White Hot

time management with the monks

One mile south of Georgia O'Keefe's beloved Ghost Ranch in New Mexico, thirteen miles down a cliff-hugging dirt road in the heart of Chama Canyon, you will find Christ In The Desert. The Benedictine Monastery is cloister to about twenty monks. I'd fantasized about retreating to the remote monastery for about fifteen years. And when I finally made the white-knuckling drive to the end of the long road and saw that adobe-anchored cross kissing the sky, I felt ... Home.

The peace. The humility. The sheer devotion. Getting to Christ In The Desert was a pilgrimage that my cells thirsted for. It's worth mentioning here that I considered being a nun when I was about six years old. Then I learned what celibacy was and heard that there was a lot of cleaning involved in convent life, and I asked Jesus for his forgiveness because I just knew I wasn't going to make the cut. I decided I wanted my own variety show, like Cher. Religion, cabaret...it's all a kind of intense theater of passion.

I arrived just in time for prayer. The monks sing their prayers. Glorious Gregorian chants echoed against the baked clay walls. My heart swelled. Tho' the heavy sin-trip of the Psalm wasn't lost on me, I was swept away by the beauty of it all. And I so needed to be swept away. When the chants concluded and the monks filed out behind the tabernacle, I was able to be alone in the chapel for a long, sweet time. I thought about hope - which I have a very cantankerous relationship with. And I thought about priorities of the most divine kind. My priorities have been bumping against each other for a while now - clanking around and grinding down my heart. The focus of my trip was to put my so called priorities on the altar. Smash few. Polish some. Reorganize them to sync with my soul.

"Above all, prayer holds the first place in the monk's day and nothing must be preferred to this activity. Prayer involves coming into contact with divine life, in openness to the mystery of love which is written in our hearts." The monks are encouraged to stop their chores if they feel inspired to pray. The passion to pray comes before work and all other tasks. The Brothers pray seven times in day in collective chanting and in solitude. Seven times a day.

So many mornings I have chosen email over meditation. I let deadlines rank over a stretch or a cuddle or a glass of water swallowed slowly and appreciated. I override the call to feel myself - the call to pray, or meditate, or be fully awake. Prayer comes in all forms and each one spoken brings grace to the day.

Thank you. Yes. Have mercy. Keep them safe. How lovely. Courage, please. I love you.

Our hearts are the altars. Ours days, when lived awake, are another chance to know the joys of what matters most. Attend first to the divine and the work at hand becomes art.

Tune in tomorrow for Part II of my monastery adventures...

 

notes to my 20 year old self

I'm turning 40 in a few weeks. Bizarre. Surreal. Cannot believe it. Just yesterday I was at ecstatically getting the hell out of high school, wearing shoulder pads and stilettos underneath my graduation gown; knowing full well that the world was my oyster and that extra-hold hair mousse would get me through almost any encounter. I can hardly believe that I can say, "twenty years ago..." about anything.

Dear Danielle at 20:

1. Algebra really is useless.
2. Credit cards are mostly evil.
3. Talk is cheap.
4. If he doesn't stay until morning, he's probably married or deeply insecure.
5. There is no soul mate. I know, this is particularly hard news to take because you are longing for The One 24-7. But, guess what, The One is The One because you say he/she is. And that's way more liberating and empowering than anything preordained or supposedly destined.
6. And while we're 'dising cosmic romanticism - there's no such thing as destiny. Life really is what you make it.
7. Tragedy happens. Yes, everything happens for a reason, but life can be cruel and wrenching and while it all comes out in the cosmic wash, some souls collide and mistakes do happen.
8. Louise Hay is a magnificent woman, but there is more to the machinations of life, illness, and cosmology than the simple explanations offered by You Can Heal Your Life. Cancer is not necessarily a result of repressed guilt, and you may not necessarily choose to heal your life this time around - that's okay. Illness doesn't make you a New Age Loser.
9. Diplomacy is overrated.
10. If your boss tries to french kiss you, it's out of bounds.
11. Only lend books if you don't want them back.
12. Go to more concerts.
13. If you don't kiss girls in your twenties, you'll probably never get around to trying it out. You should try it out.
14. You're right - kindness is one of the most powerful natural resources there is...infinitely renewable.
15. Your feelings are exceedingly more useful than your ability to rationalize your fears or other people's poor behaviour.
16. Your heart...your heart...your heart is where it's at.
17. When you turn 40, you shall be rocking like never before, grateful for absolutely everything, and you will finally, finally feel like earth is home...for the most part.

 

meet someone exactly where they are

"You can’t stay in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you.
You have to go to them sometimes."
- Winne the Pooh

She has a tendency to panic. Makes it hard to trust her.
He is chronically greedy. Grew up dirt poor. Money is everything.
She is a channel of pure wisdom, a naturally gifted seer.
He is a genius, able to connect vast intellectual concepts.
She is fragile, new, and green to the concept of cause and affect.
He is angry, wounded, perpetually antagonistic.

People are where they are - despite our desire for them to be further along, more evolved, more fun, closer to our level, less intimidating, more relatable, easier to access, or simply more like us.

If you take the desire for someone to be different out of the equation - you can meet them where they are. You can meet them in the real moment. You can meet them in their despair or their magnificence.

And when you truly meet them, with no wishing for something different to wedge you apart, you'll know what to do. You will have the compassion to be calming, the humility to be reverent, or the wisdom to walk away. The question becomes, how would you treat "wounded," or "rage," or "brilliance"? Not how would you help (or coerce, or plead with) someone be more healed, or less angry, or more down to earth.

They are where they are. Consider the facts, spare yourself the desire for change. Remove the friction of wanting to improve them. And engage. It's the only way change happens.

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what it means to forgive

"...holding no prisoner to guilt, we become free."
- The Course In Miracles

Someone asked me this week, "Have you forgiven so and so for such and such?"
And I did the puppy head tilt, "Huh?"
This question throws me for a loop.
"Well...I don't really feel like it's my place to forgive them," I replied.

It's not that I condone bad behavior, it's not that my heart doesn't get pinched, and it's not that I forget - 'cause I'm not the forgettin' type, that's for sure. But there's something about "forgiveness" that seems, okay, forgive me, but...arrogant.

"I forgive you." It rings of, "I bequeath to you...I permit you...I hereby knight thee..." It feels lording. A friend asked for my forgiveness once and I felt embarrassed, and intensely reluctant to add to her shame. I started laughing. "As if," I said. "Duh, like, whatever, it's done, over, let's get on with things."

I'm a Very Big Believer in accountability. I think the Truth and Reconciliation movement is a monumental leap in humanity's evolution. The heart can transform the ghastly into the educational, and betrayal into blessings galore. Forgiveness is a lever to our divinity. BUT...

Unexamined forgiveness is a distortion, just like "I love you," can mean, "you fill my holes," or, "you meet my requirements therefore I adore you." Distorted forgiveness makes you right, which usually makes the other person wrong - the ego loves that equation. Even though your eyes are smiling while you're saying "I forgive you," there might be a little voice inside saying "Ha! gotchya."

True forgiveness is...well I'm not entirely sure what true forgiveness is. I'll let you know when I ascend to those heights of all knowingness, {in which case I'd be levitating and too blissed out to write little articles about self realization...} But I am wondering if enlightenment relies on the forgiveness formula. As The Course in Miracles puts it, "Forgiveness is unknown in Heaven, where the need for it would be inconceivable."

Duh. My sentiments exactly.

. . . . . .

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the “i don’t know” conspiracy

Tough spot, painful circumstance, official dilemma. A total jam.

"I just don't know what to do."

Hmmm. Then what? If you just don't know what to do, then what are you going to do? Probably nothing. If you declare you don't know then you won't...know. You'll just sway back 'n forth in the lull of your status quo unknowingness. No need to change because you just don't want to know. Knowing would change things. Knowing would require you to change things.

If you said to your Commanding Officer, "I just don't know what to do," you'd be scrubbing the latrine in short order. If you told your heart-broken significant other, "I just don't know what to do," it wouldn't exactly foster the mojo or the trust. If the Opportunity Fairy fluttered your way and you told her, "I just don't know," then she'd be off to her next assignment. She might stick around if you showed some initiative, or asked for a night to sleep on it -- anything to show your sincere interest in revelation.

RE-FRAME: Tough spot, painful circumstance....bloody seemingly impossible, grotesquely challenging, borderline hellish:

"I'll figure this out."

How's that feel? Better, doesn't it? More...possible. More upright. Wings ready to spread. Ears piqued to hear universal cues. Instincts at the helm.

Confusion is a marvelous, magical place. Suspending certainty is an act of enlightenment. And "Security," as Helen Keller put it, "is mostly superstition." I'm not talking about being certain {impossible} or being arrogantly presumptuous of what's coming next. I'm talking about responding creatively to life. "I just don't know," is often a cover up for "I don't want to grow."

"I'll figure it out," may mean waiting quietly, even for a long time, on the will of heaven. It may mean turning over every single stone without rest until you find the answer or the escape hatch. It may mean praying til you sweat, surveying the experts, or forty days in the desert. But one thing's for sure, if you declare that you'll figure it out, the possibilities are endless.

 

what’s it going to take?

It occurred to me this week that this is a mighty powerful question.

What's it going to take?

We usually use that phrase in dire circumstances. What's it going to take for you to wake up? What's it going to take for me to quit? What's it going to take for them to realize?

But life is an urgent circumstance, really, when you think about it. Birth...miraculous. Survival...miraculous. Death...inevitable. Suffering...optional. Life...urgent.

I wonder what my days would be like if I approached my happiness with more urgency and insistence (like I do deadlines and should-do's.) I've GOT to meet my dancing quota! Come hell or high water, I WILL get a facial and lay in the sun! Wild horses couldn't keep me from lunch with my girlfriends! Most important deadlines: to meander, to laugh until I snortle by noon every day, to see the first Robin bird of spring before the week is over.

So, in the spirit of urgent vitality, and not knowing when death may strike, and being acutely bored of my same old pattern of complaints, I'm asking myself, lovingly but firmly: LaPorte, what's it going to take for you to be incredibly joyful? What's it going to take for you to make an evolutionary leap as an artist, lover, mother, friend, human? What's it going to take to get you to walk to the lake that's four minutes from your house? What's it going to take to get you on the dance floor? You want to eat life whole? To know God? To radiate pure love? What's it going to take?

Now I want to cry. I think this exercise is backfiring. Because...I think it's going to take everything I've got. Deep breath. Pause. I still want what I want. Softening.

And now I'm smiling. Because, hey! I've got so much to give.
I've...got what it takes. Most true desires come with capacity.

xo
Danielle

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how to be depressed

"Depression was, indeed, the hand of a friend trying to press me down to the ground on which it was safe to stand--the ground of my own truth, my own nature with its complex mix of limits and gifts, liabilities and assets, darkness and light."
- Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

I don't think I've ever been "clinically" depressed. Well, maybe I have, but it certainly didn't feel clinical. It felt morbid, cosmic, and unavoidably essential. When I was thirteen, my parents split for the umpteenth and final time and a few months later, my dad brought it to my attention that I'd been wearing the same hockey jersey for weeks and that I needed to start doing the dishes again. I was definitely depressed.

And there was the dark night after Magic Man flew back to London and the apartment felt like a keyless heartbreak hotel with barred windows. But my last extended dark night was about ten years ago. It was a new depth of crushing aloneness. Another break up, this time with Hot-but-Needy Actor Man in LA (I was equally needy, duh,) which triggered an exorcism of self doubt and psychic bile that, being thirty-something and ambitious, I just needed to get out of my system. {Note: it's often not the actual loss that causes the depression - it's all the crap that's tied up in it that you needed to deal with anyway.}

In that spell of depression I wore the same pair of butt-ripped Levi's for weeks. I'd lie in my backyard at two in the morning in nowhere New Mexico, smoking Marlboro's, looking up at the stars, wondering about the fatality of scorpion bites, and praying for aliens to abduct me. {Not joking in any way.} I cried every single day, sometimes twice a day, for weeks. I felt profoundly unheard...empty. As I'd fall asleep I felt as though chunks of my being were decomposing into the bed. It was a brutal ordeal of the psyche, but I knew I was being reborn. I did have faith that whatever new face was emerging, she would eventually smile back at me.

I learned a thousand subtle and mighty things about Life from those existential passages, but what I learned about depression itself is that, the more you resist it, the longer it lasts. When depressed, I find it's best to just be...depressed. Happiness returns more quickly when you give yourself permission to be blue...or any shade of black you need to be. (more...)

 

how have you changed?

"People change all the time and forget to tell each other."
Lillian Gershwin

If you doubt that change happens, dig me in 1976 {see picture above!} Change is a marvelous thing to celebrate. Acknowledging growth helps us to keep on growing. Taking stock of the leagues you've traveled is especially useful for those of us who drive ourselves so hard to be...whatever we're craving to be.

: I used to have glasses. And then I had lazer eye surgery.
: I used to believe in soul mates, in "The One." And then I learned that "The One" is "The One" because you say he is.
: I used to be angry and didn't know why. Now I'm righteous but happy.
: In my twenties I WILLED it to happen. Now I allow it to happen.
: I used to need ritual. Now I just want the peace that lies beyond structure, even ritual.
: I no longer care if you don't agree with me. My heart is softer. I have more room for more opinions than my own.
: I used to think I had to earn my keep, sing for my supper. Now I follow my bliss and the feast finds me.
: I used to 'round up', adding a little glow to the story here 'n there. Now I relish the weightless cleanliness of precise and plain communication - which can still be done poetically.

And the list goes on...evolution is always spiraling outward, upward, seeking it's own creative edge. Ducklings turn into swans. Feminists turn into humanists. Hearts heal. The narrow expands. There's much to celebrate.

 

giving compliments, world peace, and the warm fuzzies

I want to start a Compliment Revolution. There are a few revolutions I'd like to ignite, actually, but this one is super easy. If you're with me {go ahead, shout it now, "I'm with you!",} I think we could change the world this very week. So I'm declaring this the week of Global of Compliments. Someone call Hallmark and the Nobel Peace Prize committee.

HOW TO GIVE A COMPLIMENT

1. Sincerity is paramount. Fake compliments are very bad juju. The good news is that you shouldn't have to look too hard to find reasons to compliment the people around you.

2. Compliments on how great someone looks are an easy way to spread the love...

I was standing in line at The Gap and there was a 30-something woman ahead of me - cute as a button, she was. Pixie hair cut + red nails. She was wearing a hounds tooth knit poncho, skinny jeans, paten leather ankle boots and an over-sized men's watch. She had it goin' on. I waited until she was snapping her wallet shut and leaned forward and said, "You look great," and gave her that chick-to-chick "well done" nod. "Oh really? she said. "I don't feel great." And then her eyes filled with tears. "Gee, that was so nice to hear, thanks." And I just nodded, a bit taken aback myself, my own eyes a bit misty. I hoped she walked a bit taller all the way home.

3. Compliments are a tiny but potent form of intimacy. If you're complimenting a total stranger, make it brief and quick so your pure intentions don't get misconstrued as a come on. Sometimes, it's best to compliment someone as a "drive by" or last minute gesture. And use your best intuition for the vibe. I once walked up to a woman in a food court and said, "You look fucking fabulous." She just about choked on her salad roll, but she did smile from ear to ear and I saw her grinning and nodding to herself as I walked away. (more...)

 

are you positively addicted?

So here’s my new favourite concept: positive addiction. I just love the sound of it. It’s righteous and honest ... a great combo. “I’m hooked, but it’s all good. No, really. I’m addicted, but it is positively healthy.” Like it.

I was talking to a friend today (okay, it was my shrink,) about my almost, no my definitely insatiable need for the entrepreneurial rush. “It’s a total high for me.” I explained. “Going from zero to sixty. I mean, the very definition of velocity makes me horny {distance over time.} I love having an idea when I’m walking the dog late at night and then in about six weeks actually making money from that late night glimmering, or seeing it on paper. And Christ, when I can help other people get a rush on it...it's pure juicy juice. I need that juice. Want...more...juice.”

“So what’s the problem?” my Jew-Bu shrink asks.

“Well...I’m not sure that kind of boldness is meaningful. Truly meaningful. Like, love and closeness and friendship.” I looked out the window, looking for the answer. Looked at him, ‘cause I’m paying him for answers.

“Positive addiction,” he diagnosed. “It’s a healthy high, it makes you stronger. As long as the craving for it doesn’t take you over, then it’s cool.”

Dr. William Glasser wrote a book about it (in like, 1976), aptly named, Positive Addiction. “A positive addict uses his extra strength to gain more love and more worth, more pleasure, more meaning, more zest from life in general.” Sounds about right to me.

He gives positive addiction these six criteria:

1. It is something noncompetitive that you choose to do and you can devote an hour (approximately) a day to it. {how about forty hours a week, minimum?}
2. It is possible for you to do it easily and it doesn't take a great deal of mental effort to do it well.
3. You can do it alone or rarely with others but it does not depend upon others to do it. {That rules out sex addiction if any of you were thinking that, but it clearly does not rule out masturbation, just in case you were thinking of that.}
4. You believe that it has some value (physical, mental, or spiritual) for you. {you betchya...me and the world, baby, the world!}
5. You believe that if you persist at it you will improve, but this is completely subjective - you need to be the only one who measures that improvement. {Like Churchill said, "Never, never, never give up."}
6. The activity must have the quality that you can do it without criticizing yourself. {That rules out consuming chocolate, because I still tend to criticize myself for mass consumption of Skor bars.}

Whether my drive for strategic creativity is a positive addiction or not, the very notion of re-framing it is incredibly liberating. I want what I want because it feels good. And it's taken me a good part of my adult life to fine tune my circuitry of sensation to be clear about those life-affirming desires - the good, the bad and the positively addictive.

What's your positive addiction? Fess up and be proud.