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It was sad news when we awoke the other day to hear that Steve Irwin had died in a “freak” accident.

For most people in the U.S., when he was alive he was a very noticeable personality on Animal Planet, always wrestling crocodiles and grabbing snakes by the tail. Love him or hate him, his presence on the screen was ubiquitous, to say the least. Perhaps for many people, his unbridled enthusiasm and shouts of “Crikey” were a shtick that wore thin rather quickly. For those more in the know, he was a dedicated and loving family man, a passionate conservationist, and a guy with a pair big enough to handle a Black Mambo without reaching for a shotgun.

The problem is, how much of his persona did most of us really know when he was alive? Or, did we just jack in for the thrill of seeing him jump into fetid water, pulling up yet another reptilian brain stem with 400 pounds of armored meat attached to it? I’m suggesting that many of us just tuned in for the thrills, or to see his latest adventure and smugly remark, “What a psycho! I’d never do that in a million years.”

Until now.

We know more about Steve now that he’s dead than we did when he was alive. Sad, isn’t it?

From what I’ve seen – and I really don’t track this stuff due to ever-increasing levels of disgust – the U.S. media is all over this guy. Now come the incessant profiles of his life. Now comes the revelation (and video, no less) of his excitement, joy, and wonder while assisting in the birth of his first child. Now comes the focus on his conservation efforts. Yes, all the good stuff that we should have seen from the beginning comes pouring out after the man is dead.

And with that, in the same media, come some disturbing angles as well. It was an “attack” by the stingray. An attack!? Did the cameras see that ray slowly, carefully stalking the man before the big strike? Sheesh.

There are the repetitive, asinine questions, like, “Are wildlife personalities going too far for ratings?” Isn’t the more appropriate question, “Are news outlets going too far…?”

There are some reports suggesting that Steve was just asking for trouble; that he was addicted to his own dopamine and needed to be a thrill-seeker.

We might look for the take-away in this situation, if one chooses to care at all (and I do.)

Sadly, the media-at-large seems to focus on the strange angles to the story, making new ones up when the old material becomes dated by, say, 12 hours. And I can only assume that they are pandering to the tastes of the “mass” audience. If that’s what they – and their viewers – want to take away from the rather tragic death of a huge personality, then let them have their way. I’m sure it’ll all be forgotten as soon OJ is hauled back into court, or Brad leaves Angelina.

But perhaps Zaadsters can take away something different:

We should ALL live with as much enthusiasm as Steve did, with unbridled energy in all matters. Whether he was jumping into the swamp, doing a show for kids at the Australia Zoo, or in the delivery room with his wife, his enthusiasm for all of life came through quite clearly.

We should ALL live as passionately as Steve did. He sank himself into everything he did, living it fully. His adrenaline levels were certainly off-the-hook when grabbing a crocodile, and he shed tears when holding his first-born. His efforts in conservation and educating the public were beyond measure.

The message of his show was a demonstration of how much he cared for both people and animals. We should ALL care as much as he did. You certainly don’t live a life like that without caring for all of it. He lived large, and it showed.

For this One, he was an exemplar of how to fully engage life. It would be my hope that we could all be passionate, enthusiastic, gregarious, dedicated, and loving in all things we do... noticing and honoring that in others while they're still fully alive.

~Rob~

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I think nothing defines samsara for me better than walking behind a lawn mower... for three+ miles... in 99-degree weather... with 90% humidity... (Hint: We do not live in Boulder.) There aren't too many places that suggest hell-on-earth better than here.

Oh, mind you, I have infinite tears and compassion for all the cruelties going on in the world, from the bombing of Lebanon to the exploitation and starving of Africa.  It all sucks worse than the lawn, but in its own way, it shines as well. I could be a lot worse off, to be sure.

But whenever I have to cut the grass, interestingly negative thoughts seem to arise in this body-mind and they seem to be beyond my control. I mean, really nasty stuff. I have thoughts of doing dastardly things to my snotty, reclusive neighbor; thoughts of difficulties with family members; thoughts of deliberately running over my foot to get out of this miserable task. The fact that women suffer through labor pains, but we men have to "do the lawn," so I consider things even-Steven. I don't really know why these thoughts come up while I'm walking behind the mower, but they do. Perhaps it's the vibration of the mower colliding in extreme discordance with my own internal vibration?

I have found some relief by putting on the iPod and then a set of noise canceling ear protectors.  With the right music or talk, it becomes a bit more tolerable. A bit. If I could figure out a way to stick a garden hose down my pants while walking the back-40, I might have this issue licked.

I would have waited another day or two to cut the grass, but I'm hitting the road soon.  I've hired someone to take care of the lawn and to think whatever thoughts they care to think while doing so. At least they'll be making money off me at the time, maybe that'll help.

Leaving the house is always a nice thing to have happen (see above for the temperature/humidity coordinates) because it gives me a chance to get organized, settle up all the bills, close the house, and allow the earth to move under me for a while. Each day , each minute, brings new horizons and it's easy to hold beginner mind while tooling down the road. You get to meet new people, see new sights, and experience the world with a freshness that one doesn't always get when they're at home...

...cutting the grass yet again...
...with sweat pouring off the body...
...seeing the same damn patch of lawn...
...over...
...and over...
...and over...

I'm sure there's a practice in there somewhere. 

Until I next check back in, Big Heart to all Zaadster friends!

Rob

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A new-born baby will die – or, at the very least, will not thrive – if they do not have contact with a another human. While I’m sure there are studies, theories, and history to explain this phenomenon in much better terms than I’m able, for the time being I’ll consider just why this is so.

Perhaps in the first few days of radical differentiation from the mother and integration into an entirely new environment, the cacophony of sensory input causes us to catalog “This from That,” “Me from Them,” “Nice Lady, not Mean Guy.”  (Obviously, this is a pre-cognitive, pre-linguistic process, but I have no doubt that this sort of discrimination does occur.)

Imagine yourself being birthed from the oceanic comfort of the womb into a dark, quiet, cold cell. No lights, no auditory input, no human contact, no external stimuli whatsoever. How would you know what you are? Assuming that we had some sort of mental capacity to ponder such things, what would we think ourselves to be?  Would we ever be able to develop a sense of identity – much less a healthy sense of identity – or would we scatter into a million possible shards of what we might be, with no clear notion of reality?  Without the touchstone of relationship to others, how could we possibly define ourselves, knowing even what form we take, or, perhaps, whether we’re actually here at all?

In several versions of the Greek myth of Narcissus, it is told that he spurned relationships with others (most notably “Echo.” Funny, that…) and was condemned by Nemesis to gaze upon his own reflection in the water. While most people would suggest that Narcissus was so taken by his own beauty and pride that he fell madly in love with his reflection, I think there’s another possibility that deserves consideration. Having spurned relationship with others – and thereby not knowing himself and his beauty by the reflection of others – it’s more likely that Narcissus stared not to admire his own beautiful attributes, but that if he did not gaze, he would not even know that he existed.  Imagine – if he turned away from his own reflection and could not receive the reflection of others, how was he to know his gifts, his very essence, the attributes that made him unique, or whether or not he lived at all?

(Interestingly, this story is where we get the word narcissism, which is derived from the Greek word narke, the root of the word narcotic. The vain Narcissus was so numb and insensitive to the reflection of others who admired his beauty that he pissed off the gods, big-time.)

Perhaps in another entry I would go into the notion that each of “our worlds” are made of nothing but reflection, or as Wilber would say, perspectives, as our reception of reflections.

So, by now you might now be thinking, “Here’s me - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - Here’s your point.” I’m delighted you brought that up.

At a recent Integral Institute event, our group spent a great deal of time looking very closely at one another. We had many opportunities to gaze into each others’ eyes. On a daily basis, we listened to and received the stories that others told and they in turn listened to what we had to say. We’d often compare our tales, noting how similar they seemed to be. Gazing and stories continued well beyond the hours that we spent in the Pavilion, as we all marveled in giving and receiving the gift of reflection.

Of particular note was one exercise where we each gave ourselves permission to be gazed upon, in full form, by another. That person then told us what they perceived in us, reflecting our beauty, gifts, and positive attributes. We then shifted over by one person and tried our best to embody those same attributes. The new person would then tell what they saw. Interestingly, that reflection turned out to be very accurate.

When another human reflects to us what they see, it reminds us of who we are. I believe that this practice can help us get beyond our inhibitions and self-deprecating notions of ourselves, only to reveal the real beauty that is always there underneath the bullshit. This reflection informs us as to who we are. It tells us that we exist. It draws our greatest gifts to the surface as an offering to others.

Perhaps the greatest gift of this practice is that it highlights not what we want to gather for ourselves, but what we can give to others. In a world gone decidedly mad, news, information, opinions, events, and perspectives all crash against each other, clamoring for our attention. Over time, we tend to numb (narke) ourselves to this input. We shut down, allowing only a limited amount of input to make it past our filters, all while protecting what is inside of us from leaking out to others, lest they “vote you off the island.”

 As a practice today, I’ll try to stand before another, adopting an open posture and attitude. I’ll reflect the gifts that this person brings to the world, whether by something I say, or just by the open gaze of love that I’ll provide. At the same time, I’ll remain open to their reflection of me. It may not work for everyone, but if I keep this practice in mind, I’m pretty sure that I’ll find at least one other who gives as good as they get.

 
Then, in this world gone decidedly mad, we’ll at least know that we exist as and for the reflection of That Which We Already Are.

 ~Rob~

 

Be kind: This is my first-ever - anywhere - blog entry. See what Zaadz'll do to a guy?

From formless emptiness, all things arise.  All of the objects 'we' see, all of the sounds we hear, all the emotions we feel arise from this emptiness. Everything. Make a fist... where did it come from? Open your hand... where did it go? Where did you come from?

What drives this? Some call it Spirit. Some say that it's just phenomena and that there is no real meaning behind it all.  Others, like wife Susan, say that LOVE is all there is. I appreciate that explanation the most, to the extent that this Mystery can be explained at all in dualistic, linguistic terms.

We think. We argue. We fuss and fight. We laugh. We cry. We feel joy. We feel anger. We feel and often act like we're actually a "we." We live in the head, looking for explanations, or we live in the body, feeling into experience as fully as possible (if the head doesn't get in the way.)  All of this arises moment-by-moment as the fruit of Love, that driving force.

It seems to this body-mind  that Love arises in this and every moment.  It looks like different things and feels like different emotions, but is it not all Love?

We all have a choice in any given moment: How will we respond to this Love calling?

Will we follow our conditioning, the patterns of the past that seem to continually plague us? Will we allow the head to take over, committing violence on That-Which-Is by using words to carve and dissect this Love? Will we numb ourselves to it all because the beauty is just too much to bear?

Or, will we stand steadfastly in the face of it all, our arms opened wide, and say YES! to the Love that arises in this and every moment?

As all things arise from emptiness in this and every moment, then we have a choice of how to respond to the arising... in this and every moment.  The choice is never not there for you.  If you miss it in this moment due to some contraction, then choose it in this moment... or this one... or this one...  Moment-by-moment, we have the choice of how to respond.

Choose Love.

~Rob~