More like the duped and the manipulated, and perhaps the innocent and the naive.
Yes, my heart goes out to all men and women that were (or are) forced to do the most unnatural thing (and go fight and kill each other, and be killed, or at best serve that machine’s casualties), losing their lives, one way or another. Perhaps they didn’t “have their life” in the first place. They were forced by propaganda, social pressure and ideologies, “national pride”, or simply a desire for an adventure away from home, not knowing what they were getting themselves into.
Remembering war perpetuates it.
Humanity is not made for war and the sooner we forget about it, the sooner it will stop.
Whatever we give our energy to, duplicates. It’s a law of nature. Haven’t you noticed?
And please don’t say they “fought for our freedom”, or even mine. They did not! They didn’t even know what real freedom is. Why are we perpetuating that romantic myth?
They fought for the sake of empire building and differentiation. Perhaps we’re perpetuating this myth of necessary warmongering (some call it defense) because we haven’t tasted real freedom.
If your answer is no, you will find it hard to try new things and maintain an open mind about your forever changing self.
Your body pretty much unfurled and formed by itself as you grew from a baby into a toddler into a teenager and beyond. At the same time, your sense-of-self needed experience, knowledge and memory as building blocks.
Driven by your innate curiosity, you initially played with all colours, shapes and sizes. But you soon intuited your significant elders interpretations of your exploration, showering you with love and affection when you met the criteria of the tribe, and withdrawing from you with frowned looks and cold energy if you didn’t.
You’re a boy.
Pink socks? No!
Blue socks? Yes!
Disapproval rattles the part of you that wants to belong (it’s the lizard brain, stupid!). Approval unsettles the part of you that wants to feel full of life through adventure, risk, innovation and excitement.
The rules of the tribe become firmly embedded and your mind takes over the tribal arbitration as by osmosis. ‘I like this’, ‘I don’t like that’, ‘I am like this, not like that’. ‘I’ve never been able to eat peanut butter’, ‘I’ve always loved dogs’. ‘I’m shy’, ‘I like to be the centre of attention’, ‘I…’ You can’t try new things because you’re already fully formed. Set in concrete. Or so you think — and even feel.
Now try and change that.
Circumvent the internalised arbiter and the fearful people pleaser and you’re away. Short-circuit that fearful reptile part of the brain through the smallest acts of exploration, defiance, humour and creativity. Suspend the call for efficiency, be happy to bust your own myth of who you think you are. Don’t go it alone, but find or create a tribe that supports and encourages it.
Cliché or not, all boundary-pushing, eternally curious, interesting, eccentric, innovative travelers, cooks, thieves, inventors, entrepreneurs, knitters, entertainers, scientists, artists, lovers, happy sages and other brave humans have one thing in common: they feel uncomfortable but try it anyway.
Mindfulness practice is thousands of years old. Some even argue it is a natural skill much like walking. It’s just that society hasn’t valued it so we weren’t taught as kids. This has caused our mindfulness-muscle to go flabby and be forgotten.
Both those premises are currently changing.
You can’t turn around or there’s another article about mindfulness, a course or a retreat, and many schools are introducing forms of mindfulness into their curriculum.
If you wonder why it has suddenly become insanely popular (to the point of risking a place in the top-10 of irritating fads) here are seven reasons for its revival and prevalence:
Once you master the basics, you never need another course again – just keep practicing on a not too irregular basis;
It’s a cheap and simple modality that everyone can master and no one can do wrong;
Over the past decades, it has been freed from religious and airy-fairy connotations by people like Jon Kabat-Zinn, Eric Harrison and lately in New Zealand, Karl Baker, and returned to the realms of effective body/mind human hygiene. Think of it like this: what brushing does for your teeth, mindfulness does for your mind;
It has been cleverly re-branded from not so catchy (attention training) to pretty juicy (mindfulness/meditation);
It doesn’t require you to change anything and you don’t need to buy anything (although you may want to spend some money on initial training and guidance to get you going);
We live increasingly hectic lives in an overwhelming, fast changing world, so we can all do with something that brings us back to our natural state we all, to one degree or another, have a hunch about and a hunger for.
You probably know about the main benefits. Regular mindfulness practice improves sleep, is an antidote against anxiety and depression, lowers your heart-rate and blood pressure and improves the immune system.
But you don’t have to be stressed, desperate or on anti-depressants to reach for this fascinating, mind-altering modality.
Even in a life that feels quite balanced, the advantages of using mindfulness meditations are bountiful: improved focus and clarity, increased creativity and more easy going in relationships with your self and therefore others, to name a few.
And maybe the best thing of all: it is devoid of the subtle pressures of self-improvement, behaviour changes and self-help techniques. Because it is about being aware, not about fixing anything about yourself or a situation.
For sure, things may improve for you and you may find the space to make different choices in your work, relationships and so on. But that is not the primary aim. The primary aim is to observe, notice and allow things to be as they currently are. All the benefits and outcomes will naturally follow.
In the first instance, it is about being relaxed in the present moment. Because the minute we start looking for results, our nervous system tenses up and all benefits fly out the window.
The effects of this “Sitting Still and Shutting up for 12 minutes a day Practice” will surprise you. Give it the benefit of the doubt and find out how to do this. Try you must, because it is an experiential practice, like cycling, swimming, sexing, eating: you can read about it until you’re blue in the face, but you will still not know if it’s fad or fab. You need to do it. Give it at least 6 days a week for 12 minutes a day during a month. Then, if you it doesn’t suit you, you can always abandon it. At least you will have given it a try.
If you’ve tried it already, leave a comment on this blog below and share your experience. It would be great to hear from you!
Paraparaumu Beach Market, Saturday 14 October 2017
I watch the patrons strolling up and down the Paraparaumu Beach Market on a chilly spring Saturday morning. Tourists, locals, visitors from nearby towns, with or without dogs, partners, children; throngs of people moving past my stall, toward my stall, away from my stall. Most of them are after vegetables, seedlings and food. Maybe also a take-away coffee but definitely lots of “hi-how-are-yous” and chats. I want to yell out to them: “I have the perfect necklace for you!” What’s holding me back is that New Zealand stallholders don’t seem to operate that way. It’s more the way of Dutch herring sellers at markets such as the Albert Cuyp.
Paraparaumu Beach Market patrons are appreciative enough of the arts and crafts available, but alas, while these are much and often vocally admired, they are not as frequently purchased as I would like. There’s a few of us selling “wants” rather than “needs”, luxuries superfluous to basic daily needs, but oh so yummy to possess and flaunt.
I spy on them. I stalk them – ever so discretely – with my eyes. Some of them are distracted by a string of grandchildren in their wake, others have difficulty pushing their walker over the gnarly pebbled path past my stall. Or they were early and with their arms already chockful with produce keen to return to their car as soon as they can.
Making while selling
Stalking potential buyers with my eyes
A lot of them don’t wear anything around their necks today. I generally can’t tell if this was caused by lack of motivation or time. Some look hastily clad (the “I’m-only-going-out-briefly”-style). Others have made the most of this see-and-be-seen opportunity and even wear bright coloured shoes matching their lipsticks. You can also assess meteorological skills, with the number of clothing layers reflecting the market goer’s abilities to predict the weather.
Some have obviously underestimated the chill factor (it would have looked so much more inviting from a closed bedroom window than it actually is) and walk past shivering. Others left the house well prepared and donned scarves, hats and puffer jackets. I scan personalities, dress styles and colours to find a match with my best wares.
I rely on first impressions rather than thorough interpretation. Sometimes it takes just one look at a woman to know that she isn’t the type to buy herself something nice and frivolous. Frugality or low self-esteem, let’s not try and analyse to find the cause. The consequence is obvious: the likelihood she’ll buy something pretty for another is dramatically reduced by this mindset. But look, that lady, over there, she’s definitely into blues and turquoise greens and is already wearing pretty earrings. A mosaic necklace would enhance what’s already there, without a doubt! I scan my table for a matching pendant and choose one for her. In my head.
Ah, black-and-white ensembles, they go well with the mirrored pendants or the broken bits of Crown Lynn. Even though I can see that I could do with more purples, reds and yellows in my repertoire, I have the perfect necklace for each and every one of these passers-by, complementing their personality and outfit. As if they were made uniquely for them. Sometimes I even adorn the males. It’s just a trend waiting to catch on. I know it! Males or females, young or old, I visualise them all wearing one, the zinc/alloy backing touching their skin.
If only they knew! They’d immediately rush over to my stall and part with their cash. But most of them will never know. Unless of course they read this blog.
Curriculum Vitae of “I” or who needs water into wine
From my earlobe dangles a praying mantis and a family of rats nests in my nostrils. My pubic hair paves forests with moss, my toenails form bark and fungi. I grow trees from seeds, with deep roots in dark earth, only to snap their branches and trunks in my drunken, heavy storms. With or without my interference or that of another, when they die it is my death and their decay is yours.
I am the genesis of all elements and flocks of birds flying as one. I am wet and old, broken and cold. I am breath and hot, wet and sod. From my lungs comes the air, from my veins the rivers, from my saliva the rain. My singing voice carries the wind. The sun bursts out of my shining eyes to all directions. When I move, an earthquake ensues and dissolves countless forms with life in them. They are destroyed but never lost. Temporariness is always back into me, silence and matter.
In my generous red anger, the volcano flows her lava, first killing, then turning soil so fertile that on these excrements of rage all unthinkable other life forms grow and bloom. I am your ancestors and your brother and sister, your mother and father and your future self. I am all the children who are never born, whose blood, marrow, bone, mind, bile and feeling you share. I am your offspring. Whenever a life form or member of any species bleeds, the great ocean turns white, the coral splits your skin and a finned shark dies.
The life that I am becomes the death that I am and the death becomes the life again, climaxing statically ecstatic. I am ultimate creative force from which creatures evolve into existence, more varied than any imagination conjures up, more numerous than the cipher pi. They all have my heart. They love completely. They feel the same. I am not fooled by the way they express it. I intuit the way they stay silent. I can see how immensely they suffer from my callous self-elevation during moments of Self-forgetfulness. My speech is not the measure of feeling- capacity and neither is my logic.
I am the source of beauty. Nothing exists without me. I wait for you to join me with beauty in verbal expression, beauty in physical surroundings, a symbiosis with natural given resources, beauty in sound, beauty in breath, beauty in movement. This is an extremely slow process. Not like building a road in two years and claiming you’ve achieved something. “Playing it safe” must be destroyed again and again for my creativity to flourish. I cannot afford to think there is night and day, nor you and me. I cannot afford to numb any feeling. For feeling is what I am made of, in every moment without a second.
I am your mojo, I am the valley of your highest achievements. I am the grass on the other side and light and dark in intimate embrace. Time and space? Who cares! Plucking the remnants of rotting flesh, I tease a fragrant melody into being. I release a bounty of white tiny eggs from my steaming vagina, inseminate them with my touch, nurture them into universes. It would never occur to me to watch a calf being born, then take it away from its nurturing, intensely emotional mother in order to drink her milk or have the calf entertain taste buds. Yet there are no deserts without my sacrifice, no icecaps without my joy. Each stone unturned, each pebble kicked, carries the imprint of my face. I shape your mountains from a galaxy under my tongue. I place your future in a clear brook flowing to the sea.
I am everything that buzzes, hoots, cries, whimpers, snorts, howls, meows. Everything that flies, swims, everything that walks, floats, wriggles, hangs, jumps, dances, dives and kills. I am everything that throbs, digests, swallows, licks, chews, flaps, crushes, collects, spits and gurgles. Everything that turns food into faeces. Who needs water into wine?
The initial version of this article was first published in The Vessel Magazine
(c) www.creativityispower.com
WHY should it be only the privilege of artistic prodigies, the financially secure or even drop outs, to choose how they move through the day according to the rhythm of their own inclination? We only seem to allow (albeit begrudgingly) such privileges to the Steve Jobbses, Picassos, Lady Gagas and bag ladies of this world.
I remember from a very young age a feeling of resistance at having to do certain things at certain times. I often still do, and I know that you do too. Those feelings are relevant. Not that I was able to articulate this when I was younger, and no one around me was able to offer further understanding about those feelings.
Just as the growing generation of today, I was simply asked – mostly non-verbally – to follow the status quo: “This is how things are done”. I call this ‘the law-of-man’. Nobody realizes or admits that this law-of-man only serves an economy and economic principles to build or maintain an “empire”. Parents, teachers, friends and colleagues live and therefore confirm in me the same paradigm.
Yet I remember hearing of people who somehow “escaped” the system of “working” life. They were mostly artists, adventurous entrepreneurs, or others with some extreme passion or drive. I was made to feel I was not like them, just an ‘ordinary’ kid, so whenever I showed signs of disinterest in doing things the way they were “meant to be done”, it was considered a sign of laziness. At some point in my life, I became convinced that I was lazy (contrary evidence notwithstanding), exacerbating an impulse to self-improve. After all, laziness gets bad press. It is deemed a bad habit that at most needs exterminating and at least requires the person to feel bad, threatening this ‘attribute’, setting them up to be a failure waiting to happen.
I am sure this is a common conundrum for all of us. In the human world created over the past few hundred years , there is now a vacuum when it comes to your natural life rhythms. At best, you are allowed to poo and pee according to the law of nature. But eating patterns, sleeping patterns, learning patterns, feeling patterns, contemplation patterns are all sophisticatedly regulated from the moment a baby draws its first breath until a human draws their last.
Why does so many teenagers miss out on relevant, profound education because at age ten it wasn’t yet clear to them what they wanted to do in life? Why isn’t your grandmother allowed to drop dead in her luscious garden when her time has come when that is the way she wants to go? Why are we so inflexible towards life taking its own course?
Once enough of us understand why, we will begin to ‘stop’, able to return more and more to feeling and insight as the basis of governing our practical day.
This will be a tiny yet significant step towards true progress.
Sitara Morgenster
1) These lines have been taken from a longer poem titled ‘Don’t be afraid’ published in The Hanging Garden of Eden; The Ecstatic Confession of the Wisdom Adept Sri YanchiGuruji (The Dancing Lion Press, first edition 2009)
Why do we allow trees to be cut down? Because it makes money (for logging companies and developers). Why do we allow the exploitation and killing of animals? Because it makes money (for the meat- and dairy industries). Why are seeds being patented, making the saving and sharing of seeds a crime? Because it makes money (for the agrochemical and agricultural biotechnology corporations).
Why is a wide range of normal human behaviour diagnosed as mental illnesses? Because it makes money (for the pharmaceutical companies). And on and on!
Only a materialistic attitude to life can turn money in to the ‘end in itself’ that it now has become. An intervener, propelling ecological destruction, and the destruction of healthy human livelihoods, to paraphrase the ecological activist Vandana Shiva.
Money is not the root of all evil. Unhappiness is the root of all evil. And money in the hands of unhappy people becomes a tool to try to chase away our uninspected dissatisfaction.
We all pay lip-service to the fact that money doesn’t make us happy, yet most of us still succumb to a lifestyle with a lot of unnecessary or careless spending.
From my earlobe dangles a praying mantis and a family of rats nests in my nostrils. My pubic hair paves forests with moss, my toenails form bark and fungi. I grow trees from seeds, with deep roots in dark earth, only to snap their branches and trunks in my drunken, heavy storms. With or without my interference or that of another, when they die it is my death and their decay is yours.
I am the genesis of all elements and flocks of birds flying as one. I am wet and old, broken and cold. I am breath and hot, wet and sod. From my lungs comes the air, from my veins the rivers, from my saliva the rain. My singing voice carries the wind. The sun bursts out of my shining eyes to all directions. When I move, an earthquake ensues and dissolves countless forms with life in them. They are destroyed but never lost. Temporariness is always back into me, silence and matter.
In my generous red anger, the volcano flows her lava, first killing, then turning soil so fertile that on these excrements of rage all unthinkable other life forms grow and bloom. I am your ancestors and your brother and sister, your mother and father and your future self. I am all the children who are never born, whose blood, marrow, bone, mind, bile and feeling you share. I am your offspring. Whenever a life form or member of any species bleeds, the great ocean turns white, the coral splits your skin and a finned shark dies.
Do you feel inspired? Our bodies are given the breath of life from a mysterious source. Until our final expiration we are continually, wonderfully and mysteriously inspired. What we do with inspiration is a different story.
Upbringing and societal conditioning generally train us to use inspiration for personal gain from a very young age.
The aim is to grow us into individuals that can survive in our economically driven world, in which we have lost the connection with inspiration in the real. This way we always harness inspiration for taking rather than giving.
Taking is synonymous with inspiration colliding with conditioning. It is illustrated in its extreme form in the lives of individuals such as Adolf Hitler. Giving is the same as inspiration hitting on the real, of which an individual such as Peace Pilgrim (aka Mildred Lisette Norman) was a shining example.
