Lost Corner Letters

“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

(Lord Acton)

You have likely heard the quote.  If you are human, alive and have some gray hair, you have also likely had a dose of personal experience.

To find a few good examples of power run amok, one need only scan the news headlines of the past year.

Financial titans deceive, steal and lie.  Trusted coaches and clergy abuse innocents in their care.  Countless others aid and abet.  To kick Rome while it’s down, the Vatican’s recent “doctrinal assessment” of American nuns rebuked the group for spending too much time “promoting issues of social justice.”  An archbishop was appointed to “take control” of the women and cleanse them from their sin of following Jesus in lieu of church doctrine.  It seems even the Absolutely Good among us are having a tough year.

No group is immune from the risk of authority unchecked.

Lord Acton was uniquely suited for his astute insights on power and corruption in religious, political and everyday life.  An English Catholic historian and politician, he was the grandson of a Neapolitan admiral.  He was also an intellectual, considered one of the most learned people of his time.

This informs the context of our opening quote.  It is Lord Action’s 1870 objection to the First Vatican Council’s broadcast of the doctrine of papal infallibility.

“…I cannot accept your canon that we are to judge Pope and King unlike other men, with a favourable presumption that they did no wrong.  If there is any presumption it is the other way, against the holders of power, increasing as the power increases.  Historic responsibility has to make up for the want of legal responsibility.  Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.  Great men are almost always bad men, even when they exercise influence and not authority, still more when you superadd the tendency or the certainty of corruption by authority.  There is no worse heresy than that the office sanctifies the holder of it…”

Lord Acton is also credited with some nuggets of secular truth that hold their relevance across centuries.

• “The issue which has swept down the centuries and which will have to be fought sooner or later is the people versus the banks.”
• “Every thing secret degenerates, even the administration of justice; nothing is safe that does not show how it can bear discussion and publicity.”
• “Liberty is not the power of doing what we like, but the right of being able to do what we ought.”

Yes, Lord Acton.  Absolutely!

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Understanding of corruption and power can be gained through several fields of study – philosophy, theology, history, political science and even the school of common sense.

I prefer math – specifically statistics.

Let’s take a look at a few concepts.

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I.  THE CONTINUUM

You know how it works.

Draw a line.  Place two seemingly opposite words at each end.

In truth, a continuum has no end, so place arrows on the ends to represent movement toward infinity.  Now step back and take a look.

<–bad——————good–>

<–white——————black–>

<–high——————low–>

~

II.  THE ARC

The fact is mathematically a continuum is shaped like an arc – a line forming a circle that never quite touches.

Bend the ends of your continuum down until the arrows almost touch in a nearly perfect orb.

Looking at it this way helps explain a truth of supposed “extremes” – they are almost the same.

Look at it linearly:

<–most conservative——————most radical–>

When you bring the ends downward into the arc form, you see clearly that the uber-annoying liberal politician and the uber-annoying conservative are pretty similar in some respects.  Perhaps they lean soooo far in one direction that rational conversation is not possible.  Perhaps their need for control of your mind or their refusal to recognize all the facts makes them ironically identical.

In debate and in politics this extreme “thinking” is called ‘reductio ad absurdum’ – to reduce an argument to the point of absurdity.  We all know the guilty on both sides.

I don’t know if philosophically the near extremes really are necessary, but if one exists, I’m sure as hell glad the other is there.

Mathematically, both (near) extremes are required.

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III.  THE NORMAL CURVE

Now let’s populate the continuum.

View it again in its linear form.  Next, superimpose the normal curve right on top of it.  Here’s a visual that will help:

<–bad—————————————————good–>

What you’re looking at is the probability density of distribution of any ‘thing’ or characteristic in our world.

The near extremes fall on the ends (but remember the continuum never ends).  The sweet spot in the middle is the norm.  The measuring cups for this recipe are markers we call ‘standard deviations.’

About 96 percent of life falls within two standard deviations of the norm.

The so-called ‘extremes’ consist of only 2.2 percent on each end.

This means in any argument, discussion or comparison, about 96 percent of life is some similar shade of gray.  Very little in life is as extreme as Black or White, Good or Evil.  In fact, the extremes don’t actually exist in earthly life.

Taking the bad/good continuum above + normal distribution = all people are a mix of good and bad, and extremes in behavior (Mother Teresa and Hitler) are very rare.

The completely Good or Evil human being does not exist.  Sure, sociopaths get close, but none of us is literally an angel or the devil.

There are entire religious canons and social sciences to explain what the math can show in a snap.

Probability density rocks.

[NOTE: There are people of fear whose response to this theory is to call me a ‘cultural relativist.’  People like me have no moral anchors.  To the likes of me, they say all things are relative, gray.  To the contrary, I believe strong in a few things I believe to be Absolutely True.  They are of God.  I’m talking here of Earth.  Do us all the favor of leaving Reductio Ad Absurdum at home so we can continue to talk, pls.  Thx.]

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IV.  PATTERN IN MOTION

The German philosopher G.W.F. Hegel took another step forward in theory by suggesting a pattern of movement across the continuum.

His hypothesis, called the Hegelian Dialectic, looks like this:

(1) Thesis

(2) Antithesis

(3) Synthesis

Let’s take an example from everyday life that most of us understand.  How about…dieting?  The Hegelian Dialectic suggests our diet behaviors follow this pattern:

(1) Restrictive eating

(2) Gluttony

(3) Balanced eating

According to Hegel, we swing from extreme to extreme, finally finding balance before swinging out to thesis, and the resulting antithesis, again.  In this example, you might switch the positions of #s 1 and 2.  This pattern is equally valid.

In daily life, the Hegelian Dialectic might also look like this:

(1) Traditional ‘50s culture

(2) The “free” ‘60s and ‘70s

(3) 1980-something “average”

In the political realm, we might apply Hegel to the changes of the Arab Spring.

(1) Strict dictatorship

(2) Revolution

(3) Synthesis government

Keep in mind here the extremes are said to be eerily similar.  Consider the danger of an “evil dictator.”  Now consider the danger of the subsequent revolutionary leadership.  Remember Lara Logan in Tahrir Square.  The dangers of extreme control vs. no control near the ends of the continuum are not that different.

Are we bound to this pattern?  I’m not so sure.  If you think about it, it’s really a Western trait to swing from extreme to extreme before finally hitting the middle.  Too hard…too soft…just right.

There’s something we can learn from Eastern mindfulness that might interrupt the pattern.

An interesting footnote is a continuum I recently saw in a book that suggests cultural values of individualism (vs. collectivism) might be the mitigating factor.  This book is written about something different altogether.  However, its continuum of cultural identity looks like this:

<–U.S.———Japan———China–>

(individualism)                              (collectivism)

Balanced Japan resides in the mindful middle.  Interesting.

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Enough theory.  Even the numbers have their place

Let’s stroll across campus from statistics class to the theatre department and bring these concepts to the stage.

Remember, we’re talking about the patterns and nuance of power and corruption.

ACT I

There’s a business we’ll call ABC Widgets, Inc.

In the opening scene, strong-handed President Jones rants in an all-employee meeting.

“WE WILL NOT HIRE ROUND, TRIANGLE, PURPLE WIDGET MAKERS!  That is the ABSOLUTE LAST thing this company stands for.  We have a board that will not allow this.  It is against our corporate values.  There will be ABSOLUTELY NO round, triangle, purple widget makers here!

As a corporate board, the trustees have little contact with staff and other key stakeholders.  They have financial investments and make key decisions regarding direction.  Only the President is operational.

To their credit, the board sometimes asks President Jones about staff morale.

“They are happy,” he says.

Production is up.  The bottom line is good.  All is right with the world.

ACT II

President Jones retires.

The board learns things were not so happy internally.  Worse yet, the numbers were inflated.  Things are no longer rosy for ABC Widgets, Inc.

The trustees and shareholders meet to discuss one question.  How did this happen?

The answer is obvious.

To counter the strong hand and values of the former dictator, the board replaces him with none other than – get this – a round, triangle, purple widget maker turned Executive!  She broke through the glass ceiling and now resides in UPP – the Ultimate Power Position.

Things are going to be different.

There is no corporate management present for the meeting.

ACT III

Fast forward into the UPP Presidency, and things are no different at all.

While President Jones ran the company from his unique personal value system, President UPP runs the company from the reactionary position.  Her ONLY motivation, besides rising farther UPP, is to undo and prevent the sins of the past.  In the UPP world, any hint of any reality that resembles before is to be strictly eliminated.  The entire purpose is to erase the past and all things personal.   It is all one big personal reactionary agenda.

Whereas the past involved too much personal value input into corporate decisions, this time there are NO personal values involved in leadership – or any values at all for that matter.  There are no standards for behavior.  Work is strictly impersonal.  In fact, the culture is now strictly inhuman.

President UPP meets with the board.  Internal systems are improving.  Production is increasing.

“How are the employees?” the board asks?

“They are happy,” she replies.

ACT IV

After another leadership crisis, the board gathers to re-evaluate.  They ask the age-old question.

“Our second president was so different – in fact, exactly different.  How did it happen again?”

Evaluation

The answers seem clear to us as readers of the four-act play.  After all, we are observers with no personal investment.  Here’s a summary of lessons our play delivers:

-          The strong-handed dictator and controlling reactionary are extremes.  They are so extreme that when you view the continuum as an arc, they nearly touch.

-          What the situations share in common is this:

• In both situations the leaders’ primary motives were personal and not the mission of the company.
• In both situations there was not a communication process that allowed employees to connect with the board.  The Presidents spoke for them.
• Both times the board asked itself the age-old question, “How did this happen?”  Neither time did they ask any key stakeholders or collect the wisdom of the people with direct daily involvement.

Hegel would chart the company similarly to the Arab Spring:

(1) Controlling dictatorship

(2) Controlling reactionary

(3) Synthesis government

Some thoughtful processing might have made the swing to antithesis unnecessary.  Perhaps a conciliatory synthesis leader could have been the second step.  They have instead given him twice the mess to clean up.

To the board’s defense, having a role in a thing changes the game.  What seems clear from 30,000 feet is not as obvious when you are in the midst of enacting change.

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All of this discussion of how institutions relate, and sometimes fail, is one thing.  Why is a more appropriate point of discussion.

THE UNIVERSAL PROBLEM is summed up by our old friend Lord Action.  “Every thing secret degenerates, even the administration of justice; nothing is safe that does not show how it can bear discussion and publicity.”  That’s right, secrecy is the monkey in every such situation.  The fact of control of a people is one thing.  What the world believes – what the world is told – is something different.

THE UNIVERSAL SOLUTION is summed up by the motto of my alma mater, ἡ ἀλήθεια ἐλευθερώσει ὑμᾶς.  “And the truth shall make you free.”  Communication structures, checks and balances, independent audits – anything that shines the light of truth is a preventive tool or antidote to power run amok.

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Perhaps the most important point is that we all already know everything needed to prevent danger.  Here’s the quote by George Santayana: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

Here are three examples from the history books:

1. This one is less about the corruption of power and more about (un)willingness to share power.

The 1875 amendment to the NC constitution that outlawed interracial marriage and the 1919 fight for women’s right to vote should both remind us that an amendment to repeal anyone’s civil rights puts us all at risk.  How soon we forget.  The challenge from our current tumultuous situation is to remember that back then we also used morality and religion to justify our positions.  It seems so silly now.  Might it also be true that in 50 years, we will be awfully embarrassed when we review history with our grandchildren?

p.s.  A “vote” on the allowance or repeal of “human/civil rights” is kind of contrary if you think about it.

2. THESIS: The absolute power of the Nazi regime led to the (accepted) marginalization and murder of millions of people.

ANTITHESIS: The current struggle between Israel and Palestine.

I know, I know – I am not the most popular person at any party.  I don’t offer this as an accusation against Israel.  Quite the contrary.  I believe an atrocity as grand and horrific as genocide demands a cringe-worthy antithesis.  The strongest defensive position on the continuum is darn close to a strong offensive position.  The bullied is now a bully.

So what happens when antithesis comes due for Palestine?  Clearly neither party is an innocent victim, but come on – can we jump ahead to the reasonable synthesis, please?

3. As a younger, more reactionary person, I was ‘horrified’ by the turn of events in South Africa.  It seems the men once controlled and demeaned by colonial leadership have turned the tables in the game of power.  The rate of rape of women of color by men of color in South Africa and other African countries is astronomical.  The oppressed is now the oppressor.  There was a time I judged this and couldn’t believe the men could not see the irony and disparity of the behavior.  Now I don’t exactly view it as inevitable, but really – who can be surprised at an antithesis position after decades of abuse and control?

Yes, there is another way; no, the way of antithesis is not a surprise.  It is not even unique.

It is human history, and it is time we learn from it.

~

Any corruption that smacks of genocide or ‘murderous spirit’ is everyone’s problem.  It is everyone’s obligation to act or react for the sake of all of us.

First they came for the communists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a Jew.

Then they came for me
and there was no one left to speak out for me.

(Martin Niemӧller)

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It is a testament to our liberty as humans that a person of any race may be racist.  A person of any gender or persuasion may be sexist.  The revolutionary may also control and abuse.  A liberating woman may control a people at the end of a dictatorship every bit as much as any man could.  Oppressor-ship knows no color, gender or creed.

Innate goodness and evil are both part of every person’s being.  All that changes is the individual’s unique shade of gray – and of course our personal and social circumstances.

Our community or citizen responsibility to maintain standards is something else.

Each choice to harm or to help, to build or tear down is a daily equalizing opportunity.

The only surprise of humans’ goofs is that we continue to be surprised.

History teaches everything we need to know.

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A word or two on freedom:

Not all people have freedom.  Those of us who do tend to take it for granted.  If you live in a democracy, VOTE.  It is the minimum standard of participation for the luxury you carry.

A second standard is this: respect your leaders, governors and pastors because of the offices they hold.  Do not fail to question them, however, for the grandiosity of their positions.  Questions are freeing.  Anyone who resists them has an eye on your freedom.

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This essay shines a light on the dark side of human social behavior.  There is another side to this continuum.

It is my style to offer the sunny side – the nicegirl perspective on human nature.  Not this time, however.  The warning of the potential for corruption deserves its own air space.

That said, there are some helpful things we can always keep in mind:

• History holds every lesson we need.
• Human freedom is relative; if you have it, use it.
• All human systems and institutions require checks and balances, morals and mores.
• Any system or institution without them is doomed to fail its members.
• Likewise, any group that chooses secrecy over transparency is due a crisis that will harm us all.
• Our government, religious and social systems must be held accountable by their members.  (This is true for elephants and donkeys alike.)
• If your family/employer/social group/religious order denies basic freedoms or holds “family secrets,” beware!
• Be willing to speak for the voiceless.  Act as if your own freedom is at stake.  It is.
• No group, no nation, no religion is immune from the risk of power run amok.

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I close with a summary from the teacher Lord Acton.

• “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
• “There is no worse heresy than that the office sanctifies the holder of it.”
• “Historic responsibility has to make up for the want of legal responsibility.”
• “The danger is not that a particular class is unfit to govern.  Every class is unfit to govern.”
• “Every thing secret degenerates, even the administration of justice; nothing is safe that does not show how it can bear discussion and publicity.”
• “Liberty is not the power of doing what we like, but the right of being able to do what we ought.”

Yes, Lord Acton.  Absolutely!

Life

I see you.

This Zulu greeting is offered when meeting another human soul.  Friend, kin or stranger, it is a nod to basic existence.  Sawubona.  I see you.

There is a second part to this interchange, a response.  Ngikhona.  I am here.

Implicit in this shared proclamation is the belief that we people are inextricably linked.  Part of what makes us human is our tie to others.  We are essentially brought into existence by recognition from other living beings.  This Zulu folk saying captures it: a person is a person because of other people.

In the dark safe place at the dawn of Forever that connects us all – there, voices rise from the Well of Beginning.  They dance in matched step ascending from deep waters to connect in a spark of life.

 “I see you.”                                                                                         

“I am here.”

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Death

As surely as a word can bring another soul into existence, silence can kill.

A pastor I know once called this a form of “murderous spirit.”

You see, the commandment against killing is not a black-and-white proposition.  Most of us have never really considered taking another human life, but plenty of us have wished someone away.  We sin in the gray space of this law.

According to this pastor, the prohibition against murder is intended for all of us.  Further, he says we defy the decree each and every day.

On a single trip to the grocery store I might pretend I don’t see my pesky neighbors as I pass them on the road.  My blindness extends to the suntanned homeless woman who stands at my turn off the interstate.  Eye contact averted; comfort maintained.  Don’t forget that competitive drive for parking real estate.  After all, I saw it first.  Ignore the ringing phone on the way home, and now I’m cooking.  My murderous spirit boils.

By the time I return from Kroger I have earned 15 to life for a variety of homicides in varying degrees.

I am a serial killer.

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Dark

I am not naturally morbid.  It’s just that the sting of invisibility is personal these days.

Recently I was rubbed out.  In a half-sincere, wholly transparent euphemism, I was “moved on.”  Someone took old-school eraser to tablet and deleted every memory of me, blowing the black remnants off the page and onto the cold tile floor.  I was never there.

“It’s just business,” they said.  “It happens every day.”

Details aside, my disappearance has been an interesting ride.

A disruption in any system is necessarily complex.  No organizational bump is about one person or incident, as appealing as simple answers may seem.  In every case there is a cast of characters and a unique plot that build tension to the point of fracture.  No person is ever “the problem” in a system.

Trust me, there is a finger, or three, I would love to point with accusations of hubris and self dealing.  There are others who are complicit, some who could help but didn’t, and any number of others scared into shells of self-protection.  Never underestimate the relative ease of slipping into revisionist history under the retaliatory power of a weak ego or two.

Some people in any conflict will eventually forget the facts in favor of the court of public opinion.  Some take advantage for their own promotion or new-found popularity.  Denial, groupthink and scapegoats reign.  It’s really nothing unique or new; it is all as old as sin.

Fair to say there have been several noteworthy disappointments.  Being a mentor was never so isolating.

The strangest input I received is a comment I am still trying to reconcile.  “We have been in a quandary about how to tell you we love and support you.”  A few months down the road from this awkward note, my best guess is the words just came out wrong.

The greatest rub in being rubbed out can be summed up in a quote my friend Maria shared.  I asked God to protect me from my enemies, and that’s when I started losing friends.

Sometime later, a book offered another nugget that certainly applies.  Most people love you more for what you do for them than for who you are.  And how.

“Early retirement” offers a good opportunity to review do the every-so-often life inventories.  Who is really with you when it rains?  Who uses your generosity of spirit, time and money to her own advantage?  Who loves you solely for who you are instead of your gifts of comfort, wisdom and support?

Some “humanity.”  You find out who your friends are.

That’s the worst.

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Light

My orientation is toward the best.  Even in the darkest spaces there are unexpected gifts.  In any situation there is room for hope and faith – and even love for your enemies.

They say if you die with a few loyal friends you are truly blessed.  My disappearance cast a spotlight on several gems.  They now shine more brightly, and their position in my life is forever set.

I would not trade a bucket of hollow smiles and shallow words or even a lifetime of popularity for the few True souls who have stood witness.  Like any good sauce, reduction of your “friend” list makes for a more powerful broth.

In large and small ways, I am extraordinarily blessed.

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The Universal

Sometimes the point of suffering is simply that.  In this life we are each at some time meant to dip a toe into the universal well of human suffering.  Suffering is.  And it happens to all of us.

When we are wronged, when people have either adopted the party line or forgotten us for the sake of their own comfort, we truly are left with just ourselves in the presence of the divine.  When all else leaves us, there is nothing to fill our silence but our hearts and God.

Presence from absence – it is a powerful irony.

Another irony is this: it might seem that to be seen – sawubona – is The Single Unifying and Life-Giving Force.  Damn the devil if it isn’t also true that being unseen, being erased, is a necessity for each of us in our spiritual growth.  Disappearing to the world is another important and unifying experience in this life.

Wipe me out and you reconnect me to the ancient Well of Beginning.  In trying to kill my spirit, you instead reinforce my life.

Ngikhona.  I am here.

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Corrective Vision

Here’s the thing – this is not about me.

My recent experience matters only because it gives me personal insight. My darkness, however, is only a fleeting moment.  In fact, you  might call it a luxury, a chance to reflect.  For untold (and unseen) others there is a lifetime of undeserved, unrelenting human suffering.  Most of the “majority world” will never have a chance to pause to reflect before trudging forward.  The treadmill never stops.

I lost a job to an ambitious bully, a too-eager puppet and a long-forming tidal wave that was not about me at all.

Many other people whose only ‘mistake’ is the place into which they were born can only dream of my life in its current form.  Plenty of people would gladly accept my lot – and thank God for it.  I have a safe home, a good education, a loving family, three loyal dogs and more than my fair share of True friends of all stages and stations in life willing to help if I but ask.

I have a community and a safety net, and that makes me extraordinarily, undeservedly blessed.

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Just down the road the suntanned woman near the interstate at Guess Road stands stoic.  She wears military cutoffs, T-shirt, hat and the standard-issue reflective vest required by the city.

Hundreds of cars pass for each driver who dares to meet her gaze.  Very few offer help.  What is most difficult is the majority of people who pass pretend she does not exist.

I do not see you.  You are not here.

Just like that, our anxiety is averted.  Thank goodness.

Our invisible sister has a name, Bobbi.  Like all other humans Bobbi has a mother, and a story.  She was raised just down the road from me.  We share some things in common.  And before – and especially since – my dive into the well of universal suffering, we have talked.

If you ever wondered, Bobbi says the hardest thing about living without a home is not the discomfort or the unknowing of living hand to mouth.  It isn’t wondering about the next meal or even the weather.

It is the number of people who wish you dead simply to ease their own guilt or discomfort.

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In Focus

There is literally a whole world of undeserved human suffering to which most of us, myself included, choose to be blind.

Rather than sharing dehumanizing (murderous) data and statistics, I will tell you one brief story.

There is a child with the deepest brown eyes.  Her birth was a miracle to parents who believed it was not possible.  Their blessing arrived during a time of civil war.  The new parents, with all the hope in the world and fearing for their lives, fled to a crowded, dirty migrant camp.  Food became scarce.  Their newborn miracle grew sick.  With no medical care, they could only pray, and they did.  They took turns keeping watch through the night.  Just this morning as the sun rose, their miracle, God’s favorite kid with the longest brown lashes, closed her beautiful eyes.  She will not awake.

This happened 16,000 times today.

It will happen another 16,000 time tomorrow, the next day and the next.  And it will only get worse.

Now I could have said 16,000 children die from hunger and hunger-related disease each day.  It just doesn’t have the same impact as a story of a real child, a long-awaited miracle and gift from God.

Numbers allow us to lose touch with humanity.  They cause the people, our sisters and brothers and our distant children, to disappear.

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Closer to home, the next Einstein was born today in East Durham.

I talk about this kid often.  I’m pretty sure he is a quiet soul with a keen sense of wonder.

The only problem is the world may never know his genius.  Will he make it?  Will one intuitive, overworked teacher see his potential?  Will he slip through the cracks, the so-called opportunity gap?  Bill Gates would say he lost the ovarian lottery.  He was born to the wrong zip code.  Will anyone recognize his giftedness?  Will he?  Or will he read the gulf between his hopes and his reality to assume that he deserves what he gets?

Whether down the road or across the globe, the incalculable God-given potential lost to the disparity of random opportunity is this world’s great tragedy.  It is also our greatest corporate sin.  No one is innocent.  We are all complicit.

What we can each direct is the intervention that makes all the difference.

To the kid who holds the key to the next great scientific discovery, I see you.  Sawubona.

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Invisibility, it seems is everywhere.

A friend shared recently her experience at work.  There is a doctor.  He refuses eye contact to his most talented new nurse.  Instead, he directs answers for her questions to other staff and even a part-time assistant.  Apparently an overweight nurse does not rate being seen.  He refuses to bring her into existence.  The good doctor takes life by declining to acknowledge it.

Standing in line to vote this week, I talked at length with a new friend.  She spent some time in the spotlight this year – the infamous court of public opinion.  At the same time she was widely known, some of her closest friends lost the ability (or willingness) to see her.  She simultaneously stood in the limelight and went missing.  That’s a tough spot to negotiate.  I guess it is no different than any celebrity who feels deeply alone amid the hype.  She chooses to see the bright side, crediting steadfast family, loyal friends and her faith for getting her through.

In the category of “Best for Last” is my friend Henry Wade, who sells the Herald-Sun at Biscuitville down the road.  Henry is a natural salesman, prophet and my substitute dad.  There is a genuine greeting for everyone.  I am his “good friend” because he never remembers my name.  He does, however, remember my heart.  His input on my disappearance was classically Henry.  Love your enemy.  “Love your enemy, my best good friend.  I love you.”  Some time ago the friendly folks at Biscuitville moved Henry off their property to a less lucrative street corner.  Fresh biscuits?  Maybe.  Friendly folks?  Not so much.  I love you, too, Henry, and I sure as hell see you.

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In Our Sights

Hindsight is 20/20.  (You saw that one coming.)

I have wasted more than 40 years as a serial killer, unaware of my crimes.  It took an unexpected dip into the well of suffering to see the light.

Thankfully, the antidote to the insult of invisibility is remarkably easy.

A simple nod to a passing stranger is all it takes.  A smile is even better!  We can speak as we pass without sharing too much of our personal energy.  Frankly we usually receive more energy in return from these passing sparks than we ever give away.

A note to a friend in pain will mean more than you might imagine.  The language and design of the card don’t matter.  Your intent and sincerity do.  You are not expected to have all the answers – just willingness and a little heart.

A quick call just to say you care is simple.  There is no quandary about whether or how to do it.

Looking at it in reverse, ignoring or not returning a call because it makes you uncomfortable makes a louder statement than you might imagine.

Every choice is exactly that.  It is so much easier to do it right.  Sublimating our guilt and anxiety requires a lot more energy.

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Here is a summary of the lessons gained from my recent vision test.

• Every living being is a beloved child of God.
• We are all equally important and uniquely beautiful.
• To see another human soul – to acknowledge her existence – is the most basic gift.  It is the debt of gratitude we owe for our living, a minimum standard of thankfulness.
• Any complicated story (homelessness, addiction, despair) explained by a simple solution is generally not real.  Get the unique facts of the unique person you meet.  Bring her into existence.
• We never know the challenges or pain of the stranger we meet.  Maybe we judge our friend from church or the neighbor whose yard is less than perfect.  Take a minute to see what’s happening on the inside.
• It is remarkably easy to ignore Dr. King’s “inescapable network of mutuality.”  Denial is a useful tool; resist it.  All of our actions and our inactions matter.  What would you like someone to do for you?
• However difficult our life’s chapters, it could always be worse.  Someone somewhere surely has a harder row to hoe.  She would gladly trade places with you any day.  Thank God for your life and your troubles.  If nothing else they shape us into new and beautiful forms.  Don’t lost sight of daily gratitude.
• Most importantly, we have a daily obligation to soften the blows of life for any fellow traveler whose luck may not be as good.  [Remember, this might be anyone.  You can’t tell from the outside.]  The minimum standard is only a nod or a smile.  It does not cost a thing to share.

+++

Just last week I drove across town, deep in thought about my own disappearance – and the relevance to larger, more important human issues.

A black Lexus tailed me on the highway.  Not willing to waste psychic energy (or gas), I let him pass.

I was blindsided by the vanity plate decorating the car.  The proud blue letters displayed a universal greeting, a nod to the shared humanity of his fellow travelers.  SAWUBONA.  I see you.

I took a couple of photos and even considered following him as he turned off the road.

Instead, I smiled.  I breathed in the sorrow of the world and breathed out love.  I recalled the people who saw me and those who did not, those who stood with me and those who took advantage of my story for their personal gain.  I thought of Bobbi and Henry, my Uncle Doug, my Aunt Mozelle and a host of other people the world would erase for the sake of its own comfort.

I smiled again and offered an indignant response to the now distant black Lexus.

“I see you, too.”

“And I am here.”

+++

Beginning. 

Earlier this year I had an unexpected visitor.  The dogs responded to a ruckus in the yard and led me to the back left corner of our lot.  There in the darkness, making as much noise as possible to defend itself, was a critter tangled in the picket fence.  Unsure what kind of critter this was, I called the dogs in.  It might be dangerous – even rabid.

In the question of fight or flight, I predictably sprint toward danger.  Soon I found myself walking down the steep hill, flashlight in hand, toward It.

The thing wrestled with the fence and proved the anecdote my father always said of snakes, bears and the like that encounter humans – they are more scared than we are.

Following the beast along the fence line into the glow of the street light, I finally saw a profile.  It was a raptor.  Too small to be a hawk, I suspected a falcon.

Soon I was on the telephone with a bird clinic in Raleigh.  They would care for it, free of charge, if I would capture it and drive it in.  At 10 p.m. without sufficient light or assistance, it seemed unwise.  I had seen its beak and talons.  “Isn’t there something you can do?” I asked.  Their advice was to wait until morning and call animal control.

Not one to wait patiently when a thing is hurting, I paged animal control.  The officer on duty, a kid of 17 and raptor freak, excitedly asked details.  He was not allowed to come at night with the possibility it was a protected species.  I was to call his cell at 7:30 a.m.

At 7:15 I couldn’t wait.  His response: You again?  Yes, me.  The Kid (name forgotten) had lost sleep imagining his first experience saving a bird of prey.  He had already Googled my address and said it would take exactly eight minutes to get here.  Seven minutes later he arrived.

Worn and weary in the back corner of the yard lay a young hawk.  The Kid said it was a red tail and explained that the red feathers don’t come in until the birds reach maturity.  “He doesn’t have his wisdom yet,” The Kid said with assurance.  I had occasionally seen hawks at the pond in my community, but I can’t say with truth that I had ever seen this exact bird.

Together we backed Hawk into the corner of the fence and ushered him into a waiting cage.  Almost shaking with joy, The Kid walked the cage to the white city truck.  Following his instructions, I opened the metal doors on the side of the vehicle and made room for the captive.

During the journey across the yard, Hawk screamed his eternal cry – the same cry heard for centuries, and greatly respected, by indigenous Americans.  Across time, Hawk’s DNA has changed little; he is the same creature now as then.  Hawk is eternal.

As the boy child carefully turned the truck in the right direction and ambled away, Hawk screamed back to his family near my pond.  I was here.  It mattered.  Don’t forget me.

Middle.

Since that day I have been faithful to Hawk.  The Kid told me where our friend was taken for rehabilitation.  I called and learned he arrived in rough shape.  Fixing his wing would take time, and learning to be Hawk again would not be easy.  They believed he would return to the skies, and I was promised he would be released where he was found.  I was also reassured that even if he didn’t end up exactly where rescued, he would eventually find his way home.

Occasional calls led to the same answers.  Yes, he will be okay in time.  He will be home eventually.

I spent the next few weeks reading about hawks, specifically red tails.  In the coming months I saw them more often than in the past – the side of the road, my favorite out-of-the-way walking spot.  Hawk wanted to be remembered.

Here’s what I found in researching the symbolism of the red tailed hawk:

The red tailed hawk carries the roll of visionary and messenger. This honorable totem brings the lesson of discovering dormant abilities and helps us to see the big picture. It is a symbol of illumination and peace. This special friend offers a path to channel direct contact with hidden wisdoms and insights. It further teaches us to be very observant of these insights and wisdom, the treasures offered by Red Tailed are sacred and of a higher calling. We are asked to show precision and a sharp mind in our hunt for wisdom along our path. When the Red Hawk Soul is then operating from such Higher Intent, these are the natural born investigators, psychics, attorneys and observers that deploy their acumen for insight and direct speech in a constructive, rather than destructive, manner.

Red Tailed Hawk’s Power is further represented by the beautiful red color that comes with maturity. This is our reminder that wisdom takes time and is not something that is given, the wisdom of Red Tailed Hawk is something that must be earned.

It is an honor to encounter a hawk.  And saving Hawk was no random incident.

End.  (Another beginning)

Over the months, like all people, I have been on my own journey.  And like all people, mine is unique and specific.  The details matter only to me, but it has been a good and changing time.

Just this morning I walked with the dogs and came in to start the day.  There would be some work and dinner with a friend.  In the meantime I wanted to enjoy the clear winter view of the pond and do some thinking.

After settling into my favorite chair with the dogs, a brownish rustling caught my eye outside.  There in the back yard, just beyond the picket fence, a hawk was perched in a small tree.  I walked close to the window to look.  It turned its knowing head and looked at me straight on.

The bird felt strangely like an old friend.  Even as one human and three dogs rushed onto the back porch to get a closer look, it peered back more intently and more sure.  Fewer than four feet from the ground, Hawk made himself known.  And here’s the best part: he has new red tail feathers.  Hawk found his wisdom; rather, he earned it.  Hawk, you see, has seen some things between here and there, and back again.

By the time I left for work, he had flown away.  Whether Hawk is a messenger of something specific or a universal symbol is a question that will be answered in time.  Maybe he’s just a fluke.  I’m open to that.

In any event, a lesson Hawk teaches is the necessity of waiting.  If a thing is good and intended, we must often wait for kairos (God time).  As my friend Tom once put it, “Be still and wait patiently for God will act in God’s time.”  It is a tough lesson.  We are wired to move ever faster.  Pausing creates anxiety as it forces us to sit still with only ourselves.  The faster we move, the more uncomfortable the occasional forced pause.

We all have the experience – whether through illness, loss or other disappointment.  Sometimes things don’t turn out as planned, and the best (or only) thing we can do it wait.  Things will happen when they should.  As someone I know says, quoting Barry Stevens: Don’t push the river; it flows by itself.  Other times we get what we want but through a very different set of (difficult) circumstances.  Only through a look back from a distance can we see we actually got what we needed.

Wisdom comes in time – often with circumstances we cannot control.  It is frequently the result of dissatisfaction or pain.  Wisdom is elusive as the more we crave it, the more distant it seems.  Wisdom is ultimately gained only in our letting go and releasing our own talon grip on control.  Wisdom comes from being where we are, embracing that place, and ourselves…and letting things simply be.

Wishing perspective, patience and peace to all travelers on the path…

***

ADDENDUM

This piece was written last year, my opening piece on this blog.  Yesterday, watching three hawks soar above my home, I gained a fresh perspective.

The youngest of the daredevils was a cool California surfer.  Riding the air currents of a breezy Saturday, he was nearly motionless yet moved in concert with the wind.  Surfer Dude exerted little energy.  By simply going with the flow – or against the flow in this case – he was carried with ease by unseen energy.

Don’t fight life’s waves.  Ride with them.  Harness them if you can.  Just don’t get yourself all tired out from fret and worry.  The high road does not require all kinds of flapping and noise.  Stay calm and ride the waves.

Much higher up and barely visible, two large hawks circled in play, their eternal cries filling the neighborhood.  An updraft carried them up up up in a tight circle.  Unexpectedly, one or both would drop some distance and ride the up elevator again.

It struck me in watching the duo that they were so high they could see the world in a whole new way.  Their perspective on life was transformed, their field of vision widened.  Giving a nod to my favorite exercise of taking a bird’s eye view or seeing the big picture, the high flyers now experienced in a more complete world than we earth walkers.

Just this week my television delivered this nugget of truth: nothing is hidden except to be revealed.  It seems to me the high flyers know more of the truth we are all meant to eventually know.  This wider vision is meant for each of us, but not on our terms.

Just because we (or others) cannot yet see the Truth does not mean it does not exist.  It will be revealed when the time is right.  Trust and believe.

My final thought in looking up at three hawks circling my home is a reach to Psalm 57, read to me a few days ago by a friend.  Rest in the shelter of God’s wings.  It’s a comforting proposition in any life circumstance.  The winds and waves of the world swirl around us, yet we are are given shelter from the fury.

I don’t mean to get too erudite or high-falutin’ myself.  What I do know is I have a little more truth today than I had yesterday.  I feel confident more will be revealed at the right time.  Until then, my job, like yours, is to ride the waves and fret not.

My back-yard avian neighbors have a way of appearing at just the right time on my path.  I look forward to the next flying lesson.

***

Tucked in the recesses of my mind are two complementary voices of a single theme – latent swirls of thought brought together by a hefty dose of prednisone and a lot of thinking time.  They are not pair as much as progression.  They are less ‘salt and pepper’ or ‘peas and carrots.’  Instead they are prelude and fugue, theorem and corollary.  Each stands alone; as a couple, however, the voices more fully satisfy their individual purposes.  They are marriage of thought.

In music this coupling is called counterpoint, and here are a few of the rules:

-          The counterpoint must begin and end on a perfect consonance.

-          Contrary motion should predominate.

-          Build from the bass, upward.

That’s the set up.  Now let’s start the journey.  Let go of your assumptions.  Put your feet up and travel with me to another time.

Point: Carnival

Step right up, folks – come on in and see this remarkable, inside-out creature.  Yes, that’s right, see the guts of this amazing, one-of-a-kind animal seen nowhere else in the world.  Just five cents, folks.  Step right up, come on in for an up-close view of…you!

I don’t embrace the idea of side shows.  Heck, I don’t even like the fair.  And you will be really challenged to ever find me at a circus.  This makes freak shows specifically off limits.

While the stuff of carnival life is largely history, the truth is we are each our own unique specimens of humanity, walking formaldehyde-filled jars of, well, stuff.  We are living, breathing exhibitions of unique, gorgeous grotesqueness.

A friend of mine believes each of us has a glass cube to fill.  It is our life’s work to fill it up.  The contents and ratios of unique ingredients change as we grow, and stumble.  The point is the goodies (or baddies) inside are entirely variable.  There is endless possibility.  We are each our own one-of-a-kind side show demonstrations.

Here are some possible content areas, in alpha order:

-          Beliefs

-          Coping mechanisms

-          Dreams

-          Experiences

-          Fears

-          Hopes

-          Habits

-          Hobbies

-          Interests

-          Relationships

-          Skills

-          Values

Like much of life, the real value is in how the individual components relate.  They join together in a multiplicity of ways that change over time, sometimes minute to minute.  The resulting concoction of form, substance and style is a dynamic living being one might call identity.

Take the complexity of the solar system.  Add in humanity, and sprinkle it with spirit.  Now you’re getting close.  The only rules are: 1) Each cube is necessarily unique and changing by nature.  2) Your form is necessarily correct.  (So is everyone else’s.)

What fills your cube?

I’ll go first.

Mine is a Girl-Scout green collage of words like ‘service’ and ‘grace’ sewn together with love by amazing mentors and life experiences.  It is fundamentally half-full, and the surprisingly sassy theme song piped in from beyond is “I Take My Chances.”  The roots (values and people) are of the farm and the mill.  It is real.  It is grateful, or as I like to say, grate-filled.  It is patient, mildly introverted and ever hopeful.  There might be a coping mechanism or two that could use some tweaking.  It is so generously outwardly focused that it is off balance.  This could use some adjustment at the local soul garage.

The adjustment in question, my inner tune-up, is the perfect segue for the purpose of the cube exercise.  Knowing what fills your cube is essential to this: changing or improving your cube contents.  That’s right, awareness allows improvement, if you’re into forward movement.

Toni Morrison put it this way: If you wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.

The friend who shared this exercise two decades ago offered a message in three parts:

1. Be in the business of reviewing and improving your cube.
2. When any one thing fills a lot of space, and if you decide to replace it with something more useful, it will be scary!  After all, without It, there is not much filling my space.  I feel empty and hollow without It.
3. For this reason, change – sustainable change – is best done slowly.  Build one new skill, add or reintroduce an interest, and slowly change the shit that weighs you down.  Doing too much too quickly can cause us to reverse direction the way we drop New Year’s resolutions on day 2.  Worse, taking on too much can create so much fear we do nothing at all.

Let’s say for the sake of example the thing you wish to replace is a harmful relationship.  If you rip it away without first building other social connections, it might feel like you are literally nothing without that person.  How will I spend my time now?  Who am I apart from the relationship?  Do I remember what I believe and what I like or dislike?  What were my values, assumptions and pastimes before?

‘Going there’ can be stressful, right?  It’s no wonder we imperfect souls so often cling to that which does us harm.

What fills your cube?

~~~

Counterpoint: Magic Forest

Travel with me in time to a quiet space in the countryside.  Pull up a seat or make yourself comfortable on a nice, cozy blanket in a field of tall grasses and wildflowers.  Look to the tree line to your left and unlock your imagination.

Several years ago I sat at the edge of a forest after days of soaking rains.

As I watched the clouds part and the sun make a long-awaited appearance, a distant noise caught my attention.

With the silence of the rains, I now heard something I had not heard before.  Hidden just inside the tree line under soft layers of leaves and pine needles bubbled a brook.  Somewhere inside the forest there was gurgling, perking water, the source of life.

Being my father’s kid, I took a stroll to investigate.

I wandered close to the tall hardwoods that dotted the forest edge.  I eased my way into the interior pine stand.  Do you know what I found on the ground?  Nothing!  There was no running water at all.

When the rain began again, I returned to the field of wildflowers and native grasses.

To my surprise, the sun shone on the damp grass, and the clouds had retreated.

Only stepping back under the canopy did I figure it out.  The forest had become a life-sized terrarium!

The water I heard running along the forest floor was actually moving vertically, falling from the trees before re-circulating back to the top, only to fall again in individual rain droplets.

The rain-soaked ground could absorb no more moisture.  The canopy above did not allow it to escape.  With no way out, water collected in tiny droplets on the leaves and branches, creating a virtual cloud forest.  The thicket had created its own self-perpetuating rain!

I sat at the edge of wonder and pondered its meaning.

~~~

Let’s return to counterpoint.  Here is a review:

-          The counterpoint must begin and end on a perfect consonance.

(How are we doing so far?  It doesn’t feel dissonant to me.)

-          Contrary motion should predominate.

(The cube is about collecting and selecting – self-definition.  The forest is about the energy that keeps it all going.  Contrary motion seems legit.)

-          Build from the bass, upward.

(I guess it’s all about defining fundamentals, our physical and spiritual foundations.)

~~~

Resolution: Sustainibili-tree

The sweet spot between these fantasies of thought is something I have come to call the sustainibili-tree.

It is the marriage of my own personal side show of identifying “things” to the magic forest of life-giving, self-perpetuating rain.  Identity meets sustainability.  Freud meets Dr. Seuss.  (Allow me to retract that thought.)

The sustainibili-tree is not resolution or completion as much as the acceptance that two complementary things can, and often do, occur at once.

It is also the place I have the least confidence or competence.  You see, I am not very good at this yet.

Sitting at the edge of the Magic Forest in April 2008, I knew the experience was personal.  I needed the gift the forest offered.

The plain truth is I lacked my own inner generator.  My power supply ran one way: outward.  It was only when facing a fuel crisis that I found my emergency gas can and hitched a ride to the nearest gas station.

I was fully aware that spring day I needed to find my own interior spring of life-giving water.  Better yet, the forest and field in question are located at a retreat center I had sought out for just this very discovery.  I asked; the Universe answered.  (She is really good in that way.)

What have I learned since April 2008?  Well, not much, that’s for sure.  Here is a start:

• As counterpoint to Toni Morrison’s quote, I offer this kernel of truth from Barbara Ann Kipfer: Fill up your inner holes with something spiritual.
• Spiritual practice and religion are akin to the old rhombus/square situation.  Your spiritual practice might involve religion, but it doesn’t have to.
• The whole thing about spiritual practice is you have to practice.  It requires regularity and commitment.
• If prayer is when we ask, meditation is when we listen for the answers.  They are both important.
• It takes only three weeks for anything (good or bad) to become habit.  Spend your time wisely.
• Nourish yourself – good food, good water, good sleep, good thoughts and intentions.  It all defines us.
• If your religious tradition is Western, embrace it, but keep your mind open to Eastern thought.  You don’t stand to lose anything.  It is a net gain.
• Do the cube exercise from an emotional distance.  Make your lists.  Observe them.  Don’t give in to fear.
• Start small.  Identify one thing you can change and then do it.
• The same is true for cultivating new practice.  Commit to five minutes each day.  Soon you will crave more.  Your inner generator will strengthen!
• Planting your feet firmly on the ground is the best way to reach the transcendent.
• If a belief, habit, relationship or other cube filler is harmful to you, drop it.  Build your support network and your repertoire and when you feel strong enough, walk away.
• Pay attention to your body.  Let it tell your heart and mind what is working for you.  If you are running out of gas, it is sending a signal!
• As natural as it may feel to have all of your energy moving in one direction, you simply cannot keep going once you run out of fuel.  Self-perpetuation is your responsibility as an adult human being and a beloved child of God.
• When in doubt, start where you are.  It works every time!

So that’s it.  From carnival exhibition to sustainable ecosystem to a perfectly sustainable you, we have had one long journey.

Although it might sound tiring at this point in your read, the best news of all is the journey never stops!

Life is a process, not an act.  With each rising of the sun we are blessed with countless opportunities to observe, to listen, to change and to grow.  Each moment of each day brings lessons if we but open our minds and hearts.

Keep it simple.  Grab a notebook and pen.  Make your lists.

Then sit back, close your eyes and listen to your inner counterpoint.  It is written in the perfect key for you, and everything is already moving at the proper speed.

Start where you are.

The Universe has a way of timing its stuff.

A couple of weeks ago I sat parked in my car at Chick-fil-A listening to WUNC.  As I reclined, one foot out the window and prized sandwich (on wheat bun) in hand, the most fascinating story rolled.

You see, there’s a psychology experiment that features some ball players and a woman in a gorilla suit.  This radio program and its guests teased apart the elements, results and practical consequences of the experiment, and for the next half hour I sat lounged at rapt attention in my car under a shade tree outside the N. Roxboro Chick-fil-A.

The experiment is widely known and often repeated.  Here’s how it works.

An audience is asked to watch a video.  The video features several players on two teams who pass basketballs between them.  The members of one team wear white shirts, and the other team dons black.  The observers are simply asked to count the number of passes between players wearing white.

That’s it.  For the next minute or two, the players move around the ball court with no set pattern.  Players in white pass to players in white and vice versa for the team in black.  The observers’ job: count the passes between the players in white.

Midway through the video, a woman in a gorilla suit walks onto the court (stage right) and stands center court among the players.  She briefly beats her chest in characteristic gorilla style and then calmly walks off the court (stage left).

Roughly half the observers of this film fail to see the gorilla.

So focused, so distracted by the details of the task at hand, many lose sight of the big picture.  The research designers call this “inattentional blindness.”  The idea is the video watchers are not negligent in missing the gorilla.  Quite the opposite, they are so vigilant in fulfilling their observational duty they perceive a different, perhaps limited, reality.

When shown the video a second time, many still do not believe it happened or that this is the original video.  If a gorilla had walked onto the court while they were present, they would have seen it.

Yet half the participants did not see a gorilla at all.

~~~

The implications are vast.

The researchers, Chablis and Simons, wrote a book called The Invisible Gorilla that details experiment.  In addition, the book outlines five other failures in perception that deceive us in every-day life.

The radio program stepped back from the hard science, focusing instead on the implications of the findings for individuals and organizations.

You see, in organizations there are two kinds of people: gorilla seers and gorilla missers.  Neither is correct or incorrect.  People simply fall into the categories.

Gorilla missers are detail people.  When given a job, they see the trees – tasks and the literal.  These are very important people.

Gorilla seers are big-picture people.  When given a job, they see the forest – trends and meaning.  These are very important people.

Our old friends Myers and Briggs make the distinction between ‘types’ like this: you are an ‘S’ or an ‘N.’  Your unique identity falls somewhere on a continuum between the extremes in style.  The radio host did not mention the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, but I offer the language because so many of us have been trained to understand perceptive differences in these terms.

In the world of Myers and Briggs, I am what you call a ‘capital N.’  I am so N (intuitive) that I have not one single S (sensing) point.  I can see a thing coming from a thousand miles away – or at least 10 miles, and in multicolored patterns.  People, especially the extreme detail or ‘tree’ people, often have no idea what the hell I am talking about when I share my prognostications.  It is only when I walk them stepwise through the logic or after our ship has struck an iceberg, that someone  says, “Oh, now I understand what she meant.”  As has often happened in my work life, when an extreme detail person comes to understand and accept my big-picture proposition, we know we stand in solid agreement.

Once again, this way of being is neither right nor wrong, better or worse.  It simply makes me who I am in the world.

~~~

Now let’s take a closer look at the experiment and all the creatures involved.

THE SEERS

This is where the radio story really caught my attention.

It seems organizations need both types of people.  That itself is not groundbreaking news.

This is: gorilla seers are not always understood.  This means they are also not necessarily appreciated or accepted in group culture.  Gorilla seers get a bad rap.  At best they are prophets.  At worst they are self-righteous or paranoid trouble makers.  It ain’t easy seeing the big picture.

The discussion of gorilla seers was detailed.  I was so engrossed I do not remember eating the Chick-fil-A.

Here are few noteworthy nuggets:  (pun intended)

• Gorilla seers naturally see through a wide lens.
• Like anyone else, they do not always voice their observations.
• When they do, like people everywhere, they act for varied reasons – from personal agendas to organizational loyalty.
• In any event, calling out an (as yet) unseen fire in a crowded theater makes a girl stand out.
• Where there are only a very few, they are guaranteed to be punished if the leadership is weak or easily threatened.  (Leadership is key.)

THE MISSERS

Like seers, missers are neither right nor wrong, good nor bad.  They are simply who they are.

I have known and worked with quite a few.  Like seers, missers are wired for a unique service to the world.

• Generally they perceive the world through numbers, facts and checklists.
• Missers get things done.
• Like the missers in the experiment, whatever their varied motives, they are vigilant in their implementation.
• If people like me did not have them around, we would, to quote a former professor, be “up the proverbial tributary with no tangible means of locomotion.”
• My experience is they can have a certain intolerance for people who take up their time with intangibles and nuance.

Before closing on missers, I would like to speak in defense of my sisters and brothers.  The very word ‘misser’ carries a negative implication.  This is unfortunate.  They are not actually missing anything.  They simply perform life’s duties in a very targeted way.

THE GORILLAS

The great apes of life come in many forms.  They may represent people, situations or life events.  They are not necessarily negative.  Think of the shifts, changes and “bends” in your life.  Any of these may be a gorilla.

[My newest refrigerator magnet: One day can bend your life.]

~~~

The definitions are well and good, but what does it all mean?

For me there are three ways of interpreting most anything.

1. Implications for the self.
2. Implications for the individual in community, in this case an organization.
3. Implications for the individual in relationship with God.

The Self

This one is as unique as we are as individuals.  I have my own gorillas.  I am sometimes a seer and sometimes a misser.  I know what it means for me.  My guess is you can name your own stuff.

The Individual and God

This one is also fairly simple.  For me it means there are times I have been bitch slapped by the universe because Someone wanted to get my attention.  Again, I know my story.  I know my patterns, my misses, my growth.

The Community or Organization

This was the focus of the radio program, and it is complicated.

Another “nugget” gained at Chick-fil-A is this: without regard to seers and missers, the crisis created for the group when faced with the reality of an unseen gorilla allows for organizational creativity and growth.

Again, this is all about the strength (and the humility) of the leadership.  Healthy ego is one thing; hubris is quite another.  The agency may choose to take advantage of the opportunity for learning and growth, or it may waste the chance at a teachable moment in order to save face.

~~~

One distinction that can be made for organizational life is the difference between a) seeing an iceberg from a mile away and b) being driven into said iceberg intentionally.

Put differently, it is one thing to yell “Fire!” in a crowded theater to attempt to mitigate damage.  But what if the fire is the result of arson?  In this case if the seer is not in a position of power, and especially if the arsonist is, the seer is in a whole heap of trouble.

Sometimes the dark force lurking among the ball players intentionally distracts observers so that no one notices strategic shifts in direction or organizational values that promote one’s personal agenda or ambition.

If audience attention is drawn strongly enough to shiny, pretty things – new initiatives or the window dressing of saying (not doing) the right thing – no one will notice what is really going on.  This is the Trojan horse theory of gorilladom.  Make such a stir that no one notices you sneaked in the opposing army.  Clever.

~~~

Other times the plot is not as sinister.  Yet the choice of the chest-beating gorilla as the disguise for the distraction in the experiment is interesting.  Here’s what Wikipedia has to say about gorillas and their social interaction:

• The closest relatives to gorillas are chimpanzees and humans, with 95-99 percent shared DNA.
• They live in a variety of habitats.
• When a group is attacked, by humans, leopards or other gorillas, the silverback (leader) will defend the group, even at the cost of his life.
• Aggressive behaviors between group members are common but rarely led to serious injury.
• Gorillas are carpenters, building sometimes elaborate nests on the ground and in trees.  Like us, gorilla carpenters use tools.
• There are 25 distinct vocalizations known among gorillas – different sounds for different life circumstances – discipline, warning, rest and play.
• Severe aggression is rare in stable groups, but equally matched leaders may fight to the death.
• The fight sequence has nine steps.  #5 is chest beating with closed fists, just as in our experiment.
• Sometimes gorillas exert their dominance by making themselves appear bigger than they are.  (This is the [weak] intimidator who stands over you at your desk and will not sit down to talk in the heat of conflict.)
• Gorillas are highly intelligent.
• They grieve loss and are considered to have “rich emotional lives.”
• They are thought to have spiritual feelings or religious sentiments, even distinct group cultures.

We are really not that different.

~~~

Why does it all matter?

That is an excellent question!

The experiment of the woman in the gorilla suit serves to show us something about ourselves so that we might be aware and so we might learn from our mistakes and do differently.

The most basic lesson is that of human perception.  What we see is not necessarily all there is to see at any one time.  There might literally be more happening.

By focusing too intently on certain details, we miss strategic and important action, and sometimes danger.  Beware unnecessary or unusual distractions.  Trust your instincts.

~~~

A quick look at recent news headlines shows how these lessons meet us in every-day life.

Imagine the gorilla is a certain coach.  The seers include some subordinate staff and underage victims.  According to whom you ask, the missers may include those same subordinate staff.  Certainly among the missers is a university administration and a handful of people known only to the gorilla and said missers.  (We were not there.  Judgment in this case belongs to the law and to God.)

WHY DID PEOPLE FAIL TO SEE THE GORILLA?

As in most life situations, there are myriad reasons.  Here are some possible answers.  (Again, judgment about this particular case is not our job.  Take these are general observations.)

• No one wants to know that people are being abused.
• Most people do not like conflict.
• We want to believe the best of people we respect.
• The power of power cannot be understated.  Someone is in a position to fire someone else.  Careers are on the line.
• What if no one believes me?
• It’s my word against a public figure.
• If I acknowledge what I have seen, I have to do something.
• Maybe the missers missed because they were intently focused on their own jobs.
• While ultimate responsibility lies on a small governing board, they are volunteers.  They are not close enough to internal operations to understand day-to-day reality.  (For those who are, the above bullets apply.)

In cases such as a certain university coach, public scrutiny invariably falls to family members, specifically the wife.  After all, how could she not know?

Newsweek addressed this recently with what I believe to be one of the key features of abusing gorilladom.  In an article titled “Complicit Wives,” Jessica Bennett and Jacob Bernstein write, “…the abusers are usually charismatic and popular – not creepy loners…they don’t come across as angry or aggressive.”  They add, “Still, perhaps the biggest obstacle to recognizing when something severely dysfunctional is going on is the marital bond itself.  This is your husband; you’re in love with him.”

Gorillas are known for being able to ape the characteristics you wish to find in them.  Select few in a gorilla’s life see her true character.  (Character is what we do when no one is watching.)

Sometimes we are in love with them.  Sometimes we are in love with the idea of them – their demographics and vital stats.  If they were only the heroes we need them to be.

If a gorilla flashes a big ape smile on cue or laughs such a big laugh on stage that it seems insincere, it probably is.  The real story is to be found behind the curtain.

It must also be said there certainly were some people who knew and who did not ‘miss’ anything.  They also did not act.  To them I say: 1) Shame on you.  Someone was counting on you.  2) You have created your own chain of consequence on Earth.  3) Ultimately it is between you and God.

~~~

Whose responsibility is it to know what is going on in the locker room (or the staff meeting, board room or fill-in-the-blank prepositional phrase)?

The answer: yours, mine and theirs?  No, the answer is ‘ours.’  This is about community and organizations, after all.

It is in the social realm the stakes are most complicated.  As members of groups, we hold responsibility for our fellow members and the success of the group at large.  Whether calling a gorilla sighting what it is or having a seers back, we ought to support one another.  If in doubt, we are expected to take a peek behind the curtain.  So often we don’t.  Our actions (and our inactions) all come back to us in the end.

This is, in fact, the human condition.  We all fail one another and ourselves every day.  We can, however, do better.  Like our tool-bearing simian relatives, we are capable of learning from our mistakes.

In a world of seedy locker rooms, shooting the messenger is all too common.  Seeing the big picture is a risk.  Acting on it is an even greater risk.

Worthy of remembering is that both seers and missers are required in healthy social structures and organizations, even governments.  The mix is required for community wellbeing.  An organization that lists too heavily in one direction is bound to capsize eventually.

Beyond that, the responsibility is deeply personal; it is about my internal growth as well as my relationship with God.

~~~

The next time you see a gorilla, take note.  If someone else does, back the seer.  When in doubt, take a look behind the curtain.

As always, act only for the Good.

God bless the gorillas, the missers and the seers.  Even when difficult or damaging, they often bring gifts in disguise.  (A Trojan horse is not always bad.)

Thank you, Chick-fil-A.  Thank you, WUNC.

Thank you, Universe.

Act I

Susan Boyle made world headlines this week for two seemingly opposing traits: 1) ugly woman, 2) with extraordinary talent.

Forgive me if I offend you.  I do not believe this stranger we all now feel we know actually is ugly.  I believe the world is still shocked at her inner beauty, in spite of her average wrapper, because much of the world is, in fact, just that shallow.

Let’s look at the stats:

• 40-something, or “middle-aged”
• Single
• If not overweight, frumpy
• Double chin
• Village hair dresser
• Innocent life entertained by caring for others, including a dying parent

Pardon me for being defensive, but this is a little too close to home.  Save for the double chin, we are eerily similar.

So that’s it.  I am defensive about Susan Boyle.  I speak in defense of her myself all ‘real’ women like us.  I speak on behalf of the average woman, the woman who dares to defy the beauty myth, who suggests beauty lies inside (the vocal chords, the soul, the inner being) and not our outer shells, the relative beauty of which is a complete fluke, based on our genes and the styles of the times.  It’s a crap shoot.

Wow, I’m angry.

A friend sent a link to the famed audition footage yesterday.  I finally sat down to watch the whole thing and was more moved than I expected.  At times I was embarrassed to be so moved.  I mean, could I, too, be shallow?  Am I really just as surprised that she has it in her?  No, in the end I finally felt pretty good about being pretty pissed that everyone in the world immediately dismissed the crone and subsequently fell out of their proverbial seats to learn that she has some beauty after all.

And who defines beauty anyway?

We all do.  Only I prefer to be self-righteous and angry.  THEY do.  Bastards.

I sent this friend, herself in her 40s when married and pretty much average on the outside and totally gorgeous on the inside, a thank-you e-mail.

Real women unite.

(And could an externally beautiful woman not be real?)

And who defines beauty anyway?

[You can see the trap here.  Round and round I go.]

Act II

I dove headlong into Dad’s estate for several weeks.  Then the adrenaline of the illness and death wore off.  I became as stagnant as a subdivision retention pond on a summer day.  Icky, stinky and slow.  I took five weeks’ vacation from working the big puzzle of Dad-dom.

Three pieces of the puzzle are his car, his truck and my car.  The fourth piece is how the vehicles relate.  Since the beginning I have been pretty sure I’ll keep his car (which my sisters gave to me) and his truck (if I can get it started).  I will sell my car.

Here’s the summary on my automobile:

1.  It’s beautiful.  It is HOT.  It drives like a race car.  It is five-speed (tasteful) sex on wheels.

2.  The mileage stinks, and I have grown to resent the beast in general.

Here’s Dad’s car:

1.  Homely yet strangely comfortable

2.  Absolutely free of charge as it is paid in full; worse, conservative

A stranger-than-fiction truth occurred this week.  All three vehicles’ registrations expired with the State of North Carolina.  What are the odds?  The plan was to fix his car first since it’s the only car I now drive.  However, an insurance glitch with the state led to a crisis for my car.  It had to be fixed.  I have now proven I have always had insurance, even though the state denied my registration because of some phantom lapse in coverage.  I’m legal.  The whole drama got me back in my old car and took Dad’s car to his mechanic’s garage for an inspection.  (It was a memorable week of automobilia.)

Two days ago I found myself staring at an old love, my silver speedster.  She’s a real beauty.

And that was the first thought – what a beautiful car.

The second thought was the acknowledgment that it is indeed a thrilling spin around the block.  There’s nothing more boring than being driven by your automatic transmission and nothing more thrilling than driving your manual transmission.  They are not even similar activities.  All that relates them is the insurance you pay for either ride.  Different ball games altogether.

For the first time in weeks I was actually conflicted over which to sell and which to keep.  One has good mileage and is paid in full.  The other is expensive to maintain yet pretty.

Tough choice.

I thought of Susan Boyle as I stood in front of Daniel Bros. Exxon staring at my long-lost love.  I was instantly ashamed.

I picked the geezerly brown family sedan.  Sex on wheels hits craigslist this weekend.

Act III

The Viola sisters (my dogs) are on the waiting list for a new puppy, their own puppy.  Just recently I was offered this little nugget of puppyhood.  The one thing I’m sure of is a girl is in our future.  A girl became available.  I, Ms. Less Than Shallow, turned her down.  She is not the right color.  She is not cute enough for my girls.

There are so many problems with this scenario.  I am a racist hater of ugly girl dogs.

Fast forward one week, and the homely double-chinned never-been-kissed puppy that resembles Susan Boyle is now a graceful swan.  Darned if puppydoodle is not only the best looking pup in the bunch, she is the only really beautiful dog the breeder has for sale.  She is special.

Now that she is looking more appealing, she is more appealing to me.

Really?  Really??

Just last year after Button, the best dog on the planet had surgery, her little face was shaved by the groomer.  My precious Teddy-bear dog was instantly more ugly than the Taco Bell dog meets an alien.  Homely city.  She looked rough.

And was she any different inside?  Well hell, of course not.  Or maybe she was more soulful because of the external “issues.”  The increase in the gap between her inner and outer beauty made her soul shine more brightly.  Button was on fire with goodness.

Act IV

I pondered the puppy and even talked to the breeder while waiting for dinner this evening in a town just up the road.  Durham seemed too much tonight.  There’s a 90 percent chance I would see something or someone that relates to work.  I wanted an escape.  For the first time in the nearly 12 months I have lived here, I drove north to a tiny town to find food in order to escape the small city to my south.  I wanted anonymity.

Puppydoodle has a date with a potential family tomorrow afternoon.  They are likely to choose her because they want a female dog.  This is fine.  I firmly believe the right dog will happen at the right time.  If not now, May.  I trust the universe.

My mind drifted to my surroundings as I ate.  Everyone in this sleepy, country town is…different in a way.  They are plain.  Homely.  Double-chinned.  Many overweight.  Some have mullets for crying out loud.

Self-righteousness set in as I realized how inadequate I feel at times in my own land.  Yet in this foreign land I stand out as distinctively different – cultured and perhaps even pretty.

WHEN DID THIS UGLINESS CREEP INSIDE ME?  Oh good gosh, in choosing my dinner destination I was simply thinking that I would feel comfortable spending time among real people – just plain, good people.  There are so many things wrong with this scenario.  (This thought keeps nipping me in the butt today like the yippy little dog that it is.  Yip, yip, yip.  Grrrrr.)

Act V

Full of shame and guilt, embarrassed for people to imagine my shallow thoughts, I left this strange land for home.  As I backed out of my parking space, I looked to the left.  There in the front seat of the neighboring car was a buff and white parti-colored cocker spaniel.  This is significant because that’s nearly the color of the mother of the cutest puppy in dogdom.  The breeder’s Web site touts the parti-colored mother’s beauty as proof the babies will be gorgeous and are to be desired.

I stared at the back of the dog’s head until it felt my presence.  It turned around and looked at me as if to say the most appropriate thing to the likes of my ugly-hating self: BITCH.

April 17, 2009

Biscuitville is back at the request of a friend.

Looking back at this more than three years later, there are surely things I would change (in perspective) if writing it in 2012.  But like all events, it marks a place in time.

What I know now is the guy selling the newspaper is Henry W., and he is one of my favorite people in this city.  He shares wisdom, and religion, every time I see him.  My visits there are much less frequent these days, but they are ever more meaning-filled.  Just recently I saw Henry for the first time in many months.  He made a point of showing me my father’s coat that he still wears on bitter-cold mornings.  Henry’s point is not gratitude for the gift but concern for me and a fatherly desire for his adopted girl to know he still remembers my dad, and me.  To underscore this point, he always closes our conversations with, “I love you, my good friend.  God bless you now, you be safe.”

Much has changed.  I no longer think of this part of East Durham as “rotten.”  And much, of course, is the same, including the Cool that leads to just the kind of incident that involves an Escalade, the Bloods and a family simply trying to get home.

~~~

WARNING: political content

There are a couple of things you have to know to make sense of this post.

1.  There’s this place called Biscuitville – the crème de la crème of Southern fast-food breakfast that will kill you.  Our friends at Biscuitville have a restaurant conveniently located in the ‘hood just about halfway between my house and my office.  I stop here most mornings for eggs.  Some days, even, I do what the good-ol-boy lineman in front of me shamelessly did last week: I add cheese.  Yes, after the requisite Diet Pepsi, I am now paying $5.05 each day for the privilege of eating something that costs next to nothing if you make it at home.  And to understand this you need to know I’m following the advice of a piece of happycrap I once read: limit the amount of bingable food in the house.  Because I can’t keep anything besides tuna and almonds in my house, that’s all there is in my huge pantry.  Tuna.  Almonds.  And dog food.  It’s a costly position to find oneself in, but it’s sane and safe, and I really think I’m getting there.  In fact, cooking eggs at home is a goal I’d like to take on once I tackle inner peace and how to dupe the IRS.  I’ll get there.  In the meantime, I wait in a long line of fatigued people driving fatigued vehicles in one of the worst neighborhoods in Durham for eggs with cheese.

2.  The neighborhood really is rotten.  It’s about six blocks from the Mo-Do Bait and Tackle Shop and just east of the place where only two percent of Durham’s residents live but where 20 percent of Durham’s crime occurs.  Just around the corner is Angier Avenue, the area with the single greatest concentration of prostitution in the city.  If the author of the Left Behind series is correct, Angier Avenue and its many business associates (and I, waiting in line for eggs with cheese) will all be comfortably, guiltlessly left behind after the rapture, just going about business as usual.  The other description offered of this neighborhood comes from our new construction director, Karey.  Karey lives in and loves Durham.  Only she calls it Beirut.  The judgment comes from her habit of driving Hummers and F-350 diesels between Habitat work sites - in high-heel flip-flops, no less.  The roads are so bad she finds herself searching the roadside for IEDs and the like.  She’s convinced the guy who runs road improvements is related to the guy who owns the only tire alignment and balance place in East Durham.  It’s a set-up.

So, with all this said, I was waiting in line this morning for eggs, in inner-city Beirut, wearing my favorite Habitat for Humanity T-shirt.  The Biscuitville experience is especially enriching on the weekends, when even the most frugal live a little.

There’s a cacophony to delight all the senses.  A pearl-colored Cadillac Escalade waits in front of me in line, its self-absorbed driver refusing to move up just a little and instead playing with her newly painted nails.  Two young men in red and black march through the parking lot, crossing in front of oncoming traffic without fear.  They are the Bloods.  A huge immigrant family dressed for church weaves between the parked cars, the seemingly mile-long drive-through line I’m in that’s backed out onto the street, and the lane of open traffic that’s now stuck because the Escalade in front of me won’t move up.  I’m guessing this family is Pentecostal because they are Latino and it is Saturday.  This skinny old man the color of cocoa who is wearing an orange vest and sporting a business permit is selling newspapers on the corner.  He owes the newspaper office 50 cents for each copy sold and keeps anything else he is given.  Today he’s a little brazen, though, moving to the sidewalk by the drive-through pick-up window and harassing everyone who drives by while their windows are still down – along with their defenses.  All the while the smell of bacon wafts through the humid air to the beat of somebody’s R&B.

And then it happens.  A gentle old woman shuffles out to an old burgundy Buick and settles into the front passenger seat.  The kids in the back are playing with toy soldiers.  The not-as-old-but-still-old woman driving cranks the engine.  They are backing up.

Problem is I’m parked almost directly behind them in the terminally long drive-through line.  This woman isn’t stopping simply because there’s a Subaru behind her.  No, sir.

As suddenly as the Red Sea once parted, the Escalade driver (whom I’m still judging) moves forward, looking with concern at the situation developing in her side mirror.  The guy behind me backs up and urges the guy behind him to back up, pushing him back out onto the road.

The Bloods stop their conversation to be sure we all have what we need to pull this off.

I back up slowly and motion for the not-so-old-but-still-old woman to back up.

It all happens instinctively.  None of us really stops to think.  There’s this beaten-up old Buick full of people – family.  They have some place to go.  They really can’t negotiate the chaos that is Biscuitville, and no one in the car is actually qualified to drive it.  And so the village responds.  We are there to help, to facilitate their safe journey home.

As the gray-haired driver does a five-point turn out of her parking space, I have this thought: I LOVE DURHAM.  I’m proud to be from Durham, and I adore East Durham.  It’s dirty, stinking Beirut at its worst - the Mo-Do Bait Shop in cahoots with the City - but it also has integrity and texture and innate goodness.  The people of East Durham don’t have time to worry about being too fat or too ugly or too anything else.  They are where they are, and they’re grateful for it.  They do their very best each and every day, and they splurge on biscuits and the like on the weekends.  They have hopes and dreams and values and fears.  They are we: we’re really all the same, after all, once you get past the (false) superficial divisions.  Only perhaps they have the benefit of being more real.  Life has shaped their focus and limited their distractions.

~~~

What’s great about all of it is this same Biscuitville is the place I’ve taken pictures to post online.  There’s a string of Goliath-sized power things that run through the parking lot, just kissing the building.  The signs posted on each gigantic tower read, “WARNING: High Voltage, KEEP OFF.”  You’d think if it were that dangerous they might think differently of placing these towers of power within reach of children at the friendly neighborhood Biscuitville in the middle of one of the poorest sections of Durham where the majority of people walk and ride buses.  It just doesn’t make sense.

Yet, if this not-as-old-but-still-old-woman-backing-up incident had occurred across town at a McDonald’s in a better zip code, I’m pretty sure the Escalade in front of me would have been a Volvo (or a Subaru) and its driver would have cursed me or rolled her eyes as I requested a little assistance in helping the old woman get home.  It’s mostly in neighborhoods like Wellons Village that people really “get it” and respond generously without needing to be asked.  Those who have the least give the most.  And I challenge my own assertion that they have the least.  Perhaps they have only what matters in the end, and that’s what makes them so cool.  They have God and family, and so they have everything they need.

So I ask you…who deserves most to live in a community where live wires litter parking lots: those who reach out to anyone and everyone or those who are closed?  But maybe it doesn’t matter.  Perhaps it’s inevitable that this situation exists.  Perhaps if zip codes switched the roles would change.  Ultimately not everyone is all ‘good’ or all ‘bad’ in any zip code.

~~~

A front-page article in the Herald-Sun caught my attention while at Mr. Bell’s BP station yesterday.  The headline reads, “Durham ranks low in violent crime.”

To anyone from our state of this union, this is a laughable headline.  Comparison places city, county below similar-sized areas.  Remarkable.

Outsiders’ beliefs about Durham are ultimately driven by one fact: roughly half of the city’s residents are African-American.  For this reason alone Durham is looked down upon by nearly 100 percent of the Free World that knows it.  Durham is dirty and lesser and scary.  Don’t go there.  By all means don’t live there.

And our hometown paper, which I still resent for firing some of the best people ever during a distant but still insulting hostile takeover – this paper has now proven what we already knew.  It is, however, most unfortunate that the city cited in this article as having the next lowest crime in the state happens to be Raleigh, our nemesis neighbor to the southeast.  Just one place in line ahead of us for the good.

Durham rocks. That’s what I have to say today.

p.s. Raleigh, you suck.  :p

p.p.s. So as not to be like Raleigh, I need to say this: Beirut, we judge you, and we do not even know you.  Peace.

August 2, 2008

Be it resolved: there will be no resolutions made at my house this New Year.

Fully into my fourth decade, I have finally discerned a thing or two.  Here’s one: resolutions generally don’t work.  They are a Western approach to the flow of life that keeps us swinging from extreme to opposite extreme in anxious search for improvement.  Feast too much in 2011?  Fast it away in 2012!  Only most humans cannot fight Mother Nature.  By January 3 our minds are at war with our strict new habits and empty stomachs, and we lose the war of wills, elbow deep in “bad” foods we squirreled away in the pantry.  The same pattern repeats itself in our diverse New Year’s promises, whether health, love, money, time or ‘other.’

Too often resolutions are ambitious black-and-white hurdles on the path of life.  We set them too high.  They trip us up.  We fall – often sooner than later.  Psychic road rash is hardly the point of a fresh New Year.  Why set ourselves up to fail?

No resolutions for me, please.  No, sir.  No thank you.

~~~

The very notion of the time marker of the ‘new year’ is deceiving.  Attempting to label and contain is what we people do.  It is how we make sense of things.  Yet from the place we are all headed, I’m pretty sure we will one day look back and smile at our former earthly innocence.  Ultimate Reality will give us new lenses for such things as the passage of human time.

In the meantime, we trudge along, trying to classify, control and understand.

When I was in college our chaplain shuffled across campus one day muttering in classic Midwestern (un)flair about two recent deaths.  “Bad things come in threes,” he said with a knowing shake of the head.  Surely I knew what he meant.  “How long until number three?” he asked.

True to my sweet but sassy Southern-ness, I countered.  “You know how it works, don’t you?  We count starting at one…then wait for another shoe to drop.  When number two hits, we hold our breath, anticipating the inevitable.  And it is inevitable as long as we are living – something else will surely happen.  When it does, we say, ‘See – it always happens in threes.’  And we simply start over with our counting.”

After thoughtful pause and a sly grin, he gave me the point, but the sophomoric challenge to his set belief still annoyed him.  (Score one for The Mitz.)

I thought of him just last week while waiting in my doctor’s office.  The good doctor specializes in the unknown, rheumatology.  He might as well be a theologian like the good chaplain because some clergy have an easier time pinning down the ethereal than those in this medical specialty.

The good doc has quite the sense of humor.  A poster in one exam room lists a litany of examples of Murphy’s Law.  This one caught my eye: The thing you lost is always found in the last place you look.

Yes, chaplain, that’s how it works.

~~~

It is in my (contrary) nature to resist the annual goal-setting of New Year’s resolutions.

How then is the process of human matriculation to be understood?  There are myriad options.  I am currently considering a few.

a.

If not ‘resolution,’ then definitely not ‘revolution.’  Just the thought is downright tiring!  Revolution is not a sustainable way of living and improving – at least not for me.  I have known a few revolutionaries, the conquistadors of the world.  I do not wish to be one.  Hell, I do not even wish to know one.  The required narcissism and volatility are exhausting.  There is a place for them; I am not there.

b.

‘Evolution’ is more obvious, more achievable.  It’s also common sense, and common science.  Remember the origin of the species?  Survival of the fittest?  We anthropological slugs slug along our slug paths, retaining the traits that serve us and releasing those that don’t.  Over time our gene pool improves.  Life improves.  Our chances improve.  We are stronger, more viable.

c.

This kind of bores me.  I get it.  I believe it.  But the flip side of the slug coin calls me, too.  Rather than focus on how we hold on to what serves us, why not take a look at the dark side – how we brave slugs strip away the things that no longer work?  How about some human ‘erosion’  in the name of human development?

Yes, I said it.  I currently fancy the idea of the progress of human psychic and spiritual development as the breaking down and tossing of that which no longer works.

It’s kind of edgy.  Pun intended.

Here’s what Wikipedia offers:

Erosion is when materials are removed from the surface and changed into something else. It only works by hydraulic actions and transport of solids (sediment, soil, rock and other particles) in the natural environment, and leads to the deposition of these materials elsewhere. It usually occurs due to transport by wind, water, or ice; by down-slope creep of soil and other material under the force of gravity; or by living organisms, such as burrowing animals, in the case of bioerosion…A certain amount of erosion is natural and, in fact, healthy for the ecosystem. For example, gravels continuously move downstream in watercourses. Excessive erosion, however, causes serious problems, such as receiving water sedimentation, ecosystem damage and outright loss of soil.

[NOTE: Darned if it doesn't seem the balanced path contains some retention of positive traits (evolution) as well as some breaking down (erosion).  I will accept the compromise, the whole coin.]

~~~

Last year I sat at the edge of the Grand Canyon at sunset.

Talk about your erosion project!  Here are the stats: 18 miles wide x 277 miles long x one mile deep.  That’s one hell of a pothole.

The beauty is incomprehensible.  The sheer wonder at sunset is more than the human heart and mind can absorb.  I think beauty droplets must fall back into the canyon because en masse they are simply too much for us mere mortals to process.

Back to my seat on the ledge…the breaking down and peeling away of the layers of the eons is not necessarily de-structive.  In fact, in some cases it’s downright con-structive.  Consider these two principles:  1) This undeniable beauty arose from hard, slow destruction. 2)  The longer erosion occurs (17 million years so far), the deeper the resulting canyon.  More hurt = more beauty and more depth.

I don’t know about you, but I say bring on my inner Colorado River!

~~~

In honor of an old (and by that I mean ‘former’) chaplain, I will accept the construct of the calendar year.  Looking back at the most recent antecedent annual construct, it has been one hell of a year.

My psychic slug has evolved.  I have dropped some things that did not serve me so well.  My inner layers are more deeply beautiful, more specifically defined.

Here is a summary of learnings from the year in review:

THE SELF

• You are uniquely beautiful.
• There is nothing wrong with you.
• Treat yourself with the same love and care you would offer any other imperfect human soul.
• Likewise, every other human being is an equally beautiful and equally valuable child of God.
• You ain’t all that.
• Think.  Speak.  Listen.  Have fun.  Sacrifice.  Share.  Indulge.  Love.  Respect.  Grow.  Resist.  Forgive.  We are meant for all of these.
• Never stop asking questions.  (Question people who suppress questions!)
• Never stop learning.
• Never stop growing.
• Admit your mistakes, fears, shortcomings.
• Claim your gifts.  (This can be more difficult!)
• Never say ‘never’ or ‘forever.’  It will seal your destiny.
• Letting go of the outcome is the key to happiness.  It can be done in any situation.
• Serve the Good in all things.
• Do the right thing with awareness but not concern for the cost.
• Develop comfort with silence and the unknown.
• It’s easier to be nice and to smile.  Try it.
• Love, love, love.

THE INDIVIDUAL IN COMMUNITY

• Nothing belongs to us; we are stewards.
• The circumstances into which we are born are not fair.
• If you are reading (or writing) a blog post on wordpress.com, you have won what Bill Gates calls the ‘ovarian lottery.’
• It is your (and my) responsibility to see that our sisters and brothers who did not fare so well get a chance, that their needs are met.  We are required to act.  We cannot do everything, but we must do something.
• People who ask questions to help you get unstuck on the path of life are friends.  Those who judge or give advice are not.  There is no room for ‘should’ or ‘ought’ in the language of friendship.  This cat has a personal agenda she is meeting at your expense.  Pity and forgive her.  Understand her, but distance yourself.
• Except in extreme circumstances, try not to remain too distant from anyone.  Life is short.  People change.
• People will disappoint you.  They are weak, hurt and imperfect.
• They are also occasionally full of beautiful and generous surprises.
• Call a thing what it is.  Softening the message can be harmful.
• When in doubt, tell the truth.
• Pleasing everyone pleases no one.
• The whole thing about relationships: they force us to relate.  Take responsibility.  It’s 50 percent yours.
• We are each unique beings with complete cell walls.
• Don’t depend on others.  Resist the urge to control someone else.  Beware she who attempts to control you or who leans too much.
• Own your choices and your beliefs.  Speak only for yourself.
• If you lay down your life, your sanity, your job, your health or anything else to help a friend, expect that she will not do the same for you.  Make choices that fulfill your own values and personal integrity.
• People who take from you will continue to take from you.  (The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior.)  Don’t fool yourself into believing otherwise.
• However, remain open to the beauty and kindness of friends, mere acquaintances, even strangers.  Their generosity will surprise you.
• Absolute power corrupts absolutely.  She who flies the flag of conflict of interest or self-interest is to be feared.  Her mission is not community or any other soul except as they fulfill her personal agenda.
• Life is a Rorschach.  Example: She who insists it is not all about you actually still believes it is all about her.  She hasn’t yet worked it out.  (Our buzz words are red flags.)
• Bullies are weak.  When challenged, they always back down.
• If a place you belong causes you to devalue yourself, separate.
• Let crazy people be crazy.  It’s on them.
• What you do is not nearly as important as how you do it.
• Truth is always known in the end.  What anyone thinks in the meantime does not matter.
• To have one dear friend who accepts and supports you without ceasing is a gift.  To have a few is lavish abundance.  Give thanks!

COSMIC RHEUMATOLOGY (THE DIVINE)

• God is God for a reason.
• You are you for a reason.
• Let God do God’s job.  (God is better at it.)
• Don’t get in the way.
• Also, don’t block your blessings.
• Life is spiritual in nature.  There’s a physical reality.  At base, however, it is spiritual.  Don’t be too literal; you miss a lot.
• For this reason, spiritual tools serve some circumstances best.  Discerning the correct situations for the correct tools is the stuff of wisdom and time.
• Often the best way to plug into the transcendent is to plant your feet firmly on the ground.  Find what works for you.  Stop thinking.  Just be.  Any form of spiritual practice will get you there.  Discover yours.  Leave others to find theirs.
• Justice and mercy are a pair.  Both are necessary.  Rest assured God’s justice is far better than yours or mine could ever be.  Let go of personal injustices done to you.  If you’re really blessed, you might get to see the score settled by the Universe.  If not, know that it will be settled.
• God’s job is to judge.  Ours is to believe, hope and give thanks, especially when life is hard.
• Nothing on this earth, good or bad, is forever.  It is all momentary.  Keep your perspective.
• Give thanks every day for the incomprehensible miracles of life.  Big miracles, small miracles – all is a miracle.
• Faith requires action.  Show you are grateful for the undeserved gift of living.  Do something.  Every day.
• There is literal evil in the world.
• Good always wins in the end, and sometimes sooner.  Believe it.

~~~

Nothing in these lists is revolutionary.  (More reason to reject the resolution/revolution approach!)

Everything listed above is something we already know.  Each year, each day, each moment we live we simply see these truths a little more clearly.  Our focus sharpens.  At the end of my physical life, I don’t know how much vision will remain.  Spiritually, however, I hope I’m reading on the bottom line of the Great Optometrist’s eye chart.

Recently I found old lists of goals.  What stocked me was this: the lists are all the same.  Every.single.one.  The content from list to list is nearly identical.  XYZ goal regarding relationships, work, my person, finances, spirituality.  What is different from list to list, however, is the crispness of the lettering, the clarity.  Each year the progress toward my goals is brought ever so slightly more into focus.  From 2006 to 2008, I inch along the slug trail.  However, from 2006 to 2011, there’s real progress down my evolutionary road, slug slime and all.  Perspective is a gift.  I have nudged forward in fits and starts in each of the prescribed areas.  I have grown!

Each day I hope to become more evolved, holding more tightly to better slug traits.

Each day I hope to erode just a little more, dropping superfluous boulders on specified bystanders.  (See – you’re still reading!)  No, I hope to drop the things that no longer suit me so that my layers are more free and my strata more clearly and beautifully Mitzi.

Life on Earth is short, after all.

~~~

Just today I sat down to update my goals with an eye on the big picture.  What in the world am I doing?  Which direction will I take?  What is the surprising gift that awaits?

Procrastinating for juuust a moment, I opened today’s paper and found this jewel among the ‘readers write’ year-end entries.  The author is my sister and friend, Crystal Atkins.  Crys knows how to get to the heart of a thing.

“New Beginnings”

New Beginnings, changes to be made.

Some things will stay, but most things will fade.

New beginnings give you a fresh start, looking back at what made it fall apart. Running away from the present because of the past, trying new things without moving quite as fast.

No more worries, no more pains, so much drama you couldn’t even name.

Working two jobs just to make ends meet, coming home tired and beat.

Continuing to be strong instead of every second saying “Lord what is wrong.”

Eliminating the hurt, lies, and deceit moving forward to get back on your feet.

A change is coming for the better, cause your suffering will not last forever.

A new beginning to focus on you, not all of the things you use to do.

That new beginnings is coming sooner than you know, closing those old ones and opening a new door.

So don’t give up, hold your head high, stay prayed up and slow down on asking “why?”

~~~

Sometimes I can be brief.  Last year’s Facebook post for New Year’s Eve worked.  I plan to repeat it.

“forget resolutions ~ follow your path ~ start where you are”

~~~

And with that this anthropological slug has more evolution and erosion to undertake as I inch along my path.

Much peace + all good.

When I was in the eighth grade, I was nominated for membership in the National Junior Honor Society. I needed just one thing, a letter of recommendation, and it needed to be good. I joined you in our regular star-watching ritual on the front porch that night to ask advice. No problem, you said – you had it under control. After work the next afternoon, you sat at your standard-issue IBM typewriter and got to the point: “You should accept Mitzi for three reasons: 1) She’s smart. 2) She’s funny. 3) She’s my daughter.” To my surprise, it worked, and it helped shape my identity as a young woman who was competent and capable.

There is so much good – searching for satellites in the night sky and learning the constellations, making animal-shaped pancakes on the weekends, fishing at the lake, making everything paper from sailor hats to sail boats to kites that fly and, your favorite, airplanes. You opened a world of imagination to your girls. You modeled humor, good judgment and ease with people. You gave me the gift of writing, for which I will always be grateful. I have been practicing these last few years and hope to one day be published. I suppose this tribute to you means I finally made it as a writer; I’m published!

But seriously, if I could write a letter of recommendation for you, it would read, “Please accept him for the following reasons: 1) He’s smart. 2) He’s funny. 3) He’s my dad.”

Love,
Mit

December 10, 2008

~~~

There are moments that crystalize in our senses.  Some write the record of trauma on our hearts and in our neural pathways.  Others are so beautiful, like a double-hung rainbow perfectly placed amid a whispering sky, the stamped imprints remain upon our souls.  They are placed in our permanent records.  I have seen the sun lower her gaze on the Grand Canyon and will never forget the moment the voice of God whipped up from the canyon floor one mile into the sky, and beyond.  It was, in every sense, awesome.

The writing of this tribute to my dad the day of his death was no different.  In fact, it was easy – and fun.  The anticipated suit-clad gathering of old friends beckoned a black-and-white retrospective of times past.  Recounting early memories was an Easter egg hunt of innocent treasures, the Good Times, the memories before.

Since the wee hours of December 10, 2008, things have changed for everyone.  I mean, things always change, right?

I was struck today by how very much like my father I really am.

From my mother I was gifted from the product line off the ethereal – belief, hope and a deep knowing that transcends human knowledge.

My father’s gifts to me are more basic.  By that I mean they are core, of the earth.  Dad passed on to his middle kid the keen ability to spot bullshit from a distance.  Better yet, he taught me to call it what it is in simple terms, with decency and a wry smile, without apology.  He taught me what it is to engage, to like and be liked.  I will never be as charming or intelligent, but I am content with being called to other things.

The single most important gift I received from Dear Old Dad was the plain understanding that we are all just people.  I mean, sheesh.

George E. Viola, career IBMer, was a master at the Real.  Many of the gas station attendants, restaurant workers and plain folks he befriended would never guess he was an Episcopal Deacon and erstwhile med-school wannabe with interest in zoology, practiced in chemistry.  Dad was smart, and he had no need to fly a MENSA flag.  He did not need to stand out.

We are different in ways.  His modesty was rooted in pain and a childhood belief that he was less than those raised outside his mill-village neighborhood.  Another gift to me was that I did not carry this pain.  I have the benefit of seeing all people as just that – the same old dolls in different dress-up clothes.  Underneath they are equals; as my nephew August recently proclaimed, we all have the same parts – girl parts or, like him, hippos.  Why pretend otherwise?

This week has been a keen and memorable week of refinement.  I am more my core self today than this time last week.  We humans are all in an ongoing process of finishing.  Sometimes this gift arrives as refinement by fire.  Like a blacksmith’s ore, we are burned hard and dipped in the cool waters of friendship and grace.  In the end there is not less of us; what remains is simply more pure, more intensely shaped.  I prefer the definition of ‘refined’ I found on the Internet tonight: freed from impurities, purified.  I am more purely Mit.

So that’s the story, Dad.  I saw some stuff and named it.  Just for you I received the reply with a nod and a smile, human decency, without apology.  And at the appropriate time I stopped listening and simply let it roll off.

Thanks a bunch, Dad. (I know – you’d do the same thing for a friend, right?)

Really, thank you for the gift of you.  No bull.

“I want the plants to be low-maintenance, so all I have to do is weed.”  That’s what I told the friend who landscaped my yard.

At the time I imagined weeding to be a twice-annual affair of two hours or less.  No problem, I thought.

Since then, I have frequently found myself ‘in the weeds’ outside my little cottage on the pond.  True to the food-service origin of the phrase, there is so much work it’s hard to know where to begin.  If each weed is a customer at my domicile diner, I am frequently triple-sat on the busiest night of the week with every co-worker out sick.

This is not what you think – I am not here to complain.

The simple truth is I have come to love my time in the weeds.  It allows me to plug into Mother Earth.  Garden time is the real-life, down-and-dirty equivalent of a docking station, the iWeed.  I feel most free, most spiritual, unencumbered, floating and free with my feet firmly planted on my ground and Carolina dirt under my nails.  It is when I forget all politics and conflict.  Most of all, in the company of dandelions and zoysia, I remember who I am.

~~~

Just recently my big sister got me thinking.  She started an on-line conversation that led to serious contemplation about who our ‘friends’ and ‘family’ really are.  As we all know, who we’re born to is fated while friendships are intentional.  Our real families are sometimes chosen later in life.  Usually family is a mix of kin folk we inherit and kindred spirits found on life’s path.

In my family it is no different.  We won the lottery in the immediate family department compared to many.

Yet sometimes, in the larger garden of life, I feel like the only non-native species growing in the plot of our extended family.  This began after my maternal grandmother’s death.  She was the True North for our clan, our connection to a set of values and people of another place and time.  When our compass left us, we began to stray, occasionally growing in the wrong direction.

Serving as a reflection of the simple values of the past in a form that embraces every shade of humanity has made me the White Sheep of the family.  A friend recently told me about an old-fashioned flower thought to be extinct.  Recently while tramping through the wilderness, he stumbled across this very gem.  Somewhere in our (red)neck of the woods in northeast Durham C0unty, the old girl still blooms.  A friendly passing bird passed a seed, and with a lot of luck it grew.  More remarkable is that a guy who happens to know the thought-to-be-extinct species happened upon her while she was in flower.  Really, what are the chances?

Sometimes I feel like a wildflower seed pooped upon contemporary soil from another place in time, struggling to be accepted for the unique bloom I am.  People who stumble upon my species and recognize its beauty are rare.

~~~

My back yard is seldom seen by neighbors and is therefore my most neglected patch of ground.  To the contrary, the fair-haired, blue-eyed favored child of a front yard self-righteously boasts regular grooming.  What a show-off!

The best time for the task is also the most needed – following a soaking rain.  And so I am often found in the front yard a day or two after a good rain.  My sophisticated gardening tools are a good pair of gloves and a beaten-up blue Rubbermaid bucket.

A girl can do some really fine thinking while sorting through weeds.  The motif of late: the garden of life.  You see, I am giving careful thought to which people in my life to keep, which to discard and which to keep an eye on for future decision.  Just like my weeds, my people are falling into the same big buckets.  And if they happen to fall into my symbolic blue Rubbermaid bucket, well, out with the old, I guess.  Or, as my dear friend Dorcas says of the people she secretly sends to Lucifer on the elevator in her heart, “Going dowwnnnn.”

With some it is an act of self-preservation or self-protection.  Mostly it is an attempt to (finally) keep that which feeds me and let go of that which crowds out my sunshine, steals my life-sustaining water or siphons off more than its share of minerals.  I’m doing the calculations, and that which takes more than it gives goes to my trusty blue bucket.

~~~

There are important distinctions between people and weeds.  Well, it sounds so obvious to say it that way.  I guess what I mean is the sorting of weeds is black and white; she stays or she goes.  The weeding out of people, however, is meant to be done with caution and care.  Humankind is gray.  People deserve mercy as often as justice.  With people gardening requires wisdom, patience, grace.  And like most things human, timing is everything.  A person plucked from the garden today might just as likely be given another chance on another day.  Circumstances change; people grow.

Here are three examples from my garden of friendship:

CLOVER

This is someone from college.  We met through campus activities – Chapel Council, Habitat, Lutheran Student Movement and a group that made annual trips to D.C. to work at a women’s shelter.  A couple of collegiate Girl Scouts we were, defying the Greek system and blazing a trail of hippie goodness with a small band of GDI comrades.

The details don’t matter.  The summary is I felt crowded by this good friend – like I didn’t have my own space, as though she needed my root system a little too much.  I stepped back and kept my distance for a few years.  One evening I opened the squeaky doors to my closed heart and looked her up online.  The first Google reference on my screen was her obituary.

I have forgiven myself and Clover, but I will always regret I did not mend things before she was gone.  I wonder what she was thinking as she lay dying at her parents’ new home in a state far away.  Did she feel abandoned, or was she okay?  Had she grown past me, too?

Sadly, there is not an answer.  I do believe strongly in grace.

CRABGRASS

That’s right, Crabgrass.  This is the friend that will take over your life.

I learned from Clover that a little patience is wise in the garden of life.  I learned in knowing Crabgrass, that too much patience will give boundary bleeders ample opportunity to steal your nutrients.  They will suck you dry.

Clover had been sick, and I had not known.  So when Crabgrass announced she was sick – dying – I knew exactly what not to do this time.  I stuck it out with a challenging friend, a little sister type who had 7-19 months to live.  She also had a lot of needs – my time, attention, sympathy and so forth.  At month 18 I finally got wise.  Her illness was not physical.  Whether personality disorder or sociopathy, distance was the only cure.

The difference this time is I separated from this friendship without closing my heart.  She lied, stole and misrepresented her life to everyone we knew.  All of us of good intentions, we had all bought it.  There’s something awfully tragic about such a soul.  I wish her well.  I pray for her.  But she is no longer in my garden, and she will not ever return.  My heart, however, is not closed to her.

(Thanks, Clover, for the lesson.)

JEWEL

This last one is tough, and unresolved.  This is the Best Friend, the BFF, a rare gem in the garden of life, hence her name.

Jewel and I met in the third grade.  Leslie picked on her.  I intervened.  The rest is history.

The memories are nearly all worthy of a smile.  She was silly, creative and surprisingly unsure in spite of her gifts.  I was super nice and fiercely loyal, willing to follow, to bend to allow her to fill the space in any room.  Together we had a darn good time.  From granny teeth to 3 a.m. wake-up calls to our teachers, we had a hand-written list of inside jokes and escapades that served as our best-friendship codex.  We did not need the approval of any other soul to think we were absolutely hilarious.  Peas and carrots.

High school found us drifting apart.  She slipped through the cracks and fell into some tough stuff.  I desperately wanted the friendship to remain intact.  I thrived in college.  She dropped out.  Trips home found me trying to locate her and unsure she would answer my calls.  I wanted to reconnect.  Slowly I realized she did not want my friendship.  I had always followed her lead.  The leader, however, no longer needed her #1 follower.  It had meant more to me.

Adulthood had our paths cross occasionally.  Once we were roommates.  You know what they say about living with friends?  It’s true.  I do not recommend it.

Our habits, friends and pastimes were quite different, but we could instantly find that place of connection after being apart.  Simply say “granny teeth,” and the laughter would begin.

We talked a while back after I sought her out.  I learned she was married.  I am listed in the phone book and online.  I don’t recall receiving an invitation.  To tell the truth, I was crushed.  Loyal Mitzi would never in a million years, in spite of the roommate pitfalls, fail to invite The Best Friend to her wedding.

This connection was five years ago.  We spoke by phone a few times – until she stopped returning my calls.  Our conversations had led to her sharing that she’s different now, that being in touch with me reminds her too much of the hard times and decisions of the past.

She stopped communicating.  I was once again hurt.  She had a great new business I found online, so I dropped a line.  No reply.  And again.  Until I finally sent an e-mail one day that simply read, “Goodbye, Jewel.”

The story is she found religion and a good man.  In order to become the person she wants to be, she must reject her past.  I am collateral damage, the baby in the bath water of life.  She does not know that in the end you cannot run from yourself.  We are called to embrace all of who we are in moving forward to become someone new.  That is what makes growth transformational.  Otherwise, we leave hollow spaces inside that leave us less than whole.  I hate to get personal, but what would Jesus do?

Probably not reject a sister to gain a new identity.  But I’m not so sure she knows who I am.  For instance, I studied religion in college.  There’s a connection.  I taught music; she is musically gifted.   My career is a string of really neat nonprofits.  I like to do the right thing, adopt lonely grandmothers, play with neighborhood kids and walk in the rain.  I also like to take my chances.  Did you ever really know me?  Or was I the one-person support system for someone so inwardly focused that you didn’t know the heart of the voice on the other end of the line?

Like Clover, the question is likely to remain unanswered.  What I do know is I am in part responsible – exactly 50 percent at fault.  It is a relationship, after all.  In retrospect, though, I believe her hiding from herself has nothing to do with me.

It hit me a few days ago.  The puppy I adopted while we were roommates is not long for this world.  Jewel’s old cat is already gone – just like Jewel’s mother and my father.  Not a word was shared for either funeral.  To me it is all incredibly sad.

I sent a Facebook friend request.  She declined the offer.  I can’t throw stones.  I blocked her for a year in a vain act of self-protection.  She likely never knew.  She sent a heart-felt letter after we moved out of our shared rental home.  I did not answer – self-protection, again, lest she reject me, again.  I was also hell-bent on being right.

She has a thriving business and is using her God-given artistic gifts.  I am settled.  I built a house and a world of friends through the most amazing story of grace and Good Karma.  I write.  Between us we could script, illustrate and photograph one amazing book.  Jewel and I could give something HUGE to the world.  But that requires connection, mutual acknowledgment.  We are two of the neatest people I know living parallel lives.

The admonition of a grad-school professor rings true: if you’re in a relationship, the thing is you have to relate.  It reminds me of a jewelry box (ironically) another friend gave me one birthday long ago.  It announced in ceramic letters, “Friendship is like a garden of flowers fine and rare.  I cannot reach perfection except through loving care.”  [I have lost track of that friend and the box, proving I am really not good at keeping up with the Joneses.  I will add the one-liner to the codex - that's a good one.]

Jewel was once called my Best Friend…then demoted to ‘oldest friend’…then an acquaintance I mentioned only occasionally.  Most people who love me now do not even know know her name.  I, too, have edited my life history.

Clover taught me caution in drawing hard boundaries with people you love.  Crabgrass taught me there is a right time for blocking the dishonest or that which takes more than it gives.  Jewel is the gray patch in my garden of life.  There is no right or wrong answer.  The best I can do to honor myself and Jewel is throw this message out there with love and not a single expectation.  I do believe strongly in grace.

~~~

Whew.  I did not expect so long a presentation on that one.  I had the pat three-example outline in mind before moving on to The Big One – the bottom-line illustration.  I exceeded the maximum words allowed in ‘Part B’ of anything.

Here goes.  The most important flower gained from my gardening time is not about any plant or any person or any thing at all.  The lesson I have (finally) learned while in the weeds is letting go of the outcome.

That’s right, this nicegirl might have a control tendency or three.

I have spent a lifetime not only doing The Right Thing but bringing fairness and right practice where I find wrong.  What a tiring proposition.  It is only in my fourth decade that a loyal friend has managed to beat into me one Ultimate life lesson.  Let God do God’s job.  Handle your scandal, but don’t get in the way.  God is trying to work something out.

Planting my hands and feet in the soil brings me closer to the transcendent.  Weeding is good for the soul.  With work gloves and blue bucket I can finally let go of my exacting grip on control.  Mind you, I’m a good witch, but a di-rec-tor nonetheless.  Making things Right is no mere mortal’s job.  I continue to need the reminder.

There is much that needs mending, but I, alas, am not the Master Gardener.  As my 2-year-old nephew said to his 9-month-pregnant mother recently, “Back it up.”  Back it up, Mit.  God is working it out, and you are in the way.

This lesson has presented itself in every aspect of my life.  Sometimes the best thing we can do is nothing at all.  Sometimes the right thing to do is get to work tending our own weeds and let the Universe handle the rest.  In a very real way to deny God the chance to show God’s stuff is a faith statement – lack of faith, that is.  To insist on doing what is not ours is a statement that God, whatever or whomever you believe that to be, is not capable of getting it done.

Unwillingness to release control shows disbelief in the supremacy of the Good.  Conversely, letting go of the outcome is a matter of trust and belief that what is intended will (eventually) happen – even if my exacting, Virgo hands are not touching it.  Amazing.

I have been surprised a time or two when the resolution was not at all my plan – but exactly right anyway.  Just right.

Thank you for the lesson, friend.

~~~

Like literal weeding, emotional or spiritual tending comes in fits and cycles, internal seasons.  It is a deep process of refinement that shapes us to become more like our uniquely beautiful topiary and bonsai souls.

In every life, like every year, at least where I live, there is winter.  This is the time we hole up, settle in and look inside.  In essence winter is the time we mere mortals pause to evaluate and reflect.  Time moves slowly, but winter must happen so we and our weeds can gear up for the next round.  Winter is necessary so life can return as faithfully as daffodils and ticks to my grandmother’s Chatham County farm.  It brings renewal – but not before one long, silent pause.

This is reminiscent of my dear friend Patt who says snow is a blanket of love, a hug from the Universe.  Each delicate flake whispers, “You are seen, you are known, you are treasured.”

~~~

What’s so bad about a weed anyway?  If one chick’s trash is another woman’s treasure, my garden pest is another girl’s rose.  I pull clover from my sod while others plant it proudly in clay pots.

If you ask me, weeds get a bad rap.  They can be considered less-than-perfect floral, undesirables.  Still another view is weeds are garden rebels that risk having to ask forgiveness by avoiding permission.  Now *that* is a plant I can stand behind.

My favorite theory is that weeds, like us, can appear where they are not welcomed.  They shamelessly grow uninvited by the front walk.  Many take root in the harshest of conditions – climbing around rocks and up-up-up toward the sun, craning their weed necks in just the right position.  Weeds are long shots, garden underdogs.  What we wanted was a rose.  What we got was a yellow flowery “thing” whose base is too broad, her leaves inferior.  We hope she goes unnoticed by passers by.

God bless the wayward weed that adds texture and color to an otherwise less interesting world!

~~~

My computer says cloudy and warm today with a chance of light showers.  It’s perfect weather for meditative gardening.  Thinking cap off, fancy gloves on.  Blue bucket.  iWeed.