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"Our addiction to always being right is a great block
to the truth. It keeps us from the kind of openness that comes from confidence in our natural wisdom
.” 

STEPHEN LEVINE

 
Your Staying Power care package arrives every Sunday, except for the last of each month. That's when I send Staying Power Plus, my monthly author news roundup. If you don't wish to subscribe to Plus, you'll have a Sunday off without me. Your choice!
 
In this care package:
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My Musings


"Turning to Follow the Sun"

Dear Celia,

Thanks so much for your recent email. I don’t claim any special wisdom on how to maintain “the delicate balance between the need to call out social injustices and yet stay positive,” but I so appreciate the question! You’ve given me an opportunity to reflect on this high-wire act, which, for me, is an ongoing life practice. There’s no rulebook to follow in every situation, is there? Thank goodness, we can learn from our mistakes.

Not long ago, for the first time since before the pandemic, I was sitting in a local brew pub, visiting with R., a dear friend. Put simply, R.’s politics and mine don’t mesh. Our spiritualities scarcely overlap. From the start of the pandemic, our opinions about how to handle it have been at odds.

Early in our far-ranging conversation, that evening in the pub, R. said, “I love my freedom.”

“When you say `freedom,’” I asked, “what do you mean, exactly?”

Instantly defensive, R. launched into a robust sermon on patriotism. I waited until he finished, then clarified my question.

“Listen, I’m not attacking you,” I said. “I’m grateful for my freedom, just like you. But what is `freedom?’ I genuinely want to know how you define it—I think we may be using the same word to mean different things. Don’t worry about offending me. I promise to listen to whatever you have to say without commenting.”

Thus reassured, R. began to flesh out his view of “freedom.” From my perspective, it was a very libertarian position, colored by white supremacy. He said that he resents every governmental intrusion into the free market and the personal lives of citizens; that he doesn’t believe in paying taxes except for national defense; that he opposes all types of regulation, including on guns; that he heartily approves of border walls to stem the tide of “lazy” refugees and immigrants, and so on.

Objections simmered up in me until, at last, I boiled over. I don’t recall my words. I just remember the look on his face, like I’d slapped him.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “My bad! I promised that I’d listen without commenting. Please continue—I’ll do better this time.”

R. resumed, but with obvious hesitation. Meanwhile, I resolved inwardly to regard him less as a cultural adversary and more like a man reading his poems to me for the very first time.

Why? For one thing, I knew that I’d be more grateful for his willingness to take a risk. For another, I knew that I’d be more attentive and curious. After all, a poet usually reads to a friend not to be judged but simply to share—to reveal something of himself. These inner shifts on my part might help R. feel safer. He might be more candid, more real.

Throughout the rest of our conversation, I worked to govern my tongue. I also managed my thoughts, actually paying attention to R. instead of mentally arguing with him. I leaned in and calmly met his gaze. Whenever I felt vexed by his “free speech,” which sometimes crossed over into hate speech, I focused on the flow of my breath.

Eventually R. and I seemed to move out of our habituated roles—him feeling attacked, my feeling provoked. Our discussion deepened. We both began to listen better. We both began to speak more reasonably.

R. and I were never going to agree on much that night. But by the time we parted, we were surprised to have agreed on this: Our country won’t function well unless “we, the people” maintain a healthy balance between personal freedoms and social responsibility. (Another high-wire act!)

It took hours for R. and me to reach that point of agreement, but I shouldn’t have been surprised that we got there. After all, when we listen with openness as a poet recites, a “leap” or “turn” in the poem can transport us to where a shared truth “clicks.” We may feel that truth in our mind as an insight, or epiphany. We may feel it in our body as a sort of quickening. We may feel it as a lightening in our spirit.

Such a significant shift—whether in a poem, a conversation, or a conflict—can be subtle. It can even occur in the silent spaces of what isn’t said aloud.

If we’re to notice that moment, and value it, and possibly build upon it, we must sustain our attention without seeking to control or dictate what’s happening. Without imposing our expectations or values. Without judging.

So, Celia, here’s what I’m thinking: In some (though certainly not all) situations, speaking less and listening more can be one of the best (though certainly not only) ways to “call out social injustices yet stay positive.”

I’ll confess: I often get impatient with this process, especially given the immense suffering all around me. I’m sorely tempted to rise up in rage. But rage, no matter how justifiable, can inflict violence that makes a just peace impossible.

Can we let the contested spaces in our society ripen beyond our personal control? Can we offer those spaces our compassion and creativity, thereby encouraging them to turn, like fields of flowers that follow the sun?
 

  Deep peace and health to you,


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Power Boosts

May this potpourri of beauty boost your staying power.
Have a boost to suggest? Send me an email. 
 
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Your Turn

This week's question: 

"How do you call out injustice
while staying positive?"


Given limitations of space, brief is better.
"Reply" to this message or email your response.


* * *
 
Responses to last edition's question:

"What helps you keep your cool
when things don't go as planned?
"

Nuala C: "I listen to this song and sing it to myself, taking in its message."

Kim L: 

"I have a few mantras that I say to myself:
  • In 5 years, I won't even remember this.
  • Every problem has a solution, maybe just not the one I envisioned (and then I laugh at myself and the absurdity of life).
     "When the irritant is a person's behavior, I try to mentally hold them at arm's length and stay unhooked with something compassionate I ask myself, like, `What the heck happened to you that you think being ____ (e.g., mean, dismissive, rude) is ok?'
     "When all else fails, I recall Thomas Merton's great moment at the busy corner of 4th and Walnut in St. Louis. He was flooded with love for all the hustling and bustling, and his insight was `If only people knew they were walking around, shining like the sun!'"

Mish R: "I look for the hidden blessing."

Nancy S:

"I have begun practicing `Breath Prayers.'
This is something one can practice throughout the day ...
Sitting at a red light.
Opening a door (threshold).
Looking in the mirror.
So many other things ...

It is kind of like learning 
or perhaps relearning to see
the extraordinary in the ordinary.

This is my desire, my intention.

So, of course, when things don’t go my way,
and I focus on my breath,
I am brought to the present moment
and feel the calm make its lovely appearance."

Edie K: "My `rocks.' My loved ones' Love. I don't necessarily see them because they've got my back, but I can feel them and their caring. Even in my solitary life, I know in my bones, that I am not alone. 
     "When things don't go as I planned I also have to give myself the permission to fall apart. But then, the next move, which can be difficult, is to reach out and ask for help. That's when I find out my `rocks' have been there all along."    


* * *
 
General responses to our last care package:
 
Peter T: "Absolutely love this, thanks, dear Phyllis! Your musings on your airport experience and the awesome performance of `One Day' are so powerful and remind me that amidst all the despair, there is hope, and yes, joy!"

Diane S: "Musings made me smile with familiarity.
     "I have mentioned my son, who is medical fragile and cognitively impaired. We travel once a year to Seattle, and it is always a crazy adventure in the airport and on the plane. Even though we paid for `security clearance,' we still have to have him searched, food included. Kinda crazy. We always buy an extra seat so we have room to feed him. One year, the passenger nearest us was complaining about [my son's] Big Mac that played new age-y type music. [The man] said, before we took off, `Am I going to have to listen to that this whole trip?' My husband very calmly explained that our son is blind, quadriplegic, and easily agitated in a new environment, so this would keep him calm. [The man] never said another word, but at the end of the flight, he handed us a poem he had written. It was called `Make My Day,' and he basically said what a jerk he had been and and was amazed at the courage of our son. Go figure ... "

The Last Word


"Sunflowers end up facing the sun
but they go through a lot of dirt
to find their way there.”


J. R. RIM
 

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Staying Power is a free virtual care package produced by Phyllis Cole-Dai to sustain creative, compassionate spirits. She sends it every Sunday except the last of every month, when she publishes Staying Power Plus, her author news roundup. Subscribe to Staying Power Plus here.
 
“Spirit has fifty times the strength and staying power
of brawn and muscles."
—Mark Twain

 
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