It is time for a renaissance of kindness. Imagine our world changed overnight and kind is the new beautiful. Imagine that being friendly, generous, and considerate is valued above and beyond just looks or even how much money you have. Give kindness a like, and subscribe.
As fast as the consumerist and corporatist worlds think up gimmicks to sell us stuff we don’t need we’re burning-out and turning off from that white noise. You feel it too, don’t you, the barrage of the advertising and info-mercials, it is so untrustworthy. Increasingly we wonder if the news we’re getting today will be uncovered as a scandal or fraud tomorrow. We can’t help but wonder who funded a scientific study or who selected the people on a ‘think tank’ that’s making policy so we slowly wind ourselves in. We bring our attention and trust a little closer, we’re a little slower to give them, a little more discerning in where we let our attention linger. The shallowness of that aspect of the world can leave us jaded, or feeling betrayed or bitter but there’s a powerful antidote.
Kindness is both an antidote and a revolution
Powerful and transformative, kindness is vastly underestimated by people who haven’t tried it. A cornerstone of kindness is the capacity to be considerate of others. That requires you to understand that other people’s experiences are different to your own. That’s a simple statement, isn’t it, other people’s experiences are different to your own and yet we see in our society that hurt and hardship come from ignoring that, from demeaning otherness or judging it negatively, or creating environments in which it is impossible for people to participate and be valued if they don’t have the right experiences (rather than, say, skills or capacities). This may have happened to you. When you nurture your own capacity for consideration, you begin to break that cycle. When you are generous or friendly to another, you are affirming a type of humanity and community which values people above business. When you can be considerate of others you begin to see how you might be considerate towards yourself too – a taboo in so many parts of the first world. Not indulgent, considerate. There’s a difference between buying new shoes you don’t really need and going to bed at a regular, reasonable time so that you get the sleep that you need. Self-sabotage is all too common and being considerate to oneself is a powerful antidote. These are just some basics on kindness. Think about the ripple effect of applying kindness to the Earth that sustains us. Think about the revolutionary power of being kind to strangers at the level of communities, states, countries.
A kindness starter kit
Smile first
Slow down and listen
Let your curiosity unfurl and wander
Be generous of whatever you have in plenty
Be grateful for who you love, what you have, what you know, and smile from there
Take your time and practice, you probably have other habits that are stronger
Imagine that you’re a best friend (to the stranger or yourself) and that you love that person as a friend, from there, what might you say or do differently?
Have fun, and remember, you’re better than beautiful, you’re kind.
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“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity…” Charles Dickens – A Tale of Two Cities
That line, written over 160 years ago, is still so very potent. The big picture of life in the Twenty First Century (the future is nigh!) has been a frenzy of weirdness. Fanatical belief in things that are demonstrably absurd. In the midst of these sweeps of history, my little life has been an echo of the big movements.
The year 2019 opened in hope. I was booked in to what I hoped would be a milestone workshop in April. This was my dream, to build momentum in my writing and publishing. This workshop promised a look behind the veil of Australian publishing. Five days of focus on the craft of writing, the business of publishing and a precious opportunity to network with other authors and even (*squee*) that rare breed, commissioning editors.
(L-R) Janine Prince and Fiona McIntosh at the Masterclass Conference, Clare Valley SA, October 2019.
My father had been in hospital throughout December 18 and released to spend Christmas with the family. It was fractious. Hot weather, worry, money troubles, wayward children – our family had our share of them all that Christmas. We did our best to celebrate, to savour the time together in busy lives that are spread far and wide. My mum and dad made plans for more travel, for their retirement together in their 51st year of marriage. We all got on with life, working in jobs that drained us but meant we could pay the bills, all the normal things. But Dad wasn’t normal, his cancer was now silently beginning to outrun the treatments. None of us knew.
The workshop in April was inspiring. Started by Bryce Courtenay and then passed to Fiona McIntosh it is focussed on ‘commercial fiction’. That’s trade lingo for books that normal people like reading (i.e. books that make money) as distinct to ‘literary fiction’ which might win an award and be on a reading list for a class but isn’t necessarily going to earn the writer a living. Sometimes people call them Airport Books – things you grab because you know what you’re getting and you know you’ll enjoy it. My only published work is poetry, my blog for years has been philosophical, occasionally spiritual. I overthink things. Chronically. I wanted, no *needed* a reset. I didn’t do very well at the workshop, my sample chapter was cliched and eye-rollingly bad, I made a poor impression on the editor. I was inspired to try again. I’d work harder, I’d juggle the ambitions and the job and my relationship and as to my health, well I’d get to that when I could, and maybe some housework. There was to be a conference in October – I’d be ready for it. Double down.
Dear reader, you know how this story goes, don’t you? My proud father, frail and belittled by the cancer, collapsed one day in May and couldn’t get up. Back to the hospital he went, we all visited, we worried, we bickered and bargained. If this – then that. Cancer ignored us. Let’s give it the name. Melanoma was the leader, although he had a couple of others vying for their foothold. Red hair, pale skin, his is Scottish ancestry, vulnerable here in the antipodes. His was a life outdoors doing manual labour and from an era where hats were old fashioned and tans cool. He never tanned. Like him, I just turn an ever-deeper shade of angry red. Since his death, I’ve been almost obsessed with staying out of the sun. I’m indoors, nocturnal if possible, but I jump ahead. Not by much.
May to July is a blur. I started staying with my parents for three and four days a week to help with the hospital, the housework, the information that never seems to be enough. Being there to hold mum in the nights. Telling dad whenever I could that I loved him, didn’t want him to worry about us. Seeing the weekly and then daily diminishments in him. August came and by then we knew the names of the team in the Palliative Care Ward (thank you 4G). We put banners and posters up in his room for his birthday and he and mum had their 51st anniversary in amongst the bustle of the ward. By Father’s Day he couldn’t open his food packets without help, he was on the wait list now for the hospice. We’d given up on the idea of him coming home. He’d wanted it desperately for a while, and so did mum but the physical reality of his organ failure and incapacity meant we depended on the infrastructure of the ward, the skills of the staff, the kind-hearted and professional strangers who understood our horror, grief and fear, and could hold us through it. Watching him fight and fade anyway was a sobering privilege, a burden and gift. My sisters and I bore witness to him and his fight. We each spent hours with him, holding his hand, having the conversations we could. Each of us, our own journey tied closely to his. Cousins, friends, neighbours, people came to say goodbye if they could. Bittersweet connections.
September 13th 2019 he was gone. It is four months later now and as I write that I cry all over again. HIs room in the hospice has over taken my memory – there was the sound of the traffic outside, afternoon light that came in through the blinds and that nightingale floor that we worried so much about but that never disturbed him. The shutdown sped up, we had a few days after he could no longer speak when we were confident he could still hear us. Over and over I told him I loved him, tried not to cry where he could hear. In hindsight, you note the lasts. The last drive we had together, the last time we played our ukuleles together and sang his favourite songs. Oh Dad. My sister was there that last night. She felt the change. Knew. The funeral company they let us know that he was “in their care.” It was a comfort that they used that expression. Words, so powerful. I generally avoid euphemisms, but people were just being respectful of our pain, and I’m grateful for that, especially for my mum. The funeral on the 20th, a huge crowd, and we toasted him farewell. Closed casket. Dad had hated how gaunt the cancer had made him and the melanoma had targeted him visibly. We all wanted to remember him alive, cheeky, happy.
Watching him die it felt like an eternity of suffering. Then I might take in the date and wonder how could this happen so fast? There’s a week, then two, after the funeral, a weird temporal anomaly where we all relived the last week or two of his life. Checking in with each other. Is it real? How are you? By this time it was a code. ‘One day at a time’ meant okayish. ‘One meal at a time’ was much less okay.
October, the conference I’d been so excited about, my hopes. It all felt a long way away, a dream I’d mostly forgotten. Prepaid, the deadline for cancelling had been early September. I’d been busy elsewhere. I was exhausted, completely depleted and now back in Adelaide driving strange roads into the unknown. I didn’t dare feel hopeful. I didn’t know if there could be a win in this for me. Maybe just going was the win. Getting out of pyjamas. Leaving the house. Of course, it was great. The first of its kind in Australia and jam packed with thoughtful, kind, creative people all eager to share their ideas, their paths to success and the tools and tips they used. More editors, more booksellers, a gathering of the industry. Compassionate people, ready to encourage. It was inspiring. I pitched a new idea and the premise was well received. It was a win.
November and surely that’s long enough I thought. I can get back into it all. Kick off my new novel, get some work done. I got the overdue paperback of the poetry book finished and out. I started a draft and got about 18 000 words done. The anniversaries started. A year since my dog had died. A year since dad went into hospital and we found out the truth of his cancer. I lost my sh*t. Back into the pyjamas. Bouts of productivity, and then grief, guilt, tears. A weird, almost schizophrenic lifestyle. Binging alternately on creative bursts and then zombie time in front of the tv or social media.
I was quietly dreading Christmas, another anniversary, that last one so emotionally wrenching at the time and still echoing. Dad was cremated wearing the shirt he wore last Christmas day. That kept popping into my mind. Did I think that like Scrooge he might reappear to haunt us? Did I think the shirt was a talisman? No. It was just the kind of thing an anxious mind will worry at until it hurts. Like those nervy dogs that lick their leg until a sore appears and then lick it more hoping it will go away. I made myself focus on thanking the people who had been supportive through the year, cards or notes, emails, messages. Focus on the kindness, so many people were so incredibly wonderful. I noticed the outside world, again full of weirdness and hardship. Fires began here in Australia that were mindbogglingly ferocious. On Christmas day, in our corner of the country, we got rain. Soothing, soaking rain. The best gift we could have received. It let us all be quiet, grateful for what we have and for being together. Even a little bit hopeful.
And then, in an act of faith and hope, I went to one more writer’s conference. Just one day. Monday 30th December, about 130 people. The prerequisite preparation was hours of presentations via you tube. Doing the homework in time to attend took planning and diligence. It grounded me. This was a publishing and business education, there were specific actions that I needed to do, and a lot of them needed to be done in order. I didn’t know anybody there, but I felt like I belonged. I’m a beginner in their eyes, not quite underway, and I was welcomed and encouraged. We talked tax. We talked spreadsheets and how to minimise international transfer fees. Beautiful, boring details about how to make advertising return your investment. Glorious specifics on split-testing blurb conversions. This was the other side of the industry. Indie publishers are amazing, talented people and they’re generous too. A rising tide lifts all boats. Well I am boat ready for the tide to come in. I’ve got my oars out, rowing towards my destination. Blisters are sweet when you’re confident the work to earn them meant something.
If you read to here, to January, then thank you. You’re my people. Please give me a follow or sign up for my newsletter so we can stay in touch. This is an unusually personal (and possibly self-indulgent) post but it stands in for an otherwise silent year. I felt you deserved something other than the aging promise I’d made that ‘there’s something new on the way’. We use the phrase ‘life happened’ as a password for things that take priority over plans we’d made. Well in 2019, it was death that happened, and the plans got put to one side.
In 2020 I want to make things for you. I want to give you stories that entertain, that make you feel, that you’ll want to share with friends. Maybe stories that help you face your own life or weird times, stories you might read during your pyjama days. That’s my intention. I hope you have a healthy, wealthy and wise 2020 filled with meaningful connection. Thanks for reading. xx
I’m celebrating zero this week. I’ve just finished the process of publishing my first ebook (Trojan Moments: Experiences that Ambush). It has zero sales (sounds like a weird thing to celebrate, but I will explain) and zero costs (obvious win there). It’s a poetry collection, so there was never much expectation that it would be big, but celebrating zero? Come on, that’s pathetic.
Why I’m celebrating zero sales
Like a lot of people, I procrastinate, I get depressed, I work a day job. Life happens, and the months and years really roll by. Sometimes I doubt my creativity and I don’t always finish my projects. I’ve been wanting to get this book out in this format since 25 May 2006.
Yeah, you read right, more than ten years. It was first published that Thursday in paperback (a whole other story). In the decade since then I’ve fought a lot of demons and ghosts, but the desire to finish that job wouldn’t die. So yes, I’m embarrassed that it took twelve years, five months, and five days to put a tick in the box but here’s the thing, I did do it. You only get a sales dashboard when you have something to sell, something finished and listed, ready to download.
That’s what that big chunky zero means to me – success. A milestone that haunted and mocked me for over a decade is finally tamed. It sounds so easy, it is such a short sentence ‘publish an ebook’. Three little words, and I’d already written the book!
What it takes to get to zero
You might be curious about what it takes to fulfil that three-word task. Here are some of the tasks it involved:
Edit and revise the existing text
Create new content (reading group material and a quirky summary of the inspiration)
Reformat the revised text in MS Word and then in Scrivener and then in Word and then in Scrivener until I finally had it right
Redo the cover, make new covers, test out covers, get contradictory feedback, nearly toss the whole thing out because the cover issue was so painful, remembered this is a hobby and meant to be fun, went back to the original design and moved on with my life.
Research the current ebook market and decide on a marketing strategy for the book (quite a similar emotional process to that outlined for the cover)
With the strategy “nailed down” (ha!) I researched options for publishing, including evaluating the costs, time and services available and if it would be possible for me to DIY (and how long that might take me)
Because I decided to “go wide” (ie publish on more than Kindle Select) I chose an aggregator that would take a single file and publish it to multiple platforms on my behalf. They take a cut of my royalties for this.
*whew*
The file formatted, I went ahead and clicked on that little grey ‘submit’ button. And … nothing happened. Two days later I got an email saying the file was rejected. I fixed that one metadata field and reloaded, resubmit. This time, happy little green notifications started popping up within an hour and it was underway. It took a full week to appear on Amazon (and with the wrong price!) but finally, after years and a learning curve like The Wall, I was here, celebrating zero. Happy dance ensued.
A zero full of potential
Celebrating that zero makes perfect sense when you know a bit of the story to getting there. It is a private pleasure. To the rest of the world it is “so what?” but to any indie published author that first book is a stack of achievements and the zero symbolises accomplishment and a transition into the next level.
Just as with the zero card in tarot (usually The Fool) it heralds the inception of a new beginning. With this act of stepping off my known path and into the unknown future there is potential for the rest of my dreams to begin to come to life too. The nature of the moment is ephemeral. In another week or month that zero may begin to feel like a judgement. One hopes it doesn’t outstay it’s welcome. All it will take to turn that zero into profit (the other key success measure in sales) is just one sale.
When zero turns to one
Everything changes when you can say “Yes I have made money selling my books.” I did that in 2006, hand-selling a poetry book (bless every one of you and thank you) and I will do it again this year.
Want to know my secret? Realistic expectations and zero costs.
Poetry is not hugely popular (unless you’re lovelorn on Instagram) and up until recently few people would admit to it at all. Honestly, you’d think it was the ninth deadly vice or something, but I digress. Realistically, I knew it would be hard to sell copies.
I knew that I couldn’t count on high (or possibly even double-digit) sales in the first three months. But I did want this publication to break even quickly so it could hold it’s head high on my (eventual) backlist. Knowing that made it easy for me to select an approach and services that would keep my costs down.
In the end it cost me nothing to publish the ebook internationally (Here are my costs – pdf ). I’ve listed it at $0.99 and at that price I need to make one sale to make a profit. One sale. Sure, the profit is as low as 29c but hey, the numbers don’t lie and that is cold hard digits into my PayPal account (90 days later). Boom.
Not everyone can love a zero
It takes an author to be excited at the prospect of making 29c but that’s how this game plays for little fish like me. There are shoals of sharks ready to tear thousands of dollars out of you if you don’t know how to navigate these waters. You may not believe it, but publishing is a ruthless industry. It isn’t all cups of tea, overdue library notices and polite book clubs. I hope you’ve enjoyed this foray into some of what it took to publish this book and can join me in celebrating zero.
Why not splash out and buy a copy?Trojan Moments is on sale at the celebratory price of 99c in your favourite ebook store during October 2018. But you know, totally cool if you’re not into it.
Trojan Moments poetry ebook launch Today my first book of poetry Trojan Moments starts popping up in ebook stores. This is a huge milestone for me and to celebrate I’m...
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Today my first book of poetry Trojan Moments starts popping up in ebook stores. This is a huge milestone for me and to celebrate I’m making the ebook free for ten days. Yes. You read that right. Don’t need to know any more? Jump to the bottom of the post and subscribe – you’re welcome.
Ebook launch -WOOT!
As far as launches go, this is very low-key, low-budget and low profile. Above all the launch is a celebration about sharing this book. Writers want nothing more than readers (and reviews)! I am giving Trojan Moments away for free for the first ten days of October. Just sign-up for my newsletter (at the bottom of this post) and – whoosh – the interwebs delivers you your own copy. Of course I’d be delighted if you decided to buy a copy – on sale for $1 during all of October 2018 (in November it will revert to the normal price of $4.99). That’s all I’ve got. No wine and cheese (sorry) and no promotional bookmarks. Just the book. Out. Shipped.
Why the what? (Warning: old person type reminiscence) We live in an amazing age. In another decade, when I first published this book (2006), I had to pay for boxes of physical copies (some of them are still under my desk as I write this). I did hold a launch (with wine and cheese! With promotional bookmarks!) and while it was an exciting day, today feels a bit bigger because my little book is available for sale in the biggest stores in the world, not just in those three physical stores in Sydney (bless them). Plus, I will not stub my toe on unsold copies *ever*again*. That’s something to celebrate too!
Trojan Moments: Experiences that Ambush (poetry)
Poetry is experiencing a renaissance at the moment. “And about time.” Thanks partly to the ubiquity of ebooks, the explosion of smartphones and somehow, Instagram. Huh? Whatever the reason, it must be good for the world* to have more people reading and enjoying poetry. It has been good for me too, to read and enjoy the poetry proliferating. I love it. There’s a freedom to it. Just the inspiration I needed to, to revisit Trojan Moments and put some love into my own contribution.
* Biased opinion, obvs.
From the preface
Right up it’s important to say that these poems aren’t about Troy. It’s just that “Troy” marinated me through to my heart and soaked out of my eyes. It is a monumental story, one shifting from history into myth. Troy. Troy, the most powerful city, secure through a ten year siege.
So these poems are about life. They’re about living along feeling secure or confident and being sideswiped by a terrible or brilliant realisation. It is when those fleeting sensations of clarity force cracks into the walls and suddenly it’s clear that all has changed. Cling all you like to the past, it leaves without you. Those times when love (or lust) sneak up and interrupts a meeting, when joy wanders into an afternoon walk, when the need to tell the truth breaks into a safe agreement… all these ambushes are the core of being alive.
Sitting at the wall
When I went on the trip to Turkey in 2000 (where I took the photo used for the cover) I remember sitting with my back leaning on an old olive tree, wondering what life might have been like for the people who lived there all that time ago. Imagine, the water of the Mediterranean (middle of the earth) lapping close by and while none of the technologies would be the same, heartbreak and hope would be very familiar. The tiredness after a long day, the lure of the horizon, the thrumming of passion all those emotions and more, we share. It was deeply inspiring.
Free launch copy
That’s just part of what went into this book. It was a long time brewing, but now it is ready to share and enjoy. Please get a copy with my compliments during this happy time by simply signing up to my newsletter (by 10 October 2018). The form is just below for you.
So thank you for being part of my journey, and by reading, including me in yours. And if you’ve already read the book and liked it, firstly, you’re a legend and secondly, I’d be really chuffed if you went to your favourite online bookstore and gave it a review. Cheers!
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It is tempting right now to draw a metaphor about value, to question the ideas of “efficiency” in comparison to what we know about the experience of slow, deep, contemplative periods, but actually you can already see where I’d go with that idea.
Instead, let’s touch on how the pantomime of busyness that is so popular, that escalates our misery and turns the idea of slow into a 1984-type thought crime. I’m talking about people who spend more time telling you about what they’re going to do than getting their head down and doing anything. And who then get promoted above you (hahaha, no really).
How did we get to a point where talking about how busy we are (and I know that we are busy, but you know in this way we’re referring to the self-aggrandising version. Imagine the scenario of the heroic narrative over the bbq salads that seeks to one-up your busy with their *epic* level busy. It’s a game many are willing to play and why not? Being busy is culturally rewarded it is celebrated, it is a visible thing in a world of invisible work.
To be slow, rather than fast, is to be a failure of a kind. In this age, to be slow is said as a curse, a negative judgement of diminished of capacity, of relevance. Those are powerful stigmas against being slow. It is a shame because this simple summary level idea of what slow might be, is putting people off deliberating or consulting before making a decision. It puts pressure on people to say yes to more activities or responsibilities. It makes it hard to justify reading for fun or watching a sunset or those delicious afternoon naps.
Did you just think “I wish I had time for a nap”? Maybe you also followed that with “I’m too busy for a nap”. Any example I give will be likely to trigger someone and that’s partly because of this weird culture we have right now.
Could you try it? Could a slow day here and there be for you? Binging on a bucket of books or afternoon naps, date night out of the house – could any of these ideas tempt you? Don’t wait for life to slow down for you. Don’t wait for an empty chunk of hours to fall in your lap.
I invite you to make some slow time for yourself this week. Get deeply involved in that time with whatever you like, reconnect or dream and imagine. Just do it nice and slowly.
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“Don’t be absurd” I said, but then look what happened! That was a strange lesson in things getting a whole lot stranger than you thought possible. I’m alluding vaguely to politics and violence in the world sphere. The weather has been weird where we are – storms like tantrums that thrash and destroy and suddenly weep themselves out. I’m always looking for a sign in the world, it just seems to be that every single one says the same thing – weird days ahead.
Not the new normal
This isn’t a prediction about what might be the ‘new normal’ (sorry – no answers!) or how there’s some magical reset anywhere in sight to take away the weird and give us back our global sanity. Nope. The news is that being rational and reasonable is going to take more work. Each of us will have to make a choice each day on how to deal with what happens.
We won’t know what to expect. The increasing pace of random attacks, weird anti-truth-ness and agonising political hypocrisy are escalating. All we really have in our control is the decision on how we will act. How we might embody our values person by person. How can we be kind, tolerant, assertive, truthful?
When did the truth become an enemy?
I work in marketing, I’m no stranger to influencing audiences and the ‘massaging’ of facts by our cousins in advertising, but the truth used to be a bedrock, not a moving target.
In the past six months it has seemed as though the political mainstream in the western world has been gaslighting us all so that we get used to anyone asking for ‘honesty’ on issues is considered weird. That’s not helpful. That’s not working towards equality or freedom or happiness. Actually it is verging on taking absurdity and weird right on into the realm of madness.
This is not a great topic. I don’t like that it is going on, but I feel powerless to address it in any way except through personal action. I feel like I am teetering on the edge of madness, and depression. It has put me off writing and blogging, it has weighed on me when I make plans for my future and it drains my sense of value.
Weird inspiration
So what I’m thinking here is that the normal stuff – all the skills and expectations I have from the past few decades – are not that useful anymore. I need to engage with the new weird world on a new level. Isn’t it obvious – I must bring my own weird. That’s right, one sometimes must fight fire with fire. This is not the same as ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ that way is utter chaos in this instance. No. I will allow my weird free, I will bring whatever I can to our table to protect and defend the forces of good. If you want to join the rebellion in support of honesty and goodwill, please do. Tea and biscuits supplied, BYO weird.
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There’s a wild streak of absurdity running feral in the world. The public sphere of debate, politics and planning have blurred into ranting, clownish blurts of the absurd. Perhaps this isn’t new – perhaps there is a tide of the absurd that washes in and out of human communities periodically. If so, it is high tide because (for an example) at the moment it seems that the idea that anyone in any media can be assumed to be telling the truth is now an outmoded, dowdy joke. Not a funny joke, more a disparaging snort of derision. Call me old fashioned, but I don’t like that.
I think that having fundamental expectations be absurd undermines our sense of connection to each other and creates an environment in which anything goes, because nothing is ‘true’ any more.
So in an absurd world how do we stay realistic without going mad or becoming overburdened with cynicism? We remember what is always true. Here are three truthful tips to help you stay sane in a flood of absurdity.
Happiness is never absurd
Your happiness and wellbeing matter. Primarily to you and those closest to you, of course, but this is always true. You can hold onto this. That’s not an invitation to become an egomaniac, but a simple reminder that in the face of bureaucratic coldness and structural stupidity you still have value as a sentient being. That is not a grand statement but it is a truth. Well it is a truth I invite you to make the choice to believe in.
Nature is never absurd
Strange, wondrous and amazing the natural world can give you almost infinite pleasure. If you interact with it and let it interact with you then there is a stable and meaningful continuity to that relationship which offers a counterbalance to the absurd in human endeavours. The endless repeating of patterns in nature are true. They are the language we turned into mathematics. Nature is our alpha and our omega.
Even those who might dream of taking humans to far-off planets must think hard about how to bring nature along for the ride or gamble all on finding it there and welcoming at the destination. Let the natural world be a truth in your reckoning.
Love is a verb
The advanced idea that ‘love is a verb’ is an antidote to the absurd because it puts an active involvement at the centre of choices. It puts a rudder in the waters of chaos and brings the first two ideas into your choice in the now. How will you chose your next action in the context of valuing your wellbeing, and staying connected with the fundamental truth of nature? From those two truths you can triangulate more easily to love in the world and towards your own path of truth.
It may well be high tide for the absurd right now, but this too shall pass.
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Do you have the over-scheduled virus? It is a type of modern flu that has all the symptoms you’re sadly familiar with: fatigue, poor sleep, low level physical ailments (sniffles! That half cough!), a constant sense of not quite being ‘all there’ (because you’re keeping at least one eye on the clock to make sure you get to your next appointment on time), and perhaps worst of all is the gnawing doubt that a helluva lot of what is taking up all that time is not actually important. You know, proper important. Especially compared to the things you’re too tired for at the end of the day, like conversation.
I remember conversation, it is when you talk about something other than the logistics of the next day or who will do which chores. I’m sure I’m still capable of it, if only I had the time. Of course any spare time gets soaked up quickly by the ever-present “should do” list or sleep but presumably there’s a possible future in which I’m caught up on all those things and so is someone I know and we could have a conversation. Hahaha When did that become an almost outlandish fantasy?! Even people I know who are retired from work are busy busy busy. Strange days.
Why you stay over scheduled
But you know, there’s a payoff to this behaviour too, a hidden lining that creates comfort. You wouldn’t think so but there’s plenty worse your brain could be doing and keeping you busy today and tomorrow is really quite clever because when we slow down our habit is not to stay in the now. Oh no, we send our giant brains out into the days beyond and into what might happen. Dangerous ground indeed for this is the hunting grounds for anxiety. Dwell briefly in the future and make a decision about the suitable path and all is well, one can navigate through events and respond when challenges arise. Lingering in the permutations of what might be is necessary for great work but demands huge capacity to defend and define one’s limits and scope. Otherwise the clever early-mammal part of your brain is lured into a hamster wheel of what ifs and becomes trapped in the momentum of its own spinning. Anxiety feeds on you again. There’s a nascent part of our (perhaps higher) self working hard to explain these traps and warn us of the dangers. We tend not to listen.
The ego believes passionately that we’re above such silly situations. The compromise is our over-scheduling. It appeases the puff of the ego and perilously protects the vulnerable brain from too much anxiety. It would be funny if it wasn’t so personal! So the payoffs are always there in our behaviours. You could call it the comfort of complaining. These habits can be so hard to acknowledge without someone to talk things over with and that time in which to reflect on our own patterns or those of our friends (actually I’m a lot wiser when it comes to other people than I am about myself). I’m also lucky to have some very wise friends! So although I’m over-scheduled I’m cautious about just stopping and so making a gap. Even if I could completely stop work and all my commitments and responsibilities that comes with a different risk. We all know that nature abhors a vacuum and in the past it has been another extreme – anxiety – that filled it. I’d like to do it differently this time. I’d like to find a middle way.
Have you ever tried a self-development course and come across a facile question like “What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?” Oh you’ve GOT to be kidding?! But I tried, I tried so hard to soar with eagles and do better and be better and unleash the giant within and all that stuff. But what I’ve learned is a hard lesson to share, and it is that pretending you can’t fail is unfalteringly useless and here’s why.
Making a friend of failure
Of course you could fail. Most of us actually live from a primary identity of failure. That’s a constant in our lives. From the moment we fell over learning to walk we have implicitly understood that failure is part of the human condition. Even as a mind game to expand our comfort zone it is really really the wrong question to be asking.
Here’s a question to try on. “What is so important to you that you will do it anyway, knowing that you will fail in part?” It is likely that you will fail to meet your fullest dreams, on the other hand there are amazing discoveries promised if unknown at the outset. How might you answer that question? Take a minute now if you like to roll it around and see what you come up with.
This choice, this engagement with your own private calling, does not ignore or diminish the idea of failure and instead embraces it. It is not some light optimism that evades the shadows or distorts the reality of challenge, but instead a serious call to us to face the source of meaning and value in our lives. It is a middle path that expects courage and offers a radical hope. I’m not quite proud of my failures yet, but I am ready to expand them. Are you? Share your proud failures or your middle path in the comments.
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When the terrorist attacks in Paris happened last year I realised that I did not really believe in love. If “love is all you need” then how can people possibly shoot each other as a political process? If love is the greatest power why do we yearn for retribution in our justice, or worse, for revenge? If love is the ultimate force, then why was I trapped inside fear? It was a dark realisation and humbling. I couldn’t find a way forward. Peace eluded me. Love let me down.
At that time it was easy to notice a retreat into established, shared stories. The escapist movies released after that time in the lead up to the end of the year did particularly well because people sought a retreat from a complicated world. In blockbuster movies bad guys are easy to hate and the violence of the good guys is excused because the ends justify it. When you’re fearful, even kindness feels like a vulnerability. No wonder we draw back from love, it is too much to give! We can barely find love in our hearts for ourselves, families, neighbours or work mates. Why should we give when everyone else is taking?
So love as an ideal was tarnished. Love had not been a possible answer to terrorism.
Love is all we have
But. And yet. Nothing else could answer the question. “What would make the world the best possible place?” Telling people, forcing people, arguing shrilly and judging – none of those things work at any level, in any place, to create a more peaceful and harmonious society.
Love is the only answer that makes sense. Most of the time we think about romantic love and that confuses us. Romantic love is tied to personal intimacy, lust, sex, privacy. Then there’s parental love and so on. None of those are quite right either.
Asking to be healed
I’ve been sick and depressed in life and it isn’t fun, it doesn’t make for a peaceful outlook. I wanted to be better, so be well, to be healed, to be happy. I learnt that the first principle of healing is to participate. That means to ask for it. Ask who? Start with yourself. One of the first healers I ever spoke to said one transformative sentence to me: “What are you willing to give up in order to be well?” Not ‘what would I give’ but ‘what would I release’? In many ways that one sentence lead to all the posts here on this blog, all the ways of reframing worry and debt and embracing choice and the freedom of self knowledge. As I asked to be well over the months and years I was shown my patterns, my behaviours, the choices I was making. It was a process that gave lots of opportunities for experimenting with different ways, with different approaches and experiencing radical changes. We’ve talked around those topics in the last two years in a general way/
In the posts to come I’ll share what I’ve learnt in those experiences from a different perspective in the hope that they help you in your journey. Love didn’t let me down after all, it was there waiting for me, as it is waiting even now for you. We’re going to look at life’s challenges together from inside love. I hope we’re all up to it.
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There’s so much suffering in the world and it felt like time to find a way to contribute to the healing of that rather than continue to feel helpless and overwhelmed. As in all things, one must start with oneself, so last weekend, I did a Reiki introduction course with Patricia Newtown. Primarily I wanted to find a way forward in dealing with my colitis and depression. I was hoping for something that would complement my philosophical and intellectual explorations and perhaps help address the patterns of my behaviour that I have not been able to resolve on my own. I decided to ask for help.
First reiki impressions
Reiki is something that has given me a lot of support and help over the past 12 months through occasional short treatments. It is simple to receive, non-invasive, and people who give it always seem to be happy. I like the look of being happy, it is like holidays, but it doesn’t come to an end. Pat’s reiki introduction course looked appealing because she looked happy in her picture, and it would be near where I live. That’s a simple enough decision making process isn’t it? Well it worked. Learning is always fun, but reiki is not just an intellectual pursuit, there is of course lots of attention given to one’s body (in every sense). The welcoming space and happy faces were nice, but the real connection came as soon as we started by checking in on our individual energy levels, and then immediately raising them. That first technique, learnt in the first ten minutes of the day, has been working hard in the days since and will continue to be a touchstone to sanity. Did you know there’s a vibrational frequency to happiness? Of course you do, that’s why everybody loves music. That’s why you feel better after a long walk in nature. That’s why we have the phrase “out of synch” for when we’re down.
Reiki revealed
As in so many courses, much of the learning comes from the interaction with the other people as well as the course leaders. Something like this is incredibly supportive and inspiring as there’s a deliberate choice to be authentic and present in participation. I was also in the pleasant situation of being the least experienced member of the group and so everything the others said seemed to spark another revelation in me, another informational connection, another moment of personal insight. There were also some moments of divine simplicity. Have you ever used that phrase for a friend in distress “I’m sending you love”? That’s what reiki is, sending love. That’s the big reveal. Love. No need to over-think it. What was transformational in my experience was becoming a receiver for that energy and realising how to pass it along. There was an enormous amount of unexpected emotional release of old baggage that happened from the process of being “brought up to speed”.
Now for the housework
As is always the case after a peak experience, there’s a wobbly period afterwards. Lots of emotional clearing, intense personal experiences, heavy downloads of information all need time to settle in and become part of who you are. If indeed you decide to keep them. reiki practitioners around the world encourage the use of a “21 day cycle” which is a protocol for integration based around three full cycles through the seven energy centres in the body. What that means is that much as I was high as a kite last Sunday (when the photo of Pat and I was taken) it was taken for granted that there’s be a ‘coming to ground’ on Monday, and verily that did come to pass and that’s ok too. For healing (and learning) to be meaningful, it has to occur within our everyday lives. That’s what the 21 day cycle is for. Integration moves something from being an idea to wisdom. I’m diligently doing my homework, forgiving my slips and falls, not expecting miracles. This is the time for finding the right place for these skills in the toolbox of my life.
Was it amazing? Yes. Was it worth doing? Yes. Will I go back and learn more? Yes. Has it made a difference to my health? Only time will truly tell, but it has already made a positive difference to my ability to ‘pick myself up’ each morning and face the day with a smile. Can I recommend Patricia Newton as a trainer and a healer? Yes! Absolutely!
What use is love?
So reiki is love. It is a pretty happy, blissful kind of thing. It is a useful thing to add to one’s repertoire of skills and to grow one’s wisdom. So before you ask “what use is reiki?” maybe ask if you want to be the person who is asking “What use is love?”
Belief without love will make you fanatical,
Duty without love will make you ill-humoured,
Order without love will make you pedantic,
Power without love will make you violent,
Justice without love will make you severe,
A life without love will make you ill.
(Excerpt from “Reiki: Universal free energy” by Baginski and Sharamon.)
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