Anti-Structure

This will probably be a Slow Lane that many will not enjoy. Why? Because; it is going to be about an idea, then later about me. This idea came to me when I was in graduate school, doing research on a psychological sense of community. It has taken nearly 25 years of experience for me to realize some of the true meaning behind this idea. I hope to share this idea with you, and then begin to explore the complex meaning that this idea has brought into my life. The idea, very simply put, is that the forms that surround all psychological, spiritual and community practices, get in the way. Here’s what I mean.

In graduate school (in the 80s) I was unable to find, in the psychological literature, any references to collective (shared) states of consciousness. This drove me to the anthropological literature; there I found several accounts, having to do with hallucinogens (shamanic use), ritual (by indigenous people) and rites-of-passage (communal rituals). I found the work of Victor Turner, a cultural anthropologist, who’s interest in symbols led him to observe many communal rituals, through which he recognized rituals that evoked a shift from individual to collective states of consciousness. He spent a good deal of his career describing and analyzing these rites, and the states they evoked. His work inspired me to look at the Community-building Workshop (CBW a copyright of FCE) as a contemporary collective ritual process.

While reading Turner I came across a book of his entitled Structure and Anti-Structure. I didn’t really understand the significance of what he was pointing out in this work, until now. At the time, I only understood that if limenality was going to arise collectively (the source of community feelings) then the normal structures of social life have to go away. Now, I think he was referring to something much larger and all-encompassing then that.

Now, I believe he was trying to articulate his awareness that structures, of all sorts, impede awareness of the primeval bonds that we all share.

This realization has grown more important to me. At first, I didn’t know that structures, such as meditational,  psychotherapeutic, or ritual practices and communal guidelines, could so easily, if I held to them too tightly, lead me astray. I found most of these practices to be very useful. But, as time went along, something surprising, and hard to explain, began to happen.

Success came less easily, and I began to resent (at first unconsciously) the very practices and guidelines that once served me. Where once those practices freed me, now it seemed that they were ineffective and even bound me. I came to resent, people in the earlier stages of this awareness, who were practice or guideline “Nazis” to me. The structure these practices and guidelines imposed, were great training wheels, but they actually kept me from riding freely.

Further on in my development, I’ve come to realize that these practices and guidelines do not produce an experience. I do. I mistook the practices for the thing itself. I relied on guidelines to produce community when all along it resided in me. As long as I looked outside myself, as the practices and guidelines seemed to have encouraged me to do, I missed my own capacity, my own responsibility, for being the change I sought. I couldn’t live in community, if, as I once believed, community was only a product of the shared practice of guidelines. I was lucky, perhaps it was my training as a transpersonal psychologist, but I somehow realized community was a state of consciousness, that was more dependent upon me, than on the guidelines and practices.

This has been a good, important, and hard lesson for me. Realizing that what I seek exists outside of practices and guidelines is scary and liberating. Facing my own responsibility for living inside, or outside, of these desired states is another matter. I don’t even know how to talk about the paradoxical nature of what I am realizing. For instance, I am not sure how I feel about the fact that these states exist inside me. Even community, which involves the paradoxical other, is as available to me, as I allow it to be. Community exists inside and outside of me. I know that it is always available, but I am not always willing, or able, to feel it. Somehow my consciousness is implicated.

All I know for the moment is that the practices are not the states I seek and that I have some responsibility, in how I use my consciousness, for living in what I desire. I seem to get the exact proportion of any of these experiences that I can handle. I know now that that says more about me than it does about these states. I seem to be the structure that is in my way. How paradoxical, because I am what has enabled me to get this far too. Happily, though I don’t always rely on this knowing — emptying, letting go, and jumping into the grave — are all anti-structural.  

Ripening

Life apparently thrives by occasionally knocking over the apple cart.  Just when I think I have something figured out, I am plunged, once again, in over my head. Sometimes I think Life has a wicked sense of humor and is a bit sadistic. I usually occupy this sentiment when I am feeling sorry for myself. I’m not in that place now. So lately, in the midst of my unforeseen happiness, where I am feeling glad to be me, I have been reflecting on what is happening when I, and my world, get turned upside down. It looks like I am adopting a new attitude. It seems that these recurring dilemmas, as predictably unpredictable as they may be, are all part of a process that seems to be ripening me.

The idea that I am being ripened appeals to me. I know that soon I am going to fall off the tree. I know, that despite all of my illusions, protestations and elaborate projects and schemes, the end is coming. I’ve stopped worrying about it. But, I am still curious. So the idea that I am being ripened, that I could be the seed pod for some, as yet undefined, new life form, intrigues me.

Now bear in mind, as I am this minute, I am only speculating. I don’t really know anything. But, I keep imagining death as a form of transition, a shift from one form to another. In my mind, seeing death as a form of transition has a lot of explanatory value. Mainly, viewing things this way, makes the ordeals, the inconveniences of my life, the little broken edges, have more dignity. These recurring challenges are not a sign of my incompleteness; instead I am being ripened. Maybe I am being prepared, ripening like a wine grape in the sun, steeping like a good cup of tea, evolving like a caterpillar being chrysalized. The thought that even death is a part of evolution, that I could, once more, be becoming something else, fills me with a feeling that I am going deeper into the familiar, instead of being cast away, dried out, useless, and done.

Thinking this way also helps me appreciate the difficulties that keep arising. They may actually be Nature’s way of shaping me into a new form, one that I cannot imagine but can intuit. I know I do better, I play the hand dealt to me, am more creative in my responses to Life, when I am anticipating becoming. I may not know where I am heading, may not have any idea about how I’m going to get anywhere, but I have a sense that I am moving, ripening, changing, becoming something else. 

This may be sheer delusion, certainly I have no science to back it up, but it still serves me. It seems to me that no matter what I believe, no matter how sophisticated I am with the scientific method, I still have to come to terms with the great inscrutable mystery of death. And, it also seems to me, that how I come to terms with death determines how I come to terms with Life. I live according to the way I envision death.

Ripening offers me a chance to participate, not like I alone hold the key to my fate. I am prepared to be alone, to take responsibility for this life, actually, I think ripening demands it. But, ripening, becoming, implies yet another stage, in another, I would say, greater context. I seem to be part of some larger, as yet unknown, ecosystem. If this is true, and in my current imagination it is, then there is this strange other, that I am part of, but that is unknown. I am simultaneously the new seed arriving and the old ecosystem receiving it. In my mind, I am being prepared to quicken a greater wholeness.

Death, in this line of thought, isn’t the end of the line, it is some kind of timely ripening. As the caterpillar entering the chrysalis, or a pupae becoming an adult, there is a change of states. The timing is semi-predictable, and the general direction is assured. Despite the Second Law of Thermodynamics, the energy in the Universe doesn’t seem to be running down, instead the Universe seems to confound us by conserving, even increasing its energy. Death may be another expansion of the Universe.

Ripening is a mysterious phenomenon for me. For instance it seems to happen by virtue of a combination of circumstances. There seems to be something inside that matures. And, while that is happening, there also seems to be something outside that provides the necessary stimulation. Ripening, to me, is a co-creative process. This thought thrills me. Maybe, by ripening, accepting the unacceptable turns on this thrill ride of life, going into the darkness of Mystery, and dying as I live, I get a little closer to the source of all this complex stimulation.

If this is true, wow, am I glad to be alive and to get to die! If it is a delusion, a fantasy of my own making, then I’m merely glad I had imagination enough to create an interesting  way of life.

I hope you do too.

On Dying

I have recently been focused upon happiness. I discovered the possibility that I could be happy, that I could be just myself, during a meeting with a group of elders. Since that time, I’ve been looking at my life, and trying to identify the chief obstacles to my happiness. This piece is about what appears to be my foremost obstacle, death. I identified my anxiety as a daily obstacle, and then fear of death when I examined my anxiety more closely. I gave myself a retreat for the holidays, felt the loneliness I’ve traditionally resisted, and came up with a gift I never imagined. I rediscovered dying, the nemesis of my happiness, as I kept lonely vigil over the holidays. 

What I mean is that dying didn’t change, it is still an inscrutable mystery, a silent one-way passage, through which I know I will one day go. Instead something in me changed.

It started with the realization that I would be (have been) sorely disappointed if I let my fear of death keep me from being happy in this life. Having been surprised to discover the viability of genuine happiness, that what I thought was just an advertising slogan could be real in my life, I realized I was unlikely to truly be myself if I was not happy. I have been thinking about happiness, as a regular part of being myself, of actualizing Mystery’s creation, ever since.

So what has death got to do with happiness? Those two words, death and happiness, don’t often appear in the same sentence. What relationship do they have in my life? As I explained, happiness, for me, depended upon finding a new way to relate to the fact of my coming death.  And that happened! In no way I could have expected, but death is suddenly another rite of passage that is going to deliver me to a new way of being. This is still scary but not as scary as it once was. Here’s what I discovered. Probably it won’t work for you, your freedom is your business afterall, but it might help you to know about it.

I noticed a pattern, that seemed to prevail in my life, and in the lives of the elders I find myself respecting the most. It has to do with diminishment. I wrote about it once, in one of my Slow Lane pieces, and it has stayed with me, as a compelling paradoxical mystery, that it seems to me, everybody should know about. You see the paradox is that diminishment, whether it be by hardship, loss, infirmity, bad luck, or old age, seems to lead (not in all cases) to a kind of enlargement. What I mean is that those who have suffered being made smaller and less capable by life, miraculously gained some new capabilities and perspective. Diminishment lead to enlargement.

This pattern gives me a lot of reassurance. Not in some New-Agey way, because having to suffer the uncertainty and pain of diminishment is still in the picture, but because someone new, with a bigger picture, often emerges from the ashes. As Rumi says in one of his poems, after exploring his earlier lives as mineral, plant, and flesh, “when, by dying, have I ever been made smaller?” I see death as the great Diminisher, and as a result of noticing the reliability of this pattern, as the great Enlarger. Now my anxiety about death is greatly reduced.

That is not all, though it could have been enough. I also realized that if I put death in my right hand, and learning, growth and life in my left hand, I could enhance my life by merely shifting my attention to the left hand. It seems that if I look too intently at my right hand, at death, it fills my field of vision and becomes everything. I am dead before I die. If however I attend to the other hand, I’m not living in denial of death, it is right there with my other hand, I am instead actively involved with living, learning and growing.

Shifting my attention has never been easy. My fear and anxiety have too frequently determined where my attention goes, but one of the gifts of my stroke difficulty was I had to learn how to do just that. You see I had suffered such losses, of my marriage, family, home, health, and work that I was kind of mesmerized by them. I knew that in order to live, I had to shift my attention away from what I had lost, to what remained. It took a long time. I still have days when the losses overrun me. But, after a difficult time, I succeeded. It helped to discover that quite a lot remained. But I wouldn’t have made that discovery if I hadn’t shifted my attention. So, I know I can do it, because I had to do it, with the chips down, earlier to save my life.

I know I can do it again, that living fully, being true to myself, staying close to Mystery, being happy, matters enough to me, that the work involved with shifting my attention adds to the dignity of living as consciously as possible. I’ll probably fail often, but if I’m diligent, maybe I can move my default position of fear and anxiety toward happiness. Can you imagine that! At last I can.

It’s An Inside/Outside Job

I don’t even know how to start this piece. I’m savvy enough to know that I am entering an area that is totally slippery with paradox, where the ground under my feet is not the ground under my feet. I am reasonably certain that I am going to be broken open, I hope I can convey something of this experience, as I explore the mixed and contradictory feelings which accompany this look at freedom. You see I have the powerful notion that personal freedom is an inside job, and I tend to believe that we all need help. There is a contradiction here that makes it difficult for me to begin.

OK, to be upfront, I need help. I’m hoping you have thought of some of this stuff, or will think about it, and share with me what you think. You just might hold the key that can help me find the way through this dilemma.

You see I am stopped, stymied by the twin realizations that follow. I cannot be free as long as another is not free, and I cannot free anyone. What good is it to say that freedom is ultimately an inside job, which I believe, if it is also true that freedom is dependent upon what I cannot effect? Others determine their freedom, or do they? I determine mine, or do I? You see, despite my passionate interest in freedom, I really have no answers. I am just confused.

I think there is a difficult paradox here. To the extent I am connected, and I know I am, it is true that my freedom depends upon the freedom of others. To the extent that I am a separate unique being, and I know I am, then my freedom depends upon my choices. The problem is that both, my separateness and my connection, are true, and together they leave me no clear path of action. I want to be free, and that depends upon others, which I cannot free. Have I gone as far as I can; would it be wise, or unwise, to focus upon others? I want others to be free, but their freedom depends upon my freedom, which I am responsible for and must procure alone. Yet I know that I can only go so far alone.

Recently a friend confronted me about the amount of urgency that I inject into my writing. He rightly points out how perfect everything seems to be right now. Things seem to unfold as they must. And adding the pressure for change only seems to create resistance. His perspective, which I share, is that the necessary changes are underway. Perfection seems to be perfecting itself.

Still I find myself banging around inside the sense that things could be improved. I don’t like, and don’t want my daughter to grow up with, the sense that we are slowly extinguishing the chances for complex life, including ourselves, surviving on this magnificent planet. My heart is broken by what I see and experience. It doesn’t feel right to not try to do something about it. Am I not part of Perfection trying to perfect itself? I believe I am, but I admit that the sense of urgency I feel, probably a function of my breaking heart, is truly counterproductive. This time of emergency, when so much is at stake, confounds me.

I think I know this much. Some part of this is an inside job. I am responsible for lining up the parts of me, and giving myself what I need to operate in an integrated and self-chosen fashion. This is what only I can do.  I can be a distinct part of the whole. I can be a microcosm of the whole, a kind of mini-wholeness, which increases the integrity of the already integrous whole.

Being an aspect of this larger integrity puts me in an inherently vulnerable position however. I feel the paroxysms of Perfection perfecting itself. This occurs as longing, desire and grief. I suffer when I am not me, when I fail to be true, when I fail to hold onto myself, when I fail to do the real inside job and when I fail to open. I am learning that I also suffer when I do open, sometimes joyously, when Perfection discovers some new way of perfecting Itself.

As I have been thinking about this dilemma, as I have been steeping in the paradox of freedom, I have come to realize that it cannot be just an inside job. I may like emphasizing the internal dimension of the freedom movement, because of my own sense that the interior aspect of life is largely ignored by this culture, but I know that really it is an inside/outside job. A truer apprehension of the paradox of freedom is that both dimensions are important. OK, so I live largely in a world that seems to adhere alone to the side of the paradox that holds freedom as some thing which external conditions, if they are just right, will insure. I know that is only half the truth. And I would be wrong if I extolled, alone, the virtues of an inner life. The truth is, I can go only so far without them both.

I want to make a difference.  That’s probably an ego-desire. But, I do honestly want to make a difference. I don’t think that is strictly ego-concern, I think the better part of me has that concern too. Maybe, it is not in my hands. Maybe, just by the fact of my existence, I do make a difference. Maybe, it’s not up to me at all. Can I rest in that awareness? Yes, and not quite. It is hard to hold on, to know what to do, how to be, in the midst of this heart-breaking and magnificent experience.

Life asks much of us, of me. I am learning that just following my own tendencies (in this case considering freedom to be strictly an inside job) isn’t enough. I may be enormously satisfied, to find my tendency mirrored by others, but I am not contributing to anybody’s freedom (my own especially), if I am not exploring getting involved with the freedom of others, as much as I am involved with what I consider my own.

Desire

 

“Human desire is incredible: Our self mobilizes itself by allowing itself to want. What we want eventually involves becoming more than we are. Rather than being driven by discomforts and deprivations, our sense of ‘unfulfilled destiny’ drives us forward.” — Dr. David Schnarch

I live in California. Here, the Buddhist perspective on desire, which is, that it leads to attachment and thereon to suffering, is rampant. So, I’ve had an ambivalent relationship with desire for quite a long time. When, in order to overcome being depressed, I figured out that I needed to know what I desired, and act on those desires, I began to understand that there was one kind of suffering which was actually good for me. Desire killed me, with pain, longing, and a sense of emptiness, but it also delivered me to who I am today. It turns out, it took a lot of strength to maintain my desire, so that I could have a chance of being the person I wanted to be.

I grew up being told not to want too much. I think my parents were trying to protect me. They succeeded for a time. I never wanted more than I could achieve. Little by little, I suffered less, and became very depressed. I didn’t have great disappointments, and I didn’t have the kind of passionate life I was capable of. I was alive, I knew how to survive, but I didn’t know how to thrive, how to create a life worth living.

I knew this before the stroke, had even dealt with it some, was partially out of being depressed, but I still wasn’t myself, wasn’t living a life built on my desire. Being close to death for a long time, having a life that included real physical limitations, forced me to decide if I desired life enough to go through what I must go through. That is why I call myself Lucky. Life forced me to choose, forced me to recognize, and live out my desire. Surrender doesn’t mean anything, if you don’t really have a choice, and I had a choice, I chose life, for the sheer awe of being around to witness the beauty and poignancy that attends our existence. Luckily, Life also chose me. I got a second chance.

It has been during that second chance that I really have come to understand how much my desire plays a role in making this life something that uniquely reflects me. Wanting has taken me over the edge. It has made me become something I wasn’t, but always wanted to be. I am more than I would have ever been, if I hadn’t found the strength within, to want what I couldn’t possibly be. I didn’t want to want, I didn’t want to hurt over where I was not what I wanted to be, but that very hurting sharpened my attention and motivated me. I became what I wanted to be, I grew, because the me I wanted to be, was latent in my being, evident only in my desire.

It is fair to say that only my desire, the power of my wanting, could have helped me persevere, helped me find the strength, to come out Lucky. I owe my present being to desire, to the mysterious integration of my will to become through hardship and the Universe’s desire for something that was simultaneously lifted up and humbled by another chance.

Desire is complicated. I think it is off-base, if it is for something outside of the self. If it is inside, then I think desire is soul longing. It is the urge toward wholeness. It is being pregnant with your self. I think we dare not ignore, or belittle, the power of such desire. Toward that end I ask you, just like I ask myself, what do you want, for your self? It is hard for me to hold myself to the task of finding my own true answer. It turns out that it is harder to live without an answer, to live by someone else’s desire, no matter how good.

I hope you find what you desire (as I hope I do), and I’m sure you (we) will, if you (we) dare want to enough to suffer, to mobilize our strength, our selves, and go beyond our selves, so that we can become our truer selves.

l/d

Silence

Silence. I fear it and look forward to it, often, for the same reason. I hear something speak to me, in the silence.  I don’t know who addresses me, but I know that if I’m truly silent, truth will come forth, not always in words, sometimes in images, dreams, or sensations, feelings that transport me, that install me in a reality like, but profoundly different, from this one. Silence can be pregnant, full like an electricity storm about to break, or empty. I have been stripped down by the silence, and lifted up. I have come to respect silence, to rely on it, and to be guided by it. Yet, even in this inquiry, a paean to the power of silence, I must admit, that true silence contains something that isn’t just the absence of noise.

Silence. It is enigmatic, opening me to the moment, or denying me any kind of certainty, stretching me until I fall into the limitless darkness. I lost silence for awhile, when I lived in the suburbs, and was surrounded by the man-made sounds of a crowded life, then was reduced to tears, when on a hike, I stumbled into the silence of a distant vale. I missed being unhinged by the unfathomable. I was somehow enlivened by silence.

Silence. It is winter, the time of “Silent Night,” a moment when it is supposed to be  quiet. Instead the holiday frenzy is everywhere, friends and family gather noisily together. I once complained to a spouse who made each Christmas an event of light, green bows, song, and holiday hoopla, that I wanted this time of year to be quiet and a spiritual retreat. Watch out what you wish for! The silence seems to be laughing, I don’t know if it is at me, or with me.  I am here in the silence, experiencing Christmas, not so much alone, but in some kind of solitude. I have come, this season, this moment, to be in the silence.

Silence. It beguiles and overwhelms me. I want these silent moments, when the condition of my shy soul becomes somewhat more evident, the terrifying times when I am as likely to find that I’ve been dishonest with myself, and others, and created a heart-wrenching mess, then to find real peace, trust in my being. I need the silence to be honest with myself, to know anything. I’m scared of the silence because it is so truthful. It calms me just long enough to provide me with a glimpse of what is real. It has taken me a long time to develop a tolerance for what silence can do for me. I come into the presence of silence, humbly aware that I am passing through, awkwardly at that, and only the silence persists.

I am also taken with interpersonal silences. I never know what is going on. I feel things happening when nothing is happening. I love shared silences, dwelling with another in the unknown. The moment might just be shared social awkwardness, or it might be the presence of something so huge and speechless that I will be bound forever to this being because we both felt something stupendous pass us by. The latter happens much more rarely than the former, but each time an interpersonal silence occurs, I am reminded that some mystery frequents the space between us. When silence with another comes, I am less lonely in this vast Universe.

Silence has bound me to groups of people. I have felt many forms of it. There has been the impatient and anxious silence that proceeds getting started, the cold and distant silence of boundaries crossed, awkwardly, sometimes heedlessly, and the profound silence that accompanies a shared discovery of our mutual vulnerability/strength. These episodes never fail to remind me how uncertain is our lot and how basically heroic most of us are.  I can go on, I gain access to some utterly human stockpile of strength, of desire, and I am able to face the next challenge, because of shared silences.

I’d like to be as silent inside as I sometimes am outside. The silence has helped me find a measure of internal quietude, a small amount of confidence, just enough to face the uncertainties of the day. In this season silence is extolled, remembered for the generative thing it is. But to me, silence is a year-round phenonema that reminds me how small I am, and how much the Universe wants me.

I would guess you are wanted too! Quietly though.

l/d

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I have also created a blog for the elder’s salon, which has some good pieces in it (including mine). See it at elderssalon.blogspot.com

I have also added a link. I don’t usually recommend websites but I have long felt that we (society) needed a vision of a future worth having and this short film points in that direction, Check it out http://www.ted.com/talks/nic_marks_the_happy_planet_index.html?utm_source=newsletter_weekly_2010-08-31&utm_campaign=newsletter_weekly&utm_medium=email

Happiness

I learned about something recently that has given me so much delight, and so much challenge, that I just had to share the prospect of it with you. As you may recall I’ve been blessed this year to be part of an elder’s group, awareness of the viability of real happiness first came to me there. I feel such gratitude toward those who I am traveling with right now, because they (the elders) helped me to see something I had long ago forgotten could exist for me.  Here is how it happened, and what it has constellated for me.

One evening, during a meeting of the elder’s circle, as we were going around saying our names, and describing something we liked about becoming older, I was struck by the impression that I was surrounded by a lot of people who had become themselves. This impression intrigued me. Later, we broke into small groups, where the impression grew into a full-blown, mind-altering, realization. Growing older had meant, for some of us, that we had arrived, despite still having further to go, at a time and place in our lives, where there were no roles, rules, or expectations, other than our own. We were free, and many of us had become idiosyncratically and uniquely our selves.

A rush of happiness came cascading in. I was surrounded by people who had become them selves. I was one of them; free to be authentic, different, uncertain, sensitive, foolish, erotic, crazy, and just plain me. At that moment I liked what getting old had done for me. Of course, I learned later that much of what distinguishes an elder from a merely old person had to do with how one responded to the hardships and losses of a long life. Freedom, and true elderhood, seemed to rest on choices that people made at the most difficult times in their lives. And miraculously, it seemed as if the best choices, the most effective decisions, had all been toward becoming truer to one’s self. In the midst of this group of self-possessed elders I discovered that happiness, my happiness, lay with cleaving to my own being.

That wasn’t all the joy I was to discover that night. I was delighted and surprised by what came next. I hadn’t even gotten used to the idea that my life-long struggle, to be me, had actually resulted in my becoming someone, myself, when it became clear that just being myself made a difference. One of the remarkable things that distinguished this group of people is that they want to give something back. There has been much talk in this group, perhaps spurred on by radicalism, of an elder insurgency.  The urge to provide some kind of alternative, met with the realization that becoming our selves was a radical, even subversive, thing, and an unbelievable joyous surprise was born. Merely being true to one’s self changed the world!

During that meeting, without ever intending it, I was brought to the realization that happiness existed, and could be a regular feature of my life. All I had to do, to be generally happy, was be my self. If I merely held onto my self in my relationships, if I stayed true to what emerged in me, as me, then I would be free. Happiness and freedom became synonymous.

In the weeks that have followed that realization, I have been reflecting upon happiness, and the limited role I have let it play in my life. I have discovered that I keep myself from being as happy as I could be, by letting my anxiety take me out of the moment. I have always been good at anticipating things, I liked to think I had the skill of a chess champion, looking ahead several moves. Instead, what I have realized, is best captured in the words of a friend of mine, who once wrote in a letter, that “anticipatory anxiety” was “the constipation” that “kept all the good shit from happening;” how true, and how unfortunate, for me.

With the experience in the elder’s circle, and with this writing, I realize that I have made happiness highly conditional. My happiness has always been a product of my circumstances, instead of myself. By holding on to my anxious response to each and every coming moment, I have trapped myself in a non-existent and totally fabricated future, which would determine my well-being. I kept looking forward because happiness existed out there, instead of in here, where I am.

I realize that circumstances don’t have to determine my happiness. I don’t have to attend to the future. That is a choice; it is a reflection of where I want to place my attention. I could be happy as a day-to-day attitude. I could choose to focus my attention on my marvelous ability to respond creatively to each moment. I have been granted the gift of not being a machine, with a pre-determined range of choices, I get to meet each moment naked. This freedom scares me. It seems like too much. I could easily fall or fail. I do all the time! But, I know that this is the way to learn to fly. And, I am happy discovering that this too is part of the potential that has been granted to me by Life.

It turns out that I can be happy. I am alive, and I have been prepared for just this much choicefulness. I may be disabled, brain-damaged and egotistical, but I still get to have enough choice about how I relate to things that I can be happy. And, you know the strangest, and best, part of it all, is that I just have to be me, to be happy.

Knowing I can fly isn’t the same as flying, but it is enough to render me happier. Knowing that flying, that being my self, is a service to the world, that makes me feel something else………. a grateful awe.

l/d