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O
Wan in Detroit
by Dawn Baumann Brunke
Why the airlines would have us fly 237 miles east to Detroit from Milwaukee in order to fly west, back to Alaska, is a paradox I don’t even want to contemplate but, no matter, the point is that my daughter and I are fated to four long hours in the airport between planes. After all the usual timewasters—check flight departure time and boarding gate, have a bathroom break, choose a meal from the least unhealthy choices available—we have a look at the large, lighted map of the T-shaped airport. There, right in the middle of the T, is a star and the words “Water Display.” Sounds intriguing, and so we walk along a few moving passageways, in search of water on display. 15 minutes later, I understand.
It’s a fountain. More specifically, it’s a large, oval, disk-shaped affair, vaguely reminiscent of a newly landed UFO, though it is carved of black marble, which gives it a definite terrestrial feel. It’s short, maybe 3 feet high, with plump, rounded sides so that the water slides down and around, instead of splashing upward. Overall, it is sleek and graceful in a sassy sort of way. For what makes the fountain come alive are the playful jets of water. They spray up unexpectedly, in thick, neat, well-defined arcs. There are perhaps 40 or 50 of them, all crisscrossing in high, lovely curves, though they never actually intersect. Suddenly, the jetted sprays stop—so cleanly and abruptly that the terminated arcs of water seem to become trailing tails of comets or shooting stars, diving back down into the fountain. There is a pause and, then, the water once again—this time, quick, rapid-fire bursts of jets, stopping and starting, stopping and starting. The effect is like wave after wave of flying fish, fluttering, flipping up and around in the same high sweeping arcs, only to hit the flat black marble with a splash into the fountain’s midst.
It is mesmerizing and marvelous, bringing an easy smile of wonder to the face. We stand for quite some time before finding a place to sit, leaning our backs against the ceiling-to-floor plate glass window that overlooks part of a runway. Bags at our outstretched legs, we watch the constant flow of newcomers who gawk and laugh and take frenzied photos. There is something comforting in this and I feel appreciation for the engaging, expansive energy the fountain offers to all who come this way.
Just then, a group of Oriental people pass by. They wear the heavy look of the travel-weary as they slope along, sweaters, bags and wheeled back-packs in tow. They stop as the apparent leader—an elderly gentleman—motions with his hands and speaks reassuringly to the group in a calm, mellow voice. Nodding, they stow their gear in compact piles and form four rows of three or four people each, all facing the man, who faces the fountain. He pulls an ancient tape player from his bag and sets it gently on the floor. I see they are Chinese, and this makes sense for I recall hearing an announcement about a delayed flight to Beijing .
The old gentleman turns on the tape player and a burst of music fills the space around us. It is distinctively Chinese and delicately refreshing, all pink flower petals and fluttering butterflies. A younger man’s voice accompanies the tape, speaking words I cannot understand—simple phrases that may be names of positions or directions, for the people begin to move in unison next to the fountain.
O Wan, proclaims the voice, as the people slowly raise one arm upward and smoothly lower the other. There are parents and little children in the group, a few teens, and several older women and men.
O Wan, repeats the voice, the group alternating their arms in slow-motion movements, hands reaching high to the heavens and descending low to the earth, human hearts beating in the middle.
It is a soothing choreography, this dance of energy. The flock of hands sways together like a great gathering of birds. Magically, elegantly, fingers travel together, curling inward, closing tenderly as if caressing a seed, and then, in a time-lapse fashion, blossom outward, full and lush, like peonies opening in the garden.
A shiny red tram sails past overhead, on the second level, connecting the terminals here, at the watery T. With my back against the window, I feel the tram’s echoed vibration mingle with the sound of an airline jet taking off in the distance behind me. The tram, the plane, the music, even the talk of all the people passing by—it is a harmonious whir of energy, a low thrum moving up my spine.
O Wan, calls the voice again, as arms sail upward and downward, like a human flag.
O Wan, which perhaps means Oh One or All One. The energy moves outward, like a collective sigh. I watch the passerby’s watching the arcs of water, watching the dance of motions. I see a man open his arms to the fountain, drinking in its blessing.
O Wan, wrists and fingers, pulling power up from the earth and flickering it into the air; jetted sprays of water bursting on and off, shape shifting into comets, stars and flying fish.
O Wan, fingers sweeping energy down from the sky, into the floor, past the cement, deep into the ground beneath us all; the bright red bullet of a tram zooming north to south and back again, delivering people where they most need to go.
The moment is full and teasing and joyful and enticing. The reminder, of course, is that this moment of perfection always exists. It is always here, all around us, all the time. We need only open to the things we fight so much: to slow down, to quiet ourselves, to see what really is, to reconnect with the underlying flow that plays forever behind the dramas of fountains and trams and airplanes and Tai Chi. It is a continual movement, this ever-present now, seeping up into our consciousness and down again, just like waving arms and bursts of water, in and out of time.
I will forget. I know that. And, yet, I relax in the simple pleasure of right here, right now: a feeling of goodness in the Detroit airport.
O Wan. It is enough. And more.
Dawn
Brunke is the editor of
Alaska Wellness and author of Animal Voices and Awakening to Animal
Voices: A Teen Guide to Telepathic Communication with All Life (see www.animalvoices.net
for more).
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A
River Flowing Through Us
By
Bruce Bibee
Mind,
time and space interact to create the illusion that ‘this
is it.’
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Time
is weird. We are often cautioned to stay in the moment—rather than
future-tripping or past-tripping—so why do we need time at all? This
question was posed to an Indian guru once, and his answer was, “So
that everything doesn’t happen all at once.” Good answer, I
remember thinking. But it still leaves unanswered the spiritual
utility of time itself, or the time-space continuum for that matter.
To
get to the timeless truths, it would seem logical to leave the world
of time behind. Exiting time, though, is a formidable task since
we’re trapped in it. The time-space continuum is the environment of
human existence, especially the mind.
Mind
connects to the time-space continuum primarily by agreeing it’s
there. Time and space exist, as do all things residing within time and
space. The mind, then, becomes enamored with the possibilities
abounding in this particular “reality.”
Like a child playing with an endless supply of Legos, the mind
engages with excitement, and begins creating in this reality.
This
engaging occurs sometime after a person is born. Dormant mind is aware
all through the creation of life—in the womb, through the journey of
birth, and into life as a human. But that’s all: awareness. Mind
hasn’t really engaged yet. In fact, the decision to engage in the
human condition is a momentous decision, for the child must repress
all memory of all other realities, including memory of Who he or she
really is. In transpersonal psychology this is known as Original
Repression (not unlike Original Sin).
When
the child makes this break from all other realities, she can fully
engage in our consensus reality. If she doesn’t choose this reality,
then she becomes autistic, or claims her divine right to be loved
unconditionally and is killed by dysfunctional parents. In any event,
when mind is tickled out of its pre-egoic state by the prospect of
doing life as a human being, the price of admission is amnesia about
all other realities and one’s True Self.
Here’s
the deal: The mind, as it grew more and more capable of logical,
conceptual thought, became more and more disconnected from what can be
called our Dynamic Ground. Our Dynamic Ground is our connection to the
flow of ki, ch’i, prana, Tao, Brahmin, Christ consciousness, or whatever different cultures
call our primary energetic essence. When we were born, the Dynamic
Ground was a river flowing through us. During those early days, we
really didn’t need human existence. We would have been okay with
dying and being re-absorbed into the All-That-Is.
One
way to conceptualize this is to see how the human body is like a
condensation point, a pebble in an oyster, or a bolt in a wall
condensing frost. Human bodies condense or channel this flow of
energy. At first, that’s our experience. Or, more accurately,
that’s the context of our experience. We start relating to the human
reality from a godlike place.
This
won’t work, though, and we end up with the choice above: Original
Repression or stay in contact with the Dynamic Ground, which means
resisting the development of the ego-mind. But to survive on the
planet we need our ego-mind. So, we opt for Original Repression.
Original
Repression blocks our awareness of this flow, the Dynamic Ground. With
our awareness dulled, we can buy into this time-space reality as the
one and only reality. In other words, we can commit to life as a human
being. Mind is then unleashed from its subordinate position and
quickly convinces itself it is all-that-is. The child’s mind,
therefore, is very ego or self-centered. Some people never escape this
state.
The
Buddhists teach, “all concepts, by definition, are illusions.”
Therefore, the mind cannot answer the spiritual or existential
questions, because the mind only deals in concepts. If I want these
questions answered, I want something not illusory. The stars are real;
so, I want real answers to my thorny questions. Why? Why me? Why this
place? Why this painful existence? What does it all mean? Why am I
here? Why?
If
we let the question resonate into the flow, then wait patiently as the
flow digests this question, the answer is whispered back, “Why
not?”
And
mind is not real happy with this. It may be the classic Zen version of
the cosmic joke, but it’s not funny today. I left my cynicism at
home. I want real answers, not flip Zen koans.
But
the Dynamic Ground is now silent. No other answer is forthcoming. The
mind is still screaming, Why?
And the stars continue to wink. Yet, there is something else now
working inside—a pregnant feeling, an awakening begun.
As
the gestation proceeds, let’s postulate the triangle of mind, time
and space. These three create the fabric of the known universe. Each
is interdependent with the others. For example, I’m in love, and my
true love is leaving on a trip in an hour. I won’t see her again for
months. How long do you think this hour will take?
Or,
the reverse, I’m in a torture chamber, and my tormentors will be
taking their lunch break in an hour. Until then, they torture me. How
long do you think this hour will take? Externally, they both take 60
minutes, but in the first example, the hour will seem to fly by. In
the second example, the hour will be an eternity. Mind and time work
together to create experience.
Mind
and space work together a little differently. Space can be contracted
or expanded by mind (as time can be speeded up or slowed down by
mind). I can bring loved ones into my thoughts, and feel their
presence, talk to them, know how they would respond to a question.
(Reiki practitioners often do “distant” Reiki. They send the
universal energy to a distant person, and it connects.)
Time
and space work on mind as an environment. In this environment, mind is
nurtured to the point of being deluded into thinking it is king. In
fact, it sets up tests for reality which can only be passed in the
environment of time-space. If something (like telepathy, for example)
cannot pass the test, then it can’t be real.
Mind,
time and space, therefore, interact to create the illusion ‘this is
it.’ This is reality. There is no other. The reason this is
important to know is because the
answer to existence itself doesn’t reside within the time-space
continuum. We are now in a classic catch-22. That which mind is
searching for cannot be known by the mind, nor arrived at by the
normal processes the mind uses. In fact, the answer, if it came up and
bit mind on the butt, would have to be rejected because it isn’t
compatible with the reality residing within time-space.
In
other words, the answer to life is non-linear and is everywhere at
once. It is not bound by time and it transcends space. Time-space are
a part of it, not the other way around.
What
we do, here, is look back on our history and try to find some
solution. And there are clues. It’s now known “peak experiences”
happen to children. Spiritual openings pock-mark our developing years.
Probably what’s happening, at least sometimes, is that Original
Repression slips, and the Dynamic Ground oozes through. We connect to
it, remember we’re not supposed to feel this way, and repress it
again.
So,
there are some clues in our childhoods that there are other realities,
other modes of consciousness, other ways of viewing the human
condition. And the questions become, “How
can I replicate those openings?” and
“How do I get that door to open?” We know the Dynamic Ground
can surge up and engulf us, but how can we do it willfully,
consciously?
Zen
sayings start to make sense when we are facing these difficult
questions. “It’s like trying to see the eye see” is one of the
sayings summing up the dilemma. Many young adults abandon the search
because of this difficulty. Mostly, though, they abandon the search
because there is no way provided by the dominant culture to: 1)
identify the quest; 2) dignify the quest; 3) provide the technology to
complete the quest; and 4) confirm the quest has been completed.
Ancient
texts, in all the major world religions, tell us time and space and
mind are interconnected. When one is affected, all are affected. If we
shut down mind, then time and space also collapse. If time and space
collapse, then we can make direct contact with the flow, with the
Dynamic Ground, with All-That-Is. Sacred literature further says that
when we make direct contact with the flow, we will “know.” This
knowing is a complete kind of knowing, but it cannot be shared with
others in this time-space reality. They have to arrive at their own
knowing through their own contact with the flow.
So,
how does one shut down mind—the little thought factory? The classic
way of doing this is through meditation. However, it’s a rather
long, arduous task. This discipline truly serves a person recovering
from a mid-life crisis, because he usually will have 10 to 15 years to
meditate after his first deliberate contact with the flow. There are
other, faster ways to initiate contact with the flow, but our culture
has not ritualized any of them effectively.
Other
cultures utilize various purification rites, followed by techniques to
induce an altered state of awareness. Within the safety of the
cultural context, the initiate is helped to receive a vision that
gives him the “knowing” he needs.
In
the
U.S.
, we don’t have the cultural context for this. So, what’s going to
work here? Well, we can sit with the question. We can continue to
struggle with the senselessness of our existential dilemmas. After a
while, the mind (which is a solution-oriented agency) gets fed up with
the unsolvable nature of the problem and shuts down.
Continuing
to sit with the problem and trying to figure it all out, to struggle
with the question in various forms, consciously tires out the mind. If
I consciously drive the mind to seek an answer to the unanswerable,
somehow the mind’s very shut-down becomes, paradoxically, the answer
itself.
Bruce
Bibee is a Licensed Professional
Counselor and a Kung Fu San Soo Master Instructor. He can be reached
at: 562-1242. Or visit his web-page: www.brucebibee.com.
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One
Word
by Dawn Baumann Brunke
Last
spring an interior design friend was sitting with me in serious
contemplation, scrutinizing my living room.
“Okay,” she says at last. “I have one word for you.”
“What’s
that?” I ask with anticipation, deliriously hoping she is going to
give me the key to an entirely new version of this living space. I’m
thinking maybe some kind of different color that I never thought of,
or maybe a theme that will pull everything together. I’m even
secretly thinking that maybe the word itself might be enough to
magically transform my house in a way that everything will fit
perfectly.
“Edit,”
she said at last. “The
word is Edit!”
As
I groaned, off she went like a whirlwind, pulling pictures off the
walls, clearing the mantle, sweeping all my bowls and magazines and
vases and eccentric whatnots from the tables. As we worked, we talked
color; we talked texture; we talked theme and arrangement. And then
the hard part: I could only put back what I really used and what
really worked for the room.
We
did fairly well, and a nice transformation had begun. But, a few days
later, after she took the airplane back to
Oregon
, I noticed that some of my ‘stuff’ wanted to return to its old
space. Alright, let’s be truthful: I didn’t know what else to do
with my stuff, so I returned it to its old space. Sneaky me.
Fast
forward from that spring to just a few weeks ago. A new acquaintance
who friends tell me is known for his decorating skills is sitting
beside me on the living room couch. “So, what would you do in
here?” I ask him casually after dinner, as I watch his eyes skim the
room. He takes some time before he answers, turning to me with a
mixture of serious amusement. “One word,” he says. “Edit!”
Funny
how the things we really need to know keep coming back to us, knocking
on our little doors until, at last, we open up and capitulate. I had
to laugh that the message delivered to me from two very different
people was “edit,” which is something I do most days on the
computer. Then again, it’s not so hard to edit someone else’s
work, not so difficult to spot the problems that trouble someone
else’s life, not so complicated to come up with an idea of how to
redo an area in another person’s home. But to edit one’s own walls
or living space—well, that can be just as tricky as editing one’s
own manuscript, or one’s own life.
As
I thought about it, the deeper message of the one-word-edit became,
for me, not so much about how others see my living room as how I live in my living room—or any other room in my house for that
matter. Or, better still, how I live in relationship with my deeper
self. What is it that I still need to edit that the word keeps coming
back to me? How often do I distract myself with my own
‘stuff’—all those things plastered on the walls, covering the
surface of tables, chairs, any available space? All those ideas
plastered on the screens of my consciousness; all those beliefs or
suppositions covering up the reality of ‘now’ in any experience?
It’s
a good question to ponder on the beginning of the New Year. Maybe
it’s helpful for you, too. Of course, it’s very possible that your
word is not edit. Maybe it is transform or color—as in transform
your viewpoints or color your life with joy. Probably our word changes
at different points in our life, and maybe we graduate from our word
and go onto another when we have succeeded in learning all that we
needed to know.
I
don’t know this for a fact, but I’m willing to bet that we all
have a good one-word message that floats throughout our life, zinging
us with reminders from time to time. And, most assuredly, this is a
good thing. Our word of challenge needn’t be a stranger or an enemy.
Rather, we can make the one-word message our friend, treating it like
a teacher, a guide, a clever Zen master, a most welcome guest. It is,
after all, a reminder of where we are in the process of our becoming.
Dawn Brunke is
the editor of Alaska Wellness and author of Animal Voices and
Awakening to Animal Voices: A Teen Guide to Telepathic Communication
with All Life (see www.animalvoices.net
for more).
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Introspection
by
Bruce
Bibee
Soygal
Rinpoche (author of the Tibetan Book of Living
and Dying) challenged us: “Perhaps the deepest
reason why we are afraid of death is because we do
not know who we are. We believe in a personal,
unique, and separate identity; but if we dare to
examine it, we find that this identity depends
entirely on an endless collection of things to prop
it up: our name, our ‘biography,’ our partners,
family, home, job, friends, credit cards... It is on
their fragile and transient support that we rely for
our security. So when they are all taken away, will
we have any idea of who we really are?”
While
meditation and other forms of introspection strip
away the props for our identity, most folks don’t
want to look inside. Or, to put it another way, by
looking inside we threaten the ego-system—threaten
it to death, actually.
Of course,
another reason folks don’t want to look inside is
because they are afraid of what they might find.
Since most of us have been told since childhood that
we are inadequate in some way, shape or form, we
don’t want to look inside and get confirmation of
our not-okayness. It would be a devastating blow to
the ego-system to find out that I really am
unlovable, unworthy, or damaged beyond all repair.
Looking inside and examining the workings of my ego
might bring me face to face with those dilemmas. So,
why take the risk?
For most
people, the benefit of knowing who they are beyond
the confines of ego-identification is not enough
benefit to off-set the risk. Consequently, the way
it typically goes is that those negative beliefs
about self (which eventually create their own
self-fulfilling prophesies) combine to manufacture a
life that doesn’t work very well. When a person
bottoms out with that life, introspection is the
only way out. It’s the only way out because healing
or restructuring the ego-system is the necessary
task.
Now, here’s
the real problem. Most people will get to a point
where they want to work on themselves, but can’t.
Why? Because it is nearly impossible to work on the
ego-self when you are in (i.e., identified with)
your ego-self. It is analogous to trying to work on
your car when you are going 70 mph on the highway.
You cannot. You have to stop, turn off the engine,
get out of the car, pop the hood, and so on. So, how
does one get external to the ego?
For many,
the first experience out of the egos is during a
psychotic break. If we look at a psychotic break as
a form of emotional communication, we see it as a
result of avoiding emotions through different escape
strategies (drug and alcohol abuse, for example)
that eventually produce enough stress to snap
reality. The combination of the stored emotional
energy and the stress produced by attempts to escape
or repress this energy creates an overload for the
mind. It is like one of the circuit breakers in your
mind’s electrical panel gets tripped. Some of your
mental circuits go out, which sends the
emotional-self into a swirling, chaotic crisis.
Usually short-lived, a psychotic break can be very
disconcerting—or it can actually help you separate
from an exclusive identification with your ego.
In other
words, the awareness you retain when your circuits
are disengaged is the awareness known as the
Observer Self. This unique inner reference point is
the mid-point between the ego-self and the Higher
Self. From the point of view of the Observer Self,
you can observe the workings of your ego-system and
fix what is broken.
The
psychological theories of Roberto Assagioli (known
as Psychosynthesis) are useful here. Assagioli notes
the true self is defined as the part of us that
never changes; it is our essence, our beingness.
Constellated around our essence are the roles that
we play (our doingness). We enter each role
by paying attention to it—or, having it capture our
attention. It’s through our attention that we invest
each of the roles we play with the life-force that
makes them come alive. But then, how do we account
for the Observer?
In Zen,
there is the saying that, loosely translated, goes:
“If you can observe it, you ain’t it.” If this is
true, then I can’t be the forces within me. I can’t
be the interplay between my essence and my
doingness. How can that be?
Psychosynthesis diagrams the solution to this
problem by saying that our essence is a piece of
God. This piece of God connects to our ego-self
through the agency of our Higher Self. At the point
of intersection between the Higher Self and the
ego-self is the Observer Self. From its high point
of overview, the Observer Self can observe the
ego-self in operation and help the ego with
decisions. It can also referee discussions between
the different roles that we play as well as soften
the sense of loneliness that we all feel.
From the
Observer Self, we can also go the other way—to our
Higher Self. That journey is what discovering and
acting on our Higher Purpose is all about. When a
person shifts to Observer Self, there is usually a
physical sensation that accompanies the shift
(“goose bumps” is what happens to me).
Getting
access to the Observer Self is a difficult task
because in the way are all the thoughts, feelings,
crises and competing roles—to name just a few of the
distractions. These lie between us and the Observer.
Whenever we are in fear, we cannot be in the
Observer. Whenever we are hooked into a survival
pattern, we cannot be in the Observer. So, how do we
get there?
The short
answer is: Meditation. This discipline develops the
quietness of mind that permits the emergence of the
Observer on demand. It also creates the
self-awareness that allows us to fine-tune the
interplay between the yin and yang forces that carry
out the work of the ego.
There are
basically four categories of meditation practice: 1)
sitting meditation is regarded as the way to develop
wisdom; 2) standing meditation is used to develop a
relationship with power; 3) walking meditation is
thought to develop vision; and 4) lying meditation
is used to develop love.
In the
development of the Observer Self, each of these
meditation modalities work. In his book, How To
Meditate, Lawrence LeShan says that a good basic
training for meditation looks like this: Get a
kitchen timer and set it for 5 minutes. Sit
comfortably with legs uncrossed, back erect, hands
on thighs. Observe your exhalations. Each time you
exhale, count 1, then 2, then 3, then 4. After 4,
start over at 1. Do this for 5 minutes, once daily,
for two weeks. Then do it for 5 minutes, twice
daily, for two weeks. Then do it for 10 minutes,
once daily, for two weeks. Then do it for 10
minutes, twice daily, for two weeks.
This kind of
meditation is called “single-pointing the mind.”
What it does is actively focus the mind on one
object (i.e., counting exhalations, a mantra, a
candle’s flame, whatever) to the exclusion of all
other thought. The primary goal of any kind of
meditation is to gain control of the mind so that we
learn to think when we want to, shut the mind down
when we want to, and focus the mind on whatever is
chosen.
This takes
time, discipline and practice. It took me about 10
years before I felt that I had minimal control over
my own thought processes. Now, I’m more often in
no-thought than I am in random thought. It’s nice to
have an uncluttered brain.
Bruce
Bibee
is a counselor in private practice. He is also the
master-instructor of the Kung-Fu San Soo Center in
Anchorage. You can reach him at: 562-1242.
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The
Secrets of Happiness
by Jackie Kosednar
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Finding
the secrets of happiness can be like finding a needle of truth
in a haystack of illusions. |
I titled this article “The
Secrets of Happiness”
because when you are miserable, happiness can seem like the best-kept
secret around. We live in a society addicted to happiness. Society,
loved ones and friends compel us to “get happy.” If we feel
unhappy we assume we’re doing something wrong, since everyone tries
to cheer us up or drug us up. Or we manufacture guilt—maybe life is
punishing us by withholding happiness. Or we decide it is “their
fault,” whoever “they” might be. Guilt, shame, blame and
punishment are the main games that people play.
The
Illusion of Happiness
We live in
common mass illusions. We pass these illusions on to our friends, our
children—whoever is around. These illusions are so familiar to us
that we don’t
even think about them. Here are some examples of illusions that
our culture perpetuates:
 |
We’re
supposed to be happy all the time. If we’re not, something is
wrong with us.
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We must be
successful—and society defines the standards of success.
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Happiness
comes from things or people outside us. If we just found the
right
person or drug, everything would work.
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The cause
of our unhappiness is all the bad things that have happened to
us,
especially early in life. (Here the suggestion is that we are permanently
damaged.
How depressing is that?)
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There are
other myths that abound in our society. You can find them everywhere,
from commercials on television to songs on the radio.
Finding
the Secret
I grew up with
a mother who was naturally melancholic. She tried her whole life to
find happiness and died younger than her time, both from her
addictions and the side effects of prescription drugs. Through my work
studying and treating depression, both holistically and traditionally,
I realized that my mother wasn’t really depressed. That’s why
nothing worked for her. The problem was that no one would let her be
who she was—deep and individual. Society and her peers did not let
her grieve her losses or go deep into that melancholic place she
needed to go in order to release her creativity and integrate her
life.
Now, 20 years
after her death and with 10 years of teaching people how to be happy,
I realize there are really only two secrets to happiness. The first is
self-acceptance and the second is acceptance of “what is.” If you
have these two very necessary components, chances are that you will be
happy no matter what. You also will live your life as you,
rather than fail at attempting to be someone you’re not.
Self-Acceptance
Here’s some
truth for you: everyone is fine just the way they are—with all of
their idiosyncrasies and character defects. But if we resist our
natural selves and paths because we don’t think we are “good
enough,” we resist life. When we try to be someone we’re not, we
fail. We all walk different paths and we all have different
inclinations, talents, and abilities. We are not all designed to be
rock stars or billionaires. We can write affirmations and try to
perfect our acts, but we will never be perfect.
Self-acceptance
can be a profound experience. When we give up trying to be what
we’re not and go with the flow of our own energy, life will become a
completely new game. Gone are the self-hatred and pressure to be
someone we’re not. If it is your nature to be melancholic, let
yourself go deeply into it; you may find a butterfly waiting to
emerge. In this process, we stop pressuring loved ones to be who we
think they should be. Accepting others exactly as they are is even
more profound that accepting ourselves!
Acceptance
of “What Is”
Most
opposition in life comes from our culture telling us what is and
isn’t supposed to be. Our minds become miserable trying to force
things to go society’s way. We think that there’s something wrong
with us. But there
isn’t—life is just full of personal twists and turns. Life is a
game that takes skill, and skill develops from mistakes. If you cut
yourself with a knife, you will either avoid knives or learn to cut
safely. You may even learn to carve, in which case you might have a
lot of scars and nicks on your hands. But, eventually, you could carve
a beautiful piece of art.
The
practice of self-acceptance and of “what is” isn’t
easy—don’t fool yourself. Finding the secrets of happiness can be
like finding a needle of truth in a haystack of illusions. In trying
to find happiness, you might move into a whole new game—and be
booted out of it regularly by the resistance of others. But soon
you’ll build up your skill level. The new game becomes rich,
interesting, and full of synchronicity. Eventually you won’t have to
play anymore. Instead, you become a witness, just enjoying the ride.
Happiness is no longer an issue.
Jackie Kosednar
is a hypnotherapist, energy medicine practitioner, human design
consultant, spiritual counselor, and the publisher of Alaska Wellness
Magazine. She can be reached at 272-2469, wellness@gci.net
or www.jackiekosednar.com
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Changes
in Attitude
by Dawn Baumann Brunke
When we
lived in Hawaii, many years ago, my husband and I used to visit the No
Name Bar one night a week. This was a small bar that featured free
tacos every Friday from 4 to 6. My favorite part of this weekly ritual
was enjoying a cold beer, spicy taco, and sitting back to watch the
drama unfold: local folks talking and laughing with friends,
celebrating the end to a busy work week, and generally joking around.
I liked the laid back feel of the place, with its nondescript decor
and calm, unhurried energy, and I especially liked the big sign that
hung above the bar itself: ‘Attitude is Everything’.
Even though
the memory is almost two decades old, I still recall the import of
that sign. I think it worked its magic through my taco-eating body,
filtering deep into consciousness like a time-released shot of wisdom,
reminding me many times throughout the years that
attitude really is everything. We may not be able to change the
way things unfold or what seems to happen to us or how others treat
us, but we can change our attitude, which is to say the basic way in
which we view life. Which is also to say, the basic way in which we
create our own reality.
Albert
Einstein once remarked, “There are only two ways to live your life.
One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though
everything is a miracle.”
If we choose
to embrace the miraculous in our lives, we begin to see the inherent
beauty and perfection shining in everything: not only through trees
and stars and the eyes of our beloved, but also through challenges,
tears and fits of frustration. We come to realize, too, that part of
the miracle of life on planet Earth is about change. There are ups and
downs, highs and lows, and even if we think we “got it” at one
point, that, too, can change.
My friend
Tera recently reminded me of the joke about the spiritual seeker who
goes to his teacher, full of excitement and elation. “I’ve found
it at last!” he gushes. “I’ve found bliss!” The teacher
regards him with a small smile. “Ah, don’t worry,” she says.
“It will pass.”
So here we
are, approaching a new year, a new president, another wave of change
and challenges, opportunities and miracles. Here at Alaska Wellness
we’d like to acknowledge change by noting some writers who are
ending their columns this issue, as well as to introduce you to some
folks who will be joining our magazine.
We’d like
to thank Bruce Bibee for his many years of thought-provoking columns
and insights into so many subjects: politics, religion, self-defense,
and the tumultuous teenage years. Sincere thanks also to Stella Lyn
for her stellar sharing of ‘tried and true’ herbal knowledge.
This issue
we welcome counselor Chris Reynolds as a new columnist who will be
exploring the nature of relationships and sharing tips on creating
deeper, more heartfelt connections and greater understanding in our
relations with others. We’d also like to welcome our new Layout
Designer, Carrieanna Butler, who brings not only a bright smile and
burst of enthusiasm to life, but a fresh look and feel to our
magazine.
Wishing all
of us an attitude of appreciation for the perfection of where we are
as we continue to forge ahead.
Dawn
Brunke is the editor of Alaska Wellness and author of Animal
Voices, Awakening to Animal Voices, and the newly released Shapeshifting
with Our Animal Companions. See www.animalvoices.net
for more.
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Can
It Be This Easy?
by Dawn Baumann Brunke
I recently
got a new computer. While my old computer had been dependable and not
without its charms, it was slow and pretty much considered ancient by
everyone in the computer world. Having to move everything from the old
computer to the new one, however, was something I wasn’t looking
forward to. To make matters even more complicated, I decided to switch
teams, to move from a PC to a Mac.
Without
getting into a debate over the pros and cons of Macs versus PCs, let
me just say: Wow! My husband pulled the iMac out of the box, plugged
it in and everything was ready to roll. I asked him with a look of
astonishment on my face, “Can it be this easy?”
It turns out
that it was. This was great news for me in terms of making my writing
and editing life a whole lot simpler, but also--and perhaps, more
importantly--the question the incident inspired began to carry over
into other aspects of my life.
I began
wondering why I sometimes chose to make things not easy--for example,
why I pushed my way into events and tried to control them, as if I
should be the Grand Director of the Universe. (Of course, on the
surface, being Grand Director of the Universe does seem like it would
be a great job: you can make things exactly as you’d like them to
be. But the planning! The consideration of all events, all those
beings involved in every little drama--not to mention the tricky
coordination of time-space continuums! I mean, really--who needs the
stress?)
Why not let
go of the need to control every single thing, I asked myself. Why not
give up the addiction to the head-banging-against-the-wall insistence
of having it all my way right this very second? Why not take a moment
to relax and consider before frustration overwhelms? Why not feel into
the flow of the larger scheme, appreciating the perfection of where
the situation is taking us all? The more I thought about it, the more
the carefree wonder of this idea worked its magic. And thus the deeper
import of the question “Can it be this easy?” wedged its way into
my consciousness, slick as a shoehorn.
I
know there will be challenges in life. We all know this. And yet, in
some dimly lit corner of our interior world, we also know that it’s
not really the challenges that are ever at issue. Rather, it’s our
perception of those challenges and the ways in which we choose to deal
with them: to react out of habit, to anger if something doesn’t fit
our plan of the moment, or to smile wisely, jump aboard and ride that
wave like the wild kahunas we really are. Think about it: Can it be
this easy?
Dawn
Brunke is the editor of Alaska Wellness and author of Animal
Voices, Awakening to Animal Voices, and the newly released Shapeshifting
with Our Animal Companions. See www.animalvoices.net
for more.
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Sweet or Sour? Which are You?
by Michael Olkjer
|
You are sweet or
sour because your thoughts are shaping who you are. |
What is your perception of reality? Are
you choosing to notice and celebrate the good times, or are you
dwelling on missed opportunities, trials and obstacles? Do you look
at each day as a chance to learn and explore more?
What do these questions have to do with wellness? Wellness is not
just where we are today, with the health of our body and mind, but
where we are headed tomorrow. And this part of life we can control.
We can choose what we dwell on and how we will act on our thoughts.
“Attitude is the difference between adventure and disaster.”
My wife and kids often memorize poems and quotes. When my family was
discussing this quote about attitude, I thought they were saying
altitude. It made sense because we had just returned from a
sight-seeing trip over Denali. However, altitude and attitude are
tied together. Do you believe that your attitude makes a huge
difference in your experiences?
Sweet and Sour—It’s not about the taste on your tongue, but what
is in your heart.
Sweet and Sour is a game my children play that brings them great
entertainment as well as life lessons. The game is really quite
simple: it involves rolling the windows down in the car as we drive,
and the kids looking for targets to test. The test question is
simple, a wave of the hand. The answer is simple, a wave back. The
grade is fast and fair—the person is either sweet, a pass, or sour,
a fail.
Ignorance is not bliss, but sour in this game of life.
My children see people that are not observant to their surrounding,
so absorbed in something else that they did not see the big SUV next
to them with ten little hands waving, and five faces full of smiles.
They don’t react to them, because they don’t see them. Do we notice
those around us or are we oblivious?
Some lemons are never made into lemonade.
My children have also realized that some people either don’t like
children or don’t like to wave. Those people certainly don’t appear
very happy. They are “sour” and choose to not let smiles and waves
sweeten a moment of their day. Do we allow others’ sweetness to rub
off on us or rub us wrong?
Kindness is contagious and engaging.
My children have also realized, thankfully, that most people they
pass have a smile on their face. Very few wave back without a smile.
Doing something positive and uplifting is a happy, joyful experience
that changes how we are and how we are going about getting better.
Do we pass along the kindness of others?
We need more neighbors, everywhere.
What does a game of Sweet and Sour have to do with wellness? It is a
way that my children have found to have fun sharing something that
puts a smile on someone‘s face and increases their own wellness at
the same time. Yes, both giver and receiver benefit! I remember as a
young boy driving on the country roads in Colorado with my uncle, he
would wave at all of the passing cars. I thought he sure had a lot
of friends, everyone in the whole country, in fact. Turns out, that
was the neighborly thing to do and everybody did it and felt
friendly because of it. I sure miss driving those roads. What kind
of neighbors are we?
Our thoughts shape who we are and how we feel.
Do you realize how much your thoughts shape who you are and what you
are becoming? Do you beat yourself up for mistakes and harshly judge
others for theirs? Do you let others help carry your burdens, or do
you choose to think that others don’t care? Do you believe that you
are an important part of this wonderful earth or just a mistake? Do
you dwell on how unfair your trials are, or are you trying to learn
from them and in spite of them? You are sweet or sour because your
thoughts are shaping who you are.
As another one of my family’s favorite quotes goes, “Watch your
thoughts, they become your actions. Watch your actions, they become
your habits. Watch your habits, they become your character. Watch
your character, it becomes your destiny.”
So, why not have a smile and wave at your neighbor? This will help
you on the path to wellness and to your destiny. And, if you see a
big blue SUV with five little kids waving at you, make sure you are
sweet, and wave back!
Dr. Michael K. Olkjer is a
chiropractor who loves to see his patients take charge of their
health and conquer lifelong problems. He is the owner of Active
Family Chiropractic, Inc., 337-3422.
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If a Tree Falls in the Forest...
The Short, Sweet Life of Timber Dick
by Mike Macy
|
From a distance,
Timber looks like a mighty oak. |
According to chaos theory, a hurricane
bearing down on Florida may originate from a single beat of a
butterfly’s wings in Africa. In a similar manner, stealing a single
wheel from a car claimed the life of a Colorado man last summer.
We’ll never know the thief’s circumstances or motives, but the theft
illustrates how the simplest acts can result in unforeseen
consequences, and it underscores the importance of the choices we
make each day.
The facts are straightforward. Caught late in the act, the thieves
kicked out the jack and made off with the tire. The speculation is
that in doing so they somehow damaged the axle. Timber Dick, the
car’s owner, replaced the wheel and went on with his life. Several
weeks later, the replacement wheel seized up in heavy traffic at
high speed where I-70 climbs out of Denver into the Front Range of
the Rockies. Driver and sole occupant, Timber managed to wrestle the
family van to the shoulder without causing a collision. He clipped a
guard rail, shearing the line to the fuel tank in the process,
before the van veered off the shoulder onto an embankment.
According to witnesses, the van rolled 24 times, bursting into
flames, before coming to rest at the bottom of the slope. Despite a
broken arm and other injuries, Timber extricated himself as two men
on four-wheelers arrived with fire extinguishers and snuffed out his
flames. Timber expressed his gratitude before being helicoptered to
the University of Colorado’s world-class burn center. With burns
over 60% of his body, Timber was immediately put into a
medically-induced coma.
For the first few days, the prognosis looked hopeful. But Timber had
taken a breath before escaping the van and the superheated air had
damaged his lungs. Surrounded by family, Timber died two weeks after
the accident.
Growing up, Timber’s mechanical pre-occupations set him off from
most kids—except for others like him. He was fascinated by how
things worked and spent hours taking gadgets and mechanisms apart to
unlock their mysteries. An engineer and inventor, Timber had
numerous patents and owned an engineering firm. While an undergrad
at Yale, he’d designed a new bicycle transmission which Huffy
bought. In 2007, Timber’s revolutionary new internal combustion
engine beat out 1,200 or so other entrants in NASA’s annual
transportation innovations competition.
Timber was Director of Marketing for Denver University. He
personally interviewed nearly every applicant interested in computer
sciences and engineering, hoping to get a sense of the students
while conveying his love of and enthusiasm for the school. He judged
science and technology fairs, ran for Denver’s City Council, and
volunteered in soup kitchens and other efforts to help the poor.
Ironically, Timber was perhaps at his absolute best with people. He
served as bishop of his church. He and his family hosted over 150
foreign exchange students over the years, and he and his wife,
Annette Lantos Tillemann-Dick, had 11 children—in part as Annette’s
response to having lost so many family members in the Holocaust. In
the end, that may prove Timber’s greatest gift to the world (outside
of just being Timber)—not having sired so many—but having raised
them with so much love and attention.
In an opinion piece in the Rocky Mountain News, Karen Rubin, a
professional photographer, described the first time the family
showed up for their family annual portraits one snowy November
evening. She’d been daunted by the prospect of trying to get eight
children and two adults to sit still long enough for a respectable
shot. Rubin needn’t have been: Eight-year-old Charity, the first
child in the door, stomped the snow off her feet, introduced
herself, and gave the photographer such a heart-melting smile that
“if there was ever love at first sight, this was it.”
Rubin was further struck by the ease and rapidity with which the
family assembled. “The children were so cooperative and happy. Love
was in the air, and it was everywhere. I was hooked!” Then she
described taking the individual photos: “One by one, the children
would take their turns in front of my camera. Timber sat next to me,
cross-legged on the floor—all the time talking to his children and
imparting words of love and wisdom. He told them all the reasons why
they were special, and he told them he loved them very much. You can
just imagine the expressions I was able to capture during that
session. Priceless.” Small wonder that all 11 children have gone on
to success in college and careers in government, the arts, and
business.
“If a tree falls in the forest, does anybody hear?” The answer to
this timeless question is yes, but it is only by the magnitude of
the tree’s impact that we can estimate its true stature and
importance to its ecosystem. From a distance, Timber looks like a
mighty oak. An estimated 3,500 people attended Timber’s funeral, and
many times that were there in spirit. Friends of Timber, some of
whom he hadn’t seen in years, came great distances to say goodbye.
Each year, Denver University chooses a select few from the
university community, including distinguished alumni and
benefactors, to honor. The two-day event is a very big deal on
campus, and there are always many deserving candidates from whom to
choose. In March 2009, Timber Dick was one of the honorees. Both
Timber’s example and the tire thief’s are important to keep in mind
in how we live our lives and each time we face a choice.
A CranioSacral Therapist in
Anchorage, Mike Macy helps people release mechanical
restrictions, physical trauma, and the emotions, issues, and beliefs
that result in their making less than optimal choices. Contact:
(907) 258-7261 or
mmacy@acsalaska.net
NOTE: Timber's sister Margot Dick and her husband Bill Ross
are good friends of Mike and his wife Lauri. Immediately following
Timber's accident, Margot emailed a request for prayers, thoughts,
and wishes. Mike and Lauri were among the many thousands who
responded. Mike would like to thank Margot, Justin (brother), Levi
(son), Annette (widow), and Nancy Dick (mother)--and all other
family members for their comments and suggestions on this article.
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