Posts Tagged ‘wisdom’
Courage: the Power of Anyway
Posted on: May 29, 2009
Feel the fear and do it anyway
Courage is the ability to feel afraid and do it anyway. But Courage helps us transcend more than just fear. It helps us acknowledge excuses and limiting beliefs of all kinds – laziness, tiredness, doubt, self-pity, blame, confusion – and keep moving anyway.
Courage is not about denying our limiting beliefs or emotions. It’s not about repressing our fears or pretending they don’t exist. Quite the opposite. The best way to handle fear is to acknowledge it. Look it squarely in the face, extend your hand, and say, “Hello, my old friend Fear. I see you’re there, and I’ll take care of you.” Fear is like a crying child: it doesn’t help to pretend it’s not there. You must go to her, comfort her, let her know you’re there and everything will be ok.
It’s the same with any of the thoughts or feelings that keep us stuck. When you feel self-doubt (“Oh, who am I to do this? I’m not good enough…”), just go to it like it was a crying child. Say, “Self-doubt, I see you. I know you’re there, and I know you’re in pain. It will be ok: I’m here with you now.”
Then, do it anyway. That’s the power of Courage.
Imagine the Courage streaming into you like sunlight into the tiny leaves of the first crocus of spring. Feel the Courage warming the crocus within you, encouraging it to brave the cold, the snow, the perils of blooming. The crocus knows it’s facing an uncertain and potentially hazardous period when it first pokes its head up through the earth. But it feels the sunlight of Courage, and sprouts anyway.
You can do it, too. You can sprout anyway. You can look at your doubts, fears, confusion – smile at them like old friends – and do what you’re being called to do, anyway.
Choose to Be Courageous!
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The gift of happiness . . . will you see it when it's offered?
All I wanted was a little peace and quiet. A moment alone. I longed for the kind of happiness that a little self-imposed solitude might bring. And I had it all set up just as I had envisioned it: A cup of tea in my hands. A novel (enthusiastically recommended by a friend) sitting temptingly on the coffee table just beside me. The pillows on the couch supporting my back just so. And music cued up on the stereo. Something soft and dreamy with a sweet vocal accompaniment that sung of hope and light.
I settled myself in. Just right. It was just as I had imagined a happy moment might be. I was totally prepared to be happy. It was just one deep exhale away.
And then. BANG! The front door slammed open, sprang back from its own force and slammed shut twice as loudly. “MOM!” four small voices exclaimed at once. Immediately my brows knit together and my shoulders flew up towards my ears. “Mom, look what we found!” Our children came tearing into the living room – a laughing, foot stamping, mud trampling crew, eyes ablaze with some new discovery.
I held up my hand at arm’s length, palm out, like a vigilant crossing guard. I frowned. The happy moment I had long envisioned was crumbling like so many dried mud clods. “Your shoes,” I admonished them, “Look at your shoes.” They looked down at their feet, shrugged, kicked off their shoes, and quickly moved toward me once again, smiling hopefully. I shook my head and rubbed the two lines that were forming between my brows. I strained to hear the lovely music playing on the stereo, but could barely detect it over the sound of my temples throbbing. “Please put your shoes by the door before you take another step. Do you know how long it took me to clean this room up?” They looked at one another, picked up their shoes and lumbered back toward the door. But instead of placing their shoes down and tiptoeing back to me (as proper respect would demand), they sadly put their shoes back on and began to walk back out the door.
Now I was at the edge of fury. Not only had my peace and happiness been utterly destroyed by this interruption, now they were going to walk out without even telling me what they had come in to tell me in the first place. Could this get worse? “What?!” I asked, “What is it that is so important that you can’t even take the time to put your shoes by the door? And is it that much to ask for a moment of peace?”
“Never mind,” said the youngest as he gingerly shut the door beside him.
I took a deep breath, trying to restore my calm. But the moment had passed. My nerves were frayed and the moment of calm, peaceful happiness I had envisioned had passed. Oh, well – I thought dejectedly – I might as well get some reading in. And as I reached for the novel on the coffee table, I saw it. The first flower of spring. A daffodil. A bright yellow flower, as hopeful as a child’s smile, sitting on the coffee table next to some fresh muddy fingerprints.
Happiness had come careening into my life like a wild and fresh spring rainstorm and I had shooed it away because of some stale, airless notion of happiness that I thought would shelter me from that very life-giving force.
How often does this happen to us? Our idea of happiness blinds us to the real happiness that is holding out a flower to us?
We must take great care in our lives, that in pursuing the elusive butterfly of happiness, we do not trample the garden of happiness that is right under our feet.
Your Teacher is Always With You
Posted on: April 29, 2009
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James writes:
Your Teacher is Always With You
Somewhere around the 5th grade, I became aware of bullies. Or, rather, they became aware of me as a delightfully easy target for their aggressive self-expression.
My parents stepped in to help me out by signing me up for kung fu lessons. Somehow my mom found a Babson College student named Mark Yee who was working his way through business school by teaching scrawny adolescents how to fight. He started coming to our house weekly for lessons.
We started with the usual techniques for punching and kicking. But he must have seen, at that early age, that I was more interested in the mystical side of the practice. He taught me how to meditate, and guided me through some experiences which were, in retrospect, quite advanced. We left our bodies and glided around the room like ghosts. We closed our eyes and practiced defending against punches using just our 6th sense. We felt the subtle movements of the qi energy ebbing and flowing in response to our motions.
At the time, I had no idea that he was training me in intermediate Jedi powers. I just thought this was normal. When a bully comes up to you demanding your lunch money, you wave your hands, Obi Wan Kenobi-style, and say, “This is not the lunch money you want,” and they back off slowly. I never got quite to that point, but we did work on moving with zero effort, diving through colors, and smiling while fighting. All this in my parents’ driveway, back yard, and living room.
I have no way of finding Mark Yee. He has slipped away – dissolved into the sea of humanity like so much salt in the broth. This man played a pivotal role in my adolescent spiritual development, and I have no way of getting in touch with him. How many Mark Yee’s are there in the phone book? Even the Internet can’t help reunite us.
I have no way of finding Mark Yee, yet he is not lost. He might be anywhere on the planet – it has been 30 years since we last bowed good bye to each other – and yet he is as close to me as breathing.
Because I carry Mark Yee around with me. I have no choice. He’s a part of me now. Were it not for Mark, I would not be the person I am right now. If he didn’t exist, then I wouldn’t exist in the way I do now. We are not entirely separate, because without Mark being Mark, James would not be James.
My left pinky is part of me, because I would not be the same if not for my left pinky. In the same way, Mark is part of me, because I would not be the same if not for him and his teachings.
Who have been your most important teachers? Maybe they are people you knew personally, like Mark Yee, or maybe they are the enlightened masters of the wisdom literature.
Take a moment and feel how they are with you right now. You carry them with you everywhere you go. They can always teach you, inspire you, and support you.
Your teacher is part of you. Your teacher is always with you.
Blessings!
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