Grow, Grow,Grow

 
Grow, grow, grow
 
I am on a flight from Dulles International Airport to Denver, Colorado.  I started out this morning at the Tampa, Florida International Airport.  
 
I know that travel is no longer pleasant for many people. I am very appreciative of how exhausted traveling can be for people who must travel a lot for business and who are constantly attempting to meet deadlines  and/or quotas.  Fortunately, although I frequently have a fairly fixed scheduled when I travel which does not allow me to often take advantage of the overbook offers of free flights or  a dollar allowance for future flights plus rebooking on another flight, I seldom have the pressure of deadlines and never that of quotas.
 
Still, I find all travel, whether bus, car, train, plane, or even bicycles expansive of my energy, my mind, and my heart.   Of these,  traveling by car, particularly if I am traveling alone, is the least expansive although even there I am more likely to attend to some story, interview, or new music than I might not “hear” at home where I multitask more than I do when I am in the car.   I like to convince myself that I can attend to  whatever is on NPR and stay very focused on driving although some of the more recent research about using hands free devices to talk on the phone while driving may prove my assumption to be incorrect. 
 
I have always been a person who seems to need external stimulation to get the synapses in my brain to be playful and, thus, creative.   Certainly there is that random, creative thought the stimulation of which might be due to the changing greens as the light changes on the trees and other foliage, (just the other day my mind was off and running as I noticed the many shades of greens which then all turned to different shades as the light patterns changed), an animal in motion, or even the “sound” of the silence which one can notice following a fresh snowfall.  My synapses seem the most playful when set in motion by some person, via a book, a talk, an action,  or the many stimulants in places such as a crowded airport. There may or may not be a verbal exchange with anyone in the airport or on the plane although there frequently is. The mere sight of people painted every hue of color, the sound of language which is not English or has an accent which is different than the vanilla accents to which I am exposed in my very white, middle class, suburban villa complex is enough to charge my synapses.   I love it when the grounds care takers are at my villa complex because they bring more diversity of color, culture, and language.  (One might and often do ask why I somehow thought this complex would be different than suburban community which I have briefly lived in previously.  I can only say that I obviously focused on other attractive features of the villa complex including the fact that some very dear friends live there.)
 
Sameness and lack of synapse action is not comfortable for me unless I am intentionally putting myself or attempting to put myself into a meditative state. Even then, as one of my spiritual heroes, Pema Chodron, states, “I seem to have a very busy mind.  I am always thinking.” Thank goodness she and other teachers share this. Otherwise I might think that I am hopeless and unable to  quiet my mind long enough to listen. Yet, in our very busy minds there is always something going on. Now, don’t get me wrong. It might be nothing more than internal whining about some shared or perceived discomfort, fanciful thinking about how I could become a wealthy socialist with a clear conscience, or some other non-creative, non-playful behavior of the synapses of my brain.  No, it is almost always some external sight, sound, or action which forces my brain to turn on the more creative play of the electrical circuits.    Airports, busy train stations, bus station, festivals,  some libraries (although they frown on conversations), some public parks, and some coffee shops are likely to get my mind working overtime.  It is very interesting because once I begin writing, I might not be consciously aware of my surrounding.   I have  often written in coffee shops or other public places in Amsterdam, Seattle, London, Tallin, Helsinki, San Francisco, Evansville, Indiana, Louisville, Pittsburgh, and Wheeling to name just a few.   Probably airports remain near the top of my favorite places.    Sadly, since the events of 9/11 and the subsequent heightened security at airports, one cannot just go to the airport to hang out. One has to be a ticketed passenger if one is to get beyond the ticket counters and the  security check-in stations. I am fortunate enough to travel several times a year.  When not traveling, I am mobile enough to travel to various locations in the Tampa, Florida area where I am living.  Since I have been writing a daily blog which is a little different than journal writing, I have taken to going to either the public library or Panera’s.  It  would be presumptions of me to say that I have been adopted as a member of the apparent long standing morning Panera coffee clutch and the  other individuals who use Panera’s as their home office.   Still they know my name and I know most of their first names.  At least two or three times a week someone whom I have only had a nodding acquaintance with approaches me or I them and an actual conversation ensues.   Just the other day  a priest came over to talk. I had assumed he was a Roman Catholic Priest but, as it turned out, he is a Priest in an Independent Catholic Church (who knew there were such animals) which wants to retain the core beliefs of the Catholic church (beliefs and not dogma), but also wants to be more inclusive than the Roman Catholic Church.   This morning on the plane from Tampa to Dulles, I was chatting with a young man who, as it turns out, has a degree in electrical engineering. The company for which he works installs large  viewing screens  such as the type at mega churches or concerts.    Now the part of this young man which was exposed – neck, arms, hands and even fingers sports a great many tattoos which, if not careful, I might think told me something about him.   He confessed that some were gotten when he was a foolish young man. I know, of course, that many people, including myself have many different periods of their lives. Perhaps one might even describes them as different life journeys in the same lifetime. Yet, if not careful, I can  still think in terms of dualities and miss the opportunity to think outside the box – to keep my creativity active. 
 
Most of us know that the only way that we are going to achieve any semblance of peace and justice is to sit down with each other without any labels. In Israel, Palestine, in parts of Afghanistan, Iraq, Egypt, Russia and, yes, even in the United States  and London, there are diverse groups of people setting aside the labels each has learned or been assigned and meeting as people.  Without fail, when any of us anywhere in the world allow ourselves to be with each other without the labels we know we are the same – that there is no essential difference between us although, of course, we have different talents to share.  The differences are all  learned  or taught as  sacred truths – as God’s truths.  Poor God.  He/she/it has so many contradicting truths ascribed to him/her/it that there must be a holy computer system to just to keep track of all of them.  I am sure that there is a position of chief computer nerd for the God of one’s understanding. Mercy!
 
What is art?  How do children learn? How do we know what is moral?  What does it mean to be moral?  What is our purpose in this life journey?  Is rap music really music?  Can country music be more inclusive?  What counts as classical music?  Is there “a way” to dance?
 
Goodness.  When I am interacting  with, sitting with, being in the same space with others who whose skin hue and tone, age, gender, religion, cultural background, music education, profession, or ableness is different than mine, I have the opportunity to grow, grow, grow!
 
Written November 12, 2015