Since I began this blog, folks have asked me "what is it about?"
While that's a valid question, I have been in no hurry to make it "about" anything in particular, other than ideas I want to share, or put out into the world.
But I've been inspired to focus a bit. Maybe even more than a bit, we'll see how it works out. This is an experiment.
One of my Goals for 2009 is to create more flow in my life. To me, that means to embrace the wu-wei and create abundance and balance in my personal and professional life through creativity, intention and simplicty.
So, that's what I am going to focus on for a while in this blog ~ the quest for flow ~ and see where it takes me, and us (are you out there reader? send a smoke signal).
There was a girl who danced in the city that night, that April 22nd, all along the Charles River. It was as if one hundred men were watching or do I mean the one hundred eyes of God? The yellow patches in the sycamores glowed like miniature flashlights. The shadows, the skin of them were ice cubes that flashed from the red dress to the roof. Mile by mile along the Charles she danced past the benches of lovers, past the dogs pissing on the benches. She had on a red, red dress and there was a small rain and she lifted her face to it and thought it part of the river. And cars and trucks went by on Memorial Drive. And the Harvard students in the brick hallowed houses studied Sappho in cement rooms. And this Sappho danced on the grass. and danced and danced and danced. It was a death dance. The Larz Anderson bridge wore its lights and many cars went by, and a few students strolling under their Coop umbrellas. And a black man who asked this Sappho the time, the time, as if her watch spoke. Words were turning into grease, and she said, "Why do you lie to me?" And the waters of the Charles were beautiful, sticking out in many colored tongues and this strange Sappho knew she would enter the lights and be lit by them and sink into them. And how the end would come - it had been foretold to her - she would aspirate swallowing a fish, going down with God's first creature dancing all the way.
This poem made me think of those who have left us, intentionally, because the world was already too much for them. Chilling to think, as some of them may have, that death is more beautiful than life...Very sad.
My mother taught me the importance of saying thank you to others. Not just to friends and family, but bus drivers and waiters and anyone else who deserves a little recognition as well. Don't we all?
Another of the many things I admire about Obama, is that it seems his mother must have taught him the importance and weight of a "thank you" as well. He says it often and with feeling. Have you noticed that?
I give thanks today and every day for how lucky I am to love and be loved by so many wonderful friends and family. "What a long strange trip it's been!"
Do you love what you do for "a living"? Work to "make a difference" (however small or large) in the world? Let me know what you're up to. Maybe we can feature you, your business, project, ideas, adventures, dreams here...