Entries Tagged 'Introduction' ↓
May 5th, 2008 — Introduction, Living Fully, Taking Risks
You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.
–Robin Williams
I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost being and reality….
–Joseph Campbell in “The Power of Myth”
It’s a magical world, Hobbes, ol’ buddy…let’s go exploring!
–Calvin to Hobbes
I hesitate to tell you how long I spent taking the above picture for last week’s post. I had the post written by a reasonable hour, and it could have been a nice conclusion to a productive day. All I needed was a simple illustration for the text.
Instead I took picture after picture, varying the lighting, pose and camera angle. From time to time I downloaded the pictures to my computer and noticed what resonated and what didn’t. When I first started getting involved, the “rational” part of my mind said, “This is crazy. The picture you have is plenty good enough. Just let it go and get a good night’s sleep.” And a soft inner voice replied, “Yes, what you say makes sense. It is crazy. I’m doing it anyway, and you can’t stop me.” Once I get in that situation I don’t fight myself. I open myself to the experience.
I ended up going to bed about 3 a.m.
Was that really the best use of my time? When babies lie in their crib experimenting with making sounds, is that a waste of their time? Or when they start exploring their hands and feet, being completely open to the miracle of movement, is that a waste of time? I think not. And I believe that feeling of fascination and discovery shouldn’t be reserved for children. I personally regard that state as sacred space, when one forgets about time and is completely immersed in the present moment. So what if I got to bed late and slept in the next morning? It was a small price to pay for feeding my soul. Sure it was crazy, and I agree with Robin Williams, we’re only given a little spark of madness. We mustn’t lose it.
What about you? Do you have a spark of madness that makes you feel more alive, that lets you slip into sacred space? Please share your thoughts and experience in the comments section.
Thanks to bikehikebabe, David, Daz and Shilpan for commenting on last week’s post.
March 17th, 2008 — Introduction, Living Fully, Taking Risks
Man is most nearly himself when he achieves the seriousness of a child at play.
—Heraclitus
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
—Ernest Hemingway
Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly. That’s my favorite mantra when I try something new. It quiets my inner critic and gives me the freedom to experiment and learn new things without worrying about being judged.
For instance, when I first started writing an inner voice would say, “What makes you think you can write? Why would anyone want to read anything of yours?” The only solution for me was to get my ego out of the way and write in the spirit of sharing. It doesn’t matter if my writing is “good” or “bad”. The important question is, “Is it honest?” Does it accurately express one person’s way of experiencing the world? Maybe some people will be judgmental, but that’s not my problem. My job is simply to play my part well…to immerse myself in the process and leave the rest to the gods.
It reminds me of a child going with his mother to meet the teacher he would be having in his new school. During the visit he looked at the pictures on the walls and asked, “Who painted all those ugly pictures?” His mother was horrified at his rudeness and was going to intervene, but the teacher just answered, “Johnny, in this class people don’t have to paint pretty pictures, they can paint anything they want.” Johnny visibly relaxed…this school was going to be a safe place.
That feeling of safety is so important to learning. That’s one reason therapy reading dogs work so well in schools. The dogs are nonjudgmental and the children feel safe with them. Reading aloud is something to be shared with an interested listener rather than a chore, and the children look forward to doing it.
Children have to rely on adults to give them a safe learning environment, but as adults we can provide it for ourselves. So I no longer worry when my inner critic sneers, “What do you think you’re doing? What makes you think you can write? No one is interested in what you have to say!” I simply answer, “Yeah, sure. You’re probably right. And it doesn’t matter. I’m writing anyway, and you can’t stop me.”
Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly. And for me there are few things more important than writing.
So, that’s what I care about, and that’s what works for me. What about you? What do you care about…care about so much that you’ll do it no matter what other people might think? Please share your thoughts and experience in the comments section.
Thanks to Shamelle, Daz, Jenny, Paul, Noa, Bruce and Liara for commenting on last week’s post.
May 14th, 2007 — Introduction
I’ve wanted to write about Happiness as a Spiritual Practice for a long time, but that name was much too long for a web address. Then I came across Adam Kayce’s Monk at Work and the term “monk” resonated. I tend to wear very simple clothes, have never owned a house because it would take too much time, and basically agree with Thoreau’s sentiment,
Our lives are frittered away in details.
Simplify, simplify.
So, “monk” was definitely going to be in the name for this site.
The “cheerful” part comes from one of my favorite books, The Cheerful Cherub, a book of short, light-hearted verses about life by Rebecca McCann . The book has been enduring and is still available today, even though McCann passed away 80 years ago.
My favorite verse is
I’m sure I have a noble mind
And honesty and tact,
And no one’s more surprised than I
To see the way I act!
The thing I love most about McCann is she was never pompous. She didn’t take herself too seriously. And that, I’m convinced, is a crucial ingredient of happiness.
May 6th, 2007 — Introduction
I didn’t plan to be so intensely personal today, but Ellen’s post struck a chord. It indicates where the passion for Happiness As a Spiritual Practice comes from. This was my comment to her post (slightly edited):
“Oh, Lord, that really pierced my heart. A couple of weeks ago I dreamed of my mom, cooking in her kitchen, offering me some food. She looked so incredibly happy. Then my dad appeared next to her, with a huge smile on his face. I woke up crying, not with sadness but with a love almost too intense to bear. I’m back in that state now.
Did I have a happy childhood? Well, my sister thinks we were emotionally abused and is still angry about it, I think. My mom went through a period of depression because she felt so trapped. I was only 15 months younger than my sister, and Mom told me years later that when she found out she was pregnant with me she sat down and cried.
I was depressed in the summers, feeling that typical struggle to get out of bed in the morning and make it through another day. My dad was happy when he drank.
I’m the peacemaker type, I wanted everyone to be happy, tearing myself up when that didn’t happen, rejoicing when it did. And we did have a lot of happy moments, it wasn’t all dark by any means. The thing I remember most is how close my mother and I became as we tried to help one another.
I wrote in my first post yesterday that when I was 17 I realized my calling in life was to understand what a happy life was. Obviously the whole thing started years before that, as we struggled together as a family. Things got a lot better when Mom went to work and bought a home that she loved and I went to high school and college and got the intellectual stimulation I needed.
Do I wish my childhood had been different? I’m with you, Ellen, my main feeling is intense love and gratitude. A friend of mine once said, ‘Love is what you go through together with someone.’ That was certainly true for my mother and me. I wouldn’t give that up for anything. ”
May 3rd, 2007 — Introduction
Happiness as a spiritual practice.
I posted that topic in a pen pal magazine once, hoping for a deep philosophical discussion. Instead one fellow wrote, “Are you on drugs or something? That’s the dumbest idea I ever heard in my life!”
Another time a friend looked at me and said, “Maybe you do know something, Jean. I always thought you were so happy because you were stupid.” That was neither the first nor the last time I received that reaction, although most people weren’t that outspoken.
For better or worse, though, my spiritual path chose me when I was 17 years old and I’m stuck/blessed with it. The details aren’t important, I just knew that understanding what a good life was, what made people happy, was something I needed to explore. And knowing what your life is about is worth a lot of embarrassment.
