Human to Human

I met David Korten in the mid 1990s. I was in my earlier years with The Berkana Institute and Margaret Wheatley. I remember the trip to his home on Bainbridge Island, WA, a ferry ride from Seattle. I remember meeting his spouse Fran, her kindness. I remember coming to know some of David’s work.

This morning I reread an opening passage from David’s book, The Post Corporate World: Life After Capitalism.

“In the 1980s capitalism triumphed over communism. In the 1990s it triumphed over democracy and the market economy. For those of us who grew up believing that capitalism is the foundation of democracy and market freedom, it has been a rude awakening to realize that under capitalism, democracy is for sale to the highest bidder and the market is centrally planned by global megacorporations larger than most states.”

I appreciate David’s beckoning to look at nuance. It’s never been as simple as capitalism good, everything else bad.

I see that David’s book, When Corporations Rule the World is now in it’s 20th anniversary edition. There is rich material and story in David’s work, which I find myself returning to and using more.

I love this photo, taken earlier this week on a walk with Glen Lauder, about one mile from my home.

It was the thistle that caught my attention. I believe they are Milk Thistle, sometimes called Scotch Thistle. A whole field of them in bloom! These stand three to five feet tall. They are next to a community park and two baseball diamonds. This park is where I most commonly walk my dog.

I also like the mountains in the background, which Glen was so appreciative of — “right in your own back yard!” Furthest away and tallest is Mount Timpanogos, part of the Wasatch Range. Its peek height is close to 12,000 feet. Where we are, with the thistles, is about 4,600 feet.

There are trails of snow remaining as you can see. A relevant marker of melting each year is whether the snow will remain through July 4th. I doubt it this year. These June days each climb to the mid 90s, which the thistle seem to love!

Though this photo may be quite plain and nondescript for many, there is something that I really like about it.

I took it last week in my home using my iPhone. What I was first drawn to was the early morning light shining through the door. A new day. A new beginning.

What I realized after is that there are easily a couple dozen artifacts in this picture that represent significant parts of my life.

The Norfolk Pine in the front right, that was my family Christmas tree in 2014. Then, it was decorated with dried lemons and limes, a tradition of simplicity that my kids and I have come to really enjoy.

The Seagull Acoustic Guitar in front of the bookshelf, made in Canada. I got it in 1986 when I’d returned from living two years in Korea. I wanted to learn to play. I think I knew then, just as I do now, that I needed another medium to deal with some feelings.

A valentine card on the bookshelf from my partner. I just want it there.

The many pictures on the wall. They include my kids when they were three and five years old. They include a picture of my Dad as a young boy, me as a young boy. One of my partner and her kids from our 2012 marriage. I love that it is a kind of collage of different images and frames.

There’s a picture of a boy playing ice hockey on a frozen pond in the wheat fields of Alberta. I come from Canada. It was not uncommon for me to skate with friends or anyone at the rink, using boots as goal posts. I come from people and traditions.

The amp that my son uses to play his electric guitar. I gave it to him in 2010 when first moved into this townhouse that I call The Villa, so that we would have music in our home.

The red chew toy in the front left for my dog Shadow, who is now coming up on 12 years old. His face is grayed. His hearing is quite limited. His tail still wags perpetually. He is the kind of dog that prompts the description of “man’s best friend.”

The Cherry desk that comes from my time working with The Berkana Institute and Meg Wheatley. There I met friends and colleagues that remain my most trusted confidants.

And more. Yes, perhaps nondescript, but worth a thousand or more words and a couple dozen powerful associations and memories. Something is important to me in finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.

 

 

Sunday I got to offer the sermon at United Church of Christ in Holladay, Utah. It is a kind of home to me. Because of a few key friends who I trust for their honesty. Their particular kind of spirituality is so well accompanied by a spirit of social justice. And home further, because I’ve been able to sit by myself quietly in their chapel, reflecting, in times when I really needed it.

My focus for the sermon on Sunday was “rehumaning,” a phrase that I’m using quite a bit lately. As I said with the UCC people, I’m not even sure what that means, but it has something to do with reclaiming who we are and how we are together in a way that is more authentic and more honest. It infers a kind of showing up together in the real time quality of our stories and wonder together. In the name of healthy and well community. Something like that.

In that spirit, I told stories. One of my daughter. One of my oldest son. One of a good colleague. All pointed to a level of deep presenting together.

I also offered two passages from Franciscan Friar Richard Rohr for the sermon, both from the book, Hope Against Darkness. One as Silent Meditation. The other as Centering Reading. Both point to a quality of human maturing, particularly in our ability to sit in tension and unknowables.

• “You could say that the greater opposites you can hold together, the greater soul you usually have. By temperament, most of us prefer one side to the other. Holding to one side or another frees us from the tension and anxiety. Only a few dare to hod the irresolvable tension in the middle.”
• “I’m seeing people of great faith today, people of the Big Truth, who love the church, but are no longer on bended knee before an idol. They don’t need to worship the institution; neither do they need to throw it out and react against it. This is a great advance in human maturity. Only a few years ago it was always either/or thinking: ‘If it isn’t perfect I’m leaving it.’ We are slowly discovering what many of us are calling ‘the Third Way,’ neither flight nor fight, but the way of compassionate knowing.”

Grateful to the UCC community and to the needed journey of evolved being together in the unknowables. Grateful to Richard Rohr for a lifetime of presenced living.