What if, instead, we descended to the heart before being caught in the angst that goes with arguing with what is?
Sure, it might feel strange sat in a business meeting to go to your heart — particularly when everyone is in ego mode — but trust me, the space, the wide-open, loving space, is far conducive to being present to the situation than allowing the Lizard Brain to take control.
For the money? To justify our existence? Or because we know no different?
We can debate the exact meaning of work, but for me, it will always remain, even when working for the man, a place to come alive to who we are even if or especially if we’ve multiple hurdles in our way.
In it she references an earlier talk where she was asked to speak alongside Roshi Richard Baker. I can’t now recall the precise topic but perhaps it was on how to live a purposeful life.
In his address, which was to open the conference at which Tara was speaking after him (it was at the Twin Towers just before 9/11), he rose to speak to the audience, and simply repeated two words:
“Intention and attention [is all you need to live a purposeful life]”.
Think about it: isn’t that life, in a nutshell?
Where our intention goes, so our attention flows.
Of course, you’ve heard it before but how much time have you spent looking at your deepest intention in any given moment? I don’t mean the ego-induced, I-want-it-now version, I mean the place where you’re heart is open to everything.
Before you rush forward to your next meeting, your next must-do thing, ask yourself
“What is my intention? My deepest, most profound intention.”
You might be surprised with what then happens with all your attention.
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
their bad advice —
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voice behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life that you could save.
Yesterday evening, we said goodbye to our dearly beloved Fidget (Fidg). She was 15. I still remember collecting her from Ashburton when Florrie was not quite one. She was the smallest of the litter, but it was quite clear, even then, she was going to be a handful — that’s an understatement if ever there was one. Needless to say, she settled in fine with the chaos of the Summerhayes house; and in her own way — a few little puddles and plenty of the other stuff (which was a lifelong obsession — ha bloody ha Fidg) — she made it clear who was boss. As well as being very loving, she has also had an impish side to her — don’t all terriers! The list is endless: getting me lost on Dartmoor whilst chasing sheep (I was hyperthermic by the time I got home; she was just hungry); losing herself down a few rabbit holes, leaving us all worried sick that she’d got stuck, or worse still — fat chance of that; taking out the interior pane of glass in Belmont Terrace as she lept 3 feet off the ground to try and take out the postman — who she loathed with a passion; oh, and my favourite of all, the day I waved my finger at her through the letterbox — “Hello, Fidg, it’s me” — only to have her junk-yard teeth sink into the end of my finger necessitating me having to have a tetanus. But seriously, for a little dog, she had a huge heart and never once stepped back in the face of a bigger dog; she was incredibly loyal; and in her own way very loving. I know we’ll all miss her loads, but she died peacefully and didn’t suffer. Alfie will miss her but for now I’ll leave you with my favourite picture of her. Rest in peace Fidg xxxxx