something. These ideas were pressing, even when I was very young. They were very deep, buried in a dark corner of my subconscious, and completely inextricable from the hard work of getting better at my craft and my determination to make a career out of books. Fast-forward a few decades, to 2007 when I sold my first novel. It hit shelves in 2009. I was writing young-adult at the time, which was a perfect fit. I thought, this is it, and I kept going. My second book came out in 2011, followed by my third in 2012. I was under contract for a fourth book, which wasn’t coming as easily as the first three. It felt forced and uncertain. I wrote several versions, and each time my editor encouraged me to go back to the drawing board—to fix the characters, their motivations, the language…hell, all of it. To make matters worse, the books I did have out weren’t selling well at all. My shaky foundation of self-worth started to wobble. What if I wasn’t good at this? What if I wouldn’t or couldn’t become a writing success? Desperate to take a break from young adult, I started writing romance. In 2014, I sold a trio of small-town romances at auction, giving me enough money to quit my full-time, big-girl job and take something part-time while I pursued this new venue. For a hot second, it was great. Until it wasn’t. These books didn’t sell well either, and when I pitched my publisher on a new series, they didn’t bite. They washed their hands of me and moved on. This caught me completely off guard. I figured my publisher would maybe low-ball me on the money but keep collaborating. After all, I was hardworking, I hit my deadlines, and the books I’d produced—while not bestsellers—had garnered great reviews and even an award nomination. This just wasn’t the case. And when my agent shopped my idea for the new series around to other romance publishers, no one would bite. My romance career had flamed out as spectacularly as it had started. In the meantime, the fourth book I’d written for my young-adult publisher was done, and I was enormously proud of it. After years of laboring over this story, I felt like I’d finally gotten it right. I thought, okay, romance is dead, but young-adult is still kicking, I can still be a success in this genre. Wrong. My editor wasn’t a fan of the book at all—a historical middle-grade novel about a young girl who works at a logging camp for a winter in the Wisconsin Northwoods. I’d called it the book of my heart. I think if she could, my editor would have called it a hot mess. At this point, we all agreed it would probably be best if we parted ways. My young-adult publisher broke the contract with me, and any potential revenue streams I had through publishing—not to mention opportunities for the success I so badly craved—were gone. But Lara, you’re thinking, just write a new book! Just keep trying! And I would, I swear I would, if I had any ideas coming to me. But not only had my contracts dried up, my ideas had, too. Which brings me back to Abby Wambach and her memoir. When she couldn’t play soccer any more—she had essentially aged out, and her body was fighting her with injury after injury—she fell apart. And I guess I did too when I couldn’t write novels anymore. I gained weight. I didn’t feel much like going out. I kept asking my husband, “What do I do? Writing novels is the only thing I’ve ever wanted.” To which he would continually reply, “Just hang out in this uncertain place. Don’t fight it, just face the not-knowing and see what comes up.” I also had to face the fact that I was using success through novels as a way to make up for my perceived personal inequities. For years, I’d looked at myself, found myself lacking, and wanted to fill that void with external success. My husband would continually remind me: There is no void. He would tell me I was enough, just as I was. There was no hole to fill. I didn’t have to prove my worth. So I hung out in the not knowing and, it turns out, my husband was right. I was still a writer, just maybe not a novelist. Or not only a novelist. I discovered I loved copy writing and was awesome at it. I found I had a passion for nonfiction and realized that I could to put pen to paper to fight injustice. I even got an awesome new business idea, which I’m in the process of starting up. For her part, Abby Wambach came out of her spiral too, and now she’s in a new role fighting for equity in women’s sports (particularly with regard to pay), and she’s a commenter on ESPN. I can’t recommend her memoir highly enough. I was inspired and moved. The text at the very front of the book—before chapter one, even—gets me every time I read it. Abby wrote it to her four-year-old self. It’s true of Abby. It’s true of me. If you’re struggling with any of these same things, I want you to know, it’s true of you, too: Don’t try to earn your worthiness. It’s yours by birthright. Fear no failure. There is no such thing. You will know real love. The journey will be long, but you’ll find your way home. You are so brave, little one. I’m proud of you. Do you have a facing-failure story to share? Have you ever been forced to change direction and then realized that shift was more gift than setback?
On the last Wednesday of every month, I serve up a potpourri of tidbits I've come across in recent weeks. Here's what I've unearthed this month. See you in February! Enter each day with the expectation that the happenings of the day may contain a clandestine message addressed to you personally. Expect omens, epiphanies, casual blessings, and teaches who unknowingly speak to your condition. -- Sam Keen If a thousand old beliefs were ruined in our march to truth, we must still march on. -- Stopford Augustus Brooke You think your pains and heartbreaks are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, or who have ever been alive. -- James Baldwin The truth is at the bottom of a well. You look in a well, and you see the sun or the moon, but if you jump in, there's no longer the sun or the moon; there's the truth. -- Leonardo Sciascia I nod to a passing stranger, and the stranger nods back, and two human beings go off, feeling a little less anonymous. -- Robert Brault Don't do nothing because you can't do everything. Do something. Anything. -- Colleen Patrick-Goudreau The path of progress has never taken a straight line, but has always been a zigzag course amid the conflicting forces of right and wrong, truth and error, justice and injustice, cruelty and mercy. -- Kelly Miller The world is too dangerous for anything but truth and too small for anything but love.
-- William Sloane Coffin A murder mystery author, a bee expert and a pastor walked into a blog . . . That's not the lead-in to a joke, it's the lead-in to this week's installment of HeartWood. Those three folks were among the assortment of interesting, insightful people I invited to share their intentions for 2017. Specifically, I posed this question: What is one way you hope to enhance (or exercise) your creativity OR increase your connection (with other people, with the natural world, with causes you champion) OR foster contentment (your own or someone else's) in 2017? Responses ranged from practical to political, artistic to activist, and each one gave me something to think about. (And by the way, if you're thinking, Why didn't she ask me? Aren't I interesting and insightful?, don't be so sure I didn't ask you. I have a feeling a number of emails I sent ended up in spam files, even though I tried to keep my email groups fairly small). So read on and please feel free to share your own intentions or comment on these responses in the Comments section at the end of this post. Author J.Q. Rose (known as Janet Glaser in her non-writing life) has been tackling some new writing challenges, in addition to spreading the word about her latest release, Dangerous Sanctuary. Here's her intention for 2017: In 2017, I plan to complete my memoir about the first year my husband and I bought our flower shop in Fremont. Writing about myself, instead of a character in a mystery story, is very difficult. I have to be truthful about the situation I lived through 40 years ago. No fiction! Time certainly has a way of giving one a different perspective on events. I intend to share this story with my children and grandchildren. They've heard some of the stories about the people and places during that time. I'm eager to put it all together chronologically for them. If I decide to share the story publicly, I hope it will inspire and empower others to follow their dreams. Perhaps readers will gain the courage needed to leave home, friends, and family to make a future in a completely unknown area to realize their full potential. I'm so glad we did! Fremont is home now and even if there were a few bumps in the road on our journey to become business owners, the ride was amazing. Sandra Bernard, whose poems and guest post on "Creative Thinkers" appeared in this blog last year, has simple but important goals: I will finish my book . . . and I will pay more attention to elders who need love. Katherine Girod Myers, a retired children's librarian (and friend since junior high) spends growing season days sharing Lily Hill with fellow garden enthusiasts in Claremore, Oklahoma. This winter, she's focusing on an indoor project that's creating both order and contentment: It doesn't sound exciting or glamorous or philanthropic . . . so mundane, but it ties in with another of your posts on which type environment fosters creativity/happiness in your readers. If you'd asked this question during the gardening season you might have gotten a different answer from me, but since it's the season I'm more housebound (by weather and caring for a 20 month old) I'm focusing on fostering contentment in my life (and hoping those around me will be inspired by my more laid back attitude). I don't know why I picked up Marie Kondo's book unless I'd read about her on a blog, but I did, and I confess at first I thought some of her instructions were silly. I mean, thanking your ratty, paint stained clothing before you trash them?? And why I actually stroked those splattered and ripped up jeans, I'll never know. But when I did, I thought about all the projects big (barn!) and small that I'd worked on in those jeans, and it was nice. I know, silly. And why should it make a difference about how you pajama drawer looks? Well, I'm happy every time I open my organized drawers. I've moved on to spaces larger than drawers, and the more I sort through and thank (and make my possessions happy in their environment . . . yeah, I know . . .) the happier and more content I am. I am hoping The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up will continue to foster contentment in 2017. All I know is this usually stressful holiday season has been the happiest and least stressful one I can remember. This answer to your question is like when someone asks how you sprained your ankle and you wish you could say sky-diving when you really tripped over your own feet. I'm sure you'll get some 'sky-diving' emails from your other readers to balance this one!! Mark Winston is a friend from grad-school days who went on to be a professor and author, specializing in the study of bees. Wouldn't you know he'd be buzzing (forgive me) with interesting ideas for the coming year: I'm stretching my collaborative capacity by co-writing a book with a poet, Renee Sarojini Saklikar, at the intersection point between bees, poetry and science. While I've collaborated on many projects in many spheres, I've always kept book writing as a personal domain, so I'm reaching out into the dual citizenship domain of co-writing a book, and working with a poet. So far, it's been a blast, although the developing outcome fits no genre I'm aware of. Writing friend Théa Heying intends to move forward from the past year: I intend to stop pouting about the election; pointless ruminations disturb me. I will wean my way back to listening to the news. I will not automatically change sites, channels or stations when the "T" word comes up. I will work my way back gradually. I wish I had an Etch-a-Sketch Mind—wave a wand and the screen comes clean. Still, I aim to be a responsible American. It is time I listened—better. You may remember Jonathan Riedel from his guest post, "Hyperactive Poetry," last April. Pastor at Newaygo Congregational United Church of Christ, Jon writes poetry in addition to columns for the Times Indicator, a local weekly newspaper. For 2017: It is my hope to compile the articles I have written for the Times-Indicator into some kind of publishable form and to help my church address some of the economic difficulties of this area by working closely with our local schools, one classroom at a time. Retired teacher and yoga sister Nancy Waits shared heartfelt intentions for the year ahead: Because I am still deeply concerned about the direction of our country and how many of our citizens support this position, I plan to respond to any program for which the funding is cut. All citizens, and non-citizens for that matter, deserve clean air and water, the right to education and healthcare, police and fire protection. The hard-won rights of women, the LGBTQ community, and minorities can't be repealed. I still have some money I inherited from my dad in 2010 and I will put my money where my heart is. Margaret Hrencher is a retired high school principal and gifted writer who happens to be my cousin. I wasn't surprised that her intentions included a mix of family, creative work and learning: My intentions have been about the same for the last few years. First, I want to reflect on my relationships with my family. Basically, I want to be the best wife, mother, grandmother, sibling, cousin, and friend that anyone can have. I want to be intuitive to their needs, rather than my own. Then another first, (I don't want to diminish this intention) I want to hone my craft of writing, working harder, reading more, writing more, and reflecting more to find my way to my goal of being entertaining and/or valuable to my readers. (Currently, I have maybe six, including you :) ). Third, (see how I skipped two) I want to finally become semi-fluent in Spanish. I'm really pretty close but I need to spend some more time with native speakers who don't mind working with a fledgling. Neighbor Sally Kane is one of my hiking and yoga buddies. Lately, she's been exercising and stretching her writing muscles as well, and continuing along those lines is a priority for this year: For 2017, I decided to revisit the "Morning Pages" journaling process, developed by Julia Cameron in The Artist's Way. Many years ago I engaged in the two- to four-page writing commitment first thing in the morning. The process clears out the clutter and offers up little nuggets and gems, inspiration for poems and other genres. This lovely folder belonged to my mother, who also wrote, and will house those pages and new gem discoveries. I started this morning and already look forward to my next morning "date." I discovered Ruth Daly and her photographs on Twitter, and I was pleased when she responded to my question: My first thought was, "Only one way?" Wow, that's tough—I had some trouble with this, narrowing it down to just one way. But one thing I know I'll do is to keep taking photographs (this also increases my connection with the natural world and fosters my own contentment). At the moment, I manage to get outside with my camera several times a week, sometimes every day, and tend to take my camera everywhere I go. Taking pictures makes me see beauty in things I didn't really notice before and makes me appreciate the simple, ordinary things in nature—frost on blades of grass, the pattern of feathers on common backyard birds, leaves lit up with sunlight, geese taking flight, clouds drifting across the sky. I've learned that you don't have to go very far to see something interesting, you just have to look. Sometimes I see things that just leave me in awe: owlets learning to fly, brilliant colours of a sunrise, fresh snow on the mountains. I lose track of time and switch off from the worries and routines of life. I have a better frame of mind when I take photographs, am energized and content. So for 2017, I'll continue to do this, as well as learn some new skills, such as night photography. And the downside? Well, you know what they say—if you give a photographer a camera, they'll want a better lens. And if you give them a better lens . . . I knew I could expect a thoughtful response from my one-time roommate Rebecca Howey, and she didn't disappoint: My intention is, to quote a Facebook post making the rounds, to "act rather than react, and not waste energy being outraged at predictable atrociousness." The even shorter version has been one of my mantras for decades: CHOOSE. Don't let life just happen. Not consciously choosing IS a choice. Choose consciously. Be the star and the director of your own life. So there you have it: Eleven different takes on the question. Now, let's hear yours. To refresh your memory, here's the question again: What is one way you hope to enhance (or exercise) your creativity OR increase your connection (with other people, with the natural world, with causes you champion) OR foster contentment (your own or someone else's) in 2017?
On the last Wednesday of every month, I serve up a potpourri of tidbits I've come across in recent weeks. This being the last post of 2016, I hope to offer a little inspiration for the year ahead. Art is not a set of rules, but a harmony of whims. -- Rubén Darío No small part of sanity, I think, is accepting the distance between the discipline you think you should have and that which is actually available to you. -- Naomi Jackson, author, in Poets & Writers, September/October 2016. The purpose of the artist is to draw back the veil that leaves us indifferent before the universe. -- Marcel Proust I am not much of a believer in inspiration. Well, no, that's not true: Good writing needs a little lightning, which only strikes unbidden, coursing through it. But waiting to write until one is inspired is like waiting to have a drink of water until it rains. -- Craig Morgan Teicher, poet, critic and freelance writer, in Poets & Writers, January/February 2017 Poetry is not a means to an end,, but a continuing engagement with being alive. -- Kim Addonizio, poet, novelist and performer Inspiration is not divine intervention. It's figuring out a solution to a problem. -- Editors, Poets & Writers, January/February, 2017 The purpose of art is to stop time. -- Bob Dylan We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty. -- Maya Angelou You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.
-- Jane Goodall When I was a kid, this time of year was about one thing only: Christmas. All Christmas, all the time. Decorating the tree with ornaments that were comforting in their familiarity; writing detailed missives to Santa; visiting John A. Brown department store in Oklahoma City to ogle the dolls, trains and games; sitting on Santa's lap and refreshing his memory about the contents of that letter I'd sent him. I wasn't the only one who got swept up in the holiday spirit. My parents did Christmas big. They crafted candles that looked like snowballs, whipped up batch after batch of cookies, fudge and divinity (a confection that belied its name, as far as I was concerned—I never could stand the stuff) and filled nearly every horizontal surface in the house with elves, reindeer, sleighs, crèches, holly and other icons of the season. Then there were the outdoor decorations, my dad's territory. His was no blow-out-the circuits Griswold family Christmas display; his style was more subtle, with tiny white lights outlining the bay window, topiary flanking the front door, ribbon candy-striping the lamp post, and candles floating on poinsettia-shaped rafts in the courtyard fountain. One year his artistry even won the city-wide house decoration contest, besting showier arrays with rooftop Santas and plywood carolers. Everyone we knew celebrated Christmas much as we did, except for the one Jewish family in the neighborhood, and even they engaged in some Christmas customs. But as the years went on and my world expanded, I met people who celebrated Yule, Kwanzaa and other holidays at this time of year. Everything I learned about their rituals enriched my appreciation of the season. Recently, I learned about still more traditions from—of all places—a mail-order catalog that had descriptions of winter celebrations from many cultures sprinkled among its product offerings. In the spirit of giving, I'd like to share a few tidbits about some of the special days that captured my attention. Bodhi Day—December 8 On this occasion, Buddhists commemorate the day when Siddhartha Gautama, sitting under the Bodhi Tree, attained enlightenment and became the Buddha or "Awakened One." Buddhists consider Bodhi Day a time to renew their dedication to wisdom, compassion and kindness, keystones of their spiritual path. They celebrate with meditation, chanting and performing acts of kindness. Winter Solstice—December 21 In prosaic terms, winter solstice is an astronomical phenomenon marked by the shortest day and longest night of the year. In the Northern Hemisphere, this happens in December; in the Southern Hemisphere, in June. But since ancient times, people have attributed deeper significance to this event. While interpretations vary, many cultures consider it a time of rebirth and new beginnings—an opportunity to examine the deeper parts of one's being, to reflect on untapped potential and bring it into the light. Among the many celebrations that coincide with winter solstice are these:
Pancha Ganapati—December 21-25 This modern Hindu festival honors Ganesha, lord of success and remover of obstacles. The festival focuses on mending past mistakes and making a new beginning. Each day, the whole family engages in a different sadhana or daily spiritual practice, centered on creating love and harmony in relationships or in the world. A statue of Ganesha is placed in a shrine in the living room, and children dress or decorate it each day in different colors representing Ganesha's five powers or shaktis. As I read about these observances and consider what we can learn from each of them, I notice not only their rich diversity, but also their common threads. No matter what or how we celebrate, there's value in taking time out to gather with people we love, to share stories and wisdom, to reflect on days gone by and days to come, and to rededicate ourselves to kindness, compassion, love and harmony. Some information in this post came from:
"Celebrating Bodhi Day for the 21st Century," by Lewis Richmond, The Huffington Post "Soyal Ceremony: Hopi Kachinas Dance at Winter Solstice," by Jack Eidt, WilderUtopia "Celebrating Yalda Night," by Firouzeh Mirrazavi, Iran Review On the last Wednesday of every month, I serve up a potpourri of advice, inspiration and other tidbits I've come across in recent weeks. This month I'm focusing on themes that are on many people's minds these days, in many contexts. As a bonus for reading to the end, I'm including a selection of photos celebrating the colorful autumn season that's drawing to a close. [I said to Suzuki Roshi,] "I could listen to you for a thousand years and still not get it. Could you just please put it in a nutshell? Can you reduce Buddhism to one phrase? . . . He was not a man you could pin down, and he didn't like to give his students something definite to cling to. He had often said not to have "some idea" of what Buddhism was. But Suzuki did answer. He looked at me and said, "Everything changes." -- David Chadwick No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. -- Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.” -- Jalaluddin Rumi Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. -- Martin Luther King Jr. When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it--always. Mahatma Ghandi Action is the antidote to despair. -- Joan Baez The narrow-minded ask, “Is this man a stranger, or is he of our tribe?” but to those in whom love dwells the whole world is but one family. -- Anonymous (often misattributed to Buddha) No language is neutral. To speak is to claim a life--and often our own. If more Americans speak to one another, in writing, in media, at the supermarket, we might listen better. It is difficult, I think, to hate one another when we start to understand not only why and how we hurt, but also why and how we love.
-- Ocean Vuong, poet and essayist, in Poets & Writers, September/October 2016 If you're a regular reader of HeartWood, you may have noticed I was absent last week. Like many people, I was absorbing the election results. And though I had written parts of this blog post before the election, I had to think about whether what I had written truly reflected my feelings. I concluded that it does. Don't worry, I'm not going to get all political on you. I might do that in other settings, but that's not what this blog is for. Instead, I'd like to offer something to think about, post-election, no matter how you voted or how you feel about the outcome. One point I think we all can agree on: the events of this election year haven't exactly promoted harmony and understanding among people with differing viewpoints. If anything, our divisions are deeper, our mistrust more pronounced, our fears more troubling. So what now? Do we live with these bad feelings and allow them to fester? Or do we, who purportedly care about connection, goodwill and peaceful conflict resolution, do what we can to turn things in a more positive direction, while still working to further the causes we believe in? I cast my vote for the latter, and I have a suggestion to pass along for how to begin. I can't take credit for the idea. I read about it in a short piece published in O magazine in 2011. The article made such an impression on me, I saved it, and when I re-read it recently, I thought it even more relevant today than when it was written. In the article, author Elizabeth Lesser wrote about "otherising," the distressing and dangerous practice of ordinary people demonizing other ordinary people simply because of differences in opinions, beliefs, or other traits. Like the recent presidential race, the 2008 election saw quite a lot of otherising, wrote Lesser. "And there was one woman doing it who bothered me the most—me! I'm a true believer in our capacity to care and cooperate, but there I was, participating in otherising rants, calling whole groups of people evil wrongdoers, though I had never talked to them." This from a woman who cofounded the Omega Institute and has written books about love, spirituality and transformation! Does Lesser's admission strike a chord? Be honest, now. In recent months, have you found yourself making assumptions and negative remarks about people whose political views differ from yours? I'll be surprised if you say no—I'm sure we've all done some of that.
An experience similar to my canvassing and calling encounters led Lesser to the "experiment" she wrote about in the O article. After lunching with an activist from an opposing camp and conversing cordially about family, jobs and larger concerns, Lesser began to deliberately seek out such meetings, if for no other reason than to "breed civility" in her own heart. She came up with a few ground rules for both parties to agree to (to which I've added a little of my own spin):
You don't have to seek out strangers for these discussions; most of us have friends, neighbors and relatives who feel differently than we do about hot-button issues. I'm not saying these conversations will be easy. It's much more comfortable to speak our minds when we're among people who nod and say, "Exactly!" But when I've dared to step outside that comfort zone and talk openly with friends and acquaintances who don't share my views, I've not only come to understand them better, I've had to think more deeply about my own opinions in order to articulate them. So what do you think about the idea of taking an Other to lunch? Is it naïve to believe it might lead to a little more understanding? Or is it worth a try?
On the last Wednesday of every month, I serve up a potpourri of advice, inspiration and other tidbits I've come across in recent weeks. Because October has been such a beautiful time to be outdoors and enjoy nature, this month's installment features words about the natural world. Adopt the pace of nature: Her secret is patience. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson So, then: What's wilderness? Maybe wilderness is a place of isolation, of solitude. Maybe wilderness is a place where, through your solitude, you reach toward some larger power or mystery. You could be at the top of Mount McKinley, or you could be in a vacant lot in Colorado Springs, with weeds growing up around the broken bottles. What more do we get out of wilderness when we think of it as our own solitude? -- Poet David Mason, interviewed in The Sun, April 2015 In all things of nature, there is something of the marvelous. -- Aristotle I don't think I can learn from a wild animal how to live in particular . . . but I might learn something of mindfulness, something of the purity of living in the physical senses and the dignity of living without bias or motive. -- Annie Dillard We still do not know one-thousandth of one percent of what nature has revealed to us. -- Albert Einstein The act of looking, of paying attention, is akin to prayer for me. It can be transporting. I particularly love observing plants. I like climbing mountains and paddling rivers and chasing butterflies, too, but plants are my doorway to wonder. -- Robin Wall Kimmerer, interviewed in The Sun, April 2016 I willingly confess to so great a partiality for trees as tempts me to respect a man in exact proportion to his respect for them. -- James Russell Lowell The earth has its music for those who will listen. -- George Santayana This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is never all dried at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls. -- John Muir, John of the Mountains: The Unpublished Journals of John Muir Nature is not a place to visit. It is home. -- Gary Snyder No bonus this month, because instead of adding more content here, I'm going outside for another dose of nature! I encourage you to do the same. See you again soon.
On the last Wednesday of every month, I serve up a potpourri of advice, inspiration and other tidbits I've come across in recent weeks. Here's this month's serving of Last Wednesday Wisdom. Your reward for reading to the end: a preview of a can't-miss post coming soon! Joy is the happiness that doesn't depend on what happens. -- Br. David Steindl-Rast, Benedictine monk In the throes of creativity, a lively brain tussles with a mass of memories and rich stores of knowledge, attacking them both sub rosa and with the mind wide open. Some of it incubates offstage until a fully fledged insight wings into view. The rest it consciously rigs, rotates, kneads, and otherwise plays with until a novel solution emerges. Only by fumbling with countless bits of knowledge, and then ignoring most of it, does a creative mind craft something original. For that, far more than the language areas are involved. Hand-me-down ideas won't do. So conventions must be flouted, risks taken, possibilities freely spigoted, ideas elaborated, problems redefined, daydreaming encouraged, curiosity followed down zig-zagging alleyways. Any sort of unconsidered trifle may be fair game. It's child's play. Literally. Not a gift given to an elect few, but a widespread, natural, human way of knowing the world. -- Diane Ackerman in One Hundred Names for Love We must overcome the notion that we must be regular . . . it robs you of the chance to be extraordinary and leads you to the mediocre. -- Uta Hagen, actress Imagination, dreams, spirit, delight, craziness, goofiness, chaos, dance, song--they're all important. Without them we're hardly human beings. In a materialistic society the artist is always a bit of an anarchist, tossing the Molotov coktail of the imagination into the bank foyer: C'mon! Wake up! -- Poet David Mason, interviewed in The Sun, April 2015 (Read the full Interview here) There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it. -- Edith Wharton We give life when we learn from our own weeping how to give ourselves with gentleness and compassion to the sighs and struggles of other people. -- Eugene Kennedy, psychologist I think of each day as a gold coin that you are required to trade for something. You'll never get that coin back, so whatever you trade it for had better be worth it. You also don't know how many coins you have left to trade, and you don' know what will happen when your bag is empty: the other side of death, if there is one, is a mystery. -- Physician Raymond Barfield, interviewed in The Sun, January 2016 (Read the full interview here.) ". . . I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.' " -- Kurt Vonnegut in A Man Without a Country Coming soon: An interview with river guide and nature photographer Kevin Feenstra, whose photographs are on display as part of an exhibit on The Art of Fishing at Artsplace in Fremont, Michigan. Kevin will also make a presentation, "Photographing A Big River," at 11:00 a.m. on Saturday, August 13, during the exhibit's reception. Stay tuned for my conversation with Kevin! |
Written from the heart,
from the heart of the woods Read the introduction to HeartWood here.
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Nan Sanders Pokerwinski, a former journalist, writes memoir and personal essays, makes collages and likes to play outside. She lives in West Michigan with her husband, Ray. Archives
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