CHRISTMAS IS A SPIRIT THAT LIVES IN MY HEART

The Christmas spirit — love — changes hearts and lives.

                                                                 Pat Boone

Christmas is a Spirit that lives in my heart. This past weekend I ate pie, shared stories, and wrote holiday cards with a dear friend.

We’ve shared this tradition of writing holiday cards over the years. But we also shared it often as three people. Robert was with us then. A year ago Robert passed on to that other shore.

Marie and Robert were married for fifty years. It would have been too abrupt to write holiday cards without first hearing Marie’s Robert poems, Marie’s and Robert’s Warp and Woof poems or Marie’s sojourn into new life.

Marie’s poems emerge from the bone and marrow of her soul. My heart gasps with Robert being invoked again as a living, breathing presence. He is gone...and not gone...as Marie invites in a new relatedness with her world.

Photo By Karla Boyd

At a particular rock and tree formation, Marie shared a special ‘Robert moment’. That was on our first walk. On other walks, we wended around trails and marveled at Sutro baths and Golden Gate Park gardens. On our last day, we delighted in seeing double crested Cormorants, a Brown Pelican; we shared secrets and sighed at the burnt orange sunset as the golden sun dropped into the ocean.

Photo By Karla Boyd

This past weekend, our conversations teetered at the edge of vulnerable intersections, and stumbled into unchartered waters and engaged Process as if a She. It's as if a Presence, a Soft Feminine Presence that lives within us all, called us out from mundane familiarity into embryonic encounters that engage a deeper flow with life. We opened more in its unfamiliarity. We are, to borrow Marie’s words, finding our place

in the flow, the every moving piecing together, coming together,

of things in their own way, in their own time, reassuring,

sustaining and satisfying.

Holiday cards finished, we sit at Marie’s dining room table as the last wisps of sunset become dusk. With the lights not turned on, we encounter a quieting intimacy.

         Photo By Karla Boyd

“Today, I realize how much of your careful arrangement of everything reminds me of my grandmother.” Christmas Spirit has engaged Marie and I all weekend. Christmas Spirit: A LOVING Presence unfolding warming encounters in soft, sparkling radiance.

“I felt Christmas Spirit when I was with my grandparents,” I say near the end of Marie’s and my time together. When I was five, seven and ten, alone or with a friend, spending a week with my grandparents in the summer, Christmas was there.

When alone, I’d sit at the breakfast table with my grandparents. After eating, Goldie would ask, “What do you want to do today?” Christmas Spirit lived in the ordinary way we designed a trip to the local swimming pool; or travels anywhere with my grandfather when my grandmother needed some solitude. It lived in my walking alone to the corner store to buy dinner preparations.

That common conversation of three souls unfolding our day never let us down.

My grandmother’s hearing was impaired when she was three years old. On occasion, my grandparents sat on their front porch rocking. “Karl, what’s that sound,” she’d ask. “Oh, don’t get excited, it’s just the kids climbing out the bedroom window onto the roof, listening to our conversation.” We’d scramble back into the room. I can still hear my grandfather’s laughter.

My grandmother and I would sit in a swing on the side porch, my bare feet bouncing off the wall of the church next door. My grandmother never meddled but was interested in everything I said. We spoke of simple things in the most extraordinary way.

Close to dinner, my grandfather conspiratorially called me into the pantry room. He’d reach into the cupboard and pull out sugary orange slice wedges. “Don’t tell your grandmother, now.”

Christmas is a Spirit that lives in my heart. It’s evoked every time a moment is freed into life’s deep rhythm. It’s an everyday, ordinary time made sacred.

What about you, dear Reader, have you discovered Christmas Spirit living in your heart?

THANKSGIVING / A MEAL FULL OF GRACE

I’ve made peace with Thanksgiving. I feel affection for how it became a blessing day of gratitude and sharing.

I had a few issues with Thanksgiving that I needed to transform first. (Family baggage; USA’s Thanksgiving’s historical past and The Turkey.) As a young adult, I never grasped taking a life and then giving thanks over it; so I don’t. While I can’t undo Native American suffering at the hands of Pilgrims, I can bless Native American culture. As for family baggage, it’s meant to be released.

Harvest Festivals from around the world have a common theme: blessing, giving thanks and feasts with loved ones. Embracing other harvests gave me a deeper appreciation of what’s possible.

Onam is a Kerala festival honoring a time of freedom, protection and prosperity.

Thanksgiving in Brazil is about giving thanks to God for the harvest.

Great New Moon Festival is a ceremony of the Cherokee Nation.

Many Native Americans pay respect to Harvest festivals.

Korean Chuseok is a day of thanks and honoring ancestors.    

One of my favorite Thanksgivings was 21 years ago. I invited a niece and nephew, two close friends, their friend, my sister, brother-in-law and their two dogs, to come for a few days to a family vacation home that was my turn to use. We collectively would create the meal. My dog, Nami, offered to do kitchen clean-up.

I’d just unloaded grocery bags. I turned to everyone to discuss how to organize Thanksgiving preparations. Who wanted what?

My friend, Marie, was first to speak. Her question: “Karla, what would you have if you weren’t thinking about what we wanted?”

“Well, interesting question. Because I’m a vegetarian, I’d make things like, uhm: Garlic Mashed Potatoes, Pear Salad, Cranberry Sauce, Yeast Rolls, Mushroom Gravy, Holiday Stuffing, Mashed Yams, Pumpkin Pies. Maybe another pie and a Tofu loaf.”

Marie replied: “Sounds GREAT to me! Let’s have these dishes this Thanksgiving. We don’t need the other stuff.”

Everyone agreed!

My jaw dropped. I invited everyone to co-create Thanksgiving from all our favorite dishes.

“But you guys like that other stuff!”

“Well, this year we don’t,” Marie declared, with all heads nodding. “That’s settled. Let’s make a list.”

Vegetarian Thanksgiving was in progress.

I was blown away by everyone’s generosity. Thanksgiving became about deepening connections and true giving.

Cooking that day was fun. Finally, we sat around a candle-lit table, with ocean views and sounds. We shared gratitude. EVERYONE loved the food! The conversation was warm and plenty, just like our sated bellies.

While everyone else was sitting back from the table, digesting, I watched my sister reaching generously for more food. The rest of us moaned about how much we’d eaten. We all were preparing for an ocean walk. I stopped the conversation.

“Hey, Georgie, what’s up with you? You just ate more food than I’ve seen you eat in your whole lifetime! Normally, you nibble. Are you PREGNANT?”

“Wow, Karla, you’re good. I wasn’t going to tell anyone. But yes, yes, I am,” Georgie said beaming.

My jaw dropped one more time.

And this is how I shared one of the best, happiest and most amazing Thanksgivings of my life.

So, Reader, tell me about a time when you were really happy at Thanksgiving. Who was there and what contributed to your satisfaction?

HOW TO BECOME A LEADER

As a child, I felt called to the Southwest. As a teen, I was selected to attend the Sangre de Cristo Mountains Girl Scout Roundup.

I was privileged to visit Bandelier Mountain beauty, Puye Cliff and Mesa Dwellings, the Santa Clara Pueblo, known as the Kha’p’oo Owinge of the Santa Clara people. In the first days, my heart heals.

We climb among ruins, mesas and kivas. Every pore of my being is satisfied. My eyes wide with vistas, mountain friendship, and ancestral whispers. It is the highlight of my journey.

Our time of beauty goes quickly; thick red rock colors enter my soul. I keep a pottery fragment on my Puja table. I carry a shard in my medicine pouch.

On the last night of our gathering, Girl Scout Executive officers arrive. That day we’re divided into groups of four, with little instruction, to trek the mountain and then return to base camp, sharing our leadership experience.

Nancy and I emerge as group leaders. We watch each other out of the corners of our eyes. Later, we whisper: “Do you know where we’re going?” “Nope, not a clue.” The other girls follow us, oblivious.

Nancy and I provide confidence through humor and encouragement. Five hours later, it’s clear we’re lost. Nancy sees a paved road. We laugh as we hop the fence to reach our destination. Until I spy the bull.

A shrill gasp catches the bull’s attention. Head down, he moves fast. We help each other over the barbed wired fencing, mere seconds from being gored.

In “never say never” leadership, Nancy and I wipe away sweat and blood and stick out our thumbs. We need directions. Ignored, we form a human chain across the road.

Instead of looping back to camp, we discover we’ve missed our trailhead. We came down on the wrong side of the mountain, miles from camp. It’s too late to double back. We ride in our rescuer’s truck bed, heaped with unmentionables. It’s another reason I became vegetarian. http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/07/confessions-of-vegetarian-day-i-heard.html

We arrive at camp, bloodied and hungry, our blouses ripped. Worried adults meet us. Realizing we’re not seriously injured, terse voices inform us we have fifteen minutes to put on clean dress attire. Adult leaders cast meaningful glances to Executive Officers; they glower at us.

Dauntless, we hatch a plan. In a huddle, we commit to the outrageous, hoping to not be kicked out. We quickly gather props and costumes. I pull my scout cap over my eyes. My shirt hangs out. Cindy wears her badge sash backwards over pajamas. We pull pockets inside out. We hold bug spray. Girls move away from us as we sit down for vespers.

After witnessing other girls’ somber portrayals, our foursome stands, heads held high, bumbling our way to the head of the campfire. With perfect authority, we parody our story, mocking our leadership. Nancy throws a shoe at a bug. Linda sits, arms crossed, back turned from the audience, refusing to move. We spray her with bug spray, yanking her up. We misquote Girl Scout slogans.

“A Girl Scout never prepares. She makes stuff up as she goes.”

Transformed as actors, we command amusement from girls and officials alike. Nancy and I act out our sham, leading the way, as more laughter erupts. With the “bull” onstage, we push and shove one another, climbing over imaginary barbed wire fencing. We bring the house down.

It’s my best leadership lesson: Situations pending disaster can shift through humor, honesty and engagement. I’m reminded of my last Equine Lesson, only days ago: There are no mistakes. Only learning.

So, Reader, what experience led you to greater authenticity and connection?

MONKS, MONKEYS AND REFUGE-THE JOURNEY BEGINS

It’s a longer distance from monks to monkeys than you think.

                                                                                      Karla Boyd

[The Buddha] tried to persuade [the monks] to live in peace, speaking out against
 disharmony again and again, but when he saw that there who were not responding,
 he decided to go to the forest.

                                                                                         Eknath Easwaran

Some of us are in a global renaissance of positive communication cultures aligned with harmonious actions.  AND more organizations need to “up” their commitment to providing leadership development to stakeholders. Individuals need to be groomed in good vibrations and how to let go of the muck. (http://namasteglobalvision.s3-website-us-east-1.amazonaws.com/NamasteDeclaringNewFuture-3%20copy.pdf)

Recently, I learned about organizations brewing trouble. The common theme was personal conflicts; some veiled and others, blatant and ambushing. Both styles were causing breakdown, one organization destroying its best leadership. It boiled down to a few things: unhealthy communication, team member disrespect and little personal leadership development.

In a recent blog post, FIRST, DO NO HARM: THE QUALITY OF CARE, (http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/08/first-do-no-harm-quality-of-care.html), I write about the Hippocratic oath. What would happen if OUR first order of business is “first, do no harm?” What if organizations invested in ALL stakeholders having leadership development? What if we became positive alignment organizations?

Meditation teacher Eknath Easwaran chronicles a story about the Buddha.[1] The Buddha goes into exile because the monks would not stop their bickering. I’m sure some of you can relate. The monks were miserable when the Buddha left.

The Buddha, however, has a marvelous time. An elephant, delighted to be with the Buddha, bows down in respect. After a bit, the elephant goes off in search of his friend, the monkey. They return with bananas, juicy mangos and leaves for the Buddha. In the evening, the elephant makes a bed of leaves for the Buddha and keeps watch over him.

Isn’t it wonderful when team members are aligned in harmony and flow? When that happens, ease and friendship show up. In our story, the monkey, elephant and the Buddha go to the river and play together for days, joyously happy. The monks however, lagging behind, are stuck in negativity and gloom.  

In Naked Liberty, Carolyn Resnick writes that wild horses taught her the value of leadership training:

Leadership behavior is a good thing when it supports the well-being of each individual and keeps the peace. I could see the dominant horses wanting to be led when Mustano led them back to their kinder ways and checked them for their bad behavior. Such leadership gives dominant horses security.[2] 

Completing our Buddha story, the monks realized that their disputes and negative minds drove away noble leadership. Ready to make a change, they asked the Buddha to return.

As the monks met the monkey and elephant, they discovered the meaning of respect. The monkey and elephant embodied love and honor for the Buddha. The monks saw the personal work they needed to do to align as a harmonious team–like the team that the elephant and monkey were.

People and organizations need coaching in order to manifest core values and visions. All need support and empowerment. Many require recovery from toxic cultures. The key ingredient to succeed? WILLINGNESS TO CHANGE.

Reader, what commitment will you make to personal leadership development? And has a horse, childhood dog or encounter with wildlife helped you become more loving?

[1] Essence of the Dhammapada: The Buddhist’s Call to Nirvana by Eknath Easwaran; Nilgiri Press, 2013

[2] Naked Liberty by Carolyn Resnick, Amigo Publications, Inc., 2005

CAMEL RIDE-GIZA AGAIN

We started our journey in Giza. (http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/07/camel-ride-part-one.html)  We ended in Giza, as well. Sandwiched in-between were layers of Egyptian mystery that we peeled back. (http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/08/the-temple-of-karnack.html.)

As I re-enter Giza to say goodbye to its land, people, camels and customs, I feel an inner calm.  I carry with me mysterious adventures come to life.  Entering the King’s Tomb on my knees remains with me as does seeing “Sechmet,” daughter of Ra, The Sun God.

I walk deep across desert sands toward looming pyramids. I walk away from noisy vendor stands, arrayed with colorful Kurtas, perfume and food.  Choosing my spot, I sit down to meditate in the heat of the desert sun. I clasp my hands, thumbs touching. I sit cross-legged on the golden sand.

I close my eyes. Slowly, I am aware of my breath. I sit still for a long while. Slowly, I sense a strange, reverberating force pulsating toward me from afar.

Trained in Vipassana mindfulness meditation, I keep my eyes closed. As the Palm Desert bell ringer, I learned not to flinch, open my eyes, or react to flies buzzing around me. The practice: breathe in and out, noticing and allowing.

Today is no different. Time is silent; am I halfway through my meditation? My eyes remain closed, noticing. Breathing in and breathing out.

The sand is alive, bringing grumbling, rolling thunder into my ears. Breathing in and breathing out. Watching the phenomenon rise and fall. The hammering from high above eventually penetrates my calm.

Breathing in and breathing out.

The rumbling commotion comes closer and closer. The distance thins. Then suddenly, sandstorms are upon me. I hear shouts. The uproar and pounding hooves are unrelenting. I remain, breathing in and out.

With hoofed feet wrapped in whispering sands, the cacophony engages me. I sit, unmoving. The pounding hooves stop abruptly --- within seconds of my skin. Men high above shriek words which are strange to my ears.

I sit, spine erect, breathing in and breathing out.

 Am I being threatened?

My eyes are closed.

The demanding energy roars above me.

Breathing in and breathing out.

As I sit in stillness, a strange thing happens. As powerful as the vocalizations had been, there is now a pervasive quiet.

To my surprise, camel feet encircle me completely. Several camels lean down, putting their face close to me as I sit. Camel breath comes near mine.

As camels and I share breath, the men are also quiet. The camels communicate a rapturous tranquility. I am enclosed in reverence. Astonished, my breath grows shallow. I am encircled in a community of prayers.  

I am breathing in and out … just like the camels … just like the men.

I fill with gratitude and unshed tears.

Breathing in and breathing out.

We remain like this for a long time.  

Breathing in and breathing out.

Prayerfully, the camels one by one, with their men, move silently from the circle. And they slowly begin their pilgrimage back from where they came.

Later, I open my eyes, the dust nearly gone from hoof storms far away.

While Vipassana meditations usually involve an insight garnered, this one transitioned from reality to dreamlike…and then gently slid me into an alternate, elevated reality. Such is the transformational power of the desert.

CONFESSIONS OF A VEGETARIAN: Seeking Freedom

Vividly, I recall standing in the windowed kitchen where we sat our groceries and drank tea. We took our meals, often in the living room, with community vegetarian potlucks swapping liberation tales, playing music and connecting.

I was not in the kitchen for tea this day, however. I was about to do an insensible act. As I stood before the stove, I reflected on the last few days. Meeting one of the five housemates, grandmother Meridel Le Sueur, was memorable. She was a poet, kind and born into a family of political and social activists. I knew three of her grandchildren. http://www.meridellesueur.org/ Meridel encouraged my piano playing, writing and cheerfulness. I loved her poetry, her interest in youth, and her generous ability to connect.

I remembered the day Jane Fonda sauntered through our kitchen en route to my roommate’s office to discuss new developments. I remembered how interested, curious and helpful my housemates were. I wondered if I’d discover why I was living in San Francisco (what I came to learn). I wondered if I remembered to put away the co-op food picked up late today.

I’m getting ahead of myself.  Desiring to be a writer, and new to the Bay Area, I chanced upon a meeting with Pat Parker, poet and writer. We became friends. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pat_Parker Together we found ways to share history, poetry and dreams.

Although independent, I denied my truth when seeking my “herd”. Pat wanted to sit on the dock of the bay and go crabbing.  I obliged her. My best days were when our nets were empty, but not our souls, as we talked and communed. My vegetarian conflict was relentless. How to say “no”, but not make waves? It’s amazing what we do to fit in.

Today my bucket was not empty. And Pat was about to travel. So I took my crab to share with one roommate before the others got home. My attention was on preparation, reflection and making sure I didn’t get pinched. Where were my heart, intelligence and learning? They abandoned me; or I submerged them in favor of pleasing “another”. Painful memories have a way of resurfacing; repeating our mistakes is their calling card. http://consultingforpassion.blogspot.com/2014/07/confessions-of-vegetarian-day-i-heard.html

Deftly and unconsciously I lifted out the crab. As she entered the pot, I was taught a lesson. The crab did not cry out. But her angry eyes glared into mine.

Later, shocked and stunned, I realized she was pregnant. Her angry face never left me. Do animals, birds, and sea creatures feel? What a stupid question. This was my defining moment. Whatever battle I still had to wage, I committed then and there to become a vegetarian.

Sometimes we need to walk through the hot fires of our conditioning and come out the other side, transformed. We need to be patient and loving, for the journey is deep and long to growth and healing.

What is your journey, dear reader, in releasing negative conditioning and embracing conscious living?

CONFESSIONS OF A VEGETARIAN: The Day I Heard A Fish Cry

Born into an American home with a pre-set diet, I had trouble eating what people call “meat.” Something did not agree with me. I preferred cooked spinach.

Sunday food with my beloved grandparents was a mixed blessing: corn on the cob, tomatoes, potato salad or mashed potatoes, green beans, watermelon, custard pies and peach cobbler. That, and being with my grandparents, was delightful. How the chicken became part of Sunday best, I don’t really want to know. I was in conflict. I wanted to eat what my grandparents had prepared. Another part of me recoiled from the fried stuff. I struggled with eating all through college.

Friends and I canoed while in college and after. One of my friends fished and one afternoon invited us to learn. Reluctantly, I agreed. What I was seeking in our time away was peaceful meanderings around the lake, “gunnelling,” (a favorite childhood activity), great campfires and conversations. The fact that we were going fishing for a weekend did not register.

At the end of the first day, my friend was happy to have caught a lot of fish. I experienced regret. I remember little except having a wiggling fish placed into my hands from the pail. I felt its pain and then its life leaving its body. I recall little else. Did I do as instructed? Did I cook, eat? I don’t know.

I did run far into the woods and burst into tears. I felt again this life hurting and dying; I cried and cried and cried.  Hours later, my friends kept calling me as dusk became dark.

Something in the woods spoke to me of connection, of our time upon earth carrying our footsteps. I walked back, dazed. I wish I could say I never ate of another being’s life again. But process isn’t like that. Nor are inner conflicts. At least, not mine.

Eventually, I was guided by wisdom. These same friends and I embarked on a six-month road trip together starting at the Rio Grande and working our way west and then north.  We ate sparingly. What we ate went underground in my consciousness. I do remember the joy of berry picking in Oregon, boiling and canning them.

Eventually two of us left the road to live in a San Francisco communal home with an old college friend. There were fresh community veggie food co-ops. Eating flesh was passé. Peaches, strawberries, fresh greens, salads, rice, beans and chocolate were the norm.

I wish I had completed my conflict there. I didn’t. But that year was an interlude into living my core values, really deepening what had I had learned in college. That education is of value when woven into and instructed by the world in which we live, its times, and its call for change. Give it tribute, connect with it, and you will be taught what you are here to learn. Ignore it and you succumb to the blind numbness of habits and values not yours...old torn hand-me-downs in need of revival. In my next blog, I continue CONFESSIONS OF A VEGETARIAN. One big fish story is enough for today.

So dear reader, when did you have a defining moment that led to transformation out of conflict?

HANG IN THERE, BUDDY. C’MON, NOW

Hang In There, Buddy. C’mon, Now

An atmosphere of "profound equivalency" guides all relationships [in the Andean culture]-- between humans and nature, between human and deities, between deities and nature. Each watches for cues for what will keep the other happy, and give affection and respect the other’s need.

                                                                     Priscilla Stuckey, Kissed By A Fox

In ontological organizational development, we say that there’s a field of relatedness where conversation lives. Here, we’re in connectivity and find our true sense of belonging. We contribute and allow ourselves to be held in this “equivalency.” In harmony with this principle, Priscilla Stuckey shares one Andean writer’s perspective: "With them [deities, animals and nature] we keep company; with them we converse and reciprocate."

“Hang in there, buddy. C’mon, now. Come on, baby.” This is the warm voice that the hypothermic dog heard, barely hanging on by his front paws, crying, having fallen into the icy waters. http://www.sunnyskyz.com/good-news/623/This-Dog-Was-Scared-And-Freezing-To-Death-But-They-Never-Gave-Up-On-Him 

There’s a connection in life, a thread wrapping around each of us in moments of being fully engaged. Charlie was saved and with him, his rescuers, the media, and each of us connecting with the situation.

A near eighty-year old woman gave up her dream of dancing to become a mother. With her children well into adulthood, she moved to Spain. Her husband died shortly after. Instead of retreating, she went into a dance studio. This woman fulfilled her dream, causing amazement and tears. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2LMxf3Df6I  We’re all inspired when one of us goes the distance.

Pharrell Williams hired directors “who were out of the box.” His video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6Sxv-sUYtM lightened the world. His production of “Happy” spawned over a thousand videos of others singing his song. We all need to stay in this field of relatedness: earth, animals, humans, old and young. It really is that simple.

Engaging a group of professionals, equine-leadership style, is a happy moment of mine. The group had a practiced intimacy, or so I thought. “What’s one story of you being with a horse?” A simple question; stories poured out, each unique, moving.  “I loved my horse, and then we moved….” One woman was hesitant. She was afraid of horses.

In the twenty years of gathering together, this group never shared these touching horse memories or this depth of connection with nature. Horses have big hearts. They love people authentically. They are masters in the field of relatedness. While we talked “horse” in the group room, they milled around inside the arena.

When we went out to engage the horses, things got hushed; something sparked new awareness. In the first exercise, the horses laid down, a sign of feeling safe. The group felt this honor and a new energy field of gentleness was revealed. Horses, barn, earth, sky, sun and humans were united. The woman who was afraid? She asked to join in the exercise learning about trust. She broke into tears when connecting with her horse. She’s still talking about it.

How about you, reader? What’s your happy moment standing in a field of connectivity?