Monday, March 23, 2009


I love that word, and I use it whenever I stumble across an appropriate insertion point in writing. Clarity. It just rolls off the tongue.

I think I'm intrigued by it simply because, it has a (self induced) tendency to elude me--at times. I'm pretty damn talented when it comes to appreciating the beauty and benefit of even the dimmest of circumstances, so accepting something even though it's clouded has become a common practice in my life.

I have another tendency (okay, I have way too many). I play the mental music of responsibility to others over self. You know how the song goes (feel free to sing along): This isn't best for me, but it sure makes me happy making (insert others here) happy so it must be the right thing to do (cha, cha, cha). Then I sit and wonder; why do I feel crappy?

Don't confuse this with true selflessness. I commonly offer up huge helpings of selfless giving, and do so with an intensely joyful heart. Those moments never feel crappy. They feed me, nourish me, and do provide true clarity. The reward of selfless love is crystal clear.

It's the habit 'friend' we're talking about here; the habit of putting self second. I came across a passage in the book I'm reading (obsessing over), "Let Your Life Speak, Listening for the Voice of Vocation" by Parker J. Palmer.

Take a gander at this:

..."self-care is never a selfish act--it is simply good stewardship of the only give I have, the gift I was put on earth to offer to others. Anytime we can listen to true self and give it the care it requires, we do so not only for ourselves but for the many others whose lives we touch."

He quotes the poet Rumi: "'If you are here unfaithfully with us, you're causing terrible damage.'"

Then continues: "If we are unfaithful to true self, we will extract a price from others. We will make promises we cannot keep, build houses from flimsy stuff, conjure dreams that devolve into nightmares, and other people will suffer--if we are unfaithful to true self."

The consequences of ignoring our true selves, the voice deep inside that guides and directs us, are far reaching. Our actions have a way of coming around full circle, whether they are honest and done for the right reason, or dishonest and done out of fear. We may be 'helping' in the short term, but future suffering is sure to follow.

The point?

Don't follow the herd. Don't stick with it because it's the easiest way. Don't move forward knowing you shouldn't--only because you are afraid.

Listen to yourself. Act on those true feelings.

Sunday, March 22, 2009


Yeah, yeah. I haven't been "writing." It appears my cut & paste antics are pissing a few of you off. Guess my personality is somehow missing when I merely share, and don't partake in the creation. Funny how that works...

Well, my smart-alec little mouth has been a tad on the dry side. Not to mention, I've been in the abysmal pit of sponging up information from multi-paged, fat little squares I refer to as books. Okay, most of them are rectangles, let's not get annoyingly technical. And, I tend to only write when the urge nudges me (can you imagine? A nudging urge? I'd like to see that...) rather than labeling it a time wasting (or absorbing, since we're talking about sponging) activity.

I'm learning a lot these days. I'm figuring out that post-nudge writing is more therapeutic than I remember it being. I'm also busy cultivating my strengths and lavishing extra attention on my towering goals.

There. I shared today. Happy?

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Something New.

From Parker J. Palmer's "Let Your Life Speak, Listening for the Voice of Vocation."

A HUGE thank you to Rhett Smith for the recommendation.

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.

I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
--William Stafford, "ASK ME"

This is beautiful, and incredibly piercing.