On Writing About Experiences

At one point toward the end of twenty years in public education, I decided to write a novel of my experience and learnings. I dreamed about how it would be funny and painful, insightful and ironic. It would definitely be a best seller due to its ability to renew and refresh a passion for making a positive difference in kids' lives. However, after reading Teacher Man (and Angela's Ashes and 'Tis), I came to the conclusion that Frank McCourt got that book written, and had done a better job at it than I ever could. So, instead, I wrote a manual on motivating middle schoolers. It included the integration of Imaginal Education and Psychosynthesis. I added some new eye glasses for teachers of children with learning differences to see students more compassionately and in a way they could effectively provide intervention. Easiest to digest were techniques teachers could use, those which I had, in fact, recommended, or seen being delivered in a class room. I presented the outline at a department meeting. Noone was really interested, but I would guess that was more because of the level of burnout at that time of year than the potential brilliance of my creation. SO, there it sits, on a shelf, ready for editing and publishing should I ever get motivated to finish my work. In the meantime, I have begun to write another great book.

What are your dreams that have only just begun to become reality?

The Passion of the Gypsy and the Peace of Shakti

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One exercise I have found to be healing is to take a moment to open the door to the dark room in the deeps of the unconscious, let one memory come into the moment, walk with that memory personified, described, and archetyped, onto a stage. I let the performance begin, with me in the director's seat. Then I fold back the stage's roof and let the stage flood with light and watch what happens.

In what has been one of the most memorable transformations resulting from this exercise was the emergence of a tumbling twirling frenzied gypsy dancer. Watching the dancer, her colorful skirt and tamborine, was totally exhausting. When I rolled back the roof to let the light pour in, the gypsy became a dancing Shakti. A peaceful saraswati filled the air with its gentle spontaneity.

When is a time that which exhausts you has been transformed? Try this exercise and watch what happens.

Changing Thought Patterns

For several years now, I have been working on letting go of an annoying pattern of mine - that of rehashing events that have occurred - those which I would rather not have lived in the first place. Occasionally, I would have a break through at the moment of the rehashing. At these times I have been able to stop my thoughts and put them into a circle of the dance and the pattern would successfully change. I wrote this in my journal one day after having one of these successful experiences:

When I am almost awake each morning, lying in bed, I find myself regretting moments in my past. In all honesty, I have to say that the expereince of that rueful state of being is what gets me up and out of that bed. This morning, instead of dwelling on one of these experiences and then hopping out of bed to avoid it, I asked myself why I am doing this every day. My insight was that these are moments I have intellectually forgiven myself for which now are returning to be fully released. I then listened to my insight and began to let go of that particular experience. The result was another image of myself later on in life of the same kind of experience I had regretted. I saw myself as responding to the experience differently, as if I had learned from the original one. Yet, still there existed a gap between the original and the next. I held a tension between the two as a rubber band stretched between my fingers of both hands. I stayed with that for awhile. For what purpose or outcome, I had no idea. All I received was, “There is the journey, and that is good, you are redeemed, whole, and perfect. Continue the journey you have chosen.”

I have since established a ritual. I step into the circle of the dance. I become the listener and observer as experience is replayed in my mind's eye. Then I say to myself: I am the experience, but I am more than the experience. I am the feelings about the experience, but I am more than the feelings. I ask myself what I learned and wait for an answer. I image how I will react differently from now on, and let it go. Sometimes, I give it wings and send it on its way to take its place in that which has passed on. Then, I make sure and say something good about myself, or look into a mirror and smile. I never do anything the same twice - well maybe twice, but never three times. It just isn't like me. This way each time I do the ritual, it is new.

In the past two years, I to wake up more often in the morning anticipating the great ventrue that is there for me that day. I am this venture, but I am more than this venture. I am the circle of the dance, but I am more than the circle of the dance.
I am.

What are your first thoughts upon awaking each morning?

A Young Margaret Mead

All of us have role models to emulate, people who inform our decisions in one way or another. One of those people in my life is Margaret Mead. The following is a an excerpt from a monologue, in the persona of a young Margaret, spoken at a "Women in History" presentation:

I am Margaret Mead. I lived during the first 3 quarters of the 20th Century - 1901 to 1978 when I died of cancer. I am here with you today as a 23 year old graduate student about to set off to the south Pacific to do field research.

The results of this, my first study - on biological and cultural influences on adolescent behavior, will be published as “Coming of Age in Samoa”. It will be translated into virtually every language. The facts of my findings will have, of course, been disputed, as are all new images of reality.

In my lifetime, I will have published 44 books and will have written over 1000 articles - including those steamy monthly articles in Redbook. I will be a Counselor to American Society - on family related issues - the decline of the extended family role - the isolation people feel by living in cities, and the generation gap.

I want a family, yes.

I want a career, too. I will spend most of this in some capacity or other with the Museum of Natural History. I will be part of creating groundwork for solving major problems which keep people from living fully.

I was born into the 20th century, a time when there was a dawning of a new consciousness about humanity on this planet of ours. If I contribute nothing else, I hope I give people the opportunity to think about this radical - metamorphical - change in consciousness that is occurring.

I am grateful that I live life fully. I am grateful that I live at this particular very difficult, very dangerous, and very crucial period in human history.

I only hope that you might experience my experience - I cherish the life of this world - all of it - in all its diversity, possibility and ongoing change.
I'm sure these are mammoth shoes to fill, if I wanted to be just like her. This is not the purpose of a role model. The purpose of a role model is to be a guide on the journey, a partner in purpose, an inspiration.

Who are your role models for today's research of human consciousness?

The Nameless Nobleman

An ancestor, Jane Austin, was an author who lived in New England and was a contemporary, and probably a friend, of Louisa May Alcott and Ralph Waldo Emerson,as she probably was with other writers of early America. She wrote two historical fictions of our family: The Nameless Nobleman and Doctor LeBaron's Daughters.
The Nameless Nobleman tells of Francis LeBaron's arriving on a pirate ship in Buzzard's Bay, making it to shore and hiding out while he was healing from wounds in the attic of Mary Wilder's family. They eventually got married and he was able to live and work in the Plymouth Colony because he saved the leg of an inkeeper's wife with his up-to-date medical skills. His past was a mystery, eventually unveiled. He was a baron from France who was unable to claim his land for some reason. Mary referred to him fondly as "Le Baron de rien de tout!" and thus giving him claim to the surname, LeBaron. He was buried in Plymouth up on the hill. Down the hill from he and Mary's grave is Miles Standish' grave, giving the reader a hint of the prominence Frenchman, LeBaron, enjoyed in the colony.
A few years ago I visited Plymouth with my grandson, Brandyn. I wanted him to experience another aspect of his roots, one to balance the dominating Italian blood. He noticed that on one of the two gravestones for Francis LeBaron was written, "Here lies Francis LeBaron, lost at sea.... Brandyn was amused by "lies" since he really wasn't dead and arrived back in the colony after the gravestone was placed there in his memory.
The other gravestone under which he actually was buried was across the pathway and next to Mary Wilder. While Brandyn was chuckling about the writing on the first gravestone, it struck me that my family history in this root was all about Francis LeBaron and its roots. There is a book in the National Library of Congress on the LeBarons. But, as I looked at Mary Wilder's grave, it occured to me that she also is my ancestor, they were her daughters,too. She was famous in her own right and her roots can be traced back to England. I resolved to find out more about her family, too. That for some reason, the women in our history got left out of the story, except for bearing the children and caring for the house. The time has come to write about the women in our histories. Jane Austin beagan the process when she didn't use a penname. Her husband supported her writing in a time when women writers were not especially socially accepted. Now is a good time for some rich historical fiction on the women in our family tree.

What is the story in your history that is wanting to be told?

Retirement

This picture is of me holding up two checks - social security and pension. The first of both of them came on the same day - shortly following my birthday. This event sent me the message, loud and clear, that I no longer have to "scrape for a buck", "earn a wage", "work for a living", etc. Now, at long last I am free to pursue my wildest dreams, if I so choose. Fortunately, my dreams don't cost a lot of money. They aren't very materialistic. For a period in my life - a phase of my life, in fact, I was part of a magnificent world-wide strategy to create demonstration of sustainable human community. This sweep of the planet, included a demonstration community in every time zone, and "human development zones" around nine - three major areas - of these communities which included surrounding communities, too. Then it was over. The time of radical change was over - those who were devoted to social change had arrived on a plateau. Priorties were changing. As I look back now, I can see that there was in-depth work and social permeation to do before the journey could continue. This ws true for my own life, as well. Today, many are beginning to write about and dialogue about the time arriving, once again, to begin to finish the work begun, beyond the demonstration stage to systems transformation. Some say it is a group effort. I would concur, but only where individuals in those groupings each operate as a Mother Teresa or Greg Mortensen, or lone famous folk singer whose poetry addresses this moment in time again - as each once did. This time, the journey can be pure creative venturing. I hope you will be on this journey, too.

Where do you find yourself ready to leave the plateau of social change?

The Circle of the Dance in Chicago

When I returned from Kenya in 1984, I was wound up into a snarled wad of experiences. I was confused and disoriented. Clearly, I had not taken care of myself, burned out and not yet in remission with a roller coaster relationship with cancer. Most of all I felt very much alone, unbearably so. I can look back at attachments I made in an attempt, I suppose, to be connected socially. I also recall attempts by others to keep me connected with the community. However, I was alone, ever so alone. The heart beat rhythm of Kenya's culture, throbbed through me. I would recall people in traditional costume dancing in lines and circles during celebrations in the villaes - colorful and faces painted in dunting mask like features. There was life inside me, that had no socially acceptable way of expressing itself in this urban, multi-storied building in which I existed for the time being. The building was the North American center of the ICA (Institute of Cultural Affairs). Life went on around me, as if I was a ghost wandering in and through the rooms, offices, and hallways of this nexus. Tired and feeling hopeless all the time, one morning I picked up my cassette player and forced myself to go to the great hall with the intent to "express myself - claim the promise of existing where I was". The hall was totally empty except for grass green carpetting and pilings. I placed a tape suitable for exercise into the player and the music began. "First there was nothing but a slow flowing dream..." and I began to twirl around the room, then as the beat increased, I leapt in circles, continuing for atleast the duration of the tape, although it may have been longer, since I got totally lost in the experience of flying around this great room, imagining myself in a wild flower field under a bright blue sunny sky. Refreshed, the healing began. I continued this daily ritual, adding yoga-like stretching, endurance increasing, and joy returning to my sense of being alive and present in this place and time. Eventually, I could turn to evaluating priorities and creating new dreams to make reality, Becoming a new person was where I was headed. It was a long journey, but it had begun in that great hall in Chicago. Since then, the dance continues in the spiral of every change, of every return to the present moment where Soul creates dance, where healing begins.

What is your ritual of renewal?