Chronos and Kairos

I love watches. I typically wear 2-5 different ones in a day. Yeah. Crazy. I change them to suit my moods. Today I began with a simple, beautiful Timex, stainless steel 38mm case with a white face with black hands and numbers, held on by a great thick reddish brown strap with a small touch of light blue stitching near the lugs. Pictured below is the next one up, the Gerald Genta (pronounced "Zheeral Zhenta"), seconds before I changed into it. GG was by most estimates the great watch designer of the 20th century, creating the Constellation for Omega, the Royal Oak for Audemars, the Nautilus for Patek, and on and on. Then he formed his own company and made wild nonstandard watches, like the jump hour, where the hour numeral would pop into a window, and a horseshoe of minute numbers with one standard hand indicating them kept you apprised of how that hour was progressing. Sometimes both the hour and minutes would jump. My GG sports watch here on a rubber strap (with his name in raised letters in the rubber) is the only watch he made that was "normal" - nonstandard for him among his nonstandard designs, looking like a regular watch but with the numbers configured to allude to the jump hour versions. Steel fluted 38mm case, domed and beaded crown, carbon fiber dial—all sorts of idiosyncratic details adorning an ordinary looking watch. But it's special to those who know.

And now, with that lead in, my topic: The Greeks had two words for time, chronos which meant normal clock time, watch time, your smart but not wise phone time, and what leads to the calendar, the increments of seconds, minutes, hours, and days that pass the same for all regardless of how we experience them. Then there is kairos, a very special time, maybe a sacred time, a unique thread that weaves through the world, behind the scenes, and if you can pick it up and respond to it, you find unusual synchronicity, special coincidences, you meet with unusual successes helped along by unseen forces. That person comes into your life, that thing happens just when it's needed, whether you realized the need in advance or not.

There is a statement in the New Testament, in Galatians I think: "When the time had fully come, God sent forth his son." If I recall, the term here is one ordinarily used for a pregnant woman ready to give birth. It's a concept of readiness, or fullness. When the everyone is running around doing things too soon or late, the person with a keen sense of kairos does them at the perfect time, the Goldilocks time, and succeeds. Most of us just do when we do and hope for the best. And often we have to be patient because the best will happen in the kairos time, not in the chronos time, the clock time or calendar time we have in mind. Faith, hope, love, and the culmination of them in patience are required to get us to the kairos. So be of good hope. Seek the special, unusual, unique kairos, which I see alluded to in my old Gerald Genta watch, the one that tells me it's now kairos time to stop.

Interpreting With Humor

Imagine Jesus Laughing. Ok, not a lot in water. His was mostly a dry humor. But if we can't imagine this, I think we misunderstand a lot of his words as recorded in the Bible. Everyone who seriously reads the Gospels comes across passages that seem to make no sense, given the background belief of the writers that Jesus was somehow literally God, a divinely perfect being, as well as being fully human. He can come across as rude to his mother or disparaging about his family, or sound like a hellfire Puritan preacher on rare occasions. But what if he had a great sense of humor? What if was often playing around with his conversation partners, using metaphor and simile and lots of other off-literal forms of language to evoke insight through irony or mirth or exaggeration or sounding like he was saying the opposite of what point he wanted his friends to get? We most often often read him as if he was a grim faced somber individual with a harsh disposition. What if that's the opposite of the truth?

Socrates as represented by Plato was very playful and funny. So then was Plato for so representing him. Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius can make you laugh out loud. So can Pascal or Kierkegaard, and on and on. When I was a professor, I used to tell my grad student TAs that philosophy is serious, but that doesn't mean it's somber. We can have fun doing it and we should. Great minds are often playful minds and we all move in their direction by a proper playfulness.

The mother of Jesus comes to him at the wedding at Cana and says, "They're running out of wine." I think this happened a lot wherever Jesus was. Draw your own conclusions as well as a little of the red from that wineskin. He says "Woman, what is that to me?" My mother would have smacked me on the spot. First, he doesn't address her as his mother, and secondly he acts like he has no idea why she's telling him this odd factoid. And it just sounds rude. But what if there is this rich history between the two of them, of playful joking around, and he knows she knows exactly who he is and what he can do. And, yeah, it's been a secret they've kept but he takes her cue after this head fake that it's time. And the wine flows. I imagine her smile or laugh. Let's call this the hermeneutics of humor. Interpretation that has to get as creative as the text. Did the Gospel writers intentionally make all this up and put such stuff into the mouth of their savior? I don't think they were that clever or sophisticated but I do think he was.

The Lesson from Moscow

In Moscow, hollow men with empty hearts play their desperate ego games on fantasy chessboards in their heads, making their moves with easy orders at a safe distance but using real lives that are deeply harmed and cut short. It's not just Putin, though it is of course primarily, but also those who put him into power, and those who serve him, who acquiesce and obey eagerly for their own false sense of power and ego.

When Lord Acton wrote that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, it was after he had extensively read and studied the letters and private papers of those considered politically great, or massive in their undertakings, throughout European history. His conclusion was that in this precise sense great men are seldom good men. The sad truth is that it is badly damaged egos, the hollow men, who claw their way to the top far too often, where they can do immense damage to those around them and to the broader world. We see it in our own nation and in many of our states. Containment is a messy and partial solution once such people have power and act on it. The key is to keep them from amassing power in the first place. On every level, we need to resist and suppress the ambitions of damaged, grandiose egos - from local elections and small business endeavors to the institutions that span a national and global scale. Such people come to power from two sources, by appealing to the sadly like minded, and because the rest of us are too careless and distracted to act early enough to stop their ascent. And there are always heavy costs as a result.

I've been quietly working on these issues for twenty years and have finally compiled what I've learned in a book manuscript called "The Frankenstein Factor: Monster Success and Massive Failure." It's all about grandiose ego, and the motives, means, and methods that repeatedly create havoc in the world. In Mary Shelley's famous novel about the production of a monster, which is one of the greatest cautionary tales about ambition and success ever written, we are given insights we can use to comb history for the wisdom we need right now. With Putin's invasion of Ukraine, we're seeing the Frankenstein Factor on a large scale. And if history tells us anything clearly, it's that this will not go well for the perpetrators, as well as a great many innocent people, in the long term. Without wisdom and the virtue to act on it, suffering spreads unfettered through the world. With the right measure of caution and courage, we can do something about it instead.

Living Without Goals?

Goals. As a philosopher who has studied goals and goal setting for more than 30 years, I’ve occasionally come across books with titles like “Goalless Living” and “Living Without Goals.” The idea of these books seem to be that goals lock us down in a world of constant surprises and that instead of chaining ourselves down with goals, we’re better off just going with the flow and letting serendipity do with us what it will. We can just be in the moment and let good stuff find us.

But imagine that I was impressed with such a book. What would I do, set it as my goal to live without goals? And what about normal life? Imagine that my wife asks me to take out the trash in a few minutes and later on today pick up three items she needs from the grocery store. Now imagine me saying, “Sorry, honey, I’m living now without goals.” Finally, imagine me with spouseless living. The first problem is that it’s impossible to live without any goals. So why not pick good ones? And the point about serendipity is this: I tend to find good luck come my way, serendipity and synchronicity, precisely when I’m pursuing clear goals. In fact, the clearer the goals I have, the better I’ll recognize good luck as such.

Finally, goals don’t lock us down, they get us going. It’s hard to see what life has in mind for you when you’re utterly passive. And that’s because, for one thing, life does not have in mind your being utterly passive. You and I are supposed to be planning trips, finding paths forward, setting and revising goals, dropping some, and attaining others. As Aristotle saw, human life is essentially teleological, or oriented toward purposes and goals. With an inattention to them, we end up largely aimless. So if goals are necessary, and they’re important, we might as well do our goal setting wisely, and not to chain us down, but to open us up and get us going forward, where serendipity awaits.

For more on goals, please see books of mine like “True Success” and “The Art of Achievement,” along with “The Stoic Art of Living” and “The Oasis Within.”

What Got Me into Philosophy

What Got Me Into Philosophy. It may be have been my high school Jack Purcells. I was a tennis nut. Most days, after school at Durham High, I'd head over to the Duke courts, a few miles away, and either play with friends or hit the practice wall with all I had. I couldn't try out for the school team because my band The Chateaus was often traveling with irregular schedules. I was the leader, though the youngest, and I had to be available for band practice or going to play parties at NC State or Duke or UNC or UVA or The Myrtle Beach Pavilion or wherever. But back to Jack. For a long time I was always in Jacks or Stan Smith white tennis shoes. Those Jacks and Stans took me onto the green clay courts most days where I'd relish the serves, returns, lobs and slams like they were the stairway to heaven. Then I had my first philosophy course at UNC and saw the verbal serves and returns and lobs and slams as just the same thing but in a new mode. I was hooked. And like on the courts with friends, it didn't really matter who won or lost, but whether someone got in a great shot, skimming off that back line or popping over the net and twisting the other guy into a knot in a futile effort to return the ball. I learned that philosophical argument, like a friendly game of tennis with a good buddy, is not about winning or losing, but about honing the skills of making those points that will end up with a discovery of truth, or wisdom, a new insight into something that matters. So thanks, Jack and Stan, and to all my high school friends who endured my endless need to hit a ball under the warm southern sun. Who knew that at my age now, I'd still be serving, not that white fuzzy ball of ancient times, but the ideas, even older, that may help us all to score a little happiness and goodness in our day?

At Any Stage of Life

As I approach the seasoned period of life, and even though I still think of myself as barely on its doorstep, mostly still viewing it from afar, I like to think of how many people in their mature years have made great contributions to the world, even surpassing their youthful creations. To paint, to sculpt, to choreograph an interesting and meaningful life at every stage is the key. Then whether our contributions are big or small, they can be distinctively our offerings to the enhancement of others as well as our own inner growth. And in the end, what we think of as big and small may be mostly unrelated to the true value of anything done well. Perhaps everything is small that comes from the small-minded, and anything is big that's given by the big-hearted.

Mental Mentors

One of my favorite philosophers, Mike Austin, posted a blog yesterday about moral emulation and role models. Remember the popular slogan a few years ago among Christians of a certain stripe, who in a difficult situation would ask WWJD? “What would Jesus do?” Well the answer would often be, he’d perform a miracle and then go call some of the religious leaders of his day vipers. And I’m all for that, but of course I could personally aspire to only half that formula on any given day.

Mike made an important point that what Jesus would do in any given situation arose out of what he did normally, or habitually, day to day, like spending time alone, engaging in serious prayer, and hanging out with some of his closest companions. Then, when a tough situation arose, he had the inner resources for handling it well. The lesson for us is that if we try to apply the question “What would Jesus do?” only to tough situations, but not to the daily routines and habits that prepared him for those situations, we’re likely to either get our answer wrong, or fail in trying to take action on that answer.

The Jesus question is a particular use of what the Stoic philosophers and others often referred to as having a mental mentor, a moral exemplar vividly in your mind and imagination, someone you admire greatly and would seek to be like, whose image and history you can draw on in times of pressure, testing, or puzzlement. What would Socrates do? Ok, insult someone and drink too much and get poisoned, so we’ll move on. What would Buddha do? What would Gandhi do? What would Grandma Do? These can be good touchstones of proper emotion, attitude, and action for any of us, but they can be applied well to difficult situations only if we also apply them more broadly to normal habits and routines.

Imagine you’re playing a tough pickup basketball game. You think to ask “What would Lebron do?” Well, he’d steal the ball and dunk over these suckers fast. But unless you’ve been emulating Lebron in your practices and preparations for a very long time, you’re not likely to copy him right now in situational fireworks.

It’s good to have a mental mentor, a wise virtuous example of humanity at its best whom we admire and would like to imitate, emulate, and make proud with our own actions. But to use that mental mentor just in tough situations won’t usually get the job done. We need to keep their ongoing practices in mind and emulate those, else we won’t be prepared when crunch time comes and the game is on the line.

So. Do that. Because I think it’s: What Mike Austin Would Do.

Find the original post at: https://michaelwaustin.substack.com/p/role-models-and-character-growth

Looking for a Little Light Together

I'm a philosopher. Well, so are you, of course, but it's my full time job to think hard about difficult things and try to shed a little light into the dark corners of our lives. Curiosity drives me, and it it's never just a matter of idle entertainment, a way to pass the time, but a passionate quest to understand something crucial for living well and then to share what I learn. I spend hours, days, and sometimes years, with the occasional two or three decade adventure thrown in to get clear on an issue, and don't always end up as a result fully bathed in light. But if I can find a little light, that means progress. I share that light here and in books and talks, and other people like you sometimes then light up as well and share your illumination with me and others, and pretty soon we can all see more than we had before. And I think that's a big part of why we're here. And that's why doing such as this together can mean joy. So, again, thank you for sharing the journey with me.

The Wisdom Umbrella

I found this image many days ago and it stopped me and whispered to me but I could not hear what it was saying. And then just now, I realized its message to me: Sometimes, we're out in the world doing a multiplicity of good things - we're perhaps getting exercise, going about in a carbon neutral way, taking something of beauty to someone somewhere so that it can be appreciated and even brighten several days, and then in the process we get rained on. And for many, that's a big negative that ruins it all. But for others, it's just another form of beauty and being-in-the-world that can be celebrated for the good it does and the distinctive joy it can also bring.

It's really most often up to us how we view our circumstances, through irritation and complaint or celebration and joy. Even in the worst of situations, as Victor Frankl reminded us, we do not lose our ability to choose our attitudes. We should remember this throughout normal days, so that the things that bother others won't interrupt our own missions and positive experiences. We should carry an umbrella of wisdom with us wherever we go, and that will help in the journey. And, yeah, you could probably see something like that coming at this point, couldn't you? You're very smart, you know. That's why I'm so glad you read my little ponderings here and on social media. And I appreciate it!

Oh, and by the way, I posted this on social media and one friend told me he was reading it in a store on his phone and that when he left, the winter wind had whipped up suddenly and he remembered he didn’t have his hat and instantly started to deplore the cold but then realized he did have with him a wisdom umbrella that he could hold out against that chill breeze and smile.

Concluding note: Just out! Part one of my recent chat with David Storey of Boston College on doing public philosophy! Wait. Who is that man with lots of hair and a purple bow tie featuring bright green electric guitars? If you’re curious, copy and paste this link and go have some fun.

https://davidestorey.com/2022/01/11/episode-22-the-tom-morris-experience-part-1/

Kind Words

I just came across this sign online. "Kind words cost nothing." And I thought, "Yeah, that's nice." But then, I thought, "And it may even be true if you're a saint of the highest possible order." Because, in lots of instances, kind words cost a lot: a lot of self control, a good deal of patience and tolerance and understanding, a rising above the situation, reigning in that natural irritation, or stunned anger, or shocked outrage, controlling our tempers, mastering a good bit of self control, and acting against what our feelings might be shrilly insisting. So, sorry, kind words can cost a lot. They can be very expensive in effort, and energy, and control.

I actually know a few kind people who aren't very good at kind words. They prefer the power they feel in the curmudgeon pose of gruff talk, or even with the banter of smart sarcasm, or they relish the pleasure of witty snark. They do good things for others all the time. But they prefer a banter of trash talk along the way. For them, kind words must seem more costly than kind actions.

But there is actually some good news yet to be found around this. Kind words are always a good investment, paying dividends at least within ourselves that far offset what they've cost up front. So do kind words cost nothing after all, at least net? Maybe so, but that may not be what they feel like initially. Yet, we need to trust the process and the wisdom of the ages. Kindness to others is always the greatest kindness to ourselves, and may even help them too. #kindness

A Christmas Thought

There’s an implication of the Christmas story that we may not think about enough. God didn’t come into the world because we were doing just fine. It wasn’t supposed to be a divine vacation in a super nice place. It was meant as a rescue operation, where we didn’t get the heavenly version of a heavily armed special forces team rappelling across dimensions into a desert village, but a baby born to a carpenter and his wife in humble surroundings, sent to grow among us and learn our plight and then live and preach a message of transformative love. We need that message now as much as we ever have. And the best way to preach it may be to undergo its transformation every day and then seek to live it, humbly. Merry Christmas. And have a happy holiday, whichever of the many great ones you may observe.

The Cloud Around Us

The future is shrouded in a mist, a fog, a thick cloud of unknowing. Most of us realize that. But so likewise is most of the present, in many ways, and of course the past. We're surrounded by uncertainty. We guess. We assume. We think we know. And knowing is good, worth attempting and holding on to when we have it. But we have it as a possession much less than we think. So my conclusion is that we must be called to courage and faith and hope and creative action that does not depend on the full knowing we often wish and think we have.

The comparatively little that we do know should be our solid foundation for all else, but at the same time, we need to admit how much we do not see, or grasp. And yet, we should never let others pretend that nothing is known or that crucial things are no more than disputed, and should avoid that trap ourselves. It's a tightrope. A dynamic balance is our need. And that's a nice image, the taut thin rope representing those foundations we can know and use, and all the enveloping air standing in for the unknown and the very challenging. May we walk well into the uncertain together, whether on a bridge in the fog or on ropes in the air, and grow ourselves in the way that this alone allows.

The Power of Hope

I just gave a quick talk to a great group of Brits, by zoom, and the audio in the pub where most of them were gathered, after the power outage in their theater, was a little choppy, so I’m posting here a quick write-up. Hope you like it:

When Mark Masters asked me to talk about hope today, my actual first thought was … I hope I can come up with something. So at least I have recent experience of the topic.

Proper hope is not to be confused with delusion, or wishful thinking. Any healthy form of hope can act as a virtue, like honesty, or courage, a strength we can bring to the world.

Maybe it’s something like a second level virtue, depending on others for its goodness, robustness, and effectiveness. If you were to hope I die a slow and painful death, that might not count as a virtuous attitude. But based on compassion, love, and an elevation of the spirit, hope can be a virtue in the classic sense of the Latin Virtu, a strength or power, and even what military strategists call a “force multiplier” for your other strengths.

So, our first point. Proper Hope is a power, a personal strength to bring to any challenge or opportunity.

Now, remember, we’re not talking about irrational expectation or weak belief, or some vague desperate desire. Virtuous hope isn't a result of self deception or any sort of weakness, but is aligned with that faith beyond sight guiding the great explorers in the arts and sciences and philosophy, as well as business for a very long time.

Proper hope is a cousin of realistic optimism, which can be learned and developed. And so can hope. I have in mind Martin Seligman’s book Learned Optimism.

So: Point two, hope is akin to faith and optimism.

Now, recall the story of Pandora, who was presented with a gift box she wasn’t supposed to open. What sense does that make? In the original Greek, the term is better translated as a big jar, perhaps ornamental, with a top that shouldn’t be removed, just enjoyed visually. But Pandora had the quality of CURIOSITY, another strength, used properly. And she was not good at following instructions, like many of us. So she opened the jar, and as you know, most of the evils now in the world flew out and dispersed everywhere. What an experience! Much like the past year and a half. But the box or jar was not empty. And Pandora was curious enough to look again. There was something left at the bottom, something that stuck. You may remember that it was hope. She had this as the real gift, to help her deal with everything else.

One more point. Or maybe more. In the book If Aristotle Ran General Motors, I suggested there are two keys to leadership greatness that we almost never find balanced in people’s lives: Humility and Nobility. I mention this now because hope is one of the rare places where these things meet. Yes.

When you have proper hope, it’s because you have the humility to admit you don't actually know how things will turn out, and you also have the nobility of mind to maintain an expectation and commitment for something good, in whatever form it may come.

Hopelessness, by contrast, typically arises out of thinking we know more than we do. It’s a result of intellectual arrogance. Remember the recent book The Black Swan. The biggest things tend to come unexpectedly. Some black swans are challenging, but others are positive game changers. So to anyone struggling with hope, I want to urge a little more humility, where hope can grow. But to be helpful, hope must be put to work.

So: Point three: Hope is where humility and nobility meet.

And I guess, Point four: To be helpful, hope has to be remembered and used, moving forward.

By now you may hope I’m almost done, and I am. But one last and fifth point. Hope best arises and grows strong in partnership with other people, not as a solitary matter.

We give each other hope. And in particular: Creative partnerships spark hope. They provide it with deep roots and healthy growth.

You may have heard the story about the two college students who met and fell in love. She was in veterinary medicine, much like our beloved James Herriot, and he was studying zoology, to become a taxidermist. They got married and wanted to go into business together, oddly enough. So they hung out a sign with their newly shared name and a catchy slogan. It said, “Roberts Veterinary and Taxidermy: Either Way, You Get Your Dog Back.”

A creative partnership indeed. And a source of hope for us all.

Stuffed as we now are with philosophical ideas, may we all go forth with hope.

Cosmic Leadership and The Path

Last night I watched the Nova episode "The Milky Way" on PBS. I recommend it highly. At a certain point, the continuing refrain about billions of years and billions of galaxies each with hundreds of millions or billions of stars, and yet each galaxy being mostly empty space, and being flung about at more than a quarter million miles an hour gets your attention for the sheer crazy implausibility of it all. When we happened to tune in, we heard about the initial invisible structures of dark matter and energy than allowed stars to form and galaxies to be born through their gravitational pull, the invisible responsible for the visible, as it always is.

In a universe of mainly empty space, floating gasses, exploding stars, and hard rocks of all magnitudes hurtling along, it's difficult to imagine the emergence of fragile life forms like plants, bunny rabbits, and us. And yet, the fine tuning of these massive forces around us had to be just so in order for any of this vastness to exist. We should view ourselves and each other as wonders, as true marvels, and extend loving kindness to all, as fellow creatures of this massive improbability, this universe, this galaxy, riding through space, astonished at our existence and grateful for each moment we're here. To treat others poorly, or even as they treat us, isn't proper leadership or a healthy autonomy. Cosmic leadership and real freedom is finding, and helping others along, the high moral path to celebrate our miraculous existence together.

Aristotle said that philosophy begins in wonder. The love of wisdom, the pursuit and embrace of it, begins in wonder. When we lose the wonder, we lose the love I suspect we're here to have and live. Let's be the cosmic leaders we're capable of being, in any small way we can, today, and tomorrow, and all along the amazing path.

How We Get Things Wrong

Our Universal Horizon carries lessons aplenty. In the Harry Potter stories, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore once said that to the well regulated mind, death is just the next great adventure. My maternal grandfather died from a farming accident when my mother was young. He lingered for days, then after a long period of quiet, his last words right before the moment of death were, "It's beautiful."

Steve Jobs was surrounded by family. His gaze rose above them all, toward the ceiling of the room, and he said one word three times, his last use of language before his own death. The word was "Wow."

In a column on great uses of language in recent journalism, Frank Bruni just wrote this: <<Finally, I could pick any number of the sentences written by Sam Anderson in his superb profile of Laurie Anderson in The Times, but I’ll instead showcase words that she once wrote — and that he highlighted — about the death of her husband, Lou Reed, in 2013: “I have never seen an expression as full of wonder as Lou’s as he died. His hands were doing the water-flowing 21-form of tai chi. His eyes were wide open. I was holding in my arms the person I loved the most in the world, and talking to him as he died. His heart stopped. He wasn’t afraid. I had gotten to walk with him to the end of the world. Life — so beautiful, painful and dazzling — does not get better than that. And death? I believe that the purpose of death is the release of love.”>>

Could it be that we too often fear what's really wondrous and chase what's really fearful? Could it be that we tend to get many things that wrong, and perhaps the way forward is to reconsider some of our most persistent attitudes? We need to see beyond appearances into the deeper realities. Maybe a walk on that wild side is due.

The Light and the Joy

Hello there, fellow carbon based life forms! Good to see you again! Yesterday I watched a fascinating short video interview of physicist John Polkinghorn talking about our improbable origins and the composition of our embodied existence. Every particle in us was once in a star, an exploding star. So as the rock bands of my adolescence sang, we are indeed stardust. And when you ponder the razor's edge of conditions under which we could have arisen as intelligent creatures (well, some of us), then you easily end up either with theism or a massively bloated cosmology with unconnected distinct universes whose numbers would have to far surpass Carl Sagan's catch phrase of "Billions and Billions." We are special. Spectacular, even. And most of us do not live like that at all. Too many of us are like Tolstoy's Ivan Ilyich, who sought solid gainful employment, successful steps up the ladder of esteem, an advantageous marriage, and a decent life balance of work and entertainment. But poor Ivan has an accident and begins to physically suffer to the point of death. Near the very end, he comes to realize that he's lived falsely, all wrong. Not that there's anything intrinsically amiss with card games, dancing, parties, or hard work. Quite the contrary. But he realizes he'd built up a structure of living without understanding the real nature, meaning, or purpose of anything. He's distraught, then quickly reverses that emotion into a deep satisfaction to have seen the truth even then, and not leaving life in deep error. Then, at the very moment of death, he sees something that gives him joy. For the first time. The structures of life all shed, he sees the light. But the lesson for us all is to look for the light now. Find it, live it, show it. Then we can pass on to the next adventure without the despondent phase, and having helped others to the real enlightenment which will give them the same experience, building with meaning and purpose while we're here, and then leaving when required without a heart filled with regret. Tolstoy seems to hint that the sooner we see the light, the sooner the joy comes. And the stardust will glow once more. For Tolstoy's Ivan follow this URL: https://amzn.to/3zZPU7e

The Self and The Dance.

After their best gig ever, the jazz trio report that it was like time evaporated and so did their self consciousness. They say their reflectively aware egos "disappeared." But the instruments didn't play themselves. And they didn't sound like someone else, but themselves at their best and fullest potential. Scotty Pippin, the Chicago Bulls basketball great, reported that in their greatest games, it was the same. Time slowed down, or almost didn't exist. There was no conscious thought. The ball was where it was supposed to be. Michael was where he was supposed to be. In the zone, what was to happen just happened, and he was aware almost as an observer but not making decisions or wondering or trying hard against the opponents, who themselves became just a part of the dance. When I was writing my novels, my deliberative mind that, left on its own will write a sentence seven times to get it right, and then delete it, that mind seemed to have taken a break and gotten out of the way, and the story just flowed with its own quick speed and power. I'd sit and type for six hours and it would seem like twenty minutes.

All our humanly created problems result from big opaque blundering egos out of control and in the way. "I want." "I need." "I'm mad as hell." All great solutions to problems seem to arise out of ego holidays, when the big bloated beast gets out of the way and allows the dance to happen, the dance that begins who knows where and bubbles up in the quantum field and reaches out in mental and spiritual ways to animate anyone whose egos have become more translucent, then transparent, and then even bow out of the way. The dance happens and we're there and not there and more there than ever and yet are conduits. We're the canvas on which the dance is painted, the floor on which it happens, the air through which it moves. We get out of our own way and make way for the way that alone will lead us well. So, when you catch ego rearing up and roaring, back it off, calm it down, soothe it and rock it to sleep so that something great and full of wonder can happen, like that jazz guy or that baller or that author or the mesmerizing teacher or that nurse who lights up the room with her dance. When the self can be free of the ego, it can dance.

Negative Capability

I was reflecting this morning on a passage I came across recently, these words: "... and at once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously—I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason." - Poet John Keats in a letter to a friend, 1817.

I love the idea. Whenever something happens that we don't understand, Positive Capability responds immediately with Fight, Flight, or Figure it Out Fast. Negative Capability takes a breath and takes it all in, lives with it a bit, is open and observant, poised and peaceful and willing to acknowledge what it does not yet understand. It doesn't rush to judgment or to propound a quick theory. It takes in the new real and absorbs it, perhaps even pondering at a deeper level than conscious thought. It is before it does. "Negative" here means the lack of inner and overt reaction, a pause, a being-with. If we cultivated more of that, to be and walk in uncertainty, and mystery, and perhaps doubt rather than rushing headlong into a next misadventure, think how different the world would look. Yes. Sometimes we must act. But more times than we might imagine, it would be good not to act too quickly and just be for a while. When we cultivate real wisdom, we begin to know the difference.

A Big Surprise About Success

One of my biggest wisdom bombs: For over thirty years, I've studied conceptions of success throughout human history, and have analyzed advice about success from nearly every historical period, across cultures. And it never really occurred to me until recently that, as important as the enterprise of proper goal setting and attainment is for the individual or the group to leave a positive mark on the world and contribute to its betterment, the growth that comes from the struggle is every bit as important, and sometimes more so.

The whole structure of human attainment in the end is a spiritual thing, and it's supposed to be about individual and community growth in spiritual maturity, across all the dimensions of our lives. It's meant to be a difficult and joyous adventure, embraced and shared with others. Apparent failures on the surface often hide deep success down below. We're brought into the world as amazing creatures, and that's supposed to be the starting point of an equally astonishing growth. Many get it wrong, and have done so for thousands of years. But there is hope that more of us can catch on and deepen the process, and attain through our mistakes and struggles the glorious ends for which we were made. And yeah, there's a word you don't see often. But you should. Because that's the nature of the intended journey we're on. So remember, it's not so much what you get in life as how you grow that matters most in everything you do.

Avoiding Trouble

On Avoiding Trouble. I was flying into San Jose, Costa Rica, sitting in the cockpit jump seat of a private Gulfstream jet that was taking eleven corporate CEOs and me to philosophize together in the cloud forest and on the beach for a few days. The pilots and I had been talking about philosophy and mythology, when suddenly both went silent and their heads began to swivel left and right, back and forth repeatedly. Finally I said, “What’s up?” The captain replied, “Air traffic just told us there are aircraft in the area and they’re not always equipped with transponders around here. You know, small planes, crop dusters, tourist sightseeing stuff for the volcanoes. We have to see if we can make visual to avoid any problem.” I immediately grasped the sort of problem to which he so gently alluded.

In my short novel The Oasis Within, as a caravan is crossing the desert in Egypt in 1934, a wise old man named Ali at one point talks with his young nephew Walid about a deadly poisonous snake to be found in the area. Ali tells Walid that the snake makes a distinctive sound as he moves across the sand, and that if you know the noise and listen for it, you can avoid the creature even if it’s outside your field of vision. He then extends the lesson to trouble generally, saying that most troubles somehow announce themselves in advance if we’re paying enough attention and listening well, or watching carefully enough. When I heard this fictional conversation and was writing my book, I remembered the pilots watching for trouble in order to avoid it. They succeeded, happily. And we had a great time of philosophy in a beautiful place I’d never been. The lesson of course is obvious. We often talk about trouble sneaking up on us. But that hardly ever happens when we're paying attention.