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Sunday, October 3, 2010

Finishing Positions

Accidentally came across this on FB today... on my brother's page...... It is my Mom, in her teens doing hula. The skirt was made from soft rope sent her by her brother Milo from the Philippines while he was in the service. If I haven't mentioned it before, Mom was a professional dancer and teacher. She taught dance to hundreds of people all throughout the world all different styles of dance. My love of dance came from her love and passion for dance....

I was completely caught off guard and wasn't prepared to receive the emotional wave of "saudade" that came over me. I had never in my life seen this picture of her before...

I was struck by her youthfulness and commitment to her craft. I always knew she loved Dance, but I never understood how much she loved "to" dance..... I knew it, but I realized I never saw her actually dance, other than with Dad informally.  So, it was always Mom the dance "teacher" never the "performer". This simple and oh so elegant photo is exquisite to me.

She always talked about the "details" of dance....like how the arms, hands and fingers were supposed to be positioned. She was a great believer in "follow through" with every dance step or motion. She was all about the total finished and polished ends of dance, not just the steps in between that got you through the dance. I can't remember how many times she would talk and teach these "finishing" principles to her students...(which more often included her kids than others...)

Mom was not a great orator, speaker or communicator. Expressive, creative and enthusiastic..? Oh yes... but she struggled for the words at times off the dance floor.  The principles were the same regardless...she always taught us about doing the "basics" in life....like cleaning our rooms, dressing with clean clothes, brushing our teach, wearing good shoes, and "finishing" what we started..... she loved and respected people who "followed through".....

It is so ironic that only now, as I see this photo that I realize that what she taught in Dance class was what she taught us in life.  She wanted us to "end well" not just get through, but to do the basic things that would help us be successful later, to reach our full potential....or in other words to "finish" life's dance with the right positions. She knew that if we could get the basics down pat, then the little nuances of a finger position, a crook of the neck etc... would complete the dance and bring the full performance to perfection.... which I am sure she hoped would be mirrored in our lives.


So, what caught my eye dramatically when I saw this picture? ........It was the absolutely perfect right arm position. The elbow turned so gracefully with a completely "finished" right hand and finger position.....So beautiful and simple it gave me chills.

...She actually "KNEW" what she was talking about... she knew it because she felt it inside and made it apart of her. She never danced sloppily or lazily.....and she didn't want me living my life any differently.... To think she knew this at such a very young age was special. It took my breath away to see her arm, hand and fingers this way for the very first time in my life, only now....ironically,  so many years after she is gone.

With tears streaming down my face I find myself wanting to let her know that now I know what she meant....... about finishing, ......about doing the basic little details that will ultimately complete the dance of life she had given me. I feel that I now have to reflect on my life and see if I am finishing in a way that she would be pleased with and following through will all the "steps" she taught me...... She left a legacy of her life that far surpassed her greatest performance on stage. She was a consumate artist, but she knew in the end, what was most important were finishing life's and God's steps and movements..... She "finished" her life's dance in perfect dance position and that has made all the difference to me.....

......Mom, I never missed you more than right now.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Turning the Tables....

The other morning I was eating a bowl of cereal while reading a magazine and Alexa came up to me and suddenly grabbed the magazine and ripped it away and said defiantly:


" You can't read while you eat, if we can't watch TV while we do our Homework!!"


I was all "What??" She reminded me that I am always telling them (kids) that they can't watch TV while they do their homework and so as only 'smart-like-a-fox-Alexa can, she made the connection that I then in turn should not be able to enjoy any reading entertainment while doing the necessary chore of "eating"....... it made me think about it from a perspective that I never would have without her "intervention". In fact, the thought stayed with me all day long like an annoying subconscious nagging.......


FYI: Interestingly enough here are 2 links:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Eating-While-Reading/372709172814

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Doing-homework-while-watching-TV/258275515808

Monday, August 30, 2010

Heartspace the Ultimate Treasure Trove


As a kid, I loved reading books about pirates and their constant drive to search out buried treasure. They would go to great lengths to both bury and then later find chests of treasure of gold, silver and all manner of precious things. The fantasy of it all always captured my imagination....

I have since thought much about treasure since those early and eager days of soaking in a good pirate story on a Friday afternoon after school.... What seemed so fantastical then has become a reality to me now.
I too have buried treasure. I have collected my own silver, gold and shiny things from my own journeys to faraway lands, they just don't happen to look like coins or jewels. My chest is full of singular exquisite experiences, each of which has been captured, recorded and "buried" deep in my treasure chest called my Heart.



There are names, faces, landscapes, images that never end and smells, oh yes....even smells! Wondrous smells that fill the senses like a thick fog that rises as each memory unfolds and makes itself known once again in my mind's eye. Smells that conjure up whole experiences...each with their own particular "scent". The familiarity of smell is so strong and it has so little to do with food, but rather it becomes an anchor for each treasured memory. The pungent smell of a busy open market in Indonesia, or the earthy-clean dirt smell after a summer rainfall in a mountainous rice paddy.
The treasure chest of my heart is so deep and wide. It never seems to matter how many people I meet or experiences I pass through, there is always room to put one more for which I feel so grateful.....I call it my "Heartspace"

What I enjoy most about my journeys that delve into my heart, are the small moments that have been tucked quietly away that sometimes have lay so dormant, they seem forgotten...until a smell, a name, a face, some reminder triggers that small but significant moment to instantly appear on the movie screen of my mind and suddenly relive a wondrous memory, one that was almost just forgotten, almost out of reach.....but never gone, never fading and always willing to be selected again and again for an instant burst of energy or for a balm of gilead, to heal a current hurt, mend bent feelings or simply to put a new smile on a well worn face.

There have been times when I didn't think I could fit any more into my heart, either too hurt or too full of love to allow more in. But, the reality is that despite my best efforts my heart has its' own mind, it stores things that I wouldn't have chosen to store, but often turns out to be some of the most special treasure of all.
I write my own stories now, of traveling afar and finding treasure that I add to the miracle of my never ending, always expanding heart.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

What a Cat actually taught me


Something happened yesterday that is a first for our family. We had noticed that Blossom, our cat of 8 years wasn't around after a day and night. This is very unusual for her. She was a very curious cat, but only within a 10 foot circle.....meaning, she was very cautious and never roamed the streets or neighborhood like other cats. She was very afraid of other cats and usually did not fare well in spats. We often found ourselves "saving" her at night when others would wander into her space. We always vehemently tried to shoo the others away to protect Blossom. She was one of the more friendly and socialble felines I have known. She loved being part of the family. Often we would go on walks and she would come thinking she was part of the pack. She didn't like to be alone and was gracious with her time by taking turns with all the kids, sleeping on their beds for a portion of the night. Early on she would do more biting and scratching, but she finally grew out of that. She was naturally restless during winters, being cooped up inside and would race around the house to rid herself of nervous idle energy. The kids adored her. I was the most aloof. I didn't ever have a pet, other than birds that for the most part weren't emotionally connected to me very much.



Having grown up overseas, I was trained in my youth to pick up a rock when I saw a dog or a cat.....as they were usually living in the streets, often diseased and rabid and not looking for a nice "pupppy" moment, rather their next meal! I never developed a feeling of empathy or love for an animal in particular. Most of the time I remember being afraid of dogs and just not liking cats. I wasn't Blossom's best friend.... I didn't cuddle with her or pet her very much. My allergies didn't help engender any affection either..... I would occasionally pet her when noone was looking in order to maintain the reputation of being the "big bad Dad who didn't like her". Some of that was true, but not all..... I didn't know how much until she was gone.




So after 2 days we started to worry and put up signs. We called the pound and then we went looking. The dread feeling in the pit of the stomach began to form and Chelta and I braced ourselves for the worst. Yesterday afternnoon the kids found her not too far from home silent in the street after being hit by a car. They came back home crying with shock and were unconsolable in their grief as they told us. We hugged them fiercely and let them cry. Some caring neighbors helped us retrieve Blossom's body and we placed her in a towel and we buried her in our yard. There was a special spot under some trees. We said a prayer of thanks and wished her well on her next journey..... They kids were very cute and made some creative heastones which are now placed on her resting spot. A very fitting restspot.

What I wasn't prepared for at all was the pang of loss that I felt. It was clear to me that I was "involved" and did feel something after all. It was actually kind of encouraging for me to know that I wasn't completely devoid of all feeling even though I invested so little. Part of it was empathy for the kids, but there was definitely a hollower spot inside me.... I have come to the realization that I only have Blossom to blame for this...it is her fault that I actually did come to admire her and her ways with people. I am thankful for that "pang" of hurt, of loss.

It reminded me that although I may not like everyone in this world, I can't really completely divorce myself from all feeling or total lack of association. Even fools have their bright spots.... they even have Mom's that love them! I am not sure if I would have drawn this conclusion had she stayed... I never reflected on what a cat might be teaching me!!! Heavens..... I would never spend time on that..... but in her absence, I found myself digging down deep and feeling these nuggets of sorrow and she ended up teaching me something valuable about my relationships with others....especially those that may not be in my personal "hall of fame" but that I must love regardless..... and look for those things that are positive and enlightening, even if I have to look deep to find them. Blossom, you crafty ol cat... you have earned my respect and love after all..... touche! Happy journeys.....ate a proxima visita.

Monday, April 26, 2010

The elusive scratch to a recurring itch

I have always been that person that looks longingly down every winding bending roads like this picture.... wondering what lies just beyond sight... my imagination holds my realistic earth brain hostage and forces me to fantasize about what Lord of the Rings-esque adventure is lurking, baiting me, yes....even beckoning me.

It is difficult to squelch the desire to turn down every interesting looking lane. I have found that this also occurs on the inside of me too.....Every so often, I find a certain restlessness inside.... It usually is unprovoked and sudden. The feeling is not anxiety, but rather feeling that something "pulls" me elsewhere. It is not always a place that I can articulate, but the "pull" is strong, pervasive and persistent. It starts with a notion, then progresses into a slow steay beat of a drum. The pace doesn't quicken, but it becomes constant. It isn't an "itch" that I can "scratch" locally.... meaning, It isn't physical, so I do other things to try and find that scratch....movies, shopping, reading, but to no avaial.

It usually remains until I actually physically leave where I am and travel to a place that gives me a new perspective and reminds me of who I am. I am often confused by the idea that that "leaving" often means "finding" myself. Regardless......until I do, the beat becomes a dull ache in my soul. Recently that ache came, but I really had no place, plans or way of leaving... but then a trip appeared-- Chicago for 4 days. Wow! Did that do the trick. I walked for hours downtown, strolled along the boardwalks parallel to the inlet waterways, took pictures of tall beautiful buildings, ate at open air cafe's and watched the teeming life of people passing by. There was a sense of business and everyone was going somewhere.

I can't seem to articulate why, but I found again the return of that comfortable feeling of remembering who I was seep into my soul.....it felt familiar as if I knew the place and it's people for a long time and the place knew and accepted me back..... It is silly to think I have to go somewhere else to remember who I am because I know who I am on paper.... I am my Mother's son, my wife's husband and my children's father......right? You would think that one would know these things without any shadow of a doubt. I know that I am a child of God that I have purpose and meaning in my web of relationships. This "itch" however... is something else. I used to think that I would grow out it of when I got "bigger". At times I thought the feeling was really just a manifestation of my own selfishness, which I still am not sure it isn't. I would like to think that it isn't, but maybe I am self-deceived in saying that.

All I really know is that I feel the "pull" and when I do finally leave and immerse myself somwhere else that a balm forms and erases the ache. I come back different, at least for a while, feeling alive again and refreshed. But above all else, I have a greater sense of being connected to everything and that helps remind me of who I am, which I find incredibly meaningful. Being able to feel deeply in this way is a relief and unburdens me in a inexplicable way. There are some itches that I hope never go away.......

Monday, March 29, 2010

Saudade


Saudade... Nothing can stir my emotions more quickly than hearing this word... It is an example of what I love best about other languages. It is one of those unique words that when translation is attempted, it only gets close...but never quite gets the full essence. In basic terms it means: longing or nostalgia which are both great words by themselves that evoke emotion in all of us. However, it does not convey the depth and magnitude of what it means to the Portuguese speakers of the world....For those who come to speak "Saudade" from their own experience, they enter a world that has been described by many poets and musicians as "suffering of the heart". I learned about this early in my life before I ever knew the word. Although Brazil and Portugal call it their own, many identify with it. Third Culture Kids in particular understand the true meaning and anyone that has spent time away from their home abroad that has immersed themselves into the fabric of other cultures....Casual "tourists" do not qualify. This is about climbing into the eyes of a people and then searching until the soul deep within is discovered. For me, Saudade has always been closely associated with "Doce Amargo" which means "Bittersweet". The reason Saudade has found such a comfortable place in my heart is because I spent my childhood making and then leaving new friends, places, cultures, sounds and smells. I never lived those moments casually, on the contrary, I gave my heart and soul to each place and left of bit of myself in each place just as each place in turn left a permanent bit on me. I lived much of my youth "longing" for those memories with a lump in my throat, my heart "hurting good" always feeling a profound sense of gratitude that I could feel and hurt that much for people and culture that was not my own.
Khalil Gibran captured much of this feeling for me in his poem "The Prophet"

Joy and Sorrow

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater thar sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.



I recently came across the words of Pablo Neruda, a famous Chilean poet who wrote this incredible passage which caught the essence of Saudade....



Saudade é solidão acompanhada,
é quando o amor ainda não foi embora,
mas o amado já...

Saudade é amar um passado que ainda não passou,
é recusar um presente que nos machuca,
é não ver o futuro que nos convida...

Saudade é sentir que existe o que não existe mais...

Saudade é o inferno dos que perderam,
é a dor dos que ficaram para trás,
é o gosto de morte na boca dos que continuam...

Só uma pessoa no mundo deseja sentir saudade:
aquela que nunca amou.

E esse é o maior dos sofrimentos:
não ter por quem sentir saudades,
passar pela vida e não viver.

O maior dos sofrimentos é nunca ter sofrido...
At the core of Saudade is love but only if it is just .... "out of reach".  For the Portuguese, the suffering for them was knowing their best years were centuries ago, when famous seamen roamed the world discovering new worlds....

It is very telling that saudade came from such a maritime culture as the Golden Age Portuguese. Imagine the wives and children of sailors, leaving them for long, mysterious periods of time at sea. Sailors’ families were perhaps the first to feel real saudade, not knowing if their loved one would ever return, but also being proud of their spirit and accomplishments.
What buffers my feelings of saudade during my earthly life is the knowledge that I have that loved ones, regardless of distance or geography will be met again in the next life and I shall feel again the warmth of their embrace, the hole in my heart will be filled with their celebration. I will speak their language and they will understand the soul of me, not just my words. This is what I truly long for... what I have true Saudade for, with the exception that it is now no longer just out of reach, but rather....... just within. Maybe there is another untranslateable word that Heaven uses which is Saudade fulfilled.... something that fills all the gaps that have been beyond our capability here. Could it be that word is Grace? A small still voice whispers to me that it is....... the word that reconciles Joy and Sorrow, that fills the void Saudade creates. Thank God for One special heart that suffered above all others, that our hearts longing could find Eternal rest.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Unplanned Lane Changes....


I asked a group of people today during a training session… “what happens when you have alignment problems with your car?” After the usual suspect responses surfaced, this one floated above the others…”You get unplanned lane changes” I laughed out loud while thinking "What an excellent response". My mind wouldn't let the metaphor leave all day long … There was something more there, I just needed to sift through it a bit to find out what it was….. It has something to do with “Change” Sometimes we intentionally cause change in our lives….. other times change seems to happen “to” us. It is the latter that I think applies here. Those unforeseen, gotcha’s…
One simple lane change can mean a world of difference. Robert Frost coined the phrase "The Road Not Taken" in his unforgettable poem...whether by choice or not, one can get a different view, a different perspective, a different experience as a result of a lane change. I think that is the trick…. Not wondering how you got there or always why…but rather focusing forward, in on the new view… what do I see and what can I learn? Often it is the attitude with which we frame our "lane" and that is what I think the poet meant when he said "I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference..."

Fingerprints in My Life


I have been reflecting on “fingerprints” and their meaning in my life.
There are mine on others, and theirs on me. The cool thing about fingerprints is that although invisible to the naked eye, each print is unique and is linked to a specific individual and memory. The idea that there are thousands of individual prints on me that all have a name and face warms my heart. They say that we are never really alone…. I believe it. Although I could find myself alone in the mountains or on a beach I am not alone.
They say that God is always with us…. Could it be that He is with us by virtue of these many fingerprints ? Each has a face, a name and a distinct impression left by loving heart and hands that have branded our beings with memories. It is ironic in a way that we spend a good portion of our lives removing unwanted fingerprints—we clean the fridge, countertops and windows…. As for those on me..... I hope they never leave!
There is something about their quiet persistence on my life that I cherish. Although memories can fade, the influence doesn’t…the mark has been made, the invisible imprint bonded forever....