Some years ago, I came across a lecturer and author who said something that left a remarkable impression on me. So much so that, out of three one-hour lecture tapes I listened to, this is perhaps the only thing I truly heard. Her name is Marianne Williamson. She talked about approaching daily situations with faith rather than merely with the intellect. I had recently embarked on a sort of personal spiritual path. It seems I was driven by some thirst for personal growth and understanding.

In this particular instance, Mrs. Williamson used the example of a business meeting to convey the vast difference between trying to affect outcomes and influence others with our immediate contribution of words and opinions and taking the time to stay with an idea for a while or pray about it. Prayer, as I understand it, is all at once a form of silent introspection and a form of waiting. It is a bit like when we cannot quite remember something we thought we had known all along and take a break from trying to figure it out. It soon emerges at the forefront of the mind with absolute clarity.

Marianne’s examples are often humorous and always poignantly on target. She said something like this: Imagine you are in a business meeting. Everybody is expecting you to have an opinion about the topic at hand. When asked, “What do you think?” you casually respond, “I’ll check with Jesus and get right back to you”. I could hear the audience laugh in the background on the recording. I laughed as well. I also felt an incredible sense of relief.

You mean I do not have to try to figure things out, have answers or even have questions in the heat of the moment? I do not have to have an opinion in order to exist or to matter? I do not have to know what I think or what to do in each instant and I do not need the ongoing internal dialogue? Wow! In the instant I grasped this, it felt as though I had been in a crowded room all my life, trying to disregard the chaos, when someone finally managed to speak clearly enough to make me understand where the exit was and that I was free to retire to the quiet room next door at all times.

The example had nothing to do with religion, but it had much to do with spirituality and spirituality asks that we perceive things from a sense of reverence and the acceptance that we do not know all of the answers or all the correct actions to take in any given moment, though all answers and actions are at hand.

The image of a hand seems appropriate. The silence that is called for is the sort of silence that waits in awe for a precious gift to alight in the open palm. In the waiting moment, thoughts and words cease, because they are not possible. The nature of the gift is revealed in the instant it rests in the hand, not a moment sooner. Thoughts and words are not possible because there exists no preconceived idea of what is to come.

When every moment and every situation is perceived as a fresh start, experiences of the past no longer apply. One must wait to see the story unfold a bit before formulating an idea or expressing an opinion. Approached this way, every encounter or circumstance lends itself to observation without reserve. It lends itself to receiving the gift of knowing where we stand, what we think, what to say and what to do with perfect certainty and, especially, in the right time. It is not necessary to understand, analyze or comment immediately. Whenever I remember this, a new experiment begins. In the midst of a debate, I make a conscious decision to spend absolutely no energy on deciding what to say next, what I should think or what I should do. I just listen, watch and walk away with a sort of mental recording of the essence of something, not the accompanying drama, emotions or distortion.

I often promptly discover that there was nothing for me to add to the situation and no opinion I could have voiced that would contribute anything constructive. I also discover a level of serenity and openness that astonishes me each time and renders me speechless.

Slainte!

Spontaneity: Freedom from constraint, formality, embarrassment, or awkwardness.

Every moment of every day, we face all manner of circumstances, demands and unexpected variations in the task at hand requiring a moment of attention and a decision on our part. We automatically adjust our schedules or behavior to meet the challenge. In fact, we do not realize that there is a challenge. Conversely, we often fail to recognize that the challenge is a mere figment of the imagination, an error in perception, a moment of ambiguity in our ability to make a simple choice.

I realized this a few days ago as I internally struggled to choose between two projects. One is something someone else assumes I will do, the other is something I have wanted to do for a long time. The time spent on either activity will rob the other of attention and energy. Choosing one over the other will rob me of an activity I would enjoy immensely or rob someone else of an expected outcome. I am torn. I should not be.

The answer is self-evident. The struggle is the answer or, more precisely, it points to it. For a moment, I forget that I am essentially an animal; a creature that is perfectly designed and equipped to decide what to do next in the face of any given circumstance. If I choose the project that inspires me most, I will perform at the peak of my ability and will certainly be of greater service to my human community than if I selected a project that drains me. This is so clear. This is gut knowledge.

Gut knowledge does not struggle. It knows. It is never awkward or constraining. Gut knowledge is always aligned with our greatest strengths, our greatest skills and our greatest ability to act with passion and perseverance. When we choose an action because we believe it is expected or for fear of disappointing others or appearing cowardly, we rob everyone of the best we have to contribute. In fact, I see this as a form of lie or at least a contradiction.

We know a certain activity does not inspire us, yet we do it anyway because it is expected or we think that it is. Our actions contradict our emotions and our instinctive knowledge of who we are and what we are capable of contributing to the world. Generally, people around us perceive only one dimension. They perceive our actions. We think we have to make a show of our lives, as though in each moment we might be judged on our performance. A form of minute-by-minute judgment or self-appraisal is important, of course, hence the need to be clear and honest.

Our performance in the world is not a part we play in a show. We must bring the whole person into each activity and the whole person is more suited for some activities than it is for others. Not honoring this produces regrets, insecurity and lack of clarity.

I just remember a question from the book “Conversations with God”. I think it illustrates this very well: “Is it fear of retribution that you need in order to do good?” I see two parts to this question. Is it fear that we need in order to make choices and is it the possibility of retribution that colors our choices? Is it at all likely to choose properly out of fear? Can retribution exist when we act out of integrity? We often base choices on a sense of constraint, formality, embarrassment or awkwardness. Likewise, those most likely to respond with retribution often do so based on a sense of constraint, formality, embarrassment or awkwardness.

Freedom of choice does not merely confer the ability to choose between right and wrong; it is more subtle than this and more straightforward also. Freedom of choice means that we are not stuck with only one possibility at every turn and we are not stuck in fear or constraint. It means that in each moment we can freely express the very best we can give in that instant, with full knowledge of our skills, ability to learn and intrinsic passion.

Spontaneity is the quality of spirit that cuts to the clearest choice. It leads to unambiguous action and a projection of the self into the world that spans from integrity, not fear.

Slainte!

As children, we often draw the same pictures day after day, carefully laying the same characters, buildings, animals, plants and colors on the page, as well as the same perspective. Psychologists can read into these drawings and identify distinct trauma, joys, tendencies and character traits. A psychology article explained that, when children draw people without placing their feet on the ground in the picture, it is an indication that they feel uprooted within their own family unit. Interesting.

Art is a revealing medium, but as much as there is a notion of perspective in the construct of a drawing, painting or sculpture, there must also be a sense of perspective in the interpretation of artistic creations. Art is a form of expression born of imagination, sensitivity, experience and memory. Perhaps the floating person on the drawing mirrors a deep sensation of levity in the artist; even a child artist. In the midst of dysfunction or hardships, something deep inside may exist, an unconscious yet tangible knowing that there is hope and joy within reach. Thus, the apparently troubled child reveals in each drawing the certainty of the lightness of being.

I remember a drawing I made in high school. I had always loved drawing trees, very specific trees, in fact. I rarely drew people. When I did, they were neutral, in the sense that one might not have been able to determine their gender. Every detail and moment of this particular drawing captured my full attention. It consisted of a large tree with strong roots on the left side of the page and a smaller one in the distance, on the right, to show depth. Giant drops of water formed on the ends of the branches of each tree. Within each drop, I had placed a person, sitting, arms around their knees, waiting to land somewhere. I have never forgotten this drawing.

I imagine a psychological analysis might uncover many truths about my adolescence or childhood. I often thought of this drawing and found distinct correlations, until I realized that I was thinking about it only in terms of a revelation of something necessarily bad or unfortunate. However, it was not. The drops were not tears and the people were not trapped. And the trees. Ha! The magnificent trees. Now I know who they are and I know with great certainty that what I had created on that page was a sort of pictogram of my innermost identity, years before this would be revealed to me.

I am not the troubled child who lived with alcoholic parents for twenty years. I am not even the French Canadian girl who grew up in suburbia. I am not my work, my place of birth or my outer appearance. I am the culmination of eons of life, a being that came to life not to be attached to its host family, but to move forward in time and move and interact and explore each moment of existence. I hold in my cells the memories of generations past, the knowledge of kinship with the trees and reptiles and every single living organism. I am not male or female. Gender is not about skirts and pants. It is merely a biological characteristic. During its evolution, the fetus adopts a genderless, reptilian shape. The reptilian brain remains a central part to our instinct and survival. The soul and memory do not understand gender.

I carry within memories of centuries ago. I feel close to some people instantly because, for a brief and poignant moment, I recall their faces, their profession, and their garments when we knew each other in 1192, before or since. I recall a rare, sunny afternoon in the Highlands when a neighboring clan destroyed us. I recall the screams, the slashed bodies, the stillness when they had moved on, satiated. I recall the oppression of the inquisition, the fear of the peasants and the day we were done laying stones on the streets of Paris, at Les Tuilleries. I remember historical details I have never learned about in school or books. Come to think of it, the drops from the trees were tears after all; tears of separation and pain from the passage through time; tears for the impossibility of turning back. This century is the most difficult of all, because we should know better by now and because so many do not remember.

Somewhere inside, we know what we truly are. This knowing comes forth through our preferences, our tastes, and our affinities with some people more than others, our art, and our words and in the ways we choose to adorn our bodies. Drawing floating people or wearing out-of-fashion clothes do not necessarily constitute a dysfunction. Instead, it might be a sign of personal clarity. Our essence seeks to be revealed in each doodle, garment and piece of jewelry, like a dream that was so profound that it becomes indistinguishable from reality. Or is it the other way around?

It is said that lucid dreaming can be attained by developing enough awareness that you can decide to look at your own hands while remaining in the midst of the dream. I am looking at mine now.

Slainte!

Someone on the radio was talking about knowledge in relation to rank. I believe the discussion topic pertained to the employee/employer relationship. In this relationship, there exists an underlying, and rarely challenged, hierarchy that permeates all aspects of business operations.

It is very similar to the landlord/peasant relationship, even today. In fact, modern political and business leaders do refer to citizens and subordinates as “peasants”. The term is even used in legal documents, as in “peasant clause”.

The speaker gave the example of the current crisis in Montreal hospitals. Emergency waiting rooms are crowded far beyond capacity. Administrators ponder possible solutions behind closed doors. “Has anyone ever thought of asking the janitor’s opinion?” asked the speaker, indicating that this person might be able to express a totally different point of view, and may in fact have the ability and intellect to recommend brilliant solutions based on first hand observations. Leaders are rarely first hand observers.

The discussion continued and evolved into a sort of nostalgia for “old ways”. The speaker reminded the radio host that in the context of early tribe there was no such hierarchy or injustice. Everyone discovered the world together and shared their experience and findings with equal authority. If a child had become sick after eating berries from a certain tree, on the edge of the settlement, he might share this with fellow tribesmen at mealtime, thereby providing essential information that was immediately available to everyone. Everyone could now avoid the berry in question.

As someone who has a great love and interest for tribal culture, I easily agreed with the speaker for a moment, until I realized the unlikelihood of repeating a similar scenario of cohesion over time. The reason is simple, or at least this is what became clear to me as I imagined being a member of a tribe, in the early times of civilization, and discovering the intricacies of taming the world along with my tribes-mates.

The moment one individual shares feedback about a plant, the relationship of the entire tribe toward this plant changes, permanently. This, in turn, inevitably affects the relationship of tribesmen within the tribe. For instance, if I convey that I was able to extract a root with a stick far better than with my fingers, the entire tribe will begin to use a stick. This one modification to our original behavior has at least two consequences: Some will likely develop better root digging skills and some will instinctively begin to understand that by further modifying the digging tool it is possible to obtain more roots, faster, thus satisfying the very basic instinct to secure nutriments.

Already at that point, the original innocence of the tribe is forever “lost”. There can still be wonder and amazement at further developments and discoveries, but the brain is very quick at making analogies and using compound knowledge to adapt and to assess new situations. Thus, individual innocence is gone and so is the original shared innocence. Some will grow in understanding and knowledge faster than others, or with more ease. Some will lend a hand when they are more skilled at a task, thus becoming experts. Some will lead and some will follow. Some will be lazy while others will work hard and provide for them. The more skilled and able will feed the weak. This chain of events is inevitable. It is what has lead to today’s technologies and cultures.

I no longer believe in the dream of returning to the innocence of the tribe, nor is it necessary. Nor does it mean we are doomed or mislead, as I used to think. We simply need to understand that the notion of unity and cohesion still exists in the ways in which we relate to each other, outside and away from the tribe.

In every tribe, there are elders. Elders do not lead from a stance of superiority or rank; they lead because they have acquired the ability to look out for the well-being of every member of the tribe, without prejudice. They are the mediators, who seek information and knowledge from every member and guide the entire tribe into adopting new strategies or territories based on core knowledge. It is the sense of moving as one that is at the heart of the tribe model, not the leader. Everyone is a peasant in this model, even the leader.

The problem is not that we no longer behave as a tribe; it is that we do not think as a tribe, as one body. What makes sense for business does not necessarily serve the people.

Slainte!