The Pitcher

Fall colors in the Northern Hemisphere and the vibrant Spring growth in the Southern signal to all that another year is almost in the books. I thought back to the beginning of this year, to the things I wanted to accomplish. Some got done, some didn't. And I suppose it's like that in most years with most folks. I especially thought about one thing that was high on my list back in January, an additional service for our website that I believe will be very helpful to our visitors. It was with the best of intentions and glorious enthusiasm that I set out doing the groundwork for it in February...and then quickly discovered that in order to progress to the next step I would need to take two steps back.

I should have known. This scenario is everywhere in life. It starts out simply enough. We might have a presentation to make tomorrow. We try to print it and discover the printer needs more ink, but before we can get to the store we need to put gas in the car and before we can get gas we must find an ATM, and on and on. Seemingly straight-forward tasks can quickly become quite complex. So my project for the website is still in development. At the start of this year I felt it would be up and running by the end of summer, but the end of summer has come and gone and my New Year's goal has not been realized. What does this mean? Have I failed?

Hiroki Kuroda is a pitcher for the New York Yankees baseball team. A few weeks ago I watched him pitch in a game that the Yankees absolutely had to win in order to extend their season and reach the next level of their sport. If they lost the game, their season would essentially be over. Hiroki pitched a fairly typical game, for him. He got off to a rough start, but then settled down and managed to keep the other team at bay. It was a good effort. He tried very hard. He did his best. But it was not to be. On this day, as with a handful of other days, a few of his pitches might have been too easy to hit or the other team might have been extra sharp or maybe the ball just took unusual bounces. Whatever the reason, the game he visualized and rationally expected to unfold didn't. Is Hiroki a failure? The rest of the team had their chances to help their own cause but on this day they did not or could not. Does this defeat make the Yankees unsuccessful?

Those of you with even a casual knowledge of American sports know that the New York Yankees almost always contend for their league championship and have reached the World Series far more than any other team. Each year they expect to win and each year they are expected to win. Back in January, just like us, Hiroki and his teammates had realistic goals...goals that no doubt included their personal paths to help win the championship. At the beginning of the year, like you and me, he and his teammates felt a sense of renewal. They made their resolutions and set their goals with conviction. Naturally, they assumed there would be challenges, and overcoming them would be part of the eventual reward for fulfilling their visions. But the bumps in the road took their toll. Some of the challenges were not overcome and their visions evolved as the year went along until, finally, the original visions slipped out of sight.

Where does that leave us, all of us, now that we know that Hiroki Kuroda did not pitch as well as he wanted on that day and the Yankees' season ended abruptly and our website did not get my new section and some of you (maybe most of you) did not reach all of your goals for this year? Well, actually, it leaves us with success. Because achieving a goal is a process. When we set a goal or vow to keep a resolution we make a physical impression somewhere in our cerebrum. The mere act of doing that has already produced an effect. The goal is now a part of us. The process has begun. Of course, we want to reach the goal but, whether we do or not, we have made a statement to ourselves that this thing is important to us. And that alone changes us. That, all by itself, is a successful part of the whole process which ultimately ends in realizing our goal.

We should acknowledge that, like the pitcher, those of us who pledge or vow or resolve to achieve something have taken a successful step that is as valid as any other step along the way. In fact, further steps could not exist without the first step. It's like the first stage of a rocket that supplies the power, the ambition, the liftoff for the flight-plan ahead. So no matter how far along that plan we get, the decision to go has made a difference inside us, it is a successful piece of the big picture.

The new year is approaching. It is time for me to start prioritizing my goals for next year, and you probably know which one is at the top of my list...again. But next year there will more steps forward than back because, by attempting my goal this year, I now know what to avoid and where to put my effort. Thus the process continues. Next year, with a little guidance from my Universe, I will be offering new services to my visitors. My goal will be met. The little idea that became a resolution that became a plan that became a service will be helping others to spark their own ideas. Who knows, it might even help the pitcher for the New York Yankees.

Enjoy the journey.

Connecting

Massive trunks of old oak trees supported thick arms that meandered skyward. Heavy branches turned right then left with great authority though their directions seemed chosen by whim. A canopy of small oak leaves, some in shade, some in sun, enveloped us and hung from the farthest tops above us down more than halfway to the ground in front of us. This is where we decided to sit.

Shortly, a mild summer afternoon would welcome the first of an annual series of jazz performances amid a grove of Coastal Live Oaks. Like almost everyone in the small crowd my wife, mother-in-law and I began the process of claiming our patch of ground; picnic blanket down, lawn chairs up, basket of snacks open, wine uncorked. As anxious as we were to begin tasting and sipping, we sat for a moment in silence and simply absorbed our surroundings.

In contrast to our shady spot, a bright green expanse of lawn beyond the oaks was bathed in sunlight and served as a stage for the band. Another equally bright lawn lay behind us. These two areas were mostly filled by families with younger children. To either side were more oaks that sheltered the many small encampments of adults who did not bring their children. After comparing the setting to my mental image of last year and finding it unchanged, toasts were made, food was savored and chats were begun in earnest.

Half an hour of our musings mixed with the band's ever-advancing sound checks was the perfect prelude to the opening piece. The band, an accomplished modern jazz quintet, began with Green Dolphin Street. Perfect again, a great start that had the jazz-lovers nodding in approval and allowed those who were mainly there for the picnic a chance to taper off their conversations.

This idyllic setting is part of a larger public park with other sections devoted entirely to single flower groups or native landscapes or wildlife and bird migrations. It is absolutely one of my favorite places to visit and I am ridiculously lucky that it's just a short drive from my home. I thought of this bigger picture as the performance moved along from song to song and my attention also moved along from the music to the crowd.

The crowds at these events are very appreciative. As a whole, I think they are jazz-likers rather than lovers. But they love their summer garden, and they appreciate a musical performance in it even though many of them might not own a jazz CD. There are some, however, who are clearly aficionados, some who no doubt still play the original vinyl Sketches of Spain on a turntable. I know what I like, but I only know enough about how music works to try to listen intelligently and agree in mutterings when a musician talks about it. So it was fascinating to observe a few in the crowd who seemed to find deeper meaning in what the band was doing.

Now and then during a solo the sax would play a riff that sounded perfectly ordinary to me but when I looked at the vinyl people they smiled and chuckled as if they “got it.” They got something that ninety-eight percent of us missed. Of course I smiled and chuckled too, as if I got it. I thought to myself, "Yeah, that was pretty good," even though I wasn't sure why. There was something to get and I was trying to get it by pretending I got it. And then a funny thing happened.

A bit flummoxed, I stopped watching the turntable gurus and leaned back. I wanted to just enjoy the music without working at it. The evening had dissolved into twilight. I rested my head on the back of the chair and closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them I saw before me the stark black silhouettes of the oak trees against a dim sky. I followed the outlines of the trees from their base up along the thick branches and then out among the tens and then hundreds of diminishing tributaries to the leaves. And then it hit me. Suddenly the saxophone solo made sense. The wandering lows and the skittering highs were in front of my face all the time. Right, left, up, down, nearer, farther. The seemingly whimsical directions of the branches and the saxophone solos were one and the same. I could run my gaze along any branch to the notes of the sax and they were identical. They were finding the light. They were connected. And although I still didn't know a half-diminished seventh from an augmented major (I looked them up) I had a profound feeling of “getting it.” No longer was I searching for meaning in the notes. It was so simple. They were both just doing what they had to do to get to the light.

I think my Universe is a lot like that. Maybe it's like that with most of us. I know that an issue confronting me can appear to be extraordinarily complex and unfathomable. That same issue, when considered a year from now or five years or ten, will be resolved, and usually in a natural and simple way. How did it become resolved and uncomplicated? Someone, maybe me, maybe someone outside the issue, saw it in a different light. Someone saw a natural flow, a simplicity, a pattern, a connection. Sometimes it just takes awhile for our eyes to adjust.

Anyway, this magical night of music and revelation will be remembered for a long time. The drive home that night had a very different feeling. There will be more performances and more food and wine and wonderful chats, but I will always think back to the twilight that connected the trees and the jazz.

The Flaw

The steps to my home are perfect. There are five steps and they are made of red brick. They have metal railings on either side that are painted the same color as the brick. Each step is 16 bricks wide except the bottom, which is 18 bricks wide. Leading up to the steps is a short path which, although not perfect, is nice enough and can comfortably accommodate two people walking side by side. There are normally a few leaves that have settled on the path from a fair number of trees close by. But the leaves never fall on the steps. I am not sure why, but the steps are always clean. They are always perfect.

One day last week, as I returned from a series of seemingly endless errands, I saw something laying up against one of the steps. This was very unusual...a blemish on the third step. Since I was carrying groceries I decided not to kick it off the step and risk losing my balance, and within a few seconds of opening the front door the flaw on the steps was completely forgotten.

Over the next two or three days I noticed it each time I returned home. I never noticed it when leaving my home because it was sort of tucked under a slight lip of the steps, and I have learned the hard way that it is important to pay attention to where my feet are going while descending stairs. Then the day came when I approached the steps without anything to carry, without any reason to hurry, without a distracted head full projects and their attending minutia. It was time to find out why this leaf would not leave.

Kneeling two steps below, I could immediately see that the flaw on the steps was not a leaf that could be simply brushed away. It was a very small plant that had found the thinnest sliver of a crack between bricks to sprout its roots and begin life. It had small green leaves that grew in a tight bunch, which explains why at eye level it originally looked like a single leaf. Rising from the base of the plant were a few slender stalks which anchored sprigs of small leaves all the way to the tip. Its lower leaves were the largest and they were a reddish-green color. Going up the stalk, the leaves became smaller and greener until, at the tip, they were very small and bright green. The tip also held a great surprise. In fact it was the tip of the plant that changed everything.

Bending as close to the plant as possible, just a few inches from my eyes, was an exquisite light-blue flower sitting on the the tip of the tip. "Wow," I thought. This was unexpected. In an instant my impression of this flaw on the steps went from rogue leaf to wondrous beauty. What appeared at arms length to be a simple blue flower was, on closer inspection, an intricate pattern on four petals with an explosion of blues, whites and light purples. A small white dot in the center was really a splash of white-yellow-green, and it formed the launch site for a few elegant stamens that shot out like rocket trails. I was truly mesmerized. It seemed like an entire world unfolded from out of nowhere.

Of course, I let the plant be. Some of you experienced gardeners might have already guessed that the plant I found was a Corn Speedwell (Veronica arvensis), a relatively common weed. Even though it is considered a weed, its fortune, tenacity and beauty could not be denied. It deserved to show what it could do. The flaw turned out to be beautiful when viewed from a different perspective. More importantly, it surprised me. It awakened something in me that I thought was already awake.

I consider myself to be open minded. I try my best to look at things through other's eyes. However this little weed showed me that I still have a lot to learn. I have always believed that there are many things, even entire worlds, out there that I have never even heard of, but I was sure I would recognize them when I saw them. So I am not surprised that this flower showed me a new world. I am surprised that I let my assumption rule my belief. I thought I had become more aware of my surroundings, but this made me wonder what else I might have overlooked in my everyday life. Maybe it was time to review other "flaws" in my environment.

Without going into details which, I am sure, would not be of interest to anyone but me, suffice to say that I did some deep breathing, briefly meditated and then reflected on what I considered to be flaws in my current situation. Being a fundamentally positive person, I don't usually give these flaws much thought, but this time I studied them carefully. I tried to separate the part that I found flawed from the rest of it. I tried to find the flower in the weed, and once again I was surprised.

Each flaw that came to mind had an upside. When I considered what would change in my life after removing a particular flaw I realized there would be some relief and also some unexpected consequences. It would definitely be bitter-sweet. This weed has served to remind me that flowers are everywhere in nature. However, like most people, I will continue to try and eliminate flaws. After all, that is what we do as a species. That's how we progress. But the next time while I am waiting for the Universe to reply, I will take particular care to search for the hidden meadow. It might be full of flowers.

 

The picture on the left is "The Flaw". Unfortunately I only have one surviving shot of it (that's another story). The picture on the right is a typical Corn Speedwell blossom. Amazing, isn't it?

New Year, New Universe

To those of you who follow a Solar Calendar (Julian, Gregorian, Bahai), may the power of your ever-changing Universe help guide your passage into the new year. New years bring new friends and relationships, new ideas, new opportunities. In the grand scheme of things, the first day of the New Year is a day like any other. But many of us choose that day to light a candle or raise a glass, to dream a little of what could be, perhaps to map a new course to a long-sought goal.

It is a moment of renewed resolve, when we look into the future and see ourselves as we want to be. We feel lighter. We declare that some of the weights we have carried belong to last year and we will not carry them into this new year. On this day we vow, we plan, we grow, we change. And this is as it should be. We all need that day, that time-stamp, when we say to ourselves “This will change.” It gives us an annual spark to make adjustments to our lives.

An adjustment, no matter how small, changes us. It might affect our priorities, if only for a little while. It might mean an addition to our routine…or a subtraction. It could just be a few steps out of our way, or it might be an entirely new path…one of those “untaken” paths that we can later say we took. Whatever the adjustment to our personal lives, the Universe adjusts with us. It acknowledges our new position. It understands our new attitude. A new year can create a new you, and a new you creates a new Universe.

When we make a vow or think of a plan we visualize a result. The power of the Universe can add a great deal of support to our visualization, because our Universe is a matrix of countless ingredients. It holds our experiences, relationships, environments, things, concepts, memories, thoughts, dreams, feelings and everything else that makes us who we are. At all times we have at our disposal the vast resources of our Universe. So when you make that wish, that New Year’s resolution, use the Universe. Write it down. Close your eyes. Visualize. Make it a part of you. The Universe is yours, it has enormous power and it will help if you let it.

Enjoy the journey.