Seeker Magazine

Thoughts of a Seeker

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April 2003

That Fire Within

I came across a gem of a short book recently: The Art of Possibility by Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander. Subtitled "Tranforming Professional and Personal Life," it describes its objective as "to provide the reader the means to lift off from that world of struggle and sail into a vast universe of possibility." And that means is by redrawing the framework of assumptions that we find our lives are based upon.

Roz is a family therapist in private practice and a landscape painter and writer; Ben is the conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra and teacher at Boston music schools. Together, their experiences have created in this book an understated and unusual way of looking at things and reminders of the obvious.

I loved Ben's stories of taking the students from his music schools on tours in other countries and his creative way of resolving problems which were daunting, resolutions that resulted in an experience that lifted every musician's and every listener's spirits. Imagine being in the first class of a course and you are told that you would receive an A, and in a couple of weeks, you have to write a description of yourself having received that A. Wouldn't that provide an extraordinary incentive to work the hardest you've ever worked to meet your own standards?

There's the story of Rule Number 6. Simply, don't take yourself so goddamned seriously. There are no other rules. And before Rule Number 6 lies the first belief: it's all invented, followed by:

Once you have begun to distinguish that it's all invented, you can create a place to dwell where new inventions are the order of the day. Such a place we call "the universe of possibility," and stepping into it is our second practice.
It's letting go of the game of success or failure and choosing to be a contribution. Ben describes it as letting go of the questions "Is it enough?" and "Am I loved for who I am, or for what I have accomplished?" and choosing, instead, to ask "How will I be a contribution today?"

It's playing from any place in the orchestra or singing from any place in the choir with all the grace and beauty and all the raw love in your heart for the music--what he calls "leading from any chair." That very power can be poured into anything you choose to do.

Here is one that resonates during this time: being present to the way things are. It's an antidote to "hopeless resignation" and to "spluttering resistance," Roz and Ben say. To explain further:

Being present to the way things are is not the same as accepting things as they are in the resigned way of the cow [in the movie, BABE]. It doesn't mean you should drown out your negative feelings or pretend you like what you really can't stand....It simply means, being present without resistance; being present to what is happening and present to your reactions, no matter how intense. ... The practice of being with the way things are allows us to alight in a place of openness, where "the truth" readies us for the next step, and the sky opens up.
Followed by giving way to passion. Today I rehearsed a solo line that will be sung against a choral background, and today I had only one singer to give me the clues of the choral timing so that I can play off of it. Frankly, it is a song whose message I don't believe in: being covered with Jesus' blood and thereby getting into heaven. Fortunately, it has great rhythm, and the young man who plays our piano accompaniment was cranking, and I totally got into it. As Ben and Roz say:

"Where is the electric socket for possibility, the access to the energy of transformation?" It's just there over the bar line, where the bird soars. We can join it by finding the tempo and lean our bodies to the music; dare to let go of the edges of ourselves . . . participate!
There's more, perhaps the most important is understanding how to "be the board" rather than the player on the board. I encourage you to find it and delight in their experiences. It is published by Penguin Books, 2000.

Cherie


Newfound Lake, Bristol, New Hampshire, a summer idyll

Italics are in the original.
Photo and writing copyright 2003 by Cherie Staples.


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Letter to the Editor:
Cherie Staples at Skyearth1@aol.com