What exactly are we letting go of? How do we do it? Why is it important?

In my previous posts in this series, I introduced Theory U by MIT’s Dr. Otto Scharmer. Theory U is Dr. Scharmer’s model for how leaders can effectively manage in times of massive and rapid change. He tells us that the solution lies in getting to a place of deep attention and awareness so that we can be fully present to the future possibilities emerging in every moment. We do this, he says, by taking a journey to the bottom of the “U” and we get there by opening our minds, opening our hearts, and opening our wills. I have compared this process to the vision quest, which is in turn a model for the trans-cultural myth of the hero’s journey.

At the beginning of every journey there is a severance, a time of stepping away from what has been and into a place of what is coming. This is the place of the opening of the mind. When we open our minds, we let go of our old way of thinking. We let go of our previous way of looking at the word around us. When we open our minds, it’s like a farmer tilling his field in the spring. The old dead plants are turned under so the new seeds can be planted in the earth. This is fertile ground.

I can’t tell you what it will be like when you open your mind because we all have different perspectives, but here is a clue for what you might look for. Look at a problem, dilemma, or situation before you, one you have been wrestling with for some time and ask yourself this question: “What if the belief I hold to be true about this situation is entirely wrong? What might then be possible?” Just pretend and see what happens. This is letting go in the form of opening your mind.

The next step down the left hand slope of the U is to open our hearts. When Jesus said, “Blessed are those who morn, for they will be comforted” (MAT 5:4) what I think he was telling us was that when our hearts are cracked open, we will receive our blessing; we will have wisdom. For most of us, it is difficult to go through our day-to-day lives operating from our hearts. The concept alone is elusive and challenging to understand. But think about a particular time in your life when your heart was opened. Maybe it happened when you saw your child for the first time. Perhaps it happened when you read about a particularly sad story in the newspaper. Maybe it occurred for you while watching a movie about an inspiring individual who overcame a daunting obstacle in their lives. Now, try and remember what the afterglow felt like. How did you interact with the people around you in the moments, or perhaps hours, after the heart-opening event?

Our hearts contain a particular type of wisdom all their own. By opening the heart, we allow ourselves to become available to new and different levels of understanding about whatever it is we are facing at the moment. Try it for yourself. Bring to mind the kind of heart-opening event I described in the preceding paragraph. Stay with the memory for a moment and then simply notice how you feel. Now, bring to mind a challenge you are facing in your life. (This works particularly well when facing a challenge involving another person as they have a heart that yours can connect with.) Now, try to hold both the heart-opening memory and the thoughts about the challenging situation in your attention simultaneously. This is a hard thing to do. You may notice you go back and forth between the two, which is ok for this exercise as well. Stay with this process for as long as you can then notice if any new thoughts or feelings arise about the situation you were dealing with.

The final step on the way to the bottom of the U is to open our wills. This one might be the hardest of all because if our egos haven’t complained about opening the mind and the heart, they will more than likely start to complain now. Our egos are going to complain to us because our egos really like to be in control. They like the status quo and letting go of our will is all about being completely open to whatever comes next. We are willing to listen. We are willing to change.

Think about this for a moment: If the way we have been doing things is the right way to get us where we want to be, then we would more than likely be there by now. We have to be willing to do whatever it takes to get where we want to be. Simply being willing is the key. Once we open our will, let go of our own personal need to control things, then magic, and I do mean magic, can begin to happen for us. Be willing, simply willing, and watch what unfolds.

Open your mind, open your heart, open your will, and you let go. Open your hands, spread wide your arms, dive into the U and receive the wisdom the future hold for you now.

Note: There are a number of exercises I use with coaching clients in this process of letting go. If this is an issue you are dealing with, contact me—I’ll be glad to help.

Next: The time in the bottom…

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In my previous two posts, I talked about how we tend, as a culture, to be enamored with the idea of upward growth. We look to the past for guidance as to how to step into the future and believe that life is best lived when it follows the path of an upward sloping line. Then, one day, we take a step just like countless ones we have taken before but instead of finding solid ground or another rung on the ladder we’ve been climbing there’s nothing but empty air, and we instinctively pull back. 

MIT’s Otto Scharmer has developed Theory U, and written a book by the same name, in which he describes the creative path as looking like a deep U. He tells us that leading organizations in times of rapid and systemic change requires diving into the bottom of the metaphorical U where we are able to be present to the emerging future. (1) I compared Scharmer’s theory to another kind of deep dive—the vision quest—which is, at its core, a deep dive into the soul. 

If you have ever come to the edge of your own personal U, then perhaps you can relate to my discomfort with heights. For many of us, it’s natural to pull back, at least just a bit, when we peer over the edge into an abyss below. We sense there is a purpose in looking down, a reason to explore further, but feel the fear in our gut and turn away, refusing to look again. And so we try to find another way around the chasm but each path we take seems to bring us right back to the edge once more. We finally reach the conclusion we are going to have to go down and in before we can ever make it across and up the other side, so we begin to search for a safe way to manage the task.

Edges are places of transition. It is at the edge of anything that the old falls away so the new can emerge. Past successes in life are of little use to us here and in fact can work against us. While our past can be an accurate map for how to navigate through our normal day-to-day lives, the past won’t have much to tell us about this particular journey we are facing. Our linear minds love the way that maps organize data into useful information, but this is new and unexplored territory that will require intuition and creativity to get through. Scharmer tells us the first task we must meet on the way to the bottom of the U is to open our minds. Opening the mind means that we come to see with fresh eyes, to bear witness unconditionally to a truth that might be different that the truth we had previously clung to.

Edges call us to take stock of our personal inventory. The journey down looks perilous and we might need empty hands and light packs in order to manage it safely. What are we carrying with us? Are there possessions we have accumulated along the way that are doing more to weigh us down than support us on our journey? Do our old beliefs about life match with the realities we are witnessing around us? Before we can open our minds, we will need to develop the ability to step outside ourselves and reflect back, and taking an inventory is a good way to begin that task.

The journey into the soul, to the bottom of Scharmer’s U, asks us to leave a few things at the edge. We must become like a child again; with fresh new eyes, full of wonder, and ready to be amazed. While the depths we are looking into might seem frightening from where we stand, there are incredible things to be found there, if we are willing to explore with open minds.
Next…Letting go and stepping in.

(1) C. Otto Scharmer, Theory U: Leading from the Future as It Emerges. (San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler Publications, Inc., 2009)

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If we hold to the belief that our lives are supposed to look like a constantly upward sloping line, as I suggested in my previous post, then we are also going to tend to rely on the past to be our principal guide into the future. If we have been on an upward trajectory, then it is natural to assume that trajectory will continue to carry us forward. But today, conditions and circumstances are changing at such a rapid rate, in both our personal lives and in the world at large, that the tools of the past simply aren’t up to the tasks of the present. Scharmer tells us with his Theory U that the solution lies in getting to a place of deep attention and awareness so that we can be fully present to the future possibilities emerging in every moment. We do this, he says, by taking a journey to the bottom of the “U” and we get there by opening our minds, opening our hearts, and opening our wills.

I’m not a leadership expert or a management consultant; I’m a vision quest guide. So, when I first became aware of Scharmer’s model, I saw its truth, but I saw it through the lens of the model that I know. The vision quest is a pan-cultural ceremonial reenactment of the myth of the hero’s journey. In their simplest form, the stories about heroes’ journeys begin with a challenge or problem facing the hero or his people, what I call the “darkness on the land.” In this time of darkness, the hero experiences a calling to take a literal or metaphorical journey. The calling leads to a severance, a time when the hero steps away from their home and puts their feet on the road ahead. This is followed by a threshold period of wandering and discovery during which the hero discovers their “boon,” something of great value and worth. The story concludes when the hero returns home carrying their boon in service to their people.

On a vision quest, the participant usually arrives after having experienced some sort of transitional challenge in their lives—the calling of the hero’s journey. There is a severance as the participant leaves their daily life and heads off into a wilderness setting with few of the comforts of home. After being properly prepared by the guides, the participant spends three to four days alone in a deep threshold period, fasting for their vision. When they return from the threshold, the participant is prepared for their return to the world through a mirroring process. The guides listen to their stories and bear witness to that which is trying to emerge. The participant then completes the cycle by returning to their home, bringing with them the inner gifts and resources they have discovered on their quest.

The hero’s journey and the vision quest are, at their roots, dives into the soul—an inward descent of self discovery. While Scharmer is principally focused on organizations, his model is also a beautiful representation of the process we go through as individuals. The common ground between the two is found by realizing that organizations have souls, just as individuals do, if we understand soul to mean the essential nature of someone or something—its reason for being. The other place of common ground comes from understanding that these dips are not something to be feared or avoided, but are actually valuable tools that we can make use of as we move through life.

Understanding this process intellectually is one thing, but it doesn’t prepare us for the moment we are walking along enjoying the sunshine, anticipating the road ahead, when suddenly the ground disappears beneath our feet. We look down and instead of finding a solid and familiar path we see a gaping hole. It’s dark down there and when we look up we can’t make out the other side. Perhaps there’s a bridge nearby, something we can use to cross the chasm. We wonder if perhaps the speed at which we have been walking will provide the momentum we need to leap across, thereby avoiding the darkness altogether, so we bring additional intensity and energy to the tools that have brought us to this place. We soon discover that at the edge of this particular chasm, this “U,” those old tools are useless. In his book, The Heart Aroused, David Whyte describes what it’s like to come to the edge of the “U” and pear down:

No man or woman, standing at the edge of their own inner pool of darkness, is exempt from the wish to pass by this stage, to find a safe, dry land bridge and walk across. We intuit in those waters the potentialities and dreams of a lifetime, but, finding them hidden by the strangely irrational depth of our own fear, we are not sure they are worth the grief. (2)

And so, we stand at the edge of the “U.” Even if we know we must go down there, probe its depths to find whatever it is that is waiting there for us, how do we begin to manage the slope? Next…Taking stock.

(1) C. Otto Scharmer, Theory U: Leading from the Future as It Emerges. (San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler Publications, Inc., 2009)
(2) David Whyte, The Heart Aroused. (New York: Doubleday, 1994), 33

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I wanted to offer her a word or two of encouragement, an affirmation that would inspire her to push on in spite of what the world was throwing at her. After all, I believe as she does; that as spiritual beings, infused with the universal power and presence of the creator, we each have the capacity to bring anything we can imagine into physical form. In spite of this, I have seen many instances like the one my friend is experiencing. Are some dreams more worthy than others? Is it just a question of timing? Are the roadblocks we encounter along our life’s path simply there to test us, to make us stop and consider our options before moving on? Or, is there something else at work here?

While I believe we can create anything we can dream of, I’m not sure we always should. This is not a judgment about the relative value of anyone’s dream, only an observation that the kind of pain my friend is experiencing comes from the breaking down of form, not the dying of a dream. The dream still lives, only the form she has been trying to create to hold the dream is falling apart. There is a difference.

The image that comes to mind is that of a snake shedding its skin. The snake sheds its skin because of an inner urging to do so. The snake’s essential energy pushing out into expanded form brings this about. While the snake’s skin is being stripped away, the essential energy of the snake remains. The snake would suffocate and die if it tried to hold onto its old skin. Only by shedding it completely will the new expanded version of the snake be able to come into the world. No matter what happens in the outer world, the essential energy standing behind our dreams still lives, only the form will ever die, and it is when we attempt to hold onto the form that we feel pain.

We live in a culture that worships growth. For many of us, if we could graph our idea of a perfect life it would look like an upwardly sloping arrow, always moving forward, each step higher than the one before it. Sure, we’ll stumble along the way, make mistakes, take a wrong turn, but the goal is to move past those dips as quickly as possible and keep building on what we have accomplished. We expect it from ourselves, our businesses, our leaders, and our economy. But this fixation on growth ignores the cycles of nature and our own essential natures as well. Those dips we experience along the path of life aren’t just there to jump over; they’re there to help us learn something of value about ourselves. In fact, those dips, which can sometimes look more like a deep “U” than a dip, can be the most interesting parts of our journey.

My friend and I ran out of time the other day—life stepped in and called us each to our next appointments—and so I didn’t have the time to tell her that what might need to happen is to let everything she has been working toward go, at least for awhile, and step completely into the depths opening before her. That can be a scary thing and it is not something most of us do with ease. Sometimes it takes a guide, someone who has been into the dark places before and come out the other side, to point the way. This journey into the dark can be particularly scary because there are no assurances as to what we will find there, nor are there timetables we can rely on that tell us how long we will be in the bottom of the U before returning to the light.

This dive into the depths is an essential part of our spiritual journey of self discovery. There is a quote that has been attributed to Joseph Campbell that speaks to this: “We spend all our lives climbing a ladder, get to the top, and realize it’s leaning against the wrong wall.” This dive into the U is about finding the right wall to lean our ladder against. Before we can create form for our dream (the ladder) we must first understand the essential nature of our dream (the wall) and this essential nature can only be found by taking a journey into the soul. Next…Looking into the “U.”

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This is not
the age of information.

Forget the news,
and the radio,
and the blurred screen.

This is the time
of loaves
and fishes.

People are hungry,
and one good word is bread
for a thousand.

“Loaves and Fishes” by David Whyte
 from River Flow (Langley, WA: Many Rivers Press, 2007) 358

A few weekends ago, I lead a retreat at a state park. I stayed behind in camp on Saturday morning while the participants went out to walk on the land for the day in search of their vision. I fixed myself a cup of coffee and, since it was unseasonably cool, found a place to sit in the sun. I spent all morning there, getting up only to refill my cup or shift my chair to follow the sun’s rays as it moved across the sky. I alternated between reading a book I brought along and resting my mind and eyes; but mostly, I just listened.

I listened to the birds in the trees. What at first seemed a chaotic mash of sound eventually took order and shape. After a time, I was able to identify several varieties of bird songs coming from specific locations in the forest around me, including the call of a red tail hawk as he circled high above the canopy.

I listened to the wind in the leaves. I followed the breeze with my ears as it moved from north to south across the tops of the trees in the grove were we camped. After a time I noticed how differently each variety of tree sounded as the wind moved through its branches. Some whistled, while others rustled, and others creaked as one trunk rubbed against another, swaying in the wind. The morning passed, and I felt a deep sense of joy and peacefulness as I sat and just listened.

I thought about the world of sound I live in. Sometimes it feels as if I am inundated by noise. I have learned to tune most of it out, but in so doing, I wonder if I might also be tuning out the beautiful sounds that speak not just to my ears, but to my heart and soul as well. As I sat in my chair that Saturday morning I made a commitment to myself to listen.

I made a commitment to listen to the people in my life. Not just to the words, but to the messages behind the words, and the meanings that lie beneath that. I vowed to spend more time looking deeply into human eyes while I hold a hand or touch an arm. I vowed to spend less time talking and more time simply listening.

I vowed to spend more time listening to the earth. She was speaking to me that morning through the birds and the wind, the sun on my face. I reflected on how she also spoke to me through the news reports I had recently seen about the leaking oil in the Gulf of Mexico. Sometimes her cries are almost more than I can stand, but I also know the first step to mending any relationship is to first listen with a commitment to deeply understand.

I promised to spend more time listening to my soul. My soul calls me moment by moment to show up authentically, congruently. I knew if I spent more time listening to my soul, I would also be better at listening to the other people in my life and the earth as well, for deep within, we are all one.

There was a time, not all that long ago, when our ancestors spent more time listening than we do today. They gathered around fires and listened as the Grandfathers and Grandmothers told stories about where the family came from, the meaning of community, and how to walk in integrity under any conditions.

They listened as Fathers and Brothers related what they had seen and experienced while hunting far from home.

They listened as Mothers and Sisters spoke of birth and death and right relationship with the land and one another.

By listening, the people connected with each other, with those who came before, and those who would come after. By listening, those sitting around the fires came to understand they didn’t own the land, but were simply borrowing it from the great, great, great, great grandchildren to come.

On Saturday evening, when the retreat participants returned from their walk and after we had shared a simple meal, I built a fire and we gathered around it. Then, one by one, those who had ventured out on the land for the day told their stories.

They spoke about their adventures of the day: facing the buffalo, crossing deep creeks, and watching the open sky.

As the night wore on, we drew closer to the fire as it fended off the chill. We watched the golden red light dancing on each other’s faces and reflected in each other’s eyes. And as they spoke, I listened…just listened.

This is not
the age of information.

This is the time
of loaves
and fishes.

People are hungry,
and one good word is bread
for a thousand.

…Listen…

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Life on a backpacking trip is simple. You carry on your back everything you need to survive in the world for the time period you intend to be away from the comforts and conveniences of home. You awake in the morning to the sound of birds or the rain falling on the tent, crawl from your sleeping bag, and step out to see what the night has left behind. Perhaps it’s dew on the grass or the remains of the oatmeal the raccoons got into while you slept. No matter—you heat water for tea and greet the day.

The trail demands focus. Multitasking is left behind when you step away from civilization. The physical stress on the body of carrying a 50 pound pack on your back up and down hills over rough terrain leaves little energy for extraneous activities. I eat less on a backpacking trip than I do at home even though I burn far more calories than normal. It’s not just the unappetizing nature of backpacking food; my mind seems to always be calculating the cost/benefit of everything I do. How much effort will it take to dig in my pack for the camp stove, the food, and the pot to heat it in? Will the effort cost more energy than I gain? When I am backpacking, my activities are focused on food, shelter, and moving from one camp site to the next. When not doing one of those things, I sit and conserve energy. I meditate, I absorb the environment around me, and I prepare to walk again.

The trail always offers a choice—to fight the conditions or accept them as they come. A leisurely stroll through the woods can quickly turn challenging when the rain converts the path to a creek and the hard ground to mud. Fighting what comes will only add to the suffering. Rain will eventually fall on all paths. It’s what happens next that counts. Peace comes by simply allowing the rain to fall while knowing you have done the best you can to keep your gear dry, but also accepting that some of it will get wet anyway. Sooner or later, the sun will shine again and everything will be ok.

I always need a few days to acclimate to the “real world” when I return from the woods, the mountains, or the desert. As demanding as the trail can be, civilization can be more so. There always seems to be something needing my attention, demanding my time. I spend a few days in morning, yearning for the simplicity and focus of my days away. My heart and soul are on wilderness time while my mind tries to shift my body into clock time. I have been changed by my experience in the woods and I feel like a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. The forced transformation is painful.

Today I began to see another way. I began to feel into the possibility of living my life like I was on the trail all the time; to simplify, to focus, to allow. As I meditated this morning, I felt the woods welling up in my heart, demanding to be present. My head said “no, you don’t belong in this world,” but my heart said “yes,” and my soul rejoiced. Something deep inside shifted ever so slightly and my day looked brighter.

There is no doubt nature has been irretrievably altered by the presence and activity of man. Our impact on the land used to be localized and repairable like the footprints I left behind this weekend on the trail; easily washed away by wind, rain, and the passage of time. Humans put out the garbage and Mother Earth took it in. Sometimes she transformed it into another kind of energy through the process of decay. Other times she simply hid it away deep in her belly where we could pretend it no longer existed even though it would be there for eons to come. But those times have gone. Our footprints are bigger today. They dig deeper into the soil, the air, the climate of the earth itself. We have changed the very nature of nature, and only time will tell if the change is for the best.

The question I am pondering today is if we, as humans, have allowed nature to alter us in return. Have we taken in her lessons and allowed them to transform us to the extent we have transformed her, or have we so insulated ourselves from the wind and air, tides and seasons, that we have come to believe we are separate from nature, superior to her, master of her? What if we spent a bit more time with her? What if we learned to simply, to focus, to allow? What else does she have to teach us that could serve us all as we face the coming days?

But for now, for today, I ask the questions for myself. I look in the mirror and begin with me. Today, I stop trying to shift from there to here and allow it all to be one. I didn’t leave the trail behind in the woods; the trail is right here in front of me, waiting for me to simplify, focus, and allow. Waiting for me to take a step. Today I begin

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Perhaps a contributing factor to my mood is that I finished my book this week. Yes, I know, I’ve said that before, but this time I really mean it. I’ve sent it off to the publisher and called it “done.” The projected delivery date is early June. Stay tuned.

Along with its completion, the book also received a new name:

Your Place in the World: Creating a life of vision, purpose, and service.

The title speaks to the innate desire we all have to find the one particular place in the world where we feel a deep sense of belonging, a fit, a home.  The subtitle identifies the path I offer the reader.

What about you? Are you feeling a stirring, a vague need to wander just a bit? Got Spring fever? Maybe your time has come. If so, I invite you to join me on the next Soul Quest Weekend, May 7-9 at Prairie State Park near Lamar, MO.   Here’s what others have said about their experience of this program:

“My weekend at Prairie State Park…was magical… “
“What makes Tom stand out the most is that he asks questions rather than give answers. He does not tell you who you are. Rather, he holds a sacred space for your own self discovery. He inspires the wisdom that lives in each one of us.”
“This experience will either show you your purpose in life or bring you closer to it.”   
“My vision quest weekend really opened me up to the Great Spirit.”

 
You can find out more about this program by clicking here.

Due to the kind and generous offer of a previous participant, I am able to offer some limited scholarships for the program. So, if you are feeling the urge to attend but unable to pay the entire fee, please contact me directly for more information.

Whether you join me at Soul Quest Weekend or not, I invite you to find the time to enjoy the budding of spring. Get out into nature and allow the new growth to inspire something new to take form in you. Shed the old cloak of winter, and along with it, the old ideas that have held you back from finding your place of belonging, your reason for being.

Welcome to spring. Welcome home.

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Sometimes the people who come to my workshops and retreats are there because their lives have fallen apart in some way: they have lost a job, their family relationships aren’t working, or they are lonely and in search of connection with a community. But more often than not, the people who I see are the ones whose lives are pretty much ok. They have a job, loving relationships, and are making meaningful contributions to their communities, but something is still not right. They are feeling a yearning for “something,” but cannot determine just what that “something” is.

This human experience of yearning is nothing new. More than 150 years ago, Henry David Thoreau wrote these words in his book, Walden: “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” and in spite of all our progress, it is still true today. For every person who is asking themselves difficult questions about their lives there are countless others who, in spite of having a very good life, are haunted by dreams of another way of living. I believe that it is time for us to listen to this yearning. It is time to question the source of this quiet desperation and begin to explore our souls with the intention of discovering the unique gifts we hold within.

I also believe the sense of yearning we are feeling is coming not just from within us but from the soul of the earth, as well. The earth is desperate for us to wake up to our own deeper meaning and purpose. The world cries out for our true gifts, and our souls answer through the yearning that we feel for something else, something different than the story we have been telling as individuals and as a society.

There was a time in my life when my own sense of quiet desperation manifested in what I then described as a persistent ache in my chest. I was feeling a yearning to live a different kind of life based on bringing my most essential gifts into the world, but I had no idea how to go about making that happen. In the beginning, I thought it was all about finding the kind of work I was meant to do in the world. But I have come to understand that finding our right work is only a part of the picture. It’s also about living congruently.

So, are you experiencing something like a sense of “quiet desperation,” or a yearning for something you can’t quite name? How is it showing up for you? What have you done about it? Let me know. I’d love to hear from you.

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My dream is for a world alive with vision, and everywhere I look, I see a lack of it; in politics, business, education, healthcare; my list could go on. It’s not that I am just now becoming aware of the issues of the world; I have always kept current on the news, but for some reason, it has been affecting me more deeply lately. 

I knew that something was up for me, some kind of message was trying to get through, so in my meditation time this morning, I asked “What is this all about? Why am I feeling this way?” Then, some words that I had written for my book came to me:

The way we are to serve in the world will be found at the intersection of our heartache and our bliss. There, at the place where our greatest sorrow meets our deepest joy, the voice of the ego will finally be silenced. It is at this junction where, in answer to “what are you willing to give?” we will finally, completely, and without reservation say “everything.” We will then know that there is only one thing we can do, only one thing we were born to do, because we have reached the place where we simply can’t do anything else. We will know what it means to be human and simultaneously divine. As we stand on this holy ground, we will know that we are home at last, that we have found our people, and that they have found us.

Heartache and bliss, intersecting at the very place we were born to serve. I seem to be standing on that ground.

A couple of months ago, I started using this affirmation:

I live with my heart wide open.

I don’t know why it is so, but there seems to be something about the human heart that needs to be cracked open. In the experience I am living through right now, I am being taught that the way that I can serve in the world is to allow my heart to be completely and totally opened up; to become vulnerable in a way that I never have; to serve from a place of heartbreak. It is one thing to talk about how we would change the world if we could, but I am finding that it is quite another thing to actually experience the pain of the heartbreak on the way to finding my bliss.

I am living the words I have written and truly discovering that heartbreak and bliss live in the same spot.

We are entering the month of February when the message of love will be everywhere. As you think about the people and things in your life that you love, I invite you to add something to your list that you might overlook: your dreams.

I invite you to fall in love with your dreams; to love them into being. Instead of asking, “how badly do I want it?” ask, “how deeply do I love it? Allow your heart to be cracked open so that the love that resides there can shine forth and so that the heartbreak of the world might enter in.

But don’t stop there. As you feel the heartbreak, look for where you also feel your deepest joy. It is here that you were born to live. It is here that you were born to serve. It is here that you will heal yourself and offer healing to the world.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Perhaps the work I do will bring a bit more vision into the worlds of business, politics, and the rest; perhaps not. But I know that as I bring my deepest joy into the places where I see darkness, my fog lifts and my heart opens a bit more. For this, in this moment, I give thanks.

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The first part of Raven Hawk’s story has been haunting me for a long time now.  The rest of the story, at least the part that is now ready to be known, revealed itself during a recent trip to Santa Fe.  It emerged fully formed during a workshop called Real Speaking lead by my new friend, Gail Larsen.  Gail’s message to all of us is that “If you want to change the world, tell a better story,” and this might be the kind of story that can do just that.

The story goes like this:  Raven Hawk was a medicine man who lived a long time ago.  A man of great power and equally great pride, Raven Hawk made a decision he later came to regret.  Wrapped in his grief and shame, he withdrew from his people, and in the process became of no use to himself or anyone else.  Then one day, Raven Hawk had a vision.  In the vision, he came to understand his true purpose in life.  In hearing about the mistake he made, the forgiveness he found, and the new way he learned he was to serve his people, we might find a message for ourselves as well.

Ever since Raven Hawk first came into my awareness, he has been imploring me to “Tell the people the stories that remind them who they are,” and I am finally listening.  In the service of this story and the message it wants to bring to the world, I have set a goal for the coming year:  to, by July, be speaking to a different audience every week.  It’s a big goal, and I am going to need some help to make it happen.  I am willing to do whatever it takes, speak to any size audience, and go anywhere to do this.  How it’s going to happen is not clear at this point, knowing that it’s mine to do is.

Will you help me?  Invite me and I will come.  Be willing to listen, and I will bring to you a story of finding hope in the midst of challenge.  Open your heart and I will share with you Raven Hawk’s vision, and in the process, perhaps we might all find a vision of our own.  

Wishing you, your friends, and your loved ones abundant blessings in the New Year.

You can find out more about Gail’s work here.

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