Peace Joy Love

Rubber stamp washi tape handmade greeting card, CC, c.2020

What would happen if we challenged ourselves for the next day, week, month, rest of our life, in all of our intentions, words, actions, advocacy, and relationships, to both ground in and aspire to, simply these three core experiences? No really, stop laughing. I’m serious, what would that look like? How would it feel? How would we be and do differently?

It occurred to me recently that in life, in (and literally at) the end, what do we really need other than these? What if at the time of my death, I can look back at my work(s), my family, my friends, at everything I remember and leave behind, and really just bask in peace, joy, and love? Sign me up!

I label them experiences rather than emotions on purpose (is there yet a better word, though?). I’m not talking about superficial sensations of calm and happiness that come and go like weather. I’m after that deeply rooted, unassailable knowing–living, in each moment, consciously, in peace, in joy, and in love. It occurs to me that we can practice this; we can actively cultivate it, with each and every breath.

Of course, that’s it. Peace, Joy, and Love don’t just happen. We get to choose them. This is not an original thought or idea. But I have a new level of insight about it now. I can be peacejoylove at any moment. Would I call it a mindfulness practice? Sure. It’s a choice and an intention, a constant attending to both my outer environment and my inner world. It’s about maintaining a certain resonance, a sustained frequency, a rhythm, that keeps its own time, resilient to distraction and derailment, and that also simultaneously adjusts, adapts, and reorganizes as needed. Like a heart beat. I feel more peaceful just typing this.

I will fail. Repeatedly. Severely. But as they say in mindfulness, rather than judge the departure, I can simply, calmly, and lovingly acknowledge it, and then celebrate the return. Because as long as I commit, I will always return. I can keep going, keep doing, keep being.

So then, what would I actually be like if I did this? How could you tell?

I think I would take deeper breaths, and breathe more slowly in general. I might walk more slowly too, except when I bounce and sashay in rhythm to my favorite songs on the sidewalk. I would pause longer before entering clinical encounters, answering phone calls and text messages. I might pray, meditate, and be still more regularly. I might use even more fun emojis? …nah, I think I may have maxed out on that one already.

I already hug tight. I laugh out loud and often. I look people in the eye and tell them why they are great. I make time and go places to see people, be with them, do things that make meaning and memories. I try new things. I revel in all kinds of awesomness, all around me, all the time. I feel peacejoylove often already. But do I live it? Yes, sometimes.

I have triggers. I react. I lash out; I regret. I have a lot of work to do. But I’m on the path.

ODOMOBaaT.

Bring It.

Place Holder: Elizabeth Lesser’s Wisdom

From Elizabeth Lesser’s FB post

Hiya, friends! There’s a lot going on right now and my relationship with this blog is evolving… transforming? Not sure when I’ll be back with anything of my own that’s worth sharing. I’m confident it will all come in its own time.

Meanwhile, please enjoy Elizabeth Lesser’s Facebook post from today, which speaks directly to my soul. Maybe you’ll resonate as well, and it can bring you comfort and peace as it does to me.

ODOMOBaaT, my peeps. Until next time.

***

I still have abiding hope for our times. I have it because I am a student of history and I know that human communities have struggled through other desperate times: famines, disasters, droughts, floods, and plagues; the fires of war, genocide, slavery, despots, and dictators. Like the mythical phoenix bird, we have risen from the ashes many times before. Eras of destruction have been followed by those of recovery and peace, creativity and great leaps of ingenuity.

I was born in the 1950s, an era that came out of the global brokenness of World War II. To many, the 50s were a time of healing and rebuilding and stability. But to others, they were a time of racism, sexism, and stifling conformity. The 50s gave birth to the 60s which, on the one hand, brought freedom, justice, and liberating creativity, and on the other hand went too far and too fast for many. It has always been thus—cultures swinging back and forth between brokenness and breakthrough. Humanity winding its way through growth spurts and amnesia, destruction and advancement, but always moving, always changing, and, from my point of view, always being offered a choice: to languish or to rise, to perish or to mature into a more magnificent expression of life.

Can we rise? I am eternally optimistic that we can. I have seen people change; I have changed myself. I know it is possible. Even neuroscience is confirming this. Brain scientists once believed that by early adulthood the physical structure of the human brain was fixed. But newer research has revealed that our brains never stop changing—that from childhood on, new neural pathways are formed when we learn new information, change old patterns, or confront physical and emotional trauma. This is called neuroplasticity, and it confirms for me that we are equipped to respond creatively and constructively to stressful and difficult times—that it is possible for all of us, as a species, to create new pathways in our collective brain.

Sometimes it feels way too exhausting to keep carving those new pathways! But I like the way the poet Rumi gently chides me to keep on going, to stay optimistic, to head toward what’s possible:

Drum sounds rise on the air,

and with them, my heart.

A voice inside the beat says,

I know you are tired,

but come.

This is the way.

The Optimistic Nihilist

“The death rate from life is 100%,” my very wise patient once said.

No matter what, you and I will eventually die. 

Humans, as a species, will also die, I’m convinced.  I’ve said it before:  We are the pathogen.

I believe the current vector of collective human action points squarely toward self-induced extinction.  I’m also convinced we’ll take a good many other species with us before we’re through.  But Earth herself will outlive us, and thrive in our absence.  …Unless we figure out a better balance with nature, within and around us, as individuals and as intersecting collectives, before our spectacular self-destruction.

So assuming and accepting that our taxonomic lifespan is finite, I propose to embrace a beautiful and exhilarating paradox: As individuals at any given time, in any given place or situation, none of what we do may matter at all, and it all matters like life or death. Everything about our survival depends on how we relate—to ourselves, one another, our environment, our times—everything! How can I, myself, bend the arc of the moral universe toward justice? I grab it when it swings my way, and hang on with all my might—in all that I do. I call on my friends to grab on, too. Iterative, incremental change, a fraction of a degree at a time, nudges the vector’s direction toward something better. As I imagine sailors know: a small shift in tack here and now translates to a very different destination over a long enough distance and time. What might it look like? I think it has to be better polar reconciliation–letting go either/or and embracing both/all/and: Purpose and profit, humility and recognition, freedom and responsibility, diversity and inclusion, individual and collective health and well-being.

Every day we live is another day closer to our eventual demise.  And every day we wake, we have so many breaths, encounters, and opportunities with which to shift the vector, to bend that arc.

Until such time as humanity actually succeeds in killing ourselves, and I really think we will, we still have a chance.  We can still work to be our best, most creative, generative, communal, and symbiotic selves.

Onward, friends, ODOMOBaaT!

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