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Dane Allred examines the "Abundance" of the universe in his list of "1001 Thanks"
Episodes
Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
Pain and Suffering
We were once together in that bright space
But now we spin in our separate spheres
Sometimes distracted by pain
Other times worried by the suffering we endure ourselves
Or the problems others face.
When we look at one another
Really look deeply at that other person
And consider the difficulties they may be undergoing
We may wonder if there is a way we can help
With all the trouble we seem to encounter in our own lives.
But the lesson from that Bright Space is that we are all on this journey together.
You are learning what you need to learn,
And I am here to help you learn.
But I am also experiencing all the joy and sweetness,
Suffering and pain contained in this world.
And you are here to help me make it back to that Bright Space
Where we all will share all that has been learned.
Pain, trouble, suffering, and distress
Are all a part of this experience we desired
A desire so strong we left the Bright Place
So we could be all that ever was, ever is, and ever will be.
We will also experience all the joy, beauty, and happiness
Offered us in this wondrous place.
We are here together now
Trying our best to learn all we can.
And we are here together now
To help each other learn all we can.
When we look closely at that other person
No matter who, or when or where
We can still feel that connection
And know we are here for each other.
I can help you
You can help me
And when we decide to unite and work together
Heal together
Rejoice together
There is nothing we cannot overcome
There is no obstacle to stand in our way
And we will understand
We are learning all there is to learn,
And we cannot do it on our own.
Reach out today and see that connection
We once shared
That we now share
With everyone, everywhere.
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Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
Tuesday Dec 14, 2010
Sheepherder Translation
As per usual, I got stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I am trying to get to a stand of pine trees to cut into pine poles and posts. I had backed down the road in the beautiful mountains of Utah at the ripe age of 17, and put my left rear tire into mid-air on the dirt road. My truck was belching blue smoke, and the sheepherder nearby thought there might be a fire. As he rode up on his horse, I have never been so glad to see another human being. There really is no desperation quite like being stuck in the top of the mountains, especially when you think no one else who can help you is closer than 50 miles away. The old man listened patiently to my stupidity, and then said he thought if he tied his rope to the back of the truck, his horse could pull the rear end of my truck back onto the road.
I was out of ideas and welcomed the help. He was right. As he pulled the rope backwards with his horse, I put the truck in reverse and one cloud of blue smoke later I was back on the road. I jumped out to thank him and he invited me to come to his trailer for coffee.
This man had just saved my life, and I was obligated to at least spend a little time with him as payment. A sheepherder goes up to the mountain in the spring and has little human contact the entire summer, mostly just getting supplies from his employer and going to town once in a while. It would have been the height of rudeness to refuse his hospitality, especially after his rescue of me and my truck.
I decided to play it by ear and at least show the respect of spending some time with him.
The very first thing he did was pour the coffee and hand it to me with a smile.
I found out that this man was from Colorado, and that he had two sons who drove trucks for some company up there. After we talked for a few more minutes. He confessed to me that he didn't read English all that well. Spanish was his native language.
He pulled out a letter and asked me if I would read it to him. He indicated that a girl he had met at a dance in town a couple of weeks ago had sent it to him (what would the address be?) and he couldn't read it.
He asked if I would read it for him.
He had rescued me from the mountain. He had offered the hospitality of coffee in his trailer. It didn't seem like an outlandish request, but remember, this is a personal letter from a woman to a man.
I had no idea if there would be suggestive or other language in the letter, but I decided I better read it to him and then excuse myself - before he had me write a reply.
It was actually a sweet moment after all. The woman wrote to him about how she had enjoyed his company and hoped she would see him again. The awkwardness of the situation seemed to fade, but for anyone else who may have happened by, they would have seen a young man reading a love letter to an old man while they sat having coffee in a sheepherder's trailer. I can still see it in my mind.
The old man sat there patiently listening while I read the words of a woman that he couldn't read himself. It was so personal and so involved that I found myself detaching from the situation and ignoring the words. I vanished from the scene and it was just this old man and a woman who cared for each other communicating in the only way they could.
I finished the letter and stood abruptly. I was uncomfortable, but the old man was only grateful. We had helped each other out, and the debt was paid. I excused myself and thanked him for the help and the hospitality, and I never saw him again.
We spent perhaps 30 or 40 minutes together, but this memory is one that will always warm my heart. I think it is only when we are reaching out to one another to help in any way we can that we fully live. Even if it is just reading a love note to someone who can't read it. Or just pulling some dumb kid's truck back onto the road with your horse.
I wonder why it's the little things like this that make us feel truly a part of humanity. Good luck on your next dirt road.
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Monday Dec 13, 2010
Monday Dec 13, 2010
An audio only version is available below.
Negotiations
by Dane Allred
The best kind of negotiations
And the various machinations
Is where each side thinks
The other deal stinks
And they got the best obligations.
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Tuesday Dec 07, 2010
Tuesday Dec 07, 2010
This is the complete episode of "Abundance" called "Movement" from December 5th. Click on the banner to advertise on this podcast, viewed more than 1000 times last month.
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Tuesday Dec 07, 2010
Tuesday Dec 07, 2010
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The Touch of The Master's Hand
by Myra Brooks Welch
It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for three". . . but no!
From the room far back a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its bow.
"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the Master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on,
He's going once, and going twice -
He's going - and almost gone!
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd,
Never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul, and the change that's wrought
By the touch of the Master's hand.
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Tuesday Dec 07, 2010
Tuesday Dec 07, 2010
Bright Space
by Dane Allred
Unity
There is a brightness we can feel when we work in unity.
The space between us becomes brighter
We feel more as one
The work draws us together in a way
Nothing else can produce.
Working side by side with another someone
A someone we knew from the bright space
But had forgotten
Had lost
And had to rediscover again
Brings back that light we knew with that someone.
That someone we turned to in that long ago and far away
And said to each other,
“We are together now,
And we are all that ever is, ever was, or ever will be.”
But we both knew there was another way
For us to learn all there is to know
To experience all there is.
Alone, apart from each other, we could explore and discover all we could not know
If we stayed in that bright space together.
So now, as I stand by you, and you stand by me,
We are apart, but are still one.
That bright space is in me
And that bright space is in you.
And we feel the connection we had lost.
The recognition of that light we see in each other’s eyes,
That we see in the eyes of everyone who is anyone who is anywhere
Sparks that light again
And as we toil we remember
We are here to help each other learn all we can
We are here to learn all we can
We are striving to learn all there is to learn
As we spin in our separate spheres
Until that time we rejoin with that bright space
And are as one again.
All experience
All sadness
All happiness
All joy
All things will be joined again as one
And then we will truly feel the unity
The oneness we feel now when working side by side
On this marble we call Earth
Which speeds through space
Carrying all of us to that final destination.
That bright space where we will be one.
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Monday Dec 06, 2010
Monday Dec 06, 2010
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Minds in Ferment
by Anton Chekhov
The earth was like an oven. The afternoon sun blazed with such energy that even the thermometer hanging in the excise officer's room lost its head: it ran up to 112.5 and stopped there, irresolute. The inhabitants streamed with perspiration like overdriven horses, and were too lazy to mop their faces.
Two of the inhabitants were walking along the market-place in front of the closely shuttered houses. One was Potcheshihin, the local treasury clerk, and the other was Optimov, the agent, for many years a correspondent of the Son of the Fatherland newspaper. They walked in silence, speechless from the heat. Optimov felt tempted to find fault with the local authorities for the dust and disorder of the market-place, but, aware of the peace-loving disposition and moderate views of his companion, he said nothing.
In the middle of the market-place Potcheshihin suddenly halted and began gazing into the sky.
"What are you looking at?"
"Those starlings that flew up. I wonder where they have settled. Clouds and clouds of them. . . . If one were to go and take a shot at them, and if one were to pick them up . . . and if . . . They have settled in the Father Prebendary's garden!"
"Oh no! They are not in the Father Prebendary's, they are in the Father Deacon's. If you did have a shot at them from here you wouldn't kill anything. Fine shot won't carry so far; it loses its force. And why should you kill them, anyway? They're birds destructive of the fruit, that's true; still, they're fowls of the air, works of the Lord. The starling sings, you know. . . . And what does it sing, pray? A song of praise. . . . 'All ye fowls of the air, praise ye the Lord.' No. I do believe they have settled in the Father Prebendary's garden."
Three old pilgrim women, wearing bark shoes and carrying wallets, passed noiselessly by the speakers. Looking enquiringly at the gentlemen who were for some unknown reason staring at the Father Prebendary's house, they slackened their pace, and when they were a few yards off stopped, glanced at the friends once more, and then fell to gazing at the house themselves.
"Yes, you were right; they have settled in the Father Prebendary's," said Optimov. "His cherries are ripe now, so they have gone there to peck them."
From the garden gate emerged the Father Prebendary himself, accompanied by the sexton. Seeing the attention directed upon his abode and wondering what people were staring at, he stopped, and he, too, as well as the sexton, began looking upwards to find out.
"The father is going to a service somewhere, I suppose," said Potcheshihin. "The Lord be his succour!"
Some workmen from Purov's factory, who had been bathing in the river, passed between the friends and the priest. Seeing the latter absorbed in contemplation of the heavens and the pilgrim women, too, standing motionless with their eyes turned upwards, they stood still and stared in the same direction.
A small boy leading a blind beggar and a peasant, carrying a tub of stinking fish to throw into the market-place, did the same.
"There must be something the matter, I should think," said Potcheshihin, "a fire or something. But there's no sign of smoke anywhere. Hey! Kuzma!" he shouted to the peasant, "what's the matter?"
The peasant made some reply, but Potcheshihin and Optimov did not catch it. Sleepy-looking shopmen made their appearance at the doors of all the shops. Some plasterers at work on a warehouse near left their ladders and joined the workmen.
The fireman, who was describing circles with his bare feet, on the watch-tower, halted, and, after looking steadily at them for a few minutes, came down. The watch-tower was left deserted. This seemed suspicious.
"There must be a fire somewhere. Don't shove me! You damned swine!"
"Where do you see the fire? What fire? Pass on, gentlemen! I ask you civilly!"
"It must be a fire indoors!"
"Asks us civilly and keeps poking with his elbows. Keep your hands to yourself! Though you are a head constable, you have no sort of right to make free with your fists!"
"He's trodden on my corn! Ah! I'll crush you!"
"Crushed? Who's crushed? Lads! a man's been crushed!
"What's the meaning of this crowd? What do you want?"
"A man's been crushed, please your honour!"
"Where? Pass on! I ask you civilly! I ask you civilly, you blockheads!"
"You may shove a peasant, but you daren't touch a gentleman! Hands off!"
"Did you ever know such people? There's no doing anything with them by fair words, the devils! Sidorov, run for Akim Danilitch! Look sharp! It'll be the worse for you, gentlemen! Akim Danilitch is coming, and he'll give it to you! You here, Parfen? A blind man, and at his age too! Can't see, but he must be like other people and won't do what he's told. Smirnov, put his name down!"
"Yes, sir! And shall I write down the men from Purov's? That man there with the swollen cheek, he's from Purov's works."
"Don't put down the men from Purov's. It's Purov's birthday to-morrow."
The starlings rose in a black cloud from the Father Prebendary's garden, but Potcheshihin and Optimov did not notice them. They stood staring into the air, wondering what could have attracted such a crowd, and what it was looking at.
Akim Danilitch appeared. Still munching and wiping his lips, he cut his way into the crowd, bellowing:
"Firemen, be ready! Disperse! Mr. Optimov, disperse, or it'll be the worse for you! Instead of writing all kinds of things about decent people in the papers, you had better try to behave yourself more conformably! No good ever comes of reading the papers!"
"Kindly refrain from reflections upon literature!" cried Optimov hotly. "I am a literary man, and I will allow no one to make reflections upon literature! though, as is the duty of a citizen, I respect you as a father and benefactor!"
"Firemen, turn the hose on them!"
"There's no water, please your honour!"
"Don't answer me! Go and get some! Look sharp!"
"We've nothing to get it in, your honour. The major has taken the fire-brigade horses to drive his aunt to the station.
"Disperse! Stand back, damnation take you! Is that to your taste? Put him down, the devil!"
"I've lost my pencil, please your honour!"
The crowd grew larger and larger. There is no telling what proportions it might have reached if the new organ just arrived from Moscow had not fortunately begun playing in the tavern close by. Hearing their favourite tune, the crowd gasped and rushed off to the tavern.
So nobody ever knew why the crowd had assembled, and Potcheshihin and Optimov had by now forgotten the existence of the starlings who were innocently responsible for the proceedings.
An hour later the town was still and silent again, and only a solitary figure was to be seen -- the fireman pacing round and round on the watch-tower.
The same evening Akim Danilitch sat in the grocer's shop drinking limonade gaseuse and brandy, and writing:
"In addition to the official report, I venture, your Excellency, to append a few supplementary observations of my own. Father and benefactor! In very truth, but for the prayers of your virtuous spouse in her salubrious villa near our town, there's no knowing what might not have come to pass. What I have been through to-day I can find no words to express. The efficiency of Krushensky and of the major of the fire brigade are beyond all praise! I am proud of such devoted servants of our country! As for me, I did all that a weak man could do, whose only desire is the welfare of his neighbour; and sitting now in the bosom of my family, with tears in my eyes I thank Him Who spared us bloodshed! In absence of evidence, the guilty parties remain in custody, but I propose to release them in a week or so. It was their ignorance that led them astray!"
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Monday Dec 06, 2010
Monday Dec 06, 2010
Fighting Words
If you check in the Bible, one of the first jobs for Adam was naming the animals. Mark Twain said it this way, “I think Adam was at his level best when he was naming the creatures.” Adam named the animals before Eve was created, and this is probably so he would not be corrected. I like that old sexist joke, “If there is man talking in the woods, and there is no woman around to correct him, is he still wrong?” Of course the answer from the ladies is “yes”.
I’m not sure when I became such an avid promoter of names. Names can tell us quite a bit about the status of this thing, or that thing, or this person or that society. We label with names, but we also use these handles to identify ourselves and make sense of our world. I am very passionate about knowing the names of other people, especially my students. I make them learn each other’s names. I test them on it. I do my best to always try to use their names when I see them, and as I practice more, I get better at identifying them.
So what’s the big deal? Someone once said the most beautiful sound in the universe is the sound of our own names. Think about it. It validates you as a person. It means someone else has acknowledged you exist. And they want to let you know they know you are here. What sweeter sound could there be?
Knowing someone else’s name shows you care. Not knowing their name is a kind of snub. We can overcome this by pretending we know their name. But it really isn’t the same as the real, live use of the name of another person.
One time I was glad I knew one of my student’s names. This particular student was a little disturbed, and in a public school, we accept all kinds of people. Some students are being treated by psychologists or other mental health professionals, but does that mean we don’t let them get an education? It’s another reason I like teaching in public schools. If the student isn’t a danger to others, all of us can learn some interesting things about each others. Sometimes we discover a student doesn’t belong in school, and they are taken from school.
While this person who shall remain nameless seemed to get along with his fellow students, I had no idea another student was harassing him. It had reached a point where he took matters into his own hands, and one day, pulled out a knife and threatened the other student.
I am sitting at the front of the room and see at the back of the room what I thought was an otherwise passive student pointing a knife at one of my other students. I have a couple of choices, but when something like this happens, you don’t always have a chance to weigh your options. I immediately shouted his name and demanded he bring the knife to me, at the front of the class.
Think about how stupid this is for a response. Instead of calmly walking to the back and handling the situation in a calm manner, I shouted. I also told him to walk the knife up to the front of the class, which would cause him to pass several other students on the way to the front. Luckily, he was only mad at the person standing four or five feet away from him, and he instantly obeyed, walking the knife to the front of the room and placing it in my hand. He didn’t stab anyone else, and he didn’t stab me, and we quietly walked down to the office together.
Sometimes things work out when we know the right names to shout. But the more important concept I’m trying to communicate here is that without names, we walk around saying, “Hey, you!” to other people. I don’t think he would have brought the knife to me if I had done that.
I have been in other student scuffles, and sometimes even knowing the name and the students doesn’t help. I’ve broken up girl fights where one of the combatants was a student of mine, and I knew her very well. The problem with girl fights is they tend to get so emotional they don’t know what they are doing, and she ended up hitting me a couple of times. She even bled on one of my best shirts.
The last girl fight I got hit in the face and didn’t even know it. Some of my other students who were passively watching told me I got hit, but I don’t remember it.
Maybe if had known her name, I could have asked her why she hit me.
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Sunday Dec 05, 2010
Sunday Dec 05, 2010
Road Runner
Most of our barriers in life are mental. We create them, feed them, keep them growing and prospering in our heads. I’ve run four marathons, though those who were watching the race will tell you I was jogging. And sometimes walking.
But I didn’t get to the end of my fourth marathon by standing up one day and saying “I will run a marathon tomorrow.” I thought I could barely run a mile when I was in junior high. I had been being excused to go down to the high school track and “train” for the high school team, which meant of course I went and played on the high jump pit. It didn’t prepare me to run, but it was fun while it lasted.
Unfortunately, I was signed up to run the mile. I had never run a mile, but there’s no way I’m going to admit this to the coach. So, like an idiot, I line up with everyone else and completely embarrass myself. The guy who was supposed to finish behind me was smarter than me; he quit. So when I ran across the finish line and someone shouted, “Hey, the race is over”; he was right. I collapsed on the side of the track and found out I was hyperventilating. It’s interesting to float 3 feet off the ground. I never ran another step until ten years later.
I was twenty-five and some friends from California were in town. They were taking a week-long “Fitness for Life” class and invited me to run in a 5K race with them on Saturday. My mind put up the obstruction about the junior high race, but I was now mature enough to tell myself, “I am not my past.”
I agreed to run with them, but needed to do some work in the five days before the race. I found out a 5K is 3.1 miles. I got in my car and measured how far I had to run away from my house to equal 3.1 miles by the time I returned. I also measured where the first half-mile was.
That night, I ran a mile.
I was surprised, since I had told myself for ten years I couldn’t run a mile. I don’t remember how long it took or how slowly I ran. I only remember I ran a mile.
I decided this must be a fluke, and rested for a day. Then I ran another mile, walked a mile, and ran another mile. Now I had run two miles in one day, and walked another. I even felt like I could do more, but I didn’t want to push it. I wanted to save something for Saturday.
I showed up for the race unsure if I could really run 3.1 miles without stopping. I decided to go very slowly, and hope for the best. With four miles of training under my belt, I started my first race. It was a beautiful summer day with a crispness to the early morning air. I tried to focus on the road, ignore what my mind was telling me – that I was being an idiot – and simply plodded along.
People passed me by, but I didn’t care. I passed a couple of people. I made it the first mile, then the second mile. For the first time in my life, I had run two miles in a row. There was no stopping me now.
I never stopped jogging. I even had a little energy left at the end of the race to sprint ahead of the sixty year old lady in front of me and beat her. But I couldn’t keep up with the ten year old that passed us both at the finish line.
It didn’t matter. I had done something I was positive I couldn’t do, and it began a chapter in my life I am still exploring. Every time I hear that nagging voice tell me, “You can’t”, I think back to that modest beginning race, and how after about ten years and many, many shorter races, I ran a marathon. Then another. And another. I ran my slowest marathon ever just two months ago.
We are all in our own private races, and most of the challenges we face are against ourselves, though we may tell ourselves we are competing against someone else. Think of it this way. When I ran my first marathon, I was in my thirties. Guess what age bracket most of the winners of marathons are in? That’s right. In the last Olympic marathon a 38 year old woman set a new world’s record.
So I will never take first place in a marathon. Does that stop me? Only if I tell myself I can’t. But the secret is, I know I can.
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Sunday Dec 05, 2010
Sunday Dec 05, 2010
Quickness of Movement
“Why is it we can move so quicklies?’
Says Old Pete, on a couch, at his ease.
Says I, “It’s what we grew,
Me and you in order to,
Avoid our responsibilities.”
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