When 6 of the 8 tiles I had painstakingly carved cracked in the bisque kiln, I was somewhat disappointed. I had expected to have them ready for the holidays. The patterns were wonderful; yet the cracks were certain to migrate through the pieces. I left them on my work table, wondering what to do.
An artist friend came into the studio, and we talked about the pieces that were less than perfect. What is it, I wondered, that makes an item a “second.” Could I embrace the crack as the nature of that particular piece?.
I began to think about the whole concept of perfection. We look at ourselves and question our hair, or our eyes or our body types. We look at our homes or our jobs or our families and compare them with what the dominant culture tells us is perfect.
Nature does not determine that an oak tree or a rock or a lake is less than perfect. Why do we as humans tend to put conditions on our environments, our relationships, our lives?
When Amish women make a quilt they intentionally make a mistake; mid-Eastern rug makers do the same. Only the gods are perfect. A finger mark or tiny crack on a hand-crafted piece is really the mark of the craftsman. It lets us know that the piece was made by a human, with all our imperfections, rather that a machine.
The mark of the craftsman does not detract from the beauty of the piece; rather, it enhances it, I think. And it is the challenges and experiences in life that give our lives texture and richness.
It is, I believe, time to let go of our notions of perfection, and embrace that which makes us human. Keeping that in mind, I wish us all an imperfect holiday.
These skilled hands wish you kind, happy, healthy, loving and peaceful days.
The internet is a tool that connects people all over this fine blue planet. We share our thoughts, needs, desires and look at our internal demons, with the support of friends we have never met. Prayers and positive energy fly on the gossamer wings of our intent.
If you visit Cheaper Than Therapy, you will connect with a family who could use the power of our collective energy, as their son, who is in his early twenties, struggles to recover from H1N1. Please consider sending good thoughts.
When my brother-in-law died unexpectedly this summer, my husband and his sister lost a brother, my in-laws lost a son, my children lost an uncle, my niece and nephew lost a dad. Others lost a friend and neighbor. Then 33 days later, my niece and nephew lost their mom to cancer.
I am no stranger to the anguish of loss, and to the hard work of grief. These are great equalizers, and experiences no one wants, but everyone will share.
It is one thing to see that there is a need; it is another to actively respond to it and to generate a solution to the problem. One person with an idea plants the seed and nurtures it. And so the Bures-Wershing Memorial 5K Walk-Run was born.
One hundred-fifteen people, from 2-62 years of age, from all walks of life, and assorted locations, shared their common ground. Eighty-six walkers and runners, twenty-three volunteers, and others who couldn’t come, but sent their support. One hundred-fifteen people sharing an experience. One hundred-fifteen people who, with their hearts, reached out.
We all do live in the same town, you know. We breathe the same air, look at the same blue sky and the same full moon. Members, all, of the family of man. When we help each other, we all win. Common ground indeed.
As always, feel free to leave a comment, or a stone (o), to let me know you’ve been here.
Two years ago on Fathers’ Day, my Dad had a massive stroke. On this day, I reflect on him and his desire to create a life for him and for his wife and daughters, one that had all the things he didn’t have. He would have appreciated this, with its philosophical point of view:
My children have a Dad who is kind, gentle and caring. He has been a pony, a trampoline and a climbing gym. He has fixed broken toys, made dolls and doll furniture. He has read countless books, told stories and colored pictures. He has chased balls, held bikes while his daughters learned to ride and played sleeping rocks. He has fetched frisbees from trees and from the roof and cats from trees. He has been the recipient of many gifts, both tangible and intangible, and he keeps them all in his heart. He has been mentor, guide and confidant, encouraging those in his life to be all they can be. I am blessed to have him in mine.
Saturday was the 65th anniversary of D-Day. Many men and women on both sides of the Pond, from all walks of life experienced things that changed their lives in ways they could not have imagined. They were from all walks of life; from cities and from villages. They wore olive drab and navy blue, uniforms, work clothes and house dresses. They lived in the dark at night, and spent hours in shelters. They experienced shortages of food, clothing and fuel.
Their courage and their stories have no boundaries. They teach us that we do live in the same town, on this beautiful blue planet we call Earth.
Please click here and here to read about my family’s experiences at that time.
They are fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers, old men now. They are forgotten heroes, many of whom as boys really, witnessed the horrors of genocide, the stench of death.
They signed up to help the war effort. To fight for their country, for what, in their heart of hearts, they felt was right. Hastily trained, they went overseas, on ships that were floating cities. My father was an optometry student, my father-in-law, an architecture student. Both were sent to Europe. My Dad had been tested to be a fighter pilot. He rated highly, but his air sicknesses changed that direction, and he was sent to work in a hospital in England. He never talked much about his experiences there, choosing only to relate humorous ones.
My father-in-law was in the engineer corps. They were sent ahead of the rest of the troops to clear mines and to build roads and bridges. He had no idea that when he was sent to the town of Buchenwald, Germany, that he would witness the some of the evils of human nature, horrors he has relived in the years since.
Neither man talked much about what they witnessed and how they felt about it, sharing only snippets of these experiences that shaped their lives. It seems to me that sometimes the quietest people have the most to say; we need to take a moment to listen, with our ears, our eyes and our hearts.
My good and wise friend Laura Weldon sent me Paul Hawken’s commencement address to the Class of 2009, the University of Portland. It resonated deeply with me and I pass it on to you:
Published on Saturday, May 23, 2009 by CommonDreams.org
Paul Hawken’s Commencement Address to the Class of 2009
University of Portland, May 3rd, 2009
by Paul Hawken
When I was invited to give this speech, I was asked if I could give a simple short talk that was “direct, naked, taut, honest, passionate, lean, shivering, startling, and graceful.” No pressure there.
Let’s begin with the startling part. Class of 2009: you are going to have to figure out what it means to be a human being on earth at a time when every living system is declining, and the rate of decline is accelerating. Kind of a mind-boggling situation… but not one peer-reviewed paper published in the last thirty years can refute that statement. Basically, civilization needs a new operating system, you are the programmers, and we need it within a few decades.
This planet came with a set of instructions, but we seem to have misplaced them. Important rules like don’t poison the water, soil, or air, don’t let the earth get overcrowded, and don’t touch the thermostat have been broken. Buckminster Fuller said that spaceship earth was so ingeniously designed that no one has a clue that we are on one, flying through the universe at a million miles per hour, with no need for seatbelts, lots of room in coach, and really good food-but all that is changing.
There is invisible writing on the back of the diploma you will receive, and in case you didn’t bring lemon juice to decode it, I can tell you what it says: You are Brilliant, and the Earth is Hiring. The earth couldn’t afford to send recruiters or limos to your school. It sent you rain, sunsets, ripe cherries, night blooming jasmine, and that unbelievably cute person you are dating. Take the hint.
And here’s the deal: Forget that this task of planet-saving is not possible in the time required. Don’t be put off by people who know what is not possible. Do what needs to be done, and check to see if it was impossible only after you are done.
When asked if I am pessimistic or optimistic about the future, my answer is always the same: If you look at the science about what is happening on earth and aren’t pessimistic, you don’t understand the data. But if you meet the people who are working to restore this earth and the lives of the poor, and you aren’t optimistic, you haven’t got a pulse. What I see everywhere in the world are ordinary people willing to confront despair, power, and incalculable odds in order to restore some semblance of grace, justice, and beauty to this world.
The poet Adrienne Rich wrote, “So much has been destroyed I have cast my lot with those who, age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world.” There could be no better description. Humanity is coalescing. It is reconstituting the world, and the action is taking place in schoolrooms, farms, jungles, villages, campuses, companies, refuge camps, deserts, fisheries, and slums.
You join a multitude of caring people. No one knows how many groups and organizations are working on the most salient issues of our day: climate change, poverty, deforestation, peace, water, hunger, conservation, human rights, and more. This is the largest movement the world has ever seen. Rather than control, it seeks connection. Rather than dominance, it strives to disperse concentrations of power. Like Mercy Corps, it works behind the scenes and gets the job done. Large as it is, no one knows the true size of this movement. It provides hope, support, and meaning to billions of people in the world. Its clout resides in idea, not in force. It is made up of teachers, children, peasants, businesspeople, rappers, organic farmers, nuns, artists, government workers, fisherfolk, engineers, students, incorrigible writers, weeping Muslims, concerned mothers, poets, doctors without borders, grieving Christians, street musicians, the President of the United States of America, and as the writer David James Duncan would say, the Creator, the One who loves us all in such a huge way.
There is a rabbinical teaching that says if the world is ending and the Messiah arrives, first plant a tree, and then see if the story is true. Inspiration is not garnered from the litanies of what may befall us; it resides in humanity’s willingness to restore, redress, reform, rebuild, recover, reimagine, and reconsider. “One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice,” is Mary Oliver’s description of moving away from the profane toward a deep sense of connectedness to the living world.
Millions of people are working on behalf of strangers, even if the evening news is usually about the death of strangers. This kindness of strangers has religious, even mythic origins, and very specific eighteenth-century roots. Abolitionists were the first people to create a national and global movement to defend the rights of those they did not know. Until that time, no group had filed a grievance except on behalf of itself. The founders of this movement were largely unknown – Granville Clark, Thomas Clarkson, Josiah Wedgwood – and their goal was ridiculous on the face of it: at that time three out of four people in the world were enslaved. Enslaving each other was what human beings had done for ages. And the abolitionist movement was greeted with incredulity.
Conservative spokesmen ridiculed the abolitionists as liberals, progressives, do-gooders, meddlers,and activists. They were told they would ruin the economy and drive England into poverty. But forthe first time in history a group of people organized themselves to help people they would never know, from whom they would never receive direct or indirect benefit. And today tens of millions of people do this every day. It is called the world of non-profits, civil society, schools, social entrepreneurship, non-governmental organizations, and companies who place social and environmental justice at the top of their strategic goals. The scope and scale of this effort is unparalleled in history.
The living world is not “out there” somewhere, but in your heart. What do we know about life? In the words of biologist Janine Benyus, life creates the conditions that are conducive to life. I can think of no better motto for a future economy. We have tens of thousands of abandoned homes without people and tens of thousands of abandoned people without homes. We have failed bankers advising failed regulators on how to save failed assets. We are the only species on the planet without full employment. Brilliant. We have an economy that tells us that it is cheaper to destroy earth in real time rather than renew, restore, and sustain it. You can print money to bail out a bank but you can’t print life to bail out a planet. At present we are stealing the future, selling it in the present, and calling it gross domestic product. We can just as easily have an economy that is based on healing the future instead of stealing it. We can either create assets for the future or take the assets of the future. One is called restoration and the other exploitation. And whenever we exploit the earth we exploit people and cause untold suffering. Working for the earth is not a way to get rich, it is a way to be rich.
The first living cell came into being nearly 40 million centuries ago, and its direct descendants are in all of our bloodstreams. Literally you are breathing molecules this very second that were inhaled by Moses, Mother Teresa, and Bono. We are vastly interconnected. Our fates are inseparable. We are here because the dream of every cell is to become two cells. And dreams come true. In each of you are one quadrillion cells, 90 percent of which are not human cells. Your body is a community, and without those other microorganisms you would perish in hours. Each human cell has 400 billion molecules conducting millions of processes between trillions of atoms. The total cellular activity in one human body is staggering: one septillion actions at any one moment, a one with twenty-four zeros after it. In a millisecond, our body has undergone ten times more processes than there are stars in the universe, which is exactly what Charles Darwin foretold when he said science would discover that each living creature was a “little universe, formed of a host of self-propagating organisms, inconceivably minute and as numerous as the stars of heaven.”
So I have two questions for you all: First, can you feel your body? Stop for a moment. Feel your body. One septillion activities going on simultaneously, and your body does this so well you are free to ignore it, and wonder instead when this speech will end. You can feel it. It is called life. This is who you are. Second question: who is in charge of your body? Who is managing those molecules? Hopefully not a political party. Life is creating the conditions that are conducive to life inside you, just as in all of nature. Our innate nature is to create the conditions that are conducive to life. What I want you to imagine is that collectively humanity is evincing a deep innate wisdom in coming together to heal the wounds and insults of the past.
Ralph Waldo Emerson once asked what we would do if the stars only came out once every thousand years. No one would sleep that night, of course. The world would create new religions overnight. We would be ecstatic, delirious, made rapturous by the glory of God. Instead, the stars come out every night and we watch television.
This extraordinary time when we are globally aware of each other and the multiple dangers that threaten civilization has never happened, not in a thousand years, not in ten thousand years. Each of us is as complex and beautiful as all the stars in the universe. We have done great things and we have gone way off course in terms of honoring creation. You are graduating to the most amazing, stupefying challenge ever bequested to any generation. The generations before you failed. They didn’t stay up all night. They got distracted and lost sight of the fact that life is a miracle every moment of your existence. Nature beckons you to be on her side. You couldn’t ask for a better boss.
The most unrealistic person in the world is the cynic, not the dreamer. Hope only makes sense when it doesn’t make sense to be hopeful. This is your century. Take it and run as if your life depends on it.
Paul Hawken is an environmentalist, entrepreneur, journalist, and author. His books include Blessed Unrest[1].
I have mixed feelings on this day of days. I am reminded that I am a motherless child and that there are so many things I would ask my mom if she were here. I can still hear her voice on the phone, “Hi, Doll.” And I can see the young mother with 2 daughters making grilled cheese sandwiches to go with the tomato soup that came out of the red and white can. I think of the woman who witnessed this daughter’s journey for independence and to find her own way. The woman who didn’t understand the choices her daughter made and had her own struggle to accept them. The woman who loved her granddaughters unconditionally.
I remember my mother in her ICU bed, telling me that I had taught her a lot about being a mother, and thanking me. I remember one of her gifts to me when I didn’t know where to be—at her bedside or at home with my husband and daughters. She said, “I love you. Go home. With my blessing.” I came home on February 15th to my husband playing outside with our daughters. There was a sign on the door. Happy Valentine’s Day. They had moved the day on the calendar so we could celebrate it together.
On this day, as I walked with the dogs, I thought of the sweetnesses that I have experienced in these woods, of #1 daughter being a pony or a unicorn, galloping through the woods, hair flying as her spirit soared. Of #2 daughter stopping at each Jack-in-the-Pulpit to make sure Jack was home. “Hello, Jack,” she said each and every time. Of my mother-in-law, reminding me that I am her other daughter, her love-in-law.
Happy Mothers’ Day to us all. Those of us who are one, who made one, and who have or had one. Take a moment to cherish those you love.
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Thanks to these fine women, among many others, who have shared their thoughts on this day: