Blinded

Oh that I could see
The beauty of your soul,
Resting peacefully in silence
Beneath your surface.

But your surface is a mirror
Its reflection blinds me,
Blinds me to your truth
And your perfection.

So bright this mirror that reflects
Only what I choose to see
Dancing on the surface
Only flirting with me

Denied your truth
This mirror won’t reveal
Its shadows and fragments
And the fear it conceals

Your reflection blinds me
Reflection of what?
Why, it’s how I see you, of course!

No, not really.
It’s not you I see.
It’s me.

Reflected only fear and doubt
From every surface they appear
No, you do not blind me
I blind myself.

Don’t Open the Box

I love the mystery implicit in theories such as those of quantum mechanics. They describe, for example, the sub-atomic world – a world in which strange elements with stranger names live - photons, quarks, leptons and antiquarks…hundreds actually. These are theoretically the primary elements that constitute the intimate nature of matter. Yet they behave in strange and unpredictable ways, at least according to our understanding of reality. As technology progresses, scientists delve deeper and deeper into the complex structure of matter only, it seems, to be met with more questions than answers. Hence the mystery, the wonder of it all. And, with the mystery, is the question regarding realities and possibilities far greater than our ability to understand. I belong to the majority whose understanding of such theories is superficial at best. Yet they provide wonderful analogies and metaphors that help fill in the gaps of my own concepts of reality and awareness.

For instance, take the concept that quantum elements can exist simultaneously in two separate states - both as particles, like tiny specs of dust, and also as waves or states of pure non-physical energy. How can they be both at the same time? Particles mean matter - a “thing”; waves are energetic in nature – a potential.

When unobserved, these strange elements seem to act only in wave-like form, dancing and vibrating, interacting with other energies in complex and mysterious ways. Here they represent pure energy with infinite potential. 

But when scientists “look” or attempt to measure quantum phenomena, these elements leave only “footprints” – the suggestion to the observer that they are discrete particles as evidenced, for example, as the tracks left by electrons on a photographic plate. Does this mean that matter has no real existence except from our observing frame or reference? Is its existence only apparent based on our sensory or measuring apparatus?

This is a bit of a stretch for my unscientific mind. Are quantum elements both energy and matter at the same time…but only observable as particles? If so, this leads me to some interesting speculation.

First, we must also be ultimately composed of these strange quantum elements by virtue of the fact that we are a collection of atoms and molecules in organic and cellular form. Are we therefore both matter and energy at the same time as well – interchangeable and open to infinite states and possibilities? 

Science postulates that, in the absence of measurement or observation, the natural state of all things exists as pure energy – unpredictable and forever interacting with other energy fields in a vast universe of infinite potential. This would suggest that our own individual quantum energies are in a continuous interaction with those of all other quantum energies, connected and moving with divine order. I love the image this brings to mind – for me, it is the concept of spiritual connection.

Science is somewhat more mundane, however. Observations of these entities reveal only their particle or matter component at a specific point in time. Once observed, the potential of these quantum elements to take other forms or directions has been forever lost, frozen in time without further possibility. These observed and recorded particles are now separate and discrete. It is said, in scientific jargon, that their infinite potential and interactivity has “collapsed” into a particle (or physical) state through observation. Before observation there was only energetic potential…with infinite possibility. In other words, once we “know” the current state, the other possible states no longer exist.

We open the box and look inside. We must see what’s in there. Maybe there’s treasure…maybe not. Whatever it is before exists as pure potential…as an energetic state…until we open the box. Then we know. Now its contents are real and finite…its potential has collapsed…separated.

Would there be a way to resist this temptation to look inside the box and always remain in an unlimited state of anticipation? Not easy for us humans. We’re not built or wired that way. Our minds and egos demand to see reality and so we continually open the box in an ongoing quest to measure ourselves, our contents, against the contents of others. In so doing, we separate and isolate. 

Everyone with whom we interact is, in one way or another, doing the same thing – looking inside the box…attempting to define their own reality in juxtaposition with each other. This reality is limiting – it obscures so much unknown potential. 

While I’m as guilty as the next in my failure to resist this temptation, I am trying to use this abstract principal of quantum theory as a metaphor for the way in which I limit myself or obsessively worry about that which appears to have no solution. If I could spend more time outside the box rather than inside perhaps I could better feel this unlimited potential of my waveform self…that spiritual component which is always present and always interacting in accordance with a Divine order that has all our best interests in mind. If I believe…if I know there to be this mysterious energetic component of my being, I’m able to be more at peace – even when I’m feeling down and back to looking in the box again. Looking for answers. 

Or if I have a problem that seems to endlessly plague me, I’m haunted by what could happen…what could go wrong. I’m constantly looking inside the box freezing the possible outcome to the current moment in time. What if I could leave it alone and allow the total range of possibilities to open before me? Wait for the solution rather than force it?

In truth, there is no box…and there are no limits – only the ones we impose on ourselves. Our makeup is remarkable and mysterious and does consist of the energetic possibility described in the quantum world. It does allow us unlimited potential if we let it.

So the science of Quantum Theory does present me with this helpful metaphor. Don’t open the box – there is no box. Focus instead on that range of infinite possibilities and interactions that are mine. They exist for me and with whomever I relate - always present and always with my best interests in heart and mind…and theirs as well.

In reality, we’re all in this thing together.

The Struggle Within

Were I able to extend
An open hand
Inviting exchange
Welcoming connection.

My hand is not an open hand
Instead clenched across my chest
A fist wound to strike
Covering a wounded heart.

My eyes look down
At that fist with knuckles white
Inward, ever inward
No feeling can escape.

Instead the fury of my emotions
Swirls ever tighter within this heart
I cannot hear the cries for help
Only the pounding in my chest.

Within, ever within
While my fist shakes in anger
My emotions tightly drawn inside
Nothing will escape.

Defiant eyes survey my opponent
Equally postured
Equally defiant
Equally wounded.

I reject, withdraw
He follows my every move – perfectly
Who is this opponent
Who allows me no defense?

Defiant eyes look back
And there is recognition
I’ve seen those eyes before
Do they belong to me?
Am I my own opponent?

So sad; so serious
We bear the burden of our fury
Placed heavily on broad shoulders
By ourselves, only by ourselves.

Our eyes still locked…but wait
With ever so faint
A smile forms
And is returned.

Defiance dissolves in momentary truce
Anger relents
Amidst the humor of our folly
I see this enemy within.

A child looks back
His tongue stuck out
He cries because he cannot play
There is no danger…should I let him?

My fist becomes an open hand
Extended outward from my heart
I am at peace – there is no threat
No enemy within.

That goofy kid just wants to play
And I know he can
That goofy kid became a man
And I know who I am.

Vulnerability

I stand firm and proud
A proverbial beacon of strength
My power intimidates
Power seekers surround me
Why am I so alone?

My image ramrod straight
Unflappable
Courageous
Charming
Witty
And more alone than ever

Who is this pillar of strength?
Is it me…or who I should strive to be?
I yearn to be myself
I have lost that self I liked so much
Buried beneath the towers of my “Image”

A sudden sadness overwhelms me
The steel façade begins to crumble
Against my will, through tears of anguish
The essence of my being lies revealed…vulnerable
Undefended, trusting with arms outreaching
Loving Souls comfort me
I am never alone.

I can recall so clearly, as a young Plebe at the Naval Academy, being the object of wrath of so many upperclassmen. I was seventeen, rebellious, miserable and totally resentful of finding myself in an all male military establishment. I had no military aptitude or bearing; I wasn’t cut out for this sort of stuff. 

My dad forced me to go Well, I could hardly say no after being accepted…only to find out forty years later that he had a hand in my acceptance. So I went, determined that I could find “the right stuff” – but it wasn’t my stuff. I became very confused, feelings of personal unworthiness intensified.

The upperclass got on my case. One in particular wants to get me to quit. I can’t do that – go home to a disappointed and judgmental father – no way. He’s always after me; I can’t escape. He finds me in formation one evening just before dinner. My shirt is soaked with sweat from doing pushups for the past half hour. I know he will find something wrong. He does.

“Stevens, you piece of shit!” he bellows not six inches from my face.

“Yes, Sir,” I respond acknowledging, I suppose, his admonition.

“Who shined your shoes?”

“I did, Sir”

“They look like shit! You look like shit.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I can’t hear you, maggot!”

“Yes, Sir!” I bellow with every ounce of energy I have, grateful for the physical outlet of intense rage and hatred I feel towards this person.

This upperclassman has friends. Two or three join him now and they look at me with ridicule and sarcasm.

“Fix your cap, asshole.” One commands.

Another makes fun of my posture.

Another turns his back towards me and breaks wind.

I have no choice other that to remain at attention, eyes straight ahead. Inside, the rage is exploding, ever so close to that point of no return.

And they just look at me and laugh.

My main nemesis looks into my eyes with scorn.

“You’re nothing but a piece of shit, Stevens. Why did you come here? Why don’t you go home? You should quit – we don’t want you here!”

“No, Sir. I want to become a naval officer.” (God, was this a lie!)

“Well, we don’t want you, Stevens! This place would be so much better if you just crawled out of here and left for good.”

Our eyes locked, defiant and challenging.

Without warning, a flood of emotions erupted within me. Rage turned to despair… despair to defeat… defeat to unworthiness. The reality of my military ineptitude and hopelessness of my situation screamed back to me.

My eyes flooded with tears. Silently, I began to shake… uncontrollably. I knew at that point I was toast.

Mr. Nemesis quickly dismissed his friends. I waited for the inevitable ridicule. He had done it…he had broken me.

He said nothing. His eyes softened and he put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Quietly, he led me out of formation, around the corner to where I could gain my composure in private. In an instant, he went from nemesis to mentor. There was a friendly tenderness in his eyes now. 

I was embarrassed and fearful. He reassured me, shaking my hand. “We’ll get through this.” He said and became a good and lasting friend.

Now, so many years later, I can still see that change in his eyes at my moment of surrender. I hadn’t planned it that way, of course; it just happened. Why was his transformation so swift, so permanent and absolute? 

I thought I was being weak. Now I think differently. Vulnerability is not weakness…just the absence of defense, the absence of protective and threatening shields projected on others. Inside, I revealed my authentic self and appealed to that sense of connectivity we all have in open and honest moments.

When we reach the point in time when none of us needs weapons or shields, maybe there will be a new communion of humanity. Based in love and trust rather than suspicion and fear.

Wow! Wouldn’t that be something?
 

My New Chair

Sadly, or maybe not, there is coming a time in life when I place greater value on comfort than on excitement…or the adrenalin rush of physical activity. Yes, I still have endorphins – they’re perhaps a little slower in their transit through my system and seem to be activated more by stopping than starting. But, what the hell, an endorphin is and endorphin any way you cut it. I’ve got plenty and I feel great!

Last week I was reminded, quite by accident, of this wonderful aspect of aging. I found a symbol of my sanctuary of quiet, slow introspection. My New Chair. I loved this chair – I couldn’t have a better one if I designed and built it myself. How I came posses it is peculiar – a wonderful reminder of the synchronicity that winds through the fabric of our lives.

Andrea and I drove to the store last week. We live on a small island off the mainland of British Columbia. There’s never far to go and there’s not much we haven’t seen.

On the way back home, she said suddenly, “Let’s keep driving for a while. Maybe we’ll find some place we haven’t seen yet.”

“Good idea.” I felt her intuition was saying something. This is one of her many abilities for which I have great respect.

So we kept driving, past our home and on down the main road that serves this island. Five or so miles later there was an intersection to the left. I turned and followed a winding road that ended abruptly at the water’s edge. We turned around and headed back – then another intersection we had missed o the way down.

“Turn here,” Andrea said, “turn left.”

Obediently, I swerved to the left and followed this new, undiscovered road stretched out before us. It was narrow but paved and seemed to parallel the coast. There were a number of discrete driveway entrances on one side which we surmised led to expensive waterfront homes – none of which we could see though.

We neared the end after another mile or so and looked for a way back to the main road. It was then we noticed something very strange to the left. Back beyond the narrow shoulder resting comfortably in the high grass was a large, extremely comfortable-looking swivel rocker – the old Lazy Boy with a stick that raises the footrest. It was love at first sight!

I stopped the car, got out and approached it with awe. It was beige and overstuffed with a corduroy-like velour covering. In the seat was a piece of cardboard with the word “Free” hand written in black magic-marker.

I looked at Andrea. She shrugged. “Why not? Why don’t you try it out?”

Slowly I approached it. I had no idea how long it had been there. Perhaps it had sat for weeks on this lonely stretch of road. I carefully looked underneath the rocker for snakes. Nothing. There were a few stains and wear marks – cosmetic really – superficial indicators of wear. I appreciate that.

Gracefully, I lowered myself into its soft seat. It welcomed me with joy and acceptance. It was a perfect fit – we must have been made for each other.

“Andrea, try the chair!” She shook her head smiling with that knowing look, always a good sport.

“We need this for the living room.” I stated with what was hopefully an objective and dispassionate tone.

She agreed with such grace and style.

“Can we get it in the Honda?” she asked.

“Of course.” I said without the slightest idea how. It was a Honda Civic after all. The two of us struggled with this beast – it weighed a ton and just wanted to rotate around – it was a true swivel but not real workable or cooperative to two seniors trying to wrestle it into the trunk. We got a piece of it in – but that was it. Way too much chair for that little car.

As we each held a side of the chair trying to figure out what to do next, a lady in a late model SUV drove by and stopped, leaning out the window. “So you’re going to take the chair?” she stated politely but with a trace of relief.

I nodded with kind of a goofy smile. I felt an irrational urge to tell her I was a college graduate – not some homeless bum scrounging her neighbor’s throw-aways. “Yes” I answered with quiet reservation. “It was free.” I added for no apparent reason.

With only the back of the rocker in the trunk we had no way to get it home. If only we had some rope or a bungi cord….

“Why don’t you use this bungi cord?” Andrea asked. She had miraculously found one inside. I secured it and the chair was secured to the car - although somewhat precariously. I was about to leave gently taking our newly prized possession to its new home when Andrea said, “Wait!”

She jumped back out of the car and found the cardboard free sign. On it’s back she wrote with her ballpoint pen: “Thank you!”

Pure class.

We drove home at about 5 km/hr with a long line of cars behind us by the time we reached our driveway. No one was angry though. They must have realized that we had found a treasure. We were supported by all – especially the Universe. Isn’t strange how, just when you ask, somehow, if the intent is strong, the answer is right there.

I love my new chair.

Harry

Chapter One

Harry’s Dilemma

The frozen arctic landscape was cold and inhospitable…bleak and barren to the eyes of a foreigner. But to Harry, an arctic polar bear, the scene before him instilled a sense of belonging and pride. He never tired of watching the endless expanse of pure white snow rising in the distance to form massive hills and ridges. He watched the ever-changing texture of the snow cover, molded and shaped by constantly changing arctic winds.

Harry had lots of time to observe his surroundings as he spent hours every day sitting near that telltale hole in the ice he instinctively knew to be an air hole for the many seals swimming below. He knew they would eventually have to breathe; he waited patiently watching the hole for the first signs of bubbles.

Harry was alone in his quest for dinner. He sometimes spent all day waiting and watching. These lonely times provided many opportunities to reflect on what it meant to be a polar bear. He was taught that from the beginning that polar bears are the biggest and fiercest of all bears…they fear no other creature. He knew his status in the tribe depended on toughness, competitiveness, physical abilities…all the characteristics of animal strength and dominance. Harry aspired to be all those things and more. And he wanted to please his parents, of course, for they were the ones who first inspired him with his greatness. He was also terribly aware of his peers and how he stacked up next to them. And, most of all, he saw that the strongest had their choice of mates. This was very important to an adolescent polar bear.

So Harry became all these things and more. He was naturally big (pushing half a ton!), was pretty athletic. He walked with a bit of a swagger. The girls loved him; his parents were so proud. How fortunate Harry was to be blessed with such genes!

But Harry was troubled…unfulfilled…restless and anxious. He gazed into the frozen horizon and was so taken by the beauty of the light – the way it constantly changed as the sun moved across the sky. Tears of appreciation formed and quickly froze as they fell. He marveled at the thousands of sparkling lights dancing before him, reflections from ice and snow crystals…how they changed, furiously beckoning him to follow them to another world. Harry wondered about that world. He felt inspired…touched by a force he couldn’t understand but somehow knew to be real. And, with these thoughts, he felt ashamed. He was not a real polar bear…he was a fraud. Polar bears should not feel such emotions.

In spite of his shame, Harry began to draw images in the snow. He felt compelled…overpowered, in fact, to express his feeling somehow in a concrete format. Slowly his claw formed a symbol that represented an emotion, an observation…a creative thought. That, in turn, led to another symbol and, before he knew it, Harry had expressed a feeling that was dying to get out…to be shared. Momentarily, Harry felt incredible joy. He had somehow connected with this beautiful force that surrounded him and, in the process, connected with himself. There is so much more to life, he thought with great peace and joy. Quickly Harry obliterated his creation with a wave of his massive paw. No one can see this! Somehow I must contain these feelings, this blissful state for, if I’m discovered, I’ll surely lose the status I’ve worked so hard to acquire.

And so Harry lamented his dilemma – how to maintain the integrity of his polar bear manhood in the personality and soul of a sensitive and creative being. He longed to find other outlets for the passion of life stirring within him but was deathly afraid of being discovered and thought of as being less than polar bear-like.

I was like Harry. My priorities were upside down. For a large part of my life, I ignored the music inside and focused instead on maintaining the manhood image…the shell of protection and deceit. The quest for acceptance was king and I suffered as a result…as did others around me. Next , maybe I’ll take a closer look at Harry’s dilemma and examine how he might break free of the tribal bonds of conformity.

Chapter Two
Harry’s Delusion

Harry sat dejected in the cold artic landscape. “Forget it,” he thought to himself. Polar bears are meant to hunt and kill. They need to be aggressive and tough…it’s expected of them. He scrubbed out any trace of his previous creative endeavor from the snow and resumed his practice of doing push-ups to occupy his time…and mind.

He finished his first set of 2400 and then started on his sit-up routine. He hated doing this stuff but knew it to be a necessary component of the macho life. Even though his muscles were covered by thick white hair, it gave Harry confidence to know he was carrying six-pack-abs below. He could swagger. He had the equipment for it. He practiced walking around the ice hole. He was trying to perfect the John Wayne style that was proving very successful for him.

“Chicks love this,” he thought ignoring how silly he looked prancing around the ice hole. It would all be worth it…he hoped.

On the next ridge a group of three female bears watched Harry from behind an ice shelf. They chattered excitedly among themselves knowing they were having a rare opportunity to watch a young macho stud perform, uninhibited by the knowledge he was being watched.

“Oh..ahmawyee god!” Shelia exclaimed breathlessly. She was a cheerleader and appreciated athletic movement. Rhonda nodded in agreement. Eloise stood and stared in rapt appreciation.

“That’s Harry. He’s so cute. Look at him strut. Why is he going around in circles? Should we talk to him?” The giggling continued as they worked up their confidence to show themselves.

Meanwhile, Harry continued his swagger around the ice hole, unaware that he was being observed.

“Man, am I bored.” Harry thought with frustration. Sadly, he remembered the momentary joy he felt at the thought of drawing in the snow. He shut his eyes tightly trying to block out these creative and unmanly thoughts. He felt his abs again and felt slightly better…but still bored.

Suddenly, Harry saw the three females walking down the hill towards him. “Oh, shit! They must have seen me working out and practicing.” This was not good. Harry had to create the illusion that his strength and swagger came naturally.

“Hi Harry!” Eloise blinked her eyes seductively. “What are you doing?”

Harry stammered briefly. Then roared. He always did that when he was flustered. It was a defense mechanism that never failed him. The girls stepped back quickly.

“Catching seals, of course.” He replied. He struck his hunter pose. They all loved it.

“How many have you caught?” Rhonda asked.

“Several.” Harry lied. “What brings you ladies out here?”

Shelia replied. “Why, we’re just out for a walk…checking out the neighborhood…you know what I mean?” She was the aggressive one. Harry could all tell they were interested in getting to know him better. Mating season was starting soon; he knew he was on a lot of lists.

Sensing their interest in him, Harry relaxed. He observed them critically: all not bad looking. Anyone would be proud to be seen with them…particularly Shelia. She was hot. Harry winked at her…she smiled back seductively. It was so easy. Thank god for those sit-ups.

But Harry felt no connection with any of them. It was more like a game than a mating ritual. As they stood together conversing as young polar bears do, Harry felt the boredom, the futility of all that he was. They just wanted to be seen with him…like some status symbol. They didn’t care about who he was inside…just what he looked like and what he could do for them. His interest waned further. Intuitively, the females retreated. Harry excused himself.

“Have to get back to my hunting.” He said without conviction.

The females nodded and moved on. Harry watched them move away slowly. He was sadder than ever. Unconsciously, he began doodling again in the snow, breathing quietly, waiting for the signs of bubbles from below.

Lost in thought, alone on the frozen tundra, Harry let his imagination roam. Quickly the doodle took form and shape. Again, Harry felt the enormous joy and satisfaction of the creative spirit that was in him. It was his dark secret. One he would protect forever but one he could chose to exercise whenever he was alone.

“What’s that, Harry?” a quiet female voice from behind startled him. She had come out of nowhere. What would he do now…now that he had been discovered…and exposed?

Chapter Three

Harry’s Discovery

“Oh god!”, Harry exclaimed to himself. “I’ve been exposed as an unmanly fraud!”

He stared in desguised horror at the young female who had approached him from behind without warning. Harry was so engrossed in the picture he was creating in the ice and snow that he had totally lost sight of where he was.

What joy he was experiencing as his artistic form grew into a personal expression of the beauty he observed. As his massive paw gently shaped each line, using those sharp claws to refine and add texture, he intuitively knew that this was right. This was his truth!

Now he had been discovered by a female who would surely blab this all around the polar bear community…just at the time when his macho character was becoming firmly entrenched with his peers. Shit!

“What’s that, Harry?” she repeated.

“Nothing.” Harry responded sullenly as his giant frame eased across his artwork in a feeble attempt to conceal it. He felt foolish lying prostrate over his creation, spread-eagled in the snow looking up at her in dismay. It was pitiful.

“Actually, it’s a diagram of a system I’m using to catch more seals,” he lied. Then he growled for no apparent reason other than to reacquire some of his pride.

“Well, whatever it was, It’s beautiful! You shouldn’t be lying on it. You’ll squash it and then it it’ll be ruined.”

“Hell, I don’t care. It was nothing.” Harry rolled over on his back rubbing his shoulders against his artwork, forever obliterating what, only a few moments before, had given him more satisfaction than anything else he had ever done.

“What’s your name? Do you know me? Are you gonna tell?”

“I’m Gretchen,” she answered somewhat hesitantly. “”And, of course I know you. Everyone knows you. You’re somewhat of a rock star in our community. And what’s to tell?”

Gretchen was one of the few females who had never shown much interest in Harry, mainly because she found him a little boring. The way he strutted around, prancing and growling, intimidating anyone who approached him. She found this behavior very uninteresting.

Now, quite by accident, she had discovered another part of Harry that no one else knew. And she found it very attractive. Here was a man with sensitivity and style, a gentle man who recognized beauty and longed to express it. All of this she saw in the first instant … watching him so absorbed in his creativity.

“Tell what?” Gretchen asked.

“You know…that I was drawing in the snow when I should have been watching for seal bubbles. I was only doodling.”

Harry suspected his reputation was in dire jeopardy. He should have been pacing and growling around the ice hole…but he wasn’t. Yet, somehow, Harry didn’t feel afraid of Gretchen. He had barely noticed her before. She was one of the few that didn’t seem impressed by his antics. He figured she was probably a lesbian. How else could she not find him attractive?

“Harry, whatever you were doing, it was incredible. Do you realize what you’re capable of? Why, you have a gift. You have the ability to express the love and beauty of nature like nobody else I know. But, no…I wont ‘tell’. That would be for you to do. I think our community has been waiting for someone like you though.”

Harry just stared at her defiantly. Who was she to tell him, Harry, what he had to offer. He had power. Stature. Men were envious of him…they feared him. Women flocked to him seeking to have some of this power.

Why did he feel so attracted to her? She obviously wanted none of what he had to offer. What else could he give her? Surly not his doodling. Yet he sensed that there may well be something deeper within him that could appeal to the right person. Gretchen might be one. She looked deeper than what he projected on the surface. She looked into his soul…and liked what she saw!
Harry’s eyes softened as he looked back.

“Really?” he asked sheepishly.

“Really.”

Gretchen liked this new Harry – the one she had never seen. She was tired of being constantly pursued by the macho contingent. She knew she had a lot to offer any of them but chose to remain aloof. She figured Harry to be just another stutter…another big talker…another guy trying to hide all his fears in a charade of patriarchy.

She looked back into Harry’s eyes. His defenses were gone now. He was open, no longer afraid. There was a hint of playfulness in those sparkling eyes… a hint of humor…and a host of other characteristics that she figured were dying to come out. He smiled for the first time.

She smiled back.

“It’s okay, Harry. Let’s just sit and talk for a while. I’ll help you watch for seal bubbles.”

Harry felt a joy he had never known. Someone seemed to like him for who he really was. No airs or fronts necessary.

“I wonder where this is going?” he thought.

Chapter Four

Harry’s Awakening

Harry lay down, his head swimming with the realization that he had something to offer the world besides a growl and a John Wayne swagger. He lay down on his back with his head resting on an ice pilow. He stared quietly ahead while Gretchen stood patiently at his side.

His right paw scratched at the snow absently as his mind tried to comprehend the enormity of what Gretchen was saying. Could she be right? Do I have other gifts to offer? If so, why am I so afraid of them?

Harry sighed deeply forming a hugh vapor cloud above them. It quickly crystalized in the cold air and fell as a twinkling cloud of white dust. Gretchen watched the millions of ice crystals settle over them knowing that Harry was releasing a belief that had been hammered into his young head practally from the day he was born. She remained quiet so that Harry could think. Softly she gazed toward the frozen horizen.

Harry thought about his emense popularity. He was envied by all the males and sought after by all the females…well, most of them. He had everything a young polar bear could want: looks, physical size, a dynamic personality. He thought he had it all, at least all the important things. Now this Gretchen comes out of nowhere and tells him none of that is important. She says he has a gift – an ability to express beauty – and that others might feel the same joy from his expressions that he feels in creating them.

Wow! How radical.

Gretchen continued to watch Harry struggle with this new concept of himself. She was careful not to push too hard. It was a concept Harry would have to discover on his own. She could only suggest from her perspective. He had to do the rest.

After a very long time Harry finally broke the silence. “Tell me about yourself, Gretchen. What makes you so smart? How do you really know that I have a gift?”

Gretchen smiled back warmly. “I saw what you were making. I watched you for several minutes as you were working. I saw the expression of joy on you face as your creation took shape.”

“You were spying on me?” Harry was aghast.

“No. You just happened to be where I was going. I didn’t sneak up on you – you just couldn’t hear me. You were so engrossed in what you were doing that a caribou stampede wouldn’t have distracted you!”

“So, what makes you an expert?”

“I’m not. I just know what I like.”

“And what would that be?”

“I like honesty, sincerity and sensitivity for starters.” Gretchen shot back.

“I’m honest,” Harry responded with a defensive whine.

“Are you? Why are you always strutting around like you’ve been sitting on the ice too long…with that silly expression to boot.”

Wait just a damn minute, Harry thought to himself. I’m Harry, the Polar Bear. Women love me. Who is this Gretchen to imply that I’m not honest and…that I might even look foolish?“People tell me I walk like a movie star.”

“How does Harry walk?”

“The point is, Harry” Gretchen continued, “that your attractiveness comes from within – not from some phony movie star.”

“But I have a following. They all want to be around me. What do you think of that?” Harry was being just a little defensive.

“They just want your power. Is that all you have to give?”

“Isn’t that enough? Not too many have this, you know.”

“No, Harry. It’s not enough. And it will never sustain you in the long run. No one but me knows who you really are…and you want to hide that for fear others will think you’re not macho enough.”

Harry lapsed into silence again. He really liked her. What was it about her that he found so appealing? She talked back to him for one. No one ever did that. It’s, like, she saw right through him…wasn’t impressed. Damn!

Harry saw that honesty and integrity in Gretchen and found it very appealing. He liked the way she spoke directly and openly. There was a strange type of courage present in her demeanor – one that Harry found unfamiliar and puzzling.

“Okay, smartass,” he quipped playfully. “Tell me some more about what you like.”

“I like artistic expression – visual or otherwise. I like those who are not afraid to show those abilities in spite of what they might think others would say. I like bears who know themselves for what they are and are confident in there own fur.”

“What else?”

“Here’s what I don’t like: bears that come on strong because they think it’s sexy and appealing.” Gretchen made a retching motion with her paw. “You, Harry have all the potential to be really attractive to me…you just have to drop that macho bullshit.”

 Well, she is direct, Harry thought.“And how do you propose I do that?”

Gretchen stepped towards Harry with a mischievous look in her eye. “Let’s get started!”

 

Chapter Five
Harry’s Dance of Joy

Harry stepped back as Gretchen approached him. What was he afraid of?Instantly, he realized that he was vulnerable…but to what. She wasn’t going to hurt him. But she could see into him, through his thick white coat, his burley muscles, his John Wayne persona.

Harry felt defensless. He had no weapon to counteract this threat to his masculinity. His shield had been penetrated, the force was no longer with him.

“What are you doing?” He asked lamely

“Why, Harry, are you nervous? Am I too close for comfort?” With that, Gretchen moved even closer.

“No, of course not. I’m Harry the Polar Bear. Harry fears nothing!” A low defensive growl rumbled from his clenched jaws.

Gretchen stepped back. Her look said it all. No longer was there that softness around her eyes, that gentleness in her smile. Her seductive mysterfy evaporated before his eyes.

“Wait!” he stammered. “Don’t leave me!”

Gretchen stared back…waiting.

“I’m Harry…that part is true. You see this macho persona I wear like a cloak? It’s like

Superman’s cape. With it, I am the Bear of Steel. Without it, I’m nothing. I’ve never taken it off because I’m afraid of what you’ll see.”

“Why don’t you just give it a try? Let’s see what’s underneath. What do you have to lose…whatever it is, it’ll be better than what I see now – this big hairy super-sexed goofball who can only express himself with a bellow.”

Harry starred back defiantly. Gretchen held his gaze fearlessly. She wonderd what was going through his young mind. A long time passed.

Slowly, almost imperceptively, Gretchen saw the shift. First, there was a very slight softening around Harry’s eyes. The fierce defiance that danced there previously began to fade. In its place appeared a gentleness mixed with just a trace of humor. A smile slowly crept across his face.
Gretchen watched Harry’s body relax. She said nothing waiting for the transformation to continue.

A soft energy encompassed Harry. Gretchen could clearly see a beautiful tourquoise aura surround him. His smile broadened.

Gretchen smiled back.

Harry reached behind him and symbolically removed the cape that had been his source of strength and masculinity for so long. Now there was no protection…he was on his own. What really existed inside him? He didn’t know and…it really didn’t matter. Intuitively, he knew it was good, had value. It was beautiful and he loved it. It was him.

“Dance with me, Harry” Gretchen said as she took his paw.

“There’s no music.”

“We’ll make our own. Can’t you hear it?”

And he did. It swirled around them in a beautiful cacophony of sound and light. The rythem was intoxicating. Harry put his arm around Gretchen and began to move with her.

Gretchen looked back. “What do you think now, Harry?”

“It sure beats walking around like John Wayne.”

It sure does.

Flashbacks From A Curious Son

“Hey Dad – I’m listening to the Kingston Trio and Trini Lopez and thought of you. I’d be curious to hear more about these times in your life sometime…”

The shift in time was instantaneous. I looked at Drew’s email and the list of artists from the 50’s and 60’s – ones that he apparently had listened to recently. He must have realized that, in another time almost 50 years ago, they would engender thoughts, memories and emotions about my youth. How quickly they came back; how amazing that clusters of neurons coded all this and have kept it stored for so long scattered across this old brain.

Dion DiMucci. Who? Why Dion and the Belmonts, of course. I was thirteen and fully into the throws of a painful adolescence. I would take comfort in the dank basement of our home in Virginia where I played “I Wonder Why” over and over and over. God, I loved it! I could lip sync perfectly with it, imitating the moves I had learned from watching American Bandstand.

But my awaking neurons shout, “Wait! It goes further back…to the very genesis of your love of music: The Chords!”

Huh?

“Sha-Boom!”

Hey nonny ding dong, alang alang alang
Sh-Boom ba-doh, ba-doo ba-doodle-ay
Oh, life could be a dream (sh-boom)
If I could take you up in paradise up above (sh-boom)

Yeah, of course. I was eleven years and was thrilled when it edged out “How Much Is That Doggie In The Window” for number one spot in popular music. I took all my money and bought the record – it was a 78 and I must have played it a million times on an old record player in my parents bedroom (Norfolk, Va., if it matters).

My memory center has come alive, sort of. What else is back there? Yes, I loved the Kingston Trio. They were from Hawaii and became famous when I lived there as a 14-year nuevo-delinquent. They had even gone to my high school (as did Robin Luke – “Susie Darlin’”).

I knew all the Kingston Trio songs. I was fifteen and had a guitar. I used to play these songs at parties. My kids would never believe this but people actually got up and danced once while I was playing! I was shocked.

I played Bo Diddily, too, sort of.

I had two friends, Rick and Jim. We each had a guitar and would find a place to play where we would drink beer (Country Club Malt Liquor) and Thunderbird wine, just playing and having a great time. I wish I could do that again – without the beer and wine.

Peter, Paul and Mary were even better. I played a lot of their songs, too. “If I had a Hammer” was popular when I was a young officer in the Navy. A fellow officer told me I shouldn’t listen to them because they were pacifists. I was embarrassed at the time; now I am outraged. I would give anything to have been a hippie in the ‘60’s. Instead, I had been brainwashed and sent to Viet Nam. When I came back, my father hugged me for the first time. “Make way for this boy”, he said, “he’s been to war!” Like it was some badge of honor of something. It was perverted.

The first time I heard Trini Lopez, I was in a gigantic stereo store in Hong Kong looking for stuff to bring home. I found the two 60 lb. teak speakers there that I have been lugging around since, until 2007 when they were summarily pushed into the dumpster in Tucson. Lopez was being played in the store speakers – I think it was “If I Had A Hammer” I was blown away.

“Never My Love” by the Association was a great love song if you’re in to that stuff which I wasn’t in 1966. But you can’t touch “Along Came Mary.” I don’t remember the lyrics but the rhythm was kick ass.

I was never much into Rick Nelson. My sister adored him – had pictures of him everywhere. I told her he was gay – I don’t think she ever forgave me. He wasn’t, not that it mattered.

Whenever I hear Wha Watusi I think of beaches and beer. That’s all I can remember.

“Do The Bird” escapes me but “Surfer Bird” by the Trashmen remains on my top ten all time favorites – as does 96 Tears, Gloria, The Mountain Is High, Sea of Love, and so on. I’m not proud of this.

I thought the Kingsmen were more famous for “Louie, Louie”. I was imprisoned in the Naval Academy at the time trying to figure out the lyrics. They were banned in Seattle someone said. I regretted not going to a party school back then but probably would not be here to remember if I had.

I thought “Because” by the Dave Clark Five was way too sentimental. “Glad All Over” was what is was all about for me – more of that rhythm thing.

So I guess you could learn a lot about someone if you knew what memories were triggered by old songs. Funny how they have a way of taking you right back to that very day in some cases. Yet, as we hear them over and over for 50 years they lose their magic somehow. The senses and feelings of excitement are dulled…but maybe they’re not meant to be recycled any more than the memories they elicit. The 60’s were a tough time. I was young and impressionable, looking to find an identity that escaped me for another thirty-some years. It’s not that I don’t want to remember…just not dwell on those times as anything more than learning experiences. Great music, great times – and some not so great – memories all the same. If I could filter out the pain, maybe I would…but I’d have to give up the good with it. I wouldn’t want to do that.

Rock on.

We Are The Butterfly

The old Chinese proverb states that a butterfly’s gently flapping wings in China has the power to dramatically affect weather on the other side of the world.

How can that be, I wondered cynically. Clearly, the Chinese weren’t privy to classical modern physics. What were they thinking? My reality and what I considered true couldn’t open any more…the belief system was closed.

Then I was reminded by an inner voice.

We accept approximation for that is the only way we can define and predict. We round off because it’s “close enough”. Therefore, we dance from one island of “certainty” to another without considerations of what lies between.

But it’s all in between. The islands of certainty we cling to are, in fact, infinitesimal points. Don’t shut out the possibility to explore in between. Here is where you will find the truth.

Okay, I said. Let’s try to get to the “truth”.

Part of the truth appears to me in the strange world of chaos and fractals.

Lately, I’ve taken an interest in Chaos Theory. I don’t understand all its nuances – only enough really to appreciate the mystery that surrounds us…that which is inexplicable. Chaos Theory hints at this mystery as it reveals order out of turbulence, self-organization through some universal guidance that lies beyond my ability to comprehend. Even a brief and limited exposure reinforces the feeling that there is so much more than the “certainty” of what we know.

Chaos Theory speaks of formulas and equations that fold back into themselves, like a baker kneading dough…equations that repeat or iterate endlessly. The result of the previous equation becomes the input for the next and so on. They feed into themselves, always linked, both as individual pieces and, simultaneously, connected with the whole. As computers graphically plot these iterations, the fascinatingly beautiful world of fractals originates. Here we can see the mysterious order from chaos.

Mathematicians, using modern computers, are able to do some pretty interesting stuff playing with all these fancy iterating equations. They work with numbers and decimals going out 16 places and more. You would think that we’re talking really accurate and sophisticated science here.

But something doesn’t make sense. And here’s where the mystery deepens and creeps further in to my unbelieving mind. It’s the butterfly effect.

If these mathematicians round off their initial input to, say, 15 places instead of 16, strange things happen. After only a relatively few repetitions with this rounded input, the results of each succeeding equations begin to shift and wander dramatically. Soon the results no longer resemble what was obtained with a 16-place round off. A whole new picture emerges; the whole changes dramatically by the smallest of inputs.

And here is that mystery, what seems to contradict what the logical mind assumes to be “true”. As the input is folded back into itself, back into the whole that defines it, there is an illogical, unpredictable outcome – chaotic, if you will.

But the chaos isn’t really chaos…there’s a pattern. Like the computer-generated fractals, an order emerges from turbulence. To me, that’s a mystery.

Can life be likened to those esoteric equations, iterating in the world of mathematics? Does life fold back into itself, recreating and reemerging in a turbulent, chaotic manner? Or is there a divine order, deep and mysterious, beyond our ability to grasp and understand…is it both? Can infinitely small results be fed back into life with surprising results? Can the smallest contribution, a kind smile for example, produce a sense of joy on the other side of the world?

What if it could?



.

The Chaotic Model Of Life

“…when you reach an advanced age and look back over your lifetime, it can seem to have had a consistent order and plan, as though composed by some novelist. Events that when they occurred had seemed accidental and of little moment turn out to have been indispensable factors in the composition of a consistent plat. So who composed that plot?”*

Joseph Campbell


One of the many advantages of growing older is an increased clarity, a new perspective based on a greater understand of the whole. Maybe there was some plan after all, some grand design that was “my life”. Was I too wrapped up in it at the time to see and understand it?

I look back now on the course of my life with wisdom and maturity, achieved through many years of struggle. There is objectivity…and clarity. There is order – like some plot that only makes sense in the third and final act. Events have unfolded like a bizarre play with central players, stars, bit parts, sets, costumes, etc., each shaping and forming the unraveling story. What once appeared chaotic to me (and others) now appears intelligently pieced together in just the right way to achieve my life goal. What was that goal; who wrote the story?

Life is Chaos. It expands into turbulence, self-organizes through multiple feedback loops and reforms with greater awareness and understanding. It is nonlinear in nature; the results of one experience are fed back into the equation and, with each iteration, a newer version is created, the same but different; subtly shaded and infinitely deep.

Life, like the turbulence of Chaos, is not random. There is a design within these turbulent events – an order that guides and instructs. It forms the path we travel. Events and characters come and go creating opportunities for growth… or a cause for judgment. Challenge creates opportunity; uncertainty spawns creativity.

The chaotic model of life. Comprised of so many subsystems and feedback loops, constantly revising the plot, but always within the framework of the original story. Occasionally, there will be a bifurcation…an explosive, dramatic event creating a reality shift and a new wrinkle in the plot. The story remains the same; just more chapters.

How did it all happen? Each event and character, each scene a personal relationship with which I reacted based on my system of perception – those filters which are ingrained in my early subconscious and become the code by which I act. These relationships then create new “realities” (my truths so to speak). The plot subtly shifts.

I am pleased with my story now and pleased at where I am. Sure, there are parts I’d like to rewrite and avoid a lot of heartache but, then again, would the end result be the same? I’m reminded of the beautiful lyrics by Garth Brooks in The Dance: “I could have missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the dance.”

I try to accept each event and character in my past as an important instrument in my growth…regardless of how painful or unattractive they might have been at the time. They were necessary teachers and kept me on the path. Now I see what I’ve become and I can look back at each only with gratitude and acceptance.

Wynne Stevens
August 7, 2008
wstevens@sdg-online.com
www.sdg-online.com

*From The Turbulent Mirror by John Briggs and F. David Peat

The Limits of Certainty

Wynne Stevens

There exists within us a certain comfort zone beyond which doubt and uncertainty exist. The outer limit of this zone is the point where comfort dissolves and fear begins. We can live in either zone comfortably if we chose…or we can let fear keep us safe within the comfort zone. Step beyond the limits of certainty and experience all the freedom and joy of an unrestrained, creative life.

Beyond these limits there are no comfortable benchmarks or safeguards. Survival requires intuition, faith, creativity and confidence. Here, in this state of doubt and confusion, choices must be made. Actions and direction come not from a foundation of knowledge that has served us in the past but from a sense of discovery of new opportunities that lie ahead if only we trust. Trust in universal guidance…and trust in our own natural abilities. Here is where growth and creativity prosper, unhindered by the fear of failure or the judgments of others. Here is where I want to spend more time.

I am becoming increasingly aware of this point of transition. I am learning to spot the emotions of fear and anxiety as the zone of uncertainty draws near. My wife and I are traveling up the West Coast with no particular route or schedule. Each day of this four-week adventure will be up for grabs – there is no plan…there is no certainty. How far will we travel each day? Where will we stay at night? What if I make a mistake? What can go wrong?

As the end of each day approaches, I begin to sense this uncertainty and the fear that it brings. In an attempt to limit uncertainty I plan hard, I attempt to control the outcome. Where is the map? Let’s go online now and get a hotel reservation for tonight and maybe the next day. What time should we leave? How long will we drive? I am always in the future, never present. Stress and tension invade my being and there is no fun in anticipating a new adventure.

But what would really happen if I ventured beyond the limit of certainty – to a place where the outcome remained in doubt? What exactly am I afraid of? Why do I need to control so much? What’s the worst that could happen?

The desire to control creates a duality: the controller and the environment. There is separation in the desire to acquire power as opposed to connection through acceptance. The more I control, the more controlled I become for there is no way I have any real influence – it’s just an illusion. Growth and evolution are realities. The routines and systems I create for comfort stem from resistance to change, resistance to the uncertainties. They stifle and inhibit me.

Beyond the limit of certainty is that place where options are limitless; where there is absolute freedom and total peace. It is where our creativity originates and where truth lies, untainted by the limits of control, fear and judgment. While I may visualize chaos and uncertainty, it’s only from my perspective. If I look more deeply I see the stability and perfection of all things, a knowing that all is well if I just let it be. So I take a deep breath and plunge into this uncertain zone.

At first it feels uncomfortable. I resist. But I remain because I sense an opportunity for growth here. I slowly let go of this desire to control – just for a moment – just to try it out. Nothing happens. I begin to relax…to mesh with the flow of life…from the inside. I am no longer the controller and I no longer feel the pressure of being controlled. I sense unity and acceptance that all is well despite not knowing what lies ahead. Now I am open to all possibilities – there are no boundaries or illusions and I am free to go in any direction. What exhilaration! What freedom!

As I recognize this desire to control and accompanying anxiety, I want to let it pass through me this time. I welcome it as a part of my personality and ask it kindly to remain in the background so I can experience other sensations and thoughts without interference. I step beyond the limit of certainty into another world where there are options and possibilities of which I could never have dreamed. I am open now and ready for anything. And with each step further into uncertainty and unknowing, my comfort zone expands. There is both personal and spiritual growth that strengthens and comforts. Wherever my foot steps, it will be on the right path.

Creativity hovers beyond the limit of certainty. Doubt begs questions and questions seek answers. Imagination flows in the search for answers as our natural desire to create prospers. Through this process we know our truths…we know ourselves.


Wynne is a freelance graphic designer and former builder specializing in architectural renderings and real estate graphics.