Tara Lemieux is a mindful wanderer, and faithful stargazer. She is an ardent explorer and lover of finding things previously undiscovered or at the very least mostly not-uncovered. But mostly, and most of all - she's a rambling writer, always in search of a faithful ear.
Breathe and you know you are alive. Breathe and you know that all is helping you. Breathe and you know that you are the world. Breathe and you know that the flower is breathing too. Breathe for yourself and you breathe for the world. Breathe in compassion and breathe out joy.
Breathe and be one with the air that you breathe. Breathe and be one with the river that flows. Breathe and be one with the earth that you tread. Breathe and be one with the fire that glows. Breathe and you break the thought of birth and death. Breathe and you see that impermanence is life.
Breathe for your joy to be steady and calm. Breathe for your sorrow to flow away. Breathe to renew every cell in your blood. Breathe to renew the depths of consciousness. Breathe and you dwell in the here and now. Breathe and all you touch is new and real."
“To laugh often and love much; to win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children; to earn the approbation of honest citizens and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to give of one’s self; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived—this is to have succeeded.”
"People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away,
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me,
When I tell that I'm doing Fine watching shadows on the wall,
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball?" ~ John Lennon
Oh, and isn't that a brilliant testimony to life these days?
I often think of this song during these moments of simply being. I think of John Lennon as he stepped outside the limits of the life he knew so well, and on into a life not yet discovered.
And, he did it simply to enjoy those moments. You know which ones I mean, right? Those moments when life pauses gently, and just long enough for us to breathe in.
It's those moments when our children screech with delight as they race through a cloud of bubbles.
It's those moments when we watch a hummingbird come to visit outside our window.
It's those moments when all of the notes of this life come together in a most beautiful symphony.
And, it's those moments that make this life worth living.
I think John got it right when he left it all behind, to embrace those moments he most wanted to know.
Namaste, my most beautiful friends...and for today, may we all have a chance to watch those 'wheels go round and round...' and may those wheels, fill us every corner of our spirit.
I'm really proud of myself this beautiful morning, as I have accomplished something that I have never done...not once before.
I don't often get to use those words these days, to say "I am proud of myself" is a hard thing to do.
I suppose I've slipped into this habit ~ of allowing my limitations to define my role in this world. In everything I do, as I walk...as I live...as I breathe...I have been always 'mindful' of what I can and can not do.
When we experience the awfully very physically side of this life and of living ~ whether through illness, or simply by way of just growing older...we begin to see ourselves through a different 'view.'
Last night, and as I struggled to keep mind, body, and soul fully 'functional' - and just as those tears were starting to form...a most brilliant peace washed over me in the form of one simple word....
"limitless"
I thought back to my childhood racing through those woods, knees torn and fingers caked with the dirt of that day...and into the setting sun, and well past the mosquito's 'feasting hour' I ran... I ran and ran and ran...until my spirit breathed that final, "yes!"
Because, in those days, my dears... I was limitless.
And so, last night as I fumbled my way through these late evening doings ~ and just as my mind prepared that god-awful, "you mustn't push yourself, dear" speech...I heard that sweet, soulful word...
"limitless"
My dears, our limitlessness is our power....our source...and our whole reason for being....
As travelers...explorers and fearless life adventurers...we must never lose faith in our limitlessness...
And it can't be constrained by our notions of self...because, my dears, limitless just simple is.
Namaste, and all of my love...my most beautiful friends...and please welcome, my old friend, "limitless."
Some things we take for granted ~ like that first cup of decaf that we hold thoughtfully in our hands as we make ready for another, brand new day.
We don't often think about those who'll go without. Coffee is coffee, after all...right?
But it's just these small comforts that bring warmth to our heart and spirit; that one little thing that no matter what, we will be alright.
And now, coffee shops all over the world are offering a 'suspended coffee' - in which, when you buy yourself a cup...you can also buy a cup for someone else.
The purchase goes into an account, and can be claimed by anyone and at anytime they need a little love.
And in doing so, not only does it allow coffee patrons to exercise a little early morning generosity...but, it also builds a much needed sense of community by 'creating a shared experience between those who can afford the luxury of a good cup of Joe and those who cannot."
So, on your way home today ~ why not stop off at your favorite coffee shop, and ask them if they are participating in this program. And if they are, remember...a few extra dollars in your pocket can't help much at all, if you don't bring it out occasionally to share a little love.
But sometimes I do, and
that sight becomes this art.”
―
Rumi
I love this poem. I love the image it projects, that of a love so beautiful that it resonates within our whole being...becoming the artwork of our life, and this universe.
When you think of love in this way, it surrounds you ~ manifesting in all these most wonderful things that fill our days...
Like the soft hues of my hydrangea blooms, or the sound of the rain falling gently against the steel frame of my window pane. Or, in the cool crispness of the breeze that gracefully lifts the hair from my face.
In this way, love is all around us.
But most of all, this love that you feel connects us all.
"I’m here. I love you. I don’t care if you need to stay up crying all
night long, I will stay with you. There’s nothing you can ever do to
lose my love. I will protect you until you die, and after your death I
will still protect you. I am stronger than Depression and I am braver
than Loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me." ~
Elizabeth Gilbert
I love this short film which was developed by the doctors and caregivers at The Cleveland Clinic. It's intention is to guide us to look past the many faces we see in each day, and see...really see...the human.
"Our
lives intersect with others all day, everyday. Sometimes we know these
other lives well; frequently, though, the points of connection are brief
and transient. Who are these people? How might they tell their own
stories? What thoughts preoccupy their minds? What joys and troubles
are coursing through their feelings?
This short film, produced by the Cleveland Clinic, reminds us that
empathy is our tool for beginning to know these things. It asks the
question: If we could catch a glimpse of others' stories, would we treat
them differently"
This film, in so many ways, resonated with me. It moved me, as I stopped to consider the many times I have felt lost in my own story ~ sitting in waiting rooms and watching those faces passing by...
We all have a story to share. And our stories are very much what define us.
My hope for this day is that we may all pause just long enough to
consider life outside the confines of our own racing brains—so that we
may, in some small way, embrace the stories of others.
CEO
Toby Cosgrove, MD, shared this video, titled "Empathy," with the
Cleveland Clinic staff during his 2012 State of the Clinic address on
Feb. 27, 2013.
There was a time not so long ago, that I had sworn off love for the remainder of this life on earth.
I had been hurt by love, in a way that felt was so forever, never-ending.
"I only love you 60 percent today," he would snarl with a twisted smile on his face.
Those are the words that are often never ending - inflicting the deepest wounds on that unprotected part of our spirit.
And we are never once again, the same.
But still, our spirit remains...and it aches for that which is most needs.
Love wasn't easy for me, in those days...I had to 'work for it.' And each day, I walked away in the shadow of 'never feeling quite good enough' and cowering in the corner of 'my being alone.'
And then, one day I realized....true love never judges...because, true love is what sets our spirits free.
Namaste, my most beautiful friends ~ and here's to love's freedom this day.
“She thought herself awake when she was already asleep. She saw the stars
above her face, whirling on their silent and sleepless axis, and the
leaves of the trees rustling against them, and she heard small changes in
the grass. These little noises of footsteps and soft-fringed
wing-beats and stealthy bellies drawn over the grass blades or rattling
against the bracken at first frightened or interested her, so that she
moved to see what they were (but never saw), then soothed her, so that
she no longer cared to see what they were but trusted them to be
themselves, and finally left her altogether as she swam down deeper and
deeper, nuzzling into the scented turf, into the warm ground, into the
unending waters under the earth.”
―
T.H. White
I took the liberty of making a small change to this beautiful quote, and in order to bring it up closer to this present day.
Where I sit and ponder-wander myself in these fields, feeling those grass blades rattlings against my shoulder blades.
We gals so very much love to notice those much smaller things—like nuzzling deeper into the soft scented earth.
And as I looked out, I could see her standing there...sniffling, and all kinds of 'little girl' shaken.
"What's wrong, my little one?" as I knelt closer to hear.
And as she sniffled her way through each gaspy breath, she replied, "That boy...called...me ugly."
Oh, that last word just made me cringe ~ as 'ugly', is one of my least favorite words of all.
You know, I have always explained to the little girls in my neighborhood ~ that flowers bring out a girl's 'inside, most innermost' beauty.
So, I took this little one by the hand and led her out to the best part of my garden.
"Do you remember what I once told you," I leaned in and asked, grabbing the most beautiful bloom from my Hydrangea bush.
"Flowers make you beautiful," she knodded and softly answered.
"Yes, that's right...flowers make you beautiful—and, all the way from your insides and down to your toes. There's not even a hint of ugly anywhere inside of you."
And, oh how she smiled—looking into these blooms. I could tell just from the glint in her eyes—that her faith had been restored.
She raced off with bouquet in hands, finding her way back to that little boy—where she pulled her shoulders back proudly, and smiled...
"Flowers...make...you...BEAUTIFUL..." she screeched, thrashing him about the head with her bouquet of hand picked blooms.
Yep, I don't suspect ugly will be coming around here again, soon.
Namaste, my most beautiful friends...and remember, 'flowers...make...you...BEAUTIFUL!"
“We may place blame, give reasons, and even have excuses; but in the end, it is an act of cowardice to not follow your dreams.” ~
Steve Maraboli
My dears, today is a most special day - and one I wish most to share with all of you.
For you see, today is the day I shall be moving past these crossroads right here, and onward through adventure's greatest door.
Today, is the day I stand with toes at cliff's edge ~ knowing full well, that these wings shall be fashioned on the way down.
And I feel a 'down to my toes' kind of alive.
Oh, darling, I have such big dreams this day - dreams of the me I most wish to become.
I hope that you will take my hand and join me on my journey ~ as I would so wish to include the brilliance of your loving light.
Each one of you has inspired me.
Each one of you has helped me to believe.
Each one of you has given me just a little life's 'nudge.'
And, I am so ever-grateful for this most amazing gift of your love.
And this life's leap that I take, it's all because of you.
Much love, and namaste ~ and here is my most amazing announcement.
Be You Media Group Launch on July 4th: Declaring our Independence.
As you all may well know, one of my greatest passions in this life is my writing. As a writer, this spark of creativity courses through every cell of my being. It is an unstoppable force that is the greater part of the better part of me.
And, I live each moment of this life to inspire.
And now, I shall be partnering with several of this world's most incredibly creative...talented...crazy beautiful, loving spirits to launch a brand new media group.
This was a decision that came at a point in my life where I was literally standing at the crossroad. And, as I believe very strongly in these messages from the universe...I shall be following fate through to my destiny.
As such, I will no longer be writing for elephant journal - much as I love them, I will need to focus my energies and spirit where it will be most needed.
The blog/online magazine portion of this project is slated to launch on July 4th. If this
resonates with what you are doing, welcome aboard and let me know how I can help, or how you would like to contribute.
If
you read this and you're excited—great, let us know! If you read this and five
other friends that are creating amazing things come to mind, let them
know.
“Give freely to the world these gifts of love and compassion. Do not
concern yourself with how much you receive in return, just know in your
heart it will be returned.”
―
Steve Maraboli
I work with storytellers.
Great men and woman, who through the course of their lives have stitched together the fabric of a many, most wonder-filled and fanciful tales.
And, each day that I have the blessing to share in their wisdom, I find myself much like a small child - leaning forward with great anticipation of the story they are about to tell.
And always, I am most eager to share with you here.
Today, the story was of a Lithuanian Rabbi - and his vision of both heaven and hell.
In his first vision, the Rabbi traveled to the depths of hell. And, upon his arrival, saw a great table set before him ~ overflowing with an abundance of food and of wine. But around the table sat men, gaunt from their 'wanting' and emaciating from 'not having enough.'
And when this young Rabbi looked closer still, he could see - that these men were unable to eat, as both arms were splinted with wooden slats so they could not bend either elbow to bring the food to his mouth.
In his second vision, the Rabbi traveled to heaven. And, when he arrived he saw this very same table set before him - overflowing with an abundance of food, and of drink. Only, in this case, the faces of those surrounding him were contented and swathed in a vibrant glow of life and of living.
And, when the young Rabbi looked closer still he was stunned - as in this case, their arms were slatted as well.
But, there was just one simple difference.
As the Rabbi looked down towards the end of the table he witnessed the most miraculous of things - a young man, with arms locked, reaching forward to feed another.
For you see, when it is that we are able to focus on the needs of others - only then, are we ever truly fulfilled.
And, in the end - the difference between heaven and hell is you.
"Patience child, patience. Remember, life is a journey. If you got
everything you wanted all at once there'd be no point to living. Enjoy
the ride, and in the end you'll see these 'setbacks' as giant leaps
forward, only you couldn't see the bigger picture in the moment. Remain
calm, all is within reach; all you have to do is show up every day, stay
true to your path and you will surely find the treasure you seek."
- Jackson Kiddard, author & polymath.
How often do we grumble our way through what feels to be an endless, and most unwelcomingpath? We loathe each step, complaining over the briars and the branches and the 'yet another fine predicament we've found ourselves in again.' We feel the whole weight of this world in our legs, and worry we'll not ever make it through these 'woods' again.
But then, the clearing comes ~ and, the daylight greets us here.
And, we realize - had we only wandered with this day's light in our hearts, it's quite possible we might not ever have complained. But, that's the problem now, isn't it?
We never really know the truest meaning of light, until that moment when it finally makes its way through those trees once again.
"Legends say that hummingbirds float
free of time, carrying our hopes for love, joy and celebration.
Hummingbirds open our eyes to the wonder of the world and inspire us to
open our hearts to loved ones and friends. Like a hummingbird, we aspire
to hover and to savor each moment as it passes, embrace all that life
has to offer and to celebrate the joy of everyday. The hummingbird’s
delicate grace reminds us that life is rich, beauty is everywhere, every
personal connection has meaning and that laughter is life’s sweetest
creation.” ~ Papyrus
A hummingbird came to see me today, and for the purposes of sharing it's
love this evening ~ and maybe perhaps a little sweet tea.
I could hear the familiar buzz of it's approach, as the air softened just long enough for this tiny creature to pass.
When I was a little girl, my teacher told me that a hummingbird blesses a home with every 'flap' of its wings...
And, did you know if you extend your hand without expectation ~ the hummingbird will always come closer to say his "hello."
Oh, and I am so very grateful for this most beautiful night...and more so for the gift of a hummingbird's love.
“Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of
all. When there's a big disappointment, we don't know if that's the end
of the story. It may just be the beginning of a great adventure. Life is
like that. We don't know anything. We call something bad; we call it
good. But really we just don't know.”
―
Pema Chödrön
Oh, how we are all so very guilty of this, after all. For, in our few first moments of a new experience just 'waking up,' our human brains struggle to find a place for it to belong.
And in our struggle, we rush quickly to label - we call it anger, disappointment, sadness...or failure.
We label first before we ever really even understand.
And, it's only in these many years forward and looking back, that it all becomes clear once again.
Had we only paused just long enough to breathe, we might have realized that every new beginning 'comes from some other beginning's end.'
And that's the magic of this life, right here, now isn't it? That each day, each moment - is a brand new beginning...and life, is a most brilliant adventure, when it is that we allow it the space to just simply be.
Namaste, my most beautiful friends...and here's to the magic of not ever knowing.
"Son, if the mountain were smooth, you couldn't climb it." ~ Wintley Phipps
By far, one of the most powerful renditions of John Newton's classic, "Amazing Grace"—a gift to all of us, and as delivered by the soulful brilliance of gospel singer, Wintley Phipps.
"A lot of people don't realize that just about all Negro spirituals are written on the black notes of the piano. Probably the most famous on this slave scale was written by John Newton, who used to be the captain of a slave ship, and many believe he heard this melody that sounds very much like a West African sorrow chant. And it has a haunting, haunting plaintive quality to it that reaches past your arrogance, past your pride, and it speaks to that part of you that's in bondage. And we feel it. We feel it. It's just one of the most amazing melodies in all of human history."
I cried when I watched this video today.
The notes reached out to me in a way that they've not ever before—past my arrogance, past my pride and through to the part of me that knows now what grace truly means.
Thank you, Wintley Phipps for sharing the gift of this song.
"Coming clean means never closing curtains I just change my scene" ~ Brandi Carlile, I Will
One of my new favorite songs, and one that simply resonates with me. It's a very powerful song, about a young woman who realizes one day that she must place her faith in the now, and not in the 'what might have been.'
We all have that one moment, when we slip into this comfort of no longer needing, because this need has been filled through other means.
It gets filled by changing the way we look and we see.
"I can try and I wont find it where I'm looking
I can hold it till its putty in my hands
You cant break a heart that wasn't even yours to break
You can never be there for me in the end
But I will do the right thing I will, I will, I will..."
For all of us, who have always done the right thing in the end.
“We change the world not by what we say or do, but as a consequence of what we have become.”
―
David R. Hawkins
Each day we have this most amazing choice as we walk out into this world. We have choice to see, we have a choice to experience, and we have a choice to make a change.
But, so often we turn a deaf ear to the headlines that blast their way through to us each day, and through every means of media available.
We look past those most beautiful people who are suffering the greatest distress - and, whose haunting eyes look to us, pleading, as we block their glances and hurry on and away to that next 'meeting.'
But, what does this say of our spirit? What does that say of these countless hours we have spent seeking that one opportunity to make this life just a little better? And what does that say of our fellow humans that we leave desperately clinging to a hope that is quickly fading?
We are more than our existence - we are the sum total of our choices. And there is no higher purpose than to reflect the inner light of all that we have become.
Let today be the day that you see...that you hear....that you take action.
Because, this world, my dears, so desperately needs you.
"Fear is like being invited to a party by a complete stranger to
celebrate the life of someone you've never met, when you had other
plans.
Should you choose to attend, however irrational it may
surely seem, upon presenting your invitation at the gate you'd notice
that it was in your own handwriting. Then you'd be warmly greeted by the
most wonderful, familiar faces - everyone so excited, like you,
because, it turns out, you're about to meet the person you've always
dreamed you'd one day become"
I received this quote to my inbox this morning. You know, I have been quite blessed in my life, that these messages seem always to find their way to me ~ and invariably at just that 'most perfect moment, now.'
There is an unfamiliar awkwardness associated with our fears, one generated from own swirl of racing thoughts. It's just these thoughts that fuel fear's image, causing us to cower and shrink before something that is, as of yet, unexplored.
We recoil before we ever really know.
Facing fear is much like standing on the front porch of a stranger's door...as we are left wondering what to expect once we find our way through.
But, it's the getting through that can sometimes become the very best part of all... as it introduces us to that person we had most hoped to become.
Namaste my most beautiful friends...and here's to the brilliance of this, most beautiful brand new day.
I love this public service announcement which was developed by the Anti-defamation League and in honor of their centennial.
It invites us to imagine, for just a moment, if we will - a world in which hate would have nowhere to manifest. Where all of the hearts and minds serve towards a much higher purpose, that of ensuring that our world is filled with love.
“We delight in the beauty of the
butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve
that beauty.” ~ Maya Angelou
I like to think that we are much like the butterfly, and that our bumps and bruises along this path are just natural byproduct of breaking through our tough outer 'cocoon.'
And, that it is moments spent with friends we most love, that lend a little of that color to our wings.
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
―
Maya Angelou
This is a beautiful obituary, written for journalist Michael Hastings.
I am posting it because...it is a reminder for all writers, even those whose words have not yet been heard...that we are all part of this most magnificent fabric.
And our task is not often and easy one. We write about those topics that make most people uncomfortable, and we give voice to those stories that most need to be told.
We break all of those 'unwritten' rules.
We are relentless, tireless, pains in the asses - but in the end, our words, they always rise above.
This is why I write. Because, in this world there are still too many stories left to be told.
RIP Michael...
Source: Buzzfeed, "Missing Michael Hastings."
Michael Hastings was really only interested in writing stories
someone didn’t want him to write — often his subjects; occasionally his
editor. While there is no template for a great reporter, he was one for
reasons that were intrinsic to who he was: ambitious, skeptical of power
and conventional wisdom, and incredibly brave. And he was warm and
honest in a way that left him many unlikely friends among people you’d
expect to hate him.
Michael, who died at the age of 33 in a
high-speed wreck in Los Angeles early Tuesday morning, wasn’t like any
reporter I’ve ever worked with. He found conflict constantly, but never
by accident. We fought, first, over the adjectives in his stories —
“discredited” was a favorite — and then over his theories, which were
typically the opposite of whatever I was hearing from my Washington
sources. In the meantime I marveled at his talent and at the thing I
hadn’t particularly expected: his generosity.
The talent first.
That is the reason Michael’s death was news to so many people who didn’t
know him personally, the reason his stories hit a nerve almost without
fail.
Michael’s journalistic roots were in the 1970s, in gonzo
writers like Hunter S. Thompson who flung their bodies at the story, and
often got hurt. He had been badly hurt once: His fiancée was killed in
Baghdad in January of 2007, when he was a Newsweek reporter there, and her death was still utterly raw to him when he published his first book, I Lost My Love In Baghdad.
And
then the other part: He knew how to tell it. He knew that there are
certain truths that nobody has an interest in speaking, ones that will
make both your subjects and their enemies uncomfortable. They’re stories
that don’t get told because nobody in power has much of an interest in
telling them — the story, for instance, of how a president is getting
rolled by his generals.
There is perpetual handwringing in
journalism about how to make Worthy topics interesting to a broad
audience. The simple fact is that Michael had discovered the answer:
Make it about power and sex and personality and conflict (because, by
the way, it usually is) and — and here’s the real trick — draw a
straight and clear line between the vibrant reporting and the point. His
most vivid scenes, set in the carnage of Baghdad at its worst days, or
in the grim light of pay-per-view in an Iowa hotel room, were never
gratuitous. Michael’s most famous story,
the one that got General Stanley McChrystal fired, was a great yarn,
but it was also about something: A military leadership that had turned
its tactical sophistication inward, and trapped a president it disdained
into a war he didn’t want to fight. The story helped push the American
government to pull out of Afghanistan, not because a general said some
bad words, but because those words conveyed the general’s sense of
superiority to his civilian masters.
Michael found those stories
because he never forgot his job. It is so easy, and so basically human,
for journalists to want the people around them — including their
sources — to be their friends. Michael cared about friends and was good
at making them; it visibly pained him when, late in the 2012 campaign,
the reporters around him made little secret of their distrust for him.
But he also knew what he was there — in Denver, or Paris, or Hollywood —
for. He was there to tell his readers what was going on.
Michael made people nervous — he made me nervous — with his jittery energy and what Tim Dickinson,
in his obituary of Michael, called his “enthusiastic breaches of the
conventions of access journalism.” (He also knew this about himself:
When we started emailing, in Jan. 2012, about his coming to work for
BuzzFeed, he included this codicil: “I’d need a clause somewhere in the
contract that says if BuzzFeed fires me for saying or writing something
controversial or offensive on BuzzFeed or on Twitter or elsewhere, there
will have to be some kind of severance payment. I have a demonstrated
ability to really piss powerful people off, and I would need some kind
of assurance that BuzzFeed has my back, 120 percent.”) That intense
sense of responsibility was to his readers — “friends,” he typically
began his tweets — not to his sources, and so he had no time for implied
off-the-record agreements or of the clubbiness of the traveling press
corps. It takes an enormous level of tolerance for awkward social
situations to infuriate the small group of people with whom you are
traveling, eating, and sleeping for weeks on end. He did that, mostly
for good reasons, with the protection only of a pair of giant
headphones.
Michael had made no secret of his lacerating views of much of the political press — his 2010 GQ
article on the experience was filled with self-loathing, too, for
having been part of the machine. (“Jacking off in a hotel room was not
unlike the larger experience of campaign reporting.”) But he also
couldn’t control his curiosity. When we began talking that January, he
wrote that while “I have a pretty good gig … the pull of the campaign
trail is always very real,” he had an instinct that we were doing
something “fairly unique/hot/exciting.” And so he somehow persuaded his Rolling Stone editors to let him dive into the campaign for BuzzFeed, while persuading me to let him, somehow, amid the 96 pieces he wrote for us, to complete a powerful story about “America’s Last Prisoner of War” for Rolling Stone.
And
this time out on the trail, he ran in the other direction. He
infuriated his peers by breaking unwritten rules: He wrote about events
that were presumed, though not stipulated, to be off the record; he
wrote about what reporters said and did; and he wrote that the President
had joined a cocktail hour with the press, though he respected his
agreement not to report on the substance of the conversation. He knew
his role was to tell his readers what he knew — not to hold things back.
He liked to quote an old Newsweek colleague, Peter Goldman: “Journalists’ behavior is always on the record.”
His own certainly was. He is the anti-hero of his campaign book, Panic 2012,
and included a scene of his own intemperate, drunken rage at another
reporter, as well as a familiarity with “my cooler than thou persona,”
which backfired when he found himself about to meet Obama, “dressed like
a beachcomber” in shorts and a pink T-shirt. He scrambled to put on a
suit.
Great journalists take themselves and their work seriously
because it is serious; they know the power they wield. Michael knew how
good he was, how much damage he could do. He was shy of playing gotcha
games with junior staffers — his target was always the principal.
He
cared about his image — he worked out hard, looked good in clothes and
in pictures, and enjoyed it — but he always cared more about the story.
One day last fall, he had a furious exchange with a spokesman for
Secretary of State Hillary Clinton. His impulse, and mine, was to print
the back-and-forth, the crucial exchange of which was:
Reines: Why do you bother to ask questions you’ve already decided you know the answers to?
Hastings: Why don’t you give answers that aren’t bullshit for a change?
But
there was a problem: Michael had not exactly conducted himself as
well-mannered professional in the exchange. “You will look,” I pointed
out to him, “like an asshole.”
“Everyone knows I’m an asshole,” he said. “The point is that they’re assholes.”
Michael
had a great nose for conventional wisdom and conventional taste, and a
visceral, irresistible urge to run the other way. If every reporter in
Washington knew that Valerie Jarrett, President Barack Obama’s close
aide and friend, is a disaster — the view of her internal enemies, who
happen to be closer to the press — Michael’s impulse was to find the other narrative:
The “Revolt of the White Male Ego” (capital letters Michael’s). If the
problem with reporting on an Afghan hospital scandal was that the images
were simply too horrifying to print, Michael wanted to use a new medium
to display them all.
Michael’s curiosity took him to Hollywood, his last beat. There, he saw the same thing he had seen in Washington and Afghanistan: power and its abuse and its devastating effect on a man’s life.
Michael’s
large sense of himself and of his abilities could, and perhaps should,
have made him into that feared caricature, the egomaniacal bigfoot
magazine writer. But unlike most ambitious and successful reporters in
their 30s, Michael was also intensely interested in the younger people
around him. I didn’t particularly expect him to show up to work at
BuzzFeed — he was one of those magazine writers who did their own thing —
but during the spring and summer of 2012, before he encased himself in
giant headphones for the mortal combat of the Obama Campaign charter —
he was there most days. He gaped at the exotica an editor sitting beside
him collected from dark corners of the internet. He invited the whole
office to his apartment after our holiday party. He was obsessed with
online animal culture and with the corgi, Bobby Sneakers, he shared with
his wife, Elise Jordan. He was more obsessed, only, with Elise, whose
thoughts, plans, and prospects he couldn’t stop talking about when I
last saw him in New York two weeks ago.
Michael always had time
for advice to young reporters, many of whom really got to learn from
him. He handed out scoops to the kids around him — sometimes based on
complicated calculations about his own byline, sometimes out of pure
generosity. He gave great, sensible advice: “Go to DC for a couple of
years, it’s money in the bank, source-wise, even if you hate it.” A
half-dozen young reporters walked away with a bit of his fairy dust.
Perhaps
most to Michael’s credit, though, is the esteem of his enemies. I asked
Michael’s advice not long ago for who to call for a story about David
Petraeus’s comeback, expecting a list of haters. Michael’s definitive story
on the former general and CIA director had, after all, begun, “The
fraud that General David Petraeus perpetrated on America started many
years before the general seduced Paula Broadwell….”
Instead,
Michael gave me the emails of some of Petraeus’ closest friends and
allies. I shouldn’t mention your name, right, I asked? Actually, he
said, I should; and his name, of all things, prompted people devoted to
Petraeus to talk openly and freely to me. I still haven’t quite figured
that one out.
Tuesday night, one prominent defense intellectual
whose views on counterinsurgency operations, among other factors, had
meant Michael never much liked him, messaged me.
“I was
struggling to explain to my wife why the death of Michael Hastings made
me sad. He didn’t much like me, and I didn’t much like him,” he wrote.
“But I respected his pluck and his courage, even when I disagreed with
him.”
Some of that was Michael’s warmth, charm, and charisma.
Some of it, I think, was the opposite: His anger and fearlessness made
working with him, or against him, something more than the usual
journalistic transaction. There’s a relief in dealing with someone and
knowing where he stands.
In a way, Michael was born too late: He
wrote with the sort of commitment of the generation of reporters shaped
by the government’s lies about Vietnam, not by the triumphalism of the
1990s or the reflexive patriotism of the years after 9/11. He was surer
than most of us that power is, presumptively, not to be trusted. Writers
of his courage and talent are so rare, and he was taken way too soon.
There are few like him. We will miss him terribly.
“There is a voice inside of you
That whispers all day long,
"I feel this is right for me,
I know that this is wrong."
No teacher, preacher, parent, friend
Or wise man can decide
What's right for you--just listen to
The voice that speaks inside.”
I don't know what made me think back to this most brilliant passage. Some things in life I suppose just 'stick' a little more so than the others...and always, it seems for a most compelling reason.
We all have this voice within us. It calls out to us in the middle of our darkest night and urges to take just that one 'next step forward'...
And in spite of all our fears and notions of doom and failure....still we listen, we listen to our 'voice' inside.
And, this voice...it is our greatest friend, our most precious gift...
It is an irrepressible, indomitable force...connecting us always to those dreams that reside within the farthest reaches of our most spiritual being...
A dear friend shared this with me this morning:
"Having a dream is awesome.
Having a dream and showing up every day, even when nothing seems to be happening, is priceless.
But having a dream and showing up every day, while sauntering, winking,
and hugging everyone, is when the floodgates begin to tremble."
So, today, my most beautiful friends ~ I shall be listening closely to that voice that speaks inside.
“We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.”
Not many know the full verse of that poem, so I have opted to include it here—and to serve as a gentle reminder for this day.
Our dreams carry us gently through these nights when doubt creeps in through this open window of our mind, and casts fears shadow where hope once existed.
That's the real question, isn't it?
Do we forge ahead fearlessly on that 'path wanting wear', or do we let go Dream's grasp to simply exist?
Do you remember those days (some many years ago) when simply tying a towel around your shoulders would leave you with a feeling of limitless power and invincibility? That would help you to believe with one swooshy flip of that cape, you could take on any adversary in this world?
Capes, even those which were hand fashioned from our Mother's best beach towels, seemed to have woven in their fibers the magic of possibility.
Meet Robyn Rosenberger who has worked selflessly to create this feeling for over 500 children who are currently fighting life-limiting illness and disability. And though, they may seem to be just one small swath of fabric - to these tiny superheroes, they represent hope and belief.
“Look at children. Of course they may quarrel, but generally speaking
they do not harbor ill feelings as much or as long as adults do. Most
adults have the advantage of education over children, but what is the
use of an education if they show a big smile while hiding negative
feelings deep inside? Children don't usually act in such a manner. If
they feel angry with someone, they express it, and then it is finished.
They can still play with that person the following day.”
―
Dalai Lama XIV
I love this photo.
I love how it captures the truest essence of spirit between these two most beautiful souls.
In some ways, I believe you can actually see their connection...bonded on a plane that can only exist when we allow our filters and walls and veils turned outward to this world to come down.
Only then, can we truly understand and connect with this world.
“Sometimes it's the same moments that take your breath away that breathe purpose and love back into your life.”
―
Steve Maraboli
Oh, dear... the light from my window has certainly faded. The birds are quietly tucked away in their nests...and even dear Nudnick is snoring loudly from the softer billowings of his puppy pillow.
These days often slip quickly past. How many of moments in your day today will you...some time from now...look back to with a smile in your heart, and gratitude that this moment picked *you*...?
I wanted to share this following passage with you. By author, Douglas Coupland—for some reason, they resonate with me on this evening...and I feel most compelled to share them with you. Much love, and namaste.
“My mind then wandered. I thought of this: I thought of how every day
each of us experiences a few little moments that have just a bit more
resonance than other moments—we hear a word that sticks in our mind—or
maybe we have a small experience that pulls us out of ourselves, if only
briefly—we share a hotel elevator with a bride in her veils, say, or a
stranger gives us a piece of bread to feed to the mallard ducks in the
lagoon; a small child starts a conversation with us in a Dairy Queen—or
we have an episode like the one I had with the M&M cars back at the
Husky station.
And if we were to collect these small
moments in a notebook and save them over a period of months we would see
certain trends emerge from our collection—certain voices would emerge
that have been trying to speak through us. We would realize that we
have been having another life altogether; one we didn’t even know was
going on inside us. And maybe this other life is more important than
the one we think of as being real—this clunky day-to-day world of
furniture and noise and metal. So just maybe it is these small silent
moments which are the true story-making events of our lives.”
Dove, the company that first brought us to tears with its Real Beauty campaign, in which women were given a little insight into how they really see themselves, has done it once again. In their newest campaign, Dove is working with the military's Operation Homefront and in order to reunite 300 service members withe families.
Two passersby struggling to make their way through a flooded street in Russia are amazed at what they find - a wheelchair bound elderly man, who is almost lost to the current, receives a little help from man's best friend.
This is simply incredible, and proof positive of the true capacity of unconditional love.
"We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude." -Cynthia Ozick
I love this song, The Mills Brother's rendition of "Daddy's Little Girl." Whenever I hear this song, I tear up as I think of my first dance with my Dad.
He was a veteran, too. As are so many more who'll miss these most special moments—the moments that once passed, are never recovered. They are the 'firsts' and 'onlys'—the 'wish I could be theres'...the 'I hate that I am so very far from homes.'
On this Father's Day, I made a little something just for my military friends ~ and pray that you may soon all come home.
“Sometimes the completely open heart and mind of bhodichitta is called
the soft spot, a place as vulnerable and tender as an open wound. It is
equated, in part, with our ability to love. [...]
Sometimes this broken
heart gives birth to anxiety and panic, sometimes to anger, resentment,
and blame. But under the hardness of that armor there is the tenderness
of genuine sadness.
This is our link with all those who have ever loved.
This genuine heart of sadness can teach us great compassion. It can
humble us when we're arrogant and soften us when we are unkind. It
awakens us when we prefer to sleep and pierces through our indifference.
This continual ache of the heart is a blessing that when accepted fully
can be shared with all." ~ Pema Chödrön
I have experienced many challenges in my life—and for each one I am eternally grateful.
I am grateful for each day I worried that there wasn't possibly enough.
I am grateful for each night I lay awake wondering "will I ever make it through?"
I am grateful for every doctor who has told me "there's simply nothing more we can do."
I am grateful for every person who has ever doubted my spirit, called me names, or tried desperately to destroy my spirit.
Because, with each bump, bruise, busted knee and bloodied up scrape along life's path...my heart has stretched and flexed just a little more.
“That was when the world wasn't so big and I could see everywhere. It was when my father was a hero and not a human.”
―
Markus Zusak
I still remember the very moment when I realized just how small I really was in this world.
It was morning, and at just barely 4-years-old, I reached up to slip my hand into my Dad's.
Everything seemed so much bigger back then...and I, was so simply terrified of this world.
But next to my Dad...I was fearless.
And, next to my Dad I could take on this world.
Oh, to be that small once again...when all of life's troubles could just simply melt right away, in that moment a little girl pulled closer to her father.
“My mother always said that I was born out of a bottle of vinegar instead of born from a womb and that she and my father bathed me in sugar for three days to wash it off. I try to behave, but I always go back to the vinegar. When Dad was in one of his rare, fanciful moods, he told guests that the pixies left me on the doorstep because I bit their fingers too often. My favorite was always when Mum said that before I was born, it rained for seven days and seven nights solid, and when she went out into the yard to ask the sky what it was weeping for, I dropped out of the clouds at her feet and the sun came out. I always liked the idea of being such a bother that I affected even the weather.” ― Maggie Stiefvater
A little light-hearted post for this evening—and regarding the true purpose of life's little troublemakers.
We've all experienced, those snarly little sprites that find their way deep into our soul and shake it about with all of their might—and, leaving even the most well-grounded of hippie Buddhist spirits frazzled and worn.
And yet, even with all of the lessons learned on life's 'mat'—we still tend to spin wildly out of control.
These spiritual stinkers always seem to find the quickest way to wind up our own emotional vortex.
This is by far one of my most favorite videos, from the most brilliant Pema Chodron - and regarding this topic of troublemakers.
“We are like children building a sand castle. We embellish it with beautiful shells, bits of driftwood, and pieces of colored glass. The castle is ours, off limits to others. We’re willing to attack if others threaten to hurt it. Yet despite all our attachment, we know that the tide will inevitably come in and sweep the sand castle away. The trick is to enjoy it fully but without clinging, and when the time comes, let it dissolve back into the sea.” ― Pema Chödrön
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