The dogs have been walked

 

The dogs have been walked 

and our child has been fed

the dishes are finished and the emails all read

the laundry's been folded and stored away, too

and yet there's still more that I feel I should do.

It was a full day at work

and a full night at home

and I'm guessing tomorrow will have the same tone

this morning's To Do list, has hardly been touched

and as bedtime approaches, it all feels like too much

But it's just a fact, I'll never get it all done

so why not relax and just rest in the One?

rest in the Presence, and bid my worries farewell

simply simmer in silence, trusting all shall be well

simmer in silence, knowing all IS well...

In peace,

     Rudi 

BEYOND PERCEPTIONS AND POSSIBILITIES

 

 I recently found myself feeling very upset about a particular situation, and very certain that I was right about my point of view. But then I found myself reminded of a lesson I had learned several years ago, while staying at a friend's ranch, deep in the heart of South Texas ...

BEYOND THE SILENCE

     It's a vast spread, with thousands of acres of rolling hills, covered with mesquite trees and cactus. The main house is located at the end of a long, dusty driveway, several miles from the nearest road, perched on a bluff overlooking a clear, deep swimming hole in the Nueces River below. But the best part of being on this huge ranch is the rare opportunity to experience total immersion in nature. After walking just a few hundred yards from the house, there's not a single artifact to be seen, not a humanly generated sound to be heard. No people, no cars, no utility wires or airplanes overhead, nothing but the sound of my own footsteps in an otherwise silent landscape. Or so it seems. But once I stop in my tracks and listen deeply for a few moments, it's clear that this seemingly barren landscape is actually filled with a fascinating variety of sounds, all of which were previously being drowned out by my monkey-mind, chattering on and on with its endless stream of memories, fantasies and judgments. 

     However, the simple act of noticing this fact reduces the inner noise level and enables me to attune to the rich chorus of voices all around: wild turkeys gobbling, crows cawing, cicadas drumming, leaves fluttering, deer snorting and small critters skittering through the underbrush. Odd. Just a few steps ago, this landscape seemed totally silent, but now it's filled with a majestic symphony. What a humbling reminder of how much I'm unaware of in my surroundings...

BEYOND THE DARKNESS

     As stimulating as this landscape is during the day, it's even more engaging after dark. Since the nearest city lights are many miles away, the conditions for stargazing are ideal out here, where a mere sliver of fingernail moon hangs just over the vast horizon, surrounded by a gazillion stars. Standing slack-jawed, awed by the magnificent sight of all those twinkling lights above, I suddenly remember a fascinating fact I heard on National Public Radio recently: it might seem like I'm seeing millions of stars on a night like this, but actually, the human eye can only discern about 6,000 distinct, celestial objects from any given vantage point. Moreover, most of what we can see with the naked eye is actually located within the boundaries of our own small galaxy, the Milky Way, which contains over 400 billion stars, but is only one of at least 100 billion galaxies (and possibly as many as 500 billion galaxies) thought to exist in the observable universe. In short, there's so much more to see than what I'm looking at!

BEYOND LIMITATIONS 

     In attempting to cope with the bigness of this thought, my monkey mind is suddenly stunned wide open by the sheer force of this visceral insight: that whatever I perceive is but a small fraction of what there is to perceive. In any given situation, whether I'm out here in this relaxing, wide-open space or zooming around in high gear at my Big City pace, it's important to be aware that whatever I see is just a small proportion of what there is to see. What I hear is but a small slice of what there is to hear. And by extension, whatever I think I know represents just a fraction of what I don't know. Which, in turn, pales in comparison to everything I don't know that I don't know!

     It's as if the stars above and the symphony of nature sounds surrounding me have conspired to teach me the importance of staying humble and keeping an open mind in the face of the Great Mystery which is unfolding within and around us every moment, every day, everywhere. Asking us, again and again:  Are you willing to let go of the known and embrace a willingness to be shown how much more is available, how much more possible now? And now...  And now...

In peace,  

     Rudi

GLANCING THROUGH MEMORIES

     I'm busy scanning my bookshelves and closets to find items for our Circle Book Swap this Sunday when I encounter a large plastic tote box tucked into a corner. It's full of old scrapbook pages, newspaper clippings, flyers and other memorabilia from the 80's and 90's, when I was still crisscrossing the country as a musician and workshop leader. This box hasn't been opened in years, and as I pry off the lid and smell the accumulated mustiness, it's odd to see so many images of a much younger Rudi smiling up at me.

 

OBSERVING THE PAST

     In the spirit of Spring Cleaning, I know if should chuck out the whole thing; just dump the contents sight unseen into the recycle bin and be done with it. But I'm way too curious to do that, so here I sit, sorting through page after page of old photos and papers. Watching as my hairstyles and wardrobe changed over two decade of headshots; chuckling at the pumped-up verbiage of old press releases proclaiming my virtues as a post-punk, New Thought troubadour and performance artist - and wondering how the heck I ever thought that was going to lead to wide-spread success. And, yes, shedding more than few tears as I re-read old fan mail from folks who've long since died or drifted out of view.

 

MAKING DECISIONS

     Doing my best to let go of as many of these accumulated pieces of paper as possible, I toss dozens of old church bulletins, fundraiser programs and concert posters, fistfuls of yellowing newspaper clippings, contracts and set lists. But, wait...I can't throw away these last remaining copies of "Por Nada", my vinyl single released in 1980. And certainly not my recording contract with Horizons Unlimited in London. Or my first published article in the Whole Life Times. Or that thank you note from Jean Houston...

     And so it goes, this process of sorting things into piles, deciding what to shred, save or share with loved ones. Fortunately, Zet and Mateo have been very patient with the fact that I've commandeered our dining room table for the past 3 days, while I float through this sea of memories at a leisurely pace, reviewing these physical reminders of the many choices, challenges and changes that occurred more than twenty years ago, but helped bring me to where I am today.

 

RELEASING ATTACHMENTS

     It's been such a wonderful trip down memory lane that I wound up keeping enough pages to fill a small plastic bin. But, hey, it's less than 1/6th the size of the original giant tote box. That's progress, I tell myself. More than that, this has been a valuable reminder that the process of personal and spiritual growth is anything but linear. That "the future" I'd once spent so much time and effort planning and praying for seldom turned out to be what I expected - but was also much richer than anything I could possibly have imagined.

     Which is a good reminder to relax and stop worrying so much about getting where I "should" go tomorrow, and staying focused on enjoying the ride today.

   

With joy,

     Rudi

FEELING RENEWED

     After several weeks of unusually warm weather, winter snuck back into town last night, plunging temperatures in San Antonio back down into the upper 30's, and forcing me to pull my heavy wool jacket back out of the closet and bundle up before going out to walk the dogs early this morning.

 

WALKING ALONG

     Arriving at the Mission Reach stretch of the San Antonio River that passes through our neighborhood, we're greeted by the odd sight of a thick blanket of fog hovering over the river, but barely extending beyond the riverbanks. Strolling along the portion of the river that dips down just a couple of feet above the water, we're in the middle of thick fog, but just a few feet further on, where the sidewalk gains altitude as it leads up over the riverbank and away from the river channel, there's nothing but clear blue sky all around.

     While the dogs busy themselves following their curiosity wherever their noses lead them, I reflect on the odd-looking specificity of the fogbank. It serves as an apt metaphor for how easy it is to get caught up in a fog of worry and/or confusion in our lives - and how simple (though not necessarily easy!) it is get out of such foggy conditions, by lifting our view a little higher.

 

SHIFTING MY VIEW

     How often I have found myself feeling anxious, slogging through a seemingly endless bog of worries, feeling stuck in the yuck of shoulda-coulda-woulda - only to find that a few hours (or even seconds) later, a small shift in my point of view is enough for the fog to lift. Sometimes all it takes is several slow, deep breaths, a quiet prayer, or a brief meditation, to remind us that our situation is not as limited or limiting as it might appear... and change our point of view. 

     Walking back to the house, watching the budding trees dance in the crisp spring breeze under the cloudless sky, and remembering that just five minutes earlier I was surrounded by dense fog, I experience a renewed sense of wonder and gratitude for the precious, ever-shifting, ever-renewing gift of life - and the power of making conscious choices, one moment at a time. I really love this time of the year!

 

With joy,

      Rudi

TAKING A BREAK

         Zet, Mateo and I are in New Mexico for Spring Break, visiting a couple of the college campuses that he's considering. We'll be back in SA just in time to celebrate the Spring Equinox with the Cave concert and the SundayMorning Circle, but in the meantime, I'm taking a break from writing and singing -- and spending time staring off into the endless blue sky and wide-open horizon instead. 

          As we enter the season of re-birth and renewal, here's hoping that you, too, will enjoy some time to relax and refresh. 

Sending love and blessings from the Land of Enchantment,

          Rudi

ANOTHER REMINDER

      The kitchen door slams as our teenage son, Mateo, storms off in a huff. He's in a hurry to get to school, and is wordlessly reprimanding me, letting me know that I'm not moving fast enough, and thereby falling short as his taxi driver. It's not even 6:30am, but for some reason he's decided he needs to leave for swim team practice a few minutes early today. I ought to know better, but now his impatience is making me feel out of sorts, too.

ANOTHER TIME

     Standing at the door, car keys in hand, I take a deep breath and find myself remembering back to the time sixteen years ago, when the birth of our son was the answer to a deeply-held prayer for Zet and me. At that point, she and I been together for twenty years, and had been trying to have a baby for part of that time. It's a long, winding story, and I'll spare you the details here, but suffice it to say that we were both astonished and overjoyed when the phone rang and a kindly stranger asked if we were still interested in adopting a baby.

     Somehow Zet's mother's next door neighbor's sister knew a lawyer whose paralegal assistant knew a woman whose cousin was pregnant and seeking adoptive parents. In case you got lost in that last sentence, that's probably because it lists the seven degrees of separation between us and Mateo's birth mother.

ANOTHER PLACE

     Three months after that life-changing phone call, we were truly blessed to be present in the delivery room to witness his birth. I'll never forget the sight of that full head of black hair and his right hand emerging simultaneously, those impossibly long, thin fingers outstretched and flexing, as if reaching out for something that was invisible to the rest of us, but that he was clearly longing to grasp.  Now, sixteen years later, I find myself reflecting back on the sight of that outstretched hand, and how symbolic it is of the way that Mateo often seems to be reaching for something that neither he nor anyone else can quite see, much less understand or articulate.

     Most of the time he is very gentle and sweet-natured, so it can be truly mystifying and heart-wrenching to watch him work himself up into an agitated state over some project or personal relationship, or see him march out the door in a hurry to do something or go somewhere.

ANOTHER STORY

     Clearly, this is one of those times, so I slip into the driver's seat with a sigh, determined to remember that this moment, too, is a gift. During the ten-minute drive to school, feeling the weight of the silence hanging in the air between us in the car, my mind drifts back to an old Buddhist folktale about a young man named Basho who was hungry for knowledge and eager for enlightenment. Feeling constricted in his search for awareness by the constraints of daily life at home, he decided to leave his familiar surroundings and travel to a far-off land to study with a famous Zen teacher. After travelling for many days, he paused to rest in the shade beside a stream, where he encountered a kindly old man with whom he struck up a conversation. When the elder asked the youth where he was headed, Basho spoke of his search for a teacher to show him the path to enlightenment.

     The stranger looked deeply into Basho's eyes and said, "Rather than seeking a mere teacher, you might be better off looking for the Buddha." "But where can I find him?" the young man asked. "When you return home," he was told, "you'll find a person wrapped in an old blanket, with unkempt hair and wearing shoes on the wrong feet. That person is the Buddha."

     Basho immediately jumped up and headed back the way he came, travelling night and day with a hopeful heart. It was well past midnight when he finally arrived home, knocked at the familiar door and called out a greeting. Startled awake from a deep sleep, his mother hastily grabbed an old blanket and drew it over her bedclothes, and without stopping to brush her hair or notice that she had put her shoes on backwards, went to the door to greet her son - who took one look at her, and was instantly enlightened.

ANOTHER CHANCE

     I wish I could report that I was instantly enlightened by remembering this story, or that I found some warm, wonderful way to thaw the chilly space between my son and me during our ride to school today, but that's not the case. Instead, I'll be satisfied by remembering once again why we chose to name him "Mateo" - which comes from the Hebrew name meaning "gift from God." Because he truly was, and is, precisely that. Just because the gift doesn't always feel good or seem logical, doesn't mean that I'm any less grateful. Or that the lessons he has to teach me are any less important. At least, that's my story, and I'm doing my best to remember it.

With gratitude and blessings,

       Rudi 

GRATEFUL FOR THIS DAY

     Last week, our son, Mateo, came down with the flu, big time. Headache, nausea, coughing, aching bones, chills, fever - the whole crummy deal. He was miserable.  And since he's usually very healthy, he had not had a full-blown illness like this since he was much younger, so it felt like a brand new experience to him.

 

LOOKING AT MY SON

     At one point, two painful days into the process, he mumbled "this must be what it feels like to die." Being a dad, it was very tempting to try to assure him that this was "just a flu and you'll feel better soon" But I knew full well that such words wouldn't be helpful, so I kept my mouth shut and brought him more liquids, cold packs and blankets as needed, instead.

     Three days later, Zet came down with it, too - so then I had two patients. The next day, I got it as well, and then our home truly felt like it had become a ghastly, grey sick ward, full of hacking, snurgling, napping, sickly folks. No energy. No fun. No big deal, really; it was "just a flu", something we adults have been through a number of times, and yet there we were, stuck in the middle of the yuck.

 

LOOKING AT MYSELF

     Fortunately, we all gradually stumbled back to wellness, each in our own way. And then, yesterday, it was as if some dark veil draped over our household was magically lifted, the sun broke through, and suddenly all three of us were clearly on the path back to full health again. Yes!

      How sweet it was to wake up this morning and feel some pep in my step for the first time in days. How fresh and fragrant those first few, clear lungful's of breath felt, making me swear that I'll never take an unencumbered breath of air for granted again.

      Sitting at my desk in silence, just after sunrise, watching the new day being born, the following words came tumbling into my heart:

 

Today is an invitation into a new, fresh way of being - and I choose to accept it joyfully.

Today is a brand new chapter in the book of my life - and I choose to write it consciously.

Today is a prayer waiting to be spoken into the silence - and I choose to speak it prayerfully.

Today is a song, longing to be sung - and I choose to sing it with heart wide open.

Today is a feast, ready to be enjoyed, and I arrive at the banquet table with a healthy appetite, choosing wisely, chewing slowly and savoring each bite.

Today is a gift, and I receive it with a grateful heart, eager to share it freely with everyone I encounter - especially my Self.

 

With joy and hopes that you, too, are enjoying your health,

     Rudi