Bobby, Fisher.

Reflections

I had a very different idea for what I would write this week. But fishing is a funny activity, and I'm surprised by what I've encountered. I'm here with my childhood friend Dave, with whom I've experienced so much of the formative things one remembers. I'll write about him another time. But it's because of him that I am here, and I am immensely grateful.

Standing at the beach, line in the water, surf hitting the shore, now lively, now gently, becomes an opportunity.

The first day, I practiced my QiGong postures while standing almost motionless. Stretching imperceptibly, knees bent, trying to make the Qi flow.

The second day, I began to be tired of the effort. I focused on clearing my mind. I tried to be mindful and stop the internal chatter. By the end of the day, I was exhausted of that, too.

On the third day, I tried to "rest" from the effort of trying to improve myself. Trying to rest my mind. Trying to get the dumb repetitive classic rock song that I'd heard most recently on the radio out of my head.

Always trying.

And, while I was doing all this trying, I was thinking about my late cousin Bobby. He loved to fish. He went on fishing trips to Costa Rica, Mexico, Southeast Asia, and who knows where else.

Bobby died of leukemia last year. A vigorous, vital, irrepressible man who brought everything he had to everything he did. He was in his early sixties. His brother Joel related to me that as he lay dying, mostly unconscious, he would rise to the surface occasionally and say, "Joe -the fish! They're everywhere. It's beautiful…!"

I also received news that a dear member of my shamanic circle is dying of ovarian cancer. She is not asking for healing work from her shamanic family - just prayers for a gentle and joyful passing. A gentle and joyful passing.

As I'm cutting up the bait - small mullet fish - I wonder at their guts. Such an amazing collection of intricate, elegant complexity inside this little tube, surrounded by muscle and bone. Their shiny eyes still bright, their gills and such so foreign. And yet they serve me in a deep and profound way. I am increasingly aware of my own "guts" - my internal organs, so neatly and compactly tucked away inside myself. My heart. My stomach. My liver. My lungs, to which I offer an apology for the silly indulgence of smoking a cigarette or two each day while I'm here. I feel them, I sense them all the more clearly and…poignantly…as I stand at the edge of the surf with a bit of fish on the end of my line.

And as I sense them, I breathe into them. And I think of my cousin, and his joy of fishing. And I think of the fish, somewhere out there.

I breathe in and out. I feel the wind blowing against my chest, facing the surf. And I remember that I am not "me", not this physical body. I remember that I am permeable, the space between my subatomic particles gargantuan compared to the tiny dots that are protons and electrons. I remember that the Qi can flow through me, and does so with every puff of the wind.

I remember that my inner universe, too, can flow through me, with every puff of my breath. And the two universes, the inner and the outer, flow and mix together like currents that meet at The Point here in Buxton, North Carolina, on the Outer Banks.

The two commingle and mix and for just a moment, I am not here, in this body. I am somewhere ineffable, indefinable, some way of being that is behind and around and in communion with my body and the sand and the Ocean and the wind and the water.

And as I breathe, as I am in communion with the Creation, Mother Earth, and all that she is, I smile a gentle smile and say "Hello" to the fish that has taken my line.

Bobby and I have a lot in common. Effort being the most prominent, I think.

I think, perhaps, he still has other things to teach me.

Desperate for a Drink

I’m Not Dehydrated, Am I?

I know, I know...you think you drink enough water. You’re not thirsty, right? A few years ago, I thought the same. Even though two Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioners told me to drink more water. Even though my opthalmologist despaired over my dry eyes. Even though I had allergies, frequent headaches, dark circles under my eyes and kept gaining weight that I just could not lose. I was certain I didn’t need to drink more water.

Then, based on some research I’d done and for entirely different health reasons, I made a decision to stop taking over-the-counter allergy medication and drinking carbonated beverages. That pushed me to start drinking much more water than usual and I found out what it’s like to really be hydrated. The headaches and allergies disappeared and the opthalmologist didn’t nag me about dry eyes for the first time ever. I dropped 15 pounds without even trying. I began to have more energy and sleep better. Wow, this hydration thing was pretty cool!

As a result of my own experience, I became more aware of dehydration as a health concern. When I became a holistic practitioner, I was introduced to a book by the late Fereydoon Batmanghelidj, M.D. (Dr. B for brevity’s sake), entitled Your Body’s Many Cries For Water. Dr B’s books explain his theory that the body has a drought management system and when it doesn’t have enough water it begins shutting down normal operations, beginning with the lungs and digestive system (high asthma rates and increasing obesity levels) and on a longer-term basis other systems including the brain (increasing dementia and Alzheimer’s rates). His book documented some remarkable results in helping asthma sufferers with appropriate water and sodium intake.

I believe Dr B was on to something about dehydration becoming chronic in our population. Most of us find it easy to stop for a coffee or soda, and never bother to drink just simple water. There isn’t a lot of research or advertising when it comes to just plain water and so we don’t have an awareness about it. Many of us don’t understand that caffeinated beverages act to dehydrate us further or how much of our body is water: muscles 75%; blood 82%; lungs 90%; brain 76%; bones 25%. Trying to run your body without adding water routinely is like trying to run your car without oil in the engine.

As I work with my clients, I find it’s a simple task to identify those who drink enough water. Their skin feels healthy and more elastic when touched. They seldom have complaints about allergies, headaches, constipation, joint pain and other common ailments. They seem to need detox therapy less than clients who don’t drink much water.

What scares me, however, is that over 70% of my clients fall into the don’t-drink-water-consistently category. When asked how much water they drink, they’ll sheepishly admit they don’t drink enough or tell me they think they do, but then talk about an intake of just one or two cups a day. Those clients who educate themselves more about drinking water and commit to it are often astonished by the benefits and surprised that I can tell almost immediately.

Most of us don’t know how much water we should drink. Dr B provided a simple guideline in his book. Divide your weight (in pounds) in half, then drink that many ounces of water per day. For example, if you weigh 170 pounds, you need to drink at least 85 ounces. There are 8 ounces in a cup, so that works out to a little more than 10 cups per day. If you drink something with caffeine in it, drink an extra cup of water to offset it.

Dr B reiterated that we are misinterpreting many cues from our body as illnesses rather than requests for water. For example, two glasses of water will usually alleviate a headache. Try a glass of water rather than a snack the next time you think you’re hungry. You just might be surprised and delighted by what regular water intake can do for you! (We should have copies of Dr. B’s book in stock soon and we highly recommend it!)

©2009 Susan Mix
(This article was written by Firefly Willow's own Susan Mix, a Certified Reflexologist. If you haven't stopped in to experience her work, you're missing something special.)

Conversations with Craig

Craig is a homeless man that hangs out in my home town. Folks call him Smiley, I guess because his demeanor is pleasant. He has challenges. I'm not sure what they are, but he's been around for as long as I've been here, some 16 years. He rides his bicycle around town, picking through the waste bins for returnable bottles and cans.

I had occasion to speak with Craig this morning. Although his thinking is hard to follow, his vocabulary is quite something. Being a word buff myself, I was intrigued. I listened to what seemed like random ramblings, searching for...not the "sense"...but the reason the words were coming out the way they did.

It seemed like Craig was embracing the flavor, texture, and contours of the words, connecting them together to create thought-forms that "felt right". The thought-forms would often blend from one to another, and I had a tough time following them all. Each one had some consonant or resonant appeal, not just in the sounds of the words, but in the sketch of their meanings. Often, he moved too fast for me, from one wisp of a thought to another, but I found that they were not just random babblings.

I spent about 20 minutes with him. In that 20 minutes, I reflected back to him my understandings of his thoughts, helped him finish some of his sentences, and witnessed someone playing with words the way I do sometimes. I enjoyed it, even if I didn't follow all of it. It was possible to follow, though, I perceived.

A couple of mysteriously profound utterances that I'm pondering even now:

"One is a metaphor for zero".

How does that work? Well, I hadn't really thought of it before, but suddenly I resonated with the following: For me, zero feels like the undivided whole, embracing both the material universe and the void, that place of emptiness and fullness, nothingness and unrestrained potential. The container of everything that is and that isn't yet.

One, on the other hand, is also an undivided whole, but a more tangible one. A kind of whole that we can experience in daily life.

"All that exists" is the unity of all that is, the unity of creation. 1. I can see it as metaphor for the true wholeness, which includes the container and that which is yet to be. 0.

Perhaps also 0 is also metaphor for 1.

Craig also said something like, "Embracing the plural is to abandon the singular..."

I followed this one quite well. Duality is an illusion, but it's a convenient and seductive one. Most of us think of our embracing the plural to be a matter of practical utility. But once you cross that threshold, it's tough to go back. And the abandonment of the singular is a tragedy we are living through every day.

I'm not sure what I think of Craig. He's probably a troubled fellow. He looks to be in reasonable health, peering through the grime and the tattered clothing. He'd be hard-pressed to hold a job, even if he wanted one

Is he crazy? Maybe. Probably, in at least one sense of the word

Is he interesting? Surely.

Our conversation today was filled with interesting currents and metaphysical abstractions. I plan to talk with him again. Beyond the cosmology, philosophy, and metaphysics, I'll be interested to see what humanity I discover there.

Dog: Remote Harmonic Sensing/Amplification Device

... or "Connoisseur of a Good Vibe"?

What is a dog?

I had a revelation about these characters when I was out in the back yard with a friend of mine Saturday evening. Lately, I've been contemplating quantum reality, field effects, and the nature of Qi. Contemplating the notion that we're all fields, radiating and absorbing energy.

So I've been primed for some unusual perceptions.

My friend and I were chatting about this esoterica in the cool of the early night. My wife let the dogs out, and they spotted us there in the dark, and rushed out in a tizzy, sounding the alarm. Until, of course, they got to us, and then there was the sniffing and circling and the soft tones to calm them down and smooth them out.

And I thought, "What the heck is really going on here?"

I had a sudden vision of the resonant field that was myself, and the one that was my friend; of the general resonant field of the back yard, and the fields of each of the three dogs. Each of us had a different field, of course, because we're all unique.

What I found fascinating was what the dogs were doing. They were immersing themselves in the fields, sensing for harmonious interaction or dissonance. Where there was harmony, they amplified it, and enjoyed it immensely. Where there was dissonance or conflict, they sensed it and really didn't like it.

Their first experience was of transitioning from the house field to the back yard field at night. "Feels great," they said, and immersed themselves in it...only to sense two unexpected fields within the field.

Because it was unexpected, it was dissonant. "ALARM! ALARM!", and then the next level of investigation.

When they reached us, they were testing for harmony. When we spoke to them in calming tones, we were attempting to demonstrate the compatibility of our fields with one another, with the back yard, and with theirs. Showing them how all those fields could fit harmoniously together, so to speak.

So I got the sense that dogs were really like mobile sensing devices. They can go out into the world and register what's going on. If you have a good relationship with your dogs, they'll report back to you. If you have a great relationship with your dogs, they'll report back, quite specifically, on whether or not what they're sensing is harmonious with the things and people you care about. Of course, you ALSO have to have a well-developed field sensor, in order to understand what they're saying...

This line of thought also gave me new insight into how powerful a dog can be for a hunter. Very sharp remote sensing device, sending telemetry information back to the command center. In this case, there is significant value in the structure of the communication back to command. An average snout with a very sophisticated communication system is, I posit, much more valuable than a great snout with poor communication skills.

I think the communication skills that dogs develop are integrated with their vibe sensing and amplification skills. I suspect that may be how they communicate with us. They shape the carrier wave of our mutual communications to create a "vibe" that we can understand. They're not saying, "There's a rabbit over there!" Instead, I think they're saying, "I'm sensing a field of fear that is capable of moving very fast, emanating from that direction." Of course, it's informed by all their senses, including their spectacular olfactory system. But I think they're cognitive process is naturally inclined to the vibe, not the object.

Now, it's interesting to contemplate how our original relationship with dogs developed. Think of the evolving vibe, from the earliest interactions of curiosity (wolves considering humans and the smell of roasting meet around a fire) to the relationship of hunting pals to the modern relationship of family companion. Dogs have evolved along with us to become full participants in our family "field". They have quite a role, when you think of it this way. And thinking of it this way, one gets the sense of why some breeds are better for certain kinds of families, and other breeds are better for others. It depends on your family vibe, and whether you really want their help to amplify family harmony, or whether you want them to focus more on the remote sensing of incompatible fields that might threaten it. (Or, if you want a more utilitarian sensor to help you identify remote fields that you might want to eat...)

The big realization for me, I guess, is that dogs really like harmony. I'm starting to think of them as the ultimate connoisseurs of a good vibe. They can sense one, they enjoy one, and they totally are willing to contribute and amplify one.

They may be the best in the world at sensing and amplifying (and enjoying) a good vibe.

What do you think?

The Dance and The Music

Listen...It's a Love Song!

They dance together under a starlit sky.

He is entranced by her. Radiant, resplendent in amazing gold, he moves, but barely, so mesmerized is he by her beauty and grace as he gently leads her around in their dance. Humming an energetic song, gregarious, effusive, and powerful, his voice fill the space around them, touches others, nearly creates the party itself. But his focus is on her, for she is the most alive, the most beautiful, the most vivacious at this party.

She is dressed in majestic blues and emerald greens, with touches of divine white, obscuring and revealing rich flesh tones, here pale, there rich ochre, and through light and shadow, everything in between. Long ago in her youth, she dressed more startlingly - more flesh, more black, more fiery red and arresting orange. Now, we have to look closely to see that fiery sparkle, still there but sparingly, even demurely applied. She seems coquettish and coy, pulling away from him even as she is attracted to him. He compels her so, it's as if she knows she must restrain herself, to let the cosmic winds dance between them, lest she collapse herself into their union and disappear. So even as she loves him and is attracted to him, she tugs resolutely away. He loves her all the more for it.

Slowly they dance, he gently guiding her around. Look! She's tilted her countenance just so. As they dance, what she shows to him about herself changes with the passing rhythms. His song so tantalizes, so tickles her, she too begins to sing. She sings a song that draws its energy from his, and adds to it her own inventions. Her lilting, complex melody to his enchanting bass, the two of them creating magic. And she so loves the feeling of his song against her body that she twirls herself around and around, capturing the feeling of his song on every part of her, again and again. She fairly giggles with delight, her laughter creating life all around her.

And we reflect the magic of their dance - from him, the source of the song - the deep abiding source, the warmth of the sun. From the tilt of her countenance and the swirl of their dance we hear the song of the seasons. From her delighted twirling, our rhythm of night and day.

Through the gentle filter of her song, we experience his song. Through all of us in attendance, through one another, each affected by the turning of the seasons, the daily experience of light and dark, the flush of spring, the strength of summer, the harvest and release of autumn, and the sleep of winter, we hear her song. We sing her song. We are her song.

Sing well, my brothers and sisters. In harmony with the rocks, the waves, the trees, the birds, the flowers, and our own lively creations, sing along.

All the world's our stage, and life is it's grand performance. Sing well.

Could That Be How It Works?

An Unconventional Favor Leads to a Strange Take on Reality

OK, this one starts out a bit cynical (if you're in a generous mood, maybe sardonic or wry).

It was late, I hadn't had dinner. I was hungry, and a bit tired. I raided the 'fridge, hoping something would be in there that would satisfy. I saw the salsa, and thought of the cold, fresh, wet, and spicy feeling mixed with the crunchy-salty of corn chips. Did we have corn chips? A quick scan of the cupboard...YES! I was in!

Until I unfurled the bag of corn chips. Those of you who have teenage boys at home know this experience well. Rather than finish the bag of chips, or the carton of milk, or the bottle of fruit juice or the box of cereal, it is delicately put back in place with one mote of food above the minimum necessary to fall into the "throw this away" category.

I looked into the bag, shiny, sparkly metallic reflections all around, surrounding a pitiful pile of crumbs and scraps.

And I said to the contents of the bag, "Huh. I'm doing YOU a favor."

What an odd thought. As the full consequence of my statement flowered in my mind, I realized what I was really saying. "The sooner you get eaten, the sooner you turn into...ahem...compost,... the sooner you can become something approaching good and useful."

Because if I left them in the bag, they'd sit there for who-knows-how-many months, and then probably get thrown away INSIDE the bag, and sit there encased in the bag in a landfill for another who-knows-how-long, before getting a shot at becoming compost and then doing something USEFUL with those molecules....

Boy, it was a harsh sentiment.

But then I thought (as I am wont to do), "Geez. I wonder if that IS the best thing I can do. And what would the world look like if one of the most important things you could do for something else was to help it rid itself of its current form, turn it back into compost, and get it started again on a new mission?

And what does that say about the municipal waste system? Would conservative "small government advocates" just see it as another stupid government boondoggle trying to help...whatever...make the most of itself? Like funding for education, but at the other end of the spectrum?

From there it got weirder. What if the difference in perspective between Conservatives and Progressives is really as opposite, as literally antipodal, as this new thought was to my normal way of thinking? Up is down for somebody who walks on the underside of the stairs in those MC Escher drawings... No WONDER we can't communicate with one another, with world-views as inverted as that.

Don't get me wrong - there was no political aspersions being cast. I was just in stunned wonder at how OPPOSITE, and yet quite possibly LEGITIMATE, that flash of perspective could be. And suddenly, the whole world became unusually malleable, and the surety of my opinions and perceptions weakened and began to jiggle like jello. Which direction does intention flow?

And more. What did this flash imply about the way the world (nee, the Universe) really works? Which perspective could be counted on to reveal the Divine Intention, the Mind of God? Which actor on this stage should I play, and what is his motivation? Whose colors should I cheer for, and who should I champion with my own life force?

Where's the effing SCRIPT??!

("LINE...!", he shouted, even though it was a public performance in front of a packed house...)

What an odd way of seeing the world, if only for a moment.

And yet, helping someone shed the remnants of himself, even if it means going through a "compost" stage, to then feed something else that arises from his remains is a very very interesting role to consider, both for the compost-er and the compost-ee.

Who does that? What archetype? Is that Death? Mother Earth? God? One's Highest Self? And is it still really you if you've become compost and then recirculated via the roots of a plant or the gut of an animal? Or, if not physically experienced, then emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, or socially?

Does the resplendent and magical Phoenix know that the ashes from which it arises were once scraps of corn-chips in the bottom of a bag, lovingly and considerately turned to compost by the gut of a fool?

These questions seem too much for me.

Just Passing Through

Me, My Sons, and the Redwoods

On Sunday, my two sons and I went for a hike in Big Basin State Park. We hiked the waterfall trail (11 miles). It was great to feel our bodies move along, and to be in such a beautiful place.

Our conversation turned to the magnificent trees. How old they are. How much they have seen. Alive when Charlemagne united Europe. When Mohammad lived. Through the Dark Ages and the Renaissance.

We saw a "family" of redwoods, all quite large. The families sprout up around where a single tree has lived (and died). We wondered in awe about the ancestor of this family. "Imagine how old that guy must have been...!"

It was humbling but also wondrous. We, with our short lives, and our even shorter hike, were just passing through. We wondered if they would remember us, a thousand years from now. "Remember those three male humans who talked to us?"

Is it so preposterous?

I approached a very young, slender sapling. I said, "Hello there. Remember me." I touched it gently. My sons made fun of me...insinuating that that poor young tree was now stuck with a memory that it would never get out of its "head", something like "It's a Small World After All" playing over and over for a thousand years. (They're such NICE boys...).

Yep, we were just passing through.

And in another way, too. As we got a little further along in our hike, and our muscles got a bit sore and we got a bit tired, I encouraged my sons to let the forest pass through them. By recognizing how much empty space really exists inside our bodies, between the nuclei of adjacent atoms. We're really quite...permeable...like really loose sponges in a certain way.

I talked about recognizing that permeability, and letting the "Qi" of the forest pass through our bodies, revitalizing us with its healthy, vibrant, natural earth-energy. It's really well-balanced Qi. I think the older the forest, the more refreshing and rejuvenating the Qi. It felt to me like a deep cleanse and a healing elixir all in one.

As we neared the end of our hike, I shared with my boys something that I've learned about living things, and these Redwood trees in particular. Every species is "the best" at something. (Wolves, for example, are the best at experiencing the beauty of the moon, I think. They love her so much that they sing to her with wild abandon.)

What about these California Redwoods, these Sequoia Sempervirens?

Well, they live practically forever, and grow so tall...they have a great view. They are the best, I believe, in bearing witness. They bear sacred witness to life, to death. To love and tragedy. To change.

Even, I think, to those of us who are just passing through.