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[post_content] => After two years of studying plant and soil sciences, my favorite professor, Dr. Barker, offered me a job on the University of Massachusetts farm. Whereas my previous jobs had been things like bagging groceries and washing dishes, this was the first time I was getting paid to do something I was interested in, and under the supervision of someone I looked up to.
I was nervous when I showed up at Bowditch Hall on my first day. Dr. Barker, a white-haired man with a country drawl, introduced me to his assistant, Kathy. Then he handed me the keys to a faded old, blue truck and asked me, “Ever driven a three-on-the-tree?” I had never driven any kind of truck before, much less one with the gearshift on the steering column, but I learned quickly as I drove the three of us – with lots of jerking and stalling – out to the farm.
Standing at the edge of a freshly plowed field, Dr. Barker explained that we were going to use stakes and twine to mark out rows for planting seeds. Kathy and I got to work while he watched. The only trouble was, while I had stakes, a mallet, and a ball of twine, I didn’t have anything to cut the twine with. I thought maybe I had spaced out when someone explained where to find a knife or scissors. Or maybe the professor had told me to bring my own knife and I had forgotten. I was too uncomfortable to say anything.
Wondering if there was some way I could proceed with my task without a cutting tool, I pounded the first stake into the ground. I tied one end of the twine around it, walked the length of the field, pounded in another stake, wrapped the twine around that stake, pulled it taut, and then I just squatted there for a few moments. I considered trying to gnaw through it with my teeth, but dismissed the idea as totally unprofessional. Finally, at the risk of appearing unprepared, I called out to Kathy, who was a dozen paces away, “Do you have a knife?”
“Huh?” she turned around and squinted at me in the bright sun. “Oh.” She ambled over, fished around in her pocket, and passed me a pink disposable lighter.
I interpreted this unexpected response to mean, “I don’t have a knife, but I can see what you need there. You’re going to have to burn through the twine with this. At the ends of every row.” She gave me the lighter in such a matter-of-fact way that I thought it would be too weird to ask for a different explanation.
So, feeling like I didn’t have enough hands, I held the twine straight out from the stake, positioned the flame beneath it, and tried to shield it from the wind with my leg. It blew out a couple times, but I eventually managed to burn through it. Meanwhile Dr. Barker had wandered over to observe me and remarked, “That is the strangest way of doing that I have ever seen.”
“Um. I didn’t have a knife,” I said sheepishly.
“Well, I’ve got a knife you can use.”
“Me too,” offered Kathy.
And that’s how, on the first day of my first important job, I believed I must have convinced my boss that I was an absolute idiot. By the way, if you’re wondering why Kathy handed me that lighter, these were the days when smoking was still quite common. She was a smoker and must have thought I said, “Do you have a light?”
The whole thing turned out to be a good lesson for me. By avoiding an uncomfortable conversation, I ended up in even more discomfort.
I resolved to speak up and break through the tension of misunderstanding in the future. I can’t say I’ve always done this, because it takes bravery, and sometimes I chose to stay in my (dis-)comfort zone. But I can say that I’ve never regretted it. Usually there’s an immediate diffusion of tension, and even when there isn’t, at least the truth is out and there’s an opening for resolution. This is especially true when we bring an attitude of curiosity and aim to understand the other person.
Is there anywhere in your life where you’ve left something unsaid because of your resistance to the discomfort of speaking those words and the feelings that may follow? I want to challenge you to make a communication this week that takes you a bit outside your comfort zone. Even if you have to say, “I’m really nervous about saying this” or you have to hold a friend’s hand while doing it, it’s worth it.
Be well,
Peter
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[post_content] => As a young adult I often stayed at the beautiful Marin Headlands hostel just north of San Francisco. I was there one weekend while a large group of missionaries was passing through. We were all sharing the same kitchen space and I was chopping some broccoli when a cute young woman around my age approached me. We started talking and I thought it was going well. I have always enjoyed conversing about spirituality and religion, even with people of different beliefs than my own.
At the time I was immersed in learning about Advaita – nondualism – which was blowing my mind. Nondual philosophy asserts that, although we perceive many things that may feel separate, in reality everything is an expression of a single Oneness experiencing itself in infinite ways.
Some people call this Oneness God or Goddess or Source or Divine or Dao. What’s important isn’t the name but the experience of this connection, and how it redefines how we see reality.
I had in my suitcase a book called Aghora in which an eccentric spiritual teacher explains that since everything is God, both sex and eating are simply acts of “putting God into God.” So, when this missionary woman asked me what I was doing, I guess I thought I was being clever by replying, “Oh, just chopping up some God.”
She was clearly taken aback, so I explained that if the whole universe is an expression of one God, then broccoli was of course included, and therefore I was chopping up some God to put into God (myself). She was speechless for a moment, then said – a bit louder than was called for, I thought – “God is not broccoli!” and walked away.
There were several lessons for me in this story, starting with (1) nobody likes a smug person pushing their buttons, and (2) if you truly want to make a difference in the world you need to meet people where they are. But aside from my social failure, maybe the most important lesson was that there’s often a huge difference between the description of an experience and the experience itself. In other words, to understand something intellectually tells us nothing of how we’d be affected by experiencing it.
In lectures, I used to explain how physics seems to “prove” nondualism, hoping that even the nonspiritual types in the class would be won over. I’d point out that while each of us feels we’re separate from everyone else in the classroom, we and the world around us are all just different configurations of the same fundamental stuff – subatomic particles or even more fundamental fluctuations of energy. It’s a powerful idea, but I doubt it’s caused many people to conduct themselves differently towards their neighbors.
For me and most people I know, life changes have come through direct experiences of this Oneness in non-ordinary states of consciousness facilitated mainly by meditation, yoga, ritual, self-inquiry, immersion in nature, music, acupuncture, art, pain, dance, conscious breathing, interpersonal connection, and entheogenic substances. Ordinary reality (even with impressive-yet-unactualized spiritual concepts) appears random and soulless by comparison.
I didn’t have the chance to ask, “If God is not broccoli, what is broccoli?” We tend to draw vague, subjective lines around life and then deem one side worthy of our reverence and the other unworthy, but the abolition of such lines isn’t automatically liberating. I’ve seen people, myself included, latch onto the idea that everything is Divine and then fall into nihilism. Because, if it’s all God, why try? Why care? Why choose one path over any other?
This kind of thinking is a sure sign that we’re operating from a mental concept and not actually experiencing what it represents. It would be similar to take a psychedelic mushroom and hold it between your teeth, telling yourself, “So this is what psychedelic mushrooms are all about. Meh.”
Your homework is to determine whether or not broccoli is God. Since “God” is a spiritual concept, it can’t really be assessed in ordinary reality. Everyday thinking needs to fall away. You can get there using any of the approaches I mentioned above.
Be well,
Peter
P.S. I’d like to share one of my favorite quotes on nondualism from Tantra scholar Christopher Wallis in Tantra Illuminated (slightly abridged for space):
“Since reality is One, and everything is equally an expression of the one divine Light of Consciousness, every experience by definition is an experience of God… If we propose that some things are more God than others, like concentrated orange juice versus watered-down orange juice, then we must propose the existence of something that is not God that waters down divinity. But no such thing can be found, at least in this philosophy, because 1) the definition of God here is the unbounded Light of Consciousness, 2) everything that is known to exist is an object of experience, and 3) every experience is by definition pervaded by consciousness. Therefore, this – whatever is happening right now – is as God as it gets. Now, if you are in a miserable or banal life situation, you may be disappointed by this announcement. But notice I said, ‘This is as God as it gets,’ not, ‘This is as free as it gets.’ Freedom means actually experiencing the divinity in each moment.”
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[post_content] => What makes a town or city appealing to you? The architecture? The landscape? The climate? The people? The cuisine? I love traveling and I’ve given a lot of thought to why some places feel so attractive to me and others don’t. My favorite towns have all these ingredients plus another: they’re full of small businesses.
Strolling the winding streets of Madrid, Pearl Street in Boulder, Hawthorne in Portland, Le Plateau in Montreal, and the downtowns of virtually all cool cities and towns, you’ll pass locally owned flower shops, unique restaurants, art galleries, and, of course, spas like The Dragontree. 😉
You could blindfold me and teleport me to downtown Missoula, Northampton, San Francisco, Marblehead, or Port Townsend. I’d know immediately where I was (and I’d ask to stay for a while). Drop me in a sea of Target, Walmart, Starbucks, Best Buy and giant parking lots, and I could be anywhere (but nowhere I’d want to live). Any sense of home or connection is greatly diminished when a region’s commerce is dominated by giant chains.
Small businesses make towns special. They give a community character and make the patron feel connected to the proprietor. They’re also important avenues for other small businesses – like artists, hair stylists, bakers – to do their craft and get compensated well for it.
So if you want to help preserve the specialness of a place, if you want your downtown to stay cool and vibrant, patronize its small businesses! Let’s all make a deal to do all our holiday shopping at small businesses this year! It’s a gift not just to the recipient but also to the small business owner and employees and the community it resides in.
Be well,
Peter
[post_title] => Think Small This Holiday Season
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[post_content] => After two years of studying plant and soil sciences, my favorite professor, Dr. Barker, offered me a job on the University of Massachusetts farm. Whereas my previous jobs had been things like bagging groceries and washing dishes, this was the first time I was getting paid to do something I was interested in, and under the supervision of someone I looked up to.
I was nervous when I showed up at Bowditch Hall on my first day. Dr. Barker, a white-haired man with a country drawl, introduced me to his assistant, Kathy. Then he handed me the keys to a faded old, blue truck and asked me, “Ever driven a three-on-the-tree?” I had never driven any kind of truck before, much less one with the gearshift on the steering column, but I learned quickly as I drove the three of us – with lots of jerking and stalling – out to the farm.
Standing at the edge of a freshly plowed field, Dr. Barker explained that we were going to use stakes and twine to mark out rows for planting seeds. Kathy and I got to work while he watched. The only trouble was, while I had stakes, a mallet, and a ball of twine, I didn’t have anything to cut the twine with. I thought maybe I had spaced out when someone explained where to find a knife or scissors. Or maybe the professor had told me to bring my own knife and I had forgotten. I was too uncomfortable to say anything.
Wondering if there was some way I could proceed with my task without a cutting tool, I pounded the first stake into the ground. I tied one end of the twine around it, walked the length of the field, pounded in another stake, wrapped the twine around that stake, pulled it taut, and then I just squatted there for a few moments. I considered trying to gnaw through it with my teeth, but dismissed the idea as totally unprofessional. Finally, at the risk of appearing unprepared, I called out to Kathy, who was a dozen paces away, “Do you have a knife?”
“Huh?” she turned around and squinted at me in the bright sun. “Oh.” She ambled over, fished around in her pocket, and passed me a pink disposable lighter.
I interpreted this unexpected response to mean, “I don’t have a knife, but I can see what you need there. You’re going to have to burn through the twine with this. At the ends of every row.” She gave me the lighter in such a matter-of-fact way that I thought it would be too weird to ask for a different explanation.
So, feeling like I didn’t have enough hands, I held the twine straight out from the stake, positioned the flame beneath it, and tried to shield it from the wind with my leg. It blew out a couple times, but I eventually managed to burn through it. Meanwhile Dr. Barker had wandered over to observe me and remarked, “That is the strangest way of doing that I have ever seen.”
“Um. I didn’t have a knife,” I said sheepishly.
“Well, I’ve got a knife you can use.”
“Me too,” offered Kathy.
And that’s how, on the first day of my first important job, I believed I must have convinced my boss that I was an absolute idiot. By the way, if you’re wondering why Kathy handed me that lighter, these were the days when smoking was still quite common. She was a smoker and must have thought I said, “Do you have a light?”
The whole thing turned out to be a good lesson for me. By avoiding an uncomfortable conversation, I ended up in even more discomfort.
I resolved to speak up and break through the tension of misunderstanding in the future. I can’t say I’ve always done this, because it takes bravery, and sometimes I chose to stay in my (dis-)comfort zone. But I can say that I’ve never regretted it. Usually there’s an immediate diffusion of tension, and even when there isn’t, at least the truth is out and there’s an opening for resolution. This is especially true when we bring an attitude of curiosity and aim to understand the other person.
Is there anywhere in your life where you’ve left something unsaid because of your resistance to the discomfort of speaking those words and the feelings that may follow? I want to challenge you to make a communication this week that takes you a bit outside your comfort zone. Even if you have to say, “I’m really nervous about saying this” or you have to hold a friend’s hand while doing it, it’s worth it.
Be well,
Peter
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Great article- thanks so much. Good reminder that winter is a very different season that can benefit us by taking different behavior.
Appreciate the info
and tips’
Always love your articles, Peter. I already feel better! Is there a way to share your articles on Facebook?