tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45336702655296539942024-02-19T02:19:34.752-08:00Face of ConsciousnessA Poetic and Philosophic Dialogue on Life and RelationshipPatrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-46772669584624204772012-02-16T09:17:00.000-08:002012-02-16T09:17:33.181-08:00<!--StartFragment-->
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<span style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande';"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Diplomacy</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Lucida Grande"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">All my life I have been accused of not
being very diplomatic (as though this is a crime). So, I have given this
"diplomacy" thing some thought. Here is what I have come to realize:
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<span style="font-family: "Lucida Grande"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">Diplomacy is a way of revealing only a
small fraction of the truth while allowing those with whom one is being
diplomatic to believe the whole truth is being revealed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Lucida Grande"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";"><b>
Examples</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Lucida Grande"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";"><b>Irish diplomacy:</b> (Wife) "John, ya
didn't go out drinkin' again last night with Michael, did ya?" (Husband)
"Of course not!" (He was out drinking with Patrick) (Wife again)
"And ya were not at Paddy's Pub drunk again?" (Husband) "Of
course not!" (He was drunk at Sean's Pub with James)
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<span style="font-family: "Lucida Grande"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";"><b>Husband diplomacy:</b> (Wife) "Dear,
does this dress make me look fat?" (Husband) "No dear, not at
all" (His true thought, You are fat, so it is you making yourself look fat
not the dress. The dress just reveals it.)
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<span style="font-family: "Lucida Grande"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";"><b>Political Diplomacy: </b>(Journalist)
"Mr. President, are we planning to go to war with Iran?" (President)
"No, we are not." (What the president is really thinking, "Israel
is planning to go to war with Iran and we will support them fully with our
troops weapons, and money.")<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Lucida Grande"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">I think I am quite happy not being very
diplomatic!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Lucida Grande"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">P. Donovan</span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-41795911291333716602012-02-15T18:13:00.001-08:002012-02-15T18:14:05.307-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The Relationship</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">His train arrives at midnight</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">from a town you think you know.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He told you to meet him sharp at twelve</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and you know you want to go.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So you take the dress you've been saving so long</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">from a closet of antique clothes.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You fix your hair and you paint your eyes </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and you wonder if he knows.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's getting late and you're anxious now</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">so you hurry down to the door.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And you stop a moment to think about</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">all the times that went before.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then you step outside and the night is cold</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">but you've already shut the door.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You've already shut the door.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Woman your road is a long way from home</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and the night is so cold.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you walk it tonight you will walk it alone</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and just to be bold.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You arrive at the station before his train</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and it's warm but so empty inside.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So you sit on a bench of hard wood and nails</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and you wonder what you've done with your pride.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now here comes his train like a stab in the dark</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and you get up and walk to the door.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then as a face appears in the dark</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">you wonder if maybe there's more.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hello! How are you? And so forth is said</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">from a grin you can not defend.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Like a puppet, you lean on the strings too hard</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and you know that this is the end.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then he takes your hand and he leads you down</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">to the tracks where you've been to before.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But it's too late now cause' his train has come</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and you've already shut the door.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; line-height: 20px;">© p. donovan</span></div>
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<br />Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-17398419176847530802012-02-10T14:14:00.000-08:002012-02-29T08:36:17.490-08:00<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><b>Cultural Autism and Intimacy Deficiency Disorder (IDD)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">There is a fulminating deficiency disorder that is festering at the heart of our “high-tech” Western culture… lack of deep, intimate and profound relating with one another. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">According to latest statistics, approximately 70% of American cell phone users send at least 1 or more text messages every single day. More often than we would like, those messages are sent while driving or walking in a public place or in the presence of friends and family. This level was reached by the UK four years ago. Irish telecoms regulator reports an average of 5 messages sent per day across the whole subscriber base. UK reports 6. South Korea reports 10. Singapore reports 12 text messages and the Philippines report 15 text messages sent per day on average across the total subscriber base. There are over 250 million active users of Facebook with more than 120 million users logging on to Facebook at least once each day. More than 5 billion minutes are spent on Facebook each day (worldwide). According to the A.C. Nielsen Co., the average American watches 3 hours and 46 minutes of TV each day (more than 52 days of nonstop TV-watching per year). Forty percent of Americans always or often watch television while eating dinner, missing one of the best opportunities for a family to share in intimate conversation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Where is the organic intimacy and deep connectedness established and nurtured by the sharing of meaningful facial expressions, body language, verbal intonations, scents, pheromones, and the preciousness of a gentle touch or caress? Are they fading away in the distant memory of the human psyche replaced by the cultural autism and intimate sensual sterility of Facebook-friendships and the text message masquerade?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">p. donovan</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-17879170862494032502012-02-05T09:33:00.000-08:002012-02-05T09:33:02.989-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><img alt="Align Center" border="0" class="gl_align_center" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" />Crumbs</span></strong></div>
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I woke this morning alone</div>
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without my lover.</div>
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In her place I found the crumbs</div>
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of what I lost.</div>
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She is gone to see her family</div>
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in the desert.</div>
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I am left to pay the price</div>
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for what it cost.</div>
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Love can be a crime</div>
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when its entangled</div>
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in the barter of a lifetime</div>
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for one night.</div>
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It’s a trade we make</div>
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to keep ourselves in business,</div>
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a contract with the shadow</div>
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and the light.</div>
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Sometimes we choose to leave</div>
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our bed uncovered.</div>
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Sometimes we choose to leave it</div>
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not at all.</div>
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And other times we choose</div>
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to take the journey</div>
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hoping someone finds the crumbs</div>
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that we let fall.</div>
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©p. donovan</div>
<br />Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-8633022741531316802012-01-19T17:15:00.001-08:002012-01-19T17:16:56.876-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px; font-size:11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Through the great dance of relationship the “I” of self-awareness is born and nurtured into the “Thou” of unity and self-transcendence. The underlying motivation for this dance is twofold: self-realization through the reflection of one’s being in the eyes of “the other” and self-transcendence through the ultimate experience of love whereupon one realizes, as Joseph Campbell writes, “… beneath the </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">illusion of two-ness dwells identity: 'each is both'.”<br />Through the reflection of your being in the eyes of your beloved, you behold the essential nature of your own existence. In so doing, you inform the world of that existence because you are “seen” and your life is witnessed through the eyes of love by your beloved. This is only a micro-personalized experience of the grander experience of “God beholding God.” For you and your beloved are one and the same. As you are witnessed, so do you witness. As you inform the world of your existence, so do you inform the world of the existence of your beloved. As the great Jewish mystic, Martin Buber, tells us, only through relationship can we know God and only through relationship can we know ourselves. I would add further, only through relationship can God know God and only through relationship can the lover know The Beloved.</span></span></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: normal; color: rgb(255, 217, 140); font-family:Arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-668284255801629390" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><div style="text-align: right; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">© p. donovan</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="clear: both; "></div></div><div class="post-footer" style="margin-top: 0.75em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; color: rgb(255, 204, 102); text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 0.1em; font: normal normal normal 78%/normal Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.4em; "></div></span></span></span></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-30510970268891151512012-01-19T17:11:00.000-08:002012-01-19T17:12:58.208-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The nature of the creator of this universe is sexual. Everywhere in nature the erotic choreography of the courtship dance and the refrain of its melodic conversation can be witnessed, from the strutting of the peacock to the flowers of the field, from the croaking of the frog to the chirping of the crickets. Life is engaged in an ongoing conversation with itself; a sensual soliloquy of many tongue</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">s. The topic is self-discovery and self-transcendence through relationship. The language is sexual and sensual while the word spoken is seed and the seed given is word. The outcome is life’s continuous creation and the guidebook followed is love. But to love, you must become a lover and passionately engage the world in intimate and erotic conversation as though it were your beloved. </span></span></span><div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal; font-size: 13px; "><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-668284255801629390" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><div style="text-align: right; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; "><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">© p. donovan</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="clear: both; "></div></div><div class="post-footer" style="margin-top: 0.75em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 0.1em; font: normal normal normal 78%/normal Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 1.4em; "></div></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; "><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br />“Dance me to your beauty<br />with a burning violin.<br />Dance me through the panic<br />till I’m gathered safely in.<br />Touch me with your naked hand,<br />touch me with your glove.<br />Dance me to the end of love.”<br /><br />(From “Dance Me to the End of Love”<br />by Leonard Cohen © Stanger Music)</span></span></span></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-6682842558016293902012-01-19T17:08:00.000-08:002012-02-05T08:42:24.731-08:00<span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 14px" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">As I “check in” with my own experience of love and the many poets, mystics and lovers who have tasted of the sweetness of love’s sublime ecstasy and have been deeply wounded by the flame of love’s transformational fire, I can only conclude the following. To be a lover: </span></span></span><br /><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 14px" class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family:Verdana;">One </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:medium;">must realize one’s worthiness to be loved and to love;<br />One must be willing to risk being wounded;<br />One must be willing to risk</span></span><span style="DISPLAY: inline" class="text_exposed_show"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> one’s self to be a part of something greater than one’s self;<br />One must be willing to be naked to The Beloved and witnessed by The Beloved in that nakedness and vulnerability at the risk of being judged;<br />One must have a vision of the heavenly perfection of profound relatedness;<br />One must have a burning, passionate desire to be totally immersed in the ecstasy of profound relatedness;<br />Because every being is the portal through which The Beloved is accessed, one must be able to recognize and erotically engage The Beloved living deep within the heart and essence of every being and enter into profound relatedness with that being and The Beloved within them;<br />Then one must dance!</span></span></span></span><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 14px" class="Apple-style-span"><span style="DISPLAY: inline" class="text_exposed_show"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 20px" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">© p. donovan</span></span></span></span></span></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-18395373536953046732012-01-19T17:04:00.000-08:002012-01-19T17:08:02.232-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">“The person who emerges from the act of pure relation that so involves his/her being has now in their being something more that has grown in themselves, of which they did not know before and whose origin he/she is not rightly able to indicate.” (Martin Buber, <i>I And Thou</i>)<br /><br />Being in the sacred place of profound relatedness with another is a powerful experience, one that is either mortally devastatin</span></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">g or spiritually transformative. When it is transformative, it leaves you with “something more that has grown in you” as Buber tells us.<br /><br />However, to be a lover you must be willing to live in love’s world and be sacrificed on its alter of creativity for your beloved; “crucified”, “pruned” and “shaken” to your very roots if that is what it takes to be one with your beloved. You must be deeply centered within your own being and have a strong sense of who you are at your very core, however, to risk such wounding and survive. You must first know yourself or else all will be lost. The blade of profound relatedness cuts deep into the heart of your existence as it dissects away all denial, apathy, and resistance. If you are not prepared, it may cut too deeply leaving you mortally devastated, struggling to survive, struggling to be free from your pain.</span></span></span></span><div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px; font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; ">© p. donovan</span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "></span></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 14px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; "><br /></span></span></div></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-63007507137870091692011-12-11T21:24:00.000-08:002011-12-11T21:54:01.404-08:00To The Salmon People And The Salmon Eaters From Mack<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5dnlfFgAKT3nuXCFiMKqqpPSSwnehvLfUsnU1i2peyIYIUmKbgTzLEVxZr0iHo6QqkA2FQBQxrEQSa5m12G3N1KOSt9xYGftovlz3JC4kUnB00REVGIPtXLmugHLmjQ-bbRTQW1nZRlZv/s1600/6a00d8341bffb653ef00e5512e83048833-800wi.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685115981678117474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 128px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5dnlfFgAKT3nuXCFiMKqqpPSSwnehvLfUsnU1i2peyIYIUmKbgTzLEVxZr0iHo6QqkA2FQBQxrEQSa5m12G3N1KOSt9xYGftovlz3JC4kUnB00REVGIPtXLmugHLmjQ-bbRTQW1nZRlZv/s200/6a00d8341bffb653ef00e5512e83048833-800wi.jpg" border="0" /></a> Last night I attended a presentation given in Seattle by wisdom-keeper storyteller Michael Meade. I went because I am in a bit of a doldrum, and wisdom (so rare in our world) tends to pick me up. It was an uplifting experience.<br /><br />In oration and storytelling and song and drumming, he told of how our souls come to this life with a purpose, aimed in a certain direction, although we are sometimes unaware of that purpose. He said that usually there is a wounding experience in our childhood that stimulates and enlivens that purpose, turning fate into destiny. As he spoke I thought of how his words might apply to me. My wound was in being lied to, first by alcoholic parents who could not admit their alcoholism, then by a religious cult and complicit family members, and finally, on escaping that cult, by a world culture which does not know itself. Each time the lies sought to conceal the character of the very air we breathed day to day.<br /><br />The storyteller said that initiation is a process of separation, ordeal, and reunion with a welcoming community that recognizes a rebirth of the soul and welcomes the initiate back into a place of belonging. How might this apply to me? My separation occurred at age 3, when I was fitted with a leather and steel leg brace to keep my right leg bones straight despite a disease which threatened to make the bones bend and then harden again in a disfigured state. The brace was mostly successful, as my lasting disfigurement is very minor, and could have been much worse. It is literally in my hip, as Jacob (another who asked for a gift as I did) was said to have been touched in his hip by an angel to teach him humility. I wonder if this is a reminder of humility to me.<br /><br />But my bone disease was not the real wound, only an initiatory separation. For wearing the leg brace during my early years of socialization, three to six, created social separation, which Michael Meade says is a signal to the soul that initiation has begun.<br /><br />My wound of fate is also my initiatory ordeal. Being lied to massively and intricately, more convoluted than the most complex Celtic knot you have ever seen or imagined. He says that next to our wound is our gift to the world, and that we have to go completely through the wound in order to find our gift and let it shine. My cult recovery process is now in it's second decade and counting. During this time I have completely reclaimed my mind from the web of lies, and am, more than anyone else I know, quite immune to them now. Since reclaiming one's mind is the greatest sin that one can possibly commit as per some of my siblings still in the cult, they count me a heretic worthy of death. This thought is wounding too, for my family was supposed to be my foundation in this life. There is no home to return to, even if I ever would.<br /><br />But I have gone all the way through this wound. Some days I am even free of anger about it. Each day I try to deliver my gift by means of clarity and sincerety and alignment with the Nature of what is, and vibrating in the electricity and beauty of it, and I don't know if it is of benefit to anyone but myself, but I keep trying, for that is all I have to give. I hope some day it can benefit my unborn grandchildren so that they can enjoy the pure beauty that I have loved. My golden ball is certainly a treasure to me. Perhaps that is enough.<br /><br />The storyteller related a Celtic story about the tree of life and the salmon of wisdom who became wise by eating nuts that fell from the tree of life into the pool where the salmon was swimming. He suggested that a life of wisdom means swimming against the current, as salmon do, because wisdom is rare in our world. So wisdom means struggle? I can relate. I have had to swim against the current for most of my life because I love and pursue wisdom, although I may not define it as Michael Meade does. He also said that wisdom varies for each individual, that it is creative and dynamic and infinitely malleable. I don't know if that is so. Perhaps.<br /><br />But there is also another wisdom, and there must be another wisdom that we can share, at least long enough to solve our collective planetary problems. I suspect private creative wisdom, no matter how essential and helpful, may not be enough without a collective wisdom based on the Nature of what is, because collective solutions are required in order to survive these times. Somehow I can't help wondering if my golden ball is involved, but I don't quite know how.<br /><br />To me, wisdom means the capacity to solve problems, like Solomon is said to have done when two mothers came before him, one with a living baby and one with a dead baby. When I first heard this story about age 3, there was a quickening in my soul. Something moved inside me as if I had swallowed a live salmon. I knew I had a difficult problem too, my parents' alcoholism, and I very much wanted the capacity to overcome my problem like Solomon did his. So that day I prayed to God for wisdom, the capacity to solve problems, because that is what Solomon did. I thought if it worked for him, it might work for me. (Hmm. Salmon~Solomon.) That was the day the eyes of my soul opened and my initiatory ordeal began. Had I known the ordeal would last so long, I might not have asked for it.<br /><br />Like dominoes falling in succession, knowledge (the possession of accurate information) can lead to understanding (an overview of how things fit together), which in turn can lead to wisdom (the capacity to solve problems by employing understanding). But this succession requires intellectual honesty which becomes disrupted by cultural error. Since culture permeates, like the air we breathe, intellectual dishonesty within individual minds is somewhat proportional to the errors of world culture, and unfortunately they are many.<br /><br />I pursue wisdom like the scent of a distant spawning ground because I wish to clear away the problems that inhibit the elusive thing I love which I can barely describe. I love the purest beauty imaginable, that pure innocence, pure alignment with the Nature of what is, free of artificial contrivance, which vibrates in the electricity of being, standing toe to toe, seeing eye to eye, free of the need for any contrived device, stronger because of it, steadfast and unmoveable like the trunk of the great tree of life, flowing with the limitless qi of the universe because of essential alignment with the Nature of what is. This is what this indescribable golden ball means to me.<br /><br />Some might call it "truth", but that does not quite convey it, particularly where that word has been painted a different color through abuse. This thing I love is not some abstract invented doctrine from a hypocritical cleric, oversimplified for spiritual babes, yet masquerading as universal light. It is the ability to recognize and celebrate the beingness of our own Nature, to tune into a universal frequency that can free and empower us to reach our magnificent potential. Although I no longer allow myself to be chained by doctrine, I do still believe parts of my scriptural upbringing, including John 8:44, "The Devil is a liar and the father of lies". This is consistent with my experience, for this golden ball, "truth" or "innocence" or "alignment" or "sincerety" or however one might attempt to label it (despite the fact that labels usually fail), is that which connects us to our limitless power and divinity. Any oppressor would first seek to disconnect us from that, would they not? I don't know what the Devil is, but some unseen force or person has certainly taken this oppressive role in our world. Who?<br /><br />Sincerety, above all else, is not allowed in my world, and particularly not for adult males. Instead, now and throughout this lifetime which extends along the road behind me, I am expected to be stoic and accomplished and contrive an image of stoicism and prowess, for this artificial image is what a man "should" be. And this is my deep emotional ground, being prohibited by the world in which I live from openly being and celebrating who I am, a world which, on the one hand pays lip service to honesty, but on the other hand rewards artificial contrivance and punishes sincerety in every conceivable way. We are not allowed to be who we really are, much less celebrate it. Shame, projection, and artificial contrivance are everywhere.<br /><br />I have not yet gone all the way through this wound, and I wonder if there will be yet time to do so in this lifetime. It is, needless to say, no mystery to me why so many of my fellow men, likewise expected to be artificially stoic for the benefit of others, or artificially accomplished in order to receive a modicum of respect, more now in our gender "enlightened" society than ever, without a thought for their own humanity, do accede to contrivance and even exploitation in order to gain some sort of satisfaction, for there is no reward in this world for those who hold to nobility of character and sincerety of word and deed. Because of my "innocence" or creative maladjustment, I am sometimes thought of as weak, where in reality I am strong because of it, yet no one knows it. I admit it's not polished, but it really is gold.<br /><br />The storyteller also said that the third stage of initiation, a reunion with a welcoming community that recognizes a rebirth of the soul, is rare in our world. Even though I discovered this soul journey he describes back in my teens, and have been pursuing it ever since, having been through three formal indigenous-style initiations, and many informal ones, that third stage still eludes me. For I live in a world in which community has dissolved, and humankind recognizes very little of what is real. And so even the most fundamental human needs that we all share, having a place of belonging and being seen and accepted for who we really are, eludes most all of us, because most all of us are too blind to see each other or recognize our common destiny.<br /><br />I have at times been angry over this, but in this moment I am sad for my race, and I hold out a hand tenderly upon the shoulder of those who have never held out anything for me. We are all potentially so much more than we have been. May we move toward our beautiful potential.<br /><br />The times that I came closest to the promise of being known and accepted for who I really am, that is when I was most alive; but it took huge expenditures of energy to reach those peaks in a cultural environment that either cannot glimpse my golden ball or projects familiar stereotypes as an overlay upon an unfamiliar sight. But even those peaks were a false promise, for no one around me whom I trusted with this risk, could really see or even wanted to, even though I tried over and over again. And now I am old and tired, and perhaps unlikely to spend that much energy trying such a difficult quest that holds so little promise in the current climate.<br /><br />However the beautiful thing I came here to celebrate, I still do and always will. I love a thing that I have only tasted in the briefest possible glimpse (like Finn who touched the skin of the salmon before tasting his thumb) many years ago and now nearly forgotten. To love and pursue that pure and beautiful thing, now a wisp of a distant memory, which I can barely describe and even so doing, I describe poorly at best, my indescribable golden ball, is my purpose in this life. I wonder if my purpose is entirely futile, and hope it is not.<br /><br />It is the beauty for which I live. Well although I have little evidence of accomplishment, my life is well spent still.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><div align="right">© Mack</div></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-21060906325236088022011-11-29T22:49:00.000-08:002011-11-29T23:02:21.930-08:00<div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Segments of Antiquity<br /></span></strong><br />Segments of antiquity,<br />relics of antiquated memories,<br />like hand-carved figurines<br />on crumbled alters<br />of weathered stone,<br />pose motionless,<br />silent,<br />stilled<br />by the<br />paganistic, pantheistic, hedonistic hands<br />of analytical divinity<br />and the blood-borne sacrifice<br />of loves lost<br />only to be discovered again<br />in the metamorphic ruins<br />of tomorrow<br />by the virgin hands<br />of an archeological dream.<br /></span></div><br /><div align="right"><span style="font-family:arial;">© p. donovan</span></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-37768216538229658492011-11-24T11:19:00.000-08:002011-11-24T11:25:39.969-08:00<div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I’ve Known Love<br /></span></strong><br />I’ve known love<br />when it was cold,<br />when it was warm<br />and when it was sharp enough<br />to amputate my limbs<br />when I needed to be whole.<br /><br />I’ve known flesh<br />when it was warm,<br />when it was cold<br />and when it was soft enough<br />to capture me in pain<br />when I needed to be free.<br /><br />And I’ve known you<br />when you were sharp,<br />when you were soft<br />and when you were mine enough<br />to teach my limbs<br />their pain would never be free.<br /><br /><div align="right"><span style="font-family:arial;">© p. donovan</div></span></span></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-4905077416938729892011-11-24T11:08:00.000-08:002011-11-24T11:23:15.424-08:00<div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Where Is The Open Door?</strong><br /></span><br />Where is the open door<br />I used to know so well<br />who’s latch was never closed to me<br />who’s path was always known?<br /><br />Where are the satin sheets<br />that tasted of our sweat<br />on those nights of reckless passion<br />when our bodies heaved and flowed with love?<br /><br />Where are the eyes of fire<br />that begged me to come in<br />and gazed into my soul<br />the moment we became as one?<br /><br />The door is locked.<br />The sheets are put away.<br />Your eyes no longer see me now.<br /><br />Love is such a strange agreement.</span><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="right">© p. donovan</div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-6425399728375912132011-11-22T18:34:00.000-08:002011-11-23T18:19:03.386-08:00The Circle<div style="text-align: justify;">In western mystical tradition the point contained at the center of the circle is “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">aleph</i>,” the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet and the I AM of self-awareness… the seed of life and self-aware consciousness that is defined by the circle to eventually expand to fulfill itself within the womb of the circle. The circle is “<i>beth</i>.” <i>Beth </i>is the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet and according to Western mystical tradition, is the letter from which creation began in the original Hebrew biblical text, because it is the first letter of the first word (<i>“B’rashit”</i>) of Biblical Genesis. It represents the container or maternal womb within which creation takes place.</div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The circle presents the maximal contrast of inside and outside, finite and infinite. It intimates the ultimate paradox: It is simultaneously limiting in its ability to contain and define, yet unlimiting and endless in its dimensions (π = 3.1415926…) and its expansive, recursive nature. Perceived as the uroboros (the ancient symbol of the serpent swallowing its tail), the circle is the symbol of unity and eternity, the union of masculine and feminine opposites as the mythological “World Parents” joined in perpetual embrace. As Michael Schneider states, “… a circle implies the mysterious generation from nothing to everything.” While the circle accommodates all of the fundamental two-dimensional shapes within itself and the sphere accommodates all of the fundamental three-dimensional forms (Platonic solids) within itself, <i>the spiral accommodates the primary </i><i>creative process </i>from which all the fundamental shapes and forms evolve.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">All forms and organizing patterns of life arise from the circle. Within it lies the identity of the Creator. Understanding it allows one to understand one’s self because it is from the circle one was born. As the great mythologist and psychologist Eric Neumann states: </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top:0in;margin-right:1.0in;margin-bottom:0in; margin-left:.5in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace: none">“So long as man shall exist, perfection will continue to appear as the circle, the sphere, and the round; and the Primal Deity who is sufficient unto Itself, and the self who has gone beyond the opposites, will reappear in the image of the round, the mandala.”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 1in; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px; font-family:verdana;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 1in; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px; font-family:verdana;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 1in; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px; font-family:verdana;font-size:medium;">© p. donovan</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 1in; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 20px; font-family:verdana;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 1in; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: normal; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy88WiJhLrJyKQZgu__zVOLYbMbydR3zBfkr8mu9JGXxTSRiLlj0vxWTPbFa-QGwQaqOj4n_nOMpXK6qdit1ULnAZpXJRXh4mdIQ03QY7K7Lc0dU3DHuju4ia8pPo_pVIFzAIJh_zFyhuL/s200/Snapshot+2011-11-23+18-16-08.tiff" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678380907163260194" style="cursor: pointer; width: 185px; height: 183px; " /></span></span></span></p><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-46592570355844772102011-11-19T12:23:00.000-08:002011-11-19T17:27:37.007-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The War, </span></span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">In Twelve Words</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"It is with great remorse </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">that we inform you</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of your loss."</span></span></div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">© p. donovan</span></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-31710503296366546842011-11-19T11:50:00.000-08:002011-11-24T10:55:14.583-08:00<p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></b></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Copulating With The Scalpel Blade Of Desire</span></span></b><br /><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I have copulated with</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">the scalpel blade </span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of desire</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">as it caressed</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">the warm, hot flesh</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of my safety and security</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">severing </span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">the calcified umbilicus</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of my arrogant despair</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">and the intimate possibilities</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">that border </span></span><br /><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">this threshold of love.</span></span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I spilled upon</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">the septic sheets</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of my sibylline surrender</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">singly, wholly,</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">desperately</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">alone</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">with unending pulsations</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of emptiness</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">until there was nothing left</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">but the stillborn vestige</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of my freedom</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">and the silent cry</span></span><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of my<?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">singularity!</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">© p. donovan</span></span></p>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-57731957211065693232011-11-19T11:08:00.000-08:002011-11-19T12:20:49.411-08:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Your Eyes, My Gaze</span></span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I'd stare into your eyes forever; </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">deep, endless pits</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of beauty and despair,</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of passion and sorrow,</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of life and death,</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of gray and green. </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I'd get lost forever </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">as my gaze meets yours,</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">even when I look away</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">my gaze will stay lost </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">in your eyes forever. </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Slowly we will move closer. </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Mentally our souls will meet.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Using our eyes as a passage, </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I will stay lost </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">in your eyes forever.</span><br /></div><br /><div align="right"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">© Connor Donovan</span></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-60846146659910850272011-11-19T11:00:00.000-08:002011-11-19T11:24:03.673-08:00<div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">So Far From Doe Bay<br /></span></strong><br />So far from Doe Bay we’ve come<br />since that dusky, July evening<br />when I first stared transfixed<br />into your fiery green eyes<br />while your slender, naked, nubile body<br />slipped seductively into the hot tub of my anticipation<br />on that secluded Northwest Island.<br /><br />Within minutes, all else melted away<br />except those green eyes<br />and a familiar conversation<br />begun so long ago;<br />(absent of word and voice)<br />interrupted only by the splashing of your son<br />as he played periodically with your attention.<br /><br />Even before our introduction,<br />I knew why<br />I had come to this place.<br /><br />So far from Doe Bay we’ve come;<br />through nights of fiery passion<br />entangled as one<br />(the taste of your body, the sent of your heat)<br />to Sunday night dinners of garlic and wine<br />and olive oil kisses with basil and thyme.<br /><br />So far from Doe Bay we’ve gone<br />since that dusky, July evening<br />when I first stared transfixed<br />into your fiery green eyes.<br /><br />So far from Doe Bay we’ve gone.<br />We’ve gone so far away.<br />On two separate ferries.<br />In two separate cars.<br />As two separate lives.<br />Forever entwined in the moment of<br />one unforgettable hello<br />and<br />one<br />everlasting<br />goodbye.<br /><br /><div align="right"><span style="font-family:verdana;">© p. donovan</span></div></div></span>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-33232806808046106972011-11-19T10:38:00.000-08:002011-11-19T11:00:36.075-08:00<div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">The Man Massacres The Concept Of Time</span></strong><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="center">The man massacres the concept of time<br />as he sees it slowly<br />creeping through his lover's veins.<br /><br />He cries out angrily<br />at the feeling of hate.<br />He sings out joyfully<br />at the knowledge of love.<br /><br />He reaps and sows<br />the fact of evolution.<br />But drowns the myth<br />of revolution.<br /></div><br /><br /><div align="right">© Connor Donovan </div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-89675955475436032962011-11-19T10:26:00.000-08:002011-11-19T10:34:08.401-08:00<div align="center">SQUATTER </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">A squatter squats inside my house, </div><br /><div align="center">I give him shelter, bread, and wine, </div><br /><div align="center">I give him everything that is mine. </div><br /><div align="center">He spends the night and that's just fine. </div><br /><div align="center">I let him stay because he shows </div><br /><div align="center">that he is safe, and that I know. </div><br /><div align="center">I give him everything I sow </div><br /><div align="center">all my sheets and all my clothes. </div><br /><div align="center">And then the next morning comes. </div><br /><div align="center">He awakes, and then he's gone. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Just as he leaves another comes. </div><br /><div align="center">This one's family, a close friend. </div><br /><div align="center">No, I know it's not the end, </div><br /><div align="center">so I let him come in. </div><br /><div align="center">No, the bell doesn't toll for him. </div><br /><div align="center">As I greet this friend with hi, </div><br /><div align="center">he says "hello" and then he sighs. </div><br /><div align="center">What's wrong my friend, I must ask. </div><br /><div align="center">He says he's done and gone to die. </div><br /><div align="center">I say I am surprised, although I'm not, </div><br /><div align="center">it's in his eyes. </div><br /><div align="center">He says "farewell" and "I must go." </div><br /><div align="center">I say "goodbye, I loved you so." </div><br /><div align="center">The last time I see him go. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">A stranger comes to my door, </div><br /><div align="center">not a squatter, not a whore. </div><br /><div align="center">This man, I know him well, </div><br /><div align="center">yet he is a stranger still. </div><br /><div align="center">I shut the door in his face. </div><br /><div align="center">He says, "That won't do, your a disgrace." </div><br /><div align="center">I open up the door to see, </div><br /><div align="center">the man has become me. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">I shut the door and run away. </div><br /><div align="center">Things collapse and fadeaway. </div><br /><div align="center">I've run into another day. </div><br /><div align="right">© Connor Donovan, 9/11</div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-18275230605772234942011-11-19T09:54:00.000-08:002011-11-19T12:23:04.108-08:00<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Solstice Supplication</span></span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />In the dark,<br />the night,<br />of late December,<br />as the sun hid his countenance from human view,<br />I sat with my father beneath the scented boughs<br />cracking the shells of walnuts, almonds, and their kin.<br /><br />His hands,<br />rough, muscled, and calloused,<br />held the precious seeds within their firm and gentle grasp<br />“nothing so strong as gentleness”<br />and released the life enhancing substance that formed my<br />young and forming soul.<br /><br />Oh, Light of light; Oh, Seed of seeds!<br />Wherein lies my path?<br />Let Janus show his faces forward,<br />set me down, let your book be known to me,<br />let your word be spoken and mine ears be worthy.<br /><br />Show me his face again.</span><br /><div align="right"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">© Dan Cicora</span></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-73550041951546516482011-08-18T17:06:00.000-07:002011-11-19T11:47:28.188-08:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:12;"><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Anemia</span></b></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This space between us,</div><div style="text-align: center;">intimately conversant,</div><div style="text-align: center;">has suffered too long</div><div style="text-align: center;">its poetic anemia.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Iron-deficient</div><div style="text-align: center;">without the meat of literary dialogue,</div><div style="text-align: center;">we have been limping through</div><div style="text-align: center;">life's hemorrhagic events</div><div style="text-align: center;">with seductive fatigue</div><div style="text-align: center;">searching for a rhyme or reason</div><div style="text-align: center;">for having no reasonable rhyme.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Enough, I say!</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am your hunter</div><div style="text-align: center;">and here is your meat,</div><div style="text-align: center;">blood-red and raw,</div><div style="text-align: center;">charbroiled in the heat</div><div style="text-align: center;">of my love for you.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Read it to your satiety</div><div style="text-align: center;">and digest it well</div><div style="text-align: center;">for tomorrow you will be</div></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">hungry for more.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">© p. donovan</span></span></div><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-11248323504491438092011-04-05T18:04:00.000-07:002011-11-19T12:31:45.852-08:00I Am Sorry For A Bird That Never Flew To Your Expectations<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">What do you do when the burning of the day </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">and the silence of the night </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">keep telling you, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"It's time to leave?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Shut the door behind you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">What do you do when the home of your life</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">and the arms of your beloved </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">keep telling you, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"You are a stranger?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Apologize for the intrusion.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">What do you say when the jury of your peers</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">and the outcomes of your good deeds</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">keep telling you, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"You are no longer valued?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"I know who I am."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">How do you act when the bustling crowd</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">and the flowering garden</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">keep telling you,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"You are alone?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Follow your own path.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">© p. donovan</span></div>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-11679971432882367102011-01-26T09:43:00.000-08:002011-01-27T14:00:29.549-08:00<div align="center"><strong></strong></div><div align="center"><strong></strong></div><p align="center"><strong>FREEING PROMETHEUS</strong></p><p align="center"><strong></strong></p><p align="left">“Each incarnation has a potentiality, and the mission of the life is to live that potentiality.”<br />(<em>Joseph Campbell from The Power of Myth, 1988</em>)<br /><br /><br />“Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”<br />(<em>Ralph Waldo Emerson from The Selected Writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson</em>)<br /><br /><br /><br /><strong>The Prime Directive<br /></strong><br />In the spring of 2003, I was sitting in a circle of professors and students from Bastyr University. As an adjunct professor at the University then, I was part of a workshop with faculty and students at the Whidbey Island Institute on Whidbey Island. It was a three-day workshop on personal transformation for the students lead by a few of us in the faculty. At the end of the third day while we were all in circle for the closing ceremony, we asked a question each of us had to answer. The question was this: “What is your primary responsibility to yourself and to your community of life?” Based upon each person’s answer to that question, we were each to make a promise to ourselves and to the community present as to how we would fulfill our personal responsibility.<br /><br />Of course I was intrigued with the question both for myself and for the young students in the circle. As I watched their faces deeply pondering their answers, I found myself also lost in my own deep thought about the answer. Not just reviewing the weekend’s many intimate conversations and dialogues as I expected, but contemplating my life as well on so many levels. Just what is my primary responsibility to myself, to my family, friends and community… to life itself? Lost in this contemplative inner exploration, I suddenly found myself catapulted back into the present…actually shaken to my very roots from an answer given by one of my colleagues, Dr. Rowen Hamilton. Upon his turn to answer, Dr. Hamilton stood up in a very purposeful yet humble manner and gently, but profoundly said, “Above all, I have a responsibility to be who I was born to be in my fullest.” After a momentary pause, he then promised to be “that person” and quietly sat down.<br /><br />A soberingly powerful and intensely present silence overcame the circle. The proverbial “pin” could have been heard; in the midst of this silence was a pregnant space spanning what seemed many minutes. It was as though the voice of destiny had just spoken directly to our souls. The simplicity and pure honesty of his answer left each one of us awe-struck and speechless as we considered the intrinsic directive: “To be who we are born to be in our fullest!” It seemed as if this directive had shattered all delusional constructs and preconceived notions any of us had about ourselves and what our lives were about. I could see the impact his answer had on the faces of everyone in that circle; it had stopped each one of us dead in our tracks, but why? Why was this simple, honest reply to the question posed so profoundly affecting us? Was there something deep in our inner nature, in our soul memory that resonated with and understood the fundamental truth of Dr. Hamilton’s answer? It certainly embraced some of the greatest concerns of human existence and deeper mysteries of being that have continued for centuries to confound us all, even the greatest of philosophers and theologians; mysteries such as consciousness and self-awareness, destiny and fate, free-will and predetermination.<br /><br />The renowned story teller and mythologist Michael Meade, in his book <em>Fate And Destiny</em>, tells the traditional story of Rabbi Zushya. Rabbi Zushya was a wise and famous Jewish mystic and teacher who, on his death bed, was afraid to meet God because he was concerned he could not answer God’s only question: “Zushya, why were you not more like Zushya?” In other words, God was asking Zushya if Zushya was what he was born to be in his fullest. Why did this concern Zushya so? He was wise and supposedly knew all the great mysteries of God and life. How did he not know the answer to God’s question? Can any one of us ever know the answer? As Meade writes, “Every life must eventually become a revelation of itself.” Is your life “becoming a revelation of itself?” How would you answer God if you died today and God asked you, “While you lived your life, did you become what you were born to be in your fullest?” Do you know yourself well enough and do you have some sense or vision of your own destiny well enough to identify an answer?<br /><br />As I further considered Dr. Hamilton’s response, I began to realize the primal truth of its directive. In reality, all any one of us can ever be is the person we are and the life we live as that person “eventually becomes the revelation of itself.” In other words, I realized there is no “right” or “wrong” way of being myself. I AM the revelation of myself! By virtue of my own separate, individual uniqueness formed and shaped by my genetic code, familial patterns, and personal life experiences, any expression of myself is the “right” expression because it is simply me being who I AM. Therefore, the only promise I can ever responsibly make with some sense of honest conviction is to be who I AM, or is it? This begged my further inquiry. Is the “who I AM” enough or is there a deeper meaning implied? Is there an eminent sense of destiny insinuated in the person I was born to be as opposed to just being who I AM? The essential question in my mind came to be: Is there something more I am to become other then just who I AM… something destined? As I explored this question, I quickly realized I did know one thing. “Who I AM” is clearly a dynamic ever evolving identity influenced by a multitude of factors at any one moment.<br /><br />Self-identity, for any self-aware being, is constantly evolving and adapting from one moment to the next. It is in a continuous state of being formed, shaping and reshaping hourly sculpted by fate’s creative hand via a combination of numerous external forces and influences (social, familial, political, environmental etc.) combined with our internal reactions to those external forces and influences. Yet, I felt as though there was still something more deep inside of me, something constant and unchanging at the very core of “who” I AM… something of “my” nature, of “my” self-identity that made me unique and different than anyone else in spite of so many shared human commonalities and experiences. Further, I felt as though “the something constant at my core” is always calling out to me, beckoning me in some strange and haunting way, like a light house in the fog of night directing me through the perilous seas of my fate to some yet unseen but strangely familiar port of destiny only I could recognize. This is true for us all. In spite of our shared commonalities, something makes us distinctively different in our own inimitable way. If we listen carefully, we can hear that uniqueness as it calls out to us to follow its beckoning light to the harbor of our own particular destiny… to the secret place of our own particular gifts and individuality. I believe it is this uniqueness and individuality of life’s many forms, life’s myriad of diversity that makes life so interesting, rich and beautiful with its interplay of individually unique characters, qualities and species and its many exotic harbors.<br /><br />At the time this workshop was taking place, it just so happened I was in the midst of writing my first book, <em>The Face of Consciousness</em>. I had just finished writing a section on diversity and self-identity. So, the idea of each one of us being unique and responsible to be who we were born to be intrigued me. It was fully in sync with all I had been studying and writing about regarding the nature of consciousness, self-identity and living systems. Every living system is a unique, individual whole unto itself and is made up of parts that are also unique, individual wholes made up of other parts, and so on. According to science writer and philosopher, Arthur Koestler, every whole is a part and every part is a whole, each unique. Since every part is also a whole unto itself and visa versa, Koestler referred to everything as a “holon.” He described every living system as a “holon” possessed of two opposite tendencies: a tendency to integrate as part of a larger whole, and a self-assertive tendency to preserve its individual autonomy and uniqueness as a whole unto itself. Could that “self-assertive tendency” be the “something constant at the core” in each one of us that calls out to us and guides us through the perils of our fated seas to the unique harbor of our own distinctive destiny guarantying life its diversity? </p><p align="left"></p><p align="left">As the biological sciences have clearly witnessed, the more diverse a living system is (the more unique and autonomous are its parts), the more robust and healthy is that system. Diversity is a special form of creativity and appears to be a primary directive of life because it assures the maximal unfolding of all the possibilities of identity and relationship life has to offer. Life’s preponderance for diversity assures the maximal unfolding of the distinct and peculiar characteristics of the full potential of each one of us as individual holons. As I think about it, the U.S. Army (Who would have thought?) actually had it right: “Be all that you can be.” Above all, life wants each one of us “to be all that we can be.”</p><p align="left"><br /><br /><strong>Know Thyself</strong></p><p align="left"><br />If I AM who I AM and I AM a unique individual as is each one of us, what is the “constant at my core” that makes me unique? Is it my genes? Some might say it is. But, according to the human genome project, genetically we are more alike than different, even between different geographical and racial populations. According to research appearing in the science journal Genetics, “The proportion of human genetic variation due to differences between populations is modest, and individuals from different populations can be genetically more similar than individuals from the same population.” Research in genetics has also shown we share 98% of our human DNA with chimpanzees. 98% of our DNA is identical to a chimpanzee’s DNA! Not so hard for me to believe when I think of a few friends I had as a teenager. As a matter of fact, researchers finished mapping the genome of the domestic dog and the results showed, among other things, that dogs, mice, and humans share a core set of DNA. Obviously, it isn’t genetics alone that contributes to uniqueness. What makes me different from you, different from anyone else, even from a chimpanzee or a dog, for that matter, is something more… something of cumulative life-experience and of the deep self. It exists at a more profound and fundamental level than biology and genetics alone. It is something of consciousness and self-awareness... something of the soul.</p><p align="left"><br />When Moses encountered God as the burning bush on Mount Sinai and received the Ten Commandments, according to the biblical account in Exodus 3:13-14, Moses asked God, “When I come unto the children of Israel, and shall say unto them, The God of your fathers hath sent me unto you; and they shall say to me, What is his name? What shall I say unto them?” God replied, “I AM that I AM.” I believe this name of God given to Moses by God represents the most basic, self-reflective statement of being possible. The word "<em>that</em>" appearing within God’s name, is a linguistic symbol for the universal phenomenon of self-reflection that allows the self to behold the self. It acts as the mirror reflecting the image of I AM back to I AM allowing God to experience God so that God may know God. It allows God to, as Psalm 8:1 declares, “Behold the magnificence and glory of the Lord” and proclaim “How excellent is thy name in all the earth who has set thy glory above the heavens.” As I have described with great detail in <em>The Face of Consciousness</em>, the creative, self-reflective act represented by God’s name is intrinsic to all living systems and is essential for the development of self-awareness and self-consciousness. It not only allows the unrealized potential of life to fully manifest, affirm and eventually witness and realize all aspects of its beingness, but it also allows each one of us to do the same. It allows ourselves to experience ourselves that we may know ourselves.</p><p align="left"><br />For any of us to be “who we were born to be in our fullest” we must first know who we are at our core on a deep soulular level. Of course, this takes thorough, intense introspection and examination of one’s life. As Socrates wrote, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Of course it isn’t! Without daily examination of one’s life, it is difficult to evaluate the strange twists of fate we encounter and the outcomes of our choices and directions taken in response to those “strange twists.” As mythologist Michael Meade writes in his book, <em>Fate And Destiny</em>: </p><p align="center"><br /><em>“Fate and the soul are woven of the same threads and fate includes the strange twists that make each soul unique and each life unpredictable. Denying all sense of fate and limitations in life also means denying any sense of inherent uniqueness in the soul. Our ‘uniqueness’ is woven exactly where the thread of destiny entwines with the twists of fate.”</em></p><p align="left"><br />The thread of destiny is that light beckon that guides us through the perilous seas of our fated life to our own unique harbor of “who” we are to be. It “entwines the twists of fate” at the points where we are confronted by potential navigational hazards forcing us to make directional changes (choices) based on avoidance or confrontation of those potential hazards. Therefore, the story of who we are first begins to be discovered within the story of our choices. The history of those choices throughout our life is the map of our life… the fingerprint of our identity. Without such information, the perilous sea of life is difficult to navigate. To know one’s self is not an easy task. It is an ongoing process… a continual discovery and unfolding until one’s life “becomes its own revelation of itself,” as Meade writes. To know one’s self is to know one’s direction... to recognize and follow that directional beacon of light that helps us navigate the perils of fate’s entwinements with destiny so that we may arrive at the harbor of our life’s revelation of itself. To know one’s self means also to understand our choices, how they empower us to become that which we are born to be, or how they may inhibit our growth and development and impede our possibility to move into the fullest expression of our potential. As the ancient inscription on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi reads, “Know Thyself.” This, I firmly believe, is the most important of all life’s directives. Without knowing ourselves, it is difficult to be the person we were born to be. </p><p align="left"><br />As I sat in the circle with my students and colleagues that day considering further Dr. Hamilton’s declaration and resultant promise, I realized I do have a responsibility to Life itself, as does every person living on this planet or in this universe. Our shared, primary responsibility to Life is to be the “unique, autonomous holon” we were born to be in our fullest and to do so means each one of us must know who we are at our core and be true to that self by fully realizing its potential. Like Polonius’s last bit of advice to his son Laertes, in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, “This above all, to thine own self be true.” By so doing, we assure Life its maximal unfolding… its richness, robustness and diversity. By so doing, we can live our full potential and assure ourselves our destiny. But, there was yet one more responsibility I began to see emerging from all of this analytical ruminating. We have another responsibility to each other… to each living thing. It is the responsibility to allow each one of us to be that unique, autonomous holon we are each meant to be by ensuring and encouraging the freedom of expression for each one of us to do so.<br /><br />By the time it was my turn to answer that day, I had realized there was another promise I had to make besides the promise to be who I was born to be in my fullest. It was the only promise I thought could respectfully follow such a primary promise as Dr. Hamilton’s. I promised to encourage, support and inspire each one of the people present in that circle that day to become who they were born to be in their fullest and to refrain from obstruction or interference with their freedom to do so. As the eighteenth century French philosopher, Voltaire wrote: “I may not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it.” I understood that as I have a primary responsibility to be who I was born to be in my fullest, I also have a secondary responsibility to assure everyone else their individual freedom to be who they were born to be in their fullest, as well, even if I may not agree with the “who” they choose to be. Each of us has our own individual path and hidden gifts to discover and bring into the world. Each one of us is an unique individual expression of life’s diverse nature… of God being God.<br /><br />At the moment I made my promise, one more thought occurred to me. It occurred to me what the “founding fathers” of the United States may have been trying to accomplish in the framing of the American Constitution. I believe they were constitutionally delineating the two fundamental responsibilities we have to ourselves and to each other: 1) to be what each one of us was born to be in our fullest; 2) to allow and assure all others the freedom to be what they were born to be in their fullest. The writers of the constitution were also attempting to construct the guidelines to preserve the freedoms and individual rights it would take to allow those responsibilities to be realized by each individual and the communities within which they lived. What a revelation it was to me to finally understand the depth of thought and insight it took for these founding fathers to construct the framework of democracy and individual freedoms upon which this country was built. I have come to realize these two fundamental responsibilities we have to ourselves and to each other are fundamental responsibilities shared by all conscious, self-aware beings. </p><p align="right">© p. donovan</p>Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-59070749696026721362010-08-04T20:34:00.000-07:002010-08-04T20:35:53.727-07:00Pillow Talk<div class="MsoNormal">Is it always that we realize after-the-fact that which we have been all along?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Suddenly, we look in the mirror and like whom it is we see in our reflection.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Has the person in the reflection dramatically changed?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Has the reflection changed?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Has the mirror altered its perspective?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Likely not.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">More accurately, it is that our perception has morphed into a more concrete sense of reality, aligned by years gone by, experiences learned from and hopes not yet realized but dreams continually alive.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wonder…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When a flower blooms does it realize its beauty and the sweetness of its nectar?</div><div class="MsoNormal">When a bee stings, does it know the effect of its stinger?</div><div class="MsoNormal">When a baby cries, does it know the power of that sound over its mother?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We are so asleep.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Asleep to the world.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Asleep to ourselves.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Asleep to the beauty around us…the beauty within us.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Why be “normal”?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Why sleep walk when we are free to walk with our eyes open…</div><div class="MsoNormal">If we so choose.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The world is a place worth living in, worth breathing the air of…</div><div class="MsoNormal">If we so choose...</div><div class="MsoNormal">To see it as a place in which doing so is a worthwhile effort, </div><div class="MsoNormal">A place worthy of our breath.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Too many are wasting away.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Too many are turning blue.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Too many have resigned to virtual living.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The choice is yours.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Do you choose to sleep during the entirety of this incarnation or awaken?</div><div class="MsoNormal">Do you choose life…or do you choose death?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Copyright 2010: Taylor Donovan</div>Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12708131773003753399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4533670265529653994.post-81616759914281818212010-07-13T12:24:00.000-07:002010-07-15T15:38:30.833-07:00<p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;line-height:200%"><b><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;"><br /></span></span></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;line-height:200%"><b><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">What Song Do You Sing Alone?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;line-height:200%"><b><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;"><br /></span></span></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">What song do you sing alone?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">What sweet and joyful melody<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">arises from the shattered pieces<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">of your broken dreams<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">when there is no one to listen,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">no promise of approval...<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">no bows,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">no cheers,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">just you alone<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">and the eternal emptiness<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">of the long, dark night of your soul?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;"> </span></span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">What dance do you dance when there is no music…<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">no step to guide you,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">no tango or ballet,<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">no partner to hold you up<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">when your limbs have been amputated<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">by the scalpel blade of desire<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">and the only rhythm you know<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">is the pound, pound, pounding of your heart<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">as you find yourself “going much too gently into that dark night?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;"> </span></span></span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">The song that sings you;<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">Do you hear it?</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">The dance that moves you;<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;">Do you feel it?</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="right" style="text-align:right"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC99;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic; font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;font-size:medium;">© </span>p. donovan</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Patrick Donovan, N.D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/03482454050424106137noreply@blogger.com3