I love poets. Poets seem to me to be totally useless and the key to everything in the universe all wrapped up in one. The way they can take a moment and describe it in such a way that you feel, taste and touch all that is mysterious and wonderful in the world deeply, amazes me every time. The best poems are like little sermons to me. Today this one sings to me like a chorus of happy drunks.

may my heart always be open to little
e. e. cummings

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

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The band is working up a new song called “best of me.”  We might play it tonight if we feel like we have got it…..or if we have had 3 beers too many.  I have some close friends of mine who over the past few years seem to be surrounded by heartache.  They are really wonderful people undeserving of all of the terrible things that have happened around them.  The often try and be the rock and hide their own pain so they can help others.    I was thinking about them and when the first verse of this song came up.   Basically, the idea was how long can we be a rock, how long can we “be there” for people, how long can we hide our own broken heart before finally crashing.    The chorus is basically someone finally breaking down and crying out to God,  their lover, their husband or wife,  Jesus, the universe, whomever…..”you took the best of me and now there is nothing left of me.”

This is just a demo track recorded on a small recorder for band rehersals but  check it out.

Best of me
Did you think I would never fall?
Like a mountain I would always stand tall
Did you think I was a stone?
That you could crash you words against my bones
Did you think I was lion, did you think I was a saint, did you think I was a statue without complaint

You took the best of me
And now there is nothing left of me
You seemed so surprised to see
That you took the best of me

Did you think I would never break?
Every wave I could embrace
Hold another dying hand
And not have my bleeding heart stain the sand.
Did you think I was ghost, did you think my skin was gold, Did you think I could lose so much and not grow cold

You took the best of me
And now there is nothing left of me
You’re too blind to see
That you took the best of me

Solo/bridge
Now I’m bleeding out
But you’ll never hear me cry out

You took the best of me
And now there is nothing left of me
you’re too blind to see
This world took the best of me

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I have been having a hard time writing lately as I have touched on in another post but I keep showing up everyday with pen and paper to see if anything shows up.  A few weeks ago a song emerged and today while working on a post this story showed up.  I have been emailing back and forth several people who are going through grief, pain, lostness…etc.  I was thinking about them as I was trying to write.    I couldn’t figure out what to say but as I was trying to find the words a story about a boy came out instead.   

City of Light

A boy walks lost on a darkened road his flashlight shinning just enough to see his next few steps. He is searching for the city of light. He is hungry, alone and things emerge on the path that scares him. A tiger appears and he runs into the woods, in the woods he finds a clearing with berries, fruit and water. He stays in the clearing thinking he will sleep but mosquitoes and bugs bite his skin so he pushes forward through the woods and bushes. He can’t find his way out. He feels hopeless. He stumbles onto a girl in the woods. She looks at him with kind eyes, takes his hand and leads him to the path again.

He is grateful for the girl and they walk together but the boy grows impatient and wants to run. He wants to get where he is going so he runs and runs and runs….stumbling through the dark. The girl begins to fall behind. He can only hear her now in the darkness but he keeps running. He cannot keep up this pace. His stomach turns and he falls sick. He cannot move. His companion catches up. She fetches him water, wets his forehead through the fever, and makes him a bed on the road. Her kindness in the face of his helplessness changes him. A seed of light is planted and something in his soul opens up. He doesn’t feel like running anymore. He watches the bees on the flowers as she cares for him. He sleeps and emerges refreshed.

Together they walk for months and months. They are content with only seeing the next step. They cross a bridge over a charging river. The river sweeps the girl away. He jumps into the river after her. Swimming with all his might, his tears mix with the river that carries him, but she is gone. He pulls himself out of the water. He weeps for seven days. He has lost everything; his love, his flashlight, his friend. When his strength comes back he climbs the cliffs of the jagged canyon and begins to walk again in the darkness. He is leaner now, stronger, and focused. Even in the darkness he sees her kind eyes everywhere and in everything.

Out of the darkness comes a small child with a baby both hungry and cold. He discovers the light and love she gave him still burn hot inside him. The boy looks at them with the same kindness of the girl and takes them in. He gives them his coat, his food, his water, leads them by the hand and carries them both when they are tired. In turn they share their light with him.

The boy becomes a man along the path and raises the children. He feels the seed of light the girl planted in him growing; it is becoming a field, an orchard, a woods, a forest and all he wants to do is give it all away.  He no longer worries about his destination; his only concern is to care for the children and the garden inside him.

At a fork in the road the children, now grown, leave him.  No longer needing a flashlight he gives it to them, kisses them farewell and walks in the darkness.  As he walks away he sees the seed of light the girl gave him burning in them now and he smiles.   He is alone again.  His skin has become thin, almost luminous, his eyes are bright. He grows weak and tired but is overjoyed as he finds before him an enormous field of lillies.  He lays in the field staring up at the stars.  He thinks of all of the calamities and struggles that have lead him to this exact place, this field of flowers.  He stares up at the stars and as he does he feels his skin slipping into the soil and underneath his garden of radiance bursting forward.  A door opens in the dark sky and there before him the destination he sought when he set out so long ago.  With his last breath he puts his foot forward and enters the city of light.

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If she asks me I will say yes. 

I wait here quietly stealing underneath the covers.  There is a pattering of feet outside my door.  The boys are up and they are ready to jump, and crash, and run, and YELL with all of the fire that life demands of little boys. 

If she asks me I will say yes.

Beneath the noise and across the house she is lying in my son’s bed.  She doesn’t want to get up.  She longs for sleep as only mothers do.  She wants to sleep for at least a week.  She wants to wear the same pajamas every day and read books about woman in tiny wooden homes covered in snow in the forests of Maine.  She wants to spend long nights sipping wine and never hearing or saying a word.

If she asks me I will say yes.

“MOM!!!!!!!”  This lying in bed cannot last….they will make sure of it.  One of us will have to get up.  One of us will have to drag our feet to the kitchen and our beloved coffee maker.   Time is running out.  If one of us does not get up they will attack both of us and drag us both into consciousness without mercy. 

If she asks me I will say yes. 

I know I should just get up.   I know it is selfish.   I know grace would demand that I make no production of it but I like it when she asks.   I always have.  You see,  I like saying yes to her.   I like seeing what other doors in my heart will open when I say, “yes.”   And so I lay here smiling and wait…..and think

If she asks me I will say yes.

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I have been tired, sick and uninspired lately thus the lack of posts. I still wander about my house late at night looking for something that will spark some creative fire but usually I am left tired and empty handed. This used to make me very frustrated and anxious but as I have aged I have come to accept these times as just another season.   I have realized that acceptance of where one is instead of where one wants to be can be a difficult lesson in life but I am trying - I am learning.  So now I sit in bed and read. I teach my son to ride his bike. I listen to my wife play with our children early in the morning from our room.  I allow myself to just “be sick” instead of saying, “no, no, I am fine!”  I enjoy and appreciate the care Ondrejka gives to me as I lie on the couch surrounded by Kleenex.  I spend hours looking for just the right Italian recipe to cook in my new favorite cookbook A16 and I have been recently obsessed with trying to find wine from the Campania Region in Italy which is where my roots are.   I enjoy the warm breeze of May and a well set table outside with capellini, capers, kalamata olives and red bell peppers on white plates .  I am patient with myself when I pick up my guitar to write and nothing comes, instead I enjoy the feel of the strings and the sound of my voice until I put it down.   I remind myself that something will come….I have faith that something will come.   I accept where I am and instead of trying to change it I open my arms to it.  When you really look closely at it, what else can one do?  This is different for me but I find it makes me feel lighter, not so angry, I scowl less and I am able to uncover the small wonders around me I would have otherwise missed. 

There is a coolness to the air today and already I am tired.  So instead of struggling any longer at this I will lie on my bed, open the window, let the air wash over me and sleep.

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This is a song I wrote years ago about a moment between a girl and I who I was dating at the time.  It is about those moments when a relationship hangs on a thin thread.  A careless word said in anger or maybe words needed to be said left on the floor all could cut the string at any time and that would be the end.  I found a recording of this song, just me and guitar, so thought I would post it.

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“Having the idea is not living the reality, of anything. There is no courage in the idea of battle.” ~ Rumi

Many in our culture seem  too often consumed with the idea of things.  The idea of peace is nice as a bumper sticker but not really as a real way to live.  Everyone loves the idea of Jesus in America but few actually live the reality of his teachings.    The idea that “we do not torture” is nice also unless we are scared than suddenly we don’t believe that ideal is viable in the “real” world.  We have these fear and war mongers who LOVE the idea of torture, of retribution, of crushing our enemies under our feet but that is the crux of it, it is simply an idea to them.  A theoretical philosophy to debate and defend because they have never lived it, they just like the idea of it. 

“There is no courage in the idea of battle.”  I love this line because it sums up every pundit, every Cheny, Limbaugh, Levin, Savage and Hannity, every mouth piece for torture and war before diplomacy.  They love the idea of battle, honor, sacrafice..etc but the truth is it is only an idea to them.  They have never served nor sacraficed anything.  It makes them “feel” courages and tough but the truth is they have no courage.    They have never had to live the reality of war or God forbid torture.  The one man in their party who has lived the reality of war and torture,  John McCain,  they make fun of, disregard,  and call weak.  Limbaugh says it “broke him.”

We are fortunate that we live in a country where we do not have to face the reality of us or our loved ones being tortured.  We are fortunate to be able to chose….yes actually chose…if we want to go to war or serve in the military but part of me thinks if ever the majority of us had to LIVE the reality of either of these our views would change radically and we would be a wiser nation for it.

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Fear is always near like an ill advisor to the king whispering rumors of conspiracy, war and betrayal. We brush him away and try to listen to the wise and thoughtful but Fear’s voice is insidious and persistent. Fear is always there; ready to shove another folder of misinformation in your face. He is ready with pie charts, graphs, audio and video tapes of past conversations, past mistakes, and a list of damages. He is always whispering, “Sir, I really think you should take a look at this” and more often than not we do.   In our heads we study the charts, we watch the video, and we listen with headphones to the audio – trying to gain new meaning, some new understanding.

But passion, passion is different. Passion comes into the room knocking over pie charts, dropping popcorn all over the place while watching the video, crashing into tables full of surveillance photos the whole time unaware of the seriousness of the situation. He moves lightly. His beard peppered and untamed, his hair clownish and unaware. His eyes sparkle and dance like sunlight off of the ocean. He moves through the room saying “wow! What a great pie chart! Hey, who took this picture? Is that you? Wow you look great.” He bounds up to your throne. Fear is there; dressed in his black three-piece suit, white starched shirt and red “power tie.” Passion pats fear on the back, “hey good to see you again” and then quickly turns away and focuses on you. Fear is showing a video of you at a talent show singing off key at 13 but with conviction. Fear is trying to teach you why it is bad to take chances. “Think of all the horrible things kids said about you behind your back. Remember all of the ridicule you received” he hisses. Passion smiles, “Hey I was with you when you did that. Man, that was great, you really knocked’em dead kid with that one.” He watches the video of you at 20 when you decided to take a month off and cross the country. “God that was a fun trip, it was just you and I back then. We were so free! Woo hoo! What an adventure that was.” Fear is whispering in your ear now, “but sir, remember you missed out on 6 months of managerial training. You could be further up the ladder by now if you hadn’t listened to him. Your bank account would be far more impressive. Now you are so far behind.”

Passion throws you a backpack and says, “lets go.” You look around the room, what is he talking about? You shout “are you insane? Didn’t you read the report? We can’t go out there. I could lose everything! I could be ruined!” Fear Whispers with his cold lips, “Sir he is obviously an idiot. He has no idea of the risks, the danger, and don’t forget the very real chance of DEATH. I mean seriously sir, just look at him.” Passion is on the floor sitting on a pie chart and spinning in a circle. Passion jumps up walks straight and confident and says, “Come with me.” All is quiet in the room. His eyes smile at you. Fear leans in towards you his lips once again against your ear but this time Passion silences him with a stare and a raised hand. Like a child pleading with his parents for one more ride on the roller coaster he grins a reckless grin and says, “Come with me.” The room is quiet, even the sun awaits your reply.

How many times do we choose to stay in our decaying castle, rotting, but maintaining our illusion of security? How many times do we listen to the voices telling us it is too dangerous to try, too unsafe to venture out, too reckless to dream. We think we are being safe. We think we are making the wise decision but in the end we disintegrate waiting for an attack that never comes, building our fortress ever higher never realizing that we have locked ourselves in.

Look at all of the people around you controlled by fear. Why do we all have the friend that stays in the bad relationship, job, partnership…etc? We talk to them, hold their hand when they cry, agreeing with them that the situation is intolerable and they are such a saint to deal with it. But what happens the next day? They go back! WHY? Fear is there whispering “but what if this is the best you can do?” “What if you can’t make enough money starting the business you really want to do? What if it fails?  What if people make fun of you”    –  We listen.

Think of all the wonderful opportunities that come to our door that we pay no attention to. Think of all of the compliments we get and shrug off and pay no attention to….but FEAR…..yes we always fall silent and listen intently to his voice.  How often do people see fear clearly for the first time when they are dying? Upon the realization that their life is over do they finally see fear for what he truly is, a thief; a thief whom they have let into their house and live amongst their dreams and loved ones.  There is no one to blame except themselves and at the end of their life they are like a family coming home on Christmas Eve finding everything gone, everything taken while they were out.  As we stand in our empty house at the end of our lives filled only with the memories of the trains we did not catch, the buildings we did not build, the songs we did not sing does fear open the door once more just to wink at us?  When we grab for his hand do we find nothing but dust and shadows?

The greatest fear I see today is not a culture consumed with a fear of death but a culture consumed with a fear of life, a fear of living. Dostoyevsky said, “Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most.” Today and every day is the day for you to start stepping out of line and blaze a new trail. You will fall, you will fail, and you will have angry hostile people waiting to yell and scream you down but this is not their journey, this is not their song.  They are fear-mongers and destroyers, they are not creators. You can only fail if you stay down - if you quiet your song. Let the cold whisper of fear dissipate in the wind and let your life be heard. Somewhere in the depths of your soul Passion has his arms outstretched and his eyes smiling bright, “Come! Come, boy! Grab your backpack. It’s not too late. Come on…..lets go!” Even the sun awaits your reply.

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I wrote this quote down from Rilke a few years back and stumbled on it again a few weeks ago.  It rang so true to me right now that I printed it up and pasted on a wall.  I often wish I could paint quotes all over my walls so that I would read them over constantly and maybe they would begin to soak into my soul.  This is one of those quotes that keeps sinking in deeper and deeper.

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language.

Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything.

At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer.”                   ~Rainer Maria Rilke~

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So the video we shot in December is now up.  We had some problems getting it exactly how we wanted it but we are posting what we have now.  The “storyline” sectin of the video will be reshot.  We will be running a contest at various film schools for the storyline film.  If you are a film maker and have an idea let me know.  For now, here is the video for Weightless.  Song will be available on itunes next week.

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 There is a song by the Wood Brothers called Postcards from Hell that has been going around in my head alot these days. If you get a chance definitely check out their last two albums. Great writer. Anyways, I have been playing the song Postcards from Hell on the stereo alot because I love this line in the chorus “I got a soul that I won’t sell and I don’t read postcards from hell.”  It speaks to me right now in my life. 

Yesterday I came home beat tired with a headache.  I threw my bag in the closet and put my head on the kitchen counter and rested my eyes when I heard this little voice behind me.  I lifted up my head to see my son Easton working quietly on a project on our coffee table.  I hadn’t noticed he was there.  I couldn’t make out what he was singing at first but then as I listened to his tiny two year old voice I could hear him singing, “I got a soul that I won’t sell.  I got a soul that I won’t sell.  I got a SOOOOOOUL that I wont sell.”  Over and over he sang that line.  He looked up at me and gave me a big smile while he kept singing as he went back to work.  I thought to myself if I could get him to sing that line in his heart his whole life my job as a parent would be done….then I thought….if I could get my own heart to sing that every day I think I would be a better human being and closer to the light.  I wanted to say something to my little son as he sang, I wanted to warn him of the people and the jobs and the lies that will some day ask him “how much son?” but not today.  Today his little soul was teaching mine a few things.   All I could do was kiss his head and say the only words my heart would allow, “amen”.

Listen 

I know a man who sings the blues
Yeah he plays just what he feels
Keeps a letter in the pocket of his coat
But he never breaks the seal

Set up in a bar room corner
Playin’ for tips and beer
People carryin’ on and drinkin’
You gotta strain to hear

I’ve seen him playin’ some old cheap guitar
But he could play on pots and pans
You never heard a soul so pure and true
It’s flowin’ right out of his hands
He can sing sweet as a choir girl
Or he can sing a house on fire
I’ve seen him callin’ up the angels
And use a breeze for a telephone wire

And if you ask him
How he sings his blues so well
He says
I got a soul that I won’t sell
I got a soul that I won’t sell
I got a soul that I won’t sell
And I don’t read postcards from hell

Says he came from down in Texas
Playin’ out since he’s fifteen
You can hear a little Chicago
And a lot of New Orleans
Hean take you on a freight train

He can take you down the alley
He can take you to the church
He can walk you through the valley

And if you ask him
How he sings his blues so well
He says
I got a soul that I won’t sell
I got a soul that I won’t sell
I got a soul that I won’t sell
And I don’t read postcards from hell

I’ve seen him sleepin’ in a doorway
Maybe livin’ outside
On his back just like a cockroach
But he ain’t waitin’ to die

And if you ask him
How he sings his blues so well
He says
I got a soul that I won’t sell
I got a soul that I won’t sell
I got a soul that I won’t sell
And I don’t read postcards from hell

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Ever notice how bad things seem to come in waves?   In the midst of your day to day life you will have peaks were nothing you do can go wrong.  Everything seems to drop in your lap, kids sleep well, job has some unexpected benefits, a project you were working on suddenly pays off.  Then you have weeks/months with the opposite.  The past few weeks have been like that for me.  The band had the biggest deal of our career suddenly in the 11th hour drop out from under us, major shows cancelled, I have a major review at work, my book just ran into another giant roadblock, I come home late last night to a letter stating that a check I wrote bounced (the bank had accidentally cancelled my account and now shrugs and says, “woops our bad” but refuses to pay charge), some weird skin thing appeared on my nose that I now need to have looked at by a doctor, kids up late into the night…up early in the morning and on and on it goes.  I am a little scared to walk outside.  Afraid that when I step over the skateboard waiting to trip me a plane will drop on my head. 

As I sit sipping my coffee I think of my friend Robert Ethington’s song and the line “I am a duck in line and I will lead them and I’ll fall behind. I am a sheep unknowing and a lion with a watchful eye. I am growing and dying all the time.”  I think that we have these moments when all is going well because in the midst of the big seasons of life we have mini ones, mini-springs and mini-winters.  All needed.  All necessary.  Why?  Because we would never seek out transformation willingly.  The springs we have that fill us with passion and energy, that remind us of all that is good about being alive are important just as the winters when our hearts lie fallow under the snow and we turn inwards.  We would never purposely seek out pain, discomfort, or failure but I have found these things often remind me of deeper truths and the constant lesson of simplicity.  I find when I get upset when I see all my castles that I built in life crashing down around me, I am reminded of my father and that they are just sand castles, and they all will eventually fall down.  The things we attach ourselves to will fall apart and we will go down with them unless we remind ourselves to let go.  To breathe.   To enjoy the building up - the spring of life that reminds us to be passionate to reach for the heavens and love BIG,  as well as the return to the ground - the fall, which can be just as beautiful.   

Richard Rohr says in one of my favorite books Everything Belongs,“There is no nonstop flight from simple consciousness to enlightenment.  We must go thorugh the transformational liminal stages often.  That process feels complex and like we are falling apart.  In one sense it is; as we move outside our comfort zone, we feel lost and confused for a while.  Somehow we must allow the dissolution of our previous ways of experiencing reality.”  There really are no “bad” times.  I mean, yes, some times in our lives or hard, difficult, painful but all are just part of this ride we are on.  If we label them as bad then we learn nothing from them because we spend our lives looking away from anything that makes us uncomfortable.  Picture yourself floating on a vast clear ocean in a bright blue wooden boat with a white sail.  There are valleys between every swell, every wave.  If there were no valleys there could be no swell.   One month you float between two swells in the shadow, the next month you begin climbing the swell and reaching high towards the sun.    All the same ocean.  All of us growing and dying all the time.

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When I was 9 my parents sent me up to Mt. Ashland to learn how to ski.  There was an old yellow school bus with the seemingly mandatory cranky bus driver that would leave from Yreka and take kids and teenagers up to the mountain to ski.  My family had only been in Yreka for about 4 or 5 years and we were still learning about cold weather and snow.  For my brother and I this was our first encounter with skiing.  My brother and I had these enormous hunter’s orange jackets both three sizes too big, you know, so there would be room to grow into them (we never did, we always wore them out before they actually fit). 

Every morning for a couple weeks we would be dropped off at the high school parking lot as the other kids shielded their retinas from our burning orangeness and climb on the bus.  My brother and I would sit and look out the window as the bus climbed over the Oregon pass and then dropped down only to head back up Mt Ashland.  When we reached the ski area my brother would lead me into the lodge to pick up our rented skis and boots.  All the while hoping that all the “good” skis were not gone or one would be stuck with some sort of prehistoric set that consisted of plywood and straps. Once we had fought to put on our enormous boots while struggling to get our hands to emerge from our cavernous jackets, my brother would lead me to my class and he would then head to his. 

 My Mother, a life long southern California girl,  had fitted me with some suede gloves with sheepskin on the inside.  These gloves, although very stylish, did nothing against the face peeling wind of Mt. Ashland and the wetness that came from spending most of your lesson crashing into snow banks and small trees.  After about a few hours on the bunny slopes my hands were frozen, wet, and what little feeling I had was burning from trying to grip the rope on the rope tow that would take you up the hill.  This particular day was cold, cloudy and the wind was relentless.   There were very few people on the slopes that day because of the conditions but my parents had prepaid for the “ski lesson” package so here I was.  I had just taken another run down the slope working on my snow plough technique when I slid on the icy snow and lost both skis.  “Woooooooaaaa nice one!” my high school aged ski instructor yelled out laughing.  “Shake it off man and I will meet you at the top with the rest of the class!” He yelled over his shoulder as they all got back in line to head back up.  I struggled to get my skis back on and kept looking up to my class as they all waddled up the bunny slope.  I didn’t want to be left alone.  I couldn’t move my hands, my skis kept slipping away, I was frantic to get back to my group because there was not a soul around.  Finally I got one of my skis positioned for me to snap my boot in but as I pushed on it it wouldn’t click because it was covered in icy snow.  I was yelling at my ski “Come on!  Come on you stupid…”  The ski shot out from under me, my pole shot out the other way and once again I hit the snow.   The wind pushed hard against my face.   I was cold, miserable, snotty and I noticed my blue hands would not move anymore.  My eyes welled up as I began to feel just how small I was, alone on what seemed like a very unforgiving mountain.  I noticed the fog lifting a bit and I could see the lodge.  Somehow I was able to use my stiff hands to fumble the skis and poles into my arms.   I hugged them as I trudged painfully slow, for what seemed like an hour, back to the lodge.   

The lodge was fairly empty except for the rental staff and a few couples but there was a fire and it was warm.  I made my way to the fire pulled off my ridiculous suede gloves (now completely frozen) with my teeth then peeled off my jacket over my head because my hands couldn’t work the zipper. I then put my hands under my arms as I rocked back and forth trying to warm up.  I remember not wanting anyone to see me.  For some reason I was embarrassed of my pathetic state and worried I would be in trouble for leaving the lesson so I found a little corner of the lodge next to the fire that was a bit hidden by a chair.  I realize now how silly it was for me to think I would not be noticed.  A nine your old with a beat red face, blue hands, clumps of snow frozen in his hair rocking back and forth next to a fire in an empty room.  A woman on the rental staff came over to me although looking back she was probably 19 or 21.  She knelt down asked me if I was ok.  I said yes never meeting her eyes.  She stayed there looking at me intently.  “Would you like some hot chocolate?  It’s on me.  You don’t have to pay for it.  Does that sound good?”  she said.  “That’s ok,” I replied.  I looked up at her and she smiled and said, “I am going to get you some hot chocolate.”  She brought it back and said, “here, just hold it with both hands while you sip.  It will warm you up.”  I pulled out my cold blue claws to grasp the hot chocolate and she yelped, “Oh my God!”  She then started saying repeatedly “Oh my god.  Ok.  Ok.  Oh my god.  Ok.  Alright.  Frostbite.  Ok.  Don’t worry.  Ok.”  She walked towards the counter,then quickly turned and walked back, then walked towards the counter, then walked back to me.  All the while saying, “Ok.  Ok.  Alright.  Ok.”   She noticed my panicked look as I hid my hands under my arms.  Suddenly a calmness came over her face and I could relax my own.  She knelt down to get eye level with me again.  She looked into my eyes and put her warm hand on my check and said quietly, “its ok.  I got you.”  I fell in love with her as deeply as only a child can and I could feel my eyes well up again and then tears begin to fall.  She walked me behind the counter to a faucet and began to run warm water.  “It’s ok.  Your hands are frostbit.  We’re just going to warm the up.”  She took my hands and gently washed them with warm water.  It stung but that warmth radiated through my body and I didn’t mind the stinging.  I could feel heat rushing up my arms like sunlight, into my shoulders and neck relaxing them - calming them.  All was good in the world. 

In a burst of snow and wind my ski instructor came in through the back door.  “hey Little man!  Where have you been!?!?  You know you can’t just walk off the slopes.  You have to….” but before he could finish my savior looked up and snapped her head towards the door, “fuck off John.  Look at his hands.”  There was a long silence as my face beamed up at her.  I looked at John as he stood there with his raccoon sunburned face and thought, “ya fuck off John.”  I didn’t know really what it meant but it somehow seemed to sum up my feeling right then.  Not really knowing what to do John decided he had better fuck off and shut the door behind him.  “Sorry about that” she said.  “Don’t worry about John, I’ll talk to him.”  She then began to rub her hands over mine as they sat under the water and I dreamed of marrying her.  I dreamed of playing tag with her “but” I thought, “I would let her catch me.”  From that day on every time I had a ski lesson I would come to the rental counter to get my skis and she would always emerge from the back saying, “Wait!  I got this one.”  She would then pull out the best rental skis in the store that she had hidden in the back.  She would smile and I would blush.

The thing is I have never forgotten that day and to this day when my hands are cold and I put them under warm water sunlight shoots up my arms, relaxes my shoulders, and I have this overwhelming sense of calmness, of peace, of well being.  This tiny kindness, this tiny moment of compassion between two human beings changed me - became a part of me - radiates in me.  My guess is that young woman never thinks about that moment and has no idea that the loving attention she gave a miserable nine year old changed him.  These moments occure around us every day, how many of us sieze them?  You want to change the world?  You want to live deeply?  Compassion.  Compassion.  Compassion.  That is the answer.  How we reach out to others is how we reach out to ourselves.  How we mend our brothers and sisters hearts is how we mend our own and all of this starts with simply noticing the sad, lonely, hurting, poor, miserable, grieving, heartbroken, and cold around us.    It begins with something as simple as warm water on cold hands.

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I get tired of myself, bored with my carousel of problems, fears, failures, doubts, and depressions.  When I open the door to them I sigh and think “really?  You again?” but after years and years of doing this I have finally come to an understanding.  I now know that there is knowing and then there is deep knowing.  I know that to dwell on my fears and failures is pointless.  I know that life is about the ride not the material rewards one gets or doesn’t.  I know all of this and yet I still get caught up in the trivialities of life…even though when I am calm and silent I do understand that they are trivial but the understanding I have is often surface understanding.

As I was talking to my wife one evening about one of her issues that she was frustrated with because she felt she KNEW the answer and yet kept coming back to the same place, the same question.  I said, “that is because there is knowing and then their is deep knowing.  Right now you know up in your head but it hasn’t sunk in to your heart, your bones, your soul.”  When I said that I realized it had as much to do with me as it did to her.  I am the same way.  There are many things I “know” but I don’t know them deeply yet.  Think of watering a dry plant on a dry day.  Pour some water and some soaks in and some evaporates before reaching the cracked soil.  Often the soil is so dry and compacted that the water just lies on the surface.  I think this is how many of us are….dry, thirsty, compacted tightly….the very thing we need the most struggles to get in.  If you water this poor soul every once in a while you will probably have the same result as described but if you soak it, if you water it daily, the water begins to seep in deeper and deeper reaching the roots.  This is how it is with us.  These lessons we must learn keep coming back because their answers have yet to soak in.  The truth has not sunk in, it still sits on the surface in our head.  Until we keep coming back to the water and inviting it in, asking ”what does this have to teach me”,  it will never sink deep into our souls and we will never get to this place of deep knowing.

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Henri Nouwen says regarding the question “who are we?”: “The three answers that we generally live—not necessarily give—are: ‘We are what we do, we are what others say about us and we are what we have,’ or in other words: ‘We are our success, we are our popularity, we are our power.”

This I think is a constant struggle for me - for all of us.  I love the way Nouwen says the answers we LIVE not give because that is the biggest truth.  We do not say to people who I am is based on what I do, my popularity, how much power I have in the world but the truth is that is what we all often judge ourselves on.  The thing is if you take a moment to look around at many who have all three you will see how fleeting it is.  You will see how quickly it all can disappear.  So who are we?  Am I a vessel for power, success, and popularity and the more I fill up on these three the clearer understanding I have of myself?   I think we all know that is not true and yet we keep striving for these three things thinking they define us or will fill us up.  We glorify anyone who seems to have these things in our magazines, news and television shows.  Always the subtle message, “this is what defines you.”

When my demons come at night they always come using these three “answers” to knock me down, to make me feel bad about the choices I have made in my life, to make me feel scared that I am “failing”, that I am less than.   These answers to “who am I” only lead me further from myself, they only lead to running and running for things that I can never really catch or posses. 

So who am I?  Who are we?  I am not sure but I do know at our simplest form we are children……..children of God.  I do know that we do best when we remember that and treat ourselves and others as such.  I do know that I feel better and have more room for the light God gave me when I empty out instead of fill up on what the world tells me.  Maybe I will start there and then try and try and try to remember that every day.

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