Rapture of the wild.

November 14, 2015November 14, 2015 / Gin Getz / 3 Comments

Since I was a child, I have spent hours at a time sitting with her, on her, connecting, as intimate as making love though quiet and without fanfare or explosion of emotion. Sinking, entering, merging, becoming. Finding selflessness and oneness. Connection. I have slept upon, wept upon, bled into her, fed her and she feeds me, tended to her, loved her like a child, a mother, a sister, a friend, an old wise woman. When in greatest need of answers, I turn to her. In my hardest times, I leave and commune with her. For me, she alone has the power to heal, connect, give, love, and allow. And teach us to find the wisdom and truth within our selves. It is there. There, here, it’s all the same. Because of the ultimate connection. We are of this earth.

Recently I returned after fifteen days alone by the river, with my dog, allowing the Artemis in me to run wild. In the cold and snow and darkness and solitude, it is easy to find peace and quiet, easier to look within, look around, connect, feel, understand. In undisturbed practice, we have the opportunity to fully open and receive, tune out and tune in, merge and become the teaching. Then the integration…

The lesson now is in bringing this peace and understanding which grew and thrived in solitude and nature with me back into the “real” world. It’s one thing to find peace in retreat. But what good does this do if we cannot bring it back with us, integrate and implement our greater awareness and understanding in our day to day life.

Already I live in and with and of the mountains, and still at times I am disconnected with the powers, wisdom and love of the Earth. Summer does this to me, with the tourists and distractions and noise. Motors and mouths and everything we do seems to be for them, our way of maintaining us, our life here. Like the Buddha, learning to practice, to find peace within reality is enlightenment – for me the challenge is in learning to find peace and connection during the tourist season, when humans are surrounding, around, a part of my otherwise wild life.

Still, after a long hard season with so many people (yes, relatively speaking…though I find I am one who gives so much, and do not establish and honor my own limitations well, a common trait among the female souls), the time alone in nature rejuvenates. Were I a rich and able man concerned primarily with my own enlightenment first and foremost, turning my back on my wife and child and having others feed and care for me, I too perhaps would sit for months until the answers came. Yes, we know he then spent decades after this sharing and teaching, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make here. I can’t just go off and sit under a tree for months on end. I’d starve. I’d freeze. My husband and son and all my animals would starve and freeze! But I am not. My path is different. I am a woman. As such, I give, I nurture, I care, and I love. I sense and I feel and I nourish. And as I am these things, the answers and wisdom and understanding come through these things. Through my service of being daughter, sister, mother, wife, midwife.

Buddha tells us we all have the wisdom within, and within us too we have the path to the way if we are willing to walk it, to sit it, to contemplate it. And the way is different for us all. It is work. It is time. It is obtainable by each of us. If we are willing to commit. I am. I waver. I return.

And it is closer every time.

She is my healer. My guru. The teacher I seek when I need guidance and answers most. The community I yearn for, in soil and rocks and trees and fallen leaves, in wind and rain and snow and blazing burning elements found high above treeline in the thin air and intense sunlight. In the hawk flying by in curiosity, and then away, far away, a pin prick, and then nothing but blue sky.

I meditate with softly closed eyes, face towards the low autumn sun, and the light and warmth and radiance enters me, fills me, overflows, and we become one, all of us, everything, everything on this beautiful planet. And yes, everyone.

It is the everyone that is harder for me to connect with and understand and even love than the everything. How interesting then that I should be called to midwifery, to serve my sisters. Indeed we are given the lessons we need to learn. The earth knew. My sisters know. All I can do is trust, and serve, and love.

Home.

September 29, 2015 / Gin Getz / 6 Comments

Going Nowhere.

July 20, 2015July 20, 2015 / Gin Getz / 7 Comments

As the leaves turn full and fat and green

and wilds swell moist and plump and prolific

and views enshrouded in cool grey veils

and mornings frost and afternoons wash us away

As flowers burst forth and fruit attempts to ripen

and seeds within are scattered without

so far yet from fruition but emerging

coming to a life not yet realized

River voice speaks loudly

monotone and constant

And I vaguely remember the in and out

pulse and surge of waves

But we do not have that here.

Pale silver morning dew

frosted on tall green grass

already turned to seed

that this year may wash away

rather than scatter in the winds

Waving silky laden pregnant with promise

I do not know their names

any more than I know the names of flowers or birds

as they know them not and care not too

Only appreciate my recognition:

the blue one, the dear one,

the silly one that lights atop the outhouse,

the yellow one that blooms beside the door.

Geese grow their young and feathers of flight

and coyotes are wisely silent

and crow sits on the rock watching her mate

feeding her child now the same size as she

And the river barely lowers her voice on this year

that the snow gathers energy to return early

on this lush ephemeral season

which I will watch pass

And through which I will remain

now apart of where I tried to leave

finding roots sinking spreading taking strong hold

through bedrock without my blessings

Ah yes, and now they got me.

And here I am

and shall remain

beside nameless flowers

and familiar songs of birds and wind

and grasses bursting with next year’s life.

The season is short. How long until the winter coat begins to grow again?

Time to get to work.

Got a house to build, a business to run, school to study, bellies to fill, another move to make… and another book to complete and the next one softly raps against the door, waiting for room to come in.

A tremendous time of change.

Time to turn within and focus at the work at hand.

Spilling over, now is the time of bounty.

Expansion in retreat.

And though the writing room is being built and new books are spilling into fruition, for now I am taking a rest from sharing articles for a while.

I’ll touch base from time to time, a way to keep grounded and connected and remind you I care, because I hope you know I do. In the meanwhile, please keep in touch if you’d like – write me directly or via this web site (sorry, I no longer use other social media and prefer to keep it personal instead).

Until the next time we meet…

Creating Connection: Finding Balance Between Nature and Man.

June 8, 2015 / Gin Getz / 7 Comments

Random thoughts on awakening where we are.

We are all connected.

Then why too often do we feel so alone?

Within us all is a universal need to find our sense of community, of belonging within this big beautiful world; to find the special place where we belong, the special few to whom we belong.

I want to belong.

(Don’t we all?)

And yet, here I am.

Hiding in the trees.

Is not, then, here

where I belong?

Here, it is all around.
Surrounding, encompassing, embracing.

My community, where I belong, where I find myself, allow myself to be.

Nature and the wilds.

For half of the year, a white, still, silence shared between the trees and me.

Now, a passing motion, stirred by the heavy rains on raw spring soil. Rocks shifting in loose dirt, river roaring brown. Trees holding vigil as the seasons come and go and come again.

Slowly the mountain livens not with her accord but for the elk, deer, hummingbirds and humans that begin to migrate upwards.

And still, I reach for more.

The challenge of finding our place and space.

Becoming or creating a community to which we can be apart.

Expansive and inclusive.

Challenging and creative.

When it’s too easy to fall for same, similar, safe, close, closed.

Community can be that which awakens us, or that which suppresses us.

The choice is ours.

Community can be the pillow of protection, surrounding us with assurance.

Or it can be a matter of contention, rebellion.

The comfort of connection, or the battle to define one’s self.

Seal ones position or deny one’s place.

Surrounded by like minds, or contrary minds.

Absorbed in a similar reality, or forced to defend your views, define your truths.

What are your challenges in finding where we are meant to be?

Being a part, or being apart.

As we can not be all places at all times, or all things to all people, how do we realize the Self and place of Self within our world?

Here in the high country, spring is late to come. The leaves are only now opening and will remain attached for merely four months, at which point the trees release and we begin the big slumber that remains here for half the year, while the other three season share the other half.

Spring is a time of adjustments when I go from being the happy hermit to becoming the social misfit.

It is happening now.

Some days

I feel

closed in

Today

People in four directions

When what I reach for is

air earth water trees

Naked branches suddenly

thickening with leaves

views enclosed and narrowing

Silenced is the rushing river

Tonight in moist and mild spring air

I see lights in strange cabins

Brighter than the big spring moon

Dancing silver on winding river

I lose touch

With her

With me

Now is the time

I hole up

Withdraw

Turtle retreats to his shell

Is that where he belongs?

So, we’re coming out of the Wilderness. My dog and me. I am armed with my camera. Nothing more. Perhaps a half eaten granola bar in one pocket, a bandana in another, and chapstick in the third. What more do I need for a day hike?

What should I really fear our here that I cannot handle? What are we told? Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Yes, we have those. But it’s not them I have learned to look out for.

We’ve been hiking for how many hours, how many miles, on a trail that has not been used since the hunters were run off the mountain in last November’s snows. Tracks of elk, moose, deer, coyote. And my dog and me.

We’re almost back to the trailhead, and it feels like returning to civilization. This is often a strange and bittersweet place to find myself. My dog is ahead of me. I see movement just past the trees, so quite calmly I say, “Gunnar, wait.” He stops in his tracks and waits. Good boy.

Two more steps reveal a woman in day-glow colors and day pack, and odder to me still, a man with a big stick in both hands, held over his head, shaking it at my dog, who reads people well enough to know not to get close to this one.

Maybe it was Bear Phobia. Here he is, going into the Wilderness, and you know what he thinks he’ll see. Not some little wild woman and her friendly dog.

Is he friendly, the man asks, still shaking the big stick. Yes, I reply, he is. I call my pup and continue on, growling beneath my breath something about how I’m the one he should watch out for, not my dog…

See, it’s not the bears I’m afraid of up here. It’s the people.

This was my first chance encounter with the human race on this mountain this year.

Is it any wonder why I long for the return of winter?

Take a deep breath.

Don’t go there, I remind myself.

Open up.

What matters more than connection?

We are all connected.

Then why do I feel so detached?

Here I watch people come, people go. At times my heart sings when they leave; other times it aches as they vanish like a passing storm that left the soil soft and ripe.

With each chance encounter, we have the opportunity to learn, laugh, love.

Upon fertile grounds of compassion, we open, expose our souls, and though we risk being left empty when they take what they want or need and leave, we also chance a great awakening, or a simple story, or something beautiful shared.

Passing though, they come and go, unlike the certainty of the seasons, but with the season.

For years I fought to leave

Time and again, she pulled me back

(kicking and screaming at times)

And tied me down

Only now do I see here is where I belong

Not because I have given up, but because I have opened up.

My community, I found in the trees.

Here we learn the natural adjustment to the seasons.

The cycle of life

To which we are a part

Neither above nor beyond.

As the leaves emerge bright and shiny and as suddenly the size of squirrels’ ears, only to fill out and wash the hills in a lush green wave, until the brilliant gold of late September in long shadows lays the land back to rest, and under the white we remain.

Expand into this world

Like breathing…

There is neither right nor wrong

There just is.

Along with our need to find our place

Within some precast mold to which we may not fit.

And when we learn to let go

And be

We may find ourselves

Way out here.

And still

Fully connected

A part of it all.

Still…

I sit with the evening sun on my face

Bound by the lull of a rushing stream

Dandelions aglow on the moist hill on which we rest

Leaning on and into each other, wordless now, my husband and I

The dog on vigil behind us

And…

For one beautiful moment

This is exactly where I belong.

Where I want to be, without wanting more

It feels so right to say that, to know that, to feel that,

to finally believe that,

until the wind reminds us to leave.

The adventure of standing still.

Am I wrong to say this is where I belong

This is my community

And find connection, wisdom, soul

In wind, water, bark and branches?

Do trees have soul?

The collective soul.

These are the old wise ones.

A walk deep in the woods with a small glass jar in one hand, sticky fingers in the other, gathering pitch from my beloved once blue spruce. The old ones, the big ones, are now long gone; their sap dried and brushed into the earth by elements and time. Now it is the smaller ones putting out their last liquid essence in a vain attempt to hold life, when what they are doing is dying. I am collecting the blood and tears of their wounds to create a healing salve. To honor my neighbors, my friends.

As I reach into the dried bare branches once green and lush and flexible, snapping them off with no more than the weight of my extended arm, stretching towards the last of their golden, glowing life oozing through their wounds, my flesh is scored by a broken branch. My tears and blood blend with theirs. Different colors, mine warm and red, and yet all the same, is it not?

Their souls remain after the needles fall. Perhaps a secret stillness remaining in their roots for a year or more in the silent soil.

And then they are silent.

Where do their souls move onto?

In winter

I bloom

Fragrant and bright and wild

Where am I going,

you ask

And I tell you

I do not know.

On Seasons and Enlightenment

May 25, 2015 / Gin Getz / 5 Comments

Spring. The season of letting go.

So begins the natural year. Rebirth. New life. Last years’ leaves enrich this year soil. Last year’s blossoms have become this year’s seeds. Nourish them. Give them room. Allow them to take root. Tend to them wisely and they will grow.

Now is the time to get grounded. We can start with Spring Cleaning.

So it’s Spring. Here in the high country it comes in small doses. Rations. Little tantalizing tastes. And then another snow storm hits and your world is white and you wonder if that bright green grass was just a dream…

Now’s the time of fixing fences, dragging pasture, shoeing horses, getting the stock (and ourselves) in shape for the work of the upcoming season, clearing trail, and up here, always gathering fire wood.

All that fun stuff aside, this is the time of year I’m Cabin Cleaner Extraordinaire. Not really the most romantic part of my position in life, but the true meat-and-potatoes. The part that makes the rest of it not only possible, but worthwhile. The part that’s about giving, sharing, gratitude and humility. Without which, well, what’s the point? Self-indulgence only gets you so far. It gets old fast. At least, one can hope it will.

Anyway, we run a guest ranch. Six rental cabins. All sitting shut down, unused, gathering dust and cob webs and muddy prints and dirt from who-knows-where but there it is, for the past six months. Each one to be transformed into spic and span, and warm and welcoming with the touch of my magic broom.

See? Plenty of practice in the spring cleaning department.

So here I am, with a bucket and mop and wet rag, and I get to thinking…

About enlightenment.

What does cleaning have to do with enlightenment?

A lot!

First, let’s considered this. What is enlightenment? For definition, look around at those you might consider enlightened. Are they in one place and remaining there stagnant? Or are they involved in a process? I think we often look at (are told) enlightenment is one single state rather than a way of being and an ongoing journey, an evolutionary existence. Like the seasons, a continuum of birth, growth, death, transformation, rebirth.

We look to authorities for the answers, when they are within us and around us all along. Learn to listen. Quietly. To the sound of rain on soft spring soil and the rustle of newly emerging leaves.

What do you believe? Not what you were told, given or born into, but deep inside yourself if you dare to take the time to look. Tell me about those truths.

I see enlightenment not as some final product and divine state, but as the simple process of conscious being… which begins with letting go, lightening up.

So, lighten up!

No, it doesn’t end there. It doesn’t end. But that’s where it starts. So let’s start.

Enlightenment need not be something exclusive and elusive. We give it high airs and think it’s out of reach, some unobtainable state reserved for the special few. The term is often misused or over used, as in, “I am,” “He is,” “She is,” and, “You, sorry, are not…”

That’s not true enlightenment. That’s ego. Let that one go too.

Enlightenment is within us all. It is without judgment. Without expectation, assumptions, demands. It is without heirs, pretentions and prejudice. And it is not like a light bulb that once we flick the switch, it’s on for good. It too needs tending. It ebbs and flows like waves and wind. We don’t get somewhere and remain there. It is not one place. It is a never ending process. It is life and beyond life.

It’s all of us, all the time. It’s do-able It’s a state we all are in, any time we change and grow and even try to understand. Any time we make room within us to open up and clearly see and be. It’s not always big stuff. Start small. Start with cleaning. Cleansing. Letting go. Opening up.

This is just the first step. The first season.

Cleaning, cleansing, clearing yourself of what you no longer need. Getting rid of old baggage.

Yes, it’s that simple. And that hard. Because we all know how hard it is sometimes to just let go. We’re quick to cling, to hold on tight, and define ourselves by things we’ve had or happened in the past. We’re slow to see how bound we are until we begin counting and releasing our attachments.

So, we start by letting go, lightening up. Get rid of that stuff. Shed.

Enlighten!

The path to enlightenment is different for us all. I live in and with nature. So for me, it’s easier to see life as a natural process. Here’s how I see it work around me, and thus within me:

Spring: Clean up. Let go. Lighten up. Enlighten.

Spring cleaning of the body, mind and soul… and cabins and land.

Take care of them all.

Everything matters; nothing matters.

Consolidate. Prioritize. Pare down to the basics. Get rid of the baggage.

Clear yourself of judgments, expectations, assumptions, demands, criticism.

Just be.

Be curious about the beautiful world around you.

Be a part of it, not separate and detached.

Fully connect.

Get to know yourself. Unadorned with ones past, possession or pretenses.

Let go of the ego, self definition and social status.

What are you left with?

Fresh soil on a raw spring day.

Summer: Work. Give.

This is the season of plenty.

Expansion.

Of growth and abundance and long days and clear connection with heaven and earth through sun and rain and rich soil and the brilliant colors of wildflowers and soft embrace of the wind.

Now it’s time to replenish, fill your self with positive stuff.

Nourish and nurture. Our body, mind, soul. Those around us, the world we live in.

What matters most?

Whatever works for you, but not just for you:

Pray, meditate, practice, tend to your body, the Earth, give, do and care for others?

We live in the days of choice.

Consider widely.

Choose wisely.

Autumn: Remain. Complete.

Autumn. Settling in, stocking the pantry, storing up for the long winter ahead.

This is the time of completion: fruit ripens, seeds form, leaves are released and branches laid bare.

This is time of bringing the life blood back to the roots where it will remain for the long cold season ahead.

Here’s the one thing often missing. The key to making the equation work.

It’s called commitment.

Sticking with it.

Completion of a task well done.

Commitment is not a four letter word. It won’t bite. Try it.

Commitment is not a popular word these days. Old fashioned.

As in, “Oh, really, you’re still working there?” “You’re still doing that?” “You’re still with him?”

Yes, yes, and yes.

And this what allows us to become really good at something, get stuff done, complete what we start out to accomplish, be true to our word, deepen our relationships, complete one thing so we can move on to the next, and know for sure we can get more done.
Not to say it’s about accomplishment. That is not the goal. But accomplishment as part of the natural process. How can you grow and move beyond without completing and concluding?

Are we as flighty as the wind or as solid as the earth we stand upon?

Are we above this earth or a part of it?

Depending on your beliefs… and respecting others for theirs.
I see the cow elk running through the woods with her calf and the red-tailed hawked soaring above screeching her return to the mountain and the purple heads of the monkshood coyly emerging and hear the song of the Mighty Rio echoing on the cliffs.

This is the world around me.

And I am honored to be of this earth.

My ego does not place me greater than this, but connected to it all.

Winter: Dormancy.

Here in the high country in winter, in the vast whiteness that it is,

Just be.

Nothing more.

This is your time of stillness,

Of being,

Until you must, for you will, because life moves, we move.

We are neither static not stagnant.

This is the secret of the seasons we are not told

But we observe

In winter.

The time to settle in and go deep and in our quiet slumber, find our inner truths.

This is when change happens, we become.

We are constantly evolving, growing. We are not inert beings (read: stick in the mud?)

Change is a certain part of our human existence.

No, this doesn’t mean bag the commitment and try something new at every whim.

It means complete, release, and evolve. Flow with the process.

It means to take the time to consider. Where are you? Where did you come from? Where are you going? Where are you here and now?

Understand the seasons and be a part of them.

Let one blossom fade and fall off while a new bud begins to form, and a blossom opens.

Don’t get stuck in the mud, but know where to grow strong roots.

Are we meant to rise above our human existence, or make the most of it?

Transcend from this beautiful world, or be humble and grateful of the world around us, find our place and understand why we are here?

And so the cycles of the seasons continues.

Are we ever in just one stage? Only for brief moments. Like the seasons, we are ever changing. Because the nature of life is movement and change, and so we flow. This is our evolutionary existence.

Well, back to the beginning.

Spring. Mud. And cleaning.

Enlightening.

So there you have it. Spring cleaning. It’s not just about dust and cobwebs. It can be a first step to enlightenment. But instead of cabins, it’s our heart, mind and soul. Dust of those cob webs. Get rid of the tracks that came in from who or where we don’t even remember. Clean up the old pile of old news in the corner that’s been there since last year. Make room for new stuff. Good stuff. Allow yourself time to breathe, and create a space to expand.

Oh, and speaking about those cobwebs…

I leave you with this story.

Okay, I know a lot of you don’t like spiders and find them really creepy, but for the sake of this story, try to forget that for just a moment and hear me out. Think of them as “natural.” And there I was, out in nature. So, spiders have their place. Believe me, I’m not big on them in my bedroom either…

Out on a walk in the woods yesterday, I came across a spider web tucked gracefully under a tree with speckled light illuminating the fine silks and a small gray spider the color of tree bark poised in the center, resting. I stopped and stared and considered something beautiful from this simple sight.

Think about the correlation. She starts with nothing. Air. Space. And into that, she spins her web,

Perfect, beautiful, intricate, with care, symmetry.

How long did it take her to create this? She gives it everything she can to create it. Now it is.

And when her hard work is done, she sits and waits.

In due time, into that web that she so carefully formed, comes exactly what she needs. She doesn’t plan or act or lure or try any fancy tricks. She just creates, with hard work, commitment and care. And then with patience, she allows and trusts and knows…

Shared today on Conscious Life News.

Seven Poems in Seven Days.

May 22, 2015 / Gin Getz / 5 Comments

Actually there were ten, but some of them aren’t worth sharing.

After feeling “too busy” and having “too much” else going on (right, join the crowd – I’ll share more on this next week)… my heart returns to poetry. Like nature, this is where I find my grounding, my uplifting. The first thing I ever remember writing. I wonder if it will be the last.

The following is the result of a ten-day personal challenge taken on with Carrie of The Shady Tree.

It turned out to be a prolific enlightening to my inner passion.

Perhaps it may just look like lot of words.

With these, I hope you may find something that touches your heart too.

Read a paragraph, a stanza, a poem as you like.

Gratitude for a dear friend, fellow poet, artist, and lover of family, nature and life.

Gratitude for words, creativity, and inspiration – all of which abound in this beautiful world.

(Please stop by Carrie’s site over the next few days, too, to see how the same photo can inspire such different words.)

Photo by Carrie of The Shady Tree

You can only get

Here

by wet foot

Cool and soft and

squishing deep brown

between bare toes

Over slick rocks

The sweet moist scent of earth and

Decay

Last years dreams fermenting in

Never drying soil

Like a festering open wound

Where the branches bend low overhead

Heavy and wet and untouched

By daylight

which in turn is obscured

By an endless

swath of fog

Dampened desires

Laying heavy on moist flesh

Suppressed by sunlessness

Do you remember what

burning feels like

Warm and gold on

Exposed flesh

Instead in this succulence

Each drop a tiny window into the soul

An eternal pool

That will evaporate

and turn to steam

Should the sun burn

through the fog

Photo by Gin

Barren are last year’s

blossoms

now Hard and brittle

Spent and sallow

having been bent over

By the weight of

last season’s snow

Their seeds scattered

in the spring rains

Brown dust

to brown earth

And so it should be

I lean over

as not to disturb

That which managed

against the elements

And marvel

at the simplicity

And complete

complexity and pure beauty

Preserved by the wind like

An embalmed queen

What inner

secrets do you reveal

Spilling forth promises

of eternity

That few may

bend close to hear

Before the bright easy days

of new growth

Consume us

Photo by Carrie of The Shady Tree

On Wednesday

The midwife soars

Grounded

Taking flight

Because she is called

And though it appears

She has no control

And just moves

Out of action or reaction

of spreading her wings

And rising effortlessly

gracefully naturally into the stirring air

This remains

the most self controlled act

she may ever manage

Of leaving a ground

And returning

While remaining where she was.

Photo by Gin

Last year’s leaves

Next year’s soil

Compressed under this morning’s snow

Elk tracks across pasture

Revealing delicate chartreuse

Of spring grass

Seeds

Transforming

A quiet awakening

Beneath the consuming

unassuming white shelter

The robin is silent this morning.

How can I see something new

In the same old landscape

Like looking into the eyes of a lover

You have wrapped your body

around for over a dozen years

And still find beauty and shiver.

now in static essence of early morning

Upon brown damp soil

robin sings in the cold grey light.

Photo by Gin

Boots by the door

coated with clay

Brought in from out there,

Damp coats and wool hats

hang to dry.

What’s the point

You ask me

And I don’t have

a good reply.

We both know

they will only

be wet again.

Somehow starting out

dry

seems like

the thing to do.

The dog comes in

indifferent to wet fur and

Brown tracks behind him

With no boots to

leave by the door.

Out there

Where the bark of aspen

is soaked to green grey.

Silver tips

on bare branches where

water pools in

tiny glass beads,

and brown water

flowing through

brown soil, saturated.

creeks cutting new paths.

old paths.

it will all be washed away

we say

if this keeps up.

Heavy skies

in stratum,

the movement of

silky flowing veils.

What secrets do they reveal

As an entire mountain

Obscured

And does it matter anyway

That the horizon has changed,

Is no longer

Peaks and ridges

But soft simple close

White?

The view, the future, awareness

Lost

In the sound on the metal roof

That comes in waves,

Strong and steady like

deep breathing

As wet as the ocean

And as far away

Above me

Photo by Carrie of The Shady Tree

In my dreams

I am flying

Downward

Into secret places

Of mountain

And mind

Of my soul

Where even in winter

It is lush and green

Places no one else

can touch

Or see

And maybe I won’t share

Not even with you

Unless I feel certain

You need to know

I keep them for

Myself

I become Crow

Seeing from above

A mountain in

parts of a whole

Its steep slopes

And jagged rocks

And soft spring grasses

And the course of

the cutting river

From so high

As if I were

in the wind

blowing

across the open flats

and navigating the

rugged bluffs

in and out of

tall timber

until at last I light

upon the highest snag

above it all

the voyeur of my soul

seeing across the big air

and down into that

hidden oasis

no one else is meant to see

stealing a glimpse

detached

in this vast entirety

absorb my world

open my eyes

and find myself still

flying

Photo by Gin

On the surface

She shines

Simple and radiant

Easy going like

the afternoon breeze

On a good spring day

Idyllic

Tranquility

Stillness of soul

Waiting for

the coming unrest

Standing Still Beneath Blowing Branches (Lessons Learned from Trees)

May 5, 2015 / Gin Getz / 8 Comments

Standing still beneath blowing branches.

Lessons learned from trees.

These are changing times.

Turmoil around, within. I stand beneath budding branches, the promise of the continual struggle of life, and suddenly it all makes sense, or maybe nothing matters, and everything finds its place. Can I let myself cry, selfishly, foolishly, like an innocent child so wanting comfort in hard times yet not knowing how to ask?

Late spring in the high mountains. I write from home on the edge of the Weminuche Wilderness, high and away in the heart of the Headwaters of the Rio Grande in Colorado’s San Juan Mountains. I am flanked by a hundred thousand acres of charred woods and a few hundred thousand acres more of dead standing beetle kill and Aspen fading and falling randomly. A forest full of kindling waiting to ignite. Finding new growth, green needles, sweet sap, life existing, tenaciously holding or ferociously fighting to survive. Life is precious.

In all their simplicity. Trees.

Go through it. Let it out. Tears fall like raindrops. Nourishment to parched lands and thirsty roots. No one to hear them fall but the trees. Allow it. Breathe in, breathe out, standing beside a tree.

These are the wise ones. They carry not a passing fancy but wisdom of the ages. Powerful, deep and rich. They make no loud claims, but hold their ground, tangled in their roots. Powerless to the pretenses of our demands, greed and ignorance. Eternal, I used to think.

Here they have lost ground. We have been hit hard by the changes. A sign of things to come, a premonition, or is this just a warning to heed? Are we too late, and does it matter anyway?

Here our children’s children will never know the old growth through which I used to wander.

Even in their ethereal presence, this graveyard of barren branches, I feel them breathe. I hear them sigh. Down deep if no where else than in their roots, the soil, the earth. That’s where life remains. And life will come again.

Standing on fallen needles and listening to the Wisdom of the trees.

Breathing in, breathing out, seeking the scent of fresh sap and plump needles. I have almost forgotten.

These are the lessons they teach.

Stand with me now, still and silent beneath bare branches of a seemingly lifeless tree. Close your eyes. In the wild spring wind, feel the remaining presence of these great beings. Listen to their wisdom.

This is what we hear:

The earth matters. Give more than you take.

You can’t control the seasons. Learn to let go.

You can’t rush the seasons. Practice patience.

You can’t change the weather. Stand tall in the rain and dance in the wind.

Storms come, storms go, the sun will shine again.

Be still and listen.

Be wordless. (So hard for a writer to do.) That’s where our truths are found. (Write about them later.)

Everything changes.

Seasons come and seasons go.

Leaves fall and blossoms return time and time again.

Life stems where you least expect it.

Last year’s leaves are next year’s fertile soil.

Be willing to shed and grow again.

Be grounded. Grow your roots deep and strong.

We share the same soil. Our roots are connected. We are one.

Stand tall and strong, not hard and rigid.

Be flexible in adverse conditions.

Learn to bend in the wind.

Adapt.

Seeds blow in the wind – new life starts where you least expect.

Be willing to break new ground.

Don’t expect ideal conditions.

Grow where they least expect it.

Know you are never alone. Others will grow beside you, and together, you can create a forest.

Look around at others growing above and below you. Respect differences. We need each other.

Provide shelter to those who need it.

Nurture indiscriminately. Practice non-judgment.

Give what you can, and then give more.

Don’t take it personally, and you can’t change others. All you can do is grow.

Allow the world to come and go around you.

Learn to let go.

Nothing lasts forever.

How to Begin – An Intimate Look Inside a Beginner’s Mind

April 22, 2015 / Gin Getz / 15 Comments

From the Beginning.

This essay launches a new series I’m honored to be sharing with Conscious Life News entitled From the Beginner’s Mind. Though my writing is usually centered around land and life intimately intertwined, this series shares the story of a mid-life awakening. Mind you, this is no mid-life crisis. Things are going great. I’m not turning toward a spiritual enlightenment to escape or out of desperation, but because something is still missing. This is about the exploration of that ‘something.’

This is not a how-to manual for I don’t have the answers. I am learning just like you. And though I might like to be, I’m the first to admit I’m no expert. I cannot tell you how-to for I too am figuring it out. All I can do is share with you my journey, and hope you might be interested, inspired, encouraged, or even amused along the way.

With an open heart and mind, we can learn from every person we meet, every encounter we have, every article or book we read. With an open heart and mind we can find the answers we are looking for. That is the beginner’s mind. Where I find myself. Where perhaps you are too.

This is a journey. Let’s enjoy it together.

From the Beginner’s Mind.

Some say they have found enlightenment, and guard their discovery as an exclusive, elusive secret.

Others make no claims, but somehow you feel they are the wiser ones. These are the few who exude the pure essence of the beginner’s mind; that of clarity, equanimity, detachment, and compassion. There is something in the softness of their gaze when speaking with (not to) you; and a grace and ease in their movements. They observe their world with curiosity, remain humble to share what they have learned, and generously offer encouragement. They give you hope for what you can learn, what you can be, and the point and purpose of enlightenment as well as living – if you need those things (I do).

And then there are those who are happy where they’re at, found what they need, or aren’t interested in seeing beyond.

I’m none of those. You too?

Then this too might be you: One of those still looking, seeking, questioning. We don’t accept a truth unless we can prove it, and yes, sometimes that just means “feeling” the right answer. But, we haven’t always had the time. Basic survival (raising a family, holding down a job and getting food on the table) came first. We wanted more (energy and time included), knew there was more, and felt an emptiness for that something more. But finding time for teachers, lessons, practice and quiet meditation … well, those things seem out of reach, for the elite without the struggles and responsibilities we claimed, and thus not easily available for us everyday folks with basic needs.

That sure is me. We all have our thing, our distractions, temptations, obstacles to overcome. Or not. It’s all a matter of choice. I am choosing to take the time now.

Sound familiar?

So now I’m finding myself here. At the beginning. A true beginner’s mind.

It’s not out of wisdom, comprehension and compassion that I call mine a beginner’s mind. It’s simply the cold, hard, fact. No pretentions. No claims of clarity and openness, self knowledge, deep understanding, expertise and valuable insights. Just a beginner’s mind. The real deal.

This is a simple story of a midlife awakening. Maybe you’ll relate, maybe you’ll learn from or along with me, maybe you’ll laugh at my discoveries, maybe you’ll roll your eyes and chuckle, “What took you so long?”

Well, things like raising a family, making a marriage, paying the bills, establishing a business, keeping a house and hopefully my sanity in the process, though there was little time for more and some days not enough for all. I called it “basic survival.” Now my child is raised, my marriage is strong, my calling is fulfilling, my health is awesome, my home is beautiful, and I’m out of debt. I’m not turning towards spirituality as an escape, but rather for an enhancement. I still want more. Something is missing. I’m looking for a life of soul, as well as health, happiness and love. What does that entail? Well, this is what I’m trying to figure out!

In retrospect I see I’ve always been somewhere on this winding, twisted route – from practicing yoga on the beaches of Greece, to searching for the elusive magic mushroom on the hills over Santa Fe, to driving cross country time and again in my ’66 split windshield VW microbus with paisley walls and burning incense. All of it matters, or doesn’t, but is somehow a part of the whole. Then, twenty years of being a mom centered me, kept me in line, turned my focus from me to we. I can look at that time as a good excuse for not being somewhere else, or accept it as the opportunity to open me to just the right lessons I needed to learn and bring me to where I am today, ideally with experience, understanding, insight and compassion. At least in theory. Because we all know wisdom doesn’t automatically come with age or experience. It takes reflection, compassion, detachment and true understanding. It also takes time, commitment and energy. Some of you may get these things worked out early on. It took me a while. I think I’ve got it together now. (Is the act of knocking on wood considered too “beginner?”)

In any case, now I allow myself to dive deep. At times I feel selfish and spoiled – guilty in a way – am I wrong to take time for this stuff? Aren’t there “better” things I could be working on? More important? More productive? Couldn’t I keep busier? Make more money? Take on more responsibility? Be more impressive, aggressive, and accomplished?

I don’t know.

I know I’m supposed to practice non judgment. Starting with myself. After a half a lifetime seemly tainted by assumptions, stereotypes, prejudices, jumping to conclusions, taking it too personally, caring what others think, trying to please, trying to impress, do the right thing, belong, be accepted, be responsible, be loved… learning how to just be is a lot more work than I thought it would be.

So that’s where I’m at now. At the beginning.

You probably know this one. Suzuki wrote: “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, in the expert’s mind there are few.” Of course he’s referring to the beginner’s mind, not just the beginner, but he encourages us to consider this: the two are not so dissimilar. At least, it gives me hope to think so.

As you too may have found, for those really beginning, there are a zillion choices. Too many. It’s overwhelming. How do you know which is right for you? There are so many paths and practices, each acclaimed to be the best. So many choices; all leading to the same place, more or less. It’s like going into a cereal isle and trying to pick one. Or two. Or three. So you take one box, taste, and maybe next time you’ll try something else. Keep trying until you find your favorite. What works best for you? What feels right? What’s your path? What’s right for you may not be right for me.

Sometimes, too, you just have to trust. The right opportunities present themselves at the right time. Or not, and then you get the lessons of patience and perseverance. Are you going to stick with it or not? So you learn to balance commitment with choice. Without commitment, I think I’d just keep trying it all, be one more spiritual junkie on the path to the next latest greatest promise to quick and easy enlightenment, never getting good at anything, and probably never getting to where I want to go, which may be the case no matter how focused I try to remain, for maybe where I want to go isn’t where I need to be.

I am grateful it’s never too late to learn.

And I am grateful for those willing to teach. Don’t you know what your wisdom and experience mean to those seeking? The sharing of gems. Wealth and shining beauty in the form of a few words or lessons. This is amazing stuff. Stuff we have to remember to pass on some day, some how. The time will come. Sure, some will tell you “I’m enlightened; you are not,” and won’t have time (or the mind/heart set) to share how they got to where you are not. There’s plenty of that around. There’s also plenty of humility and compassion. Big, wide, generous hearts. Learn from them in whatever way you can. It never hurts to ask, reach out, try. Perhaps with simple observation, perhaps with direct lessons. Learn from those that practice what they preach, and exude the essence you are working toward. No, you’ll never be someone else. We’re all beautiful and unique in our own way, with our own style and gifts, calling and path. But choose your teachers wisely, I tell myself. On the other hand, with an open mind and heart, I can learn from anyone.

I am humbled by knowing how little I know, how much I can learn.

What have I learned so far? Well, I confess often I haven’t learned by proficiency, but out of frustration.

These are the hard ones for me, the ones I have to work on every day, and still don’t have mastered. And because they are so hard, and require so much attention and effort, I’m pretty sure these are the biggies:

Patience. I still want it all now. The answers, enlightenment, that feeling of bliss or “getting it” I get for fleeting moments during meditation. I also know it’s not supposed to work that way. If it were easy… we’d all be there already and miss the journey. It requires practice. Meditation. Sitting. Focus. No focus. Learning to be still. Wait. Receive. All in due time. “Don’t work too hard, just let it come,” one teacher tells me. Easier said than done. How to erase 40-something years of thinking I need to work my butt off to get what I want. Funny because even when I did work my butt off, I didn’t always get what I wanted. Or maybe it was that what I thought I wanted wasn’t that which I needed, so obtaining it was unfulfilling… grab it and go, onto the next.

Gratitude. For those who have shared, are willing to share, with such humility and grace. Gratitude… for those who treat me gently (or harsh when I need that, and I do sometimes) and try to teach me what they have learned without making me feel like a fool (or at least, not trying to… because sometimes I do anyway). Have you noticed that those who know the most say they know the least? Give them time (back to that patience thing…) and they’ll reveal what you need to know, when you need to know it… if you stick with it, and ask. I treasure the time, care, insight, wisdom, and the gems they have shared with me. Gratitude… for all those opening the doors, calling me over, laughing at my enthusiasm as I come eagerly running like a happy puppy.

Forgiveness. This may sound selfish, but I’m trying to start with myself on this one. I’m not talking therapy here, just understanding, acceptance, and love. At least that’s what I’ve read. The theory being it’s hard to move forward without a good grasp of the past. And once you start taking a quick look, you start seeing how much you hold against yourself. Geez. Let it go! Right. Easier said than done, but I’m trying. And at the same time, working on forgiving others, because really, what’s the point? Anger and resentment eat away at me only; the other person has no idea I’ve got a vex on them. So the point is…? Get over it. Move onto better things. At least, that’s what this beginner is trying to do.

Understanding. Clarity or seeing clearly. When I was little with my big strong mind (or so I swore it to be back then) my mother would say to me, “We agree to disagree.” I didn’t agree at all. I knew that was a way of saying, “I won’t even bother trying to understand.” I wanted to be understood. Now I want to understand. “Everything on the planet,” another teacher tells me. No, you don’t have to agree. But try to truly understand. It feels amazing, expansive, inclusive just to give it a try…

Non judgment. Why did it take me so long to figure this out? (Though is “Why?” a question laced with judgment or simply curiosity?) So yeah, I got a long ways to go on this one. And once again, who do we judge most but ourselves? How do we learn to let go of self expectations and demands and fears ? I wish I knew. I’m starting by (trying…) switching my focus to calm, clear, centered… and sometimes nothing at all, just breathing in and breathing out. It’s a start. Tell you what: seems like it’s easier to find fault than accept praise. Who said it was meant to be easy?

Service. I keep finding myself going back to the old Jackie Robinson quote: “A life is not important except for the impact it has on other lives.” I don’t think we’re ever fully fulfilled unless we see that what we’re doing is not just for ourselves. The bigger picture matters. Sure, we all want to be included and accepted, but it’s more than that. We need a point and purpose, and I think that point and purpose has to involve the well being of others to be sincerely satisfying. So, is service a selfish act? I don’t know – maybe we can twist it around to be – but I think the big thing is this: we need to do stuff for others. If it doesn’t feel like enough, maybe it’s not. Do more. If I’m lucky, I’m only half way through life. I spent what felt like the first half taking care of me and my family. Now it is my time to start reaching beyond.

Love. Surely this is the most important. It is so simple, really, and yet so crazy complex. In all its wild ways. Sexual, spiritual, motherly, earthy, passionate, compassionate love. Love… for the understanding I am slowing seeing, feeling, breathing in, becoming. Very slowly. Love… for my husband, who not only lets me, but actually joins me. Love… for the earth I tread softly on and spring winds and bird songs and the howling coyote at first light. Love… for the words I weave into poetry, if no where else then in my mind, for it makes me smile and love the world around me I write about that much more. And here’s something cool I’m finding. Why not love? Everyone. Everything. I’m sick of anger. I’m trying to catch myself. When I feel like smacking someone in the face (no, I’ve actually never did this, but between you and me, I confess I have fantasized…), turn my feelings to love. Plain and simple. It’s easier than I thought. Try it if you don’t believe me. Just change your thoughts. Stop one. Replace with another. No excuses. Just do it. Really. Sincerely. Tell you what – it feels amazing. Love. Because the more you send out, the more is out there, and the more you feel, and that’s just good stuff, no matter how you look at it.

Compassion. My take on this, coming from my true beginner’s mind, is that compassion sums up all these lessons. Patience, understanding, non judgment, service, love. And then you have to practice what you preach. This is the hard part. Put your lessons to the test, and into action. Not just words, readings, teaching, but actual doings. How I treat myself. How I treat others. How I treat the Earth. And that’s where the hard part comes in. Being the person you want to be. Now. But that’s where you really start feeling like you’re getting somewhere. Start by trying. That’s all it takes to begin.

So, here I am. On the path to awakening. At least, that’s where I hope this road is going.

Where ever I am, it’s beautiful. It feels good. It feels right. Some days I’m elated and high and it feels so awesome and for fleeting moments I shiver with bliss and feel enwrapped with light and I’m sure I’m doing it right, and even get a glimpse of what “right” might be. And then the next day I slip back into my selfish, short sighted, wounded child whining. It doesn’t last long any more. At least, I try not to let it. I’m slowly learning to see right through that game. Finally. And see into something so much better.

“Try” is my mantra. Try to get over it. Try to forgive myself when I don’t. Try to change the bad thoughts to good. Try to feel love when I’m burning with rage. Try to feel at ease when I’m convinced I was just slighted, dissed, or rejected (this one happens plenty as a writer).Try to find calm when my mind is moving like a racehorse, busted free from the track , and is heading off, fast, in a direction to god knows where… Come back to center, breath, smile, and try again…

I’ve got a long ways to go. I’m starting to understand if done correctly, I’ll be doing this forever. Learning, growing, expanding, adjusting, refining. I’m also starting to understand this: once you get on the path, sure you’ll get lost and lose the way from time to time, but I don’t think the journey ends. Something inside keeps us going, brings us back to center, and leads us onward. A deep yearning for the truth, peace, presence and understanding. Have you found this to be so?

Have you noticed this one too? Once you begin to open your eyes, suddenly you start seeing so much. It’s beautiful. It’s almost blinding, almost overwhelming, but you can’t turn your head away…

Word of warning – when you begin to open, with gratitude, humility and clarity, the Universe rejoices. It celebrates joyously by throwing doors open for you. You might have to run to keep up and get through them all. You can do it!

I’m opening them all for now, jumping in and finding my way around. I’m trusting, and believing and following, rather than controlling, and this is new for me. I’m rejoicing too – I know I’ll get exhausted, and settle in soon enough and find my new expanding space. But for now, I’m having fun learning. Everything is new today.

No doubt, many of you are further along on the path than me. Please be patient with us late bloomers or slow movers. No need to wait on us, but be gentle when you see us swerving along the rocky road. Be gracious, knowing one more human being is beginning the unfurling.

I’m just happy I’m here now.

And though I don’t get all the right answers or clearly see the way yet, I’m sure enjoying the journey.

Stirring.

April 13, 2015 / Gin Getz / 11 Comments

There is an intense clarity found in springtime in the high mountains. It is not beautiful, but real and raw. It hides nothing. Like a truth you cannot escape. An inner stirring as the outer winds churn cold and biting from over the Divide.

It is not a stunning time, but one of stark realities. You are left to face yourself, your world, in all its plainness. Earthen tones and unadorned branches that may snap in the strong gusts if not full and plump with awakening life and the memory of remaining flexible. A time to weed out the weak, prepare for the upcoming unfurling. Last year’s brown grass strewn with grey branches like abandoned dreams. I pick them up as I walk by and stack them in burn piles to clean up when the wind dies down and we’re ready for a quiet evening.

There is no draw here for tourists now. Instead this is the time to drag the pasture and fix fences, repair gates and clean up back roads. It is a time for work, not for fun and pretty and light and laughter and languid appreciation of abundant natural beauty though there is always that too no matter. It is quiet at first tired breath, then exhilarating in its wild rapture with roaring river and winds that blend into their own inseparable harmony.

It is not a time to blatantly behold, but rather discretely observe, for what you are witness to now is her nakedness. Soon she shall dress, slowly, in preparation for what will be.

Some days you’re fooled into believing it’s all over or just begun and then you wake to temperatures in the teens and dig into frozen ground and remember where you are in spite of longing for longer days, warmer rays and shorter shadows. Shade cast from the remaining white high hills obscures hopes of lush and green and leaves and blossoms for some time to come.

It’s quieter around here without the goose. I confess I snuck down to Ute Creek to check on him. Only once. There was a big flock newly arrived of geese, ducks and smaller birds enjoying a warm brown open pool in the otherwise still ice covered expanse. And about a hundred yards away on a stretch of frozen mud, was one solitary goose looking back towards the others. What do you think? Yeah, that’s what I thought too.

In the meanwhile, there’s this independent hen… Ever hear of such a thing? In all my years of raising chickens, I never had. But sure enough. We got one here now. One of our free range hens decided she is not in need of flock nor rooster (though he’s quite in need of her and tries often to herd her home). Instead she prefers our porch, picnic table, the wood pile outside our front door. Go figure what’s worth scratching for in there. She’s outside our cabin at any given time of day. Though I’ve never been liberal in giving credit to a chicken’s sensitivities and insight, it’s as if she knows she’s in a bird friendly zone (it is indeed with my very active bird feeder) and a family in need of a feathered friend.

And then.

Yesterday we pass by the lake of open water miles down river below our ranch. Bob drives slowly as I have my head out the window and that wind is cold. I’m looking. Carefully.

No, that’s not him, I say and he drives on.

How do you know, he asks me. I just know.

Stop. Here. No, not that one… but that one there could be… slow down… pull over!

Rikki, I call.

The one with the big head and the low honk flies off to an island a short ways away and fights with another one before landing. Rikki never behaved like that, I note to self, and then I realize this: He is a she!

And there she is, with another female. Swimming this way from the far bank.

Listen, I tell Bob. I can hear her before I see her. I know her voice. My Rikki!

She is calling to me. We holler, back and forth across the cold grey water…

She remains in the water, closer but never too close, talking together all the time, back and forth, as the dog runs along the bank and I wonder which of us Rikki misses more, but I sense that she won’t come clear to us, and she shouldn’t, and she doesn’t. And although I’d love to sit next to her and stare into her warm brown eyes and just chatter as the two of us have done so many times before, her distance feels right. I am happy for her. She has found her place. And it is beautiful.

I am humbled to realize how wild the wilds shall always be, and how domesticated I remain.

I stand to leave in the brown grass along the bank and kick someone’s spent shotgun shells littered along the spring soil.

Thaw.

March 26, 2015March 26, 2015 / Gin Getz / 5 Comments

Crack open like a fragile white shell

Exposing

churning waters

pumped and swollen in the warm early

spring day

chewed the solid river free

ravage the lingering white surface

like an eager lover

Grey waters, grey sky and a land of ashen hillsides

fading

to patches of brown

a random quilt torn and worn with age

drown out the calls of the newly arrived

bluebird

And the beloved trees stand a silent cold still vigil

Of brown branches and pale needles

fallen

And eternal roots entangled roots

rising

Powerful in their ethereal presence

That can not be erased by tiny beetles

nor chased by a changing climate

entangled with those roots within me

Expanding

the breath of a new season

So… about the goose.

A wildlife success story.

Consider this.

The pursuit of happiness is hardly limited to the human mind. I have looked deep into his warm brown eyes enough to know. He has been lonely, longing, wondering. I hope he is happy now though we may question both the importance we place on the state of happiness and the impermanence of an emotional state. In any case…

Rikki flew the coop. Or rather, the ranch. He’s down at Ute Creek with… geese!

I want to ride down there now to call him, have him fly to me, look deep into my cold grey eyes and remind me that yes, he loves me, he is grateful for my having raised him with love, kindness, care. But these things I already know.

When we returned from Argentina, we watched the poor guy endure big snowstorms and fend off the fox (after nights of trying to wake in time to “eliminate” the fox problem, I actually saw the bushy red fellow run right by that goose, both uninterested in the other, so I suppose they worked their thing out). We watched him do his best to follow his two and four legged family everywhere (you should see how well he now climbs cliffs and hikes through the trees). And still looking out the window from the warmth of my cabin out to the little feathered football in the snow, I felt a sadness and loneliness in him. Yes, in a Canada goose. Go ahead and laugh, but it’s true.

A few evenings ago, we’re out cooking dinner in the fire pit and I hear geese flying by. The first of the season. There’s just this tiny sliver of a moon and they’re following the river. Rikki remained by the fire with us, seemingly unaffected. Then the next day, I hear them mid day. Bob hears them while working down by the new cabin. Rikki was out on pasture grazing with the horses. Decoy, Bob has called him there. That’s the last we’ve seen of him. No feathers. No chance of a predator with my big beast of a barking dog out there with him. In my heart, I understand.

I’m happy but sad at the same time. I’m tempted to go check on him but know I should not. I should let him be. He is where he belongs.

And so am I.

Some things to consider.

My Ted Talk to Self for the Season.

Growing up I wanted to change the world. Didn’t you?

The two of us did. Said we would. Different ways.

Both wanted to change the shape of the box. Or perhaps it was the contents.

You said from within. I said from without.

Inside, outside.

You told me you’d work with the system.

Me, I wanted to free those trapped inside.

Neither of us were wrong or right.

It takes both kinds. All kinds.

But have we changed it yet?

I’m still trying.

Are you?

I told you working within was Old School. The box is bigger now. Different. Everything changes. There should be no boundaries. Autonomy and liberation and expansive ideas. Silly me, you said. Maybe you are right. Maybe not.

Remember when I studied art? I’m remembering how it wasn’t until the 15^th Century that we figured out perspective. We played with it, mastered it, and moved on. Beyond perspective; beyond Realism; beyond painting only that which we can see though the art form is something we look at. From Classic to Impressionism, Abstraction to Minimalism, Modern and post Modern. Where are we now? Evolving, always evolving…

As human beings we are constantly evolving – as a society, as individuals.

Those that don’t get stuck in the mud.

Boring…

Try something new.

Look at those who have changed the world.

Those you admire most.

Are they within the box or without?

Chances are you’ll most admire those standing on the side you do.

How do we change the world?

Change ourselves.

You can.

I can.

Take charge, take responsibility.

Here’s a quick three step program to get you going.

I’ll let you know how it works – I’m on it.

Let me know how it works for you too.

Step one.

Question the box and its contents.

Take a good hard look at what’s in there.

Clarity is powerful stuff.

Don’t accept mediocrity. Is good enough good enough?

Don’t accept the truths you were given unless they feel right, down to your very core.

Don’t accept the way that was if you think there can be better. Is the way it was the way you want it to be?

Don’t demand it in others until you can do it yourself.

Step two.

Figure out where you want it to go.

And since you’re just working on yourself here, where do you want to go?

Who do you want to be? Now.

Not certain? Join the crowd.

Then be willing to step out of it.

Look around. Who do you admire most?

Be that person. Now.

Admiration – yes, even envy – is a call to action.
It’s not a green monster, but a great motivator.

What is it about that person that you want more of?

Rather than hate them for having it, figure out how to have it too.

Don’t take it from them either; that’s bad Karma.

Better yet, create it anew for you.

You can do it, be it, have it.

But you have to work for it.

Step three.

I just read an article that said no matter what you read from Freud, you really can change your personality.

So, see? You can change something within you.

And if you can do that… then…

Well, let’s just start with that.

The article said all it takes is 12 weeks.

First, figure out what you want to change.

Then, figure out how you want it to be.

Then, for twelve weeks:

Actively be it.

Fake it till you make it.

In 12 weeks, it will be yours.

Right, we have to be realistic here. In 12 weeks, I’m not going to be 20 again. (Don’t worry – I really don’t want to be 20 again!) But I could be more, say, social. (Or maybe not.) Yes, I could, but I don’t know it that’s on my list of things to change. Being socially inept isn’t that bad. There are other things I need to work on first.

Choose something that matters most. Something that will make you feel better about yourself.

And if you feel better about yourself, well, don’t you feel better about your world?

So you see… in 12 weeks, you can change the world.

Just a little bit.

It’s a start.

What are we waiting for?

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