The sweet surprise of morning

Physically, the sun comes up every day. It has been coming up every day for a long, long time - and I expect it will continue coming up for some time yet into the future. But today the sun came up in a different way for me - internally. And, like the physical sun, it filled my world with light.

This last few days have been filled with long hours of darkness, self-doubt and confusion. I seemed to be living in a cave, because in every direction I found only walls - no windows, and certainly no doorways. One by one the options of new job opportunities, new career ventures, new connections for a new life - have been closing unexpectedly. Even the ones that seemed so sure, so certain. One by one each potential has become a wall.

I credit myself with taking one small wise action, however. I used to bloody myself quite regularly, butting my head against the walls that stood in my way. This time, as soon as I identified that it was actually a wall before me, I stopped. Immediately. I quit beating my head against the walls this time. I've found that when there is a wall, you search around for a doorway. And when you find no doorway, you sit down, make yourself comfortable, and rest a bit.

So that's what I did. At 3:00 am, when the last call came in from the "really big company" in the UK - the last rejection (or so it seemed to me then) - I sat down, right on the floor, and just stayed there for awhile. The only light there was came from the very small lamp I'd turned on beside the phone. Everything else was dark. In summer, morning comes early, true, but at 3:15 am it would still be hours yet before dawn. And daybreak would have to wait even longer this morning, because the storm clouds of the evening before lingered still, showing no signs of clearing anytime soon.

So I sat.

And sat. It seemed the only thing to do.

I found myself settling a bit, finally, and breathing. I think it was the first time I've ever really noticed that - just my own breathing. It's really quite rhythmic - comforting in an odd sort of way. At least it was for me.

There I sat. My surroundings faded, even my body faded from my awareness. My worries became as nothing. They just didn't matter anymore.

Then suddenly, I started remembering things I'd not thought of for years. Like, when I was five years old and I held a common stick in my hand, a twig from the tree top above me, and wondered what it would be like to be part of something as magnificent as a tree. And when I lay in my bed, sick with the flu, when I was 12 amazed yet comforted to feel my grandfather's hand pushing my sweaty hair off my forehead gently, with his rough hands. (My grandfather had died the year before, when I was 11.) A flood of memories and thoughts streamed through my mind like a movie - but the best kind of movie - the kind that leaves you full of awe and wonder, never to be the same again.

I don't know how long I sat there. I lost all sense of time. All I know is that suddenly it was morning. Bright, intense, and glorious. And it began inside. The brightness of hope, I think I want to call it. It's hard to put it into words actually. There are no words I can discover that accurately describe that which is undescribable by anything other than a shout of joy from the core of my being. It sounds funny to myself having those words come to my mind, let alone putting them down in writing. I" don't talk that way. But then, I feel, unquestionably, that that somehow that the "I" that I was is not the same anymore. That "I" is gone - transformed, no, transmuted, forever - changed into something better, something greater, than I could ever have achieved by myself alone.

And then I noticed my breathing. Deep, powerful, filling me in a way I've never experienced before, to my recollection. Odd. I felt in that moment that I'd never truly breathed before, not really. In that moment I was the sky, the ocean, and all creation. And though I had no physical roots, nor leaves, nor trunk - I was also the tree that I had yearned to know as a young boy.

I had no idea how long it had been light, but I suddenly noticed it was. Sunlight streamed through the breaking clouds, dark no longer. Rays of sun fell across my legs, and my hands, and the floor. I felt as if I were sitting in the middle of a pool of light, and that the sunbeams were individually personalized for me, just for me.

I would have stayed there forever, but "nature called" and I slowly moved my body to a standing position. I felt somewhat stiff from inaction, but filled with new strength at the same time. I glanced at the clock, amazed. It was 10:32 am.

Circumstances are the same. As I look at my options, there are still walls where there had been doors and windows before. But the cave is dark no longer. In fact, it is streaming with light. I still don't know which direction to go, but somehow I know now that if I pay attention, the perfect path will open before me.

It will be interesting to see where it leads.

Free, Free, Free At Last. Or Not.

Well, here it is. My second official day of freedom. Freedom from time schedules, freedom from rules and regs (US Marine, that is), and freedom from the pressure of too much to do in too little time in the shop. I should be having the time of my life. But I'm not feeling free at all, but nervous. I hate to admit that, but it's true. I am my own task-master now, with no certain tasks pressing, and no real deadlines for 'must-do' action. Uncertainty doesn't sit well in a body.

I suppose this reaction might be the fault of my upbringing, or general enculturation. I would seem likely, since I was raised in a military family. But my non-military friends say they heard the same messages:

"Do, Do, DO! Go, Go, GO! And KEEP going! Don't be lazy! What are you sitting down for? Get back to work! An idle mind is the Devil's workshop!" "If you're not busily engaged in a good cause, you might as well not be doing anything at all".

The implications - you're worthless as a human "being" if you're not "doing, doing, doing". What an oxymoron!

What is the truth? How much of this was rhetoric spoon-fed to us as children by authority figures in efforts to control us, as to force us into becoming "good" people and citizens (read - according to their model of what we should be).

I find myself suddenly, age 40+, with neither "Daddy" to tell me what to do - neither my biological father (except for the voices in my head), nor my military organization "father." I had become accustomed to living my life by the dictates of another. That served me well when I was younger, giving me structure. But, there was no instruction provided on how to make the transition to living life according to my own star. Now here I am, in the middle of the ocean of possibilities, with bare bones navigational and guidance systems on board. No wonder I'm feeling a bit nervous and at loose ends.

Like most things, this will most likely pass - but right now I'm as nervous as a big cat in a tight cage. ("Caged" by my new freedom - what an interesting metaphor.)

I prepared for this. But really preparing for this was not possible.

I had looked so forward to taking some time for myself to reassess my life, what I really want, and what I should do now I am retired from the service. I looked forward to the pleasure of "having all the time in the world." The pleasure lasted all of ONE DAY!

My stint was up, officially, on the 25th of June. On the stroke of midnight I danced around a bit and tossed mugs in the air with some of my buds, and then went home grinning at the thought of all the catching-up I was going to do the next day - free of requirements and time schedules.

And I did catch up. It took me all of 6 1/2 hours to get all my odds and ends done (I don't tend to put off much, so there weren't many), and then I took a wonderful, solitary, hike in the nearby hills for a spectacular view of a glorious sunset over the city. I felt good.

This morning was a whole different story. No excitement, no relaxation, no tasks at-the-ready to busy myself with. I had decided last week that since I still haven't decided for certain which new job/career opportunity to take advantage of, and there aren't any pressing deadlines, I'd just take some time and become better acquainted with "life as a civilian."

Well, if it's going to be like this, I don't think I like it much.

Time to punt?

I wonder what the best use of this kind of freedom might be? Hmmm. This introspective thought brings peace of a sort. I think I'll trust it, follow it, and see where it takes me.

Commencements

In the Pulitzer Prize play "You Can't Take It With You", 'Grandpa' loves attending commencement ceremonies. He says he finds great value in what the speakers say. Not a bad idea. I did a quick search, and found a commencement speech given at Stanford University on June 14th - my 'almost bad hair day' (see post). 'Grandpa' was right! No only 'good stuff', but just what I needed to hear.

The speech is given by Steve Jobs - the Apple/Mac guy who got the personal computing industry going. Thoughtful points of view and potent sharing of his own personal experience. Following, I'll list a few quotes from the commencement speech he gave that really struck me. (Link to entire speech - Worth the read.
http://news-service.stanford.edu/news/2005/june15/jobs-061505.html

Here's one that's good to think about when you're looking at a big change in life, and you're not sure what's best to do - like me, right now, at my retirement from the Corps:

"You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life."

And when I'm tempted to settle rather than risk going for what's possible, but not certain, I'll remember this one:

"Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle."

And this one too - Great!

"Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart."

And here's the clincher - Really helps me put things in perspective:

"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

My mind has been reeling with questions that seem to demand answering. "Which business option should I take? What if I choose none of the options that are before me right now, but just let things ride for awhile? If I follow my heart, will I be able to have the funds I need? Where can go, and what can I do that will really make the most difference?" And moments of: "Can I really trust myself?"

I remember another thing from "You Can't Take It With You." Again from Grandpa:

"Maybe it'll stop you trying to be so desperate about making more money than you can ever use? You can't take it with you, Mr. Kirby. So what good is it? As near as I can see, the only thing you can take with you is the love of your friends." Here's the link for the quote: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0030993/maindetails

I have that - the love, and respect, of my friends. And it supports me now, in my times of questioning. I've found that freely sharing my journey with another touches something that connects us both as humans, expanding the circle of love and friendship for us both. (Thank you 'Nimbus', for your sweet comment on my blog a few days ago, and for your acknowledgment. Just a reminder - to be able to see 'beauty' in another, as you do, you must first have it rooted within yourself.)

Well, I'm off to work. I've already tied up all my projects, trained all the replacements, and said all my goodbyes, but the patterns remain. Maybe I'll just go up to the shop for awhile and see what trouble I can stir up. Only three days to go.

By the way, the play "You Can't Take It With You" had an impact few are aware of:

You Can't Take It With You - The first great American comedy.
(http://host196.ipowerweb.com/~geffenpl/error.html)
At a time when we all could use a good laugh, the Geffen Playhouse presents the play that gave birth to the American funny bone. Moss Hart and George S. Kaufman's Pulitzer Prize winning 1936 play is considered by comedy writers and critics alike to sit at the root of all things funny in American art- stage, film and TV. The TV Sitcom would probably never have been born if it weren't for Kaufman and Hart's first family of zany, hilarious, loveable oddballs. Without it, there would be no Seinfeld, Friends, I Love Lucy, or All in the Family. In fact, without it there would be no first great American comedy. To this day, there's rarely been a more joyful celebration of the unconventional than You Can't Take It with You.

"Groucho Marx, who was not impressed by much in this world … told me he was in genuine awe of Kaufman." - Woody Allen

A magical moment found, while sitting in the morning mists

Sitting out in the mists this morning, watching the air clear as the sun came shining through, I realized once again how grateful I am to be alive. And to actually FEEL alive. There are so many stupid things I've done in my life to 'try' to feel alive, if just for a moment, when I didn't really know how. I haven't known until just a few recent years how to really live - how to really 'be'. Many are the mad times I've frantically tried to force pleasure, or pain, or intensity of one sort or another, into being the experience of aliveness I sought.

Real life has no substitute.

There's nothing like it - being in a body, experiencing firsthand your own living, breathing self, and being at peace with the divine nature of all that is. No matter who's heaven, or where it may be, that's 'IT' in my opinion. In this, even breathing is easy and every burden is light. And it matters not whether you're geographically located in Biloxi, Mississipi (where I was just recently) or Muir of Ord, near Inverness in Scotland (where I stopped through last Fall); nor does it matter your personal circumstances, however they seem. If you're human, the experience of being really, truly alive is the same the world around.

I remember many, many times sitting just as I was this morning - legs stretched out, with one boot piled on top of the other, with the promise of morning light beginning it's beaming through the wonderful swirling mists - and not experiencing anything but the painfully wide shelf inside. It was that dark shelf of fear and self-doubt that kept me from deepening into myself - into the peace I know now. All I felt then was the pain, and I mistook the shelf for the bottom of my own soul. I felt myself as shallow and a bottomless pit all at the same time.

Many were the years I searched desperately outside myself hoping to fill the void. I chuckle now, in self-forgiveness and compassion, for that scared boy and man that I was. I see now how blind I was, and how confused, to think that I should look always OUTSIDE myself to find that which only be found within.

What a journey. And it ain't over yet! There's more yet to learn. It's rather exciting really. I still have struggles; And I don't know what'll I'll find around the next corner. But the way is easier now that I've ever known it to be. And yes, I feel alive. Really alive. If that's all I get to take with me when I leave this planet, I'll count myself a happy man and life as having been worth the while.

Notations on death, kindness, love and hope

I've been investigating the possibility of doing business on the internet as part of my 'job-hunting' and as part of that I've been following a few internet marketing blogs. Sam Freedom's is one of them. But when I looked up his blog today, I found a entry of an entirely different sort, titled "Kindness Went and Got a Face."

Sam comments on the unexpected death of a good man, the husband of a fellow internet marketer, Priyah Shah. Her comments on this same event can be found on her blog at: http://marketingslave.com/2005/06/06/a-tribute-to-my-love/

The comments posted in response to Priyah's "Taking a sabbatical" post brought tears to my eyes and lifted my spirit immensely. Amazing.

Both Sam's comments and Priyah's comments are both well worth the time to read - full of kindness and love. Very touching. Full of courage, full of the best and most beautiful of being human. Gives me hope for humanity.

Here's the link to Sam's blog for his comments as well:
Sam Freedom's Internet Marketing Controversy Blog: Kindness Went and Got a Face...

The World Is My Oyster

I've never really understood that saying - until now.

Today a "bad hair day" taught me that pearls await discovery in the most unexpected, even ugly-looking, places.

Oysters are not very beautiful to look from on the outside. They are knobby, gray, and look like something that ought to be thrown away. But pearls, real pearls, have a wondrously soft luster and are remarkably beautiful, no matter what color they are.

I discovered a pearl today in the oddest of places - my bathroom sink. There I was, minding my own business, giving myself a good shave, mentally planning the details of my final job-hunting expedition before I retire - the second trip to the "Deep South" in two weeks.

(In this last month I've put approx. 3,600 miles on the old Jeep. I've narrowed my "next career" down to 2 or three choices now. I wonder where I'll settle.)

I looked down into the sink and there was HAIR. Not just the short bristle of beard from shaving my face, mind you, but the long, thick, wavy hair from my head! And lots of it. It's true that lately I've been noticing places where I can see my scalp where my hair used to cover it nicely. But it was a shock, I admit, to scoop up an entire handful of my own hair from out of the sink and off the cabinet top! I've prided myself in having a good-looking head of hair. I've been grateful the wounds of war at least left me that.

And in this culture, unless you go bald for the sake of fashion, it's an "ugly" thing to get old and to lose your hair. Looks are everything now, and youth, leanness and physical perfection are worshipped. The loss of one's hair (the remnants of one's youth?), is usually considered to be cause for great mourning, and often causes a mad rush of searching for a hair-restoring product to reclaim one's lost hair (read youth and beauty) . In this world, physical beauty seem to be equated with power, knowledge, and having "what it takes." An acquaintance of mine, a businessmann, pays out smartly each month for hair-restoring products - so his propects will think well of him, think he's "beautiful", and buy what he's selling. Bunk!

I am truly grateful to have had a different experience this morning. After the initial shock of the thought "Oh, No! What's wrong with me?," I found myself grinning. I gathered up the "image of my youth" by the handful, threw it in the garbage, and realized that I seem to have associated thinning hair, baldness, even aging itself, with wisdom - and I seem to see aging as a good thing.

Then a memory came back to me - As a child, my dearly-loved grandfather would let me rub his shiny pate as he told me how glad he was to be looking so "sage." He said, "When you lose your hair, you become very, very wise. Someone who lives life with wisdom is called a "sage." That sounded good to me. I thought my grandfather was a pretty smart guy and I wanted to be just like him.

I don't know if I'll ever be a sage, but at least I may be acquiring the look of one. The thought makes me chuckle even now as I write. Maybe I'm just molting, like the birds, with the change of season. Certainly, my upcoming retirement from the Corps is a "change of season" of a sort.

I wonder - Is our experience of everyday events governed solely by our perception? Because of my own experience, I know that people and circumstances are often judged solely by the way they look. I value highly seeing - and being seen - from a perpespective that sees beyond the outside image of things. That's why "The Raggedy Man" is my all-time favorite poem. (See my very first post on the blog.) It tells of children who see clearly, and a man who is really "seen."

Nothing truly bad happened today. But it could have been a much more traumatic experience for me, that's for sure. Even with seeing all that hair in the sink, and what that might mean, the feelings of fear and loss were short. Almost immediately my view brightened with warm memories of my grandfather and what I had gained from his perspective which I had unknowingly adopted. What a beautiful pearl that perspective was for me now! I was able to look at the situation from a totally different standpoint, yielding different feelings altogether. Rather than the hair loss putting me into a self-esteem crisis, I now had a warm remembrance of love, and a glowing perspective for my own future. My perception is what made the difference. Who would have thought that finding a handful of hair in the bathroom sink could end up being such a positive, even confidence building, experience. Oorah!

Now, if I can just do the same about that extra 20 pounds that's parked around my midsection!

Yelling at the moon

Not that the moon did anything to deserve it...

But, yelling at the moon is what "stress release" is called by certain Native American folk. And "yelling at the moon" is really great, when you can do it. I highly recommend it!

There are lots of times when I've felt "so frustrated I could scream;" and lots more times when I "blew my top" (when I probably shouldn't have), and even more times when I've held in my irritations and my anger at something or someone when it wasn't "right" to knock their block off or tear everything to shreds just to release my own tension, or to "get my message across." I must admit I've done my share of venting - in many forms. There are a couple of walls that I've had to patch-up because of it.

But last night I decided to do something different. I decided to "yell at the moon." Just recently, on a serendipitious meeting with an old Native in the desert, I'd learned the value of the ritual, and had a chance to participate in a demonstration. I'd felt a bit self-conscious then, but now I was willing to give it a real run for it.

So, I jumped in my jeep and took off for the local hills. It took me awhile to find a "lonely spot" - it seems people have build houses in the oddest of places. I guess some of them were looking for a little solitude too. I finally found a vacant field, surrounded by trees, and no one in sight. What fence there was didn't look as if it had been tended to in a long while, and I didn't see any No Trespassing signs.

I stepped to the middle of the field, and began the ritual as it had been taught me. As I began contemplating all of the "broken expectations" I'd held, the "broken heart" times, and the "broken promises", I began to feel something that surprised me. Yes, there was the quick surge of irritation, then the hot flush of anger,... but then there was grief. Heart-rending, belly-sobbing grief. And yes, I howled at the moon. It was the most cleansing thing I've experienced in a long, long time. I got to release some of the sorrow and the pain that I've been trying to "manage" for a long, long time.

I felt human again afterward - really human - for the first time in as long as I can remember.

Thank you, Cheve, for sharing your wisdom with me - even though I'm "just a white man." I can see what you mean now, when you told me "sometimes we must get outside ourselves to see who we really are." I'd been looking through a lens clouded by grief and hadn't even known it.

This month I'll be winding up my 20-year stint in active service to my country. May 25th The Brass and "my kids" threw me a big to-do in the non-com hall on the post. A lot of people came, which surprised me. They said some very nice things - about how I've really changed in the last couple of years (translation - I'm not such an A-hole), and that I've been a good example, a good leader, even an inspiration. That's pretty high praise. And they seemed to really mean what they said. A couple of them even gave some examples of things I'd done (that I didn't even remember doing!), that had made a difference for them in their life. I guess you never know when someone's watching you, and learning from you. Wow. Humbling.

I got to stick my face in the traditional "Bucket." A bunch of them held me down so I couldn't breathe - to show me how much I was going to miss them all. I came up sputtering and choking - Truly, I thought I was going to die. It's funny what we do when we don't know how to really say goodbye.

Closure. That's what I'm doing this month, I guess. Coming to completion with whole sections of my life. In a way, it's kind of refreshing. I get to keep what I've experienced and what I've learned, let go of the old, and make way for the new - all at the same time.