As a youngster growing up in the northern community of Houston, British Columbia, Ron Makowichuk didn’t have a lot of listening options; it was either CBC, country or a cheesy AM station. Although KISS was his favourite band when he was in Grade 3, Makowichuk readily admits that he didn’t have great taste in music. When he graduated from high school and left the pleasant valley to attend the University of BC in Vancouver, he moved away from the mainstream and was influenced by alternative college rock.

Free Trampoline, just one of Makowichuk’s creative outlets, is a rarity at CHLY in that it spans three Canadian provinces. Free Trampoline started in St. John’s, Newfoundland in 2006. After 3 years on the East Coast Makowichuk and his wife moved to Ontario in 2008 where he introduced his show to listeners in Kingston. In August 2010 the couple arrived in the Harbour City and by December, he was back on the air. It seems like once bitten by the indie rock scene, it’s hard to get it out of your system. Free Trampoline offers a mix of rock, pop, techno, hip hop and alt country.

Thinking that the name of the show had something to do with Makowichuk’s ‘radio by the seat of his pants’ approach, he clarified that it was actually lifted from an episode of The Simpsons, which was his favourite TV show for many years. Episode number 88, entitled Bart’s Inner Child, revolves around Homer discovering an ad for a free trampoline in the newspaper. What could be more fun than a free trampoline? With almost six years of programming under his belt, having your own show on independent radio is about as much fun or more.

A self described music nerd, Makowichuk has been crazy about music since he was seven. A large portion of his brain has been devoted to housing vast amounts of musical knowledge and a couple of days before his show he’ll start thinking about what he wants to play. He may bring in about 10 hours of music for his three-hour show, and then proceed to make it up as he goes along. Not one to be pigeon holed, Makowichuk enjoys having the freedom to throw in some curve balls. Don’t be surprised to hear some old Neil Diamond or even some Bollywood film music, which is in keeping with the ‘do what you feel’ mantra from the aforementioned Simpsons episode. Interestingly, the episode also features a cameo of singer James Brown.

Although his retention of music is vast, Makowichuk is also creative with words and has had an essay published in the Globe and Mail. Having abandoned a career in IT support, Makowichuk is currently trying his hand at freelance writing. If his first essay is any indication, expect to see more of Makowichuk’s word in print. Until then, tune in to 101.7fm every Wednesday from 4:00-7:00pm where you’ll never know what you might hear on the show, but it definitely won’t suck.

Alison Roberts is also a music nerd who looks to CHLY to guide her musical education. She recently learned what a ‘mash up’ is and enjoys the quirky nature of independent radio.

I feel the mood and emotions of other people, even if these emotions are not apparent on the outside. I can hear and feel the rumbles below the surface. I sense it all and take it on as my own. I experience my own emotions deeply and intensely, from love, excitement, anger, and sadness, sometimes with the difficulty of managing these as they are intense. I stuff my emotions down inside myself, only to have them erupt like a volcano in a great release, often towards the ones who know me best and the ones I love the most. I seem well put together and in control in front of the rest, contained in these moments like a prisoner behind bars. I am a Sensitive Soul.

I have a rich and complex inner world, and often times struggle with the outside world in which I live. Information overload with sounds, sights and smells overwhelm me, bombard me. My receptors are often on high alert, particularly in unpredictable situations. Sometimes when over stimulated, often in large groups or new environments, I shut down on all levels—emotionally, mentally, and physically. I become quiet, withdrawn, and feel very little except unease and constriction. This is as close to being numb as I can get and I cannot stand the feeling. It is like my system crashes. I give off a vibe during these times that make others uncomfortable. When this happens I have learned that I need to be alone. I need time to recharge my batteries. I need to be by myself in my own quiet, familiar, comfortable environment. Away from people, away from noise, away from everything until everything balances again. I have learned to understand, respect and listen to these needs.

I am deeply empathetic and compassionate. I relate to and feel the pain of others as if it were my own, yet I have a hard time showing my own pain to others. The injustices in the world, towards people and animals, affect me deeply. I feel the pain and sadness inflicted on others and it enrages me. I ask myself again and again how a human being could intentionally hurt or abuse the most innocent and helpless—especially children and animals. It is incomprehensible to me. If there was anything that could bring out the devil from inside of me it would be witnessing this first-hand.

I am intuitive and have strong gut feelings which I listen to at times, but all too often ignore—especially if it conflicts with something I want… or think I want. I have learned that my first gut instinct is always right. Always. Even if my mind tries to convince me otherwise and lead me in the opposite direction, I eventually come back to that first internal knowing. My internal voice is never wrong.

Anxiety is a constant struggle and challenge for me. I have learned it lingers and takes over when resisted and feared, yet passes when felt and accepted for what it is—a symptom, a message, an energy, a state. It is difficult to endure but it is temporary if it is felt, accepted and faced. I know now that anxiety is my internal guidance system communicating to me. Anxiety is a response and a sign that something is out of balance which is all too common for Sensitive Souls—falling out of balance due to the physical, mental, and emotional demands we place on ourselves. It should not be feared, but it should be listened to. All too often we try to numb the very messages that are desperately trying to get our attention and guide us in the right direction.

I appreciate and admire those who are not afraid to put themselves out there, sharing their inner thoughts, feelings and secrets, especially when blunt, straight to the point, raw and uncensored. This gives me the courage to do the same – to let go, to laugh, have fun, be vulnerable, and be bold. This is the best feeling ever… letting go.

I have little tolerance for disloyalty and I am often unforgiving of people who break my trust, even if only on the smallest level. I hold tight to grudges and resentment, even if not deliberate. I wish I did not, but I do because I have difficulty letting go of pain and disappointment. It seems easier to put up a wall and cast someone out than it is to forgive. I am wise enough to know this is the wrong approach, as it is the same as feeding poison to the soul. This is one of my greatest challenges in life—learning to detach myself from pain, disappointment and unrealistic expectations while learning to forgive others and myself. Learning to accept joy, learning to accept happiness, while understanding it is only myself who can give me these things. This pressure, this need to be filled, cannot be placed on others. Oh how I have tried to put this on others again, and again, and again. It always fails.

I feel challenged when I sense people are judging me. Perhaps it is because I believe they can see through me into the fears and insecurities of my inner self. Or perhaps I fear that the judgments I think are coming from others, are really coming from my own self. Until I know and appreciate myself, I am often at risk of trying to change myself to suit others. Or more so, lessen the possibility of rejection by others and therefore the arousal that comes with this anticipation. In either case, this is a protection mechanism, a defense, an attempt to control, to conceal an open wound. I am a Sensitive Soul.

I am very spiritual and self-aware. I believe in a connection to a higher source and a higher purpose. By nature I am a healer and a teacher with many unrealized gifts and talents. I know one day I will use what I have learned about life and myself to help others. One day I will be truly thankful for the ups and downs, the pain and the heartache, the struggle and the battles within. The pieces of the puzzle will finally come together and there will be peace and contentment in my heart.

I am deeply challenged to appreciate myself and my complex nature, accept myself and my emotions (all of them – the good, the bad, and the ugly), and manage my moods appropriately. It is a constant struggle for me to trust myself in order to be myself. Being so sensitive throughout life, and taking everything in so deeply, particularly the emotions of others, I have constructed within myself the belief that I am somehow “bad” and not worthy of love. This does not come from my conscious mind, but rather my subconscious where this belief creeps up from below the surface like a relentless weed. This is the open wound I need to love and heal as it is the result of my own false identity which was created in a bed of fear.

Still I am the most alive, vibrant, and beautiful as myself—imperfect, flawed, spontaneous, unpredictable, and real. When I am in the moment, not thinking, not judging, not fearing, not anticipating… just being, just doing—I am whole and I am happy. I have come to see that my greatest challenge has in fact been my greatest gift.

I am a kind-hearted, compassionate, deeply rich, highly observant, creative, powerful, intelligent, beautiful sensitive soul. Although bruised and battered by my own doing, through guilt, fear, non-acceptance, and judgment of my own self, I have a lovely, bright, glowing heart and soul. A heart and soul which radiates light from every pore in my body. A light from within. A light that cannot be dimmed.

I am a Sensitive Soul and that is a good thing.

Shawna Lisa McMurran is a freelance writer with a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology from Simon Fraser University. She is originally from Vancouver Island and currently resides in Calgary, Alberta.

Oh wise woman, la que sabe, keeper of the knowledge

Share the visions of your world held in your heart and mind

Tell the stories, sing the songs, of wisdom, soul and psyche

Shake out the weeds, let down your hair, run wild like the wolves

Oh wise woman, la que sabe, keeper of all truth

Help us grow and heal our world, our planet, mother, earth

Bring us back to wild beauty of mountains and raging wind

Oh wise woman, share your core of wildness within

by Christine Goyer-Swift.

Now, I didn’t know George all that well. He was a neighbour to where I rent a basement suite. I’d talked to him a bunch of times, mostly during the summer when he would sit out back on his deck and enjoy an evening drink.

He was a nice guy to me. One time, I was doing some yard work for my landlady while my fiancée suntanned (now that I write that, the scenario feels backwards). I had the tunes on and during a break I spied George on his deck.

“Hey George,” I called out, “don’t be afraid to tell me to turn down the music if it’s too loud.”

“Actually,” he said, as Eminem blared from the speakers, “I was going to compliment you on your choice of music. I like it.”

For a retired guy to dig Eminem, that’s pretty cool.

Anyway, almost a month ago I came home from work, and when I got out of my car I noticed a police officer and Heather, a lady who works for my landlord, walking over to me.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Nobody’s seen George in three days,” she looked concerned. George had just recently returned from a stay in the hospital.

“Maybe he returned to the hospital,” I ventured.

“They’ve already checked, and he hasn’t.”

Hmmm, not good. Heather and I waited and watched for a bit as the police officer followed what I’m guessing is protocol in entering someone’s house. This went on for awhile, and I had to get ready for an evening appointment.

“Keep me posted,” I told Heather.

After showering and eating, I went out to hop into my car when I noticed this ominous looking black van in George’s driveway.

“Shit,” I muttered, and noticed the front door open. The coroner and his partner wheeled George, encased in a grey bag, to the van.

This was the last time I saw George.

Now, I’ve dealt with the deaths of loved ones and not-so-loved ones—no more or less than the average guy. I’ve had the same family, friends, casual acquaintances all move to the next level that you probably have, my fellow zombie. We all know how it feels.

George’s passing, though, felt a little different. Not because of any personal attachment, it just didn’t feel similar to other deaths that I’ve experienced.

At first, I felt sad that George lay dead for three days before being discovered. Being blessed with a close family and friends, as well as being fortunate enough to be adopted into my fiancées family, it’s hard for me to relate to someone not checking on George sooner, especially since he’d just gotten out of the hospital.

That feeling passed, though, and just like with other deaths of people I wasn’t close to, I felt sorrow for the loss of a human life, but that was about it.

All except for one nagging feeling I couldn’t shake. What was it?

See, I’ve always believed that emotions or experiences should never be fled. No matter how sad or joyful, I try to welcome every single one of my emotions or experiences as they are my teachers.

So, come on in and take a load off, confusion. Grab a beer and a chair, sorrow. How YOU doin’, fear? What lesson are you giving me today?

It finally dawned on me today. I did the usual bit of self-reflecting that one does when someone you know passes on. I took stock of myself, realizing that all my petty worries didn’t matter as long as I was on the right side of the ground. I spent more time with my loved ones. I appreciated life a little bit more.

But day by day I reverted back to normal. I started getting upset at the driver who cut me off in traffic. I began to stress about money and bills again. I let the little things eat at me once more.

And that’s what was nagging at me. Maybe, when someone passes on, we’re not just supposed to self-reflect while the sadness is fresh, but I think we’re supposed to self-reflect every single day.

Air in the lungs? Check.

Roof over the head? Check

Food in the cupboard? Check.

Then today is going to be a good day, no matter what transpires.

I think between three of my grandparents, my cousin, and other friends and acquaintances passing, I already knew that deep down, but just never put it into action.

George was the one that pushed it to the surface. For that, I will be forever grateful.

Humanity Man lives on this beautiful yet crazy planet we call Earth. He likes peace, joy, and George. He dislikes war, hate, and lying politicians. Any comments, criticisms, ideas, etc. can be relayed to him through this magazine.

Xorin Balbes is an award-winning architecture conservator, designer, and co-owner of the interior and architectural firm SoulSpace Home. He created the eight-stage SoulSpace process to help clients create homes that reflect and celebrate their inhabitants. The writing is down-to-earth and his examples range from his own homes in Los Angeles and Maui to much more modest dwellings owned or rented by clients.

Part I, Knowing the Past, consists of three stages. Stage One, ASSESS, is an examination of the home you have. A series of questions helps you assess the objects and furnishings in a room as well as your emotional connection to the contents of your home environment.

Stage Two, RELEASE, teaches how to let go of “literal and figurative baggage.” As the author says: “We close our eyes to possibilities, drowning out the whispers of hope in favor of hanging on to what is old and familiar.”

Clearing the pathways helps to make room for the future. Some guidelines help make decisions and this stage emphasizes displaying what you love.

Xorin suggests writing a “post-assessment love letter” to an item that you absolutely love, telling it “how you feel, why you appreciate it, and why you couldn’t live without it.” In an interview he said: “Everyone should have at least one object that holds their deepest dream and vision for themselves and who they want to be.”

Stage Three, CLEANSE, is a way to connect to your gratefulness through cleaning and caring.

Part II, Manifesting the Future, has three parts. This is where the fun begins. Stage Four, DREAM, is to imagine the ways in which your space can support your dreams. Making a list of your passions along with creating a “dream board” full of images that inspire you are among the suggestions here.

Stage Five, DISCOVER, is about finding the things that inspire you to live a more soulful life.

Stage Six, CREATE, allows your dreams to become a reality with creative solutions to deal with any problems you have with your current space.

Part III is Living the Present with Stage Seven ELEVATE and Eight CELEBRATE. To elevate is to nourish all the senses, and have the four elements of fire, earth, water and air in balance. Celebrate is a time to celebrate yourself and your community.

It makes such good sense to create a spiritual centre that supports your passion and helps you to honour yourself and others. As Xorin Balbes advises:  “The more peace we feel at home the more peace we can offer to the world.”

Mary Ann Moore is a poet, writer and creator of Writing Home: A Whole Life Practice.

Older now, my daughter no longer employs the term in this fashion. It has, in fact, been several years since I last heard her speak this way. In the privacy of my own thoughts, though, I often remember her usage as both striking and apt.

My dictionary defines ‘beauty’ as “the pleasing or attractive qualities of something.” ‘Talent’, on the other hand, is defined as a “natural aptitude or skill.” Of these two, the former feels to more accurately capture the experience under consideration. ‘Talent’, as described here, seems clinical, distant. ‘Beauty’, on the other hand, is close enough to touch — and another’s gift, when revealed, does have a pleasing, attractive character.

Think of the last time you witnessed someone unique in their ability to run or sing, work with children or hammer nails. The experience is, more often than not, gripping. It draws us in, compels us to keep watching. We are attracted and it is pleasing, beautiful.

Having worked with others most of my life, I have come to the conclusion that all of us have such beauty within. Each of us has gifts woven into the fabric of who we are. Through decades of teaching meditation — and before this, coaching competitive swimming — I have seen people again and again give expression to something attractive and pleasing to those around them.

I recently completed a month-long meditation retreat. Taxed by the demands of this experience, people were exhausted, wrung out, worn down. There were a lot of tears and other outbursts. “I no longer know myself,” one young man confessed during an evening meeting. The way he shared his dismay was so naked; it was difficult not to be moved. “I was awed by your honesty,” someone commented. “I felt like a mess,” he countered.

This is one of the curious things about beauty. It rarely arises on demand, rarely aligns with our ideas and expectations about ourselves. It often seems beauty cannot be contained or defined by what we think, want, or hope for. Concepts tend to limit in a black and white way; beauty requires the freedom and possibility of a multi-colored palette. Our sense of self, our ideas of who we are, then, must be loosened if our gifts are to find expression. And this is one of the marks of spiritual practice: it undoes ‘me’ enough that beauty can begin to shine through.

So how do we find our beauty? The answer to this question sounds so simple, though the reality is extremely challenging. Rather than looking for it, we find our beauty by doing the work. Whatever this means to us — meditation, yoga, prayer, art, dance, parenting — we do the work and allow ourselves to be undone by the process. And as we unravel toward a place of complete uncertainty (“I no longer know myself,” that fellow offered), we pay attention. Within this uncertainty something will arise. It will not be anything we expect and it will not come on demand, but it will arise. And it will be so beautiful we will not be able to take our eyes off it.

Neil McKinlay is an author, meditation teacher, personal coach, and intuitive healer in Victoria, BC. Trained in the tradition of Chogyam Trungpa, he encourages others to make the most of the path that is their life.

Hub City Cycles Community Co-op is a non-profit organization that strives to be a resource that nourishes the neighbourhoods in and around downtown Nanaimo by providing affordable bicycle-centric services and advocacy that build, empower and support healthy and sustainable communities, providing a safe and welcoming space for people to come to learn, share skills and network with other community members.

The three founding members, Justin Francis, Jawn Lafratta and Keegan Metheringham wanted to find a different way of doing business — one focused on human need, not human greed; where users and members of the community (who own and govern the business) collectively enjoy the benefits.

The trio are all residents of Nanaimo and avid cyclists. They felt they could offer a more convenient location with the quality of services and products which best served the unique personality of the downtown area and south end community. Aside from all the stuff you can expect from a regular bike shop, this will be a place to find used parts and bikes, where members can learn how to fix their own bikes through a variety of programs, and also use the shop space and tools at their leisure. Also of note is the mobile bike mechanic that can come right to your door to fix your bike, and hopefully in the future there will be food delivery by bike too!

The shop will be located downtown in the China Steps area at 12 Lois Lane, beside CHLY radio station, and behind the Thirsty Camel and Mambo’s Pizza.

It’s not necessary to be a member to enjoy some of the services but there are benefits. Becoming a shareholder in the organization is easy. Visit the shop, fill out an application, and for as little as $5 (the cost of one share) you can become a member. A member of the co-op is entitled to use the tools and shop space provided and attend free workshops. All members have a say in how the business is run, can attend meetings of the association where they can vote for board of directors and vote on other important issues. Regardless of how many shares each member has, they only get one vote. Here, every member’s voice is equally recognized regardless of investment.

Having an active and aware community is imperative to the functioning of a well-rounded and functioning co-op. In order to serve this community best, the shop requires bike donations. In the interest of using the resources we have already produced and keeping material out of the waste stream, we will gladly accept unneeded and unwanted adult bikes and parts you would like to get rid of if they are in usable condition. Rest assured, your donation will find its way into the possession of someone who will truly appreciate and enjoy it.

You can also find Hub City Cycles Community Co-op on the internet at www.hubcitycycles.ca.

However, many are seeing that growing food is a global imperative, and that more people need to be doing it. Although wealthy countries have enjoyed cheap and plentiful food for decades, there are several critical factors that are likely to change that unsustainable reality. Fresh water sources are becoming more scarce, whether from industrial run-off that pollutes local water, or from long-dependable aquifers drying up. Weather patterns are unstable, with unpredictable weather becoming global in scope, causing havoc for farmers. And modern agriculture, which has often been described as using soil to turn non-renewable petroleum resources into food, is a system profoundly vulnerable to fuel shortages.

Simultaneously, there is an alarming threat to agriculture from the use of large areas of land for growing biofuels. People are starving so that others may drive.

Author Richard Heinberg, in his book Peak Everything, has written a sobering paragraph:

“There was a time when famine was an expected, even accepted, part of life. Until the 19th century — whether in China, France, India or Britain — food came almost exclusively from local sources and harvests were variable. In good years, there was plenty — enough for seasonal feasts and for storage in anticipation of winter and hard times to come. In bad years, starvation cut down the poorest and the weakest — the very young, the old and the sickly. Sometimes bad years followed one upon another, reducing the size of the population by several percent. This was the normal condition of life in pre-industrialized societies, and it persisted for thousands of years.”

Ultimately, everything is pointing to more of us getting our hands in the dirt. Simply put, we need more farmers. In the days before petroleum-dependent, industrial agriculture, more people farmed. After the so-called Green Revolution (ironically a system of food production using toxic chemicals, the opposite of what ‘green’ refers to today), far less human work was required to produce food. Consequently today, at least in North America, so few people farm and amongst those who do, the average age is over 55! When these older farmers can no longer do the demanding physical work, who will replace them? Plus, we desperately need them to pass on their vital knowledge on how to farm! All this points to the urgent need for a revitalization of farming values and communities.

As food prices rise, as farm inputs decrease, as farm land is depleted of its nutrients from years of chemical farming, more of us will take agriculture, and backyard gardening, more seriously. And this is already happening. However, not everyone owns land where they can grow some food. And relying on food banks and lovely neighbours to help feed us does not create more food.

But community gardens do. “Guerilla gardening” is now an international phenomenon. It’s about liberating any land (perhaps a vacant lot, or land owned by the community) that gets some sun and has water sources nearby, and using it to grow food. Besides providing food, these gardens create additional social benefits such as pride and satisfaction to the local gardeners. A group called Reclaim the Fields does direct actions to fight for land for growing food, something they see as an appropriate political alternative to capitalism. They agree with the declaration by La Via Campesina, the international agrarian peasant movement, that the primary use of arable land must be for growing food.

Author Peter Ladner, in his new book, The Urban Food Revolution, says that people are now being confronted with a gnawing perspective, one in which we see “the most primal element of personal survival put into the hands of underpaid foreign workers, a few large corporations, and distant mega-farms and processors dependent on diminishing supplies of cheap oil and water.”

What will it take to endanger this disturbingly insane food system? Perhaps a long-time dependable aquifer will dry up. Freak storms or natural disasters will destroy entire crops. Or fuel prices suddenly increase. Industrial agriculture is precarious business.

As writer and farmer Wendell Berry has said, “eating is an agricultural act.” Agriculture is now rightfully everyone’s business; and we know: local and sustainable food production is the way to proceed.

So let’s use our local, arable land for growing food. This means landowners teaming up with growers. We may know generous elders who would be happy to share their good fortune, meaning the perfect agricultural land they purchased many years ago for very little. Such a sharing of resources, in this case, land and labour, can be seen as an essential, modern, social experiment… a more evolved, non-hierarchical re-invention of the feudal system.

Connecting an aspiring horticulturalist with some land is something any of us can participate in doing. A useful practice is to keep our eyes and ears open for both growers and for good land.

It’s important to point out that a farmer or gardener does not need many acres and expensive machinery. Some of our favourite local farmers work on less than 3 acres. One family living in an urban area coaxed 6,000 pounds of produce from just a quarter of an acre!

On a social level, such a practical strategy is a beautiful sharing of resources from both parties — land and water, with labour. Each party will gain a fuller appreciation for the work and resources needed to feed people. An elder opening up his property toward the end of his life may take vicarious pleasure in the eagerness and joy of the young farmer. A young farmer and his partner or even family would be grateful for their good fortune to have connected with generous people so they can be employed doing what is needed. And for being willing to release control over their accustomed privacy for a greater cause, the landowner may experience a profound sense of what it means to give, and thus derive great satisfaction in seeing idle land be transformed into sustenance. Such compassion is revolutionary, and very fitting for the times we live in.

Besides networking aspiring horticulturalists with landowners willing to share their land, there are other ways of being proactive in encouraging more people to become farmers. Let’s plant this idea in young children by encouraging teachers to create gardens at school, because kids love to watch things grow. If we know physically energetic teenage youth, they may find satisfaction in putting their energies to purposeful use by taking part in sustainable farming. As for those already feeding us, a practical appreciation of our farmers’ gift of commitment to feeding people is to pay more for responsibly grown food.

As we participate in the evolution of human consciousness, a potent gesture anyone can make is to thank those who feed us. And while we’re at it, let’s send out a blessing of hope to future generations of farmers.

Tsiporah Grignon is a Gabriolan of 38 years, and considers herself “an old foodie”. She is a keen observer of our times, through looking at geo-politics, and through her study of Evolutionary Astrology, which offers in-depth insights into our potential as compassionate human beings.

- The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood

This passage from The Blind Assassin touched within me a tender spot. I didn’t want to admit that past acts of betrayal, however subtle or minor, had indeed been practiced or self-rehearsed. They seemed momentary decisions, like the courageous ones, which surprised even me as I found myself committing them. I sat with Atwood’s words, first digesting and deconstructing the easier concept — that of spontaneous acts of courage.

I have often critiqued my ability to act fast when witnessing an accident or even a minor mishap with another: I wasn’t the first to grab the parcels dropped on the ground or the first to ask a stranger if they needed help when in distress. In reflection I saw this as a reluctance to put myself forward and, in effect, be seen or judged by others — even the person in need of help.

To be seen was not safe — it risked exposure, ridicule and humiliation. Safety involved being behind the scenes, going slow; avoiding visibility. The consequence to this supposed safety, however, was that my humanity suffered: I was no longer involved in life in a way that gave internal satisfaction or a feeling of being connected.

To remedy this I started practicing, rehearsing in my mind things I would do in case of mishap. I watched as elders got on the bus and imagined how I would help if they fell or dropped something. I observed others and, creating sometimes absurd mini crises, planned how I would assist them in their need. It worked. Through this rather active imagination I am now quicker to move when adverse things happen. Not that I put myself in danger, but I am less concerned with what I look like and more with how I can show another, whoever they are, that they are important enough for a stranger to offer support.

This example is by no means the equivalent of saving children from burning houses but for those, like myself, who have not felt the safety to risk being seen it is a subtle form of courage.

But what about betrayal? I thought about the times I betrayed another and, once again, I do not talk of betrayal on a grand scale. I speak of the little betrayals from thoughtless gossip, minimizing a friend’s hurts or assuming the worst about someone. Had I somehow rehearsed these actions?

The answer is, unfortunately, yes. Not that I planned how I would hurt somebody or used an active imagination to formulate revengeful acts; but, in an indirect manner, have contributed to this way of being by falling into moments of self pity or negative thinking. Melodramatic statements such as “nobody likes me,” “I’m not important” or “nobody cares” is, in a way, rehearsal for acts of betrayal. It is easier, for example, to withhold support for a friend when you feel nobody cares; it is easier to gossip when you feel yourself unimportant. Self depreciating thoughts compulsively swirl inward and stop us from connecting to others and from manifesting our interdependence.

Blind but sure-footed, we step forward as if into a remembered dance. The remembered dance is the steps we take every moment of the day. Are these steps ones of courage? Or are they ones of betrayal that ultimately lead us to hurt ourselves and others?

Jo-Ann Svensson teaches “Creative Codependence” and is a Certified ARC Health Practitioner.

In my line of work, I’ve met a lot of wise spiritual souls. I’ve had long talks with more than a thousand, I’d bet. But I’ve yet to meet anyone who is truly free in every domain of their life. Some come across as peaceful but are covertly withdrawn and afraid. Some come across as sociable but secretly avoid being alone. As Jung put this:

I cannot possibly tell you what a man who has enjoyed complete self-realization looks like, and what becomes of him. I never have seen one.*

I suspect we can come pretty close to freedom in several life-domains. But we can always become freer in some areas, if we keep at it, though the process is more humbling than we like to acknowledge and calls for mastering wider skill sets than we expect. Effortlessness in each domain represents its own kind of mastery, and we do not become multi-capacity wizards through any one set of skills.

Yet in one arena, the shift in our relationship to objects, there really are a few singular leaps.  Consciousness really does shift in structure. It may mature slowly, like an electron increasing in energy, but at some point there comes a leap, sudden and whole. I cannot imagine you can miss it.  You really do become a different kind of being. And it is not insignificant. A shift in consciousness really does change things in quiet and long term ways. Indeed this may be the core change.

But again, and this I know from countless interviews and from my own life experience, it does not change everything. You can shift your consciousness and still be anxious or foolish or silly or sad. An existential shift is not a personality transplant. By itself it just is not enough.

What is enough is a lifetime of multi-hued transformation. Learning to live a soul that is free — deep and wide, horizontal and vertical — takes determination and a whole toolbox. Finding these tools is part of our life’s work.

What makes a life spiritual is freedom’s range in it. The truly spiritual can flow any-emotional-where without any hesitation whatsoever. The real spiritual freedom I think we’re really after these days can go deep and serious and funny and raucous and thoughtful and can plan with a spreadsheet, each when the time is right. It can play alone, with another or in a group, each without holding back.

Real spiritual freedom lives unhindered, wide open in the juicy paradox that is being a poly-modal human being. We are beckoned by nearly endless possibility.

Lord, let me dance with abandon to that old rock and roll music and sit comfortably on the meditation cushion and weep with mourning and brainstorm unabashedly with my buddies and enjoy the gentle curve of a woman’s back, each at the right moment.

Don’t get me wrong. True human freedom, I’m coming to see, is not some return to a teenage dance-till-you-drop hedonism. Most of us have known how to dance since we were kids and learned to screw long ago, though perhaps not as lovingly as we might. What is new here is the depth. Most of us cannot fathom the spacious emptiness to which the monastic Zen Roshi or the wizened Christian Friar has dedicated their lives. Most of us, frankly, cannot connect with our own depths very well and can connect even less with the depths of another. Most of us run away from the secrets hidden in silence and hide from the divine spark.

The truly spiritual person can access the deepest silence, the most critical intellect, the most painful psychic memory and the sexiest kiss, each equally and each without hesitation.

What I think we should be after, what I’m after, is freedom, deep and wide. Or as Søren Kierkegaard puts it, “The true good is freedom.”  I call it “Enlightenment Plus.”

To the extent that we sense it, silence may be a strange attractor in all this.  It is so very unassuming, yet so very insistent. You fight it and you disbelieve it and you struggle to disprove it. But once present, it simply remains.

“You are trying too hard,” it hints. “You do not walk with me here.”

You ignore it, you long to become famous or rich or beloved, and still it remains, beneath your feet, unbowed. You work and you scheme and you fantasize and you hope. And all it does is whisper: “Be. Flow. Simple.”

If you’re lucky, you learn haltingly to stand up fairly straight in it, silence in your spine, and play.

And then it calls you again.

*C.J. Jung, Letters, Letter to A. Tjoa and R.H.C. Janssen, quoted by Thomas Moore, The Education of the Heart (NY: Harper Perennial, 1997) p. 25. What makes the human distinctive is our range.

This article is excerpted from Enlightenment Ain’t What it Is Cracked Up To Be: A Journey of Discovery, Snow and Jazz in the Soul by Robert K.C. Forman.