"If you build it, they will come."
                                        From the movie Field of Dreams

I hosted my very first workshop this week.  It was titled "Powerful Decision Making: Conventional Wisdom That Isn't ~ How To Live a Better Life by Steering Clear of Sage Advice".  It was for an independent study course and moves me 4 credit hours closer to my degree.  It was also, at some subliminal level, all about trying to figure out how to make better decisions myself.

As you teach, so shall you learn...and vice versa.

While preparing for this experiential learning endeavor, I've been doing a lot of thinking about my past decisions...all those little day to day choices...that brought me to the reality I'm experiencing today.  Let me be clear.  I know I've made a royal mess of my life and am only just now, at 47 years old, making my decisions more consciously and deliberately because I really do want a better life.

Something came to me the other day.  I have noticed that the consequences of nearly every poorly made choice of my life seem to have converged en masse creating a mountain of distress that I am dilligently working to overcome.  At first I was pretty pissed that every time I turned around another darn thing came up.  The more tired and discouraged I felt, the more likely some new weed would pop up in my metaphorical garden.

The "f" word started becoming a frequent visitor to my internal dialogue.

But of course, I knew that every one of those distasteful developments belonged to me.  Like having your name sewn into your jacket when you were a kid.  Ownership is indisputable.  Most likely the acknowledgment of this fact was the reason for the rise of the "f" word.

You see, over the last seven years or so, I've been building a new house.  Not a physical house, more of a new life structure.  I've been changing the way I look at things and the way I respond to things.  I've been more intentional in choosing my direction.  The quality of my building materials and the design for the space have improved immensely.  Yes, I thought I was building a brand new house and had left the old house far behind.

But this is not a new house.  It's a new wing to the old house.  Just because I've moved into the new cozier quarters, it doesn't mean the rats and ghosts that inhabit the old wing are gone.  I hear them gnawing and wailing at night as I struggle to fall asleep.

Earlier this week I talked about how we create our lives by our choices.  However, sometimes creation is not enough.  If you want to put an end to the wailing and gnawing, the old wing has to go.

Creation is easy.  De-creation is a whole other matter.

Sure, you could take a wrecking ball to the thing or set it ablaze but this would not only risk damaging what you're constructing now, it also puts an end to anything good that you built into that old rickety structure.  There's lots in there to be salvaged if you're brave enough to go in after it.

When I was a kid in upstate New York, everyone I knew lived in either a sort of old house or a really old house.  There's a whole lot more history to be had in the northeast than here in central Florida...at least there was back in the 1960's and 1970's.  I can remember cool little details about those houses, like the glass in the windows that was wavy, not perfectly clear like today.  It gave the blanket of winter snow outside an even more magical appeal, particularly to an elementary aged little girl.  The other cool things were the creaky wooden floors and staircases.  I loved that sound as people would move across them.  This is perhaps why I love spooky old houses today.  I like hearing stories of people salvaging that tired wood and those imperfect windows before a building is torn down.  There are memories stored there.  To save them is to honor the memories, even if you don't know what they mean.

I don't know why I did all the things I did, or didn't do, that made my house.  I cry over the pain I've caused and the pain I've experienced.  I mostly cry because I still don't understand.

I want to live in a house that is whole.  I want to exist in a peaceful place that welcomes me not haunts me.  So I'm spending what quiet time I can find pulling bent nails and unscrewing rusty door knobs while chatting with ghosts and feeding cheese to rats.  They deserve love too.  Eventually I'll be able to distinguish between rubble and what is valuable.  It takes looking at one piece at a time and making powerful choices.

It serves me...it serves me not.

You have to love it all...because you made it all...so hug it before you let it go.

Wink at the moon and dance in the starlight coming through the rafters.

Much love,

WS

Wow...it's been a long time since I've been here.  Not sure where May and June went.  I know I was around somewhere...

I just got a new book on Thursday.  It is called Living Buddha, Living Christ, written by Thich Nhat Hanh.  The book itself is not the topic for today, but something I read in it that sent me floating downstream.  Here is the quote (page 23):

"When I was a young monk in Vietnam, each village had a big bell, like those in Christian churches in Europe and America.  Whenever the bell was invited to sound (in Buddhist circles we never say 'hit' or 'strike' a bell), all the villagers would stop what they were doing and pause for a few moments to breathe in and out in mindfulness."

I like the concept of an "invitation to sound" - to open and release what is within without having it beaten out of us.  And not beating it out of others.

Sometimes we want to know what someone has on their mind or what might be held within their heart.  Sometimes we can tell they are troubled and want to give comfort.  Sometimes we want to know because we are troubled and need our own comfort.  We are compelled to ask questions and analyze every little thing.  We try to strike the bell to make it ring. 

But maybe what we need to do is be patient and wait for the breeze to pick up and stir the bell so that its sound is gently coaxed from it in natural timing and through an environment conducive to release.

In other words, wait for it.

In his example from the book, the ringing bell reminded the people to step into mindfulless, but when it is another person, someone we love, that we wish to hear, it needs to go the other way around.  The mindfulness needs to start with us before the bell will ring.  Our simple still presence and patience is how a space is created.  That is how the wind of spirit begins to stir and the invitation is given.

I always find it amazing how just the right words show up at just the right time.  I needed this message.  I'm sharing because maybe you need it too.  Or maybe me writing it "out loud" was the only way I could understand it myself.

Either way, thanks for listening.

Love always,

Wondering Soul