Author: Rhe@dmin
A world without nouns.If we only had verbs..Nothing could be owned ..or denied, signed or questionedOnly..the continuous act of becoming..Perhaps ..we would stop looking busy or important by talking or asking ..What something is..And for once begin to notice ..What it does .. what changesAnd what it becomes..There would be no lover …only lovingNo Artist … only the act of creating …No labels of friend , partner ….only connecting .No leader only leading.. when needed, and by anyone.No flower..only the blossomingNo name to possess…no self to defend.. no degrees or titles to dominate..No strife… Inorder to belong to…Only… the Verb..…
I’m back in Week one of The Artists Way the chapter on recovreing a sense of safety. I’ve read these words many times before. And Each time.. safety reveals another layer.This time, I keep thinking about how safety quietly disappears in relationships and groups not through hostility, or intentionality but often under the banner of “honesty.””Why can’t you just be honest?” “What are you really trying to say?” “What’s actually going on underneath that?”In spaces full of people fluent in psychology, coaching, or behavioural languag.. every interaction can quietly become a lab. Words get interpreted. ..Intentions get questioned. Someone ..usually…
I keep meeting brilliant people one-on-one. Sharp. Thoughtful. Full of integrity.Then I watch those same people, in a room together, help make a decision none of them would defend alone.Afterward, it’s always the same line “I don’t know how this happened.”Individual..Org.. Country. Same pattern.We collectively create outcomes we individually don’t subscribe to.Makes no sense… Until you read Dietrich Bonhoeffer.Bonhoeffer resisted the Nazi regime from inside it and wrote his deepest reflections from a prison cell, awaiting execution. (Some of the clearest thinking on freedom has come from people who had none left.). From there came his essay on “Theory of…
She wears a single silver anklet and carries a small drum beneath her ribs.Every step she takes the little caterpillar moves in tandem She dances through the world barefoot..finding music where no one else thinks to listenIn the squirrels sharp squeaks. In rain rattlng against the roof of the parked car, in teh click-clack of trains, in waves folding themselves upon the shore… Even in the silent sighs sometimes.. late at night watching the moon. She visits the heart often… and tell it secrets the heart sometime forget to notice. Rhythm wears no watch…she says clocks are too busy keeping…
“You waste a lot of time,” they said,Staring at the small leaf,Or watching and photographing sparrows eating,Or wondering about stupid stuff like dust, and why it sparkles. I also pay attention, I tell them. To the tone, the timing, the context –in which they say it.I pay attention. So what do you get for it?”, Fair question, since the word pay is used. I get capacity. To hold, to heal, to connect, to be delighted, to be awed.Isn’t that worth the price? And how did I waste .. time??9 a.m. would have, as it always has, become noon (on earth…