Into the Day

04-28-2020 The Day…

To confront being vector being transmitter, being receptor… To confront all of the personal responsibilities of that set of triad. In the rule of three, the stool which stands, as it has three legs… the rule of communication… for it hears, it engages and it speaks… or listens or … is a tube through which sound passes… with some recognition of the sound.

In a social setting… sitting at distance… still a vector, a transmitter and a receptor… all three, all three legs…

And when the signal, that darling signal of contagion, when that has no more stools to jump between… what then? For then, then we have set a new standard… and in that standard… the contagion for which we modified … it now has left an imprint. What then?

How funny. To speak of that then… we are in this now. The panic of contagion. The cacophony of contagion. The peace of contagion. What peace?

For certain, a new method of triage. For certain some method or best practice to make a layer between the vector and the rest… To have a place of care become a point of contagion… the calm voice of practice… And, that moment of wanting to be over there when we are here.

A voice, saying loudly, what do we do now? Or, follow me, I am going to lead a contagion parade. Another voice calling out in pain and exhaustion. Yet another singing a quiet song of lullaby. All in the same symphony of … requiem of…

The sea tide. The waves crashing. The great squall roaring across the lake. The wide river, rising higher and higher… all of these, the water that has tumbled down from high mountain or fallen in storms upon the face of the open surface… all of these… voices of this contagion. For, as vector… we dance in this storm.

The many locks to doors in the body… in the living organism. What locks does this particular key fit and turn? What doors of mechanism and shift do open? What doors, lock tried, resist the entry or turn the visitor to another place and time? The idea of point of entry… in through the front door? In through a small mouse hole? Carried with an ant… investigating the kitchen after the rain has pushed the whole trail inside? Or born on the gentle airs… sprayed and then carried as a note on the airs… carried as a note on the airs. If I can hear, then the contagion has come to me also…

Transmission and contagion… not the same. One is a cacophony. The other… it is a communication. In this moment, sitting with the still small voice… hearing that quiet focus in the dawning… the sacred touch of all dawn… there is a place to quiet the contagion… at distance, connected still… a lesson of the desert mothers and fathers. In this time of great learning… when the old saws have dulled in the practice of just running them across the stone… Dulled in the automatic script… Dulled in the speaking that has unhooked from the moment. That speaking that meets not a moment but a spin…

When the tide rises and the docks rise also, the sudden rush of … into this rising tide… speaking of the wane… the wane to come… it is the … wait, that moment is not now.

So again. The dawn has kissed this moment on this place on the planet. The contagion of cacophony is stilled for the rise… and now, into the day. The voices of all creation, speaking in and at and through… From this set of speaking comes a symphony. For the moment it may be a requiem. Or, a transition into new form. Certainly a song of creation. A gift. A wonder and a gift.

April 26, 2020April 28, 2020

A Sacred Sunday Morning

# 04-26-2020 A Sacred… Sunday Morning…

The air smells like the Russian River in summer. The compressed heat, cool for the moment, ready to turn on the after-burners… in a while. In a while. In the yard, the Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow blooms in profusion. The Jays play and cavort. Their tilt head look of … “… and what do we have here?” As they dance along my walking route.

BAA10EEA-18B6-4A95-ADB1-87DC3A990951_1_201_a The ancient bones of the house gift the upstairs bathroom with the smells of long ago, my youth, as a child visiting the grandparents. Bones that in human years are ancient, in house years are ‘pretty old’, in relationship to all time… a blip… perhaps a half a blip… for the moment, ancient feels a comfort.

Faces and voices zoom down the hall. The office is full of project. The slow recycle of paper, ancient in relation to projects. Twenty five drafts of one chapter of a paper that was written, now four or five years ago… dusted in the filing cabinet. The final paper, part of a public document, a policy document so… it will live in the minutes of a meeting in front of some body… as long as that body is a functioning library of its work… how funny to have stuffed the drafts in a file and … kept, because, well you never know. The knowing that went into the paper has moved far down the river. And, as I was reading the framing from that then, I was and am struck by how far my thinking has come since that day.

Foundations crumble. Those ancient stalwarts who, with voices of thunder, call out importance. Foundations crumble. In the crumbling, so many opportunities to build anew. In the cacophony of the crashing… a path revealed…

Reading again, an old favorite author. A little story of plague. The moments… recognition, standard engagement, a breach of the standard, a collapse of the rigor, sudden emergence of possible path, complete fatigue, demoralization, overt anger and 1CD2543C-6B94-490D-A751-D19CC95F8B11_1_201_a demands for the crumpled frame to provide as advertised…, the ironic turn of phrase that castigates ‘other’, frustrated words of human frailty, demand for help, wailing for help, voices of ‘help thy self’, many voices speaking, many voices shouting, in many corners, graceful care, one, two, three… in overwhelming corners, graceful care… And then, a sunrise where, all is changed and in the sun breaking through the passing storm, those voices, still in great Greek Choir raised… now is the new day. In that new day, a cycle of integration, yet again. This, the great run on… it is not a closure, it is an integration.

When a great strife has painted the whole of the earth… then there, in the cracks, the new integration comes again, and again, and again. The moments… and again.

In the thinking chair, in the black and white… knowing the colors and seeing the great relief in the black and white… now the integration. Changed yet still many voices… Experts humbled, workers raised up, information aplenty… and now, as a symphony… from cacophony, the score invites a conversation. In that conversation, each day, a new integration. Enough. And enough…

April 25, 2020

We are… The

Vector. Just sitting with this, to be the vector. We are the vector. So, this silly idea of infection control… we are the infection. So, when we are a balanced vector, we are contained. The instant that we are an unbalanced vector, we are a cause. The fact that a human being is, and can be, both balanced and unbalanced in the same instant creates the most amazing set of variables.

July 27, 2019

This is not a form… It is a way of practice

The apparent form is not a form at all. It is a matrix of listening. It can be as mindmap. It can be as outline. It acts as iterative process. When we begin with … how… if it not framed as a what or behavior, we are not asking a question at all. We are making a yes/but statement. Each question word is contextualized with the other question words. This is linking using Lean Six Sigma practices, Active Listening practices, Spiral Dynamics practices, Chris Alexander practices, Traction Gap practices, Range practices, Natural Systems Practices… the list of analogies goes on and on. (Memenomics, Spiral Dynamics in Action, Adizes, Collins, Katz and Nowak, Frankl, Kooser, Hollis, Mate’ , It is the practice of leveraging daily work to grow daily work. So, to engage the work is to engage and connect in community.

Pillars The Framing Questions - Project Emergence

Just musing on this challenge.

May 19, 2019May 19, 2019

Signal Path… Logic Path

A signal path is that set of connections to allow the origin to get to the receptor.

The logic path… is a set of decisions that may support this set …

The two are not the same. Yet, often, we use a planning logic path to describe a set of signal path connections…

Without understanding the rest of the story.

Emphasis … on the wrong tool for the project at hand.

So… surprise, the tool and the project are at odds. The administrators of the tool and the administrators of the project speak in languages foreign to each other and the outcome is a set of language where the project and process become expert at being for what it is against.

Rinse and repeat.

A mime walked into a bar and asked for a beer… the barkeep said… huh?

April 11, 2019April 11, 2019

Of a dawning…

Those days when… the isms of my own mind invite some to put away all of their sharp objects. … Others, those of communion, know that the path of thought and thinking … may be curious. And, also know that a conversation or breaking the bread…

The twisted narrative of a tangle… deep winding over this or that… a spider tangle… wrapping all about … that narrative is one of limit and or… perhaps not. The … narrative of tied up in knots. The… narrative of a collapse. The… narrative of … something that is beyond understanding; and yet is also … just over there, in linked, connected moment… just over there.

The blended moment as the light of a candle… lit in dark cave… now, as lent comes to an end… the invitation to move, as light, out into the world. The retreat is … made and now the movement is …

A candle, lit in deep darkness… As the darkest hour before dawn… This is lenten retreat. Image speaks. The tangle … seen from a distance as a capture… yet, from the inner place of linkage… it is a great weaving of all creation.

All creation. A blessing.

Lent 37

“…’‘He has a demon and is out of his mind. Why listen to him?’Others were saying, ‘These are not the words of one who has a demon. Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?’…” John 10:19-42

March 30, 2019March 30, 2019

Riffing on the wind

03-30-19 Riffing on the wind.

Or… whoever is from creation, hears the words of creation…

Easy to fall into argument. That wonderful moment when two are standing and looking out on a vista… look, it is raining. Look it is snowing… and it is doing both. As we hear with our seeing, it is doing both. How to resolve? Is it to resolve, for in creation, it is doing both. In the filter of my hearing in seeing… it does one thing… and in the filter of the beloved standing next to me … it does another.

The wind, dancing, knocks over an umbrella… “I hate the wind…” The wind dancing… in the same moment, moves the boat to the front of the race… “I love the wind…” It is the same wind and the same creation. All in the same moment… how can this be?

The deeper dive… the longer riff… it is both and. In darkness, so much presence. In light the presence still.

Thinking of the St. Helens explosion. A grand celebration of power in creation. Wonder, fear, death and living past death. Making street lights come on in a far away place. To be a sudden change … even though, in other parts of creation, the event was a triumph of prediction. Now, years later, the mountain… stands as relic? No, stands as monument and dancing living creation… No, should… No, could…

This riffing on the wind. Celebration. A friend is given a short time to live. The voice that passes this information to me, that friend, is celebrating not his ending but the amazing moment of his living. He just wanted me to know. For, having heard from another of his ‘plight’, he wanted to cast his own perspective to the long life he has had and the wonder of this next segment of journey. Riffing on the wind.

Riffing on the wind, a house renewed. Sacred and failed systems… now renewed. The wonder of reaching for a spigot and … behold… water comes forth. Behold, the drain, drains. Riffing on the wind.

The crop is harvested. The most recent oranges hang … ready to pick. The grasses, released from long hibernation by the long winter rains… all riffing on the wind. This wind that is change. Daily, moment by moment; riffing on the dancing of the wind.

From all creation we each come. In the wonder of a lenten meditation… riffing on the wind. There is now, this moment, a shift, a change… for the wind is singing… even in the speaking of … the singing of … to riffing in…

Dancing on and with all creation. For, in that dance, there is the work of being in creation. In gratitude… in all creation. Seeing in and hearing and breathing in… all creation.

March 20, 2019March 20, 2019

Framing

Page 2A The Framing Questions - Processes There seems a way to frame that … with process and working it through will get to the whole of an idea and relate it to other objects… that curated moment. Data, in relationship.

March 8, 2019March 8, 2019

Lenten Musing and… All Creation

Cleaning up the stables…

Sometimes the flowery words of scripture are like the duff on the stable floor. So overlaid with blather that the beautiful invitation to relationship and conversation are covered over in layer after layer of rococo …

What do you wish in your life? What are you looking for? What are you seeking?

Where are you going? Who is going with you?

The teaching of Augustine: … our hearts are restless until they rest in God…”

What do you wish in your life? What are you looking for? What are you seeking?

Where are you going? Who is going with you?

The teaching of Augustine: “… our hearts are restless until they rest in God…”

It is now a moment… where am I going? Who is going with me… resting in the heart of creation. In my world, the heart of God. The heart of all creation.

All from cleaning the stables. A gift.

March 2, 2019March 2, 2019

Open Integration

From What — To What?

When I begin from that place of walking to where I am… this is not an existential experience. It is a finding place for scope, scale and context. It is the rooting place of who, what, where, when, how and why. There is a place that invites a beginning moment.

If all emotion is based in projection, assessment of projection, engaging projection error and then recalibrating the projection so that it more closely responds to experience… and, in that set of practices, a connected and fostering attitude is manifested; a from what is assembled.

Context To — Context and from what … to what.

Gremlins and a journey…

Muray Bowen is responsible for the next image. That dance of triangle that invites the gremilins of guilt and shame… that of not good enough, bad playing… I did something bad… I am bad… Learning to engage in the gremlin dance and once dancing… beginning to be clear about where I live… and in that rooting in place, knowing self the better and the more.

Open and learning — Closed and defending

In hearing a conversation… is it based in yes/and or yes/but? Do the conversants cut off or give a lead for the next round? In participating in policy design, a room design, a song, a creative activity, a walk… in engaging a process; what is my attitude of participation. Are the who, the what, the where… dancing in a shared form? Is the when, the how and the why… in sync, in congruence, in… ?

Does the connective collaboration align and integrate both up and down a power structure? If yes/and, open… if yes/but… a system in defense. A system in decline. It is not black and white… for there are too many varibles of inside/outside, scope/scale, input – process – output…

This multi-variable sense and framing allows a fostering, sustainable system of integrating different levels of competence and structure to flex and dance in the storm. It is where we live in this moment. Well, it is where I find myself living in this moment.

A Spiral Dynamics Flow — A riff on the work of Clare Graves, Chris Cowan, Don Beck, Ken Wilber, and Said Elias Dawlabani

Passing the torch…

It is easy to hold on to a place. Even as the place leaves me. That desparate desire to have a home and a place to belong. To reflect on this sentiment. To own it as a desire.

In recognition, “There are many days that I wish desparately to fit in; to feel as if I belong. And yet, I do not. For to fit in, is too painful to my soul.”

What was a story or narrative of yesterday, a foundation of memories in stone… That castle has crumbled. In the strewn ruble… a wisdom comes from the foundation stones. The anchored ships in resentment bay begin to pull up, to come to harbor, to refit, to renew… to integrate the lessons learning in projection error. In that stripping away, collapse, renewal… there is something else happening. The dance. The pulse of all creation is beating in slow harmony. It never stops. It always pulses… it always invites. Just … for a while, perhaps, a situational deafness has been about. In the renewal in a new dawn… the wisdom and walking through the dark time now breaks as a seed breaks open.

There is a great wisdom in this cycle… a gread and wonderful wisdom.

An image…

Reductions — Pulling up anchors and refitting… from anchored in, in Resentment Bay to sailing away.

The more I learn… The less I know…

Is - Was — Engaging all of us… where we are… finding interesting moment. In gratitude.

The work … each day. With thanks, humored moment and great appreciation.