Have you ever been told that you have a blind spot? I have many times and my first reaction is to reject the notion and tell the person they are wrong. But, the truth of the matter is that they are right.
Granted, they are probably referring to the way I am acting or responding to a certain situation, but the fact is, we are all born with a blind spot.
Look this gentleman straight in the eyes, cover your right eye and move your head towards the screen and back again. What happens? That’s right, the coin suddenly disappears, like magic! Try it.
When I listen deeply to another person more is revealed than merely the point they are trying to get across or the story. Often times I will say, I hear you, I see what you are saying. My mind has just translated the words and inflections into a picture my mind’s eye can see. But I can’t always see what they are saying. Inasmuch as I do have a blind spot in my eyes, so does my mind’s eye have a blind spot, if not more than one.
What is the blind spot in your life? Do you take time to reflect; to go within and find it? Rather than thinking of it as a blind spot, perhaps it is a growing edge. Perhaps it is a door through-which a greater truth can be found.
Rumi said: “Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”
In this podcast Renée Yaworsky and I share ideas on men and compassion, what women can do to support men, and the work that is for men to do with men. Renée Yaworsky drummed, sang and played guitar in various rock bands you’ve never heard of. With a background in English Literature from the University of Georgia and Oxford University, she earned a law degree at Syracuse University. She served as a reporter for the human rights organization Impunity Watch, as a fellow at the Syracuse Medical-Legal Partnership, and as a contributor to research on nostalgia. She is currently writing a biography on Peter Tork, and is the producer of the podcast: “A Conversation with Dennis Tardan”. She is also poised to publish a fictional book series featuring a touring rock band. When she’s not writing, editing, or playing music, you can find her binge-watching 60’s TV shows and dipping Milano cookies into Earl Grey tea.
Our friend, Dr. Karambu, has sent out an appeal for our support. Today, she is housing, feeding and protecting/isolating 63 children from the COVID-19 virus. Her video is compelling. Many of you remember her visit to our Men’s Circle late last December where she shared about Amani Children’s Home in Meru, Kenya. I have personally been there and witnessed the incredible work Karambu is doing and am prayerfully requesting your support.
High above the crowd she swung on her trapeze. To and fro in a mesmerizing rhythm; descending and rising as she accepted then broke away from the pull of gravity. Back, then forth, from high to low and back to high. At the apex of her arc she hung weightless in the air, and for that moment there was no up, no down, no to, no fro.
Then back as her swing reversed and took her once again to an apex. Then down, her trajectory fueled by her muscular intentions set free. Set free to thrust her down as if to welcome and enhance the gravitational pull towards earth. Then up once again, higher and into a new space of weightlessness. There she released her grasp on the known. Her body floated motionless in anticipation of the other acrobat’s hands rising to meet hers. Motionless, in pause, where seemingly nothing was happening, but where everything in the universe was acting upon her to present her into a special space.
During a call the other day with my dear friends of Gender Equity and Reconciliation International, the term, liminal space, was eloquently spoken of and held up as a metaphor, that of being at the threshold of possibility.
There have been times recently when I have felt in betwixt and in between, not fully here, nor there; but then I realize I am not there at all. I am in the liminal space; in pause, in suspense, trusting the universe to hold me safely as new possibilities arise.
As she paused in mid-air two hands came up to meet hers. The acrobat grasped her wrists; as she too took a firm grip they coursed their way down acting on their intentions and rose high together and into that place of exhilaration and anticipation; then back, then forth, then back, then forth, rising higher and higher each time, and each time pausing at the apex, and pausing within the liminal space, where all things are possible.
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