BEYOND HONOR STUDENTS

My child is an honor student...and so is yours. And that is the truth of things. All children are honor students. Why not?

All children, including us, belong here. They didn't come here to make trouble, or cause disturbance, to be mean, to be labeled slow, to constantly be compared to others, or even be required to compete against friends.

This is another perspective on life and children, and since it is my perspective, I like it a lot. Children are not deficient in anything, except maybe some specific vitamin....deficiency is someone elses' belief of what should be.

Could it be that children, including us at one time, maybe even now, simply want to connect with others, to use themselves in their own way.... a way that is creative, of value to others and ultimately appreciated for who they are inside, not how they perform for the recognition of others?

It seems, and probably really true, that what the world requires now is the ability for children and big people to see through not only their own eyes, but through the eyes of others ….to care about relationship more than being right, to feel comfortable with difference, and to value trusting oneself – thus, possibly avoiding the next war, or belief that “they” or “them” out there are an enemy.

Maybe even the people closest to us don’t need to change either. Maybe the change is ours.

WITHOUT AGE

What if I didn't know how old I was? What if the concept of age didn't exist, and I didn't know there had been one?(a concept). How would my life, or yours, be different if age numbers were not part of being alive? As a child, I didn't think about age. Even when big adult people asked me how old I was, I would wait for one of my parents to answer. I didn't know. Actually, I didn't care.

What do you know about me if you can assign a number to my body and spirit. I'm not complaining, although I could if I wanted to. This is more a wondrous question of the unknown. If no age stuff existed, we, or I, wouldn't believe I needed to look younger, 'cause there would be no younger or older. I'd just be me in that moment. I wouldn't buy stuff to make me look ....uhhhh, younger? My hair would be whatever color it was, no matter if the color changed. Color change wouldn't mean anything. Just interesting. My face would do what it does as time passed, if I believed in time. No money spent on deleting or hiding lines, wrinkles, and other things that form in or on my skin. I'd just keep on breathing, playing, being, and finding interesting people to know.

I'd save money, time, and worry if I had no fear of age, or lack of it. I'd be the little innocent child again every day, more concerned about caring for, and about others, "seeing them," instead of focusing on a reflected image in the mirror. No need for creams, skin exercises, anti-aging formulas -- or jokes about aging, memory, walking, sleeping .... or even beliefs that I am deteriorating because of a number made up by someone somewhere.

Which brings up the next question: What would I do if I couldn't worry? I might still worry, but just for the heck of it, what would I do if I simply could not worry? Just could not.

THE HOMELESS MAN

I assumed he was homeless as he sat on the curb playing his guitar, singing and smiling. His guitar case was filled with change and one dollar bills. His chosen location was just outside the Staff of Life natural food store in Santa Cruz, California.

He was there every day, making eye contact with anyone able to do the same comfortably or uncomfortably. I often stopped to talk with him. Part of my reason to stop was to remind myself I was a good person, and could embrace everyone, no matter what their perceived circumstances. I even wondered quietly, what I would feel like being in his position – sitting on a sidewalk, playing for money. Another part, a background thought that I ignored, was how easily I was drawn to his smile and ability to greet everyone, and do this as he sat on the sidewalk curb, playing and receiving money – sometimes food. Whether I offered him money or not was less important to me than my wanting to make connection with him.

One day, as I slowly walked past him, we made eye contact. “You know,” I said, “Someday maybe I will be where you are, and you will be where I am.” He smiled, pausing long enough for me to hear what I had just said. “Why would I want to be where you are?” he replied, smiling.

Stunned, I walked back to face him. I bowed in his direction. “Thank you,” I said, “Thank you.” I never saw him again.

EVERYONE MATTERS --EVERYONE

My uncle Solly died at the age of 88. He lived in Beverly Hills in a really big house off Sunset Boulevard. I discovered him after not seeing him for 30 years. I had to go see him with my son, Boye. I had to. I knew they would "recognize" each other -- not faces, but spirit, essence, soul. They would just know each other without a word. They hugged silently.

When I was a little boy, Solly was the only adult in my life that knew who I was inside. When he talked to me, his voice didn't change. He looked me in the eyes. He hugged me freely. He laughed easily, and together we could be authentically silly and ageless.

He introduced me to classical music when I was six, by making up stories to match the intensity of the music. Today, when I hear music, I see stories -- any kind of music. He taught me photography. He held my hand. He layed on the floor with me. He showed up when I was hurt. He liked me. I liked him.

I also had two parents that were nice and available, and fed me good. But Solly added the ingredient of recognizing that I was more than a small body of any specific age. He didn't need to teach me anything. He wanted to. And he taught me things that mattered. That we all matter.

RED LIGHT IN THE DESERT

One lone traffic light hung silently from a cable stretched high across a two lane road in the middle of a California desert highway intersection. The light was red for me as I slowed down to stop behind the only car waiting for the light to turn green. No other cars were around at this four way stop. As I waited, I noticed that we were in the middle of what is referred to as nowhere. I could see for miles in every direction. This was desert country. No trees or buildings or obstructions to the horizon.

As my car idled behind the car in front of me, I could see down the cross road highway in front of us, both right and left, for many miles. There were no cars or trucks to be seen. We were the only vehicles around for miles. Yet this gently swinging red light signal in front of us kept both our cars waiting ....waiting for the light to turn green so we could legally move on.

I carefully looked again to my right and left, and could easily see an empty highway forever. I wondered why this couple in front of me, in their very large four door car, didn't simply decide that it was totally safe to ignore the red light and drive on. Maybe even consider that the light may be out of order. My own curiosity asked, or rather demanded that I see how long they would wait before taking matters into their own hands. Me and my car sat idling for over five minutes while the light remained red, and the couple in front of me, remained waiting for a potential green light.

Ten minutes passed. The light was still red and no cars had passed in any direction. My curiosity was satisfied. As I slowly drove around them, I noticed their facial expressions implied they were actually following the rules, and the law --literally. I crossed over the empty and lonely highway through the red light, and beyond into the darkening desert sunset. Looking back in my rear-view mirror, I saw they were still there...waiting.

Now only a speck in my rear view mirror, I left them behind. At least I left their car behind, but I felt disturbed about their way of doing things. In my view, they seemed stuck in following rules, unable to make their own decision in unusual situations. I asked myself where is that part in me that may seem "stuck" to others, but not to me? Fortunately, I'm stuck in thinking of one.

ORIGIN OF THE UNIVERSE: EILEEN

Eileen was the owner of a breakfast coffee house across the street from the university in Albuquerque, New Mexico. One Sunday morning, Meigra, my partner, and mother of our son, drove three hours from Taos, New Mexico, where we had been living, and unexpectedly discovered this simple outdoor breakfast cafe by "accident." As we sat outside in the warm sun, a woman we did not know, walked over to our table. Standing quietly, she made eye contact, leaned slightly over the table and said, "I recognize who you both are." A long silence followed.

I thought about being scared, but instead, I was excited.

Her eyes were unlike any I had seen before. The pupils had a yellowish ring around the edges. She asked to sit down. Although this event could have seemed strange, it was not. "My name is Eileen," she said, "I'm the owner of this restaurant." At this early Sunday morning breakfast time, people were waiting in line to be seated. The restaurant, inside and out, was crowded with students and families waiting to be served. Yet, Eileen, the owner-waitress, chose to sit down with us for reasons we had yet to know.

Instinctively, I knew I didn't need to know. My mind's need to make sense of things was suspended. "I'm going to sell my restaurant that I've owned for nine years," Eileen began. "I'm going to Mexico this summer for two months and discover the origin of the universe. I will camp out on the beach." She paused, again looking into our eyes. We were both still completely present, listening deeply, attentive. In this moment, not making sense made sense.

"I want the two of you to come with me. Will you?" "Yes," we both answered immediately. She smiled and pushed her chair back to stand. She returned to supervising the kitchen and serving customers.

A week later, on a quiet middle-of-the-week day, I drove down from Taos to meet with Eileen again. We agreed to meet at a riverbank walkway running through Santa Fe. We spoke of the upcoming adventure to find the origin of the universe - exactly what that meant didn't matter. Nothing more was said, or needed to be said. There was an implicit not needing to know. Eileen agreed to meet one more time following week to plan travel details.

Returning a week later, I found her restaurant had been sold, and the people that knew her well had no idea where she was, or what she was doing. Friends that had known Eileen for the nine-year life of the restaurant, knew nothing of her whereabouts or her intentions.

A year later, I again tried to find her. No one had seen her. We moved back to California where I continued to teach some university classes, and facilitate couples and groups in learning how to "work" with themselves, and practice changing any given perception of the world and daily life. One day, in the middle of a so-called group process, I asked a woman who had volunteered to explore a chronic body symptom, "When did you first notice this physical symptom?" In the next few minutes, I found myself asking more open ended questions, focusing or tracing back when a specific symptom was first noticed, whether it be a body symptom or an emotional one.

Automatically, I found myself seeking out the origin of things - some event or trauma that may have taken place months or years ago, yet I had no hidden agenda or destination in mind. Nor was I thinking like a therapist or psychologist. I was simply being present and attentive. Within minutes, when the origin was remembered, the symptom or feeling was instantly relieved. Sometimes tears, laughter and shaking followed.

In a dream one night, it came to me that whomever Eileen was, real or not, I had been reminded to Not have to know the why of things, but instead help find the seed and origin of symptoms and events that consistently grab our attention.

ALAN BUTTON: THERAPIST/SHAMAN

For eight weeks, one hour per week, I walked around Alan Button's psychologist office, sharing my sorrows, sadness, and "what to do's." Alan sat on a plush leather couch with a notebook and pen in his hand, appearing to take notes. Therapy was a new experience for me. I was desperate for someone to talk to that didn't have opinions, suggestions, or need to take sides.

An unexpected divorce was happening in my life with two small innocent children feeling the pain, scare and hurt of it all. I was emotionally desperate, lost to explain why this was happening, and feeling no control over the events as they rapidly unfolded daily.

I reached out to a college psychology instructor who was also in private practice as a psychologist. I entered his comfortable office, and when asked to sit down, I chose to stand and walk around. Each week, I paced the room sharing stories, feeling things, and somehow, without knowing it, coming up with answers and sometimes seeing the absurdity of what people, including me, do to each other. in relationships. Alan, (Dr. Button), sat silently, never speaking or asking a question.

When the hour ended, Alan stood and we hugged. "See you next week Bruce," he would say, and I would walk away relieved and more peaceful. This same process went on for eight weeks - each time, I would walk around the spacious room talking and feeling, while Alan sat quietly on the couch taking notes . . . I think.

I could feel his presence all the time. I did'nt have words for what he offered, I just felt the emotional space in the room, his warmth and deep listening. At the end of week eight, I stopped moving around, and without hesitation, I unexpectedly said, "You know Alan, I'm done. I don't need to come back again." He put down his pen and notebook, stood and walked over to me. He looked into my eyes and said, "Bruce, you are the most self-actualized person I have ever met." I didn't know what self-actualized meant, but by his tone of voice, I could feel it was a compliment.

In later weeks, I realized that he knew that what I needed was silent space, to discover and explore internally. I did not know that. He knew that. That is why his only words over eight weeks were hello, goodbye, and his final comment. Had he attempted to diagnose, or ask probing questions, we both would have missed the point.

His relationship with me, demonstrated in later years, how I could be with others when I am seen as the therapist or healer person. I could simply "hold space" for others, and only sometimes, ask more questions.

Thirty years later, I called Alan Button at his home to acknowledge the impact he had on my life. He was now 82 years old. When I shared how he changed my life, he cried. I later learned that he had written a book in the 1960's entitled: The Authentic Child. His exquisite sensitivity, I later decided, was more of a Shaman's way - able to "see" clearly what people needed behind the story.

FROM PAIN TO COMPASSION

I was inspired to write this story and share it. I often find myself writing, not knowing why, but trusting that what is coming through is not only important for me, but may be for others too.

I was a six-year old boy, living in New York, and heading to my first day of school.
I had my little Superman metal lunch box swinging by my side as I skipped innocently and playfully along the cold morning sidewalk. My attention was abruptly drawn to a loud sound to my right, where a squeeky screen door had just slammed shut on an old porch of a house about 30 feet away. Startled, I looked over and saw another young boy running down the wooden stairs of this older two story house. He was running right towards me. I saw, what I soon learned, was hatred in his face, something I had not seen in my six years of life. "Get out of our neighborhood, you dirty Jew. Get out of our neighborhood. I hate you. I hate you, you dirty Jew."

Without thinking, I burst into tears as I turned around to run home two blocks away. As I ran, I cried and cried, trying to catch my breath between sobs. I ran faster than I could. I pushed open the front door, ran into my room, threw myself on the bed, and buried my head in my favorite pillow, sobbing. I didn't even know what a Jew was. I only felt that boy's hatred. Later, when I told my parents, they told me what a Jew was, and that I was one.

Within weeks, my parents and my brother and I, drove across country, moving to Glendale in Southern California. We found a tree lined street with Spanish style stucco homes, only a block from my new elementary school. My brother Carl, four years older, and I, walked to school each day. On the third day, once again attempting to get to my first grade class, a young boy about seven, whom I did not know, picked up some dog poop from his lawn and threw it at me, screaming, "Jew, Jew, Jew." This time, although feeling hurt and afraid, I ran on to school, which was closer than running home.

Our family soon learned, that at that time, Glendale was the home of the American Nazi party. In an attempt to scare our family to leave Glendale, my father's business was "set up" so the police could put him in jail for one month to force us to move. It worked. We moved 10 miles away to Los Angeles, finding a small two-bedroom home on a palm-tree-lined street, only minutes from the beach. I discovered kind friends, girls and boys, and, once again, my new school was only two blocks from our house.

The really good part of all the city and neighborhood changes we were forced to make, brought us closer to the ocean. I could now ride my bike to Venice beach or Marina Del Rey in 15 minutes. My father changed our last name from Simon to Scott, thus freeing us from being readily identified as Jewish people, and freeing my brother from being beat up anymore. We could safely hide who we were behind a name change. And it worked. I ended up going to a Los Angeles high school, the only one that was occupied by a blend of Whites, African Americans, Hispanic, Asians, and some disabled students. Everyone simply got along really well. Our high school was truly a working melting pot.

My childhood experience of being excluded, ostracized and hated, opened me up to feel compassion for other minority and marginalized groups, including women, African Americans, Asians, Native people, children, disabled, and Gay and Lesbians - all groups I got to work with, and be around over the years. My childhood hurt and pain was a blessing, helping me to deeply feel what many other people in the world live with daily, and cannot escape or find a hiding place behind a name change.

As I look at my life experiences, many of them included losing jobs while standing up for other people - yet feeling good about it. My natural instinct was, to support and stand with others who were marginalized - to become an advocate. I didn't have to take time to think about what was right. Instinct took over. I have been able to appear in court dozens of times for Native people who were wrongly accused and, because I am White, the courts more often than not, would free the Native people. I got to work in Black communities, with Hispanic farm workers in the Central valley, and simply get to know "others." And ultimately see others as me.

Our son, now 16, came to me in a dream before he was born. He said many things that I recorded. One of his statements was, "I am coming here to dissolve the artificial barriers between people." And he does that. Together, we easily and automatically find ways to connect with others. Those little boys of my childhood that caused so much emotional hurt and pain in my early years, also handed me the gift of greater compassion. I was disturbed by them, and now feel only gratitude.

THE BOY AND A QUARTER

I was sitting in my favorite Peet's coffee shop in Portland, Oregon. I like it here because the employees like people, and make contact with kindness and humor. Yesterday, a little boy about five-years-old, was sitting at the table next to me when his father, standing and hovering over the boy, admonished and blamed the boy in an angry tone of voice. Why didn't matter. The impact on the boy, and me, did.

The boy, sitting only a few feet away, with his back to me, put his head down on the table, seemingly scared and hurt, while his father stepped away to order a coffee..

I leaned over to the boy, a couple of feet away, and quietly asked if he would like to guess which closed hand I held a quarter. I put both hands out, wanting to reach into his sweet soul. He turned slightly in his chair, his one shoulder facing me, and silently nodded towards one of my hands. I opened the hand and there was the quarter. "Do it again," I said. This time, he turned his chair completely towards me. His face was lighter and had a faint smile. I put my hands out with the quarter in one of them. He guessed right again. He started to giggle. My heart softened. I simply loved him. We were allies.

His father returned with his coffee. "Can I give your son this quarter that he guessed right with?" I asked. "Uh, yeah, sure," he replied, somewhat puzzled and relieved. His son was all smile and energy. The father, holding his coffee, reached for his son's hand, and they walked out the door talking softly.

DO YOU GET IT YET BRUCE?

I awoke from a dream where all the significant perceived enemies and loving friends in my life, since I was 16 years old, stood shoulder to shoulder, side by side, in a long line. All were leaning forward slightly so I could see their facial expressions. I was on my knees at the end of the line, able to see all their faces at the same time. I recognized them all as friends that had "betrayed" me, people who had "hurt" and been mean to me. Some in the line were close friends that brought a smile. There was a mix of women and men, that over the years, had either been mean, perceived enemies or kind and loving.

The one thing in common, as they stood there looking at me, was an expression of, "Do you get it yet Bruce?" I knew in the dream, and when I awoke, what that meant.

I sat up in bed with a smile, knowing that all the events and people in my life that I've reacted to, or believed I had been emotionally abused, or taken advantage of, or even "betrayed," happened for me, not to me. It wasn't even a belief stretch to realize that my reaction to anything or anyone is always mine, and within my total control. I knew that disturbing events, and people, are a projection of sorts, giving me another chance to be free of having to make anyone wrong, or bad. I still do but now I become aware pretty quick, like in seconds, and can simply let them be. Or at least respond from a non-reactive, hurt or angry place. Thus, I am free.

STOP TALKING AND FEEL

I was in a large gymnasium-size room with 400 women, men, children and babies, all from different countries and cultures. Different colors. Different languages. Some had paid their own way to this Howard University site in Washington, D.C. Others were flown here by the generosity of others who had donated money so all economic groups could be represented. People fresh from war-torn countries, still angry and terrified, came together with others that lived in violence, terror-free areas of the world.

We were all here for this ten-day World Work event to provide a safe space and time for people angry, divided, and who may have perceived each other as enemies, to find a common ground to hear each other, and potentially come together beyond rage and
so-called justified hatred.

For ten days, people, sometimes chaotically, screamed, cried and yelled at each other. For many an involved observer, the experience was chilling and emotionally disturbing. By the tenth day, last hour, with anger still filling the air, a young tall African American man from California - a man prior to this day, simply an observer, took an instinctive action. Hearing the loud voices of anger and the ongoing "talking" debates for so many days, he did something unexpected, and spontaneous, not only to others, but to himself as well. This man, Michael Jones, had always been exquisitely sensitive to how people in the world are treated. Fairness and justice seemed to drive him. On this day, his heart took charge, overriding any self-doubt, hesitation or need to impress anyone.

Michael swiftly and intentionally walked into the center of the 400 people, some seated, other standing in emotionally heated positions. Once in the center, he stood tall and screamed with great emotion and feeling, "Stop talking and feel! Stop talking and feel!!" His voice filled the gymnasium. At that moment, his voice, wherever it came from, was bigger than God, bigger than my perception of the universe.

The room dissolved into silence. A minute passed. A sobbing sound came from the back of the room. Soon, more and more people began to sob, cry and wail. Women, men and children began to slowly move towards the center of the room, tears flowing, the sound of raw, real feelings filling the room. Now hundreds of people were huddled together, most of them unknown to each other, arms around each other, crying together. No more talk. No more anger.

Michael joined them. Later, as he sat in the hallway by himself, people came to huddle around Michael to know him, to thank him. All he could do is say thank you and shed tears.

EVERYTHING IS ABOUT RELATIONSHIP

When I was in my early twenties, and a first year high school teacher, I discovered the principal of our school was placing all the Hispanic and African American students in a special class for so-called "mentally disabled." He did this, I found out, so the school district would receive more money from the state.

I was new, not only as a teacher, but in the world of politics and racism in school systems. Innocent yet clear, I called for a State investigation of the principal and his treatment of minority students. After the investigation, the principal remained, and my contract was terminated. Of the twenty-two other teachers on the staff, all of who agreed to speak up at the investigation, none did.

This event was my official introduction to getting involved with the world of justice and fairness. I had to. With a family of two young children and a wife, I soon found a job working with Native Americans, a group of people I knew nothing about except from cowboy and Indian movies. My job was to provide "counseling" to Native people representing almost every tribe in the United States, some being off the reservation for the first time. After dissolving my initial fears of being around a people that looked so different from me, I found what "family" can really mean when the word "sacred" is lived out daily, when humor is about oneself, rather than aimed at another, and when everything in life is about relationship.

Everything in life is about relationship. I found myself talking less with what I called "empty talk." I learned to speak only when I had something to say. I laughed more. I dissolved my belief in ambition in exchange for being of service to others -- whatever that might look like.

FREEDOM FROM ANGER

Our eight-year old son was taking a shower. For some reason, I do not remember, I walked into the bathroom with a tone of voice that carried frustration and was directed at my favorite person in the world, our kind and sensitive little boy. My frustrated tone didn't have lots of volume, and to me, wasn't very scary. It was the kind of admonishing voice that so freely floats around relationships without much awareness.

As I stood there for a moment, expecting a verbal reaction, I heard the shower water stop. It had been turned off. Suddenly, the shower curtain was thrown open, and there stood my son, tears in his eyes, beginning to cry. He looked directly into my eyes and said, "I thought I cured you of all your anger."

I sat on the edge of the tub as he fell into my arms crying - crying tears of disappointment. I simply held him close and whispered, "I am learning." He looked up and smiled.