Our best contribution requires the least effort and the most energy...

 

Slainte!

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!

A change of perspective can be a humbling experience. It can also remind us that all perspectives are, in essence, very subjective interpretations of circumstances, as various as our background, psychological and emotional baggage, cultures and, perhaps especially our fears.

 

I used to housesit in a place where a couple of squirrels decided to check in as bed & breakfast guests. There was a small cubby in the wall, next to my bed, where I had stacked sweaters. One morning, as I began to select a sweater from the pile, I discovered two brown eyes staring into mine, half in shock and half in anger. After this, I removed my favorite sweaters and left the rest for the squirrels to keep warm. I also stored a few shoes in that cubby, so I began to announce myself and knock gently before entering each day. My guests seemed to appreciate their host’s special attention and we cohabitated peacefully through the winter. They left in the spring, never to be seen again. I missed them.

 

That was nearly twenty years ago. I have a place of my own now. We have lived here for over eight years. The neighborhood is well guarded by several massive, expert hunter felines. My younger cat shared this home until he died, last September, at the ripe age of twenty-one. I assume his presence made it inhospitable to rodent guests. The best mouser in town moved away a few months ago. Last week, I found certain evidence of rodent activity.

 

In a matter of twenty-four hours, I went from being glad I could provide a warm home to a little creature to considering the best way to trap it (them?) and release it far away, to wanting it dead because it had walked all over my art supplies and bread board. I am not afraid of germs; I have even been known to drink out of a glass of water after one of my cats had stolen a sip or two, yet I have caught myself rinsing or washing every single utensil I have used over the past few days… just in case.

 

In addition to this, our dog, who happens to be a Rat Terrier, took notice of our friend when it began causing a racket somewhere between the kitchen and bathroom. At night, Mathias has been jumping off the bed, running back and forth around the house, coming back to bed for a few moments and repeating the routine, which begins at about three thirty in the morning. His Ratter programming is clearly intact, even though he has not been exposed to this sort of experience for the three years he has been alive. I must say that he is quite a beautiful, though annoying, hunter.

 

For a short while, I wondered if our guest might not be significantly larger than a mouse. I had cross paths with a rat on our street during one of my morning walks only a few weeks ago. The noise between the kitchen and bathroom was formidable, too much so for a tiny creature to produce. Yesterday, as I considered these new circumstances, I realized that I could now understand why people feel so invaded by rodents. It is, indeed, an invasion. They are extremely smart and gorgeous and, in many ways, harmless, but I can see the difficulty and risk of sharing a home with them. As I contemplated this, a small, little gray face appeared in the corner of the kitchen counter. “At least it’s not a rat”, I thought. I did not feel so angry anymore. I smiled at it and it waited a while before returning to its hiding place.

 

Roderick purchased two small traps that are designed to capture rodents without killing them. I thought this was pretty cool and remembered that a former colleague had been very successful using these to escort mice out of our offices. We set them up last night. This set my mind in motion again, wondering how terrified the poor creature might feel once trapped. I could hardly sleep… and then the dog started his circus act and I wished the mouse would go away, by any means.

 

The day went by uneventfully. I thought Mathias had likely made eye contact this morning and the little thing decided it could not live with a lunatic Rat Terrier. For a moment, I also thought the mouse had run for its life when it heard what could sound like a cousin or sibling being strangled to death when Mathias played with a squeaky toy for over a half hour. What a cool way to get rid of mice. Could it be that simple?

 

By the time supper came, the house was still silent and the temperature outside dropping slightly. I caught myself keeping an eye on the corner where I had seen the mouse the day before and paying attention to any noise, wondering where our tiny guest might be. Now I am concerned. It did not come home for dinner. I did not trap it or poison it, so who did? Is it suffering somewhere? Why did it not come home for dinner?

 

It is past eight o’clock and there is no sign or sound from the kitchen. I felt invaded when my food and health seemed threatened. Living with rodents takes its toll on our pride. I suppose even million dollar mansions can have them. They are as good a place as any for scavengers. Now I feel the emptiness of one less creature to love. Should it show up at three-thirty in the morning, like a recalcitrant teenager with an attitude, I will probably “hate” it all over again.

 

In the end, the rodent-human connection is purely emotional. It triggers in us a powerful feeling of vulnerability. Something found its way into our home, our territory. It is stealing our food and soiling our things. It is dramatically smaller, yet dramatically present. I toy with the idea of creating a form of accommodation for rodents in house building codes; a sort of isolated chamber that would cause no threat to humans and provide a sanitary home for the little scavengers we despise, admire and fear, but that truly play a role in the equilibrium of the world.

 

I hope my little friend is alright... somewhere else.

 

Slainte!

It is not easy to allow others their own path. We think that if we know what to do, or how to perform a particular task, we must act on this knowledge. Interestingly, our particular knowledge may not be what is needed at the time; it may also be inaccurate. Righteousness leads to a level of struggle that often far exceeds the energy expended for action.

 

It is possible to learn this lesson, little by little. Once learned, it is self-evident and simple to implement, though not easy. All that is required is willingness and discernment. This is a lesson I have taken my sweet time to assimilate. I have not mastered it yet, far from that, but I think I have arrived at a time in my life when the choice between struggle and flow is clearer. I simply do not have the energy to be as stubborn as I used to be anymore.

 

I learned this at work. Until recently, I felt an irresistible urge to contribute to any and all tasks I felt inspired to tackle. If someone seemed uncomfortable with a particular project for which I had previous experience, I would simply move in as though it was a perfectly logical thing to do. I did not mean to take over or steal the show; I honestly believed I was helping. In a matter of hours, however, I felt drained and though colleagues kindly made way, I could sense their discomfort. It does not help anyone not to allow others their own struggles and discoveries.

 

This behavior puzzled me for many years. It puzzled me because, as a rather territorial person, you might think I would understand and respect other people’s boundaries. I simply did not look at it from the proper angle. I thought that stepping back would demonstrate a lack of desire to assist and contribute. I did not get that making room for others can be the most logical and respectful contribution. In fact, I suspect that many wondered whether I was questioning their abilities. How else could they interpret my actions?

 

I felt drained, but not because of all my hard work and dedication. What drained me was the futility of my actions. Hard work cannot be fulfilling when it is not work that is yours to do. For the longest time, I did not know how to change my behavior, until I decided that I did not need to find something else to do, or a particular way to stop it. I only needed to stop, over and over, much like letting go of an addiction overnight because there is simply no other way to ever let go.

 

What a relief, for everybody. All struggles cloud our judgment and make us useless to others and blind to simple delights. When we have to be right, when we have to jump in just because we know how and when we have to come up with a solution just because there does not seem to be one within reach in that instant, we also create an ongoing internal cacophony of questioning and justification. We end the day drained, as we might after a long, poorly organized and barely informative conference, hoping we had not signed up for such a futile experience and stayed home to read a good book instead. There is a way to make it clear that we are available to assist others without stepping on their heads to announce it.

 

As I write this, I see a mental image of a classroom. The teacher just presented the class with a question and the same few students as usual raise their hands in earnest, hoping to be selected first. What motivates them is not so much the need to shine as the fear of disappearing, never having had a valuable impact. Every action, every response, every solution and assistance we offer is a statement of our existence and our availability to others. There is a center of being that, when we take note of it, reminds us to be as servants, patiently ready to serve, but never imposing.

 

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!

I entered first grade with the strange, for a seven-year old person, yet distinct notion that formal education would somehow fail to show me and my classmates how to live and how to fend for ourselves outside of set cultural parameters. “How could knowing how to spell serve me if I am lost in the woods?” I thought.

 

Thirty-eight years later, and over twenty-five of those fending for myself, have revealed both the truth and error of my original notions about education. This was confirmed, more recently, when I encountered a parent who expressed great concerns for two young sons and a daughter.

 

The children currently live with one parent, who insists on becoming the sole guardian and elected to home school, yet can barely meet the requirements of such an endeavor. The other parent fears not so much for their future acquired knowledge as for their ability to relate to peers in a healthy manner and exercise proper judgment in designing their own path. They are isolated and fear other children. They should read by now, but can barely spell their own names.

 

I used to know another family that had embraced a diligent home schooling regimen. A room in their house was designed to be the classroom and all four children spent a normal school day there, with one or the other parent providing a full day of lessons and discussions. These children were encouraged to participate in extra-curricular activities and free to choose to go to a conventional school instead, which they did at some point.

 

These different perspectives and circumstances provide much to consider. One type of learning experience is not better than the other. Both require balance and it appears that both require diligent focus on one central goal: the development of a well-rounded person who is curious about the world, interested in others and able to live with respect and dignity toward self and others. This is the true requirement of education.

 

I am certain that many schools provide a setting where this goal is the central mission. I have often heard myself and others blame the school system for not providing complete education, but now I believe that education is never complete. The only thing that can be complete is our willingness to continue learning and how readily we accept that what we learn is to be placed at the service of society as well as our own.

 

A diploma is not necessarily required in order to fulfill this goal. Perhaps our belief that good grades and diplomas are the goal is the most detrimental belief of all. It robs education of its wonder and it robs many of the desire to learn for the sake of learning. In truth, we need not learn so we can become someone with a specific career or title; we learn so that we may feed our minds with such diversity of knowledge and such passion for specific topics that we naturally develop the skills we will bring into the world and share with neighbors and colleagues. For we participate in the making and success and joy of a culture in truly great ways when we effortlessly do what we are good at doing.

 

Education teaches us more about the endless possibilities of the self than it teaches theories or processes. Education is a gift. It can be acquired in the classroom, as an apprentice, online, in books, at free public lectures, at seminars and workshops, at retreats and conferences. It does not necessarily require a diploma; it only requires for one to show up and for those who are able to encourage and support them to do so in the same way and with the same fervor they might apply to encouraging a career path.

 

In fact, education is the beginning of the career path. It is the threshold, the gate to the knowledge and wonder that open yet other doors and lead to new, irresistible thresholds or, at the very least, the conviction that there is something worthwhile for us to do.

 

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!

Everybody should work part-time only. We should reconsider our current understanding that a “normal” workweek is comprised of a 40-hour contribution to an employer. Employers themselves might reconsider their commitment.

 

The 40-hour workweek entered our culture with the automotive industry assembly line. Granted that jobs in almost any field are truly a form of assembly line, this does not mean the model is still viable today, at least not for everyone. High-productivity does not have to mean full-time commitment and commitment does not have to mean at the expense of other talents and aspirations. Yet we are so afraid to loose the full-time paycheck and benefits. Would it really be a loss?

 

Loss, in itself, does not exist. We feel loss when we focus on our attachment to circumstances and believe that any variation or change will be painful or undesirable. Yet how many people have lost their jobs only to discover that they had gained a new perspective and, especially, the freedom to expand their horizons.

 

It is not our employers’ fault. Our daily responsibilities and the sense of security they provide often contribute to a sense of attachment to circumstances. We dream of learning a new trade or craft, but fear losing our identity in the process since we identify with our current career path. We are a mechanic or administrator or carpenter. We fear being less in the eyes of spouses, neighbors and family if we announce that we only work part-time while learning to sew on the side, for example. Having this sort of freedom is almost arrogant, we think, and certainly irresponsible.

 

Responsibility to self also expands into responsibility toward our neighbors and the world. Ignoring a talent for fear of not fitting the accepted structure of the good person’s work life is just as bad as not giving our best on the job. It robs the world of constructive, creative action.

 

What would happen if our work culture were structured in such a way that seeking to develop skills and talents outside of our current job were encouraged? Instead of having separate employers pay specific groups of employees to do specific tasks, all employees would be interchangeable between job sites, offering and learning new skills, developing dormant talents and living their dreams. A global pool of moneys might provide salaries. Working full-time at one job would no longer be necessary since there would always be a team of skilled and dedicated individuals offering part-time work on a rotating basis and ensuring everything is done, perhaps attaining an even higher level of accomplishment and quality since everyone would be passionate about the task at hand.

 

A simpler version of this sort of system would be for current full-time employees to agree to take a cut in hours so that unemployed, qualified and dedicated workers may have a share of the experience and income. There is documented evidence that people who voluntarily or involuntarily cut their hours and develop other skills they had longed to develop are more productive, more efficient and more reliable employees, in addition to being happier and healthier. Likewise, skilled individuals can be top workers given the chance to participate actively in the workforce and earn their keep. Being included and involved feels good because it is good.

 

Any work or business is a group effort. This does not absolutely have to be limited to the group within an organization’s walls. The world is a group effort whose many talented, willing and eager participants do not quite dare to step outside of the box and do all they dream of doing. When we dare, however, or when circumstances change fast enough to shake us into a new reality, we often find that it is possible to strive outside of the box and that the notion or feeling of striving is not tied to a set schedule.

 

Of course, no one stops us from quitting our full-time jobs to become something else, run a personal business, hold five different jobs or take a year off to travel the world or watch the seasons go by. Likewise, this does not mean that working full-time is undesirable. To each his own, but we need not be attached to this model. In fact, no one says we are.

 

At each turn of each century, with each world or personal event and economic fluctuation, we reassess our lives and reshape the world with every little variation from the norm we naturally adhere to as we adapt to inevitable changes. It happens in spite of us. When we are ready. Even when we do not know that we are ready. Everybody longs to be fully realized. THIS is our true full-time job.

 

Slainte!

What happened? Almost every single culture tells the story of a teacher or prophet, a savior who bears Good News of love and hope. I believe some prophets are real and I believe some were imagined, but the result is the same. Worldwide, all stories of prophets bear one common thread: Someone who grasps how the world and human relations work warns us about our own wrongdoing toward others and repeatedly reminds us that good is at hand. It is a choice.

 

If this Savior is part of our mythology, what is the giant leap of faith that leads us to create entire media presentations that focus on war, violence, useless products that do not enhance our human relations, bad news and hopelessness for the celestial body we call earth. This makes no sense at all. Do we not want to remind each other of the magnificent things we are capable of instead?

 

We engage in a persistent battle against cancer, war, famine, drought, lack, obesity, death and the common cold. We design products that kill 99.9 % of bad germs, not thinking one second that these products also kill 99.9 % of the microscopic scavengers we need to fight disease, process ingested foods and maintain a strong, natural defense against common ailments. We place our faith in bits and pieces of news that focus on what is wrong and all manners of evil that may befall us, instead of focusing on the stories of those who have overcome these “evils” without losing their homes, health or sanity in the process.

 

They are all around us: Cancer survivors by the thousands, peacemakers by the thousands, uneducated turned businesspersons by the thousands, thieves turned humanitarians by the thousands, homeless turned apartment dwellers by the thousands. All of this happens every second of every day, but it only happens when someone stops long enough to notice, shift gear and decide to lend a helping hand, believe in possibilities and believe in the very basic ability to overcome.

 

In truth, there is no gap. We believe our prophets without evidence of their teachings and pronouncements. We are wired to believe, to trust, to embrace any notion that is presented with enough gusto to ignite our passion, or assuage our fears. It is not a gap; it is a twist in our thinking. Rising against something feels a lot like passion, but often it is rooted in fear and fear makes us feel threatened and self-centered. Passion, on the other hand, opens the imagination.

 

Every day, there are people who save the world from disease, famine, war and pollution. In interviews, every single one of them speaks the language of compassion. They do not say, “I fear for myself”; they say, “I fear for the world and the children of the world. What can I do?” These four words are the turning point, the key, because once we ask, “What can I do for others?” we initiate a wave of constructive actions that do not rob others of their rights, self-esteem or dignity. 

 

A product cannot do much for us on its own. A forecast of looming hardships or illness can have an impact on the mind and body that far outweighs the ravages of any disease. A disease, in itself, cannot touch the essence of a person. A war, in itself, cannot touch the essence of a person. A neighbor who shares his or her time and resources or a researcher who passionately seeks answers, can change the world. That is pretty good news.

 

Whether our mythology is based on established prophets or experts or our own imagination, we must consider the source of our beliefs. Prophets do not inspire disciples to listen by enumerating statistics regarding the likelihood of bad weather, bad health or bad relationships. Nor are they reporters or marketing gurus, seeking the best angle to illustrate a story. They are keen observers who study the world and explain it back to students so that they may have the necessary tools to overcome hardships without creating disaster, overcome conflict without resorting to fights and overcome weaknesses by choice.

 

Slainte!

We take the occasional dramas of life very seriously, and we should. It is important to decide how to react, what to choose, where to go, who to confide in and how to stand tall and live on. In the midst of a crisis, the world stops and we become its center. Actually, it is still spinning, and we are standing still, in the midst of a tornado. Any movement could catapult us miles away, into unchartered territory. Sometimes, this is the best way to discover new horizons.

 

In 1984, my mother and I lived together in a condo she had just acquired two years earlier when separating from my father. I was twenty years old and spent the greater part of each day at University. We had a good rapport. Her friends who, like her, were in the theater business, visited quite often and they were hilarious. At home, I grew up in an adult world, but a very colorful one, in spite of the excessive use of alcohol.

 

This eventually took my mother’s life. She died suddenly in September of that year. What next? My sister and I rented an apartment together. My dad had requested we live together for a year, perhaps thinking that as the youngest one I would need her guidance to get my feet back on the ground. What he did not know, and what I discovered with great surprise was that the wind of change had not tipped me over; it had shaken me into greater alertness. I sought my own apartment after six months.

 

I loved my new life. I lived alone with my cat, in a small one-room apartment. I loved returning to it after work each day. I had had to leave University one semester short of completion in order to buy my freedom, but it was a price well worth paying. I have no regrets.

 

I later often asked myself if I had been in denial at the time, but I find little evidence of this. Instead, it feels like an absolutely conscious and deliberate journey, an awakening. Yes, I was sad and missed my mother. Amazingly though, the little girl who used to cry the minute her mom was out of sight or delayed from work, even at the advanced age of twelve, felt very secure and certain that this outcome was the right outcome, ordained by some invisible scenario that was playing out exactly as it should. I had stepped into a new story and a new identity. Nothing more, and yet so much more.

 

This realization amazed me. I thought a normal person would feel devastated for the rest of her life at the loss of her mother and I occasionally felt guilty for not experiencing such feelings. However, I think the "me" who might have felt devastated had vanished in the instant I had to decide how to handle my life story from that point forward. Having the ability to choose also confers the ability to become.

 

It has been twenty-five years since my mother passed away. I have since lost my two closest life companions, two cats who shared nineteen and twenty-one years of their lives with me. I have since left a relationship, started over and experienced a layoff from a job I thought looked a lot like a career. This blew me away every time, only to realize that I was perfectly equipped to land wherever I landed.

 

I wonder if this is not a simple course of action everyone actually experiences to one degree or another. Sometimes, disasters shift our life path, sometimes it is only a mild discomfort or disenchantment that causes us to move on, effortlessly or by way of a temporary struggle. In reality, all the circumstances that throw us a mild or devastating curve are just that, circumstances. At every turn, we must decide on the rest of the course in much the same way as we might decide to bring an umbrella on a cloudy day. We decide with more or less urgency depending on our plans for the day and how heavy the rain appears to be.

 

Life is a constant readjustment of personality, belief, strength and focus. The degree of difficulty varies and shapes our response. We develop our personalities and skills by experiencing the entire mosaic of challenges and decisions so that in each instant we redefine what “I am” means for us. We may not be aware of the whole mosaic, or the bigger picture, in every moment. It becomes clear when we take stock and realize that the storm changed the landscape and dug a path we would not have otherwise taken. Thus, without the storm, we might have been lost.

 

Slainte!

I do not know what prompted me to talk about what follows tonight. Perhaps it surfaced naturally, as a result of today’s activities. I began the day with the intention of reorganizing my art supplies and ended up reorganizing my entire artwork corner. It felt good, cleansing, like a sort of preparation for a new journey. I guess this reminded me of what might be considered rites of passage, or moments of enlightenment.

 

Tonight, I was going to talk about tourists and their sometimes-annoying driving tendencies, but I do not feel like commenting on others’ behaviors. They are taking the time to stop, breathe in, enjoy the moment, look around and really see what is there. Perhaps we should thank those of us who choose to be tourists for a day or a week or a month instead of getting impatient with them. After all, they bring business to our local merchants and Inn Keepers. They also come to appreciate the scenery we so often take for granted.

 

Many years ago, in my twenties, I stayed at a friend’s country house for two weeks, several miles outside of Montreal. I needed some time and he had allowed me to visit and even bring my two cats. He had to be in Montreal for work for several days, so I stayed there alone, out in farm country, surrounded by endless miles of fields, cows, ravens and horizon. At night, all one could see outside was the faint line between land and sky, the lights in the kitchen of the only neighbor, the stars and the moon. On my first night alone there, I sat by the large front windows to read with my cats and the neighbor’s dog who liked to visit and had become a reassuring presence. I absentmindedly looked up from my book and through the window right in front of me to glance at the moon. I returned my attention to the book, but immediately looked up again.

 

The moon was full. Through the thin screen in the window, four beams of light appeared to emerge from it, forming a cross. I was mesmerized, but did not understand why. I had been raised an atheist and had never truly asked myself what I believed, yet in that moment I felt the magnitude of all that had come to pass in history and all that we had created, and I felt certain there had to be at least some force, beyond and far more intricate than our bare two hands, behind it all. I stared at the moon for so long that I actually watched the horizon move away from it. It was perhaps the only true moment of pure meditation I have ever attained. It changed me. I prayed. Prayer just came to me.

 

Such moments are rare, but always reach deep inside as though they had the ability to unlock some hidden memory. Yes. This is exactly how it felt. It felt as though I had suddenly remembered who and what I am, where and what I come from and how so very much intertwined with the Universe every individual existence actually is. Such moments are rare, we would probably take them for granted and not even notice them otherwise, but they do come around again, when we are ready and when, like tourists, we forget our daily routine long enough to notice.

 

Years later, as tourists in Scotland, Roderick and I walked in the forest near his ancestors’ castle, in Blair Atholl, Pertshire. The Scottish forest is massively populated by Beech. Their silver bark and stature are quite impressive. We walked peacefully on the path and came to a point where we stopped to take in the surrounding beauty. I was irresistibly drawn by something, but did not know what it was. I also felt like I was in familiar territory or like I remembered something. Roderick sat by a beech with his back against it and began to meditate. A larger beech caught my attention and I stood with my back against it. The energy was gentle, but distinctly penetrating.

 

We stayed quite a while, until it was time to return to the Inn. The moment I stepped away from my beech I was overcome by the sort of heart wrenching pain and sadness children experience when forcibly separated from a parent. I shook and cried uncontrollably and was left with the mental image of an elderly patriarch with the most benevolent eyes and smile I had ever seen. It felt like I had finally returned home or had a glimpse of a world and people I had left behind centuries ago. This is the only way I can describe this experience.

 

It stays with me to this day. My connection with this tree, and others since, is ever present, as subtle and deep as the invisible lifeline between siblings. Though I cannot explain how this is possible, I have found that I can sense the presence of beech long before I see them. Over time, I also discovered that many of the places I had been drawn to in nature are distinctly beech habitat. I remember as a child, the irresistible need to feel the “skin” and connect with the trees as we walked down the path where my father used to take use on picnics. I remember carefully avoiding causing injury to the roots as I walked and internally thanking each tree for steadying me down a slope. When I returned to this place, years later, I was at once shocked and not surprised to find my silver friends stand there, hundreds of them. Of course.

 

These experiences are not uncommon; what is uncommon is how we so often store them in the backs of our minds as though they belonged to an unreal world that does not fit in our modern times or daily business. We believe this part of our life experience is not socially acceptable. Yet how can something that so deeply touches the soul not be part of the whole person?

 

Slainte!

I watch a few TV shows and movies on Hulu, on my computer. Nine years ago, when we began our life together, Roderick and I chose to live without television. I find advertizing rather invasive. From what I have seen when I visit houses with television, it has not changed.

 

Like any media business, Hulu must generate income. Fortunately, the ads are extremely short, yet useless and bizarre products manage to find their way onto the screen and to make me question this human race, our concerns and priorities.

 

Two things are sold with every product: The product itself and the belief that certain circumstances or conditions exist that must be remedied. Statistics usually establish the need. 85 % of people will begin losing their hair by age 20. The large percentage is so impressive, and so immediately accepted as an indication of significance, that we rarely question what is actually being said. What about the 15 % who will not lose their hair? Of how many hairs are we talking? People lose hair every single day. Is it automatically a problem because of this sudden statistic? Some believe and insist that there should never be more than about 20 hairs on my brush each week. I have lost more than that each day, for over 25 years, and I am not anywhere near bald!

 

The latest “gadget” is a prescription solution that promises to grow longer, thicker and darker lashes. What is the underlying message? That having short, light, sparse eyelashes is a condition, one that requires a remedy. It is not merely special, thickening mascara that is supposed to do the trick anymore; one needs the Big Rx. Is not a prescription for a medical condition? Since when are the normal eyelashes we are born with a condition? How important is this, really?

 

Indeed, how important is it to be so absorbed with our bodies that we spend millions in research and purchases to create and acquire products that promise to overcome physical traits that are, in reality, normal? Someone who lost an arm might benefit from the research and equipment that provide an artificial limb, but what is accomplished by thickening eyelashes or preventing normal hair loss?

 

What of the fear of these unrealistic conditions? We suffer from a great lack of self-esteem in this culture. It probably does not matter how intelligent we are. Repeat the message that normal hair and lashes require medication and before too long even the best-grounded person may lose sight of reality and feel less than perfect.

 

I do not believe I have ever seen an advertizing campaign to promote self-acceptance, not a product, not a condition and not focus on imaginary flaws, just a plain acknowledgement that perhaps we are just ok as we are. The things we invent to attain perfection only lead to a greater desire for perfection; desire for perfection leads to the belief that it is not there already. But it is.

 

There is great perfection in a body that manages to balance on two feet and manipulate and transform its surroundings, build shelter, produce food, create art and music, hold a child, love an animal, build a community, learn languages and skills and grow in wisdom and acceptance. All of this is accomplished from the center of our minds and the cooperation of our physical structure. No funny pill or ointment is required.

 

Slainte!

According to several studies, most casual conversations focus on conveying negative experiences and discussing the shortcomings and misdeeds of others. We go out of our way to discuss a bad experience nearly three times as much as we might to discuss a good one. Some might say this indicates shallowness or a negative attitude, but could it be instinctive also?

 

The story we tell when we say that someone has wronged us, for instance, is merely an illustration, the conveying of an event in such a way as to impress upon the listener the atmosphere and nature of an encounter that did not bring us joy, fulfillment, nurturing or well-being. Take away the words, the whining and swearing, and it becomes an attempt to convey who we are in the midst of an event. By rejecting the event, we state our own belief system and we warn others so they avoid the same situation, the same assault.

 

That this is a perceived assault, not necessarily a real one, is irrelevant. It is our long-winded and twisted way of saying, “This is what happened to me. Do not go there. It is a place where you will be treated with disrespect”. It is also a long-winded and twisted way of saying, “I am a good and worthy person. These people did not treat me as such. I hereby seek your allegiance so that I do not stand alone in the midst of this drama”.

 

We instinctively seek commiseration. We want others to be angry with us. This validates our perception of the event that has so shaken us; it also reassures us that we do not stand-alone. When we are wronged or when bad things happen to us, we feel alone, diminished. We instinctively seek to build an army, we campaign in our own favor, until voices of friends and colleagues rise in unison against the misdeed. It is a powerful mechanism. It works in the sense that it provides a feeling of strength and righteousness. In truth, it does not, and it is not necessary to feel strong or righteous. It is necessary, however, to preserve our dignity. Complaining about a situation does not accomplish this.

 

What would happen if we said nothing, or if we chose to say it differently? We might convey a bad experience or encounter to friends and colleagues but not seek commiseration. Instead, we might seek suggestions and guidance. Should we speak up to someone who has insulted us or let it go? Should we avoid a certain individual or peacefully confront him? Most importantly, are we seeing things clearly, are we being fair and contributing to making things better?

 

These are tough questions. They require a lot of mental and emotional work, the sort that is not possible immediately upon leaving an unpleasant encounter or experience. However, these questions are building blocks. Without them, all we have are the anger and words we cast out into the world randomly, like random bricks and nails and planks a disgruntled builder might unload haphazardly on a job site. Every experience is a job site; one where we must organize our thoughts and emotions into a blueprint we can build upon instead of seeking to make sense of debris and, in fact, adding to the pile.

 

Slainte!

When children hurt their siblings or steal, parents scold them, send them to their room or ground them for the week. Though their may be some tension for a while, parents continue to love and support them, share meals with them and laugh with them. When a person in the community hurts someone else or steals, we chastise him or her and rarely forgive.

 

A trusted community member, in a town near where I live, was recently accused of molesting teens. It appears certain that he did in fact commit such acts, while otherwise being a respected teacher, mentor, coach and public servant. When a fellow public servant took the time to commend this man for his services to the city in addition to expressing his sorrow over the revelation of molestation, he was scorned for uttering such a comment.

 

Is there any real reason in the universe why we so readily obliterate the good deeds of fellow men and women the moment we become aware of the less than admirable acts they are also capable of? With our children it seems different, but in some ways it is similar. Though we do not cease to love them while we scold them, we put a lot more energy into noticing their wrongdoing than into stressing their general ability to demonstrate admirable traits throughout the day.

 

We define what is right by first identifying what is wrong. The right action or behavior then becomes the standard by which we measure our deeds and especially the deeds of others. There is an underlying agreement to favor what is good. However, we spend much less time reinforcing good deeds, even the simplest and most obvious good deeds, than we do pointing, analyzing and discussing bad deeds. To associate with the good, we must reject the bad or at least this is what we have come to believe.

 

What if the concept of “bringing to justice” did not mean bringing an “offender” before a court and jury? Instead, it would mean, “intervening in such a way as to lead a fellow human back to his or her most harmonious place in society”. Justice is represented by a scale. It is about what is right and balanced for all, not just for those who decide what is right and wrong. In fact, those who decide could be compared to parents; elders who observe the workings of a group of people and determine how to guide the whole group back to harmony and cohesion whenever there is discord on the part of one or many.

 

Parenting is not black and white; it does not isolate a child for wrongdoing. Rather, it leads to a voluntary effort to seek to understand the child in order to help him or her navigate through the crisis, remember, and embrace the behavior that is best for all.

 

We chastise people who do wrong as a statement that we aspire to reject wrongdoing in our own lives and in general. To condemn a person we have labeled a “criminal” or “offender” is an act that clearly separates us from that person and makes it clear that we had no part in it. But this was clear already.  

 

We do not have to stop loving someone because they have done something unspeakably wrong. We must let them know it is wrong; we must let them know it will not be tolerated because it hurts others. However, how can we ask someone to change and love others at the same time as we tell this person, “We are now rejecting you”? Is this justice? Does this make an example of the offender, as a deterrent to others or is it clearly understood as a statement of rejection? Does this solve anything?

 

There is a reason people commit acts of violence. The individual who committed the act is not the only object on which to focus our attention. When we look at the “why”, we may begin to see a greater picture and draw conclusions with far greater reaching potential. We might see what circumstances came together to generate an act of violence and how to avoid this in the future.

 

Will someone ask where this man came from, what he has suffered or witnessed or what sort of thinking led him to molest young children? What sort of talents does he possess that could be encouraged and developed so he may be able to change his perspective and behavior? Is this possible? Does rejecting the whole person on the ground of one horrific misdeed actually work? Does this reveal that we stand for good, or that we love conditionally?

 

I imagine a public award ceremony where reformed offenders and criminals of all sorts are honored for having overcome their inclinations to hurt others. I imagine an award ceremony where people who have done their time and made every effort to right their ways receive encouragement to continue on this new course instead of being rejected the moment they step off prison grounds.

 

I imagine a society where we reinforce and celebrate every act of harmony and cooperation far more often than we come together to speak against something or someone.

 

Slainte!

"Do we wish no to resemble who we are?" asked a radio host in the course of an interview regarding the various attitudes toward beauty and esthetics. I began streaming the show moments before its end. This last statement trailed off in my headphones as the sound of the keyboard began to take over: Smiling causes our faces to wrinkle much, but when we smile it is not our wrinkles that others notice, it is the communicative warmth of our countenance.

 

How true. Perhaps it is the wrinkles within that should cause us the most concern, as well as the ways in which we shrink in disapproval of others’ choices and behaviors, the ways in which we judge them and ourselves. These wrinkles of the spirit might very well be more apparent than the signs of aging.

 

I long ago decided not to spend any of my income on beauty products other than what is necessary to keep myself clean, healthy and presentable. I made this decision when I had very little and it was clear to me that I should focus energies on survival and inner well-being. I also made this decision following observation of deeply unhappy individuals within my immediate surroundings and after hearing these unimaginable words escape their lips: “I would rather die than grow old and wrinkled”.

 

As I sought to eradicate such thoughts from my own perception of self, I developed great freedom. Conversely, I also developed harsh criticism toward anything pertaining to makeup and aesthetic surgery. I became wrinkled on the inside as I frowned my objection, that is, until I made an interesting discovery. My own streamlined style was just as much an attempt to express some true self as is the style of people who choose to wear expensive clothing or decorate their skin or color their hair.

 

In truth, we do not so much seek to be someone else as we seek to create in the mirror the image that most accurately reflects who we know we are on the inside. The perfect shade of lipstick or the perfect tie pattern is required for one to feel fully expressed. I feel fully expressed in my subtly medieval cut blouses. I do not feel like me in anything else. Similarly, I believe that for most people who choose plastic surgery there is simply something very strong calling from within, begging to be revealed. They know who they are and the image they bring out into the world must reflect this.

 

We say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, not realizing that this is not necessarily a third party’s eye. Granted that in some instances the attempt to transform or embellish one’s appearance may be a result of trauma or insecurity, I bet that in most instances it is an instinct. We simply know who we are. We may not voice this, lest we sound arrogant. In fact, our culture teaches us to suppress any such verbal expression. Therefore, we adorn our faces and bodies with the colors and shapes that best extend our spirits out into the world.

 

It would be interesting to watch the metamorphosis of our neighbors, colleagues and friends if all of us suddenly had the spontaneous ability to assume the colors, vestments and accessories of that within us which we know to be our true selves. Like changelings or young sprouts that grow in slow motion before the rhythmic camera shutter, we might merge into our true form as effortlessly as gently running water. I believe this is the experience we seek when we decorate ourselves with the textures and colors at hand in our material and not so fluid world. We seek a fluency of being.

 

Slainte!

We often fail to recognize the multitude of possibilities and nuances in everyday realities. We adopt a cause and develop a belief around it in our minds, one that soon becomes inflexible. The goal, the ideal, the path itself disappear in the face of a stubborn grasp onto truths that may or may not be in line with all aspects of an event or reality. We create unspoken contracts and live in fear of failure should we fall short. Worst yet, we live in fear of oblivion and annihilation.

 

It is important to care about nature, it is important to treat the planet and all creatures with love and respect, reducing our impact is a worthy and intelligent cause, but I question whether an extremist, stubborn, single-minded approach is necessary.

 

I began this questioning long ago, little by little, as I became increasingly aware of the discrepancy between my spoken dialogue and my actual thoughts and desires. I love animals. In fact, several personal experiences have convinced me of the possibility of communicating, or merging with them at a deep spiritual level. I abstained from meat eating for several years, until my body grew a bit older and I became aware of urges for the taste of iron and the slight but distinguishable feeling I feel upon smelling and tasting a fine cut of steak, a bit of blood.

 

Our bodies have an intelligence of their own. It recognizes every lack and every need and instinctively seeks to respond, fill the gaps and provide the proper nutrients and activity. If we pay attention to the prompts, we soon realize that we know exactly what to ingest as surely as we know with certainty in which areas we are most skilled. This reflection, and the inevitable giving in that led me to savor a good steak on occasion, or add chicken to my weekly diet, also led to a new, more honest perception of my relationship with nature.

 

It suddenly occurred to me that the real problem might be a slight variation on the generally adopted truth. The problem is not that we eat meat; it is how we treat the animals we raise for meat. Humane slaughter used to be the rule in many cultures. Mass production has led to less than kind practices. We must change our practices. Over-indulgence does not work, but complete, worldwide abstinence is neither realistic, nor healthy. Any solution must arise from a great measure of balance.

 

The real estate and automobile industries trigger a similar debate. We forget that human ingenuity is never at a standstill. The building and car design practices of today have evolved and continue to evolve even as we protest against them. Engineers, inventors, architects and dreamers are free to reinvent. In fact, they do so constantly. Every new design, prototype and shape is an innovation. They consistently seek to lighten what is too heavy, silence what is too loud and recycle what is otherwise wasted.

 

Hating all people who choose to purchase SUV’s or large houses does not contribute to greater respect for the environment. How could thoughts of hate ever lead to true respect? This is conditional love at best. I will accept you and value you if you drive an electric car, but for now I must look away as a statement of my love for the world. What sort of thinking is that?

The environment crisis is real, but I wonder if any fight or demonstration against global warming, meat eating or mansion dwelling can actually contribute to a renewed common accord and shared love and devotion for the environment. I am much less likely to see eye to eye with someone who is against me than I am with someone who accepts me as I am while strongly, simply adopting new, better rules and demonstrating the results of that.

 

Everyone has the ability to recognize a loving act, a new invention that works better, a new approach that gradually makes its way into common acceptance and usage, because it was allowed to evolve rather than being imposed. There is rarely any resistance to true evolution, and evolution is inevitable. Humans consistently seek more joy, more peace, more love and more well-being. Everything we create and do is certain to evolve in direct proportion to this search.

 

We naturally seek to reduce suffering and pain, but we must first recognize these before we can change. We strive for harmony, by nature. Our occasional clumsiness does not prevent our success; it leads to it. It is the stepping-stone, the point of recognition and awareness that leads to new, better directions.

 

Slainte!

Thousands of business meetings take place across the country at any moment of every day. Some are a springboard for launching new product or ideas. Most are simply regularly scheduled meetings, occurring year round, regardless of current business activity.

 

Thousands of business meetings take place daily and it is likely that less than half are actually structured events. If they are, it is likely someone else’s idea of structure, someone else’s idea of agenda and someone else’s idea of an outcome that unfold before bewildered, bored and confused participants. Why are we discussing this again, and again, and again?!

 

Hosting or leading meetings is an art. It does not occur to all business leaders to become well versed in the practice of this art. To most, meetings are a matter-of-fact by-product of business, one we do not question anymore than we might question any of the automatic actions we take each day.

 

In truth, business meetings are a fascinating entity that behaves according to unspoken, yet distinct conventions. Individuals whose talents, intellect, ability to focus, creativity, interests, level of confidence and level of expertise vary wildly, come together and generally choose the same chair around the room or table and interact in the same manner at each encounter. In this configuration, hierarchy becomes a key actor. Without a concerted effort to take this into consideration, the outcome, level of participation and, indeed, the level of interest and resulting action are questionable at best, disastrous at worst.

 

In some of my former work experiences, leaders had come out of meetings exasperated, bemoaning the fact that no one seemed as dedicated to “the cause” as they were. Employees came out overwhelmed and feeling far more oppressed than encouraged. There was no common goal. Worse yet, no attempt to understand and engage the best qualifications and abilities of each person, no awareness of the great expertise and possibilities at hand, no effort to actually communicate.

 

Conversely, I recently had the great privilege to sit at business meetings where I have watched as a seasoned business manager sat not at the head of the table, but amongst his employees, and genuinely listened as he invited each of them to speak up, should they have something to share. I have watched in total amazement as he asked questions, drawing from the expertise of the individuals present to seek to improve his own understanding of a situation or concept. I have watched in equal amazement when he took the time to thank each speaker, all of whom were part of his daily business universe, not special guests requiring special decorum. However, to him, it seems, they were his special guests in that moment, and he made sure they felt welcome and honored.

 

Acknowledging and encouraging employees does not deplete leaders of their authority. Instead, it demonstrates genuine authority, the type that stands on, and instills, confidence. Hierarchy is not about lords and subjects; it is about leaders and creators. It is about mature leaders who recognize, accept and call forth the talents and abilities of each individual, who bring their people together to discuss where they are going together, to remember why they are choosing a certain path, product or approach, to brainstorm solutions and ideas, to decide who amongst them is best equipped for each task and to agree, as one, to take charge separately in order to reach a common goal.

 

Slainte!

As humans, we often strive to behave in ways we feel set us apart in such a way as to demonstrate superior composure and good judgment. In recent years, countless manuscripts were produced by “enlightened teachers” who seek to instill in us the ability to face our struggles with peacefulness equal to the stillness of ancient statues. Emulating these teachers then becomes our key struggle.

 

Not only do we struggle to overcome the normal sufferings encountered in the course of our careers, interaction with neighbors, siblings, spouses and colleagues, but also on top of that we must struggle to overcome our emotions and the instinctive drive to act according to our innate sense of justice and ethics. This is the good struggle, we think, the only one worth fighting for. Anything else transforms us into some immature, unreasonable beast.

 

Yet there are, in this world, people who consistently treat others with disregard, business managers who mishandle funds and oppress workers, and public servants who are self-serving instead. We can recognize and even accept that, perhaps, they do not act hurtfully on purpose; perhaps they are doing what they believe is appropriate. Nevertheless, when their actions become oppressive, when we witness injustice and disregard for ethical behavior, should we really sit still and try to convince ourselves that all is well by reciting our mantra du jour? “Karma will take care of this. I need do nothing...”

 

This may apply in some situations where we are a distant observer with very little information regarding the details of a situation. I question whether it is a sensible approach when we are closely involved or when our family, friends, community or colleagues are at the receiving end of less than loving acts.

 

After many years of delving into self-help and spiritual texts that painstakingly convey the commendable benefits of the peaceful warrior, I have come to the conclusion that our ability to choose what we react to and how we do so does not mean we must choose stillness when we have the ability to choose otherwise. It means we must choose discernment in our action. It also means that as a fellow human being, co-worker, animal, inhabitant of a planet, we must place our talents, skills and sense of community in the service of others where and when such service is required. Sitting on the sidelines is not smart. It is disrespectful.

 

The “way of none-resistance” does not mean one must refrain from intervention; it means one must determine the most constructive action to bring about change in the best interest of all involved. This requires a lot of mental and emotional work, and the willingness to do such work. Conventional spiritual models and more modern models such as the Eckhart Tolles and Wayne Dyers of this world are often presented to us in a distorted light. We perceive them as accomplished saints who do not so much as lift a finger against suffering and injustice. This is partly true of course, in the sense that they do not act in opposition to anything, but rather in favor of better behaviors and outcomes.

 

To think that silence is the proper action is an error. Either we take intelligent action now in service of fellow humans and fellow animals who need it now, or we do nothing but pray, believing that ripple effects will certainly transform some future generation. We are here now, observing now, able to support and encourage and transform now. The ripple effect of intelligent action now surely multiplies the impact on generations now and later.

 

New age teachings can be as “dangerous” and misleading as ancient religious dogma. They very innocently claim to show the other side, yet they claim this via the same rhetoric, namely that anyone who does not abide by the new dogma is not worthy of being called a saint or Good Samaritan. However, the Good Samaritan did not sit on the edge of the fountain absent-mindedly, did he?

 

Slainte!