Life Lessons from Buddha-pop, Part One

Sodapop, aka "Buddha-pop" and "Sodi-Wan-Kenobi"

I was not looking for a life lesson when I let my cat outside a few days ago.  But Sodapop did not earn the nicknames Buddha-pop and Sodi-Wan-Kenobi by becoming a victim to his life experiences.

Sodapop is mostly an indoor cat with daggers for claws who loves his outdoor escapades.  Now that we live in the country again, he asks politely to come with the dog and me to feed the horses.  Some days he doesn’t ask and just darts out the door.  He must suspect the answer would be no these days so he just makes a run for it.

The last time we lived in the country, he impressed my husband and I by swatting birds out of the air and dragging home a rabbit of equal mass by the jugular.  Witnessing the circle of life makes me anxious because something must always die in order for the other to survive.  My gentle heart knows this circle is necessary, but it doesn’t make the experience of witnessing something suffer and die any easier.

Two-bit "Can I go to Budapest too?"

I’ve known that Sodapop, unlike his twin brother Two-bit, must express his animal nature.  Don’t get me wrong, if a mouse were to cross Two-bit’s path, he would surely play with it, torture it and then bring the carcass to me as a gift.  He just doesn’t have the drive of Soda to go looking for such things in the great outdoors.

This particular day I let Soda outside while I mixed horse feed in the basement.  By the time the dog and I joined him outside, he was nowhere to be seen.  Probably up a tree somewhere.  Too bad I missed that, I thought.  I love to watch him sprint across the yard, ears pinned, voraciousness in his eyes, as he focuses all his attention and energy on conquering that tree.

There were several “farm” cats milling about, but no Soda.  I’ve been working on releasing my fears of letting him be a cat, so I had convinced myself not to worry about him interacting with these cats as he is way tougher than any of them.

Until Big Bad Tom showed up.

Rejection Turns Into Recognition

Purple-leaf European Beech, Asheville, NC. copyright Diane Ludeking 2011

I am Talking Stick.

A trusted mentor with impressive insights gave me this spirit name during a ceremony last fall.  Standing in a circle as others in the group received their names, my body tilted forward on my toes with anticipation of hearing mine.  I reveled at how fitting all the names were and felt certain mine would be just as beautiful and perfect.

When my name was bestowed upon me, my body set back on its heels as if an invisible force had pushed me.  My own ghostly arms then reached out, heels of imperceptible hands leading the way in a martial arts defensive move, to reject the name.  In reality, I stood stock still, arms at my side like a soldier at attention, as my physical body did not want to expose my disappointment in my spirit name.

“What the heck is a Talking Stick?  I’m not much of a talker so this name must clearly be wrong!”  I knew I could reject the name and give myself something like “Silent Stone” or “Mysterious Madame” but I also knew I wanted to research the name before giving it the official boot.

So I googled it and learned about the role it plays in American Indian tribes.  But what sold me on accepting this spirit name was this:

Whoever holds the talking stick has within his hands the sacred power of words.

Hallelujah!!

I couldn’t rejoice enough over my findings about the talking stick.  Whatever form the stick takes, it also:

Carries respect for free speech and assures the speaker he has the freedom and power to say what is in her heart without fear of reprisal or humiliation.

It turns out that I have never felt so understood in all my life.  The Talking Stick is who I’ve always been and plan to remain.  I hold sacred space for the words that create the stories of our lives and strive to mirror the beauty within all.

I am Talking Stick.

I Forget to Remember

Jack Kerouac Road in Frisco. copyright Diane Ludeking 2010

I forget to remember that nothing is permanent.

I forget to remember how much I enjoy the therapeutic effects of essential oils and minerals.

I forget to remember how beautiful the Driftless Region is.

I forget to remember my gifts as a horsewoman, writer, teacher, friend.

I forget to remember that cayenne pepper makes my ears burn.

I forget to remember to laugh and cry.

I forget to remember to meditate, sweat, write and play everyday.

I forget to remember that consuming too much sugar is a slow death.

I forget to remember the rancid smell of puppy farts and the magical odor of jasmine.

I forget to remember the medicine in music and travel, friends and strangers, animals and nature.

I forget to remember that my body prefers raw, vegetarian foods and lots of pure water.

I forget to remember to embrace winter before the heat and humidity of summer.

I forget to remember that an acorn can only become a mighty oak.

I forget to remember that my barefoot shoes will give me the enthusiasm of a kid again only when I wear them.

I forget to remember the blessings of people I don’t see often enough.

I forget to remember the actual words to that song I love to sing.

I forget to remember that nothing is permanent.

You are a valued reader and friend, how can I help you know this?

I really enjoy reading your comments – please write your own version to “I forget to remember…”

I also invite you to share your favorite posts with friends and family or contact me to let me know what’s on your mind.

Blessings and Smiles, Diane

The Alien Other

Jack Kerouac Road in Frisco. copyright Diane Ludeking 2010

I have been pondering the heart for many moons now.  Inspired by today’s holiday and my current read, “Healing the Heart of Democracy by Parker J. Palmer, the ways of the heart, my own and others, have raised much interest in me.  The concept of the alien other is what I want to speak to today.

The most obvious aliens are the ones from outer space, but I am curious about the most ignored ones.  I am most intrigued by the people on my planet that are different from me.  And not the obvious aliens that sneak into our country, but my neighbors, the homeless guy I once passed daily when I lived in Minneapolis and that radical religious zealot.

These aliens have created a variety of heartbreak in my life.  I yearn to know my neighbors but let excuses keep them separate from me.  My heart bled extra hard every time I drove right on past that homeless guy.  And someone I perceive as a religious zealot has been ostracized from my life because they are different from me (even my choice of words here and how I use them solidifies alienation – zealot).

What if I could get beyond my fear of these people and their differences?  What if I had a conversation with the alien other to inspire compassion for our differences?  I may not agree with them, but is my heart not capable of being broken open to our differences instead of shattered by unfounded fears?

How can you make everyday a heart-expanding day?

Soulution

Avatar-esque Tree in Frisco. Copyright Diane Ludeking 2010

I had a dream last week that ended with a former boss reprimanding me for using the wrong tool for a task.  The tool she wanted me to use was very similar to the one I had used but would have been more cumbersome and less efficient.  Confused by the accusation, I was about to ask her for clarity when the dream suddenly stopped.  I began to stir and wake when the word soulution popped into my head, deliberately spelled with the word soul.

“How cool is that?  I’m playing with words in my dreams!”  I thought as I lay in bed wondering what the peculiar spelling could mean.

Solution – noun – the act of solving a problem, question, etc.

Using the dictionary term to look at this dream, I found the question before me to solve was who’s right?  Clearly I was in the right because I chose the correct tool for the job, but I am familiar with these “conversations” and where they end – Blameville.

By looking at the unique spelling of this word, an obvious message for me and my soul work, I took myself deeper.

Soul – noun – the spiritual part of humans regarded in its moral aspect.

Looking for a definition of a word that does not exist, I was able to flex my soul muscle and come up with:

Soulution – noun (maybe it’s actually a verb) – the act of solving a problem using my spiritual practices and the seat of the soul, compassion.

This process also reminded me of my vow, a Plato quote:  Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.

Can you come up with another definition of soulution?  Leave it in the comments so I can continue to expand my own definition.  I think the work here is not done and I need your input.  Thanks.

What Does Soul Fitness Look Like?

Finding My Soul in Lake Michigan

The phrase physical fitness brings to mind people that look great in swimming suits, people running marathons, Olympians and mindless drones in the gym. The phrase mental fitness brings to mind people meditating, people concentrating on a game of chess and people in the middle of a life-changing exam. The phrase emotional fitness brings to mind people knowing and asking for what they want, people with a forgiving heart and people with a life threatening illness and the people that love them. But what happens when these two words are put together: soul fitness?

The phrase muscle memory brings to mind people riding a bike, typing, fastening their seatbelt and playing a video game. The phrase mental memory brings to mind people with great numeric recall, photographic memories and fluency in languages. The phrase emotional memory brings to mind people reacting, raging, acting out pain stories and swearing when they stub their toe. But what happens when these two words are put together: soul memory?

I want soul fitness, don’t I? Some sort of integration with the rest of me would be nice. Soul muscles that flex when I ask because I have done the work to make them fit and strong. How would you stretch a sore soul muscle? A soul mind that recalls what I came here to do would be phenomenal! Is there an emotional soul? What would that look like?

I want soul memory too, don’t I? Or do I? A soul that behaves without much input from me, like muscle memory? Hmm…I don’t know. What would a soul with instant recall be good for? Is the soul the seat of the emotional body? I don’t know about you, but I am grabbing my journaling to have a conversation with my soul to find my own answers.

What I Claimed I Couldn’t Do

Me in Budapest Imagining the Can-dos

I posted this on Facebook a month ago:

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist when we grow up.” ~ Pablo Picasso.  “Oh, I’m not an artist.” My husband and I get this response from adults a lot when we explain what we do. I write and he sculpts. It’s frustrating to hear people give up on themselves without even trying. How will you embrace the creative life in 2012?

A few weeks ago I heard myself say, “Oh, I can’t sing.”

So, I participated in a community centered singing group last night, going confidently in the direction of my resistance, my lie.

There was a nametag waiting for me at the check-in table as though someone had tipped off my muse, the creative source I had recently denied.  In all, 20-25 people showed up.  I imagined them all to be accomplished singers with melodious tones that taunt the angels.  I sang anyhow.

I threw myself into the folk songs, sang harmony and something called soprano.  My body and voice danced and mingled with others in the room.  By the end of the night, I was hoarse and nobody had arrested me for the sounds that made their way through my chapped lips.  You see, I can sing, I’m just not very good at it.  My melodious tones taunt the laughing hyenas, but I make the noise anyhow.

Don’t speak the creative lie of I can’t, I’m not – defy it.  Your soul wants release through whatever creative means you least want to express.  How will you embrace the creative life in 2012?

Woolen Argyle Woes

 

 

 

Under the bedroom chair

a single woolen argyle sock

looks back at me

 

wondering where

its black, white and grey

partner has gone.

 

Sometimes partners leave

for a while, get lost,

go on vacation or

work where work can be found,

 

so you can find

new perspective,

the latent dream

written within you.

 

Sometimes it takes

their void

to learn that

 

we can keep

feet fashionably warm

and dance

without them too.

 

Sometimes the

loose threads,

pilling and thinning

in the toe and heel

 

of your aloneness

make way for a new

possibility, fitted over

the nine iron.

 

You are not alone

when the wedge shows

up in the bag beside you

wearing your long lost partner.

What I Need to Know in Life

The Now-Abandoned Art's Orchard

My paternal grandfather was a man with great passions for the earth.  With a seemingly fearless, entrepreneurial spirit he began an apple orchard.  He sought out the perfect, south-facing hill for his vision and purchased it.  He planted trees, nurtured them, learned about them, much how I imagined him as a father with a young and growing family at that time.  A very introverted, thoughtful man, he learned how to graft trees, press apples into cider and how to market his products through relationships.

What he needed to know about life, he learned from an apple orchard.

I remember listening to his stories and how they always seemed to come back to the land, his orchard, his family.  I reflect on his memory, his words, his ability to make meaning with what he knew best.  A thought was a seed.  An idea was a sprout.  The fruits of his labor were apples and children.  He understood the world around him better when he could compare it to growing apples.

I find myself doing the same with what I know intimately.  A lifetime with horses as mirrors and teachers has led me to making meaning from what they have taught me:  work as a unit, always fight for your life in the presence of danger, never take things personally, be congruent in body, mind and spirit.  Understanding their nature has given me tools for processing life.

What I need to know about life, I learned from horses.

Disclaimer:  While there are as many ways to process life as there are people on the planet, it is interesting to apply the lessons we learn from our dog, cat, plant, career, spiritual practices, etc.  An orchard was a significant metaphor for how my grandfather lived his life, but I’m sure there were others.  Horses are the most significant metaphor for my life, but also not the only one.

How can your area of expertise help you make meaning?  Where is the metaphor, the mirror, in what you know most intimately?

I Follow You, But Cannot Find You

Result of My Ferocious Journaling

I follow you but am yet ignorant of how to find you sometimes.

This wordy sentence was a comment I made on another person’s blog.  I really like her photography and poetic voice so I clicked the “Follow” button on her homepage thinking that I would get an email every time she posted something new.  Not the case.  When you follow someone, you have to find them.  Somewhere in my blogosphere account is her address.  Having much to learn yet about WordPress.com, I dove in with the conviction that I had found her once, surely I could find her again.

By her pointing out this awkward sentence as having many meanings, I couldn’t help but notice the gem in it too.   Taking it out of context and playing with rearranging the words, and versions of the words, and other words that wanted in, the following is a list of word playtime:

I follow you but am yet ignorant of how to find you sometimes.

I follow you but am ignorant of how to find you.

Sometimes I follow you but cannot find you.

Yet I am ignorant of you.

I am ignorant sometimes yet I find you.

I am ignorant yet sometimes I find you.

I find you ignorant.

I find you sometimes.

Follow your ignorance.

Follow sometimes in order to find it.

I follow you into fallow fields and flounder frequently.

I follow ignorance.

Imagine if we played around with punctuations too!  Commas change everything!  What other combinations can you come up with?  I find wordplay highly entertaining so please share your creations in the comments.  And being the meaning maker of your own life, what meaning is screaming for your attention in these word combinations?