Tag Archives: Experience

Pianissimo: A Participation Essay

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Four years my senior, my brother was very athletic and team oriented as he navigated his school years. I was not. He played virtually every sport offered and available, and was good at each one. At some point along the way he decided to be musical as well. That, however, quickly ended with a trumpet stored away in a closet. When I entered junior high our dad came to me and said, “You’re going to take band, and you’re going to play the trumpet.” He pulled the quieted instrument out of the closet and handed it to me.

So I played trumpet in the band throughout my junior high and high school years. I remain grateful for the opportunity. Music was something I enjoyed, the playing of it. I loved to play new pieces placed in front of me as part of sight-reading exercises. While I may not have realized it then, I now know those times of intense exercises as practice in being present with the piece and navigating with the guides of the musical terms placed throughout.

Navigating
Pianissimo is a dynamic term in a score of music instructing the musician to play softly and proceed quietly. Yes, there are many other such musical terms while navigating a scored piece, but this one has always stood out for me. In a particularly well written score, I always loved the change toward soft and quiet that highlighted the previously stronger play or the section about to follow. It was pianissimo that set up my learning to use silence and quiet in my work as a salesman, coach, and consultant. And now, silence continues to implore me to walk more softly and proceed through the quiet of spirit.

On morning meditative walks, I’ve been cycling through thoughts about work, both from the past and into the future. And there lies the rub; the future. My last coaching session was in August of the year prior. I entered that year with only a handful of sessions to complete, work that had begun in the year before. I backed away from pursuing new gigs as COVID-19 began its worldwide threat. So, Retired? It would appear so.

Almost a year after the beginning of the pandemic, I was compelled to pick up, once again, David Whyte’s, The Heart Aroused: Poetry and Preservation of the Soul in Corporate America. After reading chapter one I realized I didn’t pick it up to seek guidance on the future, but to better honor the past.

“Looking over the centuries of human struggle commemorated in poetry, a man or woman often seems to begin the journey to soul recovery in this very lonely place of self-assessment. The uninitiated might call it depression.” — David Whyte

Out of retired boredom, I suppose, I’m on the board of our homeowner’s association. I chair its maintenance committee. I also led the search for a new maintenance supervisor for the buildings and the grounds. A perfect fit was found in a young man who grew up in the neighborhood. As part of his on-boarding, we were able to keep the retiring supervisor on part time for the next year. Within the new supervisor’s first three months, there was a particular issue that would set up an important conversation.

A resident asked for a tree on common ground (that the HOA maintains) to be removed. The tree was old, damaged, with limbs threatening the resident’s home. I told the new supervisor to bring in our outside tree people to remove it. The retiring employee talked him into doing it themselves. The home was damaged. Our new supervisor was not happy. So when he and I had a chance to talk, I told him that we live and learn, and I talked about transition; how our former supervisor was in transition to retirement—a challenge I perfectly understood—and how he also was in transition. Seven years earlier he transitioned from college to his first job, where he was until coming to us when the organization he worked for closed. Now he was in yet another transition, and I challenged him to be more conscious in the navigation. 

Rhyme and Recovery
Pianissimo is about transitioning. Too often, when something ends, we rush into what it is we perceive as new. We are ready to move on, to get on with it. We are smart, right? We should know what to do, especially if we are older and more experienced.

Trueness. Such was my work for the past 20 years, maybe longer. Some days I miss the work around this purpose of Trueness that pulled and pushed me forward. But the work of Trueness in me still goes on, and I suppose it will for the remainder of my days. As I’m rounding through all this thinking about work, I know I’m only a couple of steps away from declaring depression. But it really doesn’t feel like depression (coming from someone who has been there). It simply feels empty.

I know I’ve had a good run at work, a run with many different experiences. I’ve had varying and diverse experience with relationships along the way; some close (at least for a time) and some not so close, but meaningful nonetheless. I’ve had a positive impact on many an individual (I also know I stumbled relationally now and then). And I realize work has been instrumental in my full evolution, allowing learning all along the way. I’ve navigated one transition then another.

The path toward Sage
Time I cannot stop
Paused, I can make it feel so

But important it is
To know time
Not as an enemy
But a friend

For in time
There is experience
The building of knowledge

In a series of novels I read, there is an old, wise Native American named Henry. I long to be like him. My hope for quiet, steady days is really desire for a quiet, steady spirit within myself; to move among my days remaining as slowly, deliberately, kindly, gently, and most of all, lovingly as the fictional Henry.

In my work as a coach I know I became, for some, a sage; at least of sorts. But what about now? Questions about work I keep asking. Is there more work for me to do? Is there something left of this call that guided me for many years? This sense, maybe even desire, I have of a sage; what do I do with it? Am I being called into a new work? A new level of work? Is it a call and movement into deeper participation? I’m not sure of much right now. Or am I?

It’s difficult recovering from a calling and a career. I think they call this retirement. I think this is known as transition.

Following is a poem with rhyme. I don’t normally write such, as free verse seems to be my better fare. Rhyming often feels forced. But this one seemed to need rhyme to speak properly, or maybe I needed the work in finding rhyme and rhythm as the poem worked on me. It would seem so.

The Path’s Score

Life’s score, now at a place
deep within instructed.
Play at a calmer pace
freedom, less conducted.

Melody once sought
to purchase, once thought.
The play, now demands
calmness in commands.

Written in the score
the values implore,
and spirit proceeds.
And my soul agrees.

It is time for meaning
in everything that’s done
acts of love, redeeming.
Believing all, as one.

All As One
Dan, my father-in-law, can do anything. Literally, in my view, he can do anything. I’ve seen it; welding, refrigeration, electrical wiring, and especially the elite woodwork of a craftsman. He can do it all, all self-taught. I’ve known and watched him for 47 years now. Over the years I’ve not only watched him, but been a helper on many occasions. And throughout all the work, we’ve shared observations, and stories. He is now 88 and I’m 66, and recently he shared a story that I couldn’t believe I’d not previously heard.

My wife’s parents live outside the city of Vicksburg, Mississippi. It is known as the bluff city, hilly with, what we know as, gullies (mountain areas have valleys, hilly areas have gullies). One day, many years ago, he came home from his work at the International Paper Company, where he performed many of his diverse, skilled miracles. The outside edge of their garage was a shear drop of at least six feet. The siding of the garage rested on the ledge of the concrete footing, and on that ledge was a large dog. The dog had somehow managed to get onto that footing and obviously couldn’t get down. He perched there shaking like a leaf, terrified.

Dan went and got a board from his lumber stack, placed it at the ledge so the dog could have a path to safely come down, which he did. Upon hitting the solid ground, he trotted off down the road. Dan headed to the backyard on normal after work business. He heard something behind him, and turned to find the dog had returned. The dog simply stood on his back legs and placed his front ones on my dad’s chest—as if to say, Thank you. And once again trotted off home.

Notes:

Whyte, David. The Heart Aroused: Poetry and the Preservation of the Soul in Corporate America. New York: Doubleday, 1994.

Krueger, William Kent. The Cork O’Conner series. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2009-2021.

Fading: A Participation Essay

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On November 1st, I began writing in a new journal. It was my 65th birthday. In that entry I wondered what might this number mean for my writing? More depth? Expanding reality? Ever closer movement into the walk with simplicity and love and contemplation? I hope yes to each question, and more.

Withdraw to Give Way
“Commitment to healing oneself and making a commitment to liberation for self, others, and the world is an essential part of spiritual transformation.” —Michael Lerner

While I may not feel it, I know my work as Coach of authentic confidence has been about spiritual transformation; for myself, others, and therefore for, and in, the world through those individuals with whom I’ve had the privilege to work. What will this year bring in light of this work? I don’t know. As this is the year of my official, full retirement (according to government and societal norms), at least I can know a bit more freedom with what can possibly come this way. And, grateful I will receive.

In one way, 65 was a long time coming. Yet, in another view, it got here far too fast. But it’s here, this number, this thing known as sixty-five; with all its implications and societal assumptions. What shall I do with it? What might I allow? I suppose I’m going to find out, one moment at a time. I am determined to learn to be more present, in the presence.

In the peace of this frosty
November morning light,
consciously I keep a commitment;
to presently sit in grace,
with gracious heart.
Mindful am I, at this age,
of journeying, and more
present I’ve become to
the traveling itself, in
grace and gratitude allowing
a pure light on remembering;
for what was, thankfulness
for what is, gratitude.

It has been six months since my last essay. This is the longest period I’ve gone between compositions in over ten years. Yet, I know that writing is not done with me. Part of the allure to composing this particular essay has to do with this being, and turning, 65. I need to explore something I’ve been feeling at this turning; a fresh and powerful permission. I need to get a better understanding through expression, and go from there. Sounds like writing.

Still I wonder if there’s much left for me in this work. Well, not really. Here’s what I mean: I find myself in a sort of withdrawing mode—I’ve been here before due to frustration and feeling ignored. But this is different. To be blunt, I just want to be left alone … and, not really.

I no longer have energy for all the exposure that we now seem to believe is all important; LinkedIn®, Twitter®, Facebook®, Instagram®, etc. Even the email messages I’ve been good at sending to keep top-of-mind status with past clients have dropped off the radar. But I still love each Coaching session and each individual in each of those sessions. So, whatever is left for me to do, or whatever is next for me to do, will present itself to me. I trust.

The Soul Hears
In my book, Participation: Falling in Love with Reality, I defined contemplation as “Compassion for oneself and all as one.” I know two forces for this participation. They are Trueness and Forgiveness. For many years I’ve contemplated the journey to the true self, a journey to simplicity and truth of what has always been present; one’s Trueness. Is the true self complex or simple? Is it complicated or easily understood? Here’s what I do know; we tend to make most everything in life and living too hard, and this brings me to total forgiveness.

Forgive and Forget:
Forgetting what lies behind.
Forgive and Remember:
Letting go while also knowing it all belongs to reality, the reality of the unfoldment of now.
Forgive and Act:
With all knowledge in the fullness of now, acting in and with love, always.

“Let love alone speak …” — Thomas Keating

I’ve always been comfortable in and with silence. Now, in these days of life, I desire silence more than ever. For it is only silence that speaks clearly. And, it must be that it is in silence where love is best heard. For only in silence can one remain still long enough to listen. In such stillness listening is active in its purest sense. The soul hears.

And now a time, a presence
filled with less talk, less words,
trusting silence, imbued
by love, to speak volumes
—from poem, Voluminous Silence

In the midst of this all, I am reminded that my most virulent anger has always been directed at myself. So, I must truly learn to act from self-compassion. So I commit to the steadiness, the silent stability, and power of let love alone speak.

“Surrender to the unknown marks the great transitions of the spiritual journey. On the brink of each new breakthrough there is a crisis of trust and love.” —Thomas Keating

Clearly I now know that I must release everyone from my selfish (and culturally learned) Pet Peeves. I must completely free myself from the false self’s expectations; requirements placed on self and others that don’t mean one damn thing. Expectations are of no value. Fr. Richard Rohr says that expectations are simply disappointments waiting to happen. Several years ago I watched an interview with Drew Barrymore where she said that expectation was the mother of deformity.

It just may be that I am now ready to not care, to truly be free to walk slowly and steadily, to speak thoughtfully only, and to be so comfortable with silence that I seek it and cherish its empowering presence.

“Or, be choked in the sediment of society, so tired of the world, here will your hard doubts disappear, your carnal incrustations melt off, and your soul breathe deep and free in God’s shoreless atmosphere of beauty and love.” —John Muir

What Remains
On a recent trip to our state’s coastline with the Gulf of Mexico, I sat one morning in the light of a wonderful sunrise and journaled. I wondered at the Live Oak tree
between me and the rising sun. How old it must be. How it enhanced the view. The memories it could share. I’m not as old, and I know not as wise, but such a tree encourages my own sharing from the experience of years banked in my memories. Whether or not I may be able to immediately recall one, each memory is there waiting to be used for good in this world. This I must remember.

Like a treasured photo or painting, memories tend to fade, especially when consistently exposed to the direct light of life and living. While there occasionally may be a way to enhance a memory, one can always hope that, although faded, what remains visible is the good and right.

Is the work done? Is the work done with me? Am I done with the work? If it is not done with me, or I it, then what is it? What does it become? What must it become? I capture this questioning from some recent walks. The only answer that has come to me so far says that the work must care for itself, that I must care for myself, and the two may meet again somewhere down the path.

Notes:

Brunson, Jeff. The World Needs You: Selected Verse−Contemplation, Poetry, Love. Ohio: Soul Publishing Group, 2017. (Poem, P. 75)

Keating, Thomas. The Daily Reader for Contemplative Living: Excerpts from the Works of Father Thomas Keating, O.C.S.O. (compiled by S. Stephanie Iachetta). New York: Continuum, 2007.

Highland, Chris. Meditations of John Muir: Nature’s Temple. California: Wilderness Press, 2001. (p., 77, Soul Breathe Deep)

Love: A Participation Essay

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In a recent visit with a dear friend, I shared my desire to offer something extra to those I’ve coached through the years. My friend asked me why I was considering this. After a few moments of stumbling around logical answers, I heard myself saying, I love them.

Because of the love I have for the individuals I coach, I want to continue to be available for them along their journey deeper into, and with, Trueness. The deep context of this work I do has driven me further into my own Trueness. Or is it better said that going deeper into my own Trueness has driven me further with this work? Whichever, I am recognizing a need to share, more often and ever more deeply, the abundance available through becoming aware of one’s rhythm; a life-giving cadence given since the beginning. 

This I know from my experience, if an individual acts from Trueness−living her or his own rhythm−then this person is acting from a unique brand of love. I teach rhythm to the individuals I coach as a way to teach love−love for your work and love in your work−and how such love is profitable, not a business strategy but a way of living Trueness, embracing the rhythm of you.

The True Self
Jim is both a technical expert in his field and a caring and present leader for those he leads, influences, and serves. People depend on him for clarity as they work together in creating a steady approach to accomplish common goals and tell a common story. As he leads them, here’s what they know for certain; he is committed to each one of them, attending to need and strengthening each person as she/he gives to and serves others in the work done.

Trueness is a word I use to encapsulate all I do within this work which has called me out. Trueness is also a way to summarize the expression, who you really are. What is the true self?  Sorry, but I’m not writing this to answer the question. As opposed to answering, it may be that we have to live this question individually. And living the question may be a life-long task.

Jim is driven by a commitment to process in a way that is both efficient and effective: efficient being about the work, and effective being about the people. In the present with his own unique experiences, how they’ve shaped him, and how he knows experience shapes others, he told me that happiness is something he understands better now. Yes, this reflects a level of maturity, but it also displays a depth of connection with his Trueness.

I write these essays not as an expert who has it all figured out. Quite the contrary. I write to actually attempt to grasp things; not grasp and hold on, but to hold things for a bit so I can then let go into the flow of reality. I turned sixty-four on my last birthday. I thought I’d have all this thoroughly figured out by now. I was wrong.

Only those who are totally
secure in their love
can live thus fully the
present moment.
-Thomas H. Green

Love Itself
I am neither qualified nor ready to write about this topic. Yet, I write about love consistently these days. But love itself, what does this mean? I want to become love itself. But what does this look like? At some inevitable juncture it has to look like who I really am. If we are made from love, then we are made of love. So why don’t we act like this is so all the time?

As I was thinking on how to describe what love itself might look like, Jim came to mind. In a recent conversation, I shared a basic principle about leadership and one’s growth and development as a leader. I had not thought about this principle in a long time: Whatever you desire to do for others, you must be able to do for yourself. Jim was referred to me because his boss understands this principle and wanted to give Jim the time and space to give to himself, selflessly. The time Jim is giving to himself, for his growth and development, is energy given for those he leads, influences, and serves. The strength of Jim’s voice is that of presence with another. And his time for himself is not selfish, but again, selfless; making himself better for others.

I met Jim when I was facilitating a leadership experience at his organization. During the lunch break he and I had some time one-on-one. I personally experienced his ability to be present with another. So when his boss mentioned he would like to consider Jim for my coaching program, I pushed forward at the chance to work with this individual and his brand of love.

To love, in all one says and does, is a privilege. It is a privilege because of what it brings to the one who loves. Allow me to make this personal, going from one to I. I love, do love, can love, only because I was first loved; from the beginning. There is great benefit and wonderful blessing in growing older; as long as I do not just get older but actually do grow older−grow in love, always!

The Flow Constant 

Love in the work,
work in the love,
and love works on me.

A quiet morning
and warm Spring rain
reminding of the obligation
to encourage true self,
allowing peace and quiet
at the center;
calmly pushing away
each unnecessary judgment.

This is love.
Quiet. Solid.
Steady and grounded in this Trueness,
it is a sure stand and steady walk;
it is this grace
given by love
of which we are part.

To place into words,
to define my Trueness,
what words might suffice?
Likely done already, this task
of defining self true,
work done in the very work
that called me out.

Yes, but maybe this work
only opens the door of consciousness.
So then, what does it look like
walking through, now enjoying
the deeper quiet, peace,
and love?

Maybe this walk is faith,
and maybe hope, leading
to the flow constant
of love.

Trueness is Love
That dear friend of mine called to check on me (his love in action). We talked about where I am with offering any kind of extended program to my coaching clients. I told him how my expression of love for those I’ve coached had moved my thoughts away from predetermined outcomes and distracting expectation and toward honest expression of the heart. I decided I wasn’t building a new program, I was simply acknowledging love and allowing it to guide me ever more clearly. Confirming my messaging moved me away from generic scripting toward individualized messages of love, a fresh commitment of my love in action.

When I approach things from my own Trueness, keeping my commitment to do what is good and right for me to do (and letting that go to do its thing), and doing this from a personal voice of Love and Encouragement, good things happen. I find myself worrying less about the outcomes, because the outcomes do take care of themselves. Letting go is not about a lack of caring, but simply about not having the need to grasp at things, in a manner where holding on is damaging to self and others. Letting go, we open the space for the true self and its love from the beginning.

When you finally commit to lead, influence, and serve from the rhythm of your Trueness, you can grasp the reality that there is no priority higher than that of your love. So maybe love itself begins within. Through such love, we become the love we’ve always been. This is Trueness. This is the true self.

Letting Go

Wisdom, she smiles.
Maybe even smirks.
The things we grasp,
so not worth the energy.

Let go.
Stop reaching out
to grab onto.
Let it all flow by,
with love, push it all
into the cloud of forgetting.

Notes:

Green, Thomas H.. When the Well Runs Dry: Prayer Beyond the Beginnings. Notre Dame: Ava Maria Press, 1998.

The Trek Down: A Participation Essay

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In the years BJ and I lived among the Appalachian Mountains, we hiked stunning trails in Tennessee, Virginia, and North Carolina. We lovingly remember one particular trek in North Carolina’s Land of Waterfalls.

After a day of warming up on a trail along the river by the hotel, we decided to go deeper into the Pisgah National Forest and explore a bit higher. Stopping in at a park visitor center, we met a Scottish Ranger. We probably asked more questions than required, as it was delightful to hear his rhythmic responses. We outlined what we desired to do; hike a trail of medium difficulty for approximately two to three hours. He quickly responded by unfolding a park map and pointing to the trail he believed would fit our preferences. We thanked him, followed his directions, and arrived at the base of the trail. We cinched up hiking boots over hiking socks, retrieved our hiking staffs, and I pulled on the backpack loaded for our medium difficulty and distance hike.

Upward

We have hiked many beautiful trails, and the one in the Land of Waterfalls was no exception. About two hours into the hike we were still climbing, even with the realization that this was going to be a long one, we still found ourselves appreciative of trees, rhododendron, and the skillfully maintained trail; extremely steep sections made more navigable by carefully placed stones harvested from the bounty of the Mountain.

When I graduated from the University, as best I can remember, I think I expected the trail of life ahead would be a relative steady, upward climb. For a time, it was. I know individuals who have climbed their path with such straight, conscious focus, or so that’s how I perceived their ascent. But for me, there were a lot of side-paths, diversions where I was maybe trying to “find myself” (one of those phrases once spoken often by those in my generation).

On my upward trek in life and living, I wish I had been so present and conscious of the beauty surrounding me all along. Even in the lack of due-diligent presence, I’ve still found myself tremendously blessed by the relationships made and maintained along the way.

I’m here to tell you, in spite of the diversions, that the trek upward went way too fast; a speed that breaks my heart. As Parker J. Palmer asks, “Is my heart broken apart or broken open?” I pray continually that it is open. 

The Trust View (At the Summit)

For so long it seems, I looked expectantly forward to getting to the top of the hill, to be filled with experience and wisdom, proud of what was back down that climb of life and living. Certainly I breached the crest with experience, and yes, a certain cache of wisdom, but there wasn’t time to peer back without the temptation to walk back the same way, something that in loving reality was not possible for me.

Certainly I was free to make the choice of which way to descend. Or was I? I’m not sure going back the way one came is necessarily the best way to go home. Or maybe it’s just that trying to go back the same way is not possible due to our own false expectations. Expectations tied to anything other than our own Trueness cause us to want a reality that once was, or anything but what it is in the moment. If we are actually paying attention once at the summit of something, we see the way up with new eyes, and clearly see other possibilities from there. It is such presence at the peak that I call “The Trust View.” It is a place you go, real or metaphorically, to know the balance of all experience.

Our hiking in the Appalachian Mountains taught me something of great value: When you get to the Summit, stop and look. When we reached the top that day, we were enthralled by the beauty of the heights. We could look back down to where we had parked, buildings barely identifiable, and cars looking like frozen ants. To stop and rest in such a view, observation and participation meet and swirl together, creating the joy of experience, a holding together of what has been and what is about to be. At such summit we pause and consciously open to all that can be seen. Without words we find encouragement for the poetry of the journey to continue.

The trust view is a metaphor to balance ascent and descent.

Downward

“Over the hill,” another term once frequently spoken in my generation’s younger years. It was often heard as, “Don’t trust anyone over thirty.” In general, I didn’t say or think such, or maybe my reality was the challenge of trusting anyone between age thirty and sixty-five.

Growing up, I was fortunate to spend a lot of quality time with grandparents. Even though they are long gone from this earth, their influence stays with me as I continue on the trail of life and living. The gift of time with them was made possible by two parents over thirty. Well anyway, I’m now over the hill according to those old standards, and quite so as I’m almost at that sixty-five limit. But what does this mean?

I’m not certain what all it means, but one thing I know, that it is important to walk steadily with a good hiking staff. In the reality of walking a mountain path, the hiking staff is a smart option for support and security over the hill, allowing other body members to absorb the pounding of the steps downward. Metaphorically, the trek down the hill of life and living requires that I  remain consistently conscious of, and dedicated to, the support I need to steady the walk.

There’s the need and requirement to focus one’s steps down the path on the other side of the hill. I stumbled plenty on the hike upward. While usually recovering my steps quickly, I also had times in a divot dug deeper by self-pity, but I eventually came out of each one of these times and kept walking. Sometimes my steps resumed as I smiled and looked forward with joy. And sometimes I walked on with a tear stained face.

Going Home

It was more than five hours before we saw the base of that trail again in the Land of Waterfalls. Along the descent, probably still an hour to the base, a young couple passed on their way up; they had obviously begun their hike from the other end. As we greeted each other, the woman said, “We’re almost to the top, right?” Without breaking careful downward stride I said, “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Behind us we heard, “Oh no!”

Once the shock of the distance ahead wore off, I hope that young couple continued on the trail, stopped at the summit, and like us can look back on the day as a beautiful experience. I hope, as they have navigated life and living since that day, that they can see the stones so carefully placed where they needed to be, that their steps will be as carefully placed as they head down, and that they will each see the bounty of the mountain all along the way.

–J. Brunson

Check out my new book, Participation: Falling in Love with Reality
Also available for Kindle

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