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February Newsletter
Practices Make Better, Never Perfect
By Matthew Budd
Practices make better, never perfect, biologic systems, and we are one of those, a system of recurrence. So are toasters, engines, ipods, etc. All of these entities are governed by structures which determine responses. When you press the lever the toaster toasts. When you turn the key the engine turns over. When you press the button the ipod sings what you recorded, it does not make up new tunes.
Are you beginning to see how we are like that: machines of recurrence. When someone throws a ball we automatically catch it, or not. When someone hands us a book, we open it right to left (or if you are Hebrew, left to right.) For sure we too, are structure determined systems.
Our structure also governs our social and personal lives. We set tables in a particular way. We drive on the right side of the road. We pray in congregations or groups; Buddhists mostly pray alone. When we travel to a foreign culture we are able to witness other lives that are structured differently… hopefully we witness this with respect and wonder.
When a child of ours resists, we act in a structured way. When our spouse differs in taste or behavior or opinion we react in a particular way, all determined by our structure. Or when the boss or teacher offers criticism, we react in a way that our structure is built to receive the opinions of others, including negative ones.
It is so all the way through thought, emotion, action, belief, etc., we are all structure detemined. We talk about free will, that is structure determined also. The “outcasts” in India do not talk about free will or fight for it. It is not in their structure; resignation is.
So we are in this fundamental way more like a machine than we would like to admit. But, and this is everything, there are two fundamental differences between us and machines and most other living species.
First we are biologic systems, hence subject to change to a large degree. The neurophysiologists call this plasticity.
Second, we ourselves can change ourselves. This is a unique gift of nature or “God” whatever name you give to the mystery that forms life.
At the Retreats we worked hard on building tools for self reflection and change. Do you remember meditation, journaling, dream recording, creative work, somatic centering, language? All of these are practices for self-reflection and change.
But there is one other feature of biologic systems that I must emphasize, the point of this brief essay. It is this: biologic systems change only with recurrence. That is to say that with repetition of a behavior, action, affirmation, thought, reaction, etc, our structure changes. We literally become a different person. It takes time and recurrence but we literally can produce a new structure, a new person. There are limits, of course. I never can become a Barry Bonds or a Maria Callas. But I can build a new Matthew Budd, a new platform for the next set of changes.
Crucial to the whole cycle of progress is practices like those mentioned above, but more important, the practice of practices. Each time that I lead the retreats and go through practices with you, I too practice and grow. I practice listening without judgment, and with compassion, optimism, and faith. In the practice of practices I become stronger and clearer. This same cycle is always available to you also. But only if you practice your individual menu of practices for a more spiritual and loving life.
So, practice!!!
A lost, at great peril, art
by Saunterre Irish
My mother told me I never crawled but went right to walking, for which she was glad. When for some reason I mention this to someone, they look at me with a serious look and tell me it’s important for an infant to crawl. I sometimes wonder how I might be different it I had crawled. Did I miss an important developmental stage?
One day last summer I was perusing books in the library at the retreat center and came across Thoreau’s writing on “Walking.” He begins, “I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understand the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks, — who had a genius, so to speak, for ‘sauntering’: which word is beautifully derived ‘from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked for charity, under pretense of going ‘a la Sainte Terre,’ to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, ‘There goes a Sainte-Terrer, a Saunterer, a Holy Lander.”
The word, “Saunterer” jumped out at me.
The need for a name change to better express my personal truths and spiritual journey had been coursing through my heart and mind for some time. I thought, hmm, I could change “Saunterer” just a bit and name myself “Saunterre.”
And so I did. At 56 I call myself, Saunterre. People again look at me differently, and so I tell them about Thoreau’s writing on Walking.
Walking as an art. Thoreau said he met with but one or two persons who understood the art of walking. I’d like to consider myself one who considers walking an art. I’d like to consider myself a “Holy Lander.”
Forty-five plus years ago I encouraged my dad to sell the riding mower as I preferred walking the lawn around the 30 plus trees. I’ve been walking lawns ever since, and mowed a labyrinth in our present yard.
The 3 mile round trip walk to classes in Vermont along Route 110 started and ended my days in the profoundness of air and sun and rain and snow and stars. My day slowed down and filled.
Parking my car in a neighborhood and walking into Ann Arbor for errands, business, or pleasure I notice the colored stones someone placed in the wet cement on their sidewalk marking out hopscotch. I’d forgotten that you had to hop a couple of times on one foot before you could land on two. Kind of fun to move my older body like I did on our sidewalk as a kid. The front lawn gardens cheer me as spring approaches and the snow drops appear.
Frigid walks after dinner on our 6/10 mile long driveway through the woods treat me to good exercise, the sound of the crunching snow, the change in body temperature behind a scarf covering most of my face, animal foot prints in the snow, an owl, “Let’s walk it again,” quality time, a space of that which we call time noticed and filled full.
Thoreau says, “They who never go to the Holy Land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds…”
Speed and production 24/7, the ‘Holy Land” according to our culture. A mere idler and vagabond am I. Those voices are loud and pervasive. But I think I go to the “Holy Land.”
Where are we going in our speed and continuous production? I have not been able to find an answer.
This space we call time in which my heart is beating cries out for being noticed. There is a genius in daring to saunter, to risk being part of the blur past which our distressed culture is rushing. The genius for me is a fuller, richer, simpler, larger experience of living.
For being physically able to walk, I am grateful. And of course, Thoreau’s thoughts concerning the art of Walking hold the larger message of the genius of the art of noticing this space of that which we call time in which our hearts are beating. How we notice may put us at odds with a societal norm. People may look at us differently, seriously. We can explain.
Announcing the Level 2 Program
Many of you have asked for deeper learning after doing the Retreats. Some have repeated the Retreat itself, several times.
We have decided to offer a new Program call the “Level 2 Program”.
The promise of this program is to deepen your learning and practices for living what you learn so that your Well Being, Peace, and Joy in life is enhanced. You will be able to take care of your body in a new and powerful way. Your life will be lived on a new, healthier and holier path.
In the first part, over two months, you will read three carefully selected books and answer via email several carefully designed study questions that bring the material of the books into your life. Your answers will be read and commented on by our staff. Your learning will be under way.
The second part will be a 10-day Retreat at the Chalet. The dates for this Retreat are July 22-August 1. The staff of teachers will include Matt, Molly, Saunterre (some know her as Susan), Bernie Steinberg (a biblical scholar), Cindy O’Dell (a professor of photography at DePauw University), Connie, Roberta Colasante, Alison Shaw, and Lora Cecca Lyons. Each of these people is a profound teacher in their area.
You will leave the retreat with a menu of daily and weekly practices that you design for your learning. You will be clear about your objectives and the practices that will support your growth.
The third part will be the enactment of these practices and the continued discovery of your excellence and wholeness. This period will be for three months. During this time you will have four coaching calls from staff members to assist your continued growth.
The cost of this program is $2795. For a few of you, limited financial aid may be available.
How do I express interest in this program?
You apply for this program by carefully answering each of these three questions.
- What did I get out of my Retreat(s)? Include domains such as dignity, self-esteem, communication skills, body awareness, improved mood, spiritual connection, and the ability to return to center when you are grabbed.
- How has my mood, my sense of well-being, my work, and my relationships changed as a result of my Retreat experience?
- In what areas would I like to deepen my learning and competence in the Level 2 Program?
Mail your responses to Matt (Matthew.budd@verizon.net) and Molly (mollyhreno@aol.com) by March 1.
We will respond to your application by March 10, 2007.
A Lesson Worth Learning
By Mary Jo Taylor
I wrote the poems below over the last 1 ½ as I desperately tried to once again feel with my heart. My heart felt empty. I could look at a terrible tragedy and know in my mind that something awful had occurred but I could no longer “feel” it with my heart. At first I thought this was wonderful, thinking that I could not handle many more awful events in my life. Unfortunately as time went on I found that if I could not feel the “bad” in my heart then I could also not feel love or joy either. If I could not allow feelings into my heart, I could not offer sincere feelings to others. I felt like a fake. Finally this past summer I discovered that what I was looking for and needed was with me all the time. The veil lifted and like magic I knew that the love I had been searching for was deep inside of me.
For all of my life I have looked to others to provide the love and acceptance I needed and craved. I tried my best to look good (according to others standards), be a good wife, mother, friend, do all the “right” things. But no matter how many people I had in my life who professed to love and care about me, I always felt an empty spot inside that could not be filled. I would shut my eyes and wish that someone would love me in a way that would fill this hole. This year I have learned that the love I have been searching my whole life for was right inside of me. I feel like I have a new best friend who accepts me exactly as I am at anytime. For the first time I get to actually be “real”. Now I know that if I do not love myself fully, accepting all my assets and faults, that no amount of love from others will ever be enough.
This has made a phenomenal difference in how I receive judgments made by others. It is so much easier to see that this is just their opinion, I can think about it or not. The emotional pull is so much less than before. I no longer need their approval to feel good about myself. If a person disagrees with me or decides that they no longer wish to be my friend, I can see that it could be something in them, not in me. I am finally happy to just be myself. I still love and enjoy my friends and family but no longer rely on them to nurture and tend my heart. That is my duty and I plan to provide it with love, kindness, acceptance, joy, patience and an always open ear.
Contributions
Tomb
My heart is trapped
Inside a tomb
Nothing in, nothing out
No way to shout
I long to have feelings again
But something within me
Won’t let them in
My spirit is waiting
Impatient with me
As I peel off layer upon layer
Trying to get free
My mind blocks my way
Ego wants all the say
I know this is not my true self
Wishing to put ego away on a shelf
My mind seems so strong
Intuition so weak
I long and long just for a peek
I know this is false
But my mind demands proof
I talk to my spirit everyday
And hope and pray that it
Can hear what I say
To banish ego from my body
Is my goal
Before it takes the ultimate toll
The Thaw
My heart, frozen in the scarred terrain
Was protecting my body from anymore pain.
I had found a rhythm to get through life,
Moving forward without strain or strife.
When quite suddenly you entered my space,
Easily lighting up my soul and my face.
The ice round my heart which was just like a tomb,
Ever slowly started melting and then my heart bloomed.
The bloom was frightened to once again be above
And prayed with openness for nurturing and love.
The days turned to weeks and the bloom did grow
But still it was delicate and fragile just pushing up from the snow.
As its roots started to spread and grow strong in the earth,
You came and attacked it with words that truly hurt.
You trampled the bloom with criticism and judgments
When all it had offered you was caring abundance.
And now the bloom is crushed back down in the snow,
Confused and scared about which way to go.
For if a bloom is to grow strong and tall and radiant
It needs someone to care for it with kindness and patience.
THE SURVIVOR’S REVIEW
Past participant Ann Gang was a featured poet in The Survivor’s Review, an online journal encouraging the creative expression of cancer survivors. Their goal is to publish stories, essays and poems that are powerful, poignant and unflinchingly honest. They also hope to encourage all survivors to use writing as a tool for emotional and physical healing. In each issue, guest contributors offer ideas and prompts to get you started.
http://www.survivorsreview.org/
Diagnosis
by Ann Gang
The train started down the tracks, slowly at first;
No one believed what the possibilities might be.
Can you come to the office; can you bring your husband?
Oh no, I said, I’m strong, he is too far to travel – how bad can it be
The train continued down the tracks beginning to gain speed.
I sat in the office and noticed my grandparents by the window.
As I started to ask them why they were here
My head turned to an unfamiliar word
what?
who?
me?
The train was coming faster and faster, choo choo, choooo choooo.
No one warned me that I was standing in the middle of the tracks.
Directions and definitions were given,
perhaps my grandparents could hear them
I couldn’t
the sound of the train whistle was deafening.
Options were mentioned but had no meaning,
The word ‘metastases’ was Greek
I was still back at the reason for my grandparent’s visit.
The sparks were flying from the wheels of the train as I felt the
darkness closing in.
The doctor finished his speech although I was no longer there.
This was wrong, it was cruel, it wasn’t me.
He checked the report and confirmed that it was so,
while the train was getting closer and closer.
I turned to my grandparents for comfort and solace,
but they were gone.
Before I could realize what had happened, the bright light of the
engine was upon me.
My mouth dropped in fright and the tears began to flow as the train
barreled across my soul.
Ann was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2004. This poem was written during her healing retreat as a response to how she felt when she first heard the words, ‘you have cancer’. During that retreat, Sharon Bray released my inner voice from its dungeons when she guided my pen to paper.
Excerpts from her writings appear in Sharon Bray’s, When Words Heal.