—from The Music Lesson: A Spiritual Search for Growth through Music by Victor L. Wooten

If you look back over your life, you will realize that everything you accomplished you learned because you never changed your mind about it. As a child, before “thinking” got in the way and started to tell you things like “You’ll never do that,” you took a few weeks to learn how to walk. Later, you took some months to learn how to talk. How long did it take you to learn how to drive? What other things did you learn? How to wash the dishes? How to play euchre? All those things you learned how to do because you never changed your mind about them.

Now, what things did you change your mind about? Is there a dusty guitar in your corner, like there is in mine? Did you try kickboxing and decide it wasn’t for you? Did you drop out of university part way through?

Do you regret any of the “changing your mind” decisions? Do your flabby abs make you wish you had stuck with your fitness club? Does a challenging job search make you wish you had stayed in school?

The Music Lesson reminds me to consider carefully the choices I make about which projects to pursue and which practices to let go. I celebrate the successes, and I forgive myself the dusty guitar.

How about you?

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Please read The Music Lesson. It’s a “change your life” kind of book. I wrote a review of it here. http://wp.me/p2paMh-k

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“Hasten slowly and you will soon reach your destination.”   —Milarepa

I came upon that quote in Finding Water: The Art of Perseverance by Julia Cameron. When we busy ourselves doing something that we really believe in but rewards are slow coming, it is easy to get discouraged. Whether it is raising money for a good cause, writing a book, or facing another day with a troublesome co-worker,  sometimes we just need a little push to carry on.

But, how can we hasten . .  . slowly? Isn’t that an oxymoron?

And yet, it seems we do. When I think about it, every valuable part of my life has come to me out of hastening slowly.

• A university degree: scribbling notes and typing assignments during caffeine-driven all-nighters—for four years
• A thriving marriage: career juggling, whirlwind vacations, chasing around after toddlers, paying down the mortgage—for 22 years
• Children: pacing the floor during sleepless nights, car pooling to hockey games, gritting teeth at parent-teacher interviews, wanting everything to be perfect for them—for, well, forever
• Published writing: handwriting first drafts, transcribing messy second drafts, editing, reading aloud, pacing, getting up in the middle of the night to change a word—for days, weeks, years

No matter what the destination, to get there, we need to hasten, and then wait.

To create the perfect garden, we hasten to plant the seeds, remove the weeds, water the seedlings, and slowly a beautiful garden appears. To learn to play “Moonlight Sonata,” we hasten to the piano bench and play, practise, play, and slowly the music smooths out to a beautiful melody. When we learn to speak a language, we hasten to recite the verbs, converse with friends, practise the accent, and slowly we come to think, live, dream in the language.

And if we stop typing, juggling, paying, pacing, gritting, planting, weeding, watering, playing, practising, reciting, conversing—if we stop hastening—then we never reach the destination.

Whatever your destination, hasten to it, and slowly you will arrive.

Those words came with my Mother’s Day present from my daughter: a Buddha Board.

Based on the age-old Zen “Be Here Now” or “Power of Now” principle, the board’s surface holds the water you paint on it, for a short time, and then it dissipates. The user lives in the present, values it, and then lets it go.

I love that it allows me to be creative. I love that if I make a mistake, I watch it disappear into the ether. I love that when I paint something beautiful, I cherish it even more while it’s there, because I know it won’t last.

I put it on my family room end table beside Ganesh. (We are an ecumenical household.) Perhaps using it, or just the sight of it, will help me to live each moment to the fullest.

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Visit the Buddha Board site at http://www.buddhaboard.com/

Don’t skip the intro. It’s beautiful, and the background sound soothes. I had the site open while writing this post, and the audio makes me want to leave it open all day . . .

Filed under: Art, good faith, Gratitude, Inspiration, Living life to the fullest, modern faith, progressive christianity, religion Tagged: Be here now, Buddha, Buddhism, Mother's Day, Power of Now, religion, Religion and Spirituality, spirituality, Zen ]]> http://scienceandstory.wordpress.com/2013/05/17/buddha-board-live-each-moment-to-the-fullest/feed/ 0 scienceandstory buddha-board moving-finger http://scienceandstory.wordpress.com/2013/05/14/what-goes-around-comes-around-or-let-the-child-pee-for-goodness-sake/ http://scienceandstory.wordpress.com/2013/05/14/what-goes-around-comes-around-or-let-the-child-pee-for-goodness-sake/#comments Tue, 14 May 2013 10:52:44 +0000 Arlene Somerton Smith http://scienceandstory.wordpress.com/?p=3971 ]]> Anyone who has experience with children knows that when a 3-year-old announces the need to pee, it is almost always:

(a) far away from a bathroom, and
(b) several minutes past the point of urgent.

When my son was 3 years old, we went for a walk near our cottage. My son possessed the unpredictable bladder of a typical young boy, and that day his announcement of the need to pee met both of the above criteria. He clutched himself and did the “I gotta pee” dance while my husband and I looked around. No Go-Huts in sight. No cottages of people we knew. Our cottage was too far away—he’d never make it. But there was a lovely stand of trees.

Except.

Before my son could accomplish his much-needed task, the owner of said stand of trees charged out of her house and berated us. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded to know. “Get out of here.”

Okay, I could understand if a grown man or a group of drunken carousers had intruded on her space, but my obviously desperate, and by then crying, 3-year-old? It seemed cruel to deprive my son of what is, really, the most natural act in the world. Did we all not start out peeing in the woods, for goodness sake?

I’m usually forgiving and compassionate. Not this time. I held a pretty good grudge. If you do something to hurt me, I forget it pretty quickly, but if you do something to hurt my kids, forgiveness is going to be a long time coming.

Flash forward several years. I walked along the same stretch of road with my dog. (Can you see where this is going?) At the same copse of trees, my dog began to circle in her “poop walk.” (I could not possibly have planned it.) She plunked a wonderful little steamer right in the spot where the witch on her broom had said my son couldn’t relieve his discomfort.

I was always über-conscientious about pooping and scooping. Not that day. I left that delicious little pile there and bounced away smiling.

Vengeance, oh, sweet smelly vengeance, was mine.

If this woman had not adopted such a rude, dismissive manner all those years earlier, I would not have let the unhappy present on her grove of trees. I wonder. If she had known on that first day that she was making a choice between the pee of a 3-year-old or the poop my Miniature Schnauzer/Shih Tzu, which would she have chosen?

What goes around comes around, and her nastiness came back to visit her.

Now, I’m just left to wonder. What I did was petty, small-minded and vengeful. When will that come full circle back to me?

Photo courtesy of Trinity United Church

In response to an earlier post about perseverance, a friend of mine shared a story from her childhood.

One of her English teachers corrected mistakes on submitted homework in an unorthodox way. She punched a hole in the paper when she found a spelling or grammar error. Before returning work to her students, she held each paper up in the air in front of the class. Everyone could see by the amount of light shining through holes on the page how well, or poorly, each student had performed. No holes—good work. Holey homework—ouch.

My friend said, “I learned to spell really well.” She wanted to avoid public humiliation.

We were all horrified when she told us this story, and I don’t recommend it as a teaching method, but it made me ponder. Imagine if we could plot our lives on paper, and imagine if we punched a hole in all the places we made choices we regret. Imagine if someone held the paper up for all to see.

How holey would your life be? And how motivated would you be to make better choices?

In the end, it might not be such a bad thing to be able to say:
“I learned to live really well.”

I like what the Salt Project has to say about religious respect. After the hockey events of the past week here in Canada’s capital, I thought that the same principles could apply to our sports religions.

I wrote earlier about the stewpot of hockey rivalry in our area. That was my way of trying to come to peace with residents of my town who support opposing teams. Playoff action creates even more tension. Above all else, people, we need to get along and respect each other. I invite you to adopt the Salt Project’s suggestions:

1. Educate yourself: Find out the history of your own organization and others. If you disagree with an action of someone on an opposing sports team, chances are your research will expose a similar transgression by someone on the team you support.

2. Be amazed or even converted into a better version of yourself: Allow room for awe, no matter the source, or the team. Try appreciating quality plays by either team. I think you will find you feel calmer and happier.

3. Be patient – Don’t form opinions too soon: Let time, or replays, mellow those knee-jerk reactions.

4. Build relationships: Nothing  breaks down barriers like getting to know someone who holds an opposing viewpoint and discovering that they really aren’t so bad. Get to know someone who supports another team and look for something to admire.

5. Keep your sense of humour handy: This is good advice every day, but especially when it comes to sports. Sports are supposed to be fun, for the players and the fans. If animosity ruins the fun, there’s something wrong.

6. Ask questions – Listen: This is part two of Educate Yourself. As you build relationships with other people, suss out the roots of their dedication to their team. Ask them about their past experiences as a fan. Find out what fires their passion. Listen without injecting your own opinions into the mix.

7. Say “I don’t understand – yet”: If you feel strongly about your team, you likely won’t change your allegiances after a few conversations. That’s OK. Some day you might. Leave room for that possibility.

8. Experience how others worship: Step into the milieu of the fans of the opposition. Try on one of their jerseys. Maybe a little of the mojo will seep into you.

9. Honour Convictions – Don’t try to remake people into your own image: The people with whom you build relationships aren’t likely to change your mind after a few conversations, right? You’re not going to change theirs either. Honour their convictions and accept.

10. Eat together, play together, and hold each other’s babies: A game of pick-up road hockey followed by a pizza feast, perhaps? Let your kids play together. Build relationships through food and fun.

11. Embrace mystery: Anything can happen in sports. Open yourself to the mysterious possibilities and embrace whatever comes.

12. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you: Ah, the Golden Rule. Always good to keep in mind.

Above all else, we need to get along and respect each other.

Some kids helped to give me a new perspective on these determined plants.

One morning last year I took my Sunday school class outside for a “Wonder Walk.” As we explored our grassy areas and the NCC property nearby, I encouraged the children to consider the two sides of wonder. I asked them to celebrate the things in the world that they thought were wonder-full, and I encouraged them to wonder about things they didn’t know.

The children found wonder in some big, easily noticeable things like motorcycles, our Ottawa city bike paths, and trees. But their search for wonder also prompted them to stop and examine their surroundings closely. They celebrated many things that would normally have passed unnoticed, like a bee in the wildflower garden and a snail still in the shell. We peeled open a milkweed pod and touch the silky white seeds. We invited the monarch butterflies to find the milkweed cluster.

The children also wondered about many things we take for granted. The hydro tower, for example. How exactly does hydro work? I celebrate the light that comes on in my house when I flick a switch, but I can only describe in broad terms how the power gets there. Water is involved, I know that much.

Dandelions peppered the grass beneath our feet that day. We bent close and marvelled at the intricate yellow flowers. We respected the dandelions ability to persist. We appreciated dandelions as food.

Yes, the kids and I agreed, dandelions are wonder-full.

They don’t bother me, and I dig them out of my lawn out of respect for my neighbours, who don’t enjoy them quite as much. But my new perspective makes the job a little easier. Each one I dig up gets a little nod of respect, because I know I’ll never win the battle. No matter how thorough I might be, there will always be one dandelion more.

And that is pretty darned wonder-full.

I live in a stewpot of ice hockey rivalry

Our home team, Ottawa Senators, begins playoff action on Thursday. Also in the playoffs this year: the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Montreal Canadiens.

Here’s the issue: the Ottawa Senators, the best hockey team ever, hasn’t been around for long. (Sorry, did I reveal my bias?) They played their first game of their modern era in 1992. Before that, residents of this area cheered for either the Leafs of the Canadiens. When the Sens came along, some fans chose not to evolve. (Sorry, there’s my bias again.) They clung to their Leafs/Canadiens allegiances instead of cheering for the team that gives an unquestioned economic boost to our area.

Now, the big problem is this: at Ottawa home games against either the Leafs or the Canadiens, support for the opposition often means that goals against Ottawa get louder cheers than those for the home team.

There is no scale to measure how irritating that is to me.

Some of those fans travel from out of town to the games, which is just fine; they are cheering for their home team. It’s the people who live in Ottawa but cheer for other teams that perplex me. Because I find it so irritating, I’ve studied the phenomenon: Why do people cheer for a team other than the hometown team? I really want to know.

I have found it’s often a father thing. “My father cheered for the Leafs, so I cheer for the Leafs.” Or, “My dad and I used to go to games at the Forum. I have great memories of those times.”

I’m here to tell you that it is possible to honour those fond memories and support the home team. It can be done. I would argue it should be done.

My husband’s father was born in Cabbagetown. He watched Maple Leaf Gardens being built. As a teenager, he hung around outside the Gardens waiting to catch a glimpse of the players. Sometimes they handed him a stick. When he got older and finally could afford it, he had season tickets. You don’t get much Leaf-ier than that.

My husband was born in Toronto and lived there until he was 10 years old. He remembers his parents heading out to see the Leafs play. He cherishes those memories—and he cheers for the Sens. One of the many things I love about him.

The best thing economically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually for my hometown is Ottawa Senators success. No matter what my parental influences, why would I wish for anything else?

Come to think of it, my father was a Leafs fan, but when the Ottawa Senators came along, he cheered with his whole heart for them. I guess it really is a father thing.

I value volunteering so much, I made it part of my personal “slogan”: Laughing thinker, miner of inspirational insights, storyteller, and community volunteer.

Why? Because selfless giving slingshots a person smack dab into the centre of happiness. Go directly to happiness. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

Paradoxically, I give selflessly for selfish reasons. I want to be happy, therefore I give.

Not everyone gets the connection. Last year I chatted to an acquaintance about my work as treasurer of the Canadian Authors Association in the National Capital Region. “You volunteer?” she said, as though I had coughed up a lung and handed it to the organization.

“Yes,” I said, perplexed by her vehement reaction. “That’s only one thing I do. I volunteer a lot of my time. It’s very satisfying.”

At that moment, another friend passed by. She turned and said to him, “Did you know that Arlene volunteers.” There went my other lung.

He reacted like I thought he should: confused about why she should be so surprised. “O-o-o-k-a-a-y. That’s . . . good.”

I walked away shaking my head.

She doesn’t know what she’s missing. (And she’s often grumpy, I might add. Selfless giving would do her some good.)

In our household, over the years, we have volunteered at: play groups, day care centres, Boy Scouts, Girl Guides, hockey leagues, Little League baseball, the tennis club, community resource centres, L’Arche, SchoolBOX, Habitat for Humanity, the Jerry Lewis telethon, schools (elementary, middle and high), church, the Canadian Authors Association, Ski Patrol, World Vision . . . oh, I know I’m missing some. Last fall, my husband received the Queen’s Jubilee Medal in recognition of his career achievements and his commitment to amateur sport. Our household would fit into the category of what the Canada Survey of Giving, Volunteering and Participating (CSGVP) calls “über volunteers”.

We are a very happy household.

My friend volunteers for the Canadian Red Cross. He helped out after Hurricane Katrina. He went to Haiti for a month after the earthquake. He spent several weeks on the Jersey shore after last year’s hurricane. His mantra: “I get back so much more than I give.”

Amen to that.

Photo courtesy of RozSheffield from Flickr

Have you ever had an unusual and timely answer to a plea or question?

I spent the weekend at a Healing Pathway workshop. During one session, I had to ponder an intention. It didn’t take me long for mine to bubble up.

I needed a push to persevere.

Being a writer isn’t easy. Every day I receive feedback from someone about something I’ve done wrong. It could be as simple as a misplaced comma, or as a grand as a challenge to my central theme, but no matter how large or how small, every negative comment dents my armour. Most days I’m strong. I accept it as part of the job and use it to better my work. But every once in a while, all those dents blast a hole. When feedback tells me, over and over again, I have failed in some way, or my writing is off target, or “not what we’re looking for,” or just plain “not good enough,” I wonder why I do it.

In my daily life I get paid to write in a corporate environment. I’m not passionate about the subject for which I get well paid. I am passionate about my creative writing, though. My short stories and my blog stir my blood—and garner very little financial compensation for me. Lately, that frustrates me. I’m supposed to follow my bliss, right? All the self-help gurus say when you’re doing what you’re supposed to do, money flows to you. So why the disconnect in my case? What gives?

What. Is. Up. With. That?

I carried my frustration and discouragement into the weekend. Why bother with all this creative writing? Life would be so much easier without it, really. So, I said to the universe, (or God, or whatever you choose to call that mystery we’re all trying to figure out): “What do you have to say to me about perseverance?”

At the end of the day, I climbed into my car, turned the key and the song “Carry On” by Fun. blasted out of my radio.

Let it never be said that the universe doesn’t have a sense of humour.

My favourite line from the song: “May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground.” What a profound, inspirational blessing. The line fires me up and rekindles my spirit. In ten years, or 20 years, no matter what happens, I hope to look over my shoulder at the past and listen for the sound of my feet upon the ground, step by step, going somewhere, taking action, doing something, trying. Persevering.