The current global turmoil has me turning to that sage oracle, Alfred E. Neumann, for advice and solace.
Like anyone else who is even remotely tuned into current events. I find myself frequently experiencing feeling akin to panic - like those one feels when a roller coaster drops and the laws of physics that applied an instant before suddenly seem to be invalidated.
Two thoughts snap me back out of this. The first is the wonderous opportunities that times of confusion and chaos present to all of us. When rules and paradigms no longer apply, when what came before is no longer a reliable indicator of what lies ahead - these are the times in which radical change can happen. These are the times in which fortunes are made. These are the times that history records as the turning points in the arc of humankind.
The other thought that breaks the coherence of panic is that it only feels like it does because what came before was different. In other words, if that which we currently perceive as challenge and uncertainty were commonplace, if we were used to it, if the past had been like this, it wouldn't feel so weird. The roller coaster sensation comes from the descent, and the descent comes from the starting place. But that starting place is in the past - it's history, gone, a quaint artifact of a bygone era. If we stay in the present, we stay in the land of wonderous opportunity. It is only our attachment to the past that creates anxiety.
I can't help imagining what an alien landing on our planet at this time might think. Here's a biosphere of abundance, a world dominated by a species that has self-organized to create great things - great structures, great art, great science and medicine, great societies. But for some reason, everyone is running around with their hair on fire. I imagine that the alien, with no connection to the past, would have a hard time figuring out what everyone's so upset about.
That alien would also likely perceive a bounteous world laden with opportunities - opportunities that are only the richer for the current disorder. And we could all see the world that way, right now, if we simply chose to.
Thanks Alfred.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Saturday, April 05, 2008
The Most Profound Moment of My Life (so far)
While reading Eckhart Tolle’s wonderful book, “The New Earth”, I ran across the following:
“Even a stone, and more easily a flower or bird, could show you the way back to God, to the Source, to yourself. When you look at it or hold it and let it be without imposing a word or mental label on it, a sense of awe, of wonder, arises within you.”
And I was transported back to the most profound moment of my life.
It was several years ago – I was participating in a particularly grueling, multi-day business meeting, being held at a dreary Hilton hotel in Rye, New York. The first day had started at 7 am and had run through to 11 pm with hardly a break. We were scheduled to begin again at 7 am the next morning. I arose that morning around 6 – still exhausted – and somehow got myself downstairs at about 6:30.
I was still groggy, and basically in a foul mood. The thought of eating didn’t appeal to me. I think I just wanted to get away from there. For some reason, I found myself drawn to the small, poorly-maintained patio off the lobby.
There were some old wrought-iron chairs out there, and I just went and sat in one of them. Not really thinking about anything. Just kinda there.
And then it happened.
Out of the corner of my eye. A light – just appeared. Well, a line of light. It looked like it was about two or three inches long. Thin as the thinnest thread, mostly white but with rainbow effects. And it danced – left and right, getting slightly longer and slightly shorter. Curving up and down just a bit as it fluttered back and forth. Kind of shimmering. It was so incredibly beautiful and so magical – I was just totally transfixed.
And I sat there for two or three minutes – just sat there letting it be, like Tolle said. And after a couple of minutes, my groggy brain cleared (or did it?) and snapped back to its usual self. And I realized that it was just a wisp of a spider web, catching the morning sun at just the right angle.
Just a spider web.
And in that instant of recognition, of naming, of imposing a mental label on what an instant before had been the most supernatural, mystical, thrilling thing I had ever seen … the beauty vanished as quickly as it had come.
Just a spider web.
And I got so sad. So sad that the beauty that had touched my soul was suddenly gone. So very very sad.
And then … I unnamed it. I let go of the label, the name … and the beauty returned. And not only that, but I noticed other things. Twinkles of light falling in parallel streaks behind the beautiful dancing line. A low harmonized hum – with a sharper regular cadence calling out over top of it. Layers upon layers of beauty. In this dreary garden, behind this dump of a hotel. Paradise.
And then the names came into my brain for each of these new awarenesses. Dew drops falling from leaves of trees … and the magic vanished. A bunch of insects buzzing … Poof! Gone! A single cricket chirping. Magnificence collapsed – almost violently – into the mundane.
But again, I was able to let the names and labels go. And again the beauty returned like a gift from another world. And I was able to play with the whole scene. Moving in and out of heaven at will.
And another thought occurred to me from nowhere. How wondrous it must be to be a small child, before the shackles of language entrap you forever, wandering through a chaos of strange and marvelous sights, sounds, smells. All without names or labels, not yet filed in handy boxes for easy reference. Living in a world constantly bombarding you with beauty.
And then it was 7 am. And the meeting was starting. And I had to go back to the real world. The real world. Whatever that means.
I’ve never been back there again. Not to that hotel, not to that space on earth that at once a dreary patio and a glorious paradise. And sadly never quite to that same place of being able to completely let the names and labels and thoughts go and just … be. Just be with the essence of it all.
But the memory of it remains with me, and warms my heart. And gives me hope. And somehow I’m certain that someday I’ll return to it. Maybe just for another couple of minutes. Maybe for a few return visits. And maybe … just maybe … to stay.
“Even a stone, and more easily a flower or bird, could show you the way back to God, to the Source, to yourself. When you look at it or hold it and let it be without imposing a word or mental label on it, a sense of awe, of wonder, arises within you.”
And I was transported back to the most profound moment of my life.
It was several years ago – I was participating in a particularly grueling, multi-day business meeting, being held at a dreary Hilton hotel in Rye, New York. The first day had started at 7 am and had run through to 11 pm with hardly a break. We were scheduled to begin again at 7 am the next morning. I arose that morning around 6 – still exhausted – and somehow got myself downstairs at about 6:30.
I was still groggy, and basically in a foul mood. The thought of eating didn’t appeal to me. I think I just wanted to get away from there. For some reason, I found myself drawn to the small, poorly-maintained patio off the lobby.
There were some old wrought-iron chairs out there, and I just went and sat in one of them. Not really thinking about anything. Just kinda there.
And then it happened.
Out of the corner of my eye. A light – just appeared. Well, a line of light. It looked like it was about two or three inches long. Thin as the thinnest thread, mostly white but with rainbow effects. And it danced – left and right, getting slightly longer and slightly shorter. Curving up and down just a bit as it fluttered back and forth. Kind of shimmering. It was so incredibly beautiful and so magical – I was just totally transfixed.
And I sat there for two or three minutes – just sat there letting it be, like Tolle said. And after a couple of minutes, my groggy brain cleared (or did it?) and snapped back to its usual self. And I realized that it was just a wisp of a spider web, catching the morning sun at just the right angle.
Just a spider web.
And in that instant of recognition, of naming, of imposing a mental label on what an instant before had been the most supernatural, mystical, thrilling thing I had ever seen … the beauty vanished as quickly as it had come.
Just a spider web.
And I got so sad. So sad that the beauty that had touched my soul was suddenly gone. So very very sad.
And then … I unnamed it. I let go of the label, the name … and the beauty returned. And not only that, but I noticed other things. Twinkles of light falling in parallel streaks behind the beautiful dancing line. A low harmonized hum – with a sharper regular cadence calling out over top of it. Layers upon layers of beauty. In this dreary garden, behind this dump of a hotel. Paradise.
And then the names came into my brain for each of these new awarenesses. Dew drops falling from leaves of trees … and the magic vanished. A bunch of insects buzzing … Poof! Gone! A single cricket chirping. Magnificence collapsed – almost violently – into the mundane.
But again, I was able to let the names and labels go. And again the beauty returned like a gift from another world. And I was able to play with the whole scene. Moving in and out of heaven at will.
And another thought occurred to me from nowhere. How wondrous it must be to be a small child, before the shackles of language entrap you forever, wandering through a chaos of strange and marvelous sights, sounds, smells. All without names or labels, not yet filed in handy boxes for easy reference. Living in a world constantly bombarding you with beauty.
And then it was 7 am. And the meeting was starting. And I had to go back to the real world. The real world. Whatever that means.
I’ve never been back there again. Not to that hotel, not to that space on earth that at once a dreary patio and a glorious paradise. And sadly never quite to that same place of being able to completely let the names and labels and thoughts go and just … be. Just be with the essence of it all.
But the memory of it remains with me, and warms my heart. And gives me hope. And somehow I’m certain that someday I’ll return to it. Maybe just for another couple of minutes. Maybe for a few return visits. And maybe … just maybe … to stay.
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