The Still Center

I’ve been toying with an idea, all week.  Want to play along?

Consider then, with me, the possibility that everything is already perfect.  What happens, in you, when you entertain that notion?  In myself, I immediately experience the voices of resistance.  Overwhelmingly they are voices reason, of logic, the mental chatter that tells me it cannot possibly be so.

“If things are so perfect,” these voices ask, “then why is there still poverty, and hunger, and war?  If things are so perfect, why is there disease, and death?  If things are so perfect, why are we facing the potential death of our species if we don’t make changes?”

The mind is such a powerful tool.  Sometimes more powerful than its wielder.  But if I breathe through these questions, if I stay relaxed, I feel my way back into my own center and this sense…this small thread of peace…this place in me that insists – “Everything is already perfect.”

And if I answer the questions of my mind from my own still center, it sounds something like this:

Of course there is poverty, and hunger, and war.  Of course there is disease, and death.  We are in the midst of evolution – infinitely.  We are in process – permanently.  The messiness of creation is a constant part of our reality, because we are constantly in birth, constantly in conception, constantly in death, constantly in-between…and all of it is messy.  Does this mean that all of these difficult things, all of this suffering, is a given, unto eternity?  No.  We are made new in every moment as we transform and create and transform and create and transform and create.  Who knows what will emerge?

What is certain is that creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin.  That Being and Non-Being exist in symbiosis.  That consciousness and unconsciousness are dancing, together, and removing one side of the dance would end the dance.  What is certain is that duality drives creation.  And creation is our evolution.

“So, if duality is the driving force of our evolution, what does that mean?” the mind wonders.

It means that spending my time and energy trying to eradicate unconsciousness, or end war, is equivalent to spending my time resisting the forces that are here to drive transformation.  Perhaps, if I focus instead on creating, the manifestations of suffering will shift in response.  Perhaps, if I change creation –through my own process of creating– then destruction will change as a result.

It means that everything we perceive as negative – from the personal wounding we each have in our own stories, to the global suffering we see all around us, to the mild annoyance of a miscommunication – it means that all of it is driving transformation.  And that everything we perceive as positive – love, pleasure, joy, ease – is also driving transformation.  It means that it’s all part of the experiment, and that the experiment is transformation.

And if the experiment is transformation, and I look around and see us transforming – individually, yes, but mostly as a collective: from the big bang to now and looking forward to something we can’t even imagine – well, then, everything is already perfect.  Because we are in an experiment of transformation, and we are transforming.  Perfection.

From this place, from the center of a web of perfection, the complex feels simple.  All that remains for me is to first understand that everything is perfect; second, act like everything is perfect, and third, participate in co-creating more perfection with the perfection that already exists.

From this perspective, Creativity – the weaving together of a perfection that is with a perfection that is emergent – is the highest form of Worship.

Thanks for playing with me today, in this idea of Perfection.  I’d love to hear your response to this play — both the voices that emerge in response to the idea, and the wisdom from your own still center.

Returning to Vulnerability

whole heartSurprise! Another blog post – not even one day since this morning’s, and not at all the usual week later.

I have a reason.

See, something was niggling me about this morning’s post.  I wrote it.  I proofread it.  It seemed fine, so I posted it.  And still…something felt a bit off.  All day, something felt a bit off.

It was only in explaining something to someone else that I finally understood what was bothering me.  I was speaking with a woman who was struggling with a decision – whether or not to make herself vulnerable.  I wrote her an email that included the following:

This past year I’ve worked my ass off to learn about true vulnerability.  For a long time, I thought that because I can let people see my emotions easily, it meant I knew how to be vulnerable.

Turns out, vulnerability is so much harder than that.  I’ve come a long way, and I’m still working it.  It’s one thing to ask & receive when there’s no other choice – as I’ve done many times in my life when I’ve been desperate.

It’s when there is a choice…when you can either hang on to pride and tough it out and survive, but not really get your needs met…or open up and put yourself out there and ask and then stay open long enough to receive… that’s when real vulnerability comes into play.  Vulnerability is always a choice; always an act of strength, and it’s always brave…

…I thought, because I’d been broken, that I knew what vulnerability was.  But I only really started to learn about it once I became strong.  Because it takes strength to risk getting vulnerable, and strength to stay open enough to receive.

As I hit “send” on the email, it hit me — suddenly I realized what was bothering me about my blog post:
Continue reading Returning to Vulnerability



Painting has taught me a lot about perspective.

Now, I’m much more of a writer than a painter.  But I have a dear friend who’s a serious painter – truly amazing.  And this last year I’ve gotten to spend some time hanging out with her and some other awesome women, painting (and laughing, and listening to music, and eating good food.  It’s spectacular.)

My painter friend, Georgeanne, has taught me many valuable lessons.  Above all other things I’ve learned from her, I value this play of perspectives the most.  She paints on an easel, so that she can continually move from close in to far away.  Because a change in perspective lets you see things you would be otherwise blind to.  She also takes her time deciding on the orientation of any given painting – sometimes right side up becomes upside down in an instant.  Because changing the way you look at things changes the things you’re looking at. Continue reading Perspective

Letting Go

This week’s post is coming to you on Wednesday instead of Tuesday, because of some nasty fever-inducing, mucous-producing bug I picked up.  I’m on the mend (yesterday was pretty miserable), but since I still feel like my head is full of cotton balls and my throat is made of sandpaper, I may not be quite as verbose as is my norm.

But I have to talk about fall, at least once more before it’s done.  I just want to tell you about an experience I had last Thursday morning, as I was driving up the hill for a meeting with my boss. Continue reading Letting Go