"Apparently there's nothing that cannot happen today" -- Mark Twain

I left the house because my blood felt slow and my body felt lethargic. "I need to get moving," I thought. I wandered up the road assuming I would go to the park, but when I got to the crosswalk at the end of the street, I walked across it and headed towards the neighborhood behind the school, where Diago and I had had an epic journey about a month ago. On that journey we had passed a wilderness area with a drainage canal emptying into it. There was a bench looking over the small ravine and sign that said, "Maintained by Mrs. Somebody's class at Concord Highschool."

    This time as I passed I was noticing the foot prints; human, human, dog, dog, human, human, dog, wait a second. That doesn't look like dog. And it's coming from across the street, headed towards the trees. This creature is not on a leisure walk, they are headed somewhere.

    The ground is funny today. It's snow that's slowly turning to slush. It's crunchy in most places, icy on top and white underneath. The tracks were probably made within the last 12 hours. Just a guess!

    I started wondering what it could be, but it was hard to get a clear print. My first instinct was opossum, because I could see that there was a thumb sticking out sometimes. So I followed this little creature on an wild journey. First I noticed that I stepped around a small log, that to me was evidence that it definitely wasn't dog, or if it was, it was a pretty small dog. Once it jetted through the forest I was certain.

    It hesitated just like I did trying to get down the hill to the ravine. In fact, it often took the best path down, leaving me to bumble along around it trying not to ruin the track, but get up, down, around things safely. At one point it waddled across a long snowy log and I had to wander down the side of the bank to find a place where I could cross too. On my way back to my little critter, I discovered that these large logs are major highways for squirrels in the area!

    My critter seemed to be headed from one neighborhood to the next, checking out the backs of houses, and hanging pretty tight to private property. I wandered along beyond fence and property lines, craning my neck to see where it was headed. At one point it seemed to join up with another opossum, or perhaps had come through more than once since it snowed (more likely I suspect). And in those open places there was a new mark in the track, a swish that went along side it, opposite the paw print. Tail? I thought, big belly?

    Finally the two trails split off, one going directly to someone's garage. The other one also seemed to be heading into some pretty private areas, so I decided to let it go. I turned around and saw a trail that ran along the ravine so I thought I would just jaunt along and see where it led. Low and behold, here was my little friend, come to lead me a little further.

    I followed the new trail back into the woods, and to another ridge. I paused at the top, taking in the view, and sensed something quite special. Wow, I thought, I've never done this before. This is the first animal I've tracked this far, this long, and who I felt like I could see its personality, what it was up to, why it was hesitating in one spot, why it's gate widened in others. I felt accomplishment. And I realized that every end is a beginning.

    I wanted to turn around and go home. I've accomplished what I have always wanted, this experience of tracking, and discovering an animal. And here it was, wasn't that the end? I stood and looked out over the ravine and just took it all in. We find something that sparks our curiosity, like a Leadership Training trip our senior year of college, and we set off to follow that trail. We are headed somewhere, we don't know where, but we know we'll know it when we arrive. But the thing is that there is some much that happens along the way that we realize, upon arriving at some goal, or some end, that the story is just going to keep unfolding, and that all the work we've done to get here was really just laying a foundation for us to move to the next level of our learning. A squirrel started moving around behind me, a bird alarmed, and I kept followed the trail.

    And Eureka! Just around that tree I had been staring at was this little critters scat! I felt so lucky and so blessed! The longest bit was about 2 inches, the smaller bits were about 1. It wasn't exactly segmented, but there was one part that almost looked that way. Definitely a seed eater, this creature, and berries I would guess. It crumbled when I poked at it, so I'm guessing at least 4 or 5 days old, maybe older? It was right in the crook of the tree, and looked like a comfy, safe place to wait a moment, take a deep breath, take in the view, and let it all out. :)

    I lost the trail then and headed down to the stream. I found some muskrat trail along the edge of the water. Then I found some human trails and that was fascinating. This is going to sound kind of weird, but I'm guessing you'll dig it. I sensed this human. It was like I was suddenly walking with someone else in the woods, like I wasn't alone. When I lost their trail I felt alone again, when I picked it up, I felt again in company. I guess the same thing had been happening with the opossum. The mood, the intent, the character of the creature is all there in their prints. No wonder I never feel alone when I'm walking in the park, there are so many people who are there with me.

    I can't wait to get out again and see what these little creatures are up to. I have always enjoyed winter so much more than summer, and I have to admit that that sentiment is only growing! 

image credits in order of appearance: 

http://suesblog-someassemblyrequired.blogspot.com/2012/01/its-beginning-to-look-lot-like-alanmas.html

http://www.ruewildlifephotos.com/index/detail/4281/Didelphidae;Didelphis-virginiana;Virginia-Opossum;animal;animals;arboreal;arborial;branch;fur;furbearer;furbearers;image;images;insectivore;insectivorous;log;mammal;marsupial;marsupials;nature;old.;omnivore;omnivorous;opossum;opossums;photo;photos;possum;possums;pouched;predacious;predator;stock;walk;walking;wildlife;young.html

http://wdfw.wa.gov/living/muskrats.html

Icing

Things are coming together for me. I live with a mind that is constantly looking backwards with doubt. It realizes, but unconsciously. Today I experienced some realization, perhaps aided by the daily transits, and I was gripped by the emotion that came out of my body.

I am in the process of writing my inventory, part of the process of 12 Step recovery. Being invited to do the 12 Steps was not the invitation I had been waiting for, but it felt right and it has proven to be exceptionally helpful.

Writing inventory is like writing your life story, but not the part you'd like everyone to see. It's everything you hate about your life, and about other people. It begins with every resentment you have, how everyone has hurt you, and then moves onto how you hurt them, how you are being dishonest, what you want to get out of the situation, and what you are afraid of. No one walks away from the experience of writing inventory and says, eh, no big deal. No one says, wow, that made my  life worse, I wish I had never done that, it its not pretty and it's not easy.

What I have started to see is how much my open solar plexus has run my life. I'm not just talking about avoiding an argument. When Ra talked about the open solar plexus he said, "these people have a secret life." I knew what he meant, but I had never realized how fiercely I defended my secret life, the lengths to which I was willing to go to avoid emotion.

It started with realizing that every single person in my life is non-emotional. Literally everyone I've ever felt "close" to, anyone I've ever trusted, everyone I've ever felt "understood" me is non-emotional. Not only are they all non-emotional, almost every single one of them is splenic. Wow. That terrified me.

But today what I saw was the root of my secret life. It started before I was seven, when people would ask me "what is wrong?" and I didn't have an answer, I didn't know. This seemed to concern them, so I started to hide my crying. I'm seeing clearly that I only ever cried when my father was in the house, (he's the only emotional being in our family) and, interestingly, that I often cried about him, and that he was the one I was hiding my emotion from. I knew he would get so upset if he knew how upset I was and I wanted to protect him, er myself, from feeling all that pain.

There is a new girl living in my house. She's an emotional generator, and I seem to be sleeping in her aura, even though there is plenty of room between us. I wake up in the morning feeling frustrated and emotional. These emotional people are like whales, you can't budge them. I respect her because she seems to respect her own pace, but I was also enraged for the last week about having to deal with this emotion. What I realized today is that it's not the emotion I don't like, it's the lack of control. Since she came I have started crying quite regularly. I cry sometimes continuously throughout the day. This is terrible, I have been thinking, this is not fair! But after today I realized that it's not the crying I mind, it's the fear that someone will see me, and ask me, "what's wrong" and I won't have anything to tell them. That fear is so old and so engrained in me. It is the foundation of my secret life.

So today I cried, hard, in the kitchen. It gripped me and brought me to my knees at one moment. And then it passed, rather suddenly. It's not me, all this emotion, but that doesn't mean I have to avoid it. I don't have to avoid anything. I can just trust that I'm going to be where I need to be and I'm going to be who I need to be when I'm there. Everything else is just icing on the cake of life.

Summer in Vermont

Tracking Crow

The Story of Jumping Mouse in 4 Chapters

Chapter 1

What We Know is not Always What We can Prove

     Once there was a young mouse who lived in the brush near a river. During the day she and the other mice hunted for food. At night they gathered to hear the old ones tell stories. The young mouse liked to hear about the desert beyond the river, and she got shivers from the stories about the dangerous shadows that lived in the sky. But her favorite story was the tale of the sacred mountains; every time she heard it, she felt a stirring deep inside herself. She began to wonder if she could find the sacred mountains.

     When she talked to the other mice about it they told her that it was just a story, and not a real place. They told her that it was a place that used to exist in ancient times, but that no one knows how to find it anymore. Some had tried, they said, but they never returned. Little mouse noticed that their stories didn't add up. If it didn't exist, then how had people found it in the past? Something was off, but she didn't know what.

     Little mouse became worried. It became difficult for her to go about his daily work, finding food, because it seemed mundane and empty. The other mice said it was because she thought too much about the sacred mountains, so she tried to put the, out of her mind. But there was something else, the stirring inside of her, that she couldn't ignore. When she tried to ignore that too, it started to turn into a dull ache and she knew that it would never go away, it would just live, stunted, inside of her until the day she died.

     Distraught, little mouse went down to the river to be alone. She looked into the river and saw her own imaged reflected back at her.
     "What are you doing here?" croaked a gravelly voice.
     "Who are you?" asked little mouse timidly as she took a few steps back.
     "I am jumping frog, I live by the river. I have never seen you here before. Who are you and why are you looking at yourself in the water?"
     "My name is little mouse and I am worried about the sacred mountains. I can't ignore the feeling inside of me that they are real, but I don't think I can trust it either. I don't know what to trust."
     "Oh, said jumping frog. Well, sometimes when I am jumping along the river bank I see some mountains way off in the distance, on the other side of the desert. Do you think that those are the sacred mountains?" When little mouse heard the frog say this she felt the stirring deep within her move, and it was stronger than before. She wondered if what frog was saying was true.
     "I wish that I could jump high," said little mouse. "Maybe if I could just see the sacred mountains then the stirring inside me would be at peace and I could go back to living the life that the other mice live.
     "Little mouse," said jumping frog, you are in luck because I have a little magic, but you have to trust me. Close your eyes, jump as high as you can, and when you feel the air beneath your legs, open your eyes." Jumping mouse closed her eyes, and heard frog say, "You will now be called Jumping Mouse." When frog said this, little mouse felt a tingling in her hind legs. She crouched down and jumped up as high as she could until she felt like she was floating. When she opened her eyes it seemed like she could see the whole world. She saw the desert laid out on the other side of the river, with a great field beyond it, and just beyond the field she saw the sacred mountains. The stirring inside her rumbled with delight, and she started to fall back to the earth. Overwhelmed by what she had seen, little mouse didn't know where the ground was and when she landed she fell right into the river. She became very frightened, because mice cannot swim. She gasped for air and fear overwhelmed her. Jumping frog helped her find her way back to the shore, but when little mouse finally caught her breath she was furious.

     "You tricked me!" she yelled at jumping frog. "You made me jump high so that I would get all wet, and I almost drowned." Jumping frog laughed.
     "Do you forget what you saw little mouse?" And then little mouse remembered and was quiet. Finally she said, "I saw the sacred mountains," and knew then that it was true.
     "You have seen something wonderful," said jumping frog, "and I have given you a new name. You are now called Jumping Mouse." Jumping Mouse looked down and saw that her legs had been transformed into power legs that let her move quickly and jump high.


     Jumping back to her family, Jumping Mouse ran into some of the other mice and told them about what she had seen.
     "The sacred mountains are real!" She shouted. "I have seen them." But the other mice looked at her oddly.
     "What is wrong with your back legs?" they asked. "And why are you all wet? You are certainly growing more and more odd all the time, little mouse," and couldn't hear what she was telling them. Jumping Mouse was very sad, and began to doubt what she had seen. Her family, the old ones, and all the mice she spoke to were unmoved by her story about seeing the sacred mountains. She tried to get back to her life finding food, but something inside her had changed and she knew that she could no longer stay with the other mice. She had tasted something so sweet that she could never be content until that sweetness were a part of her life every day. She knew that she had to leave, to cross the river, to cross the desert, the field, and to climb the sacred mountains and see what she would see.

Chapter 2

The Journey

     One morning Jumping Mouse set off before anyone else woke up. She left a note explaining that she was leaving for the sacred mountains and that he loved them very much.

     By the time the sun rose, Jumping Mouse had made it to the bank of the river, where she met frog again.
     "You have returned," said Jumping Frog, "but you are different. Something has changed."
     "I have decided to go to the sacred mountains, said Jumping Mouse," but when she spoke the words, she suddenly felt very afraid. "How will I ever get there?" She said. "I can't even get across this river, and there is the desert and the field and the mountains to climb. Surely the shadows will get me before I make it." Jumping Frog thought for a moment and then said, "climb upon this lily pad Jumping Mouse, and I will swim you across.
     "Swim? What is swim?" said Jumping Mouse.
     "Climb on and you will see."

     Jumping Mouse was afraid, and she remembered the last time she had listened to Jumping Frog, she had gotten all wet. She thought about what she was doing, and she thought about going home to her family. She knew they would be worried, and she longed for the security she felt in her old life. But the stirring inside of her was still there, and she felt that she could trust it. "Ok," she said, and jumped onto the pad.

     Jumping Frog swam her to the other side and when they had safely arrived Jumping Frog said, "Other mice have come this way, looking for the sacred mountains, and they have never come back. I do not know, but I think that they did not return because they found something so wonderful in the mountains that they decided to stay there." Jumping Mouse jumped off the lily pad and considered the frogs words. "Maybe," she said, and realized that there was no way to know why they hadn't come back, and that there were many possibilities.

     Jumping Mouse set off at once, hopping quickly from bush to bush. The shadows circled above, but she avoided being seen. She ate berries when she could find them and slept when she was tired. Days passed. Though she was able to travel quickly, she began to wonder if she'd ever reach the other side of the desert. She then came upon a stream that coursed through the dry land. Under a large berry bush she met a fat old mouse.

"What strange hind legs you have," said the fat mouse.
"They were a gift from my friend, Jumping Frog, when she named me," said Jumping Mouse proudly.
     "Hmmm," replied the fat mouse. "What good are they?"
     "They've helped me come this far across the desert, and with luck they'll carry me to the sacred mountains," said Jumping Mouse. "But now I'm very tired. May I rest here a while?"
     "Indeed you may," said the fat mouse. "In fact, you should probably stay here. There is a snake that lives on the other side of the river, and it is not safe to cross. I too went looking for the sacred mountains once, but I never found anything but desert and more desert. I was too embarrassed to go back to my family, who never understood me, so I made a life for myself here. It is nicer here than the place where we used to live. Why should you go jumping around the desert when everything we need is right here? It is an easy life. You should stay."
     "Thank you," replied Jumping Mouse, "but I'll stay only until I'm rested. I've seen the sacred mountains and I must be on my way as soon as I am able." Jumping Mouse tried to explain that it wasn't a question of need, but something he felt deep inside of him. But the fat mouse only snorted.        
Finally Jumping Mouse dug a hole and curled up for the night.
     The next day the fat mouse warned him again about the snake. "But don't worry," he said, he's afraid of water, so he'll never cross the stream."


     Life was easy beneath the berry bush, and Jumping Mouse was soon rested and strong. She and the fat mouse at and slept and then slept and ate. Indeed, it was the perfect place to be a mouse. Then one morning, when she went to the stream for a drink, Jumping Mouse caught sight of her reflection. She was almost as fat as the old fat mouse!
     "It's time for me to go on," thought Jumping Mouse. "I didn't come all this way to settle down under a bush." Jumping Mouse said good-bye to the old fat mouse, who once again tried to persuade her to stay. "You'll never find the sacred mountains, Jumping Mouse. All we can do is take the best from life and avoid the bad." Jumping Mouse thanked the old mouse for the advice, and set off at once.

     She traveled throughout the night, and the next morning she saw that she had reached the grassy plain. Exhausted, she hopped toward a large boulder where she could rest in safety. But as she got closer, she realized that the boulder was an enormous, shaggy bison lying in the grass. Every once in a while it groaned.
     Jumping Mouse shivered at the terrible sound. "Hello, great one," she said bravely. "I'm Jumping Mouse and I'm traveling to the sacred mountains. Why do you lie here as if you were dying?"
     "Because I am dying," said the bison. "I drank from a poisoned stream, and it blinded me. I can't see to find tender grass to eat or sweet water to drink. I'll surely die."
     Jumping Mouse was sad to see so wondrous a beast so helpless. "When I began my journey," she said, "Jumping Frog gave me a name and strong legs that helped me see the sacred mountains. My magic is not as powerful as hers, but I'll do what I can to help you. I name you Eyes-of-a-Mouse."
     As soon as she had spoken, Jumping Mouse heard the bison snort with joy. She heard, but she could no longer see, for she had give the bison her own sight.
     "Thank you," said Eyes-of-a-Mouse. "You are small, but you have done a great thing. If you will hop along beneath me, the shadows of the sky won't see you, and I will guide you to the mountains."
     Jumping Mouse did as she was told. She hopped to the rhythm of the bison's hooves, and in this way she reached the foot of the mountains.
     "I am an animal of the plains, so I must stop here," said Eyes-of-a-Mouse. "How will you cross the mountains when you can't see?"
     Jumping Mouse did not know and she was afraid. So she dug a hole and went to sleep.

Chapter 3 

The End of the Journey

     The next morning Jumping Mouse woke to cool breezes that blew down from the mountain peaks. Cautiously, she set out in the direction of the coolness. She had not gone far when she felt fur beneath her paws. She jumped back in alarm and sniffed the air. Wolf! She froze in terror, but when nothing happened, she gathered up her courage and said, "Excuse me, I'm Jumping Mouse, and I'm traveling to the sacred mountains. Can you tell me the way?"

     "I would if I could," said the wolf, "but a wolf finds his way with his nose, and mine will no longer smell for me."

     "What happened?" asked Jumping Mouse.

     "I was once a proud and lazy creature," replied the wolf. "I misused the gift of smell, and so I lost it. I have learned not to be proud, but without my nose to tell me where I am and where I am going, I cannot survive. I am lying here waiting for the end."

     Jumping Mouse was saddened by the wolf's story. He told him about Magic Frog and Eyes-of-a-Mouse. "I might be able to help you," she said, and named him Nose-of-a-Mouse.

     The wolf howled for joy. Jumping Mouse could hear him sniffing the air, taking in the mountain fragrances, but Jumping Mouse could no longer smell the pine-scented breeze. She no longer had the use of her nose or her eyes.

     "You are but a small creature," said Nose-of-a-Mouse, "but you have given me a great gift. You must let me thank you. Come, hop along beneath where the shadows of the sky won't see you. I will guide you through the mountains as far as I can.

     So Jumping Mouse hopped to the rhythm of the wolf's padding paws, and in this way he reached the edge of the rocking mountains. "I can take you no further, Jumping Mouse, I am hungry and must find food," said Nose-of-a-Mouse. "How will you manage if you can no longer see or smell?"

     "When the Bison left me I thought I would not make it without my eyes, but now I have made it one step further. Perhaps there will be a way," said Jumping Mouse, and she dug a hole and curled up and fell asleep.

     The next morning Jumping Mouse woke up and crawled out from her hole. "I am here," she said, "I feel the earth beneath my paws. I hear the wind rustling leaves on the trees. The sun warms my bones. All is not lost, but I'll never be as I was. I can never go home. I could not even go back to fat mouse and live an easy life. How will I ever manage?" Then Jumping Mouse began to cry.
     She felt with her paws and tried to make sense of where she was and where she should go, but her ears could not guide her as her eyes and nose once had. She had come all this way, and was so close to the sacred mountains, but how would she ever reach them? She didn't even know where they were. She began to feel foolish. She should have listened to the other mice. Now she could not even make it home, or back to the fat mouse where she could have been safe. As she sat there, waiting for some animal to find her, she thought of her family living their life in comfort and she wished that she were there with them now. She realized why the other mice had not returned; it was not as frog had believed, the old fat mouse had been right, there was nothing to find.

     Suddenly Jumping Mouse felt a rumbling beneath her, and heard the loud sound of hooves on rock. She felt an animal brush past her and stop just in front of her. 

     "Excuse me," the animal said, "what are you doing here?" Jumping Mouse started to explain her story, but the animal stopped her almost immediately. "I'm sorry, I am still not used to my condition, I wandered far from my family and got lost. I was caught in a thunderstorm, and a bolt of lightening crashed so close to me that I lost my hearing. I cannot hear your story, and I am very afraid. Wolf will certainly find me soon, and though I can smell him, without being able to hear, I will not last very long."

     Jumping Mouse was saddened by the story of this animal, but what could she do? All she had left was her ears, and without them she would certainly die, but she still felt compelled to give them away. Perhaps I do not want to live anymore, she thought. I have failed to find the sacred mountains, and without my eyes and nose, I will never make it back. There is no where left for me to go, and nothing left for me to do. "Well," she said, "these ears will do me no good, but perhaps they can help you." She named the creature Ears-of-a-mouse, laid down her head and cried.

Chapter 4

Eagle

     

     Jumping Mouse fell into a very deep stillness. She had no sight, no smell, and no sound to guide her in the world. With nothing else left, she fell deeply into the world of her own body. She felt her skin, and her muscles. She felt the coolness of the ground beneath her, the pointed edges of the dried leaves on the ground, and the movement of the wind through her fur. The world became very still as she fell into the depth of her own body. It seemed there was a whole world inside that she had never noticed. She began to wonder what would happen to her, but it was hard to care. The outside was not

    In the meantime, Ears-of-a-mouse began to understand what this little helpless creature had done for him. Tears came into his eyes as he realized that she had given him the last gift that she had to give. He knew that giving him this gift was an act of surrender, for she could never survive now that she had neither sight, smell, nor sound to guide her through the world. He wished he could do something for her in return, but he did not know what to do. He bent down and picked up the little mouse by the back fur on the back of her neck. He had known a place that the old ones called sacred. No one had ever been there, but the stories had been great, and he knew how to find the way. He didn't know what he expected to happen to her there, but it was the only way he could think of to honor her gift to him. "At least there," he though, "she will die in a beautiful place," and he started to climb.

     Jumping Mouse felt the warm breath of the goat on her skin. She felt the dull teeth pinching her skin, and although it hurt her, she did not mind, because she was grateful to have some way of experiencing the world, even if it was sometimes painful. She did not know where she was or where she was going, but she felt the air grow thinner, and her mind began to feel clear and quiet. Her body felt weightless, and she relished in the mystery of her future, and the life that she had lived.

     Finally, when she felt the air could get no thinner, and the breathing of the goat had become labored and heavy, Jumping Mouse felt herself being laid on the hard surface of the mountain. She could feel a cold wind blowing hard against her skin. She felt small, but she was no longer afraid, for she had nothing left to lose. With her front paws, she felt the surface around her. She could not see the goat, and was not sure if he was even still there. She sat for a long time, feeling the wind, and waiting for what would come next. Trusting her body, she began to move around the surface of the rock until she came to a place where it seemed to stop. She felt the edge with her hands, and moved along it, learning it's crevices and holes, and as she did she began to feel something else - something that wasn't outside of her, something that was inside. It was familiar, and she felt deeply into it, investigating it, wondering what it was. 

     She didn't know how much time had passed, and she didn't know when some creature would come and end her life, but as she stood on the edge of the sacred mountain, she explored deep within herself, and realized that what she was feeling was in the same place that she had once felt the great stirring that set her on her journey to the sacred mountains. It wasn't a stirring anymore; it had transformed; it had become strength. She began to trust this feeling, with all her awareness. 

     Suddenly, sitting on her ledge, she heard a voice outside of her ask her to jump. The feeling inside of her wanted to do it, and it was the only guide she had left, so she took a deep breath, crouched low, and jumped as high as she could possibly jump. She felt the air catch her and stretched out her paws holding the wind. She felt the warmth of the sun on her back as she soared through the sky. She began to hear the cry of birds around her, to smell the sweetness of the cedar trees in the mountain air, and finally, she opened her eyes and saw with the eye of the eagle.

     This is the story of Jumping Mouse. It has been an important story in the unfolding of my own journey to the sacred mountains. I have retold it here, partly as it was told by John Steptoe in his illustrated version, but the story I was told by my own elders was a little different than John's, so I tried to tell that version too, and strayed rather far from what Mr. Steptoe has written down. I guess this is my version - borrowed from him, and from others, it certainly isn't a story I made up on my own, I don't think anyone knows who did. It is oral tradition, and now I am passing it on here.

Human Design Profiles, harmonic and not

Being a 5/1 sometimes feels like having locked in syndrome. I often think of the man who wrote the Diving Bell and Butterfly, lucidly trapped inside of something you people all around you interacting with who is not you while are there within, unseen.




This is true for every profile to some degree, but I'm noticing that some are more at odds with each other than others. In Human Design they call this being a "harmonic," or being "in resonance," which is just a fu-fu way of saying that it's easier.

If you consider the harmonic profiles you can see how easily they will work together. I guess it's important to add that I'm considering this from the point of view that the first number of the profile is how the person sees themselves, and the second number is how other people see the person.

The 6/3 for example. You have the trial and error body, everyone sees that you are pessimistic and that stuff is going to go wrong for you. You see yourself the same way for the first third of your life. When you go on the roof, people still see you the same way, but your so aloof you don't care.

The 5/2 and 2/5 are similar as well. You have the projection of the fifth line, either from other people (2/5), or from you on yourself (5/2), but you then you have this natural ability to back it up. So if you see yourself as a natural and others project on you, there's a similarity there in the way that those relationships are going to line up.

Then you look at the 4/1 and 1/4. Sure, it's insecurity all around. But at least everyone is in agreement.

Then there are the rest of us! the 5/1... Everyone sees it as insecure, and it sees itself as a savior. Paranoia anyone? The 2/4... Others see it as insecure, but it sees itself as a natural. The 6/2 ha! This might be one of my favorites. I've been meeting a lot of 6/2s lately. On the outside they look so sweet, almost innocent. But inside they are pessimistic and straight-forward. And, of course, there's the 3/5. The toughest of all profiles according to Mr. Ra. Other people project all their hopes and dreams onto it, and there it goes, error after error after error. Luckily, it never thought anything was going to go well in the first place, so it can handle it.




photo footnote: http://www.fotothing.com/photos/258/258536fcdb5c7c19a1cce2ea2491b252.jpg
for more on Human Design Profile see here: http://loveyourhumandesign.com/

More Melancholic

oops. i misspelled to.

Suffering as a choice

Here is what I notice about myself and my decision making process. Well, an example will probably work best.

I'm sitting in the car. I have just finished grocery shopping. In the car are, among other things, half of a sandwich and a box of generic pop-tarts. I am not hungry. The sandwich tastes really good and so do the pop-tarts. I notice that I am not hungry and that I do not want to eat anything. I decide to eat something anyway. I eat one pop-tart. Then I eat the sandwich. Then I eat the other pop-tart. Now my stomach is uncomfortably full. I hear the thought, well, I might as well finish the box of pop-tarts since I am already past full and I will have to eat them sometime anyway.

So, what I see in this example is something that pervades my life. I see the choice that will lead to happierness, and I do not take it. I consistently chose pain and suffering. Not in large ways necessarily, although I sometimes do that too, but in these small ways, every day, I chose to suffer rather than to respect the limitations of the form.

When I came to human design I knew this, and it is this tendency that I hoped to heal. That I could chose what is correct instead of what leads to suffering, but it seems like this tendency has gotten worse. It used to be that sometimes I would chose what felt right, and sometimes I would chose what I "wanted." Now I consistently chose what I "want" instead of what feels right. It's like my mind is trying to rebel against the increased awareness by proving that it has power whenever it can.

Though, it is also entirely possible that in the past I was simply unaware of how often I chose to suffer and that what is happening now is an increased awareness of suffering that will lead to a decrease in suffering overall. Time will tell.




Photo by Marc Pilaro

Tribute to Harvey Milk

Just a small tribute to Harvey Milk, the first openly gay man to be elected to public office in the United States, though he stood for much more than that. He was a decent politician, which is rare, and he acted as a voice for disenfranchised people of all kinds.

Somewhere in Des Moins or San Antonio there's a young gay person who all the sudden realizes she or he is gay knows that if the parents find out, they'll be tossed out of the house, the classmates will taunt the child and the Anita Bryants and John Briggs are doing their bit on tv and that child has several options: staying in the closet, suicide. Then one day that child might open up a paper that says 'Homosexual Elected in San Francisco' and there are two new options. One option is to go to California... or stay in San Antiono and fight. Two days after I was elected I got a phone call. The voice was quiet young, it was from Altuna Pennsylvania and the person said, thanks. You've got to elect gay people so that that young child and the thousands and thousands like that young child know that there's hope for a better world, that there's hope for a better tomorrow. Without hope, not only for gays but for balcks, for asians, disabled, and for seniors, the us's, the us's, without hope the us's give up. I know that you cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living. and you and you and you, you gotta give 'em hope.

Check out the Milk Foundation for more good stuff. Click here to listen to the hope speech.


unfortunately in my wanderings I lost the tab where I found this photo. 

Maybe Sartre was on to something...

mmm...

We really are stuck here in these mechanics. I am reminded of it every day that I spend living with my mom.

The first twenty-five years I spent with my family I spent in relative silence. I would participate in the fun stuff, but I never participated in family arguments, and I never intervened when I thought I could be helpful. I saw my mom being mean to my dad. I saw my dad complaining about it and never standing up for himself. I saw my mom and my sister say terrible things to each other.

Everyone adored me. They confided in me, I heard their perspectives and I was "such a great listener." The thing is that it was all sort of a lie. I was holding down everything that I was seeing. No one ever asked for my perspective and I never offered it, but the bitterness that developed in me was palpable. Why didn't they ever ask me what I thought? Why didn't they ever want to know what was happening in my life?

Finally at age 23 I exposed myself. I told them everything. I told them what I thought of each of them and what I thought about the way we interacted with each other. No one disagreed. But they stopped telling me how great I was, and what a great listener I was. In the meantime, they kept being mean to each other in the same ways. Year after year I watched it, tried to point it out, tried to get them to talk to each other, tried to confront them about what I saw, and every time I did things got worse, and I got more committed to transforming the situation.

Then I met human design and finally it all became clear. Ah! I'm a projector. I can see the things I seem to be able to see. I'm not crazy! But I can't share it with people until they ask me. And because I'm a 5/1, my family never will.

Since then it has just been years of dealing with the fall-out. I apologize, but it kills me. It feels like I'm lying to myself, like I'm stabbing myself in the back. I am right! I think while I tell them I am wrong. But there's no explaining it. They can't ever understand what it's like to be a projector. But ah! It's so hard to let go! It feels like a cruel joke - to be able to see what we see and to be sentenced to do nothing about it until the apes recognize that we have something to offer. Sure, they're beautiful apes, but fools. They are all fools.

It reminds me of No Exit, by Sartre. In fact, it is making me reconsider these existentialists and their brilliance. Three people are in a room. They are all dead. Garcin is the newest to be dropped off in the room. They know only that they cannot leave the room for all of eternity, and that this is hell. Otherwise, there is nothing. The three dead people begin to argue. Finally Inez understands something.

INEZ ... Ah, I understand now. I know why they've put us together.
GARCIN I advise you to - to think twice before you say any more.
INEZ Wait! You'll see how simple it is. Childishly simple. Obviously there aren't any physical torments - you agree, don't you? And yet we're in hell. And no one else will come here. We'll stay in this room together, the three of us, for ever and ever... In short, there's someone absent here, the official torturer.
GARCIN... I'd noticed that.
INEZ It's obvious what they're after - an economy of man-power -- or devil-power, if you prefer. The same idea as in the cafeteria, where customers serve themselves.
ESTELLE What ever do you mean?
INEZ I mean that each of us will act as torturer of the two others
[There is a short silence while they digest this information.]
GARCIN [gently] No, I shall never be your torturer. I wish neither of you any harm, and I've no concern with you. None at all. So the solutions easy enough; each of us stays put in his or her corner and takes no notice of the others. You here, you here, and I there. Like soldiers at our posts. Also, we mustn't speak. Not one word. That won't be difficult; each of us has plenty of material for self-communings. I think I could stay ten thousand years with only my thoughts for company.

Their attempts at not torturing each other are obviously failures, but it's funny to see the way that just them being who they are, each of the them being themselves tortures the others. Funny in a very dark way. Funny the way that I feel now when I realize that I am in that same situation. That I am Garcin, trying, now that I have discovered the mechanics of it all, to get out, thinking that by understanding it I could change it. And slowly, SLOWLY surrendering to the reality of the limitations of human interaction, to the fact that there is no exit.

I just can't help but continue to wish to dream of a time when we could understand each other. When we can be separate but also know each others' experiences. Maybe that wish is my own private Inez or Estelle. Or maybe that's exactly what human design promises. Guess I'll just have to wait and see. For now, the bitterness encompasses me. The thing is that if anyone valued what I had to offer from this bitterness it would only feed the bitterness, and the feeling that everyone else had owed me. It's not from here that I can find resignation. I have to resign first, and that's a bitter pill to swallow!


photo from: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:NoExit_cover.gif

Skin as Thin

Explorations in focus and color and light

Experimenting Noticing

I recently listened to the first class of Radical Deconditioning again. It's a class that I took in the winter with Leela and Dharmen Swann-Herbert. I have an all left oriented mind, so it's good for me to listen to things - classes, lectures - more than once. I tend to miss a lot the first time. The last time I took the class I was dating Devin and part way through it he broke up with me. It was certainly the most difficult breakup I had ever experienced, and part of my coping strategy had been to try to prove that I was really good at noticing.

Now I am not taking the class with anyone. I'm just listening to it and doing the exercises on my own. The first class is all about the transformative power of observation and experimentation. This is really the foundation for what Leela and Dharmen have to teach (or so it seems to me).

Their claim is that there is nothing we can do to get our minds to surrender to our lives. There is nothing we can do to get our minds to trust our lives. (Which leaves me wondering why Dharmen was yelling at me "you have to trust life!" the last time we spoke, but it seems everyone is full of contradictions.) The only thing we CAN do, they say, is to observe our life - to observe the mind, to observe our body, to observe the world outside of us, and to observe the things that we say. Observing, they say, is the key to transforming our lives. The transformation happens on it's own, the surrender happens on its own - but the observation is something we can do.

My friend Ashley came to visit about a week ago. It was hard to have him here because I am lost in a fog. He told me about a game. You sit in one spot in the woods and you sit there until you see a hair. You will always see a hair if you wait long enough. The trick is that you can't be looking for it. When you start looking for it, you don't find it. If you can relax your mind and let the hair present itself to you, it will. If you look, nope.

So I was out for a hike yesterday (on account of having met the girl in the tree the day before) and I found myself on someone else's property. I heard some folks coming my way. It was dense woods and so I felt safely hidden, but didn't want to take any chances, so I sat down to wait for them to pass. With nothing else to do I thought I would try the hair game.

First thing I thought was, what if I don't find a hair? am I going to be really disappointed in myself if I have to give up? maybe I shouldn't make this kind of commitment. Am I just setting myself up? Then I relaxed, remembered what Ashley said - that you only find the hairs when you're not looking for it - and I started to adjust my seated position when lo and behold - a hair. Then another.

Cool!

It was easy. The first time. But I found myself once again resting in the woods and once again the thought came through - maybe I'll try the hair game while I sit here. This time I was really scared. The chances of me succeeding twice in a row seemed slim. My mind was sort of sure that it wouldn't happen, but it was also really excited by the idea that it would. I remembered what Ashley said - that you only find the hairs when you're not looking - but it didn't help this time; I couldn't stop looking.

What happened next was illuminating. I watched as my mind tried to get itself to surrender. I watched it try to trick itself into thinking it had surrendered. I watched it get mad at itself for not being able to surrender. I watched it try to trick itself into surrendering. And then, finally in desperation, I saw it give up completely. And then I found a hair.

What was illuminating was not so much the truth of Ashley's statement, but the struggle that my mind had with accepting the truth of it, and implementing it. It's the same struggle that I have with my life. During the hair game I got to see on a micro scale what is happening in my mind in relationship to my life on the macro scale.

I got to see it. heh, but that's all. I just got to see it. There's nothing else that I get. I don't get to change it. I don't get to teach anyone about it. I don't get to convince other people that it's important. I don't even know if it is important.

I have spent my life exploring this consciousness and I can't say that I have found much reward in that investigation. I just haven't found anything else yet that seems more worth doing.

So, I've been watching. For the last few days.

Most of the time my mind is able to convince me that it's dramas and complaints are legitimate. Often times I'm able to convince other people too - that part scares me. It means I am responsible for what I say. I can't count on other people to call me out. I thought I could. At least, that's what John made me think. I mean, that's what he told me he could do. I thought that was the key to healing my relationship with my life - having someone else tell me when I was lying to myself, but there's no one else who can see through me the way I can see through myself. That's not what a projector is for - to tell you what's true and what's not true for you. I don't know what we're here for, but right now it seems silly to me to think that we are here to help generators live their lives as themselves. It seems to me that we are here to guide large groups of generators in large scale projects. But maybe that's just this projector.

Sorry, there's still a lot of anti-John left in me.

{There's a female cardinal sitting on the back porch. She is just sitting there, and has been for some time now. It's rare that the birds sit there so still, usually they are eating, or they are in the trees. Oop, there she goes, down to the feeder. Bright orange beak.}

So, I don't know. Things seem like they are getting more honest every day. And there is no Devin now in which to frame that progress. No one to prove things to. No one to try to hold onto. Just myself. Which seems good.




cool photo of brain rays: http://www.metaphysics-for-life.com/mind-over-matter.html

What is surrender?

Warning: Nihilism ahead

I've been seeing the connections lately between what Dillard has to say about the joke in life - that we are sewn into it like so much corn, and that being sewn into it makes us subject to it - and some of the epic stories that have graced the movie theaters in my lifetime: the Matrix and Hunger Games keep popping up.

What strikes me is that these movies give us hope - like Dr. Snow in the Hunger Games points out - but it is a false hope. In the Matrix, Neo gets out of the Matrix, and then goes on to fight the bad guys who are keeping everyone else hooked up to the big joke. In the Hunger Games, where everyone is pitted against each other and everyone is on their own (much as in life), the heroine beats the game by threatening suicide, and she is able to save someone else's life. She then goes on to rebel against the people who control the game and all of society.

But in real life there is no one controlling the game and there is no one keeping us connected to an artificial matrix. The matrix we are in is real, and we cannot get out of it. We can commit suicide, but even this is only a temporary release from the struggle. We are stuck here, "spread into matter, connected by cells right down to our feet, and those feet likely to fell us on a tree root, or jam us on a stone." Not just possibly, but likely. And that's the part that is hard to understand and hard to accept. 

We are pitted against each other. We are alone, and yet we want to be united. We can make alliances or we can create unions with another sorry soul, but these are only useful tools for advancing our chances at survival. We are in bodies that are designed to survive through manipulation, cheating, and lying. We are not designed to want to be here. We are designed to want what we are not. We can only be liberated from suffering by accepting that these feet are likely to fell us on a tree root, and to see life as a joke instead of a symphony. We are liberated through surrendering not just to our own incompetence, but to our immorality as well, to our selfishness and to the endless cycles of living and dying, and to pragmatism.

Some more Spring photos

Rooting for Australopithecus

Reading about the evolution of man and it's hard to regard the world with the same blasé attitude. Plumbing, toasters, maple syrup, potted plants, bird feeders, the cloud, we have far exceeded the expectations of our ancestors, if indeed they had such things as expectations.

To this homo sapien sapien, fascination seems to be a common experience. Fascination with the material world. And the question 'why' is one she loves to ponder - it seems to illuminate to her the interconnectedness of all things, and this interconnectedness... I would call it "important" to her. She is "inspired" by it.

Skin, for example, there it is, on every mammal. It works to allow what is happening to happen. And what is happening? I cannot know, but I can know that I can't know. I can know that I only see a small spectrum of what is happening. Knowing this does not change it. Even with infra-red glasses, I am seeing information translated into the language that my eyes can understand. I can know it's there, but I cannot know what is there, only that it seems to be something that is not a part of "me." Skin.

The senses, which allow experience to happen. It is not enough for this creature to want to understand what is going on - be it seeing infrared, or seeing into the future, she wants to know why she wants to know. What a curious creature she is to be curious about the world, and about herself. What a strange existence to be in a cage, to know that you are in a cage, to want out of the cage, to be able to imagine being something that you are not.

I just wonder if Australopithecus would have been as philosophical. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe that's why she died off.

Night time intruder

Last night I was lying in bed, trying to sleep. My body has been very tired lately, but something seemed to be urging me to get up. I sat up and immediately, some small movement caught my eye. I looked closer out the window and that's when I saw him. He looked like a tiny black bear from where I was, and I had the urge to reach out and hug him. Then I saw what he was up to - holding down the bird with one hand, and shoveling seed in his mouth with the other.

I tapped on the window. He looked up at me and his eyes reflected what little light there was. He paused, then stuck his paw back in, without taking his eyes off of me. I opened the window. He paused again. I said, "hey mr. raccoon, you better get moving," and that's what he did. Turned right around and waddled over to the stairs. I did my own waddle down the stairs and headed out onto the back porch where I heard the unmistakable sounds of scuttling. Brought the feeder inside and slept well.

Hope we wasn't too hungry to sleep well himself.

Despite their absolute adorableness, if anyone who doesn't already know that they can be seriously dangerous is reading this, please don't follow that urge to hug, they're cuter when they're far away.

photo link: http://www.theoilpaintingsaless.com/upimage/201007260156590156_M.jpg

Vast Skin

I'm not sure this poem works, but I can't find a better way to capture the feeling it gives me. I don't know what it means, the edge of my skin, but it seems to make sense to some part of me. It's something like, I look at my own strength and it frightens me. I keep myself small because I am afraid of the vastness that I have seen inside myself. The question, who could be so vast, I love. Because we all are, and because it implies the existence of the witness inside us, who is so often exemplified by wonder and awe.

I did not take this picture and unfortunately, I don't know who did.

New House

Outside Mom's front door

Stuff I noticed while I was outside