Sunday,August 25, 2024
Dreams and Wings
A leather draping chin of an old man brushes the soft cushioned forehead of his small kin three generations behind him. The small one adjusts to make himself comfortable atop the bony leg of his elder, his little nose even smaller in proportion to the big eyes that stare up at his papa, hoping for a story. The old one swallows to clear his throat and speaks, “ What if I told you the right wing and the left wing belong to the same bird.”
The Story
This is the tale of a young and powerful bird who thought he was old and wise. He mistook control for wisdom and lost his wings.
The bird had journeyed from afar to reach this land. Though the journey was arduous, the new land proved worth it. Here, he was free—free from the constraints that had dictated his flight and actions in his former home. No longer bound by the commands of rulers who had tried to clip his wings and stifled his hope, he had finally arrived in a land of liberation and promise.
In this new land, he became the overseer, but unlike his predecessors, he vowed not to impose control. He understood that an eagle has no business trying to dictate the life of a horse, for what does an eagle know about being a horse? In this land, horses would be free to be horses, fish free to be fish, bears free to be bears, and the eagle would be free to be an eagle. He would not dominate the creatures of this land but would instead be mindful to limit his power. From his vantage point above, he would ensure that no creatures from outside sought to disrupt their freedom. Should any such threat arise, he would alert the inhabitant of his land far and wide, rallying them to protect the sanctity of their liberty.
One day, the eagle was sitting in the dirt, grounding himself from the perspective of the sky, seeing how the land creatures must view things. He thought about how much more he could see above the other creatures soaring overhead. A serpent slithered near the eagle and whispered to him, “You see so much more than the others, our brave eagle. You see that the land is vast and wide but fragile to the elements. You see that the buffalo are ruining parts of the land; so big and reckless as they plow through, they will ruin this beautiful place if you don’t stop them. The other creatures can’t see what’s happening, but you can.” “Yes, yes, I see,” responded the eagle. And so the eagle began to oversee the buffalo and ensured they stayed confined to areas he had chosen for them.
The eagle saw how the buffalo complied with his wishes, and a flutter he’d never felt before swept through his wings. He felt stronger and as if he could soar even higher above the others as if he could see more than he did before. Then the serpent told the eagle, “You did well, very well. You saved this land, but you should make sure the bears stop fishing so much, for they offend others who are trying to enjoy the river.” And so the eagle regulated that the bears could only fish at certain times. The eagle designates specific times when the river could be used by certain creatures.
The eagle saw how the bears and other animals complied with his wishes, and that flutter he’d never felt before returned, even stronger this time as it swept through his wings. He felt more powerful and as if he could soar even higher above the others as if he could see more than before. He went back to tell the serpent of all the good he had done. “You did well, very well. ” the serpent said, praising the eagle. “You are saving this land from itself, but did you notice what has been happening with the creatures in the North?”
Before long, the eagle had begun to oversee and regulate every animal and area of the land he had sworn to protect. And that flutter he had felt in his wings began to morph and grow. They began to be harder for the eagle to control. His right and left wings appeared to be at contention, each vying to impose control and regulation over an ever-growing number of matters.
Disturbance from purpose is toxic for an eagle, and his wings began to turn on him. The right wing urged him to go further right to change things for the betterment of the land in its own way, while the left wing urged him to go further left and change things for the betterment of the land in its own way.
His heart, trapped in the middle, tried to reason and plead with the eagle to remember his original intent. To remember why he came to this land to regain control of his wings. To remember how the heart lies in the middle. But the right and left wings didn’t like the heart’s cry and fluttered even louder and stronger in opposite directions so that the heart could not be heard. In their attempt to both be in control and drown out the sound of the heart, the wings tore from the eagle.
The eagle plummeted to the earth, his heart wailing in anguish as he struck the dirt. He lay there, stubs for wings broken and bloodied, once majestic appendages now scattered and useless. As he lay contorted and tormented in the dust memories flooded his mind—the day he had first soared into this land, so vibrant and untamed, where creatures roamed in freedom. The feeling he had in his wings then when they worked in unison with each other and his heart. He recalled his sacred promise to the land, his pledge to uphold the beauty and sanctity he had once witnessed, and the vow he made to protect its inhabitants.
Now the eagle beheld the stark transformation of what the land had become. Once a realm of promise, peace, and praise, it had warped into something utterly alien to its origins, a woeful plagued land of confusion and strain. Awakening to his own fall to the destruction he had caused, to the loss of his land, a single tear slipped from his eye. Landing in the dirt as the serpent approached, he licked up the tear and smiled at the eagle, proud as he had been so many times before, “You did well, very well,” he said. Then the serpent dined on the remains of the eagle, pleased with how well his plan had worked even on a creature as well intended, wise, and beautiful as the eagle, and as he dined, the serpent knew nothing was now out of his reach.
Song: Last of My Kind
by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit
“The urge to save humanity is almost always a false front for the urge to rule it.”
― H.L. Menchken
“We all eat lies when our hearts are hungry..”
― Unknown
“Fortune drops something valuable into your lap, you don’t just dump it on the bank of the cut.”
― Thomas Shelby
Sunday, July 28, 2024
Goodfellas
In Reno's pulsing 24-hour heart, I stood, a black-haired child feeling out of place, always. Out of place amongst my blonde-haired siblings and cousins. Out of place amongst my friends who, in second grade, had never seen the movie Goodfellas and didn’t know who Robert De Niro was, let alone have a crush on him and had other priorities besides watching Oprah with their grandma after school. I felt out of place because I seemed to observe things that grown-ups refused to acknowledge. I saw a vast ocean of things unspoken and unexplored by those who surrounded me. I noticed what I perceived as negative repercussions of these things grown-ups would not discuss and the ripple effect this had on this ocean of humanity I found myself in.
These things were not only unacknowledged by adults but also denied outright. I learned quickly what would happen if I verbalized my observations to the adults around me: it would be met with a shaming tone of “What are you talking about? That didn’t happen!” or “Don’t say things like that!” or “We don’t talk like that,” or “We don’t talk about that,” or I was simply ignored, which sent a message stronger than any other, like an earthquake with a frequency so low and so powerful that the ears cannot hear it, but the body sure can feel it.
The children surrounding me followed the lead of these grown-ups, and I began to wonder if I was imagining these realities. That was when my actual imagination kicked in to save me, as angels often do, and allowed me to express these unspoken impressions. So, through the making up of imaginary worlds with imaginary people and places and through poetry, I expressed truths. Maybe this is when I learned to think in poems. Perhaps a coping mechanism, or perhaps it would have been regardless. We never really know the source of our madness for sure- only that it is there and most likely serves a purpose.
In my early adult years, I was judgmental and critical of the ways in which I grew up, as is often the arrogance and ignorance of youth. If we are lucky, this righteousness is confined to a youthful phase that we grow out of and don’t carry into adulthood. I have no judgement for how I grew up now. I would like to say something like, “ My roots have shaped me and made me who I am today, and I would not change a thing,” but I cannot. I struggle with black-and-white statements like this. They are comforting and enable us to neatly package our experiences and move on, but my mind simply doesn’t work that way. It ponders too much. I will say that I cherish my upbringing and have had many beautiful experiences, not just valuable lessons stemming from pain, although both have branded me.
I also have learned that if you are grappling with deep thoughts, Sunday night family dinners may not welcome these ponderings without criticism and conflict. The seeker next to you in your yoga class probably just wants to zen out for an hour and not delve into deeper discussions, and small talk seems to be the socially acceptable “polite thing” in most circles these days. Ponderings provide some space to explore topics with the intention of enriching perspective and fostering unity.
This is the space to go deep.
Ponderings will dive in and explore the ocean of discoveries I have been swimming in as a complex, free-thinking, critically-minded, highly observant yogi. I open myself up to source and do not limit experience by labeling where things should go or where I want them to go. A common thread in my ponderings is a vision of a world guided by understanding and compassion, detecting what keeps us from achieving this and seeking to understand and explore root causes, steering clear of an “us vs. them” mentality.
I live with the understanding that two opposing views can equally be true. I try to practice radical nonjudgment and understand that everyone comes from their own life experience. I attempt to navigate my own personal judgments through this knowledge and through literature. However, I am a human who forms sentiments based on my life experiences and the limited amount of information I can personally intake on any given topic. Because I am always learning and evolving, my ponderings flow like a liquid, capable of being molded, shaped, colored, and blended -not solid stone, unyielding to change.
The constant in my life is the intent to leave the world better than I found it. I am deeply inspired by the profound words of Charles Eisenstein, who eloquently expressed the belief that "A more beautiful world our hearts know is possible.” I find strength in the work and advocacy of the great Jacqueline Novogratz, who encourages us to "fear not work that has no end." These powerful assertions serve as guiding beacons in my life. The threads I follow and continue to unravel offer a vision that enriches perspective, bridges divides, and illuminates deeper truths. I can only trust that it will resonate through this medium.
Poem: Ponderings Song: The Ludlows by James Horner
Ponderings
For those that ponder
About gurus who sponsor
A more beautiful world
For dealing with roots curled
Twisted and complex
People thinking beyond a black Amex
For those who can’t ignore
Realities knocking at your door
Sometimes through humor, something through foe,
Something through venting what is humanly so,
Wonderings and pondering beyond status quo
Beyond we reap what we sow
Deeper than learn to let go
Let’s ponder together, under each other’s umbrella
A new kind of Goodfella.
My brother and me, 1990
“Everybody has a story. And there’s something to be learned from every experience.”
― Oprah
“A certain darkness is needed to see the stars.”
― Osho
“He didn’t mean anything by it. That’s just the way he was.”
― Goodfellas