Dear Story Trackers, Participants of the Online Class “Finding our Stories – With Some Extraordinary Dreamers: the Trees,”
Thank you for a wonderful class, and for sharing some stories that spoke to you!
As we mentioned in class, if you wish you could post your favorite stories and what you found on our weblog so that we can create a “story web” where we can all enjoy reading each other stories and discoveries, and hear them echoing with our own. We invite you to share as well your experiences and stories of visiting trees!
Also, here is our ongoing energy tracking, as a reminder, for those of you interested in continuing this exploration:
Does adopting the body position of the character in your story bring up a specific scene of your life for you?
Describe the details of that scene, including your breath, emotions, body position, internal dialogue. Then on your own or with a tree and/ or human witness, or all three, you can shift the body position, practicing the tree form, and then review the scene again to see if there is more about the scene that comes to your awareness—More details or context, and different possible responses the next time such a scene occurs in your life!!!!
Our next web class will be Saturday, October 1 at 9 am PST, 18:00h CET, where we will go further into uncovering the ever-unfolding layers of the stories we hear and tell! In the meantime, for those of you who are already registered, or are feeling the call: See you at the workshop in Pasadenaon September 16, 17 and 18: What’s Your Story? where we will look at Creation Stories–and how our stories help create our experience, and where we will practiceStoryTheater! The preparation for this workshop has been very uplifting and illuminating for us, a new “turn in the wheel of time” for Tensegrity, and we look forward to sharing it with you!
With love,
Cleargreen
cleargreendreaming
THE LITTLE MOUSE STORY
(this is one of the stories of Neo from The matriX)
From time to time i have the delight to listen to the stories of a seer who likes to practice the art of storytelling. She entices the listener to begin to dream and travel to a different time and place in the middle of the story she tells. She would use the most hilarious metaphors and comparisons for example telling about how a traveller came across a giant so tall that looking up to see his face his palate caught suntan.
Once she told a very long story about THE MAN WHO HAD NO STORY: a selfish man who fell asleep in a forest and when he woke up he found himself in the middle of some faery-folk celebration. The man was smart and quick eyed and quickly figured who is the most distinguished among the wee-folk and sat by him hoping for some magical favours. It was no other than the king of the wee-folk who asked him to tell a story or a sing a song…the man had neither. The king of the wee-folk got angry and told him that he has to have something to give and that he’ll teach him a lesson! He hit infront of him forcefully with his wand and the ground opened. The man fell into the ground and was falling from infinity into infinity and found himself into another celebration of even more ethereal and mysterious beings that resided deep underground. The same ordeal repeated: the man eyed them quickly to see who’s the most important of them, then he was asked to tell a story…….he had none and was sent into a fall even deeper underground. He fell like this seven times, crossed sever layers of kingdoms, one from the other more mysterious, the last one so strange that he couldn’t distinguish anything clearly only heard voices talking directly inside him…he was asked again if he had a story to give. The man was so shaken and hopeless, he desperately recounted how he fell seven times deeper and deeper and how he cannot tell was it seven hours ago or seven years ago and how he was longing to go home…the being who was listening to him told him: “…hmm, this is a story now, you are no longer the man who had nothing to give…” upon which the man woke up in his world. He couldn’t walk for some time for because after his crossing through several infinities he has lost sense of balance and perpendicularity!…
Another time she told the story of the Little Mouse. Little Mouse was living with his family under the shadow of a pear tree. His tribe collected the fallen pears from the tree and stored them in shallow tunnels under the tree’s roots. When the weather was not harsh life was rolling peacefully with the rhythm of the seasons. Except for one thing: a deadly eagle came often and snatched mouses from his tribe diving from the skies with incredible speed. He especially grabbed those who were close to the periphery of the tree’s shadow–no one ever ventured beyond the shadow of the crown of the pear tree. Whoever dared was sentenced to be grabbed and eaten by the terrible and mysterious giant eagle almost immediately. There were some who tried to go beyond but they never returned. So no one bothered to even think about leaving the comfort of the pear tree shadow. Life felt a little boring in such a narrow spot to most but it was safer under the tree, besides this is where all the pears were falling…This is how the tribe of Little Mouse lived since they could count time.
Little Mouse always felt in his heart the aspiration to go far and explore what is beyond the pear tree. He had a dream that he could travel and return to tell his people what lies far away in the distance. He had a dream that he could save his people from the claws of the eagle, find him and ask him to stop.
One day he was with his cousin, his best friend, just by the edge of the shadow when he confined him that he had everything prepared for a long journey and that he was going to travel to these very very distant mountains that could be seen sometimes on clear days, to climb their rocky peaks and find the eagle and talk to him. His cousin told him that he is completely out of his mind and that he’s going to do a short travel to his sure death. But Little Mouse was decided and wasn’t going to change his decision. He left the next day and upon leaving asked his cousin to never loose hope that he’ll be back.
Little Mouse walked tirelessly for three days. He finished his food the first day. In the night he slept under some dried straws. Then he came across a field where there was a bank of fog. He stepped into the fog but each time after a few steps always found himself in front of the bank of fog where he started. He felt doomed and fell asleep exhausted. He woke up from feeling a coyote licking his heel. He asked him “brother coyote, would you please carry me through the wall of fog for i can’t cross on my own?” Coyote nodded and said that he would be would do that in exchange for some food. Little Mouse said that he was sorry because he had already eaten all his food long time ago and was hungry himself. Then coyote told him: “let me eat your eyes to resource myself, like this i’ll carry you on my back across the fog which takes alot of force. i am a magical coyote so i will try to repair your vision but one thing you will loose: you’ll never again be able to see yourself in a mirror or even a reflection of the water. Think about it!” Little Mouse thought about it and decided that there is noway to turn back because he would die from exhaustion very soon anyway. He said yes. The coyote ate his eyes and took him on his back. He carried him for long time. At first Little Mouse saw only boiling patterns but gradually some sparks appeared and most extraordinary shapes of amber light. He started to distinguish things and the light he saw gave him, and things he was looking at ,great depths. He even saw this with his eyes closed! Coyote left him at the end of a field not far from the foot of the mountains. Little Mouse couldn’t tell was it days or months that have passed since he left home. He looked up and saw the hanging rocks of the mountain peaks very high up in the sky. He climbed and climbed and climbed…with is last forces he reached the flat top of the mountain. There among the cracks of the rocks he saw a giant nest with some eggs. The eggs were so huge they were his size! He knew these are the Eagle’s eggs! He knew the Eagle must be somewhere around and started to call him telling him to come out so he could ask him why does he take and kill his people! The screaming took his last forces and he started to collapse. As he was falling to the ground he stretched his gaze noticing the stunning view from the mountain’s peaks: suddenly he could see everything! He saw the valley, the hills, the rivers…His gaze was gliding so smoothly that he felt like he is flying! Now the landscape was moving underneath him, wherever he turned to this is where he was gliding…there there! oh! what is this!? isn’t it the pear tree, his home in the distance! yes it is! he got closer and closer elated. Suddenly he noticed his little cousin not far from the the edge of the pear-tre’se shadow. He wondered “…oh, could i call him? would he hear me?!…! He screamed at him at the top of his voice: “little cousin, little cousin!!…” …but strangely enough instead of his words he heard a sharp shrill sound! But ho!, his little cousin did hear him! Little cousin lifted his head to the sky looking at Little Mouse and with bewildered, opened eyes yelled: “uncle Eagle, uncle Eagle…………….!!!”
At first when i heard this story it seemed to me a little harsh but with time its meaning and magic unfolded. Little did i know that some things that may look harsh on the surface carry wisdom and magic. Little also did i know that the pear tree’s shadow is the habitual position of the assemblage point, or that Little Mouse is…
You!
:D
Спасибо Сleargreen и всем участникам онлайн класса за замечательную возможность снова прикоснуться к золотой пыльце моря осознания.
В моем случае я выбрал в качестве истории фильм, в котором мне импонировали сострадание, великодушие, миролюбие, искренность, непринужденность, проявляемые главным героем фильма. Вспоминая эту историю, я внутренне возмущался: что за несправедливость царит в нашем мире, когда люди, способные на проявление таких прекрасных чувств, оказываются на грани смерти из-за их проявления. Когда мы рассмотрели эту историю со свидетелем, я увидел детали сцены, на которые ранее не обращал внимания. Стало очевидным, что герой фильма не был искренним до конца, он перестраховался и оставил ружье, на случай если ему попытается навредить, тот, кто считает его своим врагом. Т.е., с одной стороны, он конечно был искренним в своих чувствах, но с другой, он не полагался на них всецело, в результате чего и пострадал. Также, я обратил внимание на его положение тела: плечи и голова поданы вперед. Я провел параллель с собой и немало удивился, что во многих ситуациях в своей жизни я веду себя в точности как мой герой. Я обращаю внимание только на то, что считаю важным для себя, пусть мои цели и гуманны, но если я не отдаюсь им на все 100%, то и достичь их в рельности мне не удается – мой ум, если он выписал страховку, провоцирует страховой случай. Да, и положение тела в таких ситуациях оказались схожими.
Я поменял положение тела: опутсил и развернул назад плечи, расслабил спину, живот, затылок, лицо, начал равномерно и глубоко дышать. Сразу после класса я обратился к деревьям и спросил, что я могу сделать, чтобы изменить себя, чтобы данный шаблон ушел из моей жизни. От деревьев пришел ответ: быть окончательным в своих решениях и поступках. Но как, спросил я. Выслеживай себя, а сразу ничего не дается, по крайней мере тебе, услышал я от деревьев. Не густо, подумал я. В следующий миг сам факт общения с деревьями привел меня в восторг.
Конечно, я не знаю, что в точности мне надо делать, но пришло внутренее понимание, которое, я надеюсь, смогу не забыть и превратить в реальное изменение себя.
Сновиедение продолжается.
С любовью,
Дмитрий, Украина
One story I love is the aboriginal story of Mirrabooka who wanted to live forever, so the great spirit Baiame, stretched him across the sky. The two pointers of the Southern Cross are his eyes and he gazes upon his loved ones on earth. I spent quite a bit of time at one stage in my life learning the stories of the stars as the Aboriginals shared them. Spending time in the bush alone, allowing the stars, the trees and the wandering spirits of those dear people who date so far back in this continent to speak – and the occasional occurrence of an earth spirit – was/is more than sublime. To see the emu stretched across the sky; the milky way her coat of feathers, the Pleiades her eggs. To see the Scorpio as an alligator on the banks of the milky way river, or as a canoe with its hunter. It taught me the depth of feeling, of place, of broader home.
Stories of travellers with staffs have great appeal to me. What is that about? I recall Miles Reid once speaking of how our knees are still getting used to being upright. I once found a walking stick; tall with a perfect Y at the top. It was my creation stick. The symbol of two emerging from the one fascinated me. I gazed at it for hours, trying to unlock the symbol. It was at that time that I met my true soul mate. Upon looking back I realise now that it was for me the notification within of the powers of anima and animus and having to deal with that: of rejecting a single authority?responsibility for a duo-authority/responsibility.
I’m fascinated in my recapitulations via the tree/story form to be holding various staffs from various stories – some my own, some others. Various attitudes occur in holding the postures. I have been planting up a garden slowly over the last month, and each new plant adds a new paragraph and dimension to the evolution of this garden. Its so interesting as a witness watching the plot unfold and being a part of it. I realised after doing the story/tree form with them that the reason they get so excited so immediately when they go in the ground is because there is something like energetic plant network cables, about a foot below the ground, that the hook straight into. For plants who have spent their entire lives in pots its really something!
this is my story dreaming with the trees…
last year I was able to move in a new flat and was immediately enchanted by the view I got from my balcony at the fourth floor: a fantastic row of proud lime trees running long the street and of which I could see the top from my bed. Wow, I thought, this is what must have felt Mrs Abelar in her trees (but without running the risk of breaking my neck..). Winter came, I forgot everything.
But then Cleargreen announced the first web workshop dreaming with the trees so I was really thrilled thinking about this synchronicity and wondering about what would happen… well, nothing really happened that time.
Then the second web workshop came up and this is what I experienced:
a couple of nights before, I woke up very late with a vision: an open book on which a beautiful red and black moth had landed. So, I sat on my bed, started a meditation and let myself go in the trees: in the darkness I could see hundreds of little lights which all came together forming a sphere of light which quickly changed shape becoming a snake and disappearing in the sky.
I then lied back in the bed and felt the amazing energy of the trees filling my room. And there started the most incredible journey I have ever had in my life: I was flying through the dark leaves, watching and hearing birds twitting quietly ans “seeing” glittering forms of energy dashing from time to time in front of me. What a beautiflu feeling!!! Thanks so much to my trees and to Cleargreen for this.
Françoise
Una historia que me toco fue la de la película AI de Stieven Spielberg. En un futuro la humanidad cuenta con compañías que crean robots casi humanos. Un pareja cuyo hijo estaba enfermo terminal decide comprar un niño-robot . Este niño robot es un nuevo modelo cuya característica es que puede amar sin limites una vez establecido el vinculo. La madre y el niño robot crean este vinculo de amor despues de un tiempo de convivencia, pero inesperadamente el hijo original regresa a casa. Entonces la madre abandona a este niño robot en el bosque tras un conflicto emocional. El resto de la película es la aventura llena de peligros de este niño robot que solo es capaz de amar en busca de su madre . La aventura se va entremezclando con la historia de Pinocho que era el cuento que le leia su madre. El niño robot siente un amor tan grande que es capaz de soñar y de vivir dentro del cuento de Pinocho . Va transformando la realidad en su sueño
La historia habla del amor sin limites y como este niño robot es capaz de llevarlo mas alla de la muerte.
Me entusiasmo tanto esta película que la vi 3 veces seguidas.
Durante la clase de webex con el testigo pude ver al adoptar la posición corporal del niño-robot que yo en mi vida había adoptado esta posición en momentos de hacer decisiones importantes .
My story is about a donkey who desperately seeks a friend. He asks all the big animals like the elefant, the giraffe, the tiger and the hippo. But they all just laugh at him and tell him to go away for he is just a stupid donkey. all the time a little bird is with him giving him advise and company. At the end the donkey is very sad and says that he will never find a friend. The bird replies that he himself wants to be his friend. But the donkey only laughes and says that he is just a little bird. How can he be his friend? so the bird leaves. At this point the donkey realises his mistake but cannot make it undone.
During the web class I found out that I often feel like the donkey. I feel like the victim and think the world is bad. I don’t see all the good in my life that surounds me in every moment.
The scene that came up was when I was seven years old. I was very envious of people and what they owned. So one day I stole a disc with a computer game from a friend. She found out that it was me and talked to all the other girls in class. So they all treated me as an outsider. Once my friend asked me directly but in front of all the others if I stole the game. Of course I said no, it wasn’t me. I felt very bad and I gave all the others the fault for it. After some time my friend came to my house and talked to me confidentially that she knows I have her game and that she would like to have it back. So, I finally confessed and gave the disc back. Still after that I continued feeling like an outsider and always the victim.
After changing the body position I could see clearly that as a child I was mistaken by the value of objects. I always wanted more and more until I realized that those objects don’t have a real value and therefore it doesn’t make me happy seeking for them. But with seven years owning certain things, living in a big house with a huge garden and having many toys was how I measured how valuable a person is. And so I thought when you own much then people want to be your friend for your attractive then. So I stole the game make myself more attractive. From my new view I act differently now in the scene decribed above: I hear the other girls gossiping about me but now I can go to them asking them if they are talking about the computer game and about me. I turn to my friend tell her that I’ve done something wrong. But I realize now that it was wrong and I want to say sorry. I go, get the game and give it back.
My witness for this was a little palm tree that lives with me in my flat. I first thought that I have to go outside to find a big and proud tree, but my story showed me that a very small one just next to me does the job as wonderfully!
Very moving, Leo! Yay for the little palm tree!
One story I love very much is a fantasy trilogy by Raymond E. Feist; Magician – Silverthorn – A Darkness at Sethanon. The story is about a boy who learns to become a sorcerer/magician and he and his friends experience many adventures.
When was the story the strongest for you?
I read these books when I was around 25 years old and I loved them. But I have always loved stories about sorcerer apprentices and sorcery schools, also as a child and a teenager.
What do you love about the story? What moved you? What stayed with you?
What stayed with me the most was the parts in the first book that told about the early stages of learning for Pug. He grows up an orphan of the keep, and although he is friendly and intelligent, and honestly interested in many things, he somehow doesn’t really find his path between the various professions he sees before him. One day after an accident, he is treated by the local magician, and they get to know each other. Later, Pug is picked by the magician to become his apprentice. Pug loves living with the magician, and he loves to read, but he fails producing the incantations from scrolls his master is trying to teach him. One day, when he’s being chased by trolls, he has the sensation of an explosion of light in his head, and then he sees the words of an incantation before his mind’s eye. He wins the battle with the trolls, and from then on he knows he has a certain power, but he’s not able to reach it at will. He keeps trying though. Meanwhile he earns himself a place at court and he learns a lot of other stuff. When their world is invaded by troops from another world, Pug is taken away as a slave. In this other world, he has to labour hard in some tropical swamp forests. One day he is recognized by the order of black robes, and even though he’s from another world, they bring him into their school. There he learns a more abstract form of sorcery, which happens to be his predilection.
Do you identify with any character in the story?
Yes, I identify with Pug, the boy who becomes a magician.
What do you admire in a character?
I admire in Pug that he is honest, loving and intelligent. I like it very much that he keeps practicing even though he seems to have little success at first, and eventually his perseverance gains him a greater understanding.
Do you share any of the qualities/experiences.
Yes, I hope so .
Did you encounter the same sort of challenges?
Yes, I recognize myself in the young Pug. Especially the part that tells about his difficulty choosing a profession. He’s hoping that one of the masters at the keep would pick him as an apprentice, and he doubts they will. Until he stumbles upon the possibility of becoming Master Kulgan’s apprentice.
Does the character have a specific breath pattern/body position you could adopt?
I chose to explore the mood of waiting around for something or someone to pick me, make the decision for me. It proved to be a rather dark mood…
Childhood scenes that came up:
I’m 3 or 4 years old. There are many family members present. It’s my sister’s birthday. One of her presents is a fake plastic camera which sprays water at someone if you take that person’s picture. We are going to take my father’s picture when he comes back from work. Or at least, that’s what I thought. My sister is still very small, and she happens to be asleep when my dad comes. I take the camera and play the trick on him. I get scolded for being jealous and taking my sister’s turn. I am scared and I cry, and then everybody seems to ignore me.
Reviewing this scene I notice my grandmother is there as well. I know both her and my dad (her son) were scolded when they were not nice to their younger siblings. My grandmother’s parents even had her take care of her younger siblings (which was quite normal back then). I can see there is a pattern of feeling obliged to take care of others and then having a lot of dialogue and feelings about it, feeling a victim.
Related is a pattern of feeling shoved aside when somebody else is able to do something, or allowed to do something, and I am not.
Reviewing these patterns made me aware of how little I actually remembered of the books. I totally focussed on Pug’s story, the part I identified with, and I almost forgot how much I also loved the beautiful adventures of the other characters. If I was asked again: What did you love about the book? What stayed with you? I’d say: I love the fact that all the characters experience many adventures and learn different things. I love the fact that their friendships hold, even though they are away from each other for long periods in time. And I love it that it all comes together in the end, and each and every one happens to have a role to play in the unfolding of the cosmic battle in the last one of the three books.
One story I love very much is a fantasy trilogy by Raymond E. Feist; Magician – Silverthorn – A Darkness at Sethanon. The story is about a boy who learns to become a sorcerer/magician and he and his friends experience many adventures.
When was the story the strongest for you?
I read these books when I was around 25 years old and I loved them. But I have always loved stories about sorcerer apprentices and sorcery schools, also as a child and a teenager.
What do you love about the story? What moved you? What stayed with you?
What stayed with me the most was the parts in the first book that told about the early stages of learning for Pug. He grows up an orphan of the keep, and although he is friendly and intelligent, and honestly interested in many things, he somehow doesn’t really find his path between the various professions he sees before him. One day after an accident, he is treated by the local magician, and they get to know each other. Later, Pug is picked by the magician to become his apprentice. Pug loves living with the magician, and he loves to read, but he fails producing the incantations from scrolls his master is trying to teach him. One day, when he’s being chased by trolls, he has the sensation of an explosion of light in his head, and then he sees the words of an incantation before his mind’s eye. He wins the battle with the trolls, and from then on he knows he has a certain power, but he’s not able to reach it at will. He keeps trying though. Meanwhile he earns himself a place at court and he learns a lot of other stuff. When their world is invaded by troops from another world, Pug is taken away as a slave. In this other world, he has to labour hard in some tropical swamp forests. One day he is recognized by the order of black robes, and even though he’s from another world, they bring him into their school. There he learns a more abstract form of sorcery, which happens to be his predilection.
Do you identify with any character in the story?
Yes, I identify with Pug, the boy who becomes a magician.
What do you admire in a character?
I admire in Pug that he is honest, loving and intelligent. I like it very much that he keeps practicing even though he seems to have little success at first, and eventually his perseverance gains him a greater understanding.
Do you share any of the qualities/experiences.
Yes, I hope so .
Did you encounter the same sort of challenges?
Yes, I recognize myself in the young Pug. Especially the part that tells about his difficulty choosing a profession. He’s hoping that one of the masters at the keep would pick him as an apprentice, and he doubts they will. Until he stumbles upon the possibility of becoming Master Kulgan’s apprentice.
Does the character have a specific breath pattern/body position you could adopt?
I chose to explore the mood of waiting around for something or someone to pick me, make the decision for me. It proved to be a rather dark mood…
Childhood scenes that came up:
I’m 3 or 4 years old. There are many family members present. It’s my sister’s birthday. One of her presents is a fake plastic camera which sprays water at someone if you take that person’s picture. We are going to take my father’s picture when he comes back from work. Or at least, that’s what I thought. My sister is still very small, and she happens to be asleep when my dad comes. I take the camera and play the trick on him. I get scolded for being jealous and taking my sister’s turn. I am scared and I cry, and then everybody seems to ignore me.
Reviewing this scene I notice my grandmother is there as well. I know both her and my dad (her son) were scolded when they were not nice to their younger siblings. My grandmother’s parents even had her take care of her younger siblings (which was quite normal back then). I can see there is a pattern of feeling obliged to take care of others and then having a lot of dialogue and feelings about it, feeling a victim.
Related is a pattern of feeling shoved aside when somebody else is able to do something, or allowed to do something, and I am not.
Reviewing these patterns made me aware of how little I actually remembered of the books. I totally focussed on Pug’s story, the part I identified with, and I almost forgot how much I also loved the beautiful adventures of the other characters. If I was asked again: What did you love about the book? What stayed with you? I’d say: I love the fact that all the characters experience many adventures and learn different things. I love the fact that their friendships hold, even though they are away from each other for long periods in time. And I love it that it all comes together in the end, and each and every one happens to have a role to play in the unfolding of the cosmic battle in the last one of the three books.
Good tracking and opening up to a more universal view!!!!
Die Geschichte die ich sehr mag, ist ein Film, der „Die Legende von Erdensee“ heißt. Dort muss ein einfacher Sohn eines Schmieds, sich für seine Bestimmung entscheiden, den Weg der Zauberei zu gehen. Er wird von einem weisen Zauberer unterrichtet, der ihm den Namen Buntfalke gibt. Doch nach einiger Zeit treibt ihn sein Übermut, bzw. seine Ungeduld fort von seinem Lehrmeister und er kommt zu einer Schule für Zauberei. Doch auch hier hat er Probleme sein Ego in Griff zu bekommen und macht eine große Dummheit, die ein Wesen heraufbeschwört, das ihn von nun an jagen wird, um ihn zu töten. Deshalb muss er auch die Zauber-Schule verlassen. Jetzt auf eigene Faust reisend, entgeht er ein paar mal nur knapp seinem Jäger. Sein erster Lehrmeister sagt ihm, er könne ihm nur einen Rat geben; wenn er nicht Gejagter sein will, muss er zum Jäger werden. Der Zauberlehrling beherzigt den Tipp und findet heraus, dass er das Wesen, das ihn töten will nur besiegen kann, wenn er seinen Namen kennt. Und so macht er alles mögliche, um den Namen dieses Wesens herauszufinden. Am Ende kommt es zu einem Kampf, bei dem Buntfalke fast von dem fremden Wesen getötet wird. Doch plötzlich hat er keine Angst mehr und er weiß wie das Wesen heißt und flüstert ihm ins Ohr: „Ich kenne jetzt deinen Namen, du bist Buntfalke“. In diesem Moment hört das Wesen auf zu kämpfen und aus beiden wird eins, da er jetzt auch seine dunkle Seite kennt und akzeptiert, ja sogar zu lieben weiß.
Am meisten hat mich die Erkenntnis bewegt, dass man durch den Mut sich selbst zu stellen und durch das akzeptieren seiner dunklen Seite, zu seiner wirklichen Größe und zur Selbstliebe kommt.
Vor der Class habe ich Zeit mit den Bäumen verbracht, die ich von meinem Balkon aus sehen kann. Es sind 9 Pappeln. Seit vielen Jahren habe ich eine Beziehung zu ihnen. Besonders zu einer von ihnen. Ich habe schon viel Zeit mit ihnen verbracht und sie haben mich schon oft nüchtern werden lassen und den Lärm in meinem Kopf verstummen lassen. Wenn ich traurig oder deprimiert bin, betrachte ich sie, lausche dem Klang ihrer Blätter, der mich an das Rauschen des Meeres erinnert und überwinde so meine Traurigkeit, die sich meist danach in Vertrauen verwandelt. Oft schlafe ich mit dem Klang ihrer Blättern abends ein und wache ebenso morgens wieder auf. Zur WebClass hatte ich sie auch eingeladen.
Im Zeugengespräch kam heraus, dass ich Angst habe verletzt zu werden und ich erinnerte mich wieder an einen Kindheitsschwur: „Ich will an nichts und niemanden mein Herz hängen.“ Daraus entstand dann der Satz: „Ich kann mein Herz an alles hängen was ich will. Wahre Liebe fordert nichts sondern liebt.“
Abends setzte ich mich dann wieder zu den Pappeln und sah in den Blättern der Größten ein Bild. Ein Wesen im Schneidersitz und ein Tierkopf darunter. Ich war verblüfft, doch das Bild verschwand erst als es zu dunkel wurde.
Magical!
Дорогие Clеargreen!
Спасибо большое Вам за еще одну возможность и способ освободится от чужого, чтобы прийти к себе!
На классе я рассматривала 2 схожие итории, которые сейчас мне не нравится, но нравились лет в 10-16. Это истории из книг и снятых по ним фильмам – “Унесенные Ветром” и Анжелика. Я к моменту класса я плохо помнила сюжеты,однако я помнила как мне нравились они в юношестве. Для меня это были истории красивых и сильных женщин, которые нравились мужчинам, а так же в жизни всегда добивались того что они хотели. Правда и тогда я осуждала некоторые моменты их поведения и некоторые их поступки. Мне нравилось в них что они были сильными, смелыми, независимыми, что они вызывали восхищение и в них влюблялись мужчины (причем обычно “первые лица”, т.е. лучшие мужчины – например король:) :) ) . В то же время они не очень то умели строить взаимоотношения с мужчинами (особенно Скарлетт из “Унесенных ветром”),были упрямы и слишком дерзки, что правда по сценарию в них и ценили.
Положение тела героя, которое мне вспомнилось – картинка из финала фильма “Унесенные Ветром”, когда Скарлетт стоит под огромным дубом и смотрит на своё полуразрушенное войной имение: спина ровная, гордый и уверенный взгляд вперед, подбородок поднят, кулаки сжаты – диалог точно не помню, но суть в том что “Я все это выдержду и вновь отстрою”.
Подобное положение тела мне не присуще, однако в ходе класса я нашла много схожего в моей жизни с элементами жизни этих героинь: я тоже всегда была уверена в своих силах и в трудных ситуациях опиралась только на себя, тоже не очень то умела строить отношения с мужчинами, мужчины которым я нравилась и с которыми у меня были отношения по большей частью были лидерами или лучшимы в своем коллективе. Это было одной из причин того что у меня, как и у героинь историй, всегда было много завистниц женского пола (всякие бывшие, а чаще несостоящвшиеся, а так же их группа поддрежки). Хотя негативному отношению ко мне женских коллективов была и другая причина – я всегда избегала (как и эти героини) женские коллективы с их неинтересными мне интересами, сплетнями, руганием и обвинением мужчин и подсиживанием друг друга. И, возможно поэтому, эти коллективы набрасывались на меня как на чужую. Хотя с отдельными женщинами я, как и у героинь историй, у меня всегда была дружба и взаимоподдрежка. Так же я, как и эти героини, в отношениях с мужчиной я бываю невыдержанной. В сложных ситуациях я закрывалась от помощи других и максимально старалась решать их сама. Мои мужчины, как и любимые мужчины героини истории (Скарлетт) старались не показывать свои чувства, а так же любили меня помучать своей холодностью в “воспитательных целях”…
Многие и этих шаблонов поведения я уже исследовала на семинарах и в самостоятельной практике. И теперь мне стало понятно откуда у некоторых их них “растут корни” :)))
Опыт общения с Деревом – я рассказала ему свою историю, Оно подсказало мне быть более расслабленной и убрать контроль. И Дерево рассказало мне свою историю: оно растет на краю обрыва, его родители очень много назад упали с него, когда копали этот карьер, и еще оно паказало мне своего детеныша – маленький дубок рядом, и я почувствовала между ними поле тепла и нежности!
Понимаю я что плохо помню сюжет этих фильмов, я решила пересмотреть их, чтобы найти еще больше. Я уже посмотрела несколько серий, и нашла еще очень много схожих деталей – например из Анжелики я взяла представление о том, как должно выглядеть идеальное женское тело (со спины :)))) ) . Так же я увидела, что в фильме явно показано что залогом её упехов были не только сила, целеустремленность и дерзость, но так же и красота. А я ранее неоднократно делала практики свидетеля по историям из возраста 12-18 лет, в которых обнаружила что у меня есть шаблон считать что мои неудачи или плохое отношения ко мне обусловлено тем, что я, по моему мнению, недостаточно красива. Теперь мне опять таки стало ясно откуда это у меня взялось.
С Любовью!
Слава,
Киевская группа практикующих Тенсегрити,
Украина
Profound tracking, Svetyslava!
The Red Balloon
As if it had been slowly looming upwardly out of nothingness, the Red Balloon suddenly popped into my awareness on the day of class. The title of a long forgotten story. I could only remember the title, yet my heart trembled in sweet anticipation of some magical hidden treasure. I googled it and memory flooded back, dissolving me into tears. It is a short film (not a written story as I had thought) made and set in Paris in 1956, the story of a lonely sad little boy and a big shiny red balloon which follows him around through the grey old city. I realised the Spirit had been creating many encounters with balloons prior to this, gently nudging the Red Balloon to surface in my awareness. In the park the day before class, I was stopped in my tracks by a huge cluster of luminous balloons, lifting in the wind like a conscious breathing entity. Beneath my astonished delight, a faint quiver of premonition stirred. Yet I had no idea of what was to come…
The class and this story have led to my whole story and self being revealed to my own eyes for the very first time in my life. If this sounds dramatic, it is and more, it’s nothing less than a sheer miracle. This is the story that unfolded…
During repeated sexual abuse at age 3 I would disassociate, though I like the word ‘disapparate’ better (c/o J. Rowling), meaning my ‘I’ awareness went somewhere else, was absent. Directly following these episodes, my distraught mother who did not know about the abuse, felt she had to discipline her now unruly child and did so by sending me to Coventry for long periods, which means to act like someone does not exist. Probably as my ‘I’ had not quite formed in distinction from my mother yet, by some wierd stroke of fate the self that experienced, perceived and processed the world directly, emotionally and energetically, disapparated completely, never emerging from that state of disassociation. What was present in the daily world was a self which only existed in the eyes of others, the flipside of the self who did not exist in the eyes of her mother. This self had no access to or awareness at all of the absent original self and its perceptual experience. I was a totally divided being. From then on, all threatening and painful things in my life continued to be perceived and experienced only by my absent original self, which enabled the present self to maintain a perfect image in the onlookers’ eyes which her very existence depended on.
The red balloon following the little boy around symbolises my disassociated absent self. Red, the colour of truth, of the heart, and also of pain. Later, just when the child is turning to the balloon to make contact at last, bigger kids come and stomp on it, and it dies at his feet. This also happened in my story. At age 12, twists of fate caused my reflection-self to wobble dangerously as many onlookers’ eyes ceased to reflect a glowing image. This safely sealed self sprung a leak, and along with the pain from the onlookers’ rejections, my absent self also snuck in. As my present self began to make contact with this unknown stranger, radical changes in its behaviour resulted in a spell in a psychiatric hospital. There, present self managed to regain a glowing image from the eyes of psychiatrist and staff, and the shadowy intruder vanished from sight taking its pain and my strange behaviour with it. My shrink was proud of her exceptional cure and released me with flying colours. Outside, rejection from key onlookers had increased and the pain and behaviour kicked back in. I was brought again before the psychiatrist for whom I had been the ideal oh so easy to cure patient, and it was clear to her beyond a shadow of a doubt that my relapse of pain-behaviour was a sham, a fake just to get attention, and she told me so in no uncertain terms from the towering imperious heights of authority on my self. And then she ordered the nurses to give me an enema, cold, to flush out the magic mushrooms I had ingested. The red balloon of my truth, my heart, of the pain and experiences of my absent self, was stomped into the dirt, all tentative wispy links between the two selves destroyed.
And now things get really freaky. After this event, not only did I have a non-existent absent self, but my present self was cracked too!! Now, whenever the onlooker’s fullblown glowing image of me abated even slightly, my present self was exposed as an unreal fake, disintegrated, and was cast into the horror of that traumatic ‘punishment’ for my fakeness, i.e. into my absent self who alone perceived trauma. From which present self would duly disapparate ASAP and land back in the everyday world, a quaking blob spat from the bowels of hell with no idea about anything except that the only thing that mattered was its glowing reflection in onlooker’s eyes.
So what happens after the red balloon is destroyed? Magic happens, that’s what. Enter SPIRIT.
The boy is sitting in the dirt devastated by the loss of his new friend. We see what he does not, multitudes of multi-coloured balloons flocking in his direction from everywhere, squeezing out through windows, popping out of nooks and crannies, sailing over rooftops. So too in my story. Just as the encounters with balloons before class brought me the story of the Red Balloon, so too did Spirit bring me exactly what I needed to heal my divided and broken self. And like the boy, I did not see anything, driven it seemed only by the frenzied and terrified self, who thought it had all under control :)
When the very first Spirit balloon squeezed through from beyond and popped into my life, the course of my destiny changed forever. It created, in my early twenties, the certainty in me that I was about to die, which sufficiently rattling the wall of my sealed self so that I would acquiesce to Spirit’s command to travel to India, where being in an alien world further jolted and moved my assemblage point. It stole my passport, my identity. It kneaded me like dough till I was malleable enough, and then served the master stroke, drawing back the curtains of the known world to reveal itself, in a Divine Act of Indecent Exposure, derobed in full magnificent splendour. Infinity, direct, live and unplugged. Falling metaphorically to my knees (having no training as a Christian) and head over heels and eternally in love, I cried out my devotion and allegiance to seeking and joining this..this..whatever, forever. The pearly gates closed, as I knew they would and I forgot what I had seen, but the reverence stayed, and so did the pledge.
Spirit bombarded me with balloons, each one stupendous, brilliant, exquisitely timed, and still I saw nothing, staring at the ground at the limpid remains of my red balloon. One sent me to Berlin prior to the fall of the Wall, so that the healing power of its unification would support my similar healing, one sent me to Mexico with cancer to be healed in more than body by a truly awesome healer, one shooed me onto the Warrior’s Path. Another popped into the Peep Show where I got my biggest fix of self-maintenance from male onlookers for 14 years, and made my body beseech me not to undress. I walked out and followed the next bright and bouncy missive to university, from which I graduate next month after 9 years of study.
And then the balloon to end all balloons. This one, god bless its soul, made my present self completely collapse, so that when I plunged into the Abyss of Screaming Souls, the absent self, there was nowhere to disapparate back to, and I had to go throughhhhhhhhhhh all of it, in fullblown technicolour awareness, for the very first time in my life. It took two weeks to experience all of the trauma-pain in there. And since then, 5 months ago, my mind has had the mammoth task of processing all that raw emotional data into orderly mental information. Finally the class last week and the Red Balloon brought all of the puzzle pieces together, and I saw my whole story, my whole self.
Why is this so important? Well definetly to stop all that manic disapparating all over the place, and being a quivering mass of terror, sure. But there’s more.
My conscious rational mind was separate from the part of my being that perceives, feels and is connected with all directly, and so my present self was a state of total emotional and energetic disconnection from everything. Yet the beautiful irony is that my absent self was of course still there, and was connected, she was one with mother, with Mother Nature and with Spirit…unseparated, merged, that pre-self state of infancy. She had all the pain..but she also had all the wonder, the magic and beauty of pure love and Oneness.
And here is the paradox to beat em all, the darndest thing. With a whole true self, with two sides together in contact, the self which is aware of being distinct from Spirit simultaneously perceives its oneness with Spirit, and this gives me a real live connection and RELATIONSHIP with Spirit. Spirit is no longer just abstract, but something palpably present in and throughout my life and self. Spirit is the matrix, out of which my self-form blooms, the Spirit creates me, dreams me, my self, my story, out of pure Love…and my self is a child, full of Love for its Creator, delighted, awed and humble at being one of its forms…
As all of the magical luminous balloons descend around the boy, he turns up his rapturous face and reaches out to them with arms open wide in trust…and is lifted aloft from the hard ground with its sad red stain, to start a brand new journey of wonder and discovery with the beautiful Balloons of their mutual Love.
Hooray for the colored balloons, and above all for you for seeing them!!!!!
The Alaska Range: June 11, 1977….
It’s 11PM and the yellow light on the peaks and rocks surrounding us clothes them in a golden alpen softness. We have made our way for three days up this ribbon of moraine rock and ice called the Eldridge Glacier. To the west is a sheer ridge, its fluted edge, sharp and pristine, standing out in the lowering light. Further west, through a low notch in the ridge, the top of a rock face called “The Moose’s Tooth” reveals itself in the same light. Looking north, the Eldridge advances to the icy skirt of unnamed ridges and peaks. To the northwest, these ridges rise to cloud cloaked Mt. Deception and to the northeast they rise to Mt. Eldridge. From this peak a long ridge runs south and defines the eastern limit of our world. From the western ridge tumble ice falls that boom as loud as desert thunder and long after the sound has died the spindrift snow stirred up by the avalanche blows over our tents as a miniature and mocking storm.
Right now, I can’t see any of this but it is becoming clearer. In fact I’m savoring the last images of ridge and rock and ice. I’m cataloging colors and the sound of wind and ice. Because, after stepping out of the tent to relieve myself, I had wandered south maybe one hundred feet to
get a better view of things and fell out of this world of ice and light down through a snow covered crack into another darker world. One moment I was surveying miles of glacier and the next I was thirty feet down a crevasse.
Somehow I had managed to stay upright during the fall due to the crevasse’s width: it was only twice as wide as me. I looked up through the cool blue glow of ancient ice and saw real light streaming through the two-foot wide hole I’d made in breaking through. It was very quiet here and I could hear the wind whistling past the opening. I looked down and saw nothing below my ankles. My feet had plunged into the softer snow of the ice bridge that choked off the crevasse at this point. From below this bridge of snow came a distant rumbling. Gradually it came to me that this was the sound of water—the frigid ice melt of the glacier’s underside. The more I listened to this distant water sound the closer its roar approached. Also, I began to realize that my left knee hurt—I must have banged it on the way down—and that my right boot had taken in some wet snow and that my right foot was very cold. I knew too that this crevasse went much deeper. This snow bridge had saved me from a long final fall and the certain rushing below. I would have to call for help. My yelling started slowly and I felt sort of foolish. It was like being in a room with a tiny window and calling toward that window from the far corner of the room. When my “HELP” reached the hole above me, the wind snatched it up and blew it down glacier and away from my companions in the tent. I remember thinking that my cry had all the force of a mouse squeak when it finally escaped the crevasse. About three times a minute, I’d yell up to the hole in the snow.
In a pocket of my blue wind parka I discovered the small yellow paperback on Zen poetry I’d brought along on the trip. I thumbed through the pages and realized how strangely appropriate it was to be holding an entire text of ready-made epitaphs. I found a fitting haiku by Issa:
A lovely thing to see:
through the paper window’s hole,
the Galaxy.
My world in the same eternity of an instant had become as intimate, as clear and as final as Issa’’s poem. Through the small hole in the snow above me was my galaxy: the sound of wind and the far blue of the sky. I decided I wanted my death to be a graceful change; maybe nothing more than a refocusing on a more ethereal ridge in an unseen range of mountains in the pure land.
I suppose none of this took very long–a few minutes maybe. Now and then my ear picked up a slight creak in the wind. Was someone calling my name? The hole above me darkened and I heard Bob call out my name. He drew the “i” in it into a whine and spoke it before looking down the hole for the worst
“Get me out of here!”
“Are you all right?”
“I think I banged my knee on the way down. Somehow, I fell standing straight up. I’m on a snow bridge.”
“Jesus! When I saw the hole in the snow, I thought I’d look down and see nothing but dark.”
Bob ran and got my crampons and ice axe, and I clawed my way out of the ice. It was good to rise through the hole I’d made. That night, after Bob told me he’d never known anyone fall that far into a crevasse and not be seriously hurt, I felt again this special synchronicity of events in my life—something more palpable than luck.
I think it was then that I first began to realize that some unseen things might be working quite hard for all of us out there. I felt glad to be on top of the ice again; to be with my friend in the tent and glad to have the long, late summer light of another Alaskan evening. Everything–ice, rock, friend, tent, wind, myself–seemed stuck in the same permeable membrane of this grace. As I drifted into sleep that night, I knew that even on this white tongue of ice life could be serendipitous, miraculous, and caring. I had made my closest brush with life.
This story stays with me because it is one about survival that produced an epiphany about life’s greater meanings. It happened to me in my late 20’s (I’m now 62) when pitting myself against nature seemed normal. In the past the story was a sort of brag—how I survived by rubbing elbows with mortality and surviving. The deeper message now reveals the larger forces in the universe that are operating and assisting and in play all the time. In the past, I identified with the personal character more (my old self), but now it seems that the forces of ice, snow, rock, weather, and friendship are what I identify with. These are the connections that I need to maintain. It’s these larger forces and their mysteries that fascinate and drive me—like it was said in the class: the majority of consciousness is not human. I also admire the character of my friend Bob who pays great attention and does not panic–his sobriety in the face of mortal danger.
After doing the tree form, the slowing down it produced helped me connect better with these larger forces in the cosmos. In the story, I see the body position of a man standing straight and looking up through the hole in the snow to the stars. The class made clear that trees spend their lives standing straight and rise to connect with the stars. That travelling up and out toward Coma Berenices!
Здравствуйте!
Большое спасибо за всем кто принимал участие в организации этого класса, и всем кто в нем учавствовал! С благоговением жду следубщего класса.
Один из моихлюбимых фильмов – «Семнадцать мгновений весны». Фильм повествует о советском разведчике времен второй мировой войны, который работал в Берлине. Время действия-весна 1945 года. Главный герой фильма штандартер-фюрер СС Штирлиц . Этот фильм очень нравиться моему отцу. Штирлиц спокоеный, рассудителеный, умный, неразговорчивый, позитивнонастроеный, внимательный, удачливый, неуловимый , скрытный, умеющий верно расчитать время, умеющий идти на оправданный риск. Все эти качества я нашел в себе. Особенно мне нравиться его качества-неуловимый и скрытный, что в контексте пути воина, лично для меня, очень акктуально-никто не знает моей личной истории, некоторые моменты моей жизни я тщательно скрываю.
Во время класса, вместе с моим свидетелем мы рассматривали такое качество, как рассудительность. В фильме есть моменты, когда Штирлиц думал о выполнении задания, полученного из Москвы, при этом глубоко погружался в раздумья. Я заметил, что в моей жизни появляются моменты, когда, я как будто останавливаясь, погружаюсь в глубокие раздумья, и просто рассуждая теряю время, и не действую. Дыхание при этом слабое, поверхностное, плечи опущены вниз, голова тоже, взгляд размыт, устремлен в даль. После класса, я стал внимательнее присматриваться к себе. И уже несколько раз заметил это состояние, и я делал новое действие, которое нашел вместе с моим свидетелем – просто действовать. Получалось так, что например, я что-то делаю. Посредине действия я останавливаюсь и рассуждаю, а что мне делать дальше, после того, как я сделаю эту работу. Я замечал свой шаблон, и просто продолжал делать работу, посреди, которой остановился. В результате нового действия я заметил, что за день могу сделать больше,и в конце рабочего дня у меня появляется чувство гармонии, радости, удовлетворения от работы, и отсутствует душевная усталость, хотя физическая усталость есть.
Так же хочу написать, что на следующий день, вернее ночь, после класса, я осознал себя во сне. Для меня это было необычно, так как раньше я осознавал себя во сне спонтанно, а сейчас как-то мягко почувствовал сябя во сне. После того, как это произошло, я видел как проносился на огромной скорости мимо звезд, вокруг была темнота, я не знал куда лечу, и решил дать команду своему телу переместиться к Наи, вероятно, для того, чтобы показать ей, результат от проведенного класса – я осознал себя во сне! Через какое-то мгновение я остановился, передо мной, я бы сказал, было пятно светлой энергии со слабо зеленоватым оттенком. Я понял, что это Наи. В голове пронеслось: «Ну вот Наи, что дальше?» А вот, что дальше я не знал, и так же мягко, как вошел в сновидение, мягко вышел из него и проснулся. Внутри осталось ощущение, при котором приходят сновидения, вернее, когда осознанно ощущаешь себя во сне. Это было очень необычно…и еще я осознал, что осознанные сновидения – это вопрос наличия энергии, если она есть, то и будут сновидения.
С лёгкостью, и теплотой в сердце.
I wanted to tell you all a story during the last webinar, but we moved on and it wasnt exactly a story i had heard, but one i experienced, and also may be a bit long. About 20 years ago I went down to the desert in Arizona, I camped near Wickenburg just NW of Phoenix. I had brought some dried mushrooms from the Pacific Northwest that I had dried and put into a bag similar to what Don Juan taught Carlos. After a few spring days and nights of rainshowers, I stayed up one night, listening to music, and was also just perceiving the desert and stars. I heard a noise that sounded like a jet plane noise. It was strange, because at first I thought it was the Phoenix airport, but that was too far away, and it was a constant noise all night. Also it seemed to be some kind of void or vortex to my front left, I think.
Two pieces of music also really struck me that night. One is the whole album “Tales from Topographic Oceans”, by Yes, a four part series loosely structured on a four part buddhist sutra, but basically about the evolution of mankind, and consciousness. It made me realize how we are basically ‘it’, not just observers. It is hard to describe without getting into past lives, but without being judgemental, one can realize that we are the consciousness or evolution of this planet,it is not separate from us.
The other piece was “Yes, the river knows”, by The Doors, which should need no introduction about its relation to the desert, for someone listening to it. It should be listened to if you havent heard it.
Some time later, after re-reading the Castaneda books a bit, I realized the jet noise and its
behavior is exactly what was described as the ally.
A few months later, I also found myself up on Mount Graham in southern Arizona, but it was getting to late and dark to find my way back to my vehicle. I stopped tired and cold next to a stream, and resigned to sitting the night there. What happened next was the most frightening thing that had happened to me yet. Something kind of like what Don Juan called ‘an entity of the night’ in one of the books ‘flew’ into the tree above me, making a shreaking owl-like sound, although it sort of acted like a mountain lion too. It seemed to effect my solar plexus. It was hard to tell whether it was going to kill me or was trying to protect me. Later that night things seemed to calm down and I drannk some water, and in the morning twilight, feeling very shaky and basically dead I made it back down to the road, but I never felt the same afterwards for quite awhile.
Quite a few months later, coming up the west coast, stopping in the redwoods, almost an identical thing happened, except it was like an owl flying to the tree, and something like animal claws climbing up the tree simultanously. It actually growled. both times it was like something real, more than real, but not physically there, but also effecting me on a level I can only describe as silent knowledge, and also quite fearful.
Coincidently, quite a few years later at a disciple of Michael Harner’s class, we were doing some power animal journeys and I found out that a hoot owl is or is one of my power animals, so it has taken me quite awhile to put it all together.
Thanks Andrew! Yes, we are an integral part of the consciousness of the evolution of the planet–and the universe! And thank you for the beautiful song sharing! In the view of the many cultures and traditions, including that of don Juan, rivers are conscious, as are mountains, trees, the planet, etc. And please give our greetings and respect to Brother/ Sister Owl!!!! A note–regarding use of psychogenics: as you are probably aware, Carlos Castaneda cautioned anyone against using those–his circumstances with don Juan were singular, he said that the magical passes themselves could achieve the necessary effects in our day and age–and in a way that is helpful, rather than harmful to the body. Yet we include your mention here as part of your journey/ story. with thanks again, Cleargreen
The weekend of the Tensegrity class was marked by hurricane Irene’s appearance as one of the largest Category One storms in modern times, spanning a length which equaled the size of Europe.
In this storm thousands of trees have fallen. Sometimes they helplessly tumbled down on people, causing their demise through no fault of their own.
Not one of them cried out in pain, cried out that God had forsaken them, raised a limb in anger or complained in any way. Their roots, already loose from record rains, could not hold with the onslaught of 12 to 20 more inches of rain that deluged the Eastern coast in Irene’s wake.
Irene topples “Arlington Oak” a t JFK grave site
(AP) ARLINGTON, Va. – Arlington National Cemetery officials say a 220-year-old oak tree at the grave site of President John F. Kennedy was destroyed in Hurricane Irene last weekend. Also, a white oak near the memorial for victims of the 1988 downing of Pam Am Flight 103 over Scotland was uprooted but the tree did not damage the memorial, officials said Thursday. The white oak was estimated to be 240 years old.
The oak that had shaded visitors to the Kennedy grave site for 48 years was known as the “Arlington Oak.” When the decision was made to bury the assassinated president near the tree, the cemetery undertook an elaborate aeration, drainage and soil improvement project to protect the tree from the shock of construction at the site.
Kennedy’s family chose the site, according to Arlington Cemetery, based on his widow Jacqueline Kennedy’s desire for him to rest in a place accessible to the American public. It was also a spot that JFK himself had once admired. During a visit to the hallowed ground in 1963, Kennedy reportedly said the view from the hillside – in which the giant oak tree played a significant part – was so stunning he could stay there forever.
For me this was an omen at a dark and duplicitous time for the United States.
I felt a tinge of sadness and a wave of gratitude for our loveliest of friends, the Trees.
The Secret Christian – Stories trees share with us!
Kyle was about a year out of College and had landed a lucrative IT job with one of the top telecommunications corporations on the planet. He was, for his age, extremely earnest and
questioned much of what the modern world had to offer, turned to ‘religion’, attended
Bible study and Church but still was not satisfied with his life in general.
That is why he was very intrigued when his brother-in-law Tim told him about an extremely wise
and rather unusual teacher or hermit he had met a few years ago in Switzerland about an hour into the Alps above lake Geneva in a small town nestled in the Swiss-French speaking area known as Leysin.
Certain things Tim had said, quoting this hermit had stuck with him such as:
“The scripture is garbage. If you don’t understand the scripture it’s all just a big lie. If you understand fully just even one single word completely, everything is the absolute truth, obvious and as plain as day.”
“Christ did not come to make people into good Christians or to start a religion, but to set people completely free. Unfortunately no one wanted that so they killed him and created a most marvelous and fascinating prison called Christianity.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but I am a Secret Christian. As long as one thinks one is a Christian one cannot know the mind of Christ.”
Assured that he probably could learn something from this man, Kyle had Tim contact the man, which took months but eventually Kyle timed his vacation so that he could travel to Leysin and this man Bill Warfield, the hermit and Secret Christian.
He tried to refresh his knowledge of the Gospels on the plane to Geneva but found that he was unable to concentrate for very long and woke up just before landing on the icy landing strip at Geneva.
The crisp mountain air and ethereal scenery roused his senses and before too many rather scary mountain curves were passed on his shuttle ride to Leysin he found himself at the Inn where he would be staying for the next two weeks.
The next day, frustrating and a bit exhausting found him arriving at Bill Warfield’s chalet at sunset, it was about a mile and a half from the Chalet once owned by Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton but closer to the edge of the forest. There was snow, mist, clouds, the Matterhorn all situated seemingly high in the heavens rising endlessly upward to the blue, white and grey infinite atmosphere of the Earth.
As he approached he also noticed the clamoring of birds, many of them doves and some of them Mynah’s hooting in unison what sounded uncannily like “F**k You, F**k You, F
**k You,”
The Chalet had two levels, the bottom of which was a converted garage with gates, chains and numerous bird cages populated with Mynahs, Doves and Song Birds.
Mr. Warfield came down the snow covered steps smiling and dressing in what appeared to be casual workout clothes. He smiled. The first thing Kyle noticed about him, of which Tim said nothing was that Warfield was an African American. His deep voice and North Carolina accent betrayed that he was from the U.S.; that much Kyle had known. He knew Warfield had gone to both Howard University and Brown, majored in biochemistry and medicine before selling everything one day and moving to the Alps.
He spoke soothingly to the birds as he unlocked the six or seven padlocked chains that protected the gates of the converted garage and finally opened the gates and switched on the black lights and lava lamps that decorated the insanely garish 60’s decor replete with wall hangings of the typical Elvis Presley tapestries, bright red spaghetti carpet, Mexican garden sundials and patio furniture painted bright gold and posters of all the zodiac signs embellished with silhouettes of men and women having sex, each in a different position for the 12 zodiac signs.
It took Kyle a while for his eyes to adjust to the black lights and they talked for about half an hour before the subject of Kyle’s questions came up. “Do you think, with all the technological advancements, the atom bomb, the information age, surveillance and so forth that this could be the so-called Time of the End?” he asked the Hermit?”
Warfield paused and chuckled, “It very well could be, however if the world doesn’t come to and end, may I suggest that you keep your job and continue to pay your mortgage?”
When the hermit saw how surprised Kyle was at his answer, he burst out laughing and Kyle found himself laughing harder than he had since his Fraternity days.
“Look,” the Secret Christian Hermit said, “I used to be religious, when I was a kid. But I decided that this going to church thing was for the birds. Look out there!” He pointed to the Alps. “Do you like my church?” Again he laughed. “Let me tell you a story.”
“My mother was from North Carolina and a very religious person. When I say very I mean V-E-R-Y.” he said, spelling the word out in letters.
“I, however was not thrilled with the hypocrisy, illogical B.S. and the monopolizing of one’s time that came with the entire church scene and when I was eleven I decided enough is enough and told my Mother, to her utter horror, that I decided I didn’t want to go to church anymore.
“Fine!” he imitated her tone of voice. “You don’t have to go to church anymore – IF you come to services this Sunday and explain to the entire congregation why you believe you don’t have to attend Church anymore and if you can convince them you won’t be forced to eve r go again.”
His story continued. He related to Kyle how he dressed up in his Sunday best and with his Mother at his side went to church and sat through the entire service. At the end of the service his mother stood up and loudly announced “My son does not wish to attend church anymore. I told him if he explains to the congregation and convinces all you his intentions are virtuous and good, that he no longer will have to go to church, worship or pray with us. She turned to her son and prompted him, “Go ahead”.
Warfield very silently spoke in hushed tones. “I stood up slowly looked around at everyone in the church. All eyes were focused on me and the silence was so loud it was deafening. I stood up, held my head up high and began to sing this hymn, which went like this:
He began to sing to Kyle, the both of them sitting on the floor of the converted Chalet’s garage.
”
The Last Mile Of The Way
If I walk in the pathway of duty,
If I work to the close of the day,
then I know there’s joy that awaits me
when I’ve gone the last mile of the way.
If for Christ I proclaim the glad story,
if I seek for sheep gone astray,
then I know there’s joy that awaits me
when I’ve gone the last mile of the way.
When I’ve gone the last mile of the way,
I will rest at the close of the day,
for I know there’s joy that awaits me
when I’ve gone the last mile of the way.
(His singing became more and more dramatic)
Now I ain’t gonna waste no more time,
Hanging around God’s Throne,
‘Cause I’ve go to go the last mile of the way.
He continued, dramatizing the screams and the cheers of the congregation.
“Did they agree to let you stop going to church?” Kyle asked.
“Yes, I brought the house down.” He replied. “You should have seen them.”
“So what did your Mother say about all of this?” Kyle enquired.
”She never said anything,” he said “and she never asked me ever to go to church again!”
It’s getting late” Warfield said and he offered to let the troubled young man sleep on the sofa over night.
”Why don’t you come up with one scripture that really bothers you and tomorrow we’ll see if we can’t shed some light on it.”
He knew immediately which chapter and verse that would be and in the morning he presented his most problematic scripture to the Hermit.
Luke 9:27
“There are some of you standing here that shall not taste of death until you see they see the Kingdom of God”
Warfield laughed and said, “That one. It’s too easy. It’s so very simple.”
Kyle proceeded to go through one intellectual theory after another only to have them all expertly shot down by the Hermit.
“Look” said Warfield, “Let’s go into town.”
The got into Warfield’s candy apple red Jaguar and proceeded into town where he enlisted around ten people, of all ages from school girls and boys to a young married couple and a a middle aged woman as well as an elderly man and his daughter. Everyone knew him well and were eager to assist him in whatever he requested.
“Stand here, in front of Kyle here make kind of a semi circle, that’s it! Okay. Kyle, you are going to be Jesus. I want you took out amongst all these people and proclaim Luke 9:27.”
Slightly embarrassed, Kyle recited the lines over and over again for at least a half hour. “There are some of you standing here that shall not taste death until they see the Kingdom of God.”
“I guess I’m not getting it.” Kyle whined.
Warfield looked at him sternly and said, “Jesus didn’t whine. He may have turned water into wine. He bathed in wine!” Then he laughed out loud and jabbed Kyle in the ribs with his elbow,. There was something kind of endearing about that and also something very, for the want of a better phrase, African American. For the first time Kyle thought he understood the meaning of the expression “ribbing” as in you must be ribbing me.
They decided it had been enough for one day and they would reconvene in the morning.
At the very crack of dawn Kyle heard a pounding on his door. “Get up! Get up!” It was Warfield. You’ve got to come outside, now is the perfect time.
Half asleep Kyle followed him up a steep mountain path to an area peppered with tall evergreens which stood out before a series of rolling hills which cascaded downwards towards the South East. The wind was rather forceful and the gusts were getting stronger and stronger.
“Okay stand here!” said his new teacher. “Stand here and recite Luke 9:27. But I want you to get into the role. Become Christ. Speak to all those around you,.”
As Kyle recited the verse from the Gospel of Luke and in a louder and louder voice repeated the phrase “There are some of you standing here who shall not see death” he suddenly noticed the evergreens being really whipped by the repeatedly forceful gusts of wind. Suddenly his eyes lit up and he exclaimed:
“Typical human anthropomorphic perspective! Man is not the center of everything!”
“I understand it now! I get it. I get it. He was talking to the TREES!”
Assuming the postures of those in the story:
After following the prescribed pass and steps to put into practice, I did notice that I felt there was more to the Mother’s challenge then I originally had thought. Perhaps she had more confidence in her son, or at least was more open minded than she originally seemed to be when I first heard this story.
Reflections:
About a decade ago I developed a deep fondness for trees from reading the writings of Carlos Castaneda and Taisha Abelar . As a result I wrote with one of my closest collaborators D.A. Rose this song called Trees:
Trees (music and lyrics by James Love and D.A. Rose)
What makes us different, what keeps us apart?
Why do we seek to conquer the earth?
To watch a tree, clutching the ground,
Her branches sway, blown by the wind.
I question the wisdom of battling nature.
Couldn’t we live in harmony beside her?
Each day and night we’re caught in a fight,
to go somewhere to do something to be somebody.
Why can’t we live more like the trees,
Contented with less and easier to please?
What are we always trying to achieve?
What are desires and what are needs?
What keeps us from peace, could it be greed?
Maybe the answers are growing on trees.
James Love 9-2011