INTERSECTIONS – Where Intention and Magic Meet

As I continue exploring my inner and outer worlds for glimpses of what’s real, important and true, it dawns on me how much of significance in my life occurs at its intersections.

I see intersections as those times, places, events or states of mind at which whatever personal and/or spiritual energy we manifest coincides with that of other people or that of the Cosmos. This can and does happen accidentally, but it also happens deliberately.

Without getting all “new agey” on you, I do believe that many good things happen accidentally, but that we can cultivate this karma—if only we could stop trying so hard to make what we want happen...and simply let it happen.

James Redfield, author of the groundbreaking 1993 novel, The Celestine Prophecy, says it quite well:

"For centuries, religious scriptures, poems, and philosophies have pointed to a latent power of mind within all of us that mysteriously helps to affect what occurs in the future. It has been called faith power, positive thinking, and the power of prayer. We are now taking this power seriously enough to bring a fuller knowledge of it into public awareness. We are finding that (it) is a field of intention, which moves out from us and can be extended and strengthened, especially when we connect with others in a common vision."

OPEN HEARTS, OPEN DOORS
Redfield refers to coincidence as the opening of doors. He says that when we are at our best—operating from our most secure, creative, aware inner cores—we give off a sort of cosmic “aura” of energy that everyone and every thing responds to, and that this causes those doors of opportunity to open sponta- neously. For example, he describes how often, while searching for something—an idea, an inspiration or something more tangible like an ally or even just some help—that very gift has miraculously presented itself to him.

Another brilliant proponent of tapping the interconnectivity of the Universe for what we want and need is the great comic actor Jim Carrey. Carrey feels each of us creates our own universe, one in which faith is infinitely more powerful than hope.

He describes that faith brilliantly in a college graduation address he delivered a few years ago. Here's a link to some excerpts:  Maharishi University Speech 

     You sincerely put what you want out there
     for the Universe to digest, and it conspires
     with your own best efforts to make it happen.

PRACTICALLY TRANSCENDENTAL
So, are these just the Utopian ramblings of an eccentric man with the luxury of being able to ponder the metaphysical? Jim Carrey—and I, for that matter—are indeed so lucky. But to dismiss as idle whimsy our shared belief that celestial providence aligns many of the intersections in our lives is simply a denial of how things really work.

In our business and professional lives, success is most certainly all about inter- sections, about recognizing opening doors. Any successful enterprise has to think long and hard about where its values and interests will intersect with those of their constituent/customers—both at the organizational level and personally. The best of them constantly look to distinguish themselves by anticipating the future and being first to step through doorways that lead there.

And in personal relationships, even within the bonds of family life, being aware and responsive to some degree of serendipity is not only practical, it makes us kinder, gentler people, and the world a better place. You sincerely put what you want out there for the Universe to digest, and it conspires with your own best efforts to make it happen.

Many of the world’s most successful, inspirational people follow this mantra whether they realize it or not. Sure, a few fat-cat business moguls may eschew the Redfield or Carrey cosmic, touchy-feely interpretation, but you can bet they do believe in the power of having a vision and never letting go. Same thing.

       If one should happen to summon some
       players and powers from beyond the veil
       of earthly "reality," so much the better.

THIN SPOTS
The 90-something mother of my friend, Charlie, posthumously, in her self-written memorial service, noted her belief that human beings—at least those of us open to the possibility—regularly encounter “thin spots” in the self-made barrier between our largely mundane daily busy-ness and other, more transcendental realities.

As a minister, Molly felt it was her job to encourage people’s awareness of those convergences, because, among other reasons, they are “good places to find God.”

Have you ever experienced one of those thin spots in your life? A place where different dimensions of reality inexplicably merge? Did you have any sense of being in the presence of your higher power?

Whatever our own hopes and aspirations, each of us should be in the business of helping other people also achieve theirs. I suggest that, if we keep our eyes and hearts open for opportunities to do this, the opening doors, the thin spots—those illuminating not only others’ dreams, but our own—are revealed.

And if, along the way, one should happen to summon some players and powers from beyond the veil of earthly "reality," so much the better.

“So many of us choose our path out of fear disguised as practicality. What we really want seems impossibly out of reach so we never dare to ask the universe for it. I’m the proof that you can ask the universe for it.” ~ JIM CARREY

THE HERE IN THE THERE – Choosing Where to Belong

“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”
T.S. ELIOT

Human beings’ yearning to belong is universal, timeless. Cave people huddled ‘round a fire felt it; the regulars at Cheers felt it; even hermits, I would suggest, feel it in their own way. It is experienced by not just thinking, sentient creatures, but, in more mystical ways perhaps, by plants, rocks, water, air...in fact, by absolutely everything in the cosmos.

PHOTO: WikiMedia Commons / Happy Midnight

This is not to say that everyone and everything finds that place of belonging; all are constantly moved—often transformed—by forces and circumstances beyond their control. We human beings are unique in that we can sometimes influence those circumstances, a capacity a tree, a cloud or the moon does not possess. More importantly, we can choose where to belong.

       There is a kind of belonging that suggests 
       not so much the nucleus of one’s being as 
       a kind of centrifugal force around it.

A MORE EXPANSIVE SENSE OF PLACE
For the human animal, there are two kinds of belonging. The oldest, most primal is the inner-circle version, in which we embrace the familiar: home and family, accustomed routines and traditions. Our attention, our energy, is directed toward a nucleus of people and place. It is a comfortable place, one we love, at least in part, for the fact that it asks very little of us.

There is another kind of belonging, though. One that suggests not so much the nucleus of one’s being as a kind of centrifugal force around it. Though usually tethered to a home base, this kind of belonging yearns to spin off, propelled to new places and experiences. It moves us to experience a more expansive sense of place, one that embraces and celebrates the unfamiliar.

You could call it simply tourism, I suppose, but that would miss the point. We’ve all met those “résumé” travelers who collect passport stamps like chests-full of medals to show off at cocktail parties. These folks—the kind who settle for the two-bit tour or, worse, lock themselves into gated, all-inclusive resorts; the kind who expect things in Timbuktu to be just like they are back in Terre Haute—must be quite lonely indeed. For here they are departing their tried-and-true, inner-circle sense of belonging, only to miss the most rewarding aspects of leaving it: opening one’s heart and mind to new ways of belonging.

                I want to feel I belong—as we 
                all indeed do—to everything.

No, I see my “centrifugal” sense of belonging as a compulsion to embrace—and become embraced—by as many places and cultures as possible. Not just in my own neighborhood; not just in some small town I can drive to in a few hours; not just in our adopted second home town in Mexico. I want to feel I belong—as we all indeed do after all—to everything.

PHOTO: NASA / ESA

SEEDS OF INTENTION
Chase a sense of belonging by leaving behind all that's safe and familiar? Isn't that an oxymoron? I'll never forget the first time I understood why it made perfect sense. Sally and I were in Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco, Mexico. It was dusk. We'd decided to venture a few blocks past the nearly palpable boundary of the "tourist" area downtown.

As we walked along, dodging playing kids and sleeping street dogs, the sounds and smells of life in people's homes wafted out to us. I turned to Sally and said, "Wouldn't it be amazing if we could just walk into one of these homes and be part of their lives for an evening?"

I've had this feeling, this romantic notion of belonging to another family, another culture, many times since. And, perhaps in part because I'd planted the seeds of intention—and certainly empowered by my gaining near-fluency in Spanish—I’ve indeed been able to fulfill that desire on many occasions in my travels. Those people and places continue to feel like home to me, and will for as long as I live.

          It is about as far from belonging as a 
          picture of a tomato is from a tomato.

FROM A CONSUMPTION MENTALITY 
TO SEEING GENEROUSLY
Travel, aside from being the lifeblood of a romantic, is a consummate teacher. More than just inviting us in to new places and cultures, it asks something of us—to risk, to stretch, to learn, to feel deeply. By not only seeing, but experiencing how other human beings far away live, we learn to appreciate—or perhaps change—the way we live. It can be at the same time empowering and humbling.

That investment of oneself in new experiences and perspectives is what I call seeing generously. It takes the ever-more-prevalent notion that experience is something we merely consume, something we can simply pay for with money, and turns it around. Seeing the world from this perspective, we gladly invest in travel experiences with our time, our curiosity, our caring. One can do it in any number of ways: volunteer with a local organization; take a personal interest in a child or a family; teach; paint, photograph or write about the people and customs; learn the language.

PHOTO: Pack For a Purpose / PackForAPurpose.com

I’m afraid we’ve become a culture where, too often, our social interaction amounts to sitting at home or with friends and, instead of sharing our thoughts and feelings with the folks who are right there in front of us, pretending to connect with other people and places spoon-fed to us, virtually, by some digital device. This asks virtually nothing of us. It is about as far from belonging as a picture of a tomato is from a tomato. 

Another troubling change I’m seeing is our growing expectation of nearly instantaneous, “on-demand” results, and the illusion that we can always be in control of those results. What seeing generously teaches is that, instead of expecting to change our surroundings to suit us, we’re willing to change ourselves to suit our surroundings.

The world could be a far more vital, healthy, peaceful place if only we realize the estrangement we’re allowing these trends to inflict on us. We need to reclaim what is real. And, no matter how much everything else might change, what is real will always mean belonging—whether gathered with loved ones ‘round the fire (a real fire, not one of those HD continuous video loops of one) or reaching out to embrace, first-hand, new people and places.

     We realize who we are, and that we all       
     belong to the same family, the same place.

GET OUT THERE!
The wonderful thing about these two inward- and outward-directed senses of belonging is that you don’t have to choose. Far from taking the place of home-centered belonging, the kind of belonging-by-exploring I love so much actually reinforces it. Even when I’m lucky enough to be accepted into another culture for a while, I know very well where my real home is, and the adventure, the perspective, only makes me appreciate it all the more.

And it’s not that I want to escape; it’s that, at home, I take belonging—and everything else—for granted. That, ironically, makes me feel empty. It reminds me how much I need that incredible sense of putting myself out there, learning, seeing things in new ways through the eyes of others who, at first, may seem so utterly different from me. For it is only by opening up and reaching out that we realize who we are, and that we all, indeed, belong to the same family, the same place.

So, as much as you enjoy hanging out at home with your family and friends, make a point to get out there now and then. See generously. Open your mind, heart and spirit to new people and places. Dare to venture beyond the barriers of your assumptions. Find out what it means to embrace the unfamiliar and make it your own. Discover the here in the there.

PHOTO: Pixabay

SECOND CHANCE FOR A MIGHT-HAVE-BEEN

A couple of days ago I was taking my early evening walk along Minneapolis’s beautiful East River Parkway. Half a block ahead, in front of the Shriners Hospital (for children with severe muscle, bone and joint conditions) I noticed a young family sitting on a bench near the sidewalk—a pair of pretty down-and-out-looking parents and a seven- or eight-year-old boy in a wheelchair, one leg heavily splinted and jutting out in front of him.

Just then, I was passing a lovely Japanese lilac bush in full, fragrant bloom. On a whim, I stopped, reached in and broke off a single stem.

Thirty seconds later, I’d passed the family, said nothing and still pinched the lilac spray between my thumb and forefinger. It seemed to wilt as I looked down at it. I’d let my chance pass me by, a chance to hand the boy the flower, wish the family well and maybe brighten the day for all of us. I spent the rest of the evening pondering why.

The reasons—involving, I suppose, body language, lack of eye contact and perhaps a bit of shyness—made sense, but, in the end, they were far from relevant enough to salve my regret.

One just doesn't get chances like that again.

     He lifted it to his nose and, as if the sweet 
     scent had just inflated his cheeks, beamed.

Yesterday I took the same walk again. I wondered what the chances were of seeing the same family again. This time, though, there was no one at the bench. So I’m not sure why I once again stopped at the lilac bush and cut another spray; I didn’t give it much thought.

As I passed the bench, I couldn’t see a soul anywhere on the hospital’s sweeping lawn. I wondered about the boy, how he was doing today, and whether he’d be able to live a normal life. Just then, as if materializing out of my very thoughts, the family appeared from behind some trees, turned onto the sidewalk and headed toward me.

What a gift!, I thought. How often does one get a second chance at doing something spontaneous? Had my thoughts—or perhaps my instinctive cutting of another flower—somehow caused these folks to appear out of nowhere?

This time I wasn’t going to let the moment escape me. “Hello…lovely evening, isn’t it?” I said to them all. Then I bent over and looked down at the boy. I tried to imagine what his life has been like dealing with whatever had brought them to Shriners; I pictured him soon laughing and running with his friends.

My words were, I’m afraid, far less articulate than my thoughts. “Hi. How are you?” He turned a slightly wary expression my way, a drop of his Coke lingering in one corner of his mouth. “Good,” he replied flatly. I smiled and handed the lilac to him. He lifted it to his nose and, as if the sweet scent had just inflated his cheeks, beamed. 

Lacking the right words no longer seemed to matter; our exchange had been most articulate, most complete, without them. And I was grateful, not just for the fates bringing us together, but for their having done it twice.

I still don’t know how the boy and his parents suddenly appeared out of nowhere, but I’d like to think it was preordained, yet another lesson in how the simplest bud of impulse, when honored with one’s full intention and presence, can blossom.

 TIP #83
Turn a chore into an experience.

No matter how dirty or menial the task, invest yourself in 
the sensations; get in sync with its rhythms and repetitions.  

Relieve the task of expectations. Gently turn obligation to 
intention, and welcome it into your beautiful life.
 

CROCUS POCUS – A Magical Message of Spring

In the fall of my sophomore year in college, my roommate and fraternity brother, Kim, planted crocuses around the big elm in the Chi Psi lodge's front yard. I was either too self-involved or too impatient to fully grasp the significance of that act…until spring, that is.

After that long, gray New England winter and two trimesters with my spirit confined within classrooms, books and my own head, those brave little purple, white and yellow flowers did more than brighten my spirits; they taught me something I'd always remember about my sense of wonder.

That was all about being in the here & now. What 
I had yet to learn was about the there & then.

Those crocuses were far from my only connection with Nature; I'd grown up, like most kids those days, with the great blessing of having nowhere to go but outdoors, little to do but play. Once I was in school, I was as likely to be listening to a bird, an insect, or the wind just outside the classroom window as I was the teacher.

But that was all about being in the here and now. What I had yet to learn was about the there and then, about the small investments wonder so often requires of us.

Nature would take each of those tiny 
bulbs and turn it into a miracle.

In Kim's case it was, most obviously, his investment of intention—I want to start something, grow something—followed, certainly, by patience. But it was also a venture of hope and faith. He knew—he believed—that, from that humble gesture of kneeling, digging and setting in those tiny bulbs, Nature would take each of them and turn it into a miracle.

I'll always be grateful to Kim for planting those bulbs…and for planting in me those seeds of understanding that wonder is not always impetuous. For that is the soul of spring: faith, rewarded; beauty, bestowed; life, proclaimed.

HAPPY SPRING TO ALL!

RECLAIM WONDER – Take the Pledge

YEARNING FOR SUBSTANCE
In this increasingly sped-up, dumbed-down, 140-character world, are you starting to hear, as I am, that little voice of unease from somewhere deep in your soul?

Doesn't some part of you just want to say no to all that virtual "reality," all the quick, shallow relationships this digitized culture expects us to buy into, and get back in touch with more real-life, first-hand experiences? Don't you yearn to recapture that sense of wonder we all felt so naturally when we were kids?

Use the ideas as goals, resolutions, or just occasional affirmations of your intention to live      a more attentive, curious and grateful life.

That's what my Reclaiming Wonder Movement is all about. It's recognizing that yearning, and beginning to make our own choices as to the kind of depth and substance we want in our relationships with ourselves, each other and Nature.

THE RECLAIMING WONDER PLEDGE
The movement can start philosophically and leads, most likely, to lifestyle changes, but it's inevitably a spiritual journey. Lots of people want to take part in this journey, but don't quite know where to start. That's why I've crafted the Reclaiming Wonder Pledge.

Think of it as a list of first steps and/or mileposts to guide you on your quest for more mindfulness. You can use the ideas as goals, resolutions, or just occasional affirmations of your intention to live a more attentive, curious and grateful life.  
You • can • do • this!!

Framing example only; frame not included in offer.

 
ORDER YOUR FREE, FRAMABLE, FULL-COLOR 
PLEDGE DOCUMENT WITH A SIMPLE EMAIL.
(Before ordering, you can review content in a non-framable form - CLICK HERE)

To receive your framable, print-quality digital file just send me an email - jeff@willius.com - with the words "Reclaiming Wonder" as the subject line of
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Print it out, frame it, or make it the background of your computer desktop. Feel free to share it; why not give a framed copy to someone you know who's also yearning to reclaim wonder in his/her life?

Thanks for taking the Reclaiming Wonder Pledge! Have a wonder-full day!