Saturday, February 26, 2011

Patriots on the March

They wave the flag of the old king and the old country,
his despotism mild now, a fading memory
compared to the brutality of the Colonel, forty years in
power, forty years of misery, fear, death.

This month, it is Libya
in months past, in years past, and now
it is all of us, marching
across time, across the generations.

From the whispered conversations in their kitchens,
growing to a word, a nod, in the dark alley, and then,
emboldened, sparks spreading on the winds--
coffee shops, the bazaar, and now, the streets--
waving the old flag, chanting the age old chant
Freedom, Liberty, Dignity
for All.

The rich getting richer, stuffing the profits from
the backs of the workers, taking the black gold from the sands
and stealing it away, leaving most in misery, hungry
for food,
for dignity,
for liberty--
for all.

Age old, the chants echo off the streets, against the ruins left by
the Pharaohs, the Greeks, the Carthaginians, the Romans,
even Hitler’s armies gone now, from here, their blood left
in the desert sands, like every army marching through here
on the way to somewhere else.

Freedom, Liberty, Dignity
they cry the words of all mankind
in every age, in every time,
leaving their blood staining the
cobblestones of time.

Neal Lemery 2/2011

Friday, February 25, 2011

Sliver and Shiver

Snow in the hills, cold on my face
hood of the sweatshirt warm.

Feet on the ground, getting moving
coffee brewing, and warm house waits.

Stars out now, the storm gone,
more snow above me, sun an hour away.

Lambs asleep with their moms, horses against the fence
all silent now, awaiting the day.

Sliver moon hangs in the eastern sky
ready to be chased away by the sun.

Neal Lemery 3/10/10

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Ten Rules of Life

Ten Rules of Life

1. You will be issued a body. You may like it or hate it, but it will be yours for the entire period.

2. You will learn lessons, you are enrolled in a full-time informal school called life. Each day in this school you will have the opportunity to learn lessons. You may like the lessons or think that they are stupid.

3. There are no mistakes, only lessons. Growth is a process of trial and error. “Failed” experiments are as much a part of the process as experiments that ultimately “work”.

4. A lesson is repeated until it is learned. A lesson will be presented to you in various forms until you have learned it. Only when you have learned it can you go on to the next lesson.

5. Learning lessons does not end. If you are alive, you are learning new lessons.

6. “There” is not better than “here”. When your “there” becomes “here”, you will simply obtain another “there” that will again look better than “here”.

7. Others are merely mirrors of you. You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects something that you love or hate about yourself.

8. What you make of your life is up to you. You have all the tools and resources you need. What you do with them is up to you.

9. Your answers lie within you. All you need to do is look, listen, and think.

10. If you always think what you’ve always thought, you’ll always get what you always got.

--author unknown

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

On Parenting

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love, but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
Which you cannot visit, even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you,
For life goes not backwards nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children, as living arrows
are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
And He bends you with His might that
His arrows might go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
So He loves also the bow that is stable.
--- Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Being Present

It is easy to go through life not really thinking about who I am, and what I am doing with the moment, with the task at han d, even with the day’s list of things to get done. On a good day, it may even mean tackling some long term project, the ones you contemplate on New Year’s Day, or your birthday, or at the end of a good session at lunch with an old friend.

If I’m in a meeting, I’m usually focused on the agenda item, trying to organize my thoughts on the subject at hand in a somewhat cohesive, intelligent manner, and get those few points across with some degree of skill, articulation, and maybe even be a convincing conduit for my especially brilliant and insightful ideas of the hour.

And if I’m having a conversation, I still find myself focusing on the next sentence out of my mouth, or plotting how to wind this encounter down so I can go on to the next, and more pressing, event of the day.

In those moments, I all too easily pass right by the most important thing of the moment, being present, being real with the person I am with. Maybe if I really listen to them, with my full attention, my full strength brain power, and my full level of listening, seeing, and sensing tools, I might even figure out what they are trying to communicate with me.

Active listening, being engaged, being present --- all those phrases are used as a way of telling this stubborn, bull headed guy that I need to be in the here and now for this conversation. Not off in my little dreamworld of figuring out my brilliant moves for the next meeting, or how I can balance all of my day’s projects so that at least something gets accomplished. Or, how I can finesse that song in my head, or that poem that has been running around in my head the last day, one quarter of the way finished and not yet scratched out on paper.

The list of distractions goes on and on, and I find myself jarred awake once in a while. Now, where am I? What is this person, right in front of me, saying? Really saying.

Yesterday, I’m listening to a guy tell me about how he’s planning to take care of a little bit of business with me. He just needs a bit more time, and he reminds me of our agreement to cut him some slack. Well, he’s here, and he’s asking for more time, and he’s not late, so its not a big deal with me. Sure, more time. That’s fine. You checked in, and that’s all that I really am requiring in all of this. You’re being responsible and you are letting me know. Fine. We can be done now.

At least that’s what I’m thinking, what’s on my agenda. My mind is on something else, something “more important”.

And, I catch myself. Oh, this guy’s wound up pretty tight today, he seems stressed. Maybe, just maybe, this conversation is just the tip of the iceberg for this guy. He seems about ready to pop wide open, the tension in his shoulders is huge, he’s even a little sweaty, an odd state of being for what seems like a routine little business transaction here.

“How are you doing? How are things going?” I ask, actually taking the time to look into his eyes, making contact, and trying to haul up the invisible, indifferent shield I’ve apparently brought to this little conversation in the hall. My gut is telling me to pull off my business transaction face and replace it with my kind, sensitive, listening mode. I do have that mode, but it often gets stuffed in the sack of “I’ll get to that later, once I get my business done” tumble of personas, the ones I keep stashed away under my desk.

So, I listen to my gut, I look him in the eye, and I ask him a question that begs a response deeper than how he’s going to pay his account.

He looks back, right at me, right into my eyes. There’s a spark between us, a connection. His brain throws a switch, and, suddenly, the dam bursts. Literally bursts. He gasps, chokes a bit, and a flood of tears runs down his face. He gasps for air, and sucks in a big lungful of stale office air, letting a big sigh rush out of his mouth, getting in the way of his telling of his first child’s birth this week, his imminent move to a bigger, nicer apartment, his wife’s health after the birth, how his job is going well, and, that life is pretty amazing and exciting right now, and he’s really happy.

And, I look at him, really look at him, eye to eye, and take all that in. Really take it in. All of this is everything in his heart now, and the imminent explosion a moment ago has taken a back seat to this big gust of emotion and zeal. I grab his shoulders, which are now slowly moving down from their position of nearly touching his ears, and pull him against me, my arms wrapping around him, pulling him next to me, so that he can sob loudly on my shoulders, his tears soaking into my shirt, his chest hard against me, still gasping for breath.

His words fall silent for a bit, replaced by the sounds of his gasps, and the mixture of tears and nervous sweat now soaking my shirt. My hands, gripping his back, feel the tension of his muscles slowly unwind, his breaths now coming longer, more regular.

I tell him he’s doing great, he’s a good dad, a hard worker, a good husband.

I thought this would calm him down another notch, and dry up his tears a bit. After all, becoming a father is a really big event in a guy’s life, and he seemed to have a need to have another guy celebrate that with him a bit. He didn’t offer me a cigar, so me giving him a hug and saying “atta boy” would have to do.

But, all of my intentions just turned on the spigot again. He sobbed even harder, and gasped even deeper, and I gripped him even harder, as he shook against me. I thought he was going to fall down, his legs turning to jelly and his whole body shaking and turning nearly limp in my arms.

He was beyond words, so I moved my face closer to his ear, and whispered my sentence of recognition and encouragement to him again, softer. He cried harder. So, I just held him there, me providing all the stand up power we two men could muster together in the hallway.

After a few minutes, he sputtered out that he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant to cry, hadn’t meant to break down. He hadn’t come here for this. Well, sure he did. He needed to cry, he needed someone to recognize that he’s been doing well for himself, well for his family, especially this week.

I asked him, has anyone ever told you you’re doing well, that you are being a successful man now?

He looked at me, dumbstruck. Well, obviously not, I thought.

“My wife, well, she’s told me, but I guess I haven’t really believed her,” he said.
Its true, I replied. You are a great man, a successful man. You have a good family, you have a baby girl, you have a good job, you are good at your job, you are moving into a better home. You are here, taking care of business. You are being responsible.

The words kept coming at him, and he couldn’t dodge them. He couldn’t escape from me. I’d gotten his arms pinned down to his side, and I had him in a bear hug, and he was crying his eyes out on my shoulder, out in the hallway in front of God and, yikes, other men. I could feel him jerk a bit, wanting to run and hide, but part of him wasn’t letting go of me, and his arms wrapped around me, putting me in the same kind of bear hug I’d gripped him with. He was soaking it all up, just like my shirt was soaking up his tears.

He laughed a bit, his grip easing on my back, and he was breathing normally again. The last of his tears ran down his cheeks, and he blinked, hard, so he could look me straight in the eye again, and talk to me, heart to heart, man to man.

“Thanks,” he said. “I guess I needed that. No guy has ever told me that before, and its hard to believe that about me.”

“Oh, but its true, and we both know that,” I said. “You are a good man.”

He blushed a bit, color rising in his still wet cheeks. He wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his work shirt, a bit of the sawdust from the mill smeared now in his moustache.
It was time for him to go. He didn’t know what to say next, and neither did I. The tears, and the hugs had said it all, really. He turned to leave, needing some time to sort all of this out.

“Take care, dad,” I said, as he headed for the stairs. “Go home and hug your wife.”

He grinned, and chuckled a bit, off to kiss the mother of his new little daughter. And I turned back to where my desk was, and the pile of projects waiting there, hoping I wouldn’t find myself drifting off in thought, and not living in the moment, not being fully present when the next guy came by.

Neal Lemery, 2/9/2011

Friday, February 4, 2011

Kuleana

In Hawaiian culture, the word kuleana is often spoken. Yet, perhaps it is better understood as a feeling, as a state of mind, as a deeply held value of society and one’s own soul.

It is difficult to translate into English, as is is a multifaceted word of many definitions, depending on context. Kuleana can be a synonym of all of the following: right, privilege, concern, responsibility, title, business, property, estate, portion, jurisdiction, authority, liability, interest, claim, ownership, tenure, affair, province; reason, cause, function, justification.

Kuleana flows towards another person, to community, and back to the individual from others, and from the community. It is a sense of belonging, and a sense of duty, a sense of trusteeship.

It flows to and from the land, the sea, the air, the water, one’s neighbors, one’s homeland, one’s community, one’s family.

In kuleana there is self respect, and respect of others, respect of the Earth, and respect for the welfare of the community.

In Hawaiian culture, this concept is natural, comfortable. Villages were small, and each person and the health of the environment were critical to not only community welfare, but survival. Whether the village survived depended upon the sense of duty and trusteeship flowing to and from every single person, and throughout the entire community.

As devoted students of the Earth, Hawaiians were in tune with the movement of the ocean, the bounty of the land, the rainfall, the fertility of the soil, the abundance of the ocean, the ability of the community to prosper while meeting the needs of each person. Within all of that, there was kuleana.

Today, I sense kuleana within my soul, within my work, within my interactions with others, within my place in community, in family.

And, I continue to be astonished when I learn from the wisdom of the ancients, and the wisdom of other cultures, and realize the need of my own culture to welcome the thoughts and values of other cultures, other peoples. In that learning, there is wisdom and there is strength. And, there is kuleana.


Neal Lemery 2/2011

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

The Spark

When there is silence
the weight of oppression
stills Justice and Good.

When there is awareness
movement occurs and there is
change.

When I speak and give voice
to a new awareness, a new
intolerance,
then change comes
alive.

Indifference and acceptance,
silence and fear
all mixed up into
oppression
gripping my heart,
gagging my soul,

“They” and “Them” and “Different”
only convenient labels
to hide my own silence,
my acceptance of evil,
my own chains of
slavery.

Finally,
when I speak, there is light,
and cockroaches in the night of my soul
scurry away
leaving freedom, and
Justice within reach.

--Neal Lemery, 2/2011
There was an error in this gadget