Field Notes

Looking Deep Into Nature

/ Kennedy Farr / 8 Comments

Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.

~Albert Einstein

domke lakeToday we are nearing record high temperatures.  And I am here at my desk, daydreaming of living on the lake and its winter snowfall and pearlescent lake ice.  Albert Einstein wrote: “Physical concepts are free creations of the human mind, and are not, however it may seem, uniquely determined by the external world.” Dr. Einstein is correct.  I feel cooler as memories of winters past and its deep cold settle over my current external-world reality.

Living on the lake taught me to pay attention to the simplest of things: the remaining daylight in the late afternoon for chores, the amount of water still in the bucket on the stand as night approached, the arrival of the bell mare coming in from open pasture on the mountain, and the weather that rolled in from the south over the ridge. Weather determined the plan of each day: sunny days were reserved for wood cutting or laundry or boat maintenance; rainy days for cooking or personal study or paperwork.

ice on lakeCome November, the lake would freeze, the float plane traffic would stop until springtime, the quiet would descend more fully.  All sound would be absorbed by the low clouds, the ice on the lake, and the snow-covered ground.  The silence was deafening in the winter months.  I used to keep an old funky radio — all wrapped around with copper wire — tuned to the only clear AM station in order to combat the ringing in my ears from the deafening quiet.  The lack of sound waves and movement took on a new life, a new way of being and of paying attention.  It was a unique experience that has shaped my current notion of stillness.  It is in this place where I learned how to live with the elements and how to be quiet within my own self.

kerosene-lampIt was a rewarding and demanding lifestyle which did not allow for a great deal of convenience.  I did not have electricity, running water, telephone, or the usual appliances found in the average American household.  I cooked on a wood cookstove and heated my home with a 55-gallon barrel turned on its side.  Artificial light came from kerosene and, in the wintertime, additional natural light was provided by the sun’s reflection off the newly-fallen snow.

I loved waking up to that first snowfall.  The cabin would be bathed in a brilliance that had been quite-noticeably absent during the darker months of autumn.  It felt as if a Supreme and Altruistic Benefactor had turned on a light switch of ambient brilliance, and I was the receiver of such luminosity.

But I am human, and this first-awakening glow would predictably wane.  And it would no longer be deeply revered and appreciated.  The first snow did indeed translate such that less kerosene would be burned in the early morning hours.  Another bonus was that in just a few more snowfalls the open crawl space beneath the cabin would soon be insulated from winter’s colder temperatures.  I would be burning less firewood.  The floorboards would be warmer longer.

All of these amazing advantages.  I would lie in bed that first morning and simply love the gift of snowfall.

That first snow also signified the beginning of an intense arm-and-back workout that would present its demands on a daily basis for the next 5 or 6 months.  Snowfall would become the dratted monster that would creak and groan and eventually slither off the metal roof all night during a heavy fall and engulf the entire house in its shroud of white.   That bonus brilliance would soon be muted by a massive amount of wet concrete that would need to be moved away from the single pane windows — lest the added pressure cause them to collapse.

It was a delicate balance of attitude adjustment.  The properties of snow are exactly what they are.  Nothing had changed regarding the crystalline structure of the snowflakes.  My interpretation of these properties was what had shifted. Appreciation?  Or just plain hard work?

waterHauling water in 2.5-gallon buckets up the hill from the lake demanded that water be afforded an immense amount of respect.  In the coldest of winter, vigilance was required to preserve my water source.  The diameter of the hole would quickly shrink as the cold settled into Deep Winter.  Chipping through the new lens of ice each day released the smell of fresh lake water and the promise of springtime.  I can recall that smell today.  I can remember the feeling of standing on the ice and drawing water with the stainless-steel bucket.  Life was alive and moving beneath the stillness imposed by the ice.

I very much like this quote of Albert Einstein’s.  What a genius he was in so many ways.  When I look deep into nature, I do understand everything better.  I understand that there is a dichotomy to things.  That there is a yin and a yang. That It-Is-I who can tip my inner scale of harmony toward appreciation over overwhelm-ment.  I appreciate the lessons that I gained from living in a primitive environment that reminded — demanded — me to look up and all around.

To look up.  I wonder at this now.  It sometimes seems that I so rarely look up.  I am reminded to turn this around and start looking up and around.  I sit here at my desk and I look out the window at the trees on this gorgeous summer day . . . and I find myself daydreaming about winter’s snow and ice.  So Much Beauty.  All around and all the time.  And so many gifts of renewal are in my life today.  So many.  I believe that I appreciate them more intensely because I have “looked deep into nature.”  I value my appreciation of today.  Of being alive.  Of being able to return and to grow my appreciation to those whom I love.  What a gift it is to appreciate life and love, to share trust and laughter with another.  toaster oven

For this, I raise a toast . . . a 2.5 gallon bucket . . . a fine glass of cognac . . . to Nature for assisting me to “understand everything” a little better in this moment.  I feel deeply blessed.

Albert-Einstein-on-Nature

I see you. I am here.

/ Kennedy Farr / Leave a comment

I heard someone say the other day that she is a lifelong learner.  I like this sentiment.  We are all lifelong learners.  I seek growth and feel fully present when I am in the process of learning and evolving.  My life experiences have been shaped by years of primitive living, sharing with my family, teaching, studying, researching, gardening, dancing, playing music, reading, painting, creating, seeking ways to express love . . . time draws together in a harmonious confluence – constantly moving and flowing in directions that connect me as a part of the greater whole.

I believe that we all want to be part of a bigger whole.  We seek empathetic connections that acknowledge each other, define our lives in powerful ways, and allow for us to be examples and inspirations of growth, kindness, and healing — to truly see each other.

Among the tribes of northern Natal in South Africa, the most common greeting, equivalent to “hello” in English, is the expression: sawu bona. It literally means, “I see you.” If you are a member of the tribe, you might reply by saying sikhona, “I am here.” The order of the exchange is important: until you see me, I do not exist.

What this acknowledgement means is simply empathy. It means that you acknowledge the other as one like yourself. It means that the ‘I’ and the ‘You’ are the same – parts of a bigger whole.”  [I dearly wish I could remember the source from which I read this translation.  My apologies to the author.]

i-am-here_webI believe that every little bit works together into one whole, one flow.  And it is sometimes simpler to banish the roots of uncertainty and doubt in others than it is in our own selves.   It requires courage for us to explore new pathways.  In life’s journey, I want to experience and communicate both sawu bona (I see you) and sikhona (I am here).

I came across a passage in my reading recently that resonated with me: our blessings and gifts earn value when used . . . our abundance is an expression of how we use our gifts and how we can feel truly prosperous.  When we share, our riches grow in value because we have given them with compassionate awareness.  Wow.  This is just so beautiful.

I so believe this to be true.  We can create abundance in our lives and the lives of others by giving freely of what we have and who we are.  It is a humbling thing to think on and to write of.  It is an enormous privilege to become part of another’s journey and to think that I stand to be instrumental in another’s growth or happiness.  Wow.  Sawu bona.  Sikhona.  toaster oven

The Submerged Truth

/ Kennedy Farr / 2 Comments

“I slept and dreamt that life was joy.

I awoke and saw that life was service.

I acted and behold, service was joy.”

– Rabindranath Tagore

The other night I dreamt that I had to fly a small, 6-passenger float plane.  I do not have my pilot’s license in waking life, and the same held true in my dream.  I found myself buckled into the pilot’s seat with no clue as to how to fly.

In the dream, I had the responsibility of taking off with a plane load of passengers.  The tails of the floats were riding extremely low in the water; we had a maximum load.  Sitting in the pilot’s seat, I relied on my prior experience as a passenger and lowered the flaps, adjusted the choke, “cleared” the dock, and then pulled back hard on the yoke.

In the dream, I was surprised that I acted with such confidence in my capability to fly and that the plane responded perfectly to whatever I did to the instrument panel, the flaps, and the yoke.  Miraculously, the plane’s floats separated themselves from the surface tension of the water, and we were safely in flight.  It was then that I turned to my passenger in the co-pilot seat and said, “The easy part is taking off.  The tricky part will be when it comes time for us to land.”

I woke up and thought about how much of my dream applies to life – how sometimes we are afraid to fly because of our perceived outcomes regarding the inevitable landing.  With that perfect clarity that only dreams can deliver, it occurred to me that I would like to fly without thought of the inevitable landing.

Virginia Woolf wrote, “Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.”  My experiences have grown me and my dreams have inspired me to step into each day with some form — some resemblance — of my life’s vision.  I rarely check the flight roster for the day’s destination.  Instead, I pull back hard on the throttle and marvel at how wonderfully the plane responds to the thermals that provide air buoyancy.

Every day.  I feel so fortunate that I am alive and that I have the opportunity to laugh and love and live.  I may not know the particulars on how to land, but I have somehow managed to maintain sufficient aerodynamics that keep me in the air.  It all feels like an enormous miracle.  For this, I feel extraordinarily appreciative of the creativity, the generosity, the kindness, the love in my life that inspires me.  I feel so blessed.  toaster oven

 

The byline for the day: Just Believe.

/ Kennedy Farr / 6 Comments

The image from this morning left me momentarily breathless.  It slowed me to a halt.  I witnessed an act of beauty – the anatomy of a miracle.

First, the sinking dismay that accompanies preventable, regrettable loss.  And second, the joyful bounce of unexpected prayerful return.  Kill the fatted calf – my long-lost has returned to me.

All of this amazingness – while driving downtown to my favorite coffee shop for my morning joe.  Generally, I prefer to pay homage to the four fundamentals of coffee brewing – freshness, grind, water, proportion – in my own kitchen.  But the clock had been hounding me from the moment my eyes caught their first peep of fresh morning light.  The alarms had done their jobs of multiple snooze . . . still, I had overslept.  I dashed through my morning routine: showering, picking out which pair of shoes would dictate the dress for the day, untangling some knots in my hair born from a fitful dream, walking the dog, feeding the cat, finding my keys.

Rush, rush, rush.  I met with every red light through the downtown district on my way to connect with some caffeine.  All of those courteous drivers who were yielding to pedestrians not at crosswalks or allowing other drivers to get into the lane ahead of them.  I was all but gnashing my teeth while murmuring my own dialect of cussing: toothpicks, trashbucket, rubybum, jesusmaryandjoseph.

I was at my 8th light when I saw a real-world diorama on the northwest corner of Holly and State.  There were three people waiting to cross at the light: a woman, a young-ish boy approximately nine years old, and a little redheaded girl dressed in pale pink tights, yellow dress, and black shiny shoes.  She was at that enviable age where tears can dry instantly and miracles still have the power to go unnoticed.

Life is all flow at that age.  I do remember.  So much stuff – the wheat and the chaff – pours into one vessel when you are three years old.  Entire lifetimes can occur in a single day – a single action – a single moment.  When you are three-years-old, life is in spontaneous mode.  Your awareness of control is underdeveloped.  You don’t exactly wonder how things are going to get sorted out.  They either do.  Or they don’t.  You might hope for the former, but there is the possibility of the latter inspiring some tears.

Movement caught my eye as I waited for the green.  The little ginger was pointing across the street.  Her hands pressed to her cheeks.  Her mouth a perfect O.  There, on the other side of the street was a bright pink hat.  The kind of hat you wear to church on Easter Sunday.  The woman was holding the hand of the little girl while pulling back on the hood of the boy’s green sweatshirt.  A veritable push-me-pull-you in action.

It did not require an advanced course in reading lips or body language to be able to hear their conversation . . . a study in exclamation marks.  The woman: An emphatic Stop!  You, come closer!  Wait!  You, be careful!  From the boy: Let me go! From the little girl:  Hurry!

The light changed to WALK, the woman released her grip on the boy’s hoodie, and the boy made his dash to the other side of the street.  Scooped up the ruby pink hat.  Loped back.  Plopped the hat on his little sister’s head all catawampus.  The little girl looking up at her brother: My hero!  Her hands adjusting her hat tighter to her head.  It was going to be a good day after all.

While watching, I couldn’t help but hope that the light wouldn’t change so I could see the rescue.  Vicariously experience the resolve.  The driver behind me laid on his horn.  His scowl and middle finger in my rearview told me that I hadn’t been paying attention to the light, the traffic, or my hurry.  I had been transfixed by the story.  Me: the one in the big rush, the one who had been cussing at courteous drivers, the one who had been tailgating law-abiding drivers.  Me: holding up traffic while watching something random and amazing.

The colors: the blue sky; the red hair and pink hat and new pale-pink tights; the baggy green hoodie and crayon-purple stocking hat.  The rescue: the heroes in this life.  The miracle: the joyful reunion.  The lesson: life does provide the chariot to our wishes.  The reminder: Hold loosely but hope for the best.  The hope for the return of some things in life is worth wishing for.  The magic: Just believe.  Life is good.  One never knows when a miracle is about to happen.  They happen every single day.  For this, I feel an immense and abiding abundance of gratitude. toaster oven

miracles can happen

Find X.

/ Kennedy Farr / 2 Comments

simplicity clear

Is it all really this simple?

Maybe not in the engineering of a road grade or the building of a bridge or the designing of a rocket or the researching of a cure, but I do believe it might be true regarding most things in life.  Find x.  Here it is.  Doink.

When I am in that perfect place in the moment — when life just feels so great, life is simple.  It is not complicated.  It is not orchestrated.  It isn’t planned.  It is simply . . . fun.  It is spontaneous.  And timeless.  It’s like having a terrific laugh with your best friend. . . the kind when you have to hold on to each other to keep standing.  It’s like that hilarious inside joke with your sweetheart that only the two of you understand.  You give each other the look, and you both just crack up.

It is like knowingly dodging some complicated pitfall in the day that would create a crazy amount of stress.  It is stepping aside and letting the trouble molecules move on to different territory.  Embracing simplicity.  Cultivating mindfulness.  Finding humor.  Allowing love to light.  It just feels so great.  Life is good.toaster oven

“The simplest solutions are often the cleverest . . . They are also usually wrong.”  I am not so sure about this.  Perhaps this is true when you bomb your algebra final in a pre-req that you are doomed to repeat until a passing grade has been achieved.  But when it comes to life and love and all things in between and around, I am thinking that over-thinking and over-projecting can complicate in ways that aren’t always the best.  At least this is what life has repeatedly taught me.  Sometimes it is best to see the truth and point to the obvious and just say it.  Just do it.  Be impetuous.  Be bold.  Exercise courage in making a decision.  Point to x without apology.  Without apology.

beauty-in-simplicityThere is immense beauty in simplicity.  I have fallen victim to over-complicating that which neither requested nor required my sometimes insanely-high levels of energy.  Wow.  Sometimes it is good to let things grow or to let them go.  But to try to manage both at the same time?  This takes me away from center — when it would be better to just Find x.

So beautifully simple: a2 + b2 = c2  The Pythagorean Theorem possibly has the most proofs of any mathematical theorem.  It can even be generalized to include higher-dimensional spaces . . . the Pythagorean proof being one of rearrangement.  Were I grading the answer to this math problem, I would give extra credit for originality in higher-dimensional thinking.  For thinking outside the box.  For admitting, “I have no idea what Pythagoras was thinking when he created this theorem.  And I certainly have no idea what the answer to this problem is.”  It takes a lot of courage to be creative when having absolutely no idea how to solve a problem.

When I cultivate an awareness of What’s Going On, I can feel my perceptions rearranging themselves as neatly as that of Pythagoras’ four identical right triangles.  It all makes sense when you go into rearrangement mode.  There is a neatness to it — a beautiful usefulness that precludes any single answer.  Life opens up to a multitude of possibilities.  There are a lot of places for x to light.

Find x.  It’s right here all around me in a state of constant rearrangement– dependent on so many binding factors: appreciation, beauty, selflessness, creativity, positivity, identity. . . Is it really all this simple?  Yes.

 

Into the Blue

/ Kennedy Farr / 2 Comments

what you focus on growsWHAT YOU FOCUS ON GROWS

I was feeling both convicted and uplifted by this thought this past week.  I got sidetracked by some healing worries that were robbing me of being in the moment.  I was gently reminded by someone that I was worrying and getting away from my self.  It’s true.  I was losing my way.  These were such good and loving words in a time in which I was feeling stressed — and fearful.  I love that this person cared enough to steer me back to my inner self.  To that place that lets me rest in the present moment.  All will be well.  All is well.

The power of the mind (and the heart and the soul and the spirit) never cease to inspire me into a state of wonder.  When I focus on positive things, amazing things happen.  When I focus on negative outcomes . . . I don’t feel like me.  I feel like I am being held captive by my own mis-directional thoughts.  When I no longer allow myself to be a captive, I choose to focus on those thoughts that will allow growth, healing, laughter, and love in my life.  This is SO much better.

Marianne Williamson writes in A Return to Love: “The more we learn about the light within us, the easier it ultimately becomes to forgive ourselves for the fact we’re not perfect yet.”  Perfection is one of those elusive concepts that is undefinable.  We instinctively aim toward Perfection, yet we don’t know what it looks like or where it lies.  It’s like hunting phantoms that skirt our perimeters of awareness.  We think we would know how it would feel if we “attained” it, but I am not so sure.  I think we would keep thinking that we weren’t quite there yet.  Like there is some extra super-duper level of perfect that exceeds 100%.

What all of this leads me to conclude is that Now is Perfect.  I will never experience more Perfection in my life than that which lies in this very moment.  Perfect is neither an A in French Phonology nor graduating magna cum laude with cords, pins, and honors.  It is not a promotion at work, and it isn’t a marriage proposal in Paris.  It isn’t slipping easily into your skinny jeans, and it isn’t pulling a pan of sky-high cream puffs out of the oven.

honey-beePerfection.  It is Now.  That was then, this is Now.  Life blooms into the most beautiful of moments when we least expect them to.  For this, I am immensely grateful.

blo0dyros3.deviantart.com

blo0dyros3.deviantart.com

Marianne Williamson: “A spiritual teacher from India once pointed out that there is no such thing as a gray sky.  The sky is always blue.  Sometimes, however, gray clouds come and cover the blue sky.  We then think the sky is gray.  It is the same with our minds.  We’re always perfect.  We can’t not be.  Our fearful patterns, our dysfunctional habits, take hold within our minds and cover our perfections.  Temporarily.  That is all.”

Whew.  All will be well.  All is well.  I’ve got this.  I can relax into the grey-sky moments, knowing that there is blue sky behind the clouds.  There is going to be that sunset that pierces the clouds with a radiance that inspires wonder and affirms love.  True love that douses fear with its fire.

When I remain in a loving state, I am in blue-sky country.  In blue-sky country, I feel myself re-adjusting my focus — the aim of my life’s trajectory . . . no longer toward Perfection but toward Love.  I might not always experience Perfection — in the sense of my physical humanity and the interactions that my day encounters.  But I can certainly extend the reach of my capacity to Love — which grows its own brilliant Perfection.  It is such a great feeling to reach through and part that curtain of Grey and get a glimpse of Blue.  I feel so. much. love and appreciation for those in my life who inspire me to extend my reach into the Blue.  I thank them with my love and devotion.  I feel so blessed.   toaster oven

I can pick up the phone.  Write that letter.  Express my love in action and in word.  Tell my Sweetheart: I Love You.  Completely lose myself in laughter with my Best Friend.  Encourage the special people in my life who are wondering what’s goin’ on.  Make new pathways to those who no longer feel close.  Be spontaneous in accepting the unexpected.  Show my doubts to the door.  Grow more Love.  Remember that the Grey is just a temporary veil that can and will alter its course.  Blue Sky is always there.  Is here.  “What you focus on grows”: I am focusing on Blue Sky.  It feels Perfect.

open-door

 

Growth from Complete Destruction

/ Kennedy Farr / 4 Comments

seed crack growthThis is a very powerful quote.  I read this and wonder.  And think about my life.  I think about those times in my life that I would not exactly call fun.  Those times when I have felt confused, fearful, upset, angry, hurt, crushed.  None of these adjectives are new to any one concerning life, love, change, and growth. We are constantly metamorphosing within.  We present what might appear to be our “same self” to others, but we alone gauge the amount of growth that is occurring within.  And without.  There is simply so much dichotomy in life.

In botany, dichotomy is defined as “repeated branching into two equal parts.”  This allows me to look at moments of “complete destruction” as the balancing of another part.  The beautiful part that shows of promise and hope.  The Yin and the Yang.  The Passive and the Vigor.  The Interiority and the Exteriority.  The Earth and the Sky.  The Dense and the Rarefied.  The Diffuse and the Focused.  The Peanut Butter and the Jelly.  Matter and Energy.  Life balances this way, and I strive to be aware of the constant changes that are keeping me alive and growing and loving and learning and in love.  The unexpected blessings that remind me to believe in guided spontaneity.  What a gift it is when I listen to those inner voices that lovingly guide me to my bliss. Wow!      toaster oven

SproutsInception.  Origination.  Germination.  All indicate the origin of change, development, and growth.  As this quote states: “To someone who doesn’t understand growth, it would look like complete destruction.”  Today, I feel the balance that my experiences have created, especially during those times when I have felt like my “insides are coming out.”  Today, life feels beautiful — rendering yesterday’s testa as the reminder to grow in appreciation.  Appreciation.   Such a great thing to balance the teeter-totter of growth and “destruction.”

Oh, how I so want to be mindful of choosing grace under pressure.  Growth rewards us with gratefulness.  Deep and abiding gratitude for today.  For right now.  We are so lucky that we have the opportunity to grow and to become something new.

“If you cannot plant a garden, sow one seed.

If you cannot feed all the hungry, fill one need.

The seed you sow may someday bloom and spread

And your loaf supply a multitude with bread.”

— source unknown

vintageprintables.blogspot.com

vintageprintables.blogspot.com

 

 

 

 

Good advice from Nicky-Jack

/ Kennedy Farr / 2 Comments

Quote from Source Unknown:

“Name: Nicky-Jack Marshall (Aged 96)

Subject: Knitting

Comment: Well firstly I like to add flour to my palms as this gives a great grip on the needles. Also it’s best to keep your cat away from the wool!”

I dearly wish I could remember from where I got this excerpt so I could credit the source. [If it is you, please, let me know, and I will re-post with your reference.]  This is knitting advice from Nicky-Jack Marshall.  She provides us with tips to get a great grip on knitting needles.

And Nicky-Jack helps us to guard against prowling felines who mess up your knitting.  We all know what kind of cat she is talking about.  As you are gently jerking away at the ball of yarn at your feet, the cat pounces, and YOW!  There go those talons into your thin-skinned ankle that is the backdrop for that dancing, fuzzy string of yarn.  Nicky-Jack knows what to do to keep your Zen while knitting.  This woman is one to whom we might want to listen.

I love this woman, and I have never even met her.  In an age where people buybuybuy the best and the most beautiful supplies and tools in order to prepare to take on a new interest or hobby, Nicky-Jack just gets out her bin of flour and gets a great grip on those needles.  Cheap, clean, available.  She gives the cat a toss outside, and sits to knit.  So beautiful.toaster oven

The simplicity of this is what I want my life to reflect.  To hell with the fancy needles, the row counters, the tips for the needles to keep errant stitches from bustin’ a move off your needles in transit. Like Nicky-Jack would say: just flour up those mitts and commence to knittin’.

There is so much wisdom in simplicity.  I have dyed fleece with chemical- and natural-dyes, made my own mordants, hunted lichen in the woods, saved onion skins, spun wool, dog, rabbit, and goat.  I have plied skeins of yarn, niddy-noddied them, balanced them, and knitted with them.  I have felted wool and spun cotton.  I have made a silk cap out of a worm’s cocoon.  All of this cool stuff while Nicky-Jack was producing the goods.

I do believe that my productivity sometimes gets sidetracked by process and the hunt for technique, variety, nuance, and research.  I have experimented with dye baths of lichen and with Kool-Aid.  And I have done quite a bit of knitting.  But if I transfer her wisdom to other areas of my life, I feel pretty convicted.

Like Nicky-Jack’s needles, it’s time to dust up my chi and get a grip on that which is important to me.  On that which I hope to prioritize because it makes me happy on the inside and on the outside.  No one wants to be the teacup that looks happy on the outside but unhappy on the inside.   Dust up my my mandolin, my laptop’s keyboard, my fiddle, my running shoes, my piano, my sometimes-overwhelming research project . . . and toss that cat of distraction that is such a convenient excuse that disallows creativity and flow.

 

Begin.

/ Kennedy Farr / 4 Comments

“Begin doing what you want to do now.  We are not living in eternity.  We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand — and melting like a snowflake.”  — Francis Bacon

How much of life do we spend waiting?  We wait for the bus, the plane, the train.  We wait until we are tall enough to ride the big-kid rides at the fair.  We wait until we are 21 to legally drink alcohol.  To vote.  To stay up late past our bedtime.  To get our driver’s license.  To move away and go on an adventure.  To buy our first car.  We wait for the plane to land and for our first kiss and for graduation from university.  We wait for promotions, raises, benefits, and bonuses.  We wait for love — true love — to enter into our lives.  We wait.  And wait.

And then there are the snowflake moments.  We don’t wait for ice cream to melt.  We don’t wait until the last of the chocolates are gone from the box.  We don’t wait for our vacation on Kauai’ to be over.  And we don’t wait for love to end.  Like that incredible sunset on Kaua’i, we want love to last forever.  And forever — because it is just so much fun and feels so great.  It really does.  We are just so lucky when we discover a Snowflake Moment.  toaster oven

These moments feel rare.  I read once that one inch of rain is the equivalent of approximately ten inches of snow.  That is a lot of snowflakes.   It takes a lot of them to get my attention.  But when they do, I am so happy.

It doesn’t take a social scientist to see a pattern here.  We don’t wait for these Snowflake Moments because we like these moments.  We find pleasure in them.  Savor them.  When they arrive, we feel supremely happy.  Sometimes they are over far too soon.  We share them and we tell our friends about them later.  We take pictures of them and post them to our social media page.  We write about them in our journals and maybe even make a scrapbook to better remember them.  We want them to last.  We are in the moment.  The joys of coincidence and spontaneity can be found in the Snowflake Moments.

I used to live at a high elevation on the snowy side of the mountains.  I shoveled a LOT of snow.  I shoveled the cabin roof, the woodshed roof, and the cellar roof to prevent damage or even collapse.  I shoveled snow away from the windows to prevent the surprise of broken glass and to allow some sunlight to stream into the windows.  I have shoveled my truck out of ditches and paths for hauling water.  I have done my share of what best can be described as Battling the Snow.  When I read this quote from Francis Bacon, I wish that I would have read it before I experienced all of those winters in such mighty snow.  I do believe that I would have gained a better perspective on digging out after a 3-day storm.

I would have told myself: Life is short.  True, there is a lot of shoveling to be done, but just Begin.  Focus on the moment.  Not on the blessed Chinook that will eventually start to blow come March and that will take care of the ice on the lake and the snow on the trail.  A reprieve is in sight: no more shoveling for another 5 months.  Whew.  I made it with all muscles intact.

Life feels so different now.  I am mindful of cultivating some sense of Focus . . . on Now and Try Something New and Begin.   I am learning that the fleeting fragility of snowflakes is truly very beautiful.  Stacks upon stacks of them . . . maybe not so much!  But they are gone so quickly.

I love what Francis Bacon has written: “We have only this moment.”  So beautiful.

 

How to Play

/ Kennedy Farr / Leave a comment

I know someone who frequently compares his life to a poker hand.  It’s a game of chance.  And he always says that you have to discard the bad cards first before you can be dealt something that is a better match to what you are still holding.  I really like his philosophy.  Mainly because he lives it and doesn’t just talk about it.

But because life is all a gamble, he sometimes gets burned in the process of trading cards.  There is always that chance that you aren’t going to get better cards.  There is the possibility that you might want to fold.  There are times when you are going to want to bet high.  Maybe even all you have got.

Still, my friend is philosophical.  He knows that he will get another opportunity to discard the newly-acquired bad cards and ask for new cards.  In the meanwhile, he is patient.  This is another thing I like about him and his philosophy.

But as another friend said in response to the Poker Hand Philosophy, “Sounds more like Go Fish than Poker.”   True, true, true.  Poker requires strategy and luck to stay in the game.  As in life and love, Go Fish is just a random pile of cards where finding a pair feels to be a pretty risky and unlikely business.  Or is it?  Would I rather play Poker than Go Fish?  I honestly do not know.  Is life all this enormous game of chancy Go Fish?  Or is more strategizing and planning involved álá Poker that will guide the way?

Maybe there is a more laissez-faire thing going on than what we are aware of.  Perhaps all that life really requires is that we go forth and play it.  Play poker.  Play Go Fish.  It doesn’t matter which table you are sitting at.  Ask for a card.  Or two.  Or three.  Throw in your whole hand in exchange for completely different.  Maybe you’ll get what you asked for.  Maybe you won’t.  Maybe there is not that much thinking or haggling or strategizing involved.

Maybe if we overthink life, we are doomed to passivity.  Passivity has its place but it has no depth, no growth, no change, no opportunity of vulnerability.  It just exists.  Like that pile of cards on the table that is hiding the mate to my Slick Chick or my Hoppy Hippo.  No one wants to live the life of a Calling Station: “a weak-passive player who calls a lot, but doesn’t raise or fold much.  This is the kind of player you like to have in your game.”

Maybe it is true that we want this kind of player in our Poker game, but only if we want to clean up and win the pot.  But for me, winning is not what I am interested in.  I want all to win.  I want everyone to walk away from the table feeling good about life.  Maybe this is why playing “against each other” for M & Ms is preferable to $20-dollar bills.  No one is going to get mad because someone else won more yellow Skittles.  People come to the table with a different set of values placed on their investment depending on whether they are dealing in cash or in Jelly Bellies.

We don’t want to go through life passively rummaging around in the deck that is set before us . . . but who wants to go through life counting cards?  Keeping a poker face.  Bluffing to buy the pot without being called.  Holding your hand close to your chest.  Holed up in some smoke-filled saloon while keeping a pistol under the table, ready to fire at the least suspicion of any cheating.  (enter: piano man in the little hat and pin-striped shirt playing tinny-sounding ragtime music in the corner)  It sounds like an insane way to experience the present moment that is swirling all around.  Too much awareness can ruin the really spontaneous moments of fishing around and joyfully receiving a Wooly Lamb or a Gay Dog.

There is a vast difference between existence and living. I don’t know exactly how this all spells out into a code for living but it somehow does.  Like The Da Vinci Code, it doesn’t always go very deep, but it does scratch the surface.  And it certainly does get the attention of the code seekers.  There is always that.  We have expectations of how life is meant to be . . . but life is more about Implied Odds: “pot odds that do not exist at the moment, but may be included in your calculations because of bets you expect to win (italics mine) if you hit your hand.”

Whew.  There are SO many poker metaphors, similes, and analogies!  Someone, please, tell me to stop referring to the Poker Glossary.  Must.  Stop.  Looking.  My friend is right: Life IS a poker hand.   Still . . . there is that added bonus of seeking abundance in the ways that know no rules but that still keep me in the game.  Cultivating Mindfulness.  Integrity.  Clarity.  Balance.  Encouragement.  Taking healthy risk.  Taking inexplicable risk (aka “dumb risk” to the all-knowing observers).

In poker-speak, there is a hand called a Bad Beat.  It means that you have a hand that is “a large underdog” that “beats a heavily favored hand.  It is generally used to imply that the winner of the pot had no business being in the pot at all, and it was the wildest of luck that he managed to catch the one card in the deck that would win the pot.”  We all love underdog stories.  And it is even more fun to find yourself in one of these screenplays.  Local Girl Does Good and Wins the Pot.

I don’t know the rules of how all of this ties in with life or how life actually works as a game of chance, but I am very glad that I have the health, the vision, the vulnerability, and the opportunity to have an awareness of the concept of Adventure in the living years – even though there are times when I have been loath to discard while clutching my not-so-great cards.

Without Adventure and without being willing to play the game . . . the game of Go Fish or Poker or Set or Uno . . . there is no risk involved.  I don’t want to live my days disguising my “tell” – I want those around me to see me as transparent.  To see who I am.  And when I lay down my hand, I want to feel the satisfaction that although I might not have won every round, I was willing to take a risk.  There will be another opportunity to discard and ask for more.

Moments of bravery are required.  The poker word tilt is to “play wildly or recklessly.  A player is said to be ‘on tilt’ if he is not playing his best, playing too many hands, trying wild bluffs, raising with bad hands, etc.” I want to be brave.  I want to be a player that risks while hoping for a better hand.  There are times when I want to “play fast.”  I don’t necessarily want to careen through every single day on full tilt, but I want to know that I was willing to take a chance, to risk being wrong, to not live as if perfection were a lifestyle.

So, what’s your game?  Poker or Go Fish?  Hit me with a Royal Flush or a pair of deuces.  Tell me to Go Fish.  In an ideal world, I choose to be an adventurer on the High Seas of Go Fish.toaster oven

 

 

 

The definitions in quotation marks in this passage are from the awesome site: How to Play. [http://www.pokerstars.com/poker/terms/wordlist/]