Kashmir's Shak

Striving Less To Be So

"Who can be wise, amaz’d, temperate and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man!"

Macbeth (Act II, Scene III)

There is a fundamental skill that dictates the quality of our life, that is the ability to be quite quiet.

We do not tend to think of being quiet as a skill, it is not part of any school curriculum, but it is an essential life skill.

We are driven by words such as need, action, expectation, achievement. Busy people are celebrated, quiet people are forgotten.

People will ask me “Are you busy” as if this was a good thing? I am told that this is a caring question for a consultant - equivalent to "are you employed"? I always wonder about the sincerity of this question, because for me the question is not about being busy or emplyed, but rather "am I productive?" am I making a diffrence today to me and anyone around me?

Being quiet is not a passive act. It does not mean effecting an utter and total “shut down”.

For example planting ourselves on a sofa and sucking sweet nothings out of the dumb box is not being quiet. Watching television is a busy activity, our sense are being bombarded with cues to move in this and that direction. Television and movies are not a retreat into quiet but a plunge into more noise. The only difference is that other people are controlling the strings of our noise, not us. it also allows us to shut out those tough questions and challenges (about relationships and work that are getting the best of us).

To sit still. To be alone but not lonely. To be absolutely quite and allow a deeper power to untie the knots that scramble us so. This is no mean feat. It is one of the most courageous things we can do. It is possibly the greatest gift we can give ourselves.

Is it an accident that many of the deepest and most meaninful thinkers in our history were forced to spend long periods of quiet and solitude. Nelson Mandela, Matahtam Gandhi or even the great masters - the Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed, Guru Nanak, Moses, Krishna... all abandoned the noise of the mindless mass, stepped away from the crowd and came back with wisdom.

Society teaches us to act not reflect, to judge not inquire, to justify not acknowledge, to possess not appreciate. When is the last time you went to watch a movie where the hero or heroine spent two hours sitting in a room - meditating, praying and abandoning the urge to fix something? We cannot watch others do it, less do it ourselves.

when we sit alone and get free of our thinking, step away from our definitions and solutions, we are able to redefine ourselves and what matters, then we recieve a great gift. This gift comes at the price of confusion and ambiguity, it requires us to trust our inner wisdom. It is a painful step.

Instead of getting in our own way, all we need to do is allow the divinity that sleeps deep inside us to stir us and create something true.

"O! sir, sir, sir,   
I would have had you put your power well on   
Before you had worn it out...
You might have been enough the man you are   
With striving less to be so: lesser had been   
The thwarting of your dispositions if
You had not show’d them how you were dispos’d,   
Ere they lack’d power to cross you"

Coriolanus (Act III, Scene II)

Unfold It

“They will know us by our horses, by our habits,
and by every other appointment, to be ourselves”
Henry IV
ACT I, Scene II

Today we enjoy Christmas Day. We are asked “do you celebrate Christmas” and our response is “no, we celebrate each other with a Christmas theme”. The real question today is not whether we celebrate Christmas but whether Christmas celebrates us. In other words – is Christmas a ritual or a habit?

The term ritual and habit are often confused with each other. A ritual is the opposite of a habit. A ritual is an action or an event that interrupts our habitual routine.

A habit allows us to operate without thinking and feeling. Habit is 'auto-pilot' We feed a habit by following its rules. A habit saves us from thinking. We invest in a habit. Habits are important because we could not function if we had to think about every single thing we had to do in a day.

A ritual is something that ‘works on us’ that reveals us to ourselves. A ritual awakens us. A ritual instructs us to see and shape the world around us. A ritual transforms us.

Our habits define us. Our habits define the circumference of our identity.

Our rituals change us. Our rituals extend the circumference of our identity.

Rituals have existed in every age and society. Birthdays, funerals, meditation/prayer, vacations, even (exercised properly) a handshake or a hug can be a ritual.

A ritual as simple as eating with loved ones or telling a joke can bring us back to life or be a habit concealed in the garb of a ritual.

Our environment shapes many of our habits. When we become hostage to social rituals we feel so lost and depressed that we lose our self.

Sometimes our rituals become habits. Suddenly Christmas or vacations even weddings become something that we need ‘to do’ rather than something that can work on us. Once a special occasion becomes a chore, it no longer refreshes our habitual way of thinking and living, it becomes another habit that we feed.

It should be no surprise to us that the term spiritual has the word ritual embedded in it. In a day and age when spirituality has been taken hostage by fundamentalists of every persuasion, people who impose their habitual thinking on the exhausted masses, perhaps it’s time we gave ourselves a break and allowed the simple rituals in our live to bring us back to life.

So from the Birk household, today its “Happy Christmas” not happy holidays.

MONTJOY   You know me by my habit
K. HENRY.  Well then I know thee: what shall I know of thee?
MONTJOY   My master’s mind
K. HENRY    Unfold it.

Henry V
Act III. Scene VI.

Open-Eyed Compassion

"While you here do snoring lie, open-eyed conspiracy his time doth take. If of life you keep a care, shake off slumber and beware. Awake, Awake!"  Tempest (Act I, Scene II).

Shak was no Buddhist (as far as we can tell) but this basic notion of awakening, consciously and purposefully is embedded deep in the 4 Noble Truths.

A distant cousin who I gingering ignore in family functions comes close to death after a serious bout of food poisoning, a neighbour whose seemingly happy marriage suddenly falls apart, a parent or child is taken ill. Out of from nowhere springs a natural and authentic torrent of compassion.

The tenderness we share, all that love and caring is buried (snoring) deep inside of us all this time. Is it necessary for personal loss and tragedy to awaken our compassion for others? Do we really need to feel the hurt to shake off our slumber and awaken?

Whether it is a tragedy of global proportions (such as 9/11, Auschwitz or the Tsunami) or personal grief in our own backyard, how is it that we find the capacity to love and show compassion to total strangers when these tragic events occur in our lives?

Why do we hit the love snooze button the rest of the time? Is love all just too much for us to take? Can we only take small doses at a time, handing out bite size chunks on a need basis? Are we really that busy in our 'day job? Is that kind of love only only permitted during puberty and in poems or movies?

This surely is the one point at which every spiritual and religious order intersects. Love is our waking existence, the rest of the time we are just - the living dead.

"Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause, But rather reason thus with reason fetter, Love sought is good, but given unsought better"  Twelfth Night (Act III, Scene I).

Sweeten My Imagination

Burning, scalding, stench,
consumption; fie, fie, fie! pah, pah!
Give me an ounce of civet,
good apothecary, to sweeten my
imagination: there’s money for thee.

King Lear
(Act IV, Scene vi)

I have always found the stench of a skunk a curious odor, it is strong to the point of being overwhelming (depending on the distance) but not ugly like a human fart. Being city born, I have never smelled the musky scent of a civet, but I am lead to believe it is a mild version of skunk. I am grasped by the same range of natual perfumes when the notes of my life are untangled and the musky music of truth gasps gently out of the pandemonium.

The sense awakening occurs whenever I discover a gap in my thinking or an awkward kink in my behaviour. This occurs when I realize a home truth that my true friends have been prodding into my forehead but I could not sense or see, as I was too saturated in my own tune.

When I wake up to my deep inner strengths and flaws, I am overcome with a mixed emotion. The silent joy of being untied from an old stump co-mingles with the sharp sting of having been found wanting but most of all being found out. These are moments of truth when I  lose my rhythm, lose my religion and lose face (who would want it in the first place!). In this awakening, I take a few awkward virgin steps, possibly stumble, and on a really great day, if the God's are with me, I fail gracefully.

A variation of this experience is a weekly if not daily occurrence in my life. From the moment my feet touch the bedroom floor to the last stumbling fall back into the breasts of sleep, I spend my (good) days injecting my addiction truth into other people’s lives.

Whenever I do this, I get a variety of responses across the entire scale ranging from ecstatic, joyful, thankful, amused, curious, troubled, confused, anxious, annoyed, upset, resentful, all the way to - down right vengeful. i scar people for life, both in a good way and sometimes in a bad way. Whether good or bad, it always involves some stench of awakening, some rattling of chords.

On a bad day I am the skunk of truth, on a good day its civet. Either way my relationships contain the spectrum of sounds, the symphony of my life is a curious blend of all these ebony and ivory tones, sometimes elegant, often eratic, always "on".

When I am "on" the bottom end of this scale, I am told to be less intrusive perhaps even go away, when I am "on" the upper end of this scale, I am revered as a genuine friend.

I surround myself with people who revel in the sweet stench of such reality. They play along a spectrum of sounds that ranges from silence, art, philosophy, criticism, wit, humour, sarcasm, cynicism, anger to good ol' smack (in the gob). My friends and fiends all awaken my senses beyond the black and white of a busy rodent, they open up my inner ear to the jazz that surrounds me, and I love them for it.

Gaze An Eagle Blind

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,   
And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.   
Nor hath Love’s mind of any judgment taste;   
Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste"
A Midsummer-Night’s Dream (Act I, Scene I)

A friend asked me today, what does it mean to be "in the moment"? Surely you can only remember the past and think about the future, she said, the present actual moment is too hard to get hold of.

She had confused 'being' in the moment with 'possessing' the moment.

Being and clinging are not the same. One is from the inside-out, the other from the outside-in. They are as different as love and lust.

A sacred moment is not something you hold onto or possess, it possess you.

The less you desire it the more precious it is, to the point where it is bigger than your entire life. In any day, month, year or life-span, there are only a few moments that shine, when we are truly alive, the rest is just habitual noise as we grind through the motions (not the emotions) of living. We exist in these moments, these are our moments of truth.

I am "in the moment" when I:

• Crack the code on a business problem
• Hear my father laugh so uncontrollably, he begins to cry
• Feel my mothers smiling eyes looking right through me
• Get lost in a Chopin piano concerto
• Step bare foot on a drawing pin
• Take the final glance at the physical remains of a loved one before the casket closes
• Am disturbed by an idiot on a cell phone in the cinema
• Go to a temple alone but not lonely
• Take that first bite of cheesecake or chocolate
• Laugh with my brothers
• Drive to a client engagement with no expectations
• Hang on intently to the words of a dying relative
• Am pushed gently by the ocean waves
• Realize I have been betrayed
• Breath properly
• Watch my children's eyes light up when I come home
• Sing in the car
• See the snow melt into spring
• Arrive at the vacation destination
• Acknowledge my mistakes
• Shake off the grip of nightmare
• Am cleaning, organizing, polishing, decorating
• Step back into reality as I shuffle out of a crowded theatre, into the parking lot after a great film
• Step back into reality in the middle of a lousy film
• Am running late for a meeting
• Try to brake as my car slides across a sheet of ice
• Hold my lovers hand
• Wake up in a new bed
• Realize the anger is mine
• Stretch out the toxins
• Feel completely vulnerable
• Finish a good book
• Watch the circumference of the city grow as the plane comes in for a landing
• Open my mouth for the dentist
• Meditate
• Lay down in a hot bath after a long hard day
• Hear a genuine compliment or criticism
• Get paid
• Wave goodbye at the airport
• Welcome a guest into our home
• Dance with utter abandon
• Notice my children on the sofa, watching me work
• Know that I am imperfect and impermanent and it doesn't matter

"Lives not alone immured in the brain,   
But, with the motion of all elements,
Courses as swift as thought in every power,   
And gives to every power a double power,   
Above their functions and their offices.   
It adds a precious seeing to the eye; 
A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind;   
A lover’s ear will hear the lowest sound,   
When the suspicious head of theft is stopp’d:   
Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails"
Love’s Labour’s Lost (Act IV, Scene III)

To Sting Our Nature

"I have delivered it an hour since:
There is something in’t that stings his nature,
For on the reading it he changed almost
Into another man"
All’s Well that Ends Well (Act IV, Scene III)

Feeling special is not just about exchanging gifts, receiving compliments or going out on a date. It is also about giving ourselves the gift of truth. Feeling special about who and what we are, for ourselves.

To feel special we have to change what we do and how we feel about who we are. When we say "change our mind" we are typically referring to altering a decision, but what does it mean to change our actual mind? What does it take to renew how we think, feel and act?

We are surrounded by so much noise and nonsense about "learning" and "change", but what does this process of self renewal entail?

I am blessed. I am blessed to be surrounded with true friends in my family and social circles, who keep me honest. I am blessed with truth tellers, who give me daily, sometimes hourly opportunities to feel "real special" about who and what I am. Unsolicited feedback is my daily bread.

Most of my waking days, I fill the void with pointless chatter and hollow laughter. To discover a new me, strip off the old labels and the skin that holds them in place, I have to tear through the walls of my desolate pride. This is not an easy process.

Personal growith and transformation occurs in moments of truth, special occasions, when I bear the unbearable and deal straight up with what really counts. It entails a tough conversation with me on the receiving end of the learning curve.

When the feedback loops right back to me, I need to fix my courage and listen fearlessly till the iron in old truth melts into a hot liquid of awakening, hardening into the mold of a new experience, a new - me.

How do I do this? How does it feel? The text book answers are simple enough. Take a deep breath, step back, let go of attachment to the ego, step through the wall of pride, live in the moment, appreciate endings and beginnings, embrace the great awakening, bla. bla. bloody bla. Words. Turds.

It is all well in the tell, but when the act has to come out of the fact, it hurts like hell. The minute I step out of my voice, something dies. Far from feeling special, I dread shifting out of the warm familiar blanket of my ordinary life. If I let go of my false strength what will become of the only me I know? This is the first rattle of retreat at the door of renewal.

This sound does not hang for long, it is quickly broken by the silent rage of old sanity scurring to protect its borders, in a final fling of self presevation. My rationality slowly lures me back into the cozy rut of tried and tested verbal cues. I retreat from the sheerness of my naked shame, clutching onto cloths woven of guilt and pride to patch up my shiveling ego until I am sucked back into the womb of dreary lifelessness. To sleep once more in the pre-birth pity pit of glorious self denial.

There is the precious gem hidden inside each and every moment of truth. This is the tipping point, beyond which an everyday event can crack open its brittle shell to spill the dawn of special occassion. This is a crude and shameful awakening.

Once I persist through the tipping point, if i ignore the urge to regress, hang onto the thread of truth long enough, the angst extends beyond its breaking point, the readiness rises beyond the threshold of no return, it overflows until the tarnish of my eyes is washed away.

I rise into a tender new reality, fumble around in a velvet venerable skin. Gradually, I begin to relish the scent of the new hide (out), and I have arrived.

The roller coaster ride comes to a gentle stop. I climb out of the pressure cabin of my mind and celebrate the newness in me. The moment of truth is realized. Life is renewed. There is something special in everything I see and do. I have discovered what it means to be special, for my self.

"Not a whit, we defy augury;
there’s a special providence
in the fall of a sparrow.
If it be now, ’tis not to come;
if it be not to come, it will be now;
if it be not now, yet it will come:
The readiness is all.
Since no man has aught of what he leaves,
what is ’t to leave betimes? Let be"
Hamlet (Act V, Scene II)