Missouri and Illinois: The Midwest and a Lesson on Perspective

All my traveling begins the same, and that is by asking one question that will guide my experience: What lesson will this trip teach me if I am open to it? For this journey to the Midwest, the answer didn’t hit me until the last day, but once I realized what it was, I saw its threads running through everything, waiting for me to notice, trusting that I would see.

On the flight across the country, I decided to get some work done, and so I read New and Selected Poems Volume I by Mary Oliver (one of the poets I am writing about in my dissertation). Oliver, I argue, sees the world from a chosen perspective, and this choice informs her perception and understanding of all life in the universe. In other words, Oliver’s poetry advocates this one basic lesson—we all have the power to choose how we see things, how we approach trying to understand this world, this universe. Here is an excerpt from Oliver’s “When Death Comes” to illustrate what I mean:

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common

as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,

tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

So on that flight to Kansas City, Oliver’s poems instilled in me a mindset, one that encouraged active choice about perspective and that promised a higher understanding as a result of that choice.

After arriving in Missouri, I headed straight for Liberty, where I was fortunate enough to participate in celebrating the 2015 cohort of Truman Scholars in what they call the Truman Scholar Leadership Week. Undoubtedly, I have never been in a room with so many movers and shakers, so many altruistic humans who have dedicated their lives to acts of service and to making the world a better place for all of us. Saturday evening ended with a talk from Professor Marcia Chatelain, former Truman Scholar who recently published her first book entitled South Side Girls: Growing up in the Great Migration. Though her entire talk was inspirational, the piece that stirred me most came out during the Q&A session after the talk. When asked how to handle a conversation with someone about an issue where the two views are entirely opposing (in this case, we were discussing the events in Ferguson), Chatelain advised this: ask the person what value guides that particular understanding or interpretation of the event or issue. She said, and I’ll do my best to get it right here, that we all have a frame of understanding that informs what we think, and in order to expand or deepen our understanding, we must shift the frame. Shift the frame, shift the perspective. To give a little more depth to her answer and to her talk, she was especially advocating the value of studying history and the total value of education in relation to this process of shifting one’s frame.

My next lesson came when Zachariah, his mom, Jami, and I arrived in Henry, Illinois. We were driving across some areas of tall grass, and I kept seeing little sparks of light in the distance, hovering over the grass. I assumed it was just flashes from the reflecting headlights approaching us, until Jami said that this was the first time this year she’d seen the fireflies out. I was amazed! I had never seen fireflies before, and to see them scattered out in the field at night was incredible. I was also stunned that my limited knowledge about these tiny creatures prevented my ability to fully comprehend what was real in that moment. I thought back to Chatelain and the value of education in terms of informing our understanding of all things, including the mating habits of fireflies. I was grateful for Jami’s wisdom that illuminated and made richer my own interpretation of those lights in the field. Unfortunately, I was unable to get a photo of this scene, but here’s one to give you some sense of what it was like, along with a photo of Jami, Zachariah, and me at the Harry S. Truman Presidential Library and Museum in Liberty and another of us with his sister, Molly, and her baby, Barret, in Henry:

A few days later, Zachariah and I walked all across his hometown, Henry, talking about his memories of the place and the events that occurred during his childhood there. We marveled at the difference in our perception of the little town. To me, it was idyllic, picturesque in terms of what I’d imagine quintessential summer in America to be. I imagined running through sprinklers on the lawn, swimming in the large river skirting Henry, watching the fireworks in the park on Independence Day. It seemed a place of innocence, of the good life, of small-town values. But to Zachariah, because of his not-always-so-fond recollections of the place, Henry was full of ghosts, of hauntings, of a troubled past. The town for him could never be what it was to me because of the vivid memories encroaching upon his perception. Though both of our perspectives were real and valid, time and the past shaped our views in a drastically different fashion.

Later in the week when Zachariah and I arrived in Chicago, one of our first destinations was Millennium Park to see The Cloud Gate, or what some unfortunately refer to as “The Bean.” Architect Anish Kapoor designed this art installation from stainless steel, and the effect is that viewers can peer into a mirror-like surface that reflects the self in middle of the city backdrop—to see one’s self in the context of the surrounding environment. As we explored the various curves and contours of The Cloud Gate, I marveled at the myriad ways the viewers interacted with the installation, how they engaged the art. Some lay prostrate on the ground with their feet propped up against the base, some made faces to see their expression reflected back, some rubbed the stainless steel to get the tactile sensation of the cool metal, some walked beneath the dome and peered up to see the seven or so versions of their self replicated back from different angles and in different sizes. The Cloud Gate was an artistic representation of differing perspectives.

Later that day, we ended up at The Art Institute of Chicago, which houses six paintings from Claude Monet’s haystack series. The story goes like this: in 1890/91, Monet painted stack(s) of hay during different seasons and during different times of the day. What I saw when looking at these paintings together was how much the natural environment changed the appearance of the stack(s). Monet’s work is among my favorite, and his paintings never fail to teach me valuable lessons in life, and in this case, the art reminded me of the power nature can have on our impression, or perspective, of the things around us. (For more info on Monet’s series, go here).

One evening, we took the super smart advice from my friend Raul and visited The John Hancock Center to catch an elevated view of the city rather than doing the skydeck and ledge at Willis Tower (formerly known as Sears Tower). Rather than paying $19.50 for a ticket at Willis, we bought a cocktail at The Signature Lounge in Hancock. Talk about a change in perspective! From the 96^th floor, the city changed completely. From my bird’s-eye view, I got a solid geographical and spatial understanding of the layout of Chicago. It was quiet and peaceful (the wine helped with that), compared to struggling along the hustling streets below. From that elevated point of view, my understanding of the space around me shifted the frame so dramatically that I fell in love with Chicago. I saw miles of beachfront, sailboats scattered across the Caribbean-blue water, the turning Ferris wheel at Navy Pier, the green of trees filling the gaps between buildings, the expanse of the suburbs reaching beyond city proper, the gardens and pools making use of the often-neglected rooftop space, and the outstanding architecture of each of the skyscrapers jetting up around and below me. It was breathtaking, and I probably wouldn’t have understood the city’s magnificence if not for seeing it from that height and from that perspective.

On the flight home, I returned to Oliver, and her words crystalized the lesson from this trip. Here is an excerpt from “The Ponds”:

        Still, what I want in my life

            is to be willing

            to be dazzled—

            to cast aside the weight of facts

            and maybe even

            to float a little

            above this difficult world.

            I want to believe I am looking

            into the white fire of a great mystery.

            I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing—

            that the light is everything—that it is more than the sum

            of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.

What all of this taught me is simple. Perspective changes everything. But what I still haven’t quite figured out is what external or internal influences determine how we adopt any particular perspective. The lessons from this trip offer up a few philosophies. Oliver’s poetry tells us we have the power to choose our perspective. Chatelain’s advice encourages us to shift our frame to get a deeper understanding of things. Jami’s generosity in sharing her wisdom reminds us that everyone is a teacher. Zachariah’s view of his hometown illustrates the effect of past experiences in how we perceive things. Kapoor’s installation invites curiosity when approaching multiple perspectives. Monet’s paintings reveal how nature and the environment alter our view. The heights of The John Hancock Center allow for transcendence and seeing the world from a higher perspective. I suppose synthesizing these lessons gives us one hopeful possibility—that regardless of how we see things in any given moment, we have the power to change how we see things. In other words, if our understanding and approach to life is based on our perspective, then all of life depends upon the frame we choose to adopt. What will your choice be?

Love: Is It or Isn’t It All You Need?

In one of their most famous songs, The Beatles promise, “All you need is love.” And as reassuring and romantic and positively lovely as that idea sounds, the skeptic in me has doubted the validity of that promise. Especially when I listen to some lyrics in a song by Patty Smyth and Don Henley—“Baby, sometimes love just ain’t enough.” So for heaven’s sake, which one is it? Is or isn’t love all you need?

When a relationship falls into hard times, I've tended to bounce back and forth between these two catchy sets of lyrics, using one to justify staying and the other to justify leaving. So in my quest to figure out which one is right, I’ve turned to other sources of wisdom for some guidance.

American Psychiatrist and author David Viscott says, “To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.” The thing I’ve always liked about this quote is the phrasing—to love, to be loved. What stands out to me is the semantics. To Viscott, love isn’t a feeling or an emotion; rather, it is an act that a lover must do constantly. In other words, to love and to be loved, as verbs, require action from both parties. The lover must DO love, and the beloved must RECEIVE love; this is to feel the sun from both sides.

So how do we do this love thing? One of my favorite books is The Five Love Languages: The Secret to Love that Lasts by Gary D. Chapman, who tells readers that in love, there are languages, five, to be exact, as follows: quality time, words of affirmation, gifts, acts of service, and physical touch. Chapman’s book helps you figure out your main love language, and that of your partner’s, and then you can together “speak” to your lover in his or her preferred love language. The problem here, I think, is that the book stops short. When I read this book years ago, I thought to myself, why would I only develop the one language that my partner speaks rather than developing them all to become an expert at loving? Ambitious thought? Perhaps. But if love is a do-ing, then why not do more of all five expressions of love? Wouldn’t practicing all five cultivate that to love action? In this line of thinking, love is something more than just felt; it is something that becomes part of who we are.

A few days ago, a friend posted a link to a book review on Thich Nhat Hanh’s How to Love. I was intrigued immediately because there it was again—love as an act. After reading the book, which is so full of wisdom that I would highly recommend it to anyone, I believed Hanh illuminated the hidden truth about love just by using a simple comparison: “The moment love stops growing, it begins to die. It’s like a tree; if a tree stops growing, it begins to die. We can learn how to feed our love and help it continue to grow” (13). Comparing a love relationship to a tree resonated with me (partly because I see trees as teachers in life, partly because the concept of cultivation/growth rings true, hence the title of this blog). What I get from this quote is this: in order to have true love, there has to be an act of love performed on a regular basis. Without this act, the love will die. In this way, to have a relationship that exists in true love requires constant care and tending. To relinquish that duty is to choose to let the love die, as the tree would die without water.

Taking this comparison into consideration with the five love languages, it makes sense to merge these two teachings. The watering happens via the love languages. Aha! There it is. But can it be so simple? What if there’s still more? And this is where I think the fun begins. Since every person is unique and thus every love relationship is unique, every couple has the chance to become seekers of other methods of watering—to find as many methods as possible. Building this arsenal of personalized watering systems means that as a couple, you get to design your partnership, tailor it to help both people be in full bloom all the time. Thinking about this, what a gift it would be for both parties, moves me beyond words.

So…water the tree, use the love languages to do so, explore other methods, be in full bloom. Okay. And then one more thing occurs to me, and this isn’t from a book. For a true love to flourish, it requires the constant watering, yes, but it also requires exclusive watering. What I mean is that there has to be a covenant to not water other romantic trees. It may seem obvious at first, but what I think is less obvious is that we often find little forms of watering harmless in the beginning, until suddenly there are two trees—one flourishing, one thirsty. So we must be careful where we water.  

My reconciliation of The Beatles and Smyth/Henley is that both are right. “All you need is love”… yes, assuming that the lovers consistently work toward a true and expansive love. And “Baby, sometimes love just ain’t enough”… yes, assuming that at least one party is unwilling to do constant watering.

As always, I share these musings in hopes that some of what has inspired me in trying to understand it all will also inspire you. And if you are so inspired, then here’s to a lifetime of becoming, and then being, constant gardeners.

Santa Barbara: Cultivating Curiosity

This weekend I went up to Santa Barbara to visit my friend, Jeremy. We met when I first started grad school at CGU; Jeremy was beginning his master degree and is now pursuing his doctorate at UCSB. 

During my drive northwest, I was listening to Zadie Smith's On Beauty, and though I was enthralled by the narrative, I felt compelled to turn it off once I hit the oceanfront portion of the drive. I've seen that landscape countless times before, but this time it gripped me in a surprising way. The Channel Islands seemed much larger, the ocean much more expansive, and the sun much brighter, perhaps because of the haze. It was all so much more than I remembered. Observing nature in this way, a way that felt entirely new, brought to light what would be the intention for my trip, what I hoped to learn from my time in Santa Barbara--to approach life with a renewed curiosity. 

As it turns out, Jeremy's dog, Bonnie, was my best instructor for how to cultivate that sense of curiosity. Bonnie is a rescue dog, about two years old, part Pit and part mixture of other breeds. 

She is the sweetest, most affectionate dog, full of an energy I have never experienced before. For example, she frantically licked my face as she jumped up high enough from the floor to greet me with kisses, and this ensued for at least five minutes after my arrival. And every time I headed to another level in the apartment, Bonnie raced me up or down the stairs, nearly knocking me over with her exuberance. Bonnie's enthusiasm and excitement was infectious, and I imbibed it, knowing its powers would help me fulfill my intention for the weekend. 

One thing I knew I wanted to do during my visit was to walk the Labyrinth, a maze whose path is constructed with stones. To the center and out is 0.6 miles, and it is designed to bring its walkers into a state of meditation and contemplation. It sits at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean at UCSB.

After a kale smoothie from Silvergreen's, we ventured to campus, where I walked the path of the Labyrinth. The design had its intended effect on me, for I entered a state of deep contemplation. Journeying forth in silence, I kept getting confused by the course of the path... there were times when I approached the center, the goal, and then there were times I veered farther away from it, which seemed senseless and even frustrating. Then I noticed the footprints of walkers before me, and they gave me faith to continue on, to trust the path and follow where it leads. I also noticed that even though I was never in the same place twice, there were several points along the way when the road looked familiar, similar, if not identical, to a place I had already been. Though the stones were each unique, they were all made of the same material, all laid in their place by the same hand. I took lessons from these observations, applied them to a larger trajectory, reminding myself that in all arenas of life, lessons await if only I take the time to see, contemplate, and imbibe.

After my time in the Labyrinth, I joined Jeremy and Bonnie on their trail adventures, scaling the hills around the ocean and the nearby pond.

For dinner, Jeremy and I went to a tapas restaurant called Milk and Honey. We shared an array of delicious appetizer-size plates, my favorites of which included the bacon-wrapped dates drizzled with honey and the toasted Brie with caramelized onions and apples in a balsamic reduction. The ambiance also made the meal more enjoyable, since there were draped curtains and lit candles throughout the space. I highly recommend this spot, thought it might be better suited for a romantic date!

The next morning, Jeremy, Bonnie, and I hiked up the trail at Inspiration Point, where I saw one of the most stunning views of the ocean I have ever seen. Because the mountains there hover over the sea, it reminded me of being in Hawaii or on some other island where the two worlds collide effortlessly. Though it was a strenuous hike and a bit hot because of the high sun, it was one of the best instructors for fulfilling my intention. Silence again found me, as I needed to keep quiet to preserve and balance my breath. This silence brought with it contemplation, where I studied nature all around me. The scenery invited deep appreciation, seeing wild overgrowth, powerful rock slides, and stunning ocean views. In short, the name of the hike suited it perfectly, for I was nothing less than completely inspired. And Bonnie again instructed me, showing me the way in all things. Her curiosity amazed me--she was investigating every nook and rock with a sense of wonder and delight, she greeted all hikers with a sense of joy and friendliness, and she welcomed all dogs with a sense of playfulness and intrigue. I couldn't help but follow her lead in all respects (well, save the sniffing of other dogs), adopting all she had to teach me and doing my best to take it in, to make it part of me, to let it change how I see the world and others and myself. 

The afternoon ended with a delicious meal at The Natural Cafe, which I recommend to any visitors of Santa Barbara. As the name suggests, they serve food that is responsibly raised, cooked, and prepared.

All in all, I take away the value of silence, contemplation, and following the invaluable instruction of nature and animals, as they never lead astray. And my mission to cultivate curiosity was fulfilled beyond what I had even imagined, probably because of the very nature of curiosity, which took me into realms I hadn't anticipated going, forced me out of my comfort zone a bit, and taught me to see all things anew, to marvel at all life. 

My Best Reading from 2014

Most of you know that I love reading. What person pursues this much schooling studying literature and the written word if not out of love? Since this was a crazy year in terms of my reading load, studying for my qualifying exams and all, I decided to review the books I read this year to see which ones inspired me most. Surprisingly, only one of the books I selected was part of my exam preparation! All of the books listed below were either recommended by a friend or from one of my spiritual mentors or a professor. In short, here is a list of books I read in 2014 that changed my life in some profound way, and so I will advocate on their behalf in hopes that you will consider making them part of your reading for 2015. Enjoy!

Getting the Love You Want: A Guide for Couples 
by Harville Hendrix

This book is at the top because it had the greatest impact on my life. Having gone through a divorce this year, I became even more obsessed with trying to understand the key to making romantic relationships work…I don’t want to fail again and/or hurt another person in the process. So though I’ve read over the years many many many books on creating a healthy relationship and healing wounds from the past, this one is special because it links the two—our past determines how we select a partner in the present. My friend Jacque recommended it to me, and once I began reading, I was completely fascinated. The book begins by explaining how a person’s idea of love was formed from the first years of life, and this idea of love creates an imago (or image) of what love is and looks like based on the behaviors given by the early caretakers. Basically, a person goes through life looking for a partner who exhibits this same familiar love as based on the imago in hopes of healing old wounds. Sounds great at first, but because both partners tend to be unaware of this process, the cycle designed to heal actually becomes a cycle to sabotage the partnership, and instead of healing one another, the couple enters the “power struggle,” as Hendrix terms it. The book explains all of this through anecdotes and psychology and then provides a series of exercises for the partners to do together in order to help the relationship transcend the power struggle and move toward permanent healing for both, which of course leads to “getting the love you want,” as promised by the title.

A Brief History of Time 
by Stephen Hawking

A few weeks ago, I saw the film "The Theory of Everything," which was completely inspiring. In fact, a song that is very meaningful to me plays at the end, and hearing it in theatre was the perfect accompaniment to what was an already heightened emotional state due to the powerful message of this film, of this incredible man’s life. So first, go see it on the big screen. Then, pick up A Brief History of Time, Hawking’s book for the non-specialist, which would certainly be me! He discusses theories of the universe dating back to the Greeks and offers a great survey of quantum mechanics… again, suited for the non-specialist. My big takeaway is that physics supports the paradigm by which I live life: it is all one beautiful mystery.

The Anatomy of Spirit: The Seven Stages of Power and Healing 
by Caroline Myss

In this book, Dr. Myss explores the spirit in the same way a person studying the physical body would think about anatomy. Her findings were fascinating to me because I previously thought of the spirit as an intangible entity that was shrouded in mystery. However, by synthesizing beliefs from four major world religions, Myss uncovers the anatomy of spirit, which ultimately presents the seven stages a person goes through to reach spiritual maturity. As someone who finds value in all spiritual walks of life, I was absolutely delighted to learn about Myss’s discovery and how these congruous stages in the religions offer a more holistic truth about spirit.

Good Being, Good Living: The Modern Model for Sustained Holistic Health 
by Ryan Glidden

My nutrition and general well-being guru has just this year (as in a few months ago) published his life-changing book on holistic health. Glidden uses the acronym FARMERS to systematically go through all areas of life where being and living can be improved, can be made more healthy. The organization of this book makes it very user-friendly; he uses the AED Model (Awareness, Education, Discipline), to structure each chapter, and this helps readers implement their new knowledge into daily life. It is a practical and easy-to-do guide for changing your life… mind, body, and spirit.

Sex at Dawn: How We Mate, Why We Stray, and What It Means for Modern Relationships 
by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha

I have to give a warning with this one. If you are exceedingly happy believing in monogamy, then don’t read this book! I recommend it only for the open-minded and perhaps not-so-hard-and-fast monogamists out there. The authors tell their tale with an abundance of wit and humor, which makes it fun to join them in their exploration. I also got a kick out of their creative presentations of anthropology and their thorough study of the sexual habits of apes. Not only is this book wildly entertaining, it also offers an important insight to keep in mind about our animal selves. If nothing else, it helped me think much more scientifically about the sexual behaviors and urges of humans, which is a good thing for any reader… the more we understand, the more compassion, forgiveness, and humor we can have about all things concerning sex. And I think that’s a good thing!

The Puritan Origins of the American Self 
by Sacvan Bercovitch

This book appeared on the required reading for my qualifying examination in nineteenth-century US literature, and it stood out from the others because it presents one of the most obvious yet shocking lenses through which to study our nation’s history. I had no idea how deeply and profoundly Puritan ideology infused itself into the identity-shaping of the Americas, specifically what is now the United States. Understanding where we began and where we have been as a nation provides much perspective on where we are now and where we might be heading. It also helps explain why and how we are still so puritanical in some of our more traditionally held beliefs. Again, gaining a true understanding is the place to begin, and compassion stems from there.

Citizen: An American Lyric 
by Claudia Rankine

When the journal I work for, Foothill: a journal of poetry, was preparing questions to interview Claudia Rankine for our latest issue, I decided to add to my collection of her works her most recent publication of prose poems, Citizen: An American Lyric, which focuses on racism in the US by discussing media, sports, academia, and the poet’s personal experiences. Since I have read this year more than I have ever read in years past, that this book stands out from the others is kind of a big deal. And it stands out because it haunts me still. It helped me see some truths, unpleasant truths, about humanity, but more specifically, about people living in the United States. At a time when and in a place where injustice after injustice after injustice occurs, this book’s depictions of racism hit the core of the problem plaguing our nation. The poet’s masterful prose left me in a state of disbelief, where I was simultaneously riveted and horrified at the thought of reading on. It is powerful, to say the very least; a book you don’t easily shake off.

In Search of Lost Time 
by Marcel Proust

This approximately 3300-page novel is a feat for even the most literary loving among us! I read this behemoth of a book for a sixteen-week course I audited in the spring, and it makes my list here for two reasons. The first is obvious: to finish it at all is a huge accomplishment, one a large percentage of the population will never have the satisfaction of completing or even attempting. The second is simple: its themes are universally relevant, dealing with desire, unrequited love, the meaning of life, our obsession with the past, the futile task of trying to regain lost time, and what it means to reflect on one’s life. If the thought of reading 3300 pages is too daunting, then I would say to just pick up the first part of the novel, Swann’s Way.