Flow

One of my more interesting writing projects was to create the content for deschutespassage.com for Portland General Electric and the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs. The site was designed to inform the public about the efforts to restore fish passage on the Deschutes River.

When the original dams were built on the Deschutes River in the 1960’s, they were designed to allow migrating fish to pass through. But what wasn’t well understood at the time was the three rivers feeding in to Lake Billy Chinook were very different in temperature. When the warm and cold waters met, it created a disturbance in the current, resulting in swirling eddies rather than a strong flow. Without a strong current, the fish simply couldn’t find the exit. The current project involves building an underwater tower to properly mix the warm and cold water, creating a strong current that guides the fish to exit.

It’s a perfect metaphor for my life these past months. I’ve been running around, putting out fires, meeting urgent needs and just trying to keep up with outside demands. My energy has been scattered, “swirling eddies,” with no focus or purpose other than to just get through it all.

But when I started focusing my attention on “extraordinary collaboration,” it was as if a huge wind swept through my life, clearing away everything that didn’t belong there.

Yesterday I finished the last project. This morning I could just feel all the parts of my life start to line up and point in the same direction. I can feel the energy, the spirit, the life force of the universe flowing through me again. This time I can actually see the resources of the universe heading my way.

Funny—while I was thrashing about, I kept trying to “make things happen.” But when I stopped and simply allowed myself to line up with the flow of energy, things started falling into place. I even got a new contract today. Amazing!

Intention

I’ve long been familiar with the idea that if you state what you want clearly enough, it will manifest in your life. I think the part that always tripped me up was the “what I want” piece. It always sounded so egotistical, so self-centered. I also knew that my own vision was limited—“what I want” didn’t seem adequate to address the needs I saw around me.

Yesterday I picked up Wayne Dyer’s book “Manifest Your Destiny” and I’m gaining new insights.

If you were to zoom in on an object and see it with a powerful microscope, you’d see the molecular structure of the object. Zoom in further and you see the atoms themselves. Zoom in again and you see the parts of the atom – proton, neutron, electron. Zoom in further and what you see is pure energy. Everything around us, at its fundamental level, is pure energy. We are all made up of the same stuff. We—all of creation—are literally one.

I’ve read this from so many sources over the years, but somehow this time it stuck. All I need to do to create something in my life is to manifest a part of me that has been hidden.

As I sat under a tree this morning, I realized that stating my intention is an essential part of the process. Yes, my vision is limited. Yes, I don’t always know exactly what I want or even what is good for me. But this is a collaboration with my soul. When I state my intention as clearly as I see it now—and stay open to being guided—my soul leads me on the way.

But if I just sit there and say “I dunno,” nothing happens. My soul can’t guide me. A ship that is dead in the water can’t be steered.

So I make a beginning. I state what I want to achieve as clearly as I can. I listen for guidance and I act as if it had all been accomplished. In the process I gain more insight, see more clearly, glimpse a broader vision. Then when I sit down under my tree tomorrow, I have a more defined intention. I can state it more clearly. And the cycle begins again.

Discourse

Listening to the national conversation, it is clear that we are in desperate need of a better way of interacting with one another. We’ve become so polarized that we talk right past each other.
Indeed, what is the nature of discourse, of dialogue?

• Listening – When I listen for the truth in what the other person is saying, I am humbled. Not one of us knows everything. And no one is completely devoid of truth. We each have a piece of the picture. When we listen, really listen, we discover those gems of truth in each other and in ourselves. It is that open-minded search for truth that allows us to see what is right in front of us.
• Courage – Very often, the truth is not comfortable. It requires me to look at myself, to examine my motives and face my own prejudices. This is not easy work. But it is essential. We cannot make progress if we cling to our old preconceptions.
• Compassion – It is so easy for me to become impatient with others’ blindness. I want to pick people up and shake them so they see. But then I realize that I, too, am blind. And in danger of hardening my heart. So I step over to where they are standing and look at the world from their point of view. Amazingly enough, their argument makes sense from that vantage point. And then when I look beyond the current conversation to the experiences that built us, I realize how much we have to overcome. I take a deep breath and seek a way to bridge the gap. 
• Time – It takes time to listen and to think. It’s not easy to examine my own views and honestly seek to understand the views of others. Yet we live in a world that is speeding up—everything must be done NOW. It takes fortitude to resist that pull to rush things. Building understanding is essential to our progress on this planet. And the stakes are getting higher. We may yet discover that our very lives depend on our ability to slow down and really look at what is.
• Letting go – Sometimes, for whatever reason, it’s just not possible to bridge the divide between people. Or maybe it’s not the right time. Whatever it is, I’m learning there’s a point at which I must simply let go. Perhaps the right opportunity will come later, but for now it is time to wish the person well and move on.

We have so much potential, we human beings. And our current trials provide us with an amazing opportunity. It’s up to us how we respond. Do we continue to argue? Or do we seek to understand and start building together?

Ducklings

When my daughter was in kindergarten, she learned a song about five ducklings. Each day the ducks would go out and play and each day fewer would return, until finally there were none. Then…

Sad Mommy Duck went out one day

Over the fields and far away.

Sad Mommy Duck called

“Quack, quack, quack.”

Five little ducks came running back!

The song hit me square in the heart and brought tears to my eyes. I had no idea at the time I’d have a hand in making it come true.

Yesterday was a Baha’i Holy Day, so my daughter (now 10) had the day off of school. We went into town to meet some friends for lunch. As we pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, a mother duck and her ducklings were crossing the driveway. They didn’t pay any attention to the car and, even though we beeped the horn a couple times, we had to creep into a parking space to avoid hitting them.

We were a little early, so we decided to take a walk before lunch. As we got out of the car, though, I kept watching the ducks. They were acting so strangely. The babies were scattered all over and the mother was just wandering around.

Then I heard it—another kind of chirp, frightened and distressed. We looked all around, but couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Then I saw the grate over the storm drain. Sure enough, trapped inside were two little ducklings, scrambling and jumping, trying to get out.

I tried to lift the grate, but it didn’t budge. I looked at the mother duck, quacking desperately for the babies she could hear but not see. There had to be a way to help. I tried the grate again and finally it moved. Between the two of us, we lifted up the grate and I knelt down and scooped out the babies. The mother immediately gathered her brood and headed off.

Later, when our friends came into the restaurant, they told us of the mother duck’s run-in with a crow. The crow kept trying to get her babies—swooping down when one would stray off. But the mother called her ducklings and kept them close. The crow landed right in front of her. She and her brood swerved around it. Eventually the crow gave up and flew off.

Two disasters averted within 15 minutes. What courage and dogged persistence to keep her babies safe!

During lunch I watched the mothers of toddlers, ever watchful, getting a bit to eat in the odd moment when the children were occupied. I listened to the mother of an emerging teenager and the struggle for independence. I looked at my own daughter and at all we’ve gone through together.

What an enormous effort goes into raising our youngsters—ducklings and humans alike. We pour our hearts into them and are, ourselves, transformed in the process. There is indeed nothing more precious, more fundamentally life-altering, than a child.

Bless them, every one.

Into the Woods

I went into the woods today, my thoughts churning with unresolved problems. I tramped up the hill… and stopped. A bed of violets spread out purple and green before me—my grandmother’s favorite flower.

I hiked and hiked and hiked. The breeze caressed my face and I slowed down. The smell of spring, the song of the birds…

I stopped under a Sequoia tree. Huge and old and solid. Generations upon generations have brought their problems here. The Sequoia has heard it all. Suddenly my own problems didn’t seem so big. I looked up and saw these giants swaying in the wind. So solid from the ground, but dancing at the top.

I walked on. Water, ivy, paths and roads. Deep carpeted forests. Light networks of branches, luminous leaves glowing new green in the sunlight.

This has all been here long before me. Whatever I must face today will pass and another challenge will come. And the forest will remain. Quietly breathing. Reminding me to do the same.

Umoja

When I was living in Chicago, I discovered the Fleetwood-Jourdain Theatre, the local African-American community theatre. They put on some wonderful productions. I saw one play there and it made me so homesick for the theatre experiences I had in high school, that I stopped by one day to see if I could help out. I was a bit nervous, being a white girl from po-dunk rural Oregon, but I went anyway.

The troupe was rehearsing Sophisticated Lady, a collection of Duke Ellington’s music. One of the guys was performing his tap dance number and apparently the rest of the cast hadn’t seen it before. He was fantastic! Afterwards, two of the girls held their hands over his shoes like they were sizzling hot. I was hooked.

Gwethalyn Bronner, the director, gave me the job of manning one of the spotlights. What a perfect vantage point to see the show!

Dress rehearsal was just a few weeks later. It was Saturday and we planned to run through the show twice. Everyone got into place and we did the first run-through. It was a bit rough in spots, but not bad, really.

But it was clear Gweth wasn’t satisfied. “Okay everyone, it’s time for an Umoja Circle.” A what?

We all gathered in one of the rehearsal rooms—cast, crew, musicians, everyone—and formed a circle holding hands. Gweth explained, to those of us who hadn’t been there long, that umoja is Swahili for “unity.” It’s one of the principles of Kwanzaa, the celebration of African history and culture that occurs around Christmastime.

Then we started chanting “Umoja means unity.” As we chanted, Gweth described her vision for this play—what she saw in it and what she saw in us, what we could accomplish when we all put our hearts into it. Around the circle we went, each person given a chance to share their thoughts, their vision, a prayer, a poem, whatever was on their mind.

When everyone had had a chance to speak, Gweth led the chanting louder and louder until it erupted into a huge cheer. I turned to the guy next to me, one of the musicians, and suddenly there was a connection between us. We saw in each other’s eyes that we were part of something greater than ourselves and we knew the other person would give it their all.

And we did. It was already 9pm when we started the second run-through. This time it was a show! The air crackled with the energy of engaged hearts, unified in a single purpose. And that energy carried through the entire run of the show. Every performance started with an Umoja CIrcle and ended up being a celebration of life and the power of the human spirit.

Seminal cells

In her book, The Soul of Money, Lynn Twist describes the process by which a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly. At first the caterpillar lives a pretty normal life, crawling around and chewing leaves. Then at a certain point, it develops a voracious appetite and eats everything in sight. Eventually it stops and encases itself in a cocoon. We all know this from 4th grade biology.

But here’s the surprising part. Inside the caterpillar are particular cells—seminal cells—that know how to make a butterfly. Eventually they find one another and start working together. The caterpillar then becomes the nutritional soup from which the butterfly is formed.

When we look at the world, we see the same thing happening. Modern society, with its voracious appetite, is consuming everything in sight—forests, seas, land, air. We are barraged with constant messages to buy more, have more, spend more.

But here and there, individuals and groups are catching a glimmer of what a sane society could look like—dynamic and peaceful, prosperous and sustainable. Slowly they are finding one another and starting to work together.

These “seminal cells” are finding out what they love to do and what they are passionate about. They are harnessing that energy to create new ideas, new structures, new ways of doing things. They put their hearts and souls into the work. And they attract resources as a result: like-minded people, contacts, partners, ideas, conversations, tools, material means. They are collaborating with those around them and coming up with creative solutions and new ways of looking at the world.

These people are under no delusions about the state of the world. They know things are in bad shape. But they have decided they can and will do something about it.