My Heartsongs

#7 Sacred Where does the sacred live? One initial response might be that it is present everywhere, if only we had eyes to see, and the wisdom to perceive and embrace it. How to define sacred in a way that feels real and accessible? For me, in simplest terms, it is the energy of connection. And I see that most clearly in seven aspects of this world: seasons, place, objects, home, the body, relationships, and beauty. As we turn into fall, and I pen these words in the midst of a full moon night, I am reminded of how solstice and equinox are such a part of me now, or rather I am attuned to them, this sacred passing of seasonal energetics. Suddenly – or so it seems – shorts and sleeveless shirts surrender to long pants and warm comfy garments. I feel the subtle anticipation of the first woodstove fire, the joys of ongoing harvest, and perhaps a slowing down for a soothing cup of tea with a good book. We all have our small rituals for this shifting dance of cycles, and in some indigenous cultures, ceremony to honor the transition is a way to ground one in the changes. My sense is that “the mystical” is merely (ha!) an intense experience of the sacred, a whole body-mind-soul tasting of the vast cosmic consciousness ocean we inhabit. It seems to be rooted quite firmly in place. Though quite clearly, it can give us a peak (PEEK!) experience via any of the seven realms mentioned above.  One of the first times for me was bodysurfing in Bali in my early thirties. My wife and first daughter were on the beach. It was one of those moments when everything coalesces in stillness, silence and solitude. The sun, sand and surf worked their magic, and I felt transported into a rarely visited heightened state of awareness. Another time, I was hiking with a friend off trail in Chaco Canyon, and as we descended into an arroyo, a deep penetrating feeling of dread filled me. Both of us, actually, as we talked about it later. As if a battle had occurred right there, and the land still remembered, somehow offering us a mystical piece of the puzzle. When I visited the Western Wall in Jerusalem, I consciously opened myself before I touched the wall itself with both hands. When I did, I felt throughout my entire corpus a river of pain and suffering, deep and strong and also vital, that literally took my breath away. Something deep opened inside me with these and other examples of the power of sacred place. As if a locked passageway revealed itself for a fleeting moment, that produced an inner shift. An invitation, if you will, to be more receptive to such revelations in the future. Not a state I known how to stabilize, just fleeting moments of wonder and deep connection. If you search your own memory banks, perhaps there is an impressionable fragment there, which helps you grok what I am sharing, someway, somehow.   The energy of special place Contains its own sweet, unique pace. Hidden within the turning wheel, Palpable when you open, feel. Flows into your heart directly. Invites less doing, more just be. No big brain thinking is needed. A subtle shift to be heeded.   Rumi comes to the rescue with this opening stanza: Something opens our wings, Something makes boredom and hurt disappear, Someone fills the cup in front of us. We taste only sacredness.  

#6 Vulnerability “I'm not complaining, just explaining,” was a favorite phrase of my dad. As he aged, he used it often. At our regular men's group meetings, we often joke about “medication check-in” and “organ recital” time. So how does sharing differ from just complaining/explaining? I think the distinction lies in one's ability to go deeper into the emotional components of the experience, rather than a somewhat dry –even if impassioned – recitation of a story. All those stories we tell ourselves about ourselves sometimes seem to me like polishing our prison bars. But when I get to the emotional heart of the matter, so to speak, then there is a taste of liberation. My foot might still be swollen and painful, but now instead of relating just that, I have opened up the wider perspective of lessons still being learned and applied, as well as the spectrum of grief that inevitably accompanies the losses associated with aging. I am quite fluent in my own BS, and emerging from the wreckage of my splintering self, I see clearly the truth of my latest mantra, “old car, old house, old body, something is going off somewhere every week.” Which definitely creates this cloudy misty sense of vulnerability. The old adage, “anything can happen at any time” is a great reminder to not let myself be pulled down into a vortex of fear and its close cousin anxiety, which is where one might go when feeling fragile, susceptible, or infirm. And there is also a sweetness to being vulnerable, knowing we must rely on others to help us with what we used to easily do ourselves, and a heightened sensitivity to the plight of other beings. Strange how speaking and sharing our own suffering can burst our solipsistic bubble and expand our compassion. Uncle Arthur has come to town His hello an unwelcome sound He visits my hands and my knees Greets my feet with a twinge of bees Now I don't mind a little pain When mobility does remain. But when I'm sent off to my bed That really messes with my head. Arthur itis is just the tip Of maladies for me to sip. “Vulnerable,” my new nickname Acceptance just the old age game.   Jadine Lydia reminds me: the iron maiden within me says: keep these walls strong, but the feelings within me whisper, let it crumble down and fall... today, i am falling apart and falling together – simultaneously. you could say, i am one beautiful mess.      

#6 Choicepoints. Those of you who have listened to some of my 333 podcasts might remember my use of this made-up term. It reflects those moments, sometimes days, weeks, months or longer in duration, when we are face to face with “two roads diverged in a yellow wood...” I long ago abandoned to dust any formal religious paths to truth. Thank you, Ecclesiastes 3:20 “All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust all return.” I define spirit as all that is, and soul as a unique conscious individual manifestation of that greater ocean of being. As if a bubble broke free of the surface and floated on its own journey. Distinctly different and yet still connected. That – in a nutshell – is the essence of my spiritual worldview. Lovely ancient phrase that one, originating with Pliny the Elder, who wrote a story in first century AD Rome about a copy of the Iliad written on parchment that fit into a nutshell. The term signified tiny physical spaces or very small writing, derived from the Latin word nuce. Not until the 19th century did its meaning morph into being concise and summarizing. Similar to the modern day, “long story, short.” I wonder about that newly minted idiom, spoken as if we are apologizing for taking up too much of the listener's time and attention. Perhaps a product of our busy busy hurry hurry multitasking verse we've collectively created as a species. This world seems more and more spinning out of control. The Italian word for what I feel is scombussolato, or scombussolata for a female. It roughly translates as disoriented, confused, rattled, shaken up, and more. Makes it even more challenging to experience the clarity I seek.   When, where, which of these, this or that. Should I pluck my choice from a hat? Flip a coin, perhaps ask a bird? Yet ancient wisdom I have heard: When you've two apparent choices It's best to always pick the third. What choicepoints speak to me of woe? Can't they please wait till the morrow?   A favorite from Robert Frost: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;   Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,   And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.   I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.    

#4 Stuckville I have noticed that there are distinct times when the big wheel, as I call it, does not move favorably. Often the descent into this undesirable state is subtle, lurking on the edge of my awareness. Obvious only when fully caught in its unkindly embrace. I know the wisdom of “this too shall pass,” which does admittedly not bring much comfort to those thrashing moments of discord. I have also learned that such life periods – as is true with most difficulties – bring their own secret gifts. The blessing sleeps next to the wound. Yet that rings true only if I really heed the call to examine the inner wheel. What internal changes are being called forth? That is where the juice is –well worth the squeeze – as well as eventual liberation from the layers of dilemma I have allowed to take up significant mental-emotional real estate. The Goldilocks Zone is that sweet spot of maximum learning, a sort of limbo lying between knowing just what will happen, and not being able to predict what's coming next. It's why young children love to have the same book read over and over, or watch a film repeatedly, and drop that spoonful of applesauce a zillion times. They “redo” something over and over until it becomes predictable, and they stop learning from it. Maybe that is a good reframe for stuckville. I'm just exploring a novel cognitive feedback loop, until I get the lesson. I've frequently joked about writing a tome entitled, No more lessons, please! No doubt they will keep coming, whether I get that written or not.   While wide awake at 3 am I watch my mind just twist and bend Down a narrow groove of desire Sex and money, sex and money My big brain 3D tapestry Weaves illusion and confusion The full moon laughs at my madness Where oh where is my peaceful rest?   This poem by Stanley Kunitz speaks to this quite eloquently: (Best to read aloud!) I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray. When I look behind, as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey, I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites, over which scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings. Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my true affections, and my tribe is scattered! How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses? In a rising wind the manic dust of my friends, those who fell along the way, bitterly stings my face. Yet I turn, I turn, exulting somewhat, with my will intact to go wherever I need to go, and every stone on the road precious to me. In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: “Live in the layers, not on the litter.” Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes.  

#3 Spaciousness My main gratitude mantra for some time has been, “I'm not in Gaza, Haiti, Ukraine, Sudan, or other places with horrible human conditions.” Recently added Iran to that mix. A good reminder when I find myself whining about yet another household repair, poor customer service encounter, or elevated grocery store prices. I find this image quite evocative, as it represents for me the life journey, with all its twists and turns and choicepoints. I remember when a group of us turning fifty created a men's group – the 49ers – that lasted a few years. One of the first exercises we did together was a spiral circle of rocks where we started at the center and walked outward as we told our life story's highlights. We then returned back on the path heading toward the center again, but stopping where we felt we were in terms of our death/ return to the billabong from which we had emerged. Good stuff. I have walked a number of labyrinths in my day, and they always evoke a certain timelessness, an invitation to enter the luminous, a deep physical sense of both my small universal insignificance, and the power of embodied consciousness. I love the Italian expression, Lasciare spazio ai propri desideri. The rough translation is to give time and importance to something, so that it has a place in our lives. Given the current degree of worldcrazy, what arises is how do I create spaciousness for myself in my daily doings?   I sit down by the precipice The soft sweet edge of my knowing Where adventure beckons beyond I watch as longing becomes fear When and how did that shift happen? Was I asleep or just dreaming? Within my self-made prison walls A long long way from my true home.   For me, E.E Cummings creates space with this poem: maggie and milly and molly and may went down to the beach(to play one day) and maggie discovered a shell that sang so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and milly befriended a stranded star whose rays five languid fingers were; and molly was chased by a horrible thing which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone. For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea  

There are favorite places that always invite. One of those for many years has been the Chama River wilderness area, where I have primitive camped many times, with my children, my wife, some couple friends, a few other guys, or my men's group. Always, at some point, I do some solo walkabout, and often find some magic peeking out from somewhere special that I had just never noticed before. Familiar haunts, but delightfully daunting, offering up new sparkling secrets to fill my inner well. Reminds me of the paradox of choice. This concept, coined by psychologist Barry Schwartz, speaks of the Chinese menu effect. When there are too many options, humans often revert to something familiar, like getting sesame orange chicken yet again. I often find myself tilting toward the comforting familiar and habitual these days, perhaps because the world seems to be constantly verging on another day of blessed chaos. My own poem for this week is on audio. And this Rainer Maria Rilke poem speaks well to the changing flow of our inner lives. The deep parts of my life pour onward, as if the river shores were opening out. It seems that things are more like me now, that I can see farther into paintings. I feel closer to what language can't reach. With my sense, as with birds, I climb into the windy heaven, out of the oak, and in the ponds broken off from the sky my feeling sinks, as if standing on fishes.   This new series combines photo art, poetry and musical background on one of my many instruments. Let me know what you think!

Imagine that your physical body is a playing piece on an intricate game board. The rules of the game keep changing, but one thing is certain: forward motion is desirable. Onward through the fog!

We seem so far from a world that works for everyone. Part of me says I do try to just keep lighting up my little corner of the world, and that is enough. Another part – perhaps an inner protector – exclaims “not my bailiwick.”

Mortality is front and center these days, and to ignore, deny, minimize or conceal that as I age does not serve me. As one friend poetically put it, the older we get the less we leave unspoken. And being present and showing up for the people I love seems to be a hallmark of healthy aging. I almost entitled today's musings, when dark times serve us well. That reality we all can attest to, that hard times often open new doors of awareness, assist us to find support and resources – both inner and outer – we did not know existed.

I have been thinking a lot this week of the many many things I often take for granted. I find it a life affirming practice to regularly honor the wonderful creativity that humans are capable of, producing true miracles that enhance the quality of our lives, tools we can use every day to be better, more caring and compassionate humans. 

Tender Loving Care comes to mind as an excellent bridge between freedom and escape when I am feeling a bit down. Not quite freedom, as in deep release from old habits and patterns that are not helpful. But also not really escape, this taking care of oneself, being kind to oneself, taking a needed rejuvenating break from the usual bruhaha.

MAHA (Make America Healthy Again) has recently been in the news quite a bit. I personally think RFK Jr is sometimes getting shortchanged by the left. This is someone who has willingly gone after all the stupid dyes and additives in foods, pointed out the significant downsides of processed foods, and is trying to revamp the vaccine adverse reporting system—something it badly needs for us all to feel safe taking vaccines.

Commonly labeled as the science of vibrations, numerology suggests that one's birth date is particularly important. It is known as the life path number, which highlights core traits, and the letters of one's name translated into additive numbers represent the expression number, reflecting potential and talents.

Today I want to highlight four aspects of THC use that I believe deserve further societal education and action. DWI, Cannabis Use Disorder, using during pregnancy and research on memory.

I discuss the hidden epidemics now affecting those who seek out drug explorations. Nitazenes, Medetomidine, Kratom and smuggling novel drug combos into prison, sprayed on paper and then smoked. 

During my days actively working for the NM DOH, I would sometimes encounter difficult people. My basic premise, developed early on, and honed through years of personal explorations, is that such folks can be great teachers—whether the lesson be patience, setting good boundaries or just avoiding them for mental health's sake.

There is an Italian word that captures the much-preferred slowing down to the pace of life quite nicely: Spensierato. Translated as carefree, it implies a relaxed approach to absolutely everything. Which got me musing on the beginnings of my own auto-obituary, which will take some time to complete to my own satisfaction. I offer some excerpts. Photo by Zinkevych from Freepix.

To honor my ongoing survival and the recent passing of dear friends, I offer some Jewish blessings, and a bit of anonymous humor, in the form of edited excerpts from an obituary that I found to be hilarious.

On the 3rd anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, I muse about the journey of a thousand miles and the Willow to Nome Iditarod, which started this week with great ceremony.

My attention is one of the valuable resources I possess. It involves key areas of the brain that allow me to focus and concentrate on a given task, whether that is making dinner, composing a song, groking some new Italian phrases, or jotting down some notes for a podcast that is yet to emerge.

The hungry ghost realm is one of insatiable desperate desire and greed; one of the lower states of consciousness in the endless cycle of samsara, it represents addiction, the proverbial hole in the soul where no matter how hard one pursues it, the external things never quite fill that inner void.

I am trying out a new lens for my daily experiences. Whatever is occurring, I simply ask “do I feel put upon, fairly neutral, or does it bring me joy?”

I often talk of the need for both center and edge in these podcasts. While I remain deeply grateful to live where I do, I really do sense a greater fragility in this country, especially since so many fellow Americans think things are humming along just fine. What mental planet do they inhabit?

On an individual level, no doubt that lifelong wisdom is often reluctantly acquired through turbulent life passages. As a species we seem to remain locked in an evolutionary snag, when it comes to balancing aggression with cooperation—both of which have ensured our survival for thousands of years. I had a direct experience with my own aggressive tendencies this last weekend.

Sometimes instead of knocking on wood like an ancient Druid attempting to wake up a tree, I tap my frontal skull to get my brain in gear, hopefully aligning attention with intention in the here and now.

I feel quite blessed to mostly take a pause from all the political shenanigans and goings on in the USA. I find myself apologizing to any foreigners we meet for our loco President, who certainly does not represent US. This Italian expression fits the mood perfectly: Avere un'ora d'aria, which translates roughly as to have a breath of fresh air / A moment of libertá or a pause in a stressful situation.

The world seems to be changing so fast, some days it feels like I have to pinch myself, a la Dorothy in the Wizard of OZ having a moment when she realizes she's always had the power to go home, even without clicking her ruby slippers.

This time of year, I am inclined to redouble my efforts to get rid of stuff, even as the inevitable “cheer” of the season will increase – at least temporarily – the number of objects and the amount of clutter in my abode. I often take a walk through my mystery drawers, of which I have two prominent ones.

Forget protect, provide and procreate: a generation of young men, cultural victims of both cognitive and emotional brain debt, might be more characterized by denial, despair and dependence.

Walking the beach in Florida each morning, one understands why the state is such a popular destination. To be able to have the wild seas so accessible for such long stretches, with gulf or ocean and shorebird antics to entertain, and December temps in the 70s, what is not to like?

Eventually novel concepts and ideas get incorporated into our day to day, so that they become commonplace, and often not fully appreciated for the wonders they are. Today I want to share and explore four on-the-horizon developments that when they come to fruition will no doubt significantly alter our quotidian realities.

From a Buddhist perspective, embracing impermanence is a tool for navigating the changing elements and treacherous shoals of old age, sickness and death. Lately I have been thinking about impermanence in relation to other aspects of being beyond my declining body and diminishing abilities. 

Ben Franklin famously remarked, "Don't put off until tomorrow what you can do today," counseling against the pitfalls of procrastination, and meant to encourage immediate action. My philosophy of late seems more aligned with, “Why put off today what you can put off until tomorrow?”

Our species seems to have favored cooperation, curiosity and cognitive enhancement as key developments that benefit survival. I explore the importance of neurodivergence: ADHD, Multiple intelligences, Autism, Savants.

Sometimes, even often, things just don't go as expected. In Part Four of this limited series on Choicepoints, we'll explore together the pathway to being responsive – rather than reactive – to life's challenges.

Hopefully one enters the magical realm of parenting by conscious choice, rather than through unintended consequence. Becoming a parent is less about biology than about showing up with the awareness that this is a life changing process. I offer some research and thoughts on parenting styles.

Apparently, Ben Franklin was fond of often asking a very simple philosophical question, What good shall I do this day? Choicepoints arise multiple times a day, especially in terms of how I treat others, and how kind I am to myself.

Awareness creates choice. This simple principle is evident throughout my daily life. Only once I become mindful of something – in the physical, mental, emotional or spiritual realms – can I then shift and transform what is happening. Check out my favorite gun violence prevention ad: https://www.youtube.com/watchZ8DP3ssCfLY

For many years, as Medical Director of Family Health for NM, I relied upon an annual report issued by the Children's Defense Fund, which highlights and summarizes the status of America's children in 11 areas. I offer some thoughts about what needs doing.

My favorite Italian word for home is actually dimora, which is a more poetic description of home, evoking charm, and history – think ancestors and what they went through to make the home possible  – and a sense of timelessness, a place that represented or portrays the true center of my life.

A recent study from Japan demonstrated that optimists have similar brain activity patterns, especially in the medial prefrontal cortex, the home of imagining future happenings. An exploration of soundness of mind.

Even if one eschews traditional religions, and explores the perspective of spirituality as a choose your own adventure camp, living and embodying the values one believes in remains a lifelong pursuit. Hopefully I am capable of using the past to make better choices in the future, elevating my precious time on the planet into a sort of embodied learning tool.

Men have been very conditioned to provide, perform and protect. What are the female equivalents? As I've reflected upon it, I think nurture, be perfect and connect. Do I believe in an inner feminine?

Real connection asks for authenticity, a component of which is honesty – with self and others – which in turn requires some contemplation and vulnerability, as well as some skills in expressing what is inside to the outside in ways not destructive to self or others. Test mentioned in the podcast: https://aphantasia.com/study/vviq/?srsltid=AfmBOoogMEz3jl7WMkwNeHTdjV68b7HWu4MohNLxROf_WpvtbU2YWwjE  

Wandering around Home Depot looking for assistance this week reminded me of all those digital self-help marketplace voices whispering “I have what you need!” Sooo many offerings that supposedly will help us get what we most desire, whether that is weight loss, permanent inner peace, the key to navigating family trauma tripwires, or the perfect gizmo to further ease my existence.

Here are my 5 C's: foundational principles for a vital healthy relationship. Commit, connect, communicate, clear conflict and create. Check out cupofempathy.com, created by Marianne van Dijk, who has many short insightful you tube videos on Non violent communication, mentioned in the podcast.

Healthy relationships have the capacity to assist us in changing, growing, evolving for the better. A young friend puts out a brief but insightful weekly newsletter (Sign up and read articles on WholeManMethod.com ), and in the last one he mused, “The cost of ignoring your authentic life will always outweigh the discomfort of answering your soul's call."

The WHO recently released a report claiming that more than 871,000 people die from loneliness each year—almost 100 an hour. It defines loneliness as the distress that comes from the lack of desired relationships, while social isolation is defined by the objective absence of social ties.

The underlying reason for long CoVid at this point remains unclear, and may be different in different people. Possibilities include ongoing viral activity associated with an intra-host viral reservoir, autoimmune or dysregulated inflammatory state, microvascular dysfunction, organ damage from the original infection, or other as yet undiscovered mechanisms.

I don't need a prickling discharge of ions on the back on my neck to remind me that things are OFF in capital letters, to actually feel the urgent, palpable yet inconclusive tinge of peril we now face in the world, an apocryphal yet not dubious menu on display. A filling station of gloom available with the click of a mouse.

There is a tempest abrewing! The Singularity refers to the point at which machines' intelligence and humans will merge, all optimized through ongoing developments in genomics, nanotechnology and robotics. Emergence is specialized lingo for when an AI system shows unpredictable or unintended capabilities.