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.