More than we know

“While revering the mystery of others, our individuation summons each of us to stand in the presence of our own mystery, and to become more responsible for who we are in this journey we call life.”*
(James Hollis)

‘The challenge, then, is not only to find our authentic voice but also to enlarge it.’**
(Harriet Lerner)

When we remember something, we extract a memory from our past and make it part of our present.  We may then relive it or we may do something different with it; the ability to do the latter is a skill we can learn.

The discontinuity of this is something writer Eudora Welty saw so well:

“The events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they find their own order, a timetable not necessarily – perhaps not possibly – chronological.  The time as we know it subjectively is often the chronology that stories and novels follow: it is the continuous thread of revelation.”^

The format of the story makes it possible for us to live a life larger than its constituent parts, greater than the sum of its incidents:

‘The frame through which I viewed the world changed too, with time.  Greater than scene, I came to see, is situation.  Greater than situation is implication.  Greater than all of these is a single, entire human being, who will never be confined in any frame.”^

We’re not fixed in time, living out the implications of our past.  We are weavers of stories and, so, changers of our futures.  When I work with people around the development of their identity and contribution, it is important to focus on talents and passions, and also experiences – nothing in our lives is wasted:

“Writing a story or a novel is one way of discovering sequence in experience, of stumbling upon cause and effect in the happenings of a writer’s own life.  This has been the case with me.  Connections slowly emerge.  Like distant landmarks you are approaching, cause and effect begin to align themselves, draw closer together.   Experiences too indefinite of outline in themselves to be recognized for themselves connect and are identified as a larger shape.   And suddenly a light is thrown back, as when your train makes a curve, showing that there has been a mountain of meaning rising behind you on the way you’ve come, is rising there still, proven now through retrospect.”^

I took time to write all Welty’s words in my journal and found myself thinking about the power that exists in being able to tell our story well.  I recalled my friend Steve’s exploration for a year of inviting people to tell their story to a small group of others.  This “audience” could ask the storyteller questions and at the close write encouraging words for the storyteller.  It was a really helpful vehicle for the storyteller, though, to reflect upon their story and how they wanted to tell it.  Those who create the space for us to tell our stories are special.  They provide us with a gift – something that comes from beyond us.  We all need such gifts, something from beyond.  Lewis Hyde writes about the power of the gift:

‘Gifts are best described, I think, as anarchist property.’^^

We receive the gift from someone and we also give gifts to others.  In words that feel as though they connect with James Hollis’ opening words for today’s post, Hyde proffers:

‘Individualism in a gift economy inheres in the right to decide when and how to give the gift.’^^

When we are able to tell our story, we are bringing our best (though developing) self to others and we are also saving ourselves from others telling our story their way – and even if they they still try and do this, the affect is dissipated.

(*James Hollis, quoted in Brené Brown’s Rising Strong.)
(**From Harriet Lerner’s The Dance of Connection.)
(^Eudora Welty, quoted in Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings: The Continuous Thread of Revelation.)
(^^From Lewis Hyde’s The Gift.)

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Just different

Just different is enough.  With just different come all kinds of possibilities, that is, if we see this as a journey and not a destination.

We have become just different enough through thousands upon thousands of small decisions and choices.  These lie behind our skills and our dreaming.  Today, all those choices and decisions are preparation for what you will now see, feel and do.  There’s today or, if we recognise who we have become and what our contribution can be, there is today with a few more conscious decisions thrown in.

We can rue the past, how we decided this rather than that but it’s impossible to know where that rabbit hole might have taken us.  We only know this is where we are.

What matters more than where we are is how we will see, feel and act here – all of these come from the inside.  Something we take with us no matter where we go.

You can focus on getting to the right place, being with the right people and having the right resources or you can focus on where you are, who you are and what you can bring to others.

The imposter

 

The only kind of imposter we can be is an imposter to ourselves.  No one is an imposter.  Everyone belongs here.

If Alan Lightman is right and our technology is getting in the way then we need the remedy of face to face, open conversations in which people are able to explore the deeper possibilities of their lives.

‘When so much of our interaction with other people and with our environment is mediated by the invisible, the visible seems less worthy of our attention.’*

Otto Scharmer describes a greater hope in simple but generative conversations:

‘at the end of the conversation, you realised you are no longer the person you were when you started the conversation. […] You have connected to a deeper source of who you really are and to have a sense of what you are here’.**

(*From Alan Lightman’s The Accidental Universe.)
(**From Otto Scharmer’s Theory U.)

Choice and rediscovery

‘To be human is to unfold in time but remain discontinuous. […] It is, after all, nothing but a supreme feat of storytelling to draw a continuous thread between one’s childhood self and one’s present-day self, since hardly anything makes these two entities “the same person” […].’*
(Maria Popova)

‘You are not thrown to the winds … you gather certainly and safely
around yourself,
Yourself!  Yourself! Yourself forever and ever.’**
(Walt Whitman)

We are fascinated by the self, how it is that we have an understanding of self … and yet, here we are.

Maria Popova’s words lead me into two thoughts.

Although I am a discontinuity, I am unable to jump from my discontinuity into yours, and vice versa.  Whatever this thread is or isn’t, I am held within it.

The second thing is, if it is a story that holds the unfolding and discontinuous together, then I can change the story.  I have choice and maybe by moving, by walking through this story, I am more rediscovering than discovering:

‘Leave it all, and let your self just slip back into the rhythms of your intimate wildness.  You will be surprised at the lost terrains, wells and mountains that you will rediscover, territories which have been buried under well meaning but dead names.  To go beyond confinement is to rediscover yourself.’

Is the future the past?  Or has the past been more our future than we realised, and as we grew up we lost this and must rediscover it.

To say “This is who I am” and try to remain this person is, in the light of what Popova says, perhaps the most difficult thing of all.  To know this and to keep moving would, then, increase our understanding of choice.

We keep moving.  I close with the concluding sentences from Rebecca Solnit’s excellent history of walking – connecting story and walking:

‘Walking has been one of the constellations in the starry sky of human culture, a constellation whose three stars are the body, imagination, and the wide-open world, and although all three exist independently, it is the lines drawn between them for cultural purposes – that makes them a constellation.  Constellations are not natural phenomena but cultural impositions; the lines drawn drawn between stars are like paths worn by the imagination of those who have gone before.  This constellation called walking has a history, the history trod out by all those poets and philosophers and insurrectionaries, by jaywalkers, streetwalkers, pilgrims, tourists, hikers, mountaineers but whether it has a future depends on whether those connected paths are travelled still.’^^

(*From Maria Popova’s Brain Picking’s: The Continuous Thread of Revelation.)
(**From Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.)
(^From John O’Donohue’s Eternal Echoes.)
(^^From Rebecca Solnit’s Wanderlust.)

Thank you

I just want to make this opportunity to say thank you for finding your way into the Thin|Silence and signing up to receive the daily posts.

This is much appreciated.

The things I explore here are then moved into the journeys I take with people as they explore their talents and purpose, as individuals and as groups.

Thank you, again.

The making of imagination

Before we make, we must imagine.

To imagine, we have to avoid judgement – It won’t work!

This is the first of three movements: judgement to openness.  The others are cynicism to compassion and fear to courage – we must care about what we have imagined and we must make it happen.

‘As I recall, space first appeared in a minuscule round bubble that sat quietly in my mind.’*

‘We want to close the gap between what we are – our experiential state, our actuality – and what we imagine we can be – our dream state, our possibility.’**

(*From Alan Lightman’s Mr g.)
(**From Alex McManus’ Makers of Fire.)

The tracker and the tracked

Where are the footprints headed?  Who do they belong to?

You follow.

Sometimes they seem to stop and you wonder what the owner of the footprints was looking at.

At different points they merge with others.  So many different footprints, all different, each set leaving a different impression, different weight distribution, different shapes.

Then the prints you’re tracking re-emerge and you follow them once again.

They turn this way and that way and you keep following, only to find yourself where you began and your realise these are your footprints.

You know them better now, having seen where they stopped and wondered, seen the others interacted with, seen where they slowed down, seen where they speeded up and where they turned, where they were heavy and were light.

Your qualities, your talents, your experiences all making them exactly what they are.

Through life we are tracking and finding ourselves, tracking others and helping them find themselves.

“But when I began tracking lost people, what had begun as an eccentric habit – following footprints on the ground – quickly matured into an avocation. … I now commonly walk toward a single goal: to meet the person at the other end of the tracks.”

(*Hannah Nyala, quoted in Rebecca Solnit’s Wanderlust.)