(For anyone grappling with the notion of democracy for the first time.)
Me: "So many questions, Socrates...I know,.It's your thing... the Socratic Method...You ask your students questions so they can learn to the find their own answers... I'm all about that too - I'd call it listening to the soul...but to your point about Democracy being overrated,... I'd have to be careful saying that in this day and age. Socrates: "Democracy IS overrated. I never said just a handful of philosophers should choose our leaders, I said a democracy is only as good as the education of the citizenry. How are people taught to think in your day?" Me: "Fox, MSNBC, CNN" Socrates: "Those are the names of your schools?" Me: "They're not schools, but they're what educates citizens today. They're where people learn to think,...but they're also businesses...They exist to make money which they do by telling stories on screens - little boxes with moving pictures and sounds. The more people they can get to sit and stare at their screen, the more money they make. One of the best ways to get people to watch is to frighten and anger them..Scared and mad, the people watch more...you know,...to get information they think might keep them safe from the bad guys. If you'd been told what to think and lost you inner voice,...you'd be ticked off too and look for someone to blame." Socrates: "Why three ...screens?" Me: "I guess you could call it our version of checks and balances. People can choose their screen - one teaches their viewers to fear and therefore hate what they would call, "bleeding heart, atheist, liberal flag-burning progressive morally corrupt intellectuals" and the other teaches their viewers to fear and hate what they would call heartless, christian fundamentalist, conservative, country music listening, uneducated racists. Socrates: "How's that working out?" Me: I don't think it's supposed to work out. I think it has to get bad enough before people realize their truth is not on the screen, just as it was never in their "leaders," parents, teachers, clergy, doctors, experts or idols, but somewhere deep within. I suppose that's why you were asking all those questions. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
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(For anyone trying to get out of their own way.)
Dear Ms. Divine,
Kind Regards, Courtney To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone with an ambivalent relationship with their smart phone.)
I'm sitting in a waiting room looking down at my little notebook with five strangers looking down at their phones. What would it be like if we straightened our necks, looked at one another and said a few words? Maybe awkward. Maybe endearing. Maybe two of us would have an unbelievable connection. Ms. Divine confiscating my smart phone 2 years ago. I'd left it in my car with my purse for five minutes to walk my daughter into a class. In that short time I confronted the director of the "school," who had ignored my recent email. I'd politely expressed concern about 9 year old's using phones in class with their peers watching on, whatever they wanted...movies, ...porn,.. I didn't know,.. neither did the teachers. It seemed the only reason to allow phones was to occupy those who disrupt class. I'm not the yelling or screaming type. My anger is the red face, pressured voice ...'My head is about to explode from holding it in' type. Upon returning to my car and seeing the shattered glass, I sense divine intervention - some meaning had to be glean from this. It was as if the very moment I'd bypassed my bigger wiser self and allowed my smaller self to become infuriated, Ms. Divine (in the form of a young man addicted to heroine, who really didn't want to cause me harm, but really did need to get his fix), was saying, "You don't like cell phones? No worries, I'll take that little screen off your hands...along with with some credit cards and cash." I felt a great sense of peace. 2 years later... I go on to become a less reactive non-smart phone user, my daughter goes on to private tutoring, the young man, who broke my window, moves past his addiction and finds a connection with himself and others (I hope)...and the people here in the waiting room...well,...they're still together,...alone and seemingly very content on their smart phones. Courtney A Brown To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone feeling uninspired or unsure where their mojo went.)
One week ago, I wrote, "So, to the universe, I say, 'Bring it on.'" The "it," was referring to obstacles that could get in the way of writing these daily posts. I was trying to convince myself, that I could keep this going while visiting my parents for the week of Thanksgiving. In case it's not already obvious, challenging the universe is never a good idea. Still, I was able to write without much difficulty, until today, after returning home. Now, jet lagged and with a cold, I'm uninspired and lacking in ideas. Though not the biggest obstacles I can imagine, they're enough to raise self doubt and questions like, "Why the hell am I doing this?" or even more pressing, "What the hell should I write about?" I type on, hoping something will open up, when the title of a book pops in my head - "Never Not a Lovely Moon," by Carolyn McHugh. It comes from a conversation the author has with her son. She's making the point that even when the moon can't be seen, it's still there; it's still lovely. If the soul, the creative spark, a faithful outlook is like the moon, then today would be one of those days when it's covered with clouds or simply not visible, but it's still there. The title coming to me out of blue, is as if that something mysterious - however we call it - is saying... "I'm still here, I'm still lovely, I'm just resting at the moment and so should you." Courtney A Brown To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone wanting to hear from their soul.)
I haven't always wanted to hear from my soul. Sure, it was fine if it called while I was taking a shower, a walk or a drive. I was happy to get any ideas or answes to problems it might give. I just didn't want to be alone with it for too long. I feared it would tell me things my ego didn't want to hear - direct me to follow my bliss, insist I do something difficult, or speak some truth,...blah...blah...blah... "I can't hear you...We must have a bad connection...buzz buzz...." I might say before grabbing my laptop to check email or Facebook or get busy with...anything. Then I got sick and began getting up earlier to allow myself extra time. Like most souls, mine was waiting for moments of solitude. Noticing I was up by myself, it began talking in my ear. "Forget about your carcass." It didn't want to talk about what ailed me. It wanted to talk about bigger things like, "Why are you here?" It began to make dares, thinking this could be great fun; after all, it had been dormant for some time. It asked me for a chance - to I trust it a bit. Soon, it was insisting I make time for it... every day..... After it assured me it wouldn't speak to me through email, facebook or the news, I agreed to forgo these for the first 3 hours of the day. Overtime, we worked things out to our current routine. I wake at 4:30 and try to be receptive and open to whatever it has to say. Even though it's less interested in my carcass, I still get up, change clothes...drink a glass of water...stretch...drive to gym. There, I workout to my soul's favorite songs, which is when it starts tossing me goodies, at times, faster than I can jot them down them in my little notebook, without falling off the treadmill. It seems this soul has a lot to say - ideas, inspirations, solutions, dares but mostly feelings of peace and contentment, none of which I could hear, when I kept putting it on hold. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone working at not taking on other's irritability/negativity.)
You're going about your day in a lovely mood, when all of sudden you happen upon a grouchy other. Their anger lands on you and sticks. You could say they've handed you their negativity on a platter and you accepted. You move on feeling a bit ticked off, and before you know it, you're handing the platter to the next unsuspecting villager. Unburdened, you feel a bit better. Depending on how often the platter is passed and accepted, irritation spreads exponentially throughout the village. Or ... You're going about your day in a lovely mood, when another attempts to hand you their platter of irritability. Instead of accepting, you smile, and say, "No, thank you, I couldn't possibly...you keep that all for yourself." You walk on quickly so as not to get hit by anything flying off the platter. Or,... You notice the platter, look past it as if it's not there and you speak to the better part of the grumpy villager - the part they've forgotten is there. You may be like the story character, Pollyanna, who on the surface seems naive, but instead is fearlessly wise. Undeterred by the platters, you approach with an open heart and unsettle the wounded perspective. Some will set down their platter. Some may even accept your cup of tea spilling over with grace. If they do, you can assume they'll offer it to the next villager they come upon. Courtney A Brown To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone needing guidance, inspiration or mojo from their ancestors.)
"Our glory shall shine as a star on the sea, ... " reads a civil war rallying song in a newspaper clipping from 1863. The writer, Jeremiah Brown, was a union soldier and doctor who died at the age of 38. When he died, his 12 year old son, Mentor, left home to work as a printer's apprentice. He went on to eventually own a newspaper in Nebraska for which he wrote the daily column. His son Ulyses and then grandson, Mentor, would establish their own newspapers for which they too would write a column. Mentor (II)'s son was my father. He took the writing gene into a career as an information officer with the Air Force and writer of western history. Like Jeremiah, my primary work has not been as a writer. Still, I'd include both of us in a line of six generations with the writer's archetype - having an instinct to create or shape ideas using letters and words. We all have archetypes..more than one. You may have within you the healer, advocate, scientist, artist, clown, builder, leader, or pioneer, to name a few. We shouldn't be surprised when these passions run through generations, not unlike facial features seen in old photographs. Our ancestors, especially when we learn about them, can be of great assistance as we find our way. Their lives can encourage us to imagine possibilities we've yet to live. They may even confirm something our souls have been whispering to us -"write..." As I read this song, it's as if Jeremiah is speaking to me from the past, but when I consider our shared DNA, I realize he and the rest of my ancestors have been with me all along. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone who feels or wants to feel a sense of destiny...or anyone looking for the gratitude of all gratitude's...Happy Thanksgiving to those in the US.)
Have you ever felt a sense of destiny or considered just how much had to have happened for you to be here? I'm thinking about this after listening to my dad describe a series of events that led to him to the New Yorker Hotel one night in 1961. While there, dancing with someone else, he and my mother made eye contact. When the song ended, he went over to her, asked her to dance, and the rest is my family's history. The chances that a young man from the Sandhills of Nebraska would cross paths with a young woman from Yonkers, New York were pretty slim. Even less likely - the recent discovery that the home my mother grew up in was on land owned by my father's ancestors 150 years earlier. You might say they were meant to be or beshert. If that were the case, then I was meant to be - I was written in the stars. My siblings could say the same, but they're not here, so let's keep this about me. We all have back stories to how we came into being, whether they include "love at first sight," a complete accident, or what some might have thought was a really bad idea. Either way, we're all written in the stars. How we got here is less important than that we are here. This at the very least is something to be grateful for as many of us celebrate Thanksgiving. Wishing you peace and gratitude tomorrow and all the days of the year. Courtney A Brown To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone striving to live fully in this world of contradictions.)
The human condition is strange. At the moment, I'm under one roof with my closest human attachments - my mother, father, husband and daughter. It's warm and cozy here at my parent's home in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Just hours ago and in the cold wind, we drove out of the gates of FE Warren Air Force Base which operates 150 US intercontinental ballistic missiles. The missiles themselves sit in silos three stories underground; noticeable only by the wire fences and a few antennas sticking out on the vast plains of Wyoming, Nebraska and Colorado. Along with my father, a retired officer with the US Air Force, we have access to the base. We were there to exercise. Whether peacekeepers believing we should turn the other cheek, warriors believing we're here to defend and protect, or somewhere in between, the reality is we live in a world of paradox - one of the body and the soul - one of the sacred and the profane. That we can simultaneously hold in one hand our loved ones who reflect back on us and in the other, those we fear and who fear us; whom we'd destroy (along with ourselves) before they destroy us, is baffling. We have the choice to navigate or ignore such complexities - to notice those antennas above the missile silos or not. The only way for me to live fully in this world of contradiction is to tread lightly as I try to bring my gifts, (i.e. experience, abilities, and passions) to the universal table, hoping they can benefit others...and believing, as the Talmud says, that if I save (or impact) one life, it is as if I have saved the world.* Courtney A. Brown *Based on the saying from the Talmud - "whoever saves one life, it is as if he/she has saved the world." To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone attempting to keep a commitment to themselves.)
When I committed (to myself) to publish a daily thought, I forgot that ten days later, I'd be traveling and off my morning routine of solitude that allows me to put down whatever I think is asking to be written. This week I'm sending out my notes from my parent's house, which sits on a gravel road outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming. As much as I love being here, with them and my husband and daughter, it would kill part of me if I didn't continue to write these posts. I've had many false starts to doing what I love, where I let distractions, other people's needs or my lack of confidence get in the way. To hear myself say,"I really wanted to, but it was just too difficult to find enough time or quiet to write," at this point in my life, is intolerable. Before committing and throwing my knapsack over the wall, I wrote a daily unpublished "note" for 21 days. I wanted to see if this daily practice was possible given my limited time. Also, I thought if I built up a supply of posts, I could use them when the well of ideas ran dry, or some life circumstance got in the way. Once I started though, I realize that in order to build creative confidence, I'd have to trust that ideas would always come - the well would never run dry. And, if I wanted to develop a stick-to-it-ness confidence,...I'd have to stick with it. Fallback plans would only have me believe that sometimes this won't be possible. Short of being dead or in a coma, this is going to have to be possible. How it goes, is to be seen. But if I can do this under the most inconvenient and difficult circumstances,...then,... I can do this. So to the universe, I say "Bring it on." Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone longing for simplicity or clarity.)
I'm looking forward to the day when on a moments notice, I can grab everything I need, throw it in a bag and hit the road or sky. I've enjoyed consumption, but now one of my favorite past-times is getting rid of things....forever...ahhh.... Like many, I fondly recall when life was simpler. The last time for me was when I lived in a studio apartment in New York City with one small table, 2 chairs, a sofa sleeper, a trunk and a lovely view. There was nothing more I wanted. I expected my life would evolve and change....marriage, divorce (didn't expect that), marriage (as I'd hoped), a child and a career. My "grown up" years have been filled with more loving, sharing, nurturing, joy, and meaning than I could have imagined. But, never in my youth, did I expect to spend the amount of time I have looking for, buying, returning, loosing, finding, organizing, forgetting, straightening, fixing, dusting, packing and unpacking...things that I didn't care about. I don't know what I might have done with those lost moments, but this summer, I had a taste - sIxteen days in Ireland with my husband, daughter and just three small suitcases. With so little to manage, I felt closer to myself, my family, my purpose, my humanity and the natural world. Thoughts of returning home were followed by an urgent need to purge. My life was about to change and has. With each piece of paper or piece of furniture I send off, I'm that much closer to the life I've long been creating, but always had something in the way. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone looking for some inspiration or good morning workout music, or both.)
He did it again! Did anyone else see that? The first time was such a surprise...There he is on stage, before thousands in Frankfurt, Germany. He's the front man for One Republic and he's singing, "I Lived." "I hope if everybody runs," he sings, right before he takes his hand and does this amazing gesture, as if to toss me something. I don't see anything, but when it hits,...BOOM... I feel it reverberate through my body... "You choose to stay." "I'm staying!" I resist yelling out...so as not to disturb those on neighboring treadmills. The video came up on my phone when I searched for 'motivational songs' at the gym. This week it's been my 5am go to place for inspiration..."hope that you spend your days...but they all add up," It's also my go to place for thoughts of death ..."And when that sun goes down, hope you raise your cup." I love morning reminders that life is fleeting. They allow me to refocus on what matters. They invite a kind of boldness that ignoring death does not. "Hope when the moment comes...You'll say, I...I did it all." I know little about this group and it's lead singer, but I do know that song and that gesture has struck many souls beyond mine. Thank you, Ryan Tedder of One Republic, for writing it for your 4 year old son and...for throwing me whatever that was this morning. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
Though only 15 minutes from a city center, I feel I'm far from the rest of the world. My husband, daughter and I live on the inside of a basin. The downward slopes are covered with trees that step down into an open lawn with a stone creek passing through. Sitting on one incline is our house. It looks across to trees which have a floating, ethereal quality. On a nearby slope is my office, where on the second floor, I spend my days high up with the birds and squirrels. From there, I can look down on the deer as they step gently out from a large magnolia tree after a rain.
The only way in - a narrow driveway that crosses the creek - welcomes our frequent visitors - people coming to my office, travelers passing through to stay for the weekend, or friends coming for dinner and conversation. News of worldly events comes by way of guests, my daughter returning from a day at school and my husband home after a meeting. Except for the newspaper retrieved from the end of the drive and the NPR host chatting as I make lunch, I rarely invite the news in... For me, this is an odd and mysteriously beautiful place. It insists on a stillness; that I like to believe we've called to be the keepers of and to share with others. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
It's been a week since I threw my knapsack, and committed myself to write these daily notes. What seemed like a fabulous idea eight days ago,...now seems like ...a pretty ...good ...idea. There will be days when this will just be an idea and other days when this will feel like one of the worst ideas I've had.
I didn't known what this practice would require as far as time or inspiration, nor did I know where it would take me. That was the idea - to learn to trust the process and know it would unfold in unexpected way, just as it should. I believe creativity requires this, as does a contented life. Such spiritual strength training is similar to the task of a hamster in a maze who knows there will always be an opening to allow them to move forward. They trust as they turn each blind corner, the answers will be there ("This way," or "No - dead end - turn around"). They have to trust, because if they don't, they'll never reach the food they can smell - the food that awaits them. The soul, knowing there is something for us, will point us down a path. We can stay, insisting to see the destination, or we can follow the path, trust the directions will reveal themselves one at a time and find out where it takes us. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone with "control issues" or anyone who thinks the universe is trying to tell them something.)
"This place is haunted," he said before telling me about another delay - more excavated termite damage or the death of a family member (who I was sure had already died twice in the last two weeks). He was a messenger in the guise of a handyman pretending to be a general contractor. His job was to turn our house into our vision. My job was to bend him and the universe to make that happen. Months later, I visited the empty house. I was there to see the hard wood floors laid just the day before. They were beautiful - they sparkled....in part because of the drops of water seeping between the planks of wood. Frantically I tried to sop them up. A soft spraying sound from behind freshly hung drywall played in the background. "That pipe is fine," he'd assured me. Humbled and on my knees with a soggy roll of paper towel. I finally conceded - "I control nothing." We let that them go, they robbed us and we hired a another crew - also sent from the heavens. Their message, however, was more difficult to decipher due to the cocaine. Eventually I learned to stop clinging to outcomes. But for the messengers, I may not have noticed the wisdom of our nine year old daughter who says to me one day as she watches the deer in the yard, "I think this place is haunted with goodness." Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend: To: Ms. Divine Your company would be greatly appreciated... At all moments, big and small November, 15, 2017 Starting at 6:00 am Dress code: However you prefer - as any coincidences, or in the flame on the candle here next to me, in my dogs eyes, my daughter's question, the faces of those I'll meet in my office, the lady at the grocery who puts the bananas at the bottom of the bag challenging me to speak up or be patient (I never know which), and any adverse events that I may prefer you not come as, but will be glad you did later. Gifts are completely welcome. No need to RSVP...I assume you'll be here. Courtney A. Brown
To send this note to a friend:
(For anyone looking for more time.)
Despite wanting to write a daily post, I didn't think I had the time. "More than 30 minutes a day and this may not be sustainable," I told myself. Still, yesterday I wrote a post, changed it, changed it again, posted, noticed something I didn't like, changed it... "That word doesn't work," and again and again. I could argue I was striving for excellence, but I was striving for perfection. There's a difference. One is about confidence, the other - fear. Either way, it was Sunday. I had time. But today is Monday, and for me to do this, which I love, I have to trust whatever comes to mind, round it out and put it into the world, without overthinking. As my minutes run short, I realize this is a metaphor for life. We have a beginning and we have an end. Inevitably we're out of time. With these limits we have the opportunity to create our days, live them out spontaneously and ultimately answer Mary Oliver's question, "What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
"It's 4 am - the perfect time to convene with the soul. The light of the moon covers the lawn." That's what I'd planned to write, after going outside where the universe would speak to me like it never has before,.... since I've never actually done that before.
Instead, gravity pulls me back to bed. My little self starts to ask why my Leonard Cohen post didn't get more attention, not even a "That was HIL..arious!"...How'm I supposed to keep this going without something to fuel my mojo?" My bigger self starts in with, "Let go of expectation. Seeking approval will....." I doze off. Thirty minutes later - the lawn is covered with fog; the moon barely visible. "The mist forces us to turn inward," she said. Her Irish brogue, graying hair, face free of makeup and the fact that she's telling me this on an abandoned island off the coast of Ireland, gives her mystical cred. She's the innkeeper for the handful of people staying on the Great Blasket Island. They come for the isolation and the breathtaking view, breathtaking that is, when the mist hasn't settled in and covered everything including the outside world. It can and will do this for weeks at a time, leaving the innkeeper and anyone who chooses, to turn inward to that place that doesn't seek approval - a place, I suspect, contains all the mojo in the world. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend:
(For any Leonard Cohen "fans" out there.)
It only seems fitting that Leonard Cohen died on my birthday. We were close - very close. Our souls had a way of flowing back and forth. Where his left off, mine began. He writes about this in his poem, "The Book of Longing" "My heart will be hers Impersonally She'll step on the path She'll see what I mean..." I did see what he meant... I knew exactly what he meant. Of course I had to respond in kind, so I wrote him a poem. Having forgotten how true souls converse, I sent it by mail...to his management company...in Hollywood...before they sent me back a form letter...with an autographed 8 x 10 concert photo. Obviously, they'd mistaken me for a "fan." I wasn't one of the masses. His soul had spoken to mine,...not theirs...I had proof...dammit. That's the kind of relationship Leonard and I had. Thank you, Leonard Cohen, for conversing with our souls so that we could learn how. Courtney A. Brown To send this note to a friend: (For anyone considering making a contract with themselves.)
It's one thing to say you're going to commit (publicly) to a daily practice. It's another to do it. Yesterday, after blogging about my challenge/gift to myself in my 50th year, I told my husband about it. As I said it out-loud, I realized what I'd done. "Oh..sh## ...I just threw my knapsack over the wall." This favorite expression (less the, "Oh...sh##") came from our listening to the Harvard professor Tal Ben-Shahar on YouTube. It seems once your knapsack, with food and supplies, flies out of your hands and over that wall, you can't go back. All you can do is turn your attention to the details of getting over the wall. 'Throwing your knapsack' is a deal - a contract you make with yourself. It says, "This will be hard, probably embarrassing, scary, maybe even painful - but none of that's going to matter once you've committed." The only reason to throw your knapsack is when part of you (your soul) knows that if you don't, you'll stop moving forward on your path...Because, to throw it over and not climb is unimaginable. Courtney A. Brown Today I begin my 50th year. As a gift to myself, I'm accepting a challenge - something I've wanted to do for some time. You might say I've been preparing as long as I've been here.
In my ideal life, I'd get up early each morning, spontaneously write a thought, round it out to completion and toss it into the universe. Because time is limited, I would never overthink, over censor or excessively edit. There's nothing to this,... if ego/fear, self criticism and perfectionism weren't all standing in the way. Each of these can give me lists of reasons why this is a bad idea. Why is it a good idea? I can't say. But, I do believe there's a knowing in each of us that requires no explanation. That's the part I'd like to converse with each morning. That's the part I think is showing me a fork in the road. One route looks a bit boring, possibly even lined with regret. The other looks daring and difficult, and for me requires a daily practice of letting go, pushing "publish" and seeing where this takes me. Courtney A. Brown |
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