Cuppa — Good Humaning

This is good stuff. Period.

I’ve been able to participate twice in the last month. Cuppa. At a small coffee shop and social house, Landlocked, in Cincinnati. It’s a communal conversational thing over a cup of coffee. Happens every Wednesday morning. About 12 or so gather. It connects people through an invitation to share story. It serves a fundamental need to be listened into greater presence. That’s what I’ve experienced.

It’s Joey. It’s Brad. It’s other good humans at the table, in groups of 3-4. Good folks, as they say. I would suggest made good(er) by the ever simple container of a prompt, a four letter word, and an invitation to reflect. After hearing stories, a simple round of gifts received. Delicious. Like the coffee.

There is template in this for me. Simple essence of connection that weave us humans into a momentary more noticeable and undeniable unseparatedness together. There is health in that. It so much more that just the cup of coffee. It always is.

I’m grateful to be with people who touch lightly to be touched deeply.

It’s Morning

 

It’s morning. Early morning. I’ve been up since 4:45. I suppose a bit restless. I’m traveling today. Need to pack. Need to tuck in my home. Wanting to go. Yet also, reluctant. Still very much learning to welcome “home” wherever I am, with good people. Yet, also, still very much learning about leaving home. There’s some pain in it for me. Some unresolved of my life’s chapters. It’s all belonging, I suppose. This is one of the things I tell myself. This is what I try to surrender myself to.

It’s morning. I’ve been reading a few poems that I’ve recently crafted. Loving some. Not loving some. I suppose I’m a bit restless. Not only am I traveling on the outside, I’m traveling on the inside too. I’m remembering the weekend hike to the falls, and the rocky mountain walls nearby. The spaciousness. The wonder. The wander. Not wanting to lose that to quickly, or not at all. But now I’m packing. I’m tucking in. I’m wanting to go. I’m reluctant. It’s all there. The inner is the outer. The outer invites the inner to become more apparent. This is one of the things I tell myself. Again. Surrender, yet not abandon. Chapter Four.

It’s morning. Here’s one of my poems. I’m really intrigued these days by “trouble,” and how one implication of being attentive to trouble, perhaps even resolving some, is that we earn the right to more trouble. Oh dear. Oh well. Well. New life.

an

I’ve Earned Trouble

The heat is too much.
I flake.
I peel.

Yet, thankfully,
I’m intact.

I’m relieved.
I wake.

Old life, go.
I departed.
I’ve earned trouble.
Undeniably, in new life.

Grow the Way We Grow

 

It starts, this time, with me picking up my friend at the airport. It’s Thursday night. We are going to spend three days together in a kind of friendship, in a process that is mostly about wandering, and in enough of a container that will help cultivate meaning. It’s something I’m really looking forward to. My friend is very clever, smart, and funny. Being with good people is such good. Being with good people in just enough container to hold unplanned wander is exquisitely healthy.

On the surface, these days look like a lot of nothing. Just hanging out, escaped from the traditional rhythms and responsibilities of a day. That’s a perceptual habit though, that is simply wrong. One layer down, there is a “way of being” that includes some deliberate checkin to the day. Coffee. Any dreams? “If that were my dream…,” and then proceeding to follow the cues and symbols that invite free-form sense-making. This goes for about 45 minutes. This layer continues with making some food together. It’s communal. Fun. This layer continues with going for a walk, Friday morning, to know and feel some of the land on which we habitat — my neighborhood. The walk calls out feelings. Silence. Words. Wonders. It’s great. And I’m proud of this little town in which I live.

The field, if you will, contributed to by my friend and me, is getting more rich. It’s a feeling. It’s an energy. It’s rich learning in which the ability to associate and connect ideas is growing more instant. It’s alive. It feels good to be in such animated learning space. Animated sense-making of how the inner world can be listened out into the outer world. With clever, smart, and funny.

The day includes another anchoring adventure. Friday it was kayaking on the lake. Easy paddle with plenty of pause. Seeing fish jump here and there. Seeing snow-capped mountains that will summer-melt into this same lake. This is so different that staying in my albeit comfortable house. It’s so different than structured meeting agenda at the office. This learning is the learning that changes learning. The field, again, is getting more rich. Filled with stories. With questions. With “it might matter and it might not matter.” Filled with a few funny phrases that are now easy to insert without context and that anchor this space of natural friendship — “clusterfuckery” was one of ours.

Saturday’s anchoring adventure was a hike to Stewart Falls, near Sundance. Snow still covers much of the path. The vastness of the experience invites a vastness from within. Oh, to see inner vastness — yah, that’s good stuff. To cultivate in a temporary field with another — one or many — wow! That’s the work I do. With groups. More often, without kayaking and waterfalls, but that’s the feeling and the “product.” The learning that is learning that changes the learning.

Yah, I’m grateful. There’s pattern in this. There’s something tremendously needed in the wander. For me, the framing that continues to clarify in me (as a human in general, and as a facilitator of groups) is that these moments that connect inner world to outer world and now with the longer arc of things — this opens something important in so many of us. It upgrades us, even if just for the moment. With more of a kind of kindness, and a kind of consciousness, and a kind of vitality that I speak as flow with life itself.

It ends, this time, taking my friend back to the airport on Sunday. We’re both grateful. Not needing too many words. Our wander has created really appreciative wonder. We’ve already named a few key threads from the weekend that stand out, the learning that grows the way that we grow. And it’s fun.

Fields of learning matter. Ways of being — simple, that create just enough deliberateness of container — matter. Sometimes found in a simple little weekend with a friend, or a team, or a group of strangers. To grow the way we grow.

Hafiz — My Sweet, Crushed Angel

Though I’ve had significant periods of my life in search of God, I don’t have answers. That might be the point. Surrendering to not-knowing might be the closest any of us get to divine. And, and, and…

I love the poetry of Hafiz, the 13th century Persian Poet. I love the full and rich melodies that I’ve read. I also love the single sentences that he offers. This poem below in included in a publication, Love Poems From God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West, compiled by Daniel Ladinsky. I opened this book this morning seeking some Hafiz. The tenderness of this poem was a gift I needed to hear in words.

Enjoy.

My Sweet, Crushed Angel
Hafiz

You have
not danced so badly, my dear,
trying to hold hands with the Beautiful One.

You have waltzed with great style, my sweet, crushed angel,
to have ever neared God’s heart at all.

Our Partner is notoriously difficult to follow, and even His
best musicians are not always easy to hear.

So what if the music has stopped for a while.
So what if the price of admission to the Divine is out of reach tonight.

So what, my sweetheart, if you lack the ante to gamble for real love.

The mind and the body are famous for holding the heart ransom,
but Hafiz knows the Beloved’s eternal habits. Have patience,
for He will not be able to resist your longings
and charms for long.

You have not danced so badly, my dear,
trying to kiss the Magnificent
One.

You have actually waltzed with tremendous style,
my sweet, O my sweet,
crushed
angel.