by Phillip Moore (June 2007)
 

The night before the auction I was thinking about what I would say if I felt strong enough, or clear enough to speak between the close of the Silent Auction and the beginning of the Live. I imagined myself hobbling up to the stage and perching myself on the edge of a stool. I’d force a slight smile, using my will to push back the shooting pain that had presented itself a full week prior. I saw a picture of this unfolding in my mind’s eye from a remote corner of ceiling. I was in two places at the same time. Above and beyond it all and smack dab in the middle of it as well.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight to support our school, and a special thank you to Linda Bowers and her fabulous auction committee for your spectacular work.”

The predictable opening. Then I thought….

“Pain is a powerful teacher. It forces you to pay attention in a way that nothing else can.”…Now there’s an inspiring opening that will insure a lively auction…..Then I thought...

“ The first item in the live auction, inspired by the auction committee, is “Be Phil for a Day”…….as if someone in an audience of 350 would pay good money to be me”….and what exactly did that mean?…..be the director of the school?….be a quirky bearded 58 year man who lives in the forest, wears recycled shoes, and teaches music to 4 and 5 year olds? Be Phil for a day…kept repeating in my mind like one of the electronic billboards that plays the same message over and over. Was this a good idea? What if no one raised their bid book? What if someone did? What would happen when that person showed up for work? Here’s the key to door, there’s the bathroom, good luck.

By now the Tylenol 3 had kicked in and I was off in some nether world half dizzy, half asleep, half conscious and half crazy. I thought about the past week and how I had been confined to my bed for 72 hours, lying flat. I thought about the pain I experienced whenever I tried to stand. I thought about my ‘vision quest’ years before, and how I had to fight with myself to lie still in a small circle under the big sky without food or water for three days. I thought about the two things that had come in the mail during that week that had nourished me in unexpected ways. The first was a report from The Institute of Noetic Sciences entitled “The 2007 Shift Report: Evidence of a World Transforming” and the second a DVD from the Integral Institute where a man by the name of Terry Patten presents the idea of “uncaused happiness’ in a seven minute and six second film clip.

Being Phil for one of these days meant waking up in pain, moving very slowly, confronting despair, lying in peace and finding my way to gratitude. Gratitude has become my practice. I’m not sure now how long I’ve been practicing, but I know that for many days I’ve been training my mind to think of all the things in my life I have to be grateful for. There are so many. Yet, there are times when I’m feeling something other than gratitude...despair….sadness….unworthiness...self doubt…..I feel it, note it and move on.

The Shift report talks about ‘transformative practices’ and says “…research suggests that three elements are common to all successful practices: intention, attention, and repetition.” My intention upon waking is to consider the beauty, uniqueness and privilege of my circumstances. Then to look out my window and appreciate the ‘wildness’ of this place, the comfort of being near my wife, the silence of my walk to school, the beauty of each child’s face, the delight of being with such dedicated teachers and friends, the admiration I have for the people who send their children to us. I go into appreciation and then I do it again and again and again.

My mentor and teacher Buckminster Fuller is quoted in the Shift report as saying, “You never change things by fighting the existing reality, to change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.” That brings us to Terry Patten who tells the story of King Midas and how when he got his wish and turned his bed stand into gold and his copper coins into gold he was very happy. But when he turned his dog, a piece of bread and then his beautiful daughter into gold, he became deeply troubled and would do anything, including giving up all his wealth to have it back
the way it was. There are things that we often take for granted that are sources for happiness that are uncaused. Take a breath, for example, exhale. Use your eyes to see…to truly see, take one step without pain, oh how marvelous. Uncaused happiness….

Being Phil for a day means you get to wake up and practice gratitude, even if you have to fake it for a while. You also get to think of all the sources of ‘uncaused happiness’ and you get to hear stories like this: Evan (a five year old in Holly and Anissa’s group) used to get asked “So what you want to be when you grow up?” by many people. He grew tired of this question and began to answer it by saying “I don’t know,” “Please don’t ask me again, I’m too young,” and “ It irritates me when you ask me that.” So when he came to school one day last week saying he knew what he wanted to be, his teacher asked “What?” and he said “A World Person.” “Now what does a World Person do?” his teacher asked. “ A world person travels all over the world helping anybody who needs help.”

So I imagined all this and knew that I’d never be able to do this in front of 350 people.

And I wanted to make some kind of joke, because there’s nothing as comforting as an audience laughing with you. So instead of ‘Being Phil for a day,” try pronouncing my name the way that my 7 year old friend Ross does, and “Be Full for a day….”
 

by Phillip Moore (June 2006)

In the 80's the Upland Hills Ecological Awareness Center hosted a workshop called "Despair and Empowerment in the Nuclear Age." Joanna Macy, a Buddhist teacher and deep ecologist, traveled from her home in Berkeley, California to lead a workshop that affected me in a very profound way. A gifted teacher, activist, and mother, Joanna modeled a way of encountering a deeply depressing topic (nuclear proliferation) in ways that were empowering, honest, engaging and spiritual. We danced, sang, role-played and dialogued our way to new relationship with what was and still is.

So it came as no surprise when I read a recent article that she wrote in the summer 2006 issue of YES! magazine that she has once again captured the essential message of our time. The article, "The Great Turning as Compass and Lens," begins this way:
 

By Phillip Moore (Spring 2006)

I am a person who loves extremes. My school day begins in blissful silence and quickly dissolves into the sounds of a hundred voices. I enjoy a conversation that includes the outburst of unbridled laughter and the surprise of unbidden tears. I have been known to race through the woods like a man possessed and yet I treasure the silence of a still pond. In December of 2005, I experienced the beginning of summer and the severe cold of winter. Within a 20-day span I experienced the intense heat of Buenos Aires and the arctic death wind of Livingston, Montana.

I think I know where this love of extremes comes from. I can trace it back to a specific year, place and moment: the time I was first Broken Open. When I say 'broken open' I mean literally the feeling of being cracked open like a vessel that had been heated up to unbearable temperatures and then submersed into water that was so cold the only thing that could result was a crack. This crack in me allowed something to enter into my consciousness that was so immense that it could not be contained, so awesome that it forever changed my way of perceiving. I consider it an initiation into my "wild self." It is why I am continually attracted to wild places. That attraction to the "wild" is one of the reasons that our school places an emphasis on the natural world as a primary teacher.

Recently, our school had an opportunity to share that vision. During last year's meeting of the Association of Independent Michigan School headmasters--essentially talking heads--an opportunity presented itself. For the first time in our association's history we considered a joint effort that would unite nearly 30 schools under the banner of community service. Excited by this opportunity, I hoped that we could push through the inevitable obstacles and move into this new territory. By the spring of last year the idea of a "literacy initiative" began to take hold. At first hearing, the idea of 'literacy' was not one that enrolled me. I tried to imagine events centered on the topic of literacy but nothing came. Then the light went on: I remembered the work of the author and physicist, Fritjof Capra, and his efforts in California centered on the idea of Eco-literacy. This was something that I could get behind, something that resonated deeply with our school's values.

As Capra says, "Being ecologically literate means understanding the principles of organization of ecological communities and using those principles for creating sustainable human communities." The basic principles of ecology are: interdependence, partnership, flexibility, and diversity. Many of us are deeply concerned about the state of our planet and about children in particular. In the last ten years alone I have noticed a disturbing connection between children and technology. Everywhere I look I see children plugged into mainstream media, by way of headphones, portable game boxes, and DVD players. Play out of doors is almost always organized sports, and fewer and fewer of our children are given the opportunity to play in an imaginary way in the natural world. Our fears about safety have played into the hands of commercial interests. Our children are experiencing a deep loss, a direct connection to that which sustains all life. Thus this newsletter is devoted to our school's attempt to create a curriculum dedicated to promoting and investigating ways of teaching eco-literacy.

***

I'm in Mr. Larson's self-built sauna on the southern shore of Lake Superior. It is August 1967. A wood stove slammed between two walls is being stoked on the other side of the wall and the rocks on my side are getting hotter and hotter. I try to open the door but it doesn't budge. I begin to pound on the door and I hear him say, "Will you run to her?" I'm too hot and disturbed to understand. I sit down as the sweat rolls out of every pore. I notice that the air is slightly cooler lower to the floor so I get my head as close to the floor as possible. I hear him throw another log into the stove. I pound on the door. He says it again, "are you ready to run to her?" I say yes. He answers by saying, "you're heart is not in it." I say yes, yes, yes. Silence. I sit back on the bench, drained, defeated, and dead. Water hits the stove on his side and steam rises on my side. I cower. Than I go to the door and say "I want her, I will run to her, let me go". The door opens. I run, as in slow motion, across the sand and into the sweet sea the natives called Gitchi-gumi. Waist high I dive into her. That's when I split open. I come up and take a breath of air. I look out into the vastness of her water and see it go on into the sky. I feel more alive than I've ever felt before. I turn to see the pictured rocks and feel no separation. I look back to shore and see the old man. Big smile, then a big Viking laugh. I am filled with awe. So much so that it immediately begins to leak out of me.
 

COMMUNITIES AND
CONSCIOUSNESS

By Phillip Moore  (fall 2004)

There’s this thing that I’ve heard about threes. If three different people recommend a book or a film or a destination than the universe is trying to tell you something.

"Threeness" is also a big part of Buckminster Fuller’s synergetic geometry. Three vectors form a triangle and the triangle is the first structure that holds its shape and has integrity. This primal triangle is the basis for all structures in nature moving to a tetrahedron (the first three dimensional structure, four faces, six edges, four vertices) then to the octahedron and from there to the icosahedron, all owing their origin to the triangle. Thus the number three has this ‘pay attention’ quality to it, at least for me.

So when a stranger in Borders book store asked me where she could find Eckhart Tolle’s book, The Power of Now, I didn’t think much of it and directed her to the information counter.

Then, a year ago a friend and I were discussing the pleasures of summer by the shores of the Indiana dunes at Lake Michigan. He asked me if I had heard of Eckhart Tolle’s work. I told him I knew very little and asked him a few questions. He talked about the similarities between Eckhart and the Indian philosopher Jiddu Krishnamurti. Having introduced my friend Steve to Krishnamuti’s work I listened carefully as he explained the essence of Eckhart’s teaching. For a crystal moment, the sun, the sand, the slow pace of summer and the idea of being here worked it’s magic but I did not follow up and seek out the book.

Finally, while visiting my brother Morris in Boulder, Colorado it happened again. My older brother Mel and my brother Richard had all traveled to Boulder to celebrate the Bar Mitzvah of our cousin. My three brothers are all medical doctors. My oldest brother Mel is the scientist, Richard the explorer, and Morris the non-traditionalist. For Mel’s birthday Richard gave him a copy of The Power of Now. Mel thanked him, but after reading the introduction left it in the car showing little or no interest in pursuing it any further. Discovering it there, I figured the third time was a charm, so I picked it up and started reading.

This rule of three has helped me again recently as well, when my curiosity about Eckhart merged with an older interest. Karen and our daughter Nina and I had lived in Scotland for a month in 1970. While there we fell in love with the place and the people of a small village called Lochgilphead. Scotland’s rushing water’s, rolling hills and unpredictable weather reminded us of home, yet the lilt of each voice and the generosity and affection that we were shown made every encounter fresh and new. I’m not sure if we heard of Findhorn while we were in Scotland or while we traveled throughout Europe and North Africa. All I remember is that through a network of fellow travelers and seekers we heard of a place in the North of Scotland where people were attempting to live in harmony with nature. There was a story circulating about the Findhorn garden that included news of a cabbage the size of a small car, the result of listening to the Devas of the land.

But how does this relate to Eckhart? People who know me know that when I’m learning something new I talk about it every chance I get. A teacher is just a learner in disguise. When this last school year started I often mentioned ideas and fragments of Eckhart’s teaching. Sharing an office with Terry and Janet meant that they were not immune to my outbursts. They humored me from time to time and I was deeply appreciative for the opportunity to talk about the now, surrender, stillness, distraction, and the role of thought. They did more than just listen, however: one day, after I returned from ‘a wild class’ hike Janet turned to me said "Eckhart Tolle is going to give a weekend workshop at Findhorn in Scotland in May".

There it was - three things important to me in one sentence: Findhorn, Eckhart, and Scotland. I knew in that moment where I wanted to be during the end of May.

Two planes and a rental car later, we pulled into The Findhorn Foundation looking for The Field of Dreams. I was traveling with the friend who had mentioned Eckhart while we were on the beach. We would stay at the house of a woman named Kay Kay. For the past four years she had been Findhorn’s listener and convener, an elected post. Kay Kay was available to community members to listen to any of their concerns and to convene a meeting if it was necessary. She lived in a development called The Field of Dreams and her house was built with the intention of being a bed and breakfast for up to four guests. The house was ecologically designed, graced with a Zen stone garden and wooden walkways.

Shortly after we arrived we went to the community-dining hall to join nearly 150 self-appointed ‘now’ delegates. As we stood together for grace I glanced around the circle to take in the variety of faces that were drawn to this place on the way to nowhere. I found out later that many had traveled from as far away as India and Australia. We were of all sizes, shapes and colors and most of us were drawn here because of the combination of Findhorn and Eckhart. The meal came entirely from the famed gardens of Findhorn. After dinner my friend, who himself is a fine gardener, and I took a self-guided tour of the gardens and greenhouses. We didn’t see any plant Devas but what we did see was vibrant healthy gardens far ahead of our home gardens. It seems that the Gulf Stream warms a thin strip of land off the coast of Scotland that enables this community to grow vegetables year round.

The first day of the workshop we gathered in Findhorn’s large meeting hall, a beautiful building with four distinct styles of stone work and, as with everything at Findhorn, a story attached to it. There were now 300 people gathered. We were greeted by a facilitator who informed us that Eckhart would speak from 2 PM until 4 PM. She then led us in an enthusiastic version of a song I sing with Holly’s group "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes." I looked over at my friend and had this sinking feeling in my chest. My friend, Steve, is a very savvy man who successfully retired before the age of 60 from the advertising industry. He is the kind of man who, like most New Yorkers, is on the look-out for any hint of a scam. Here we had traveled a considerable distance to a community that listens to plant Devas, to hear a guy who believed that listening to silence was more important than listening to words, and to top it off, we were all singing and going through the movements of a song that four year olds love.

Eckhart entered the hall while we were in silence. He’s my age and walks with a considerable stoop. He couldn’t have looked any more conventional dressed in a sweater vest and casual slacks and with neatly combed hair. He sat on a chair center stage and began to speak. He told us that the theme of our time together would be stillness. He continued by saying that when you lose touch with inner stillness, you lose touch with yourself. When you lose touch with yourself, you lose yourself in the world. Your innermost sense of self, of who you are, is inseparable from stillness. This is the I AM that is deeper than name and form.

Two hours passed with plenty of words, silence, and laughter. We were told that words are only signposts, only pointing at the truth. We learned that thought has taken a primary role rather than a secondary role and that it deprives us of the one thing that can bring us true peace, the now. The present.

The second day Eckhart seemed even lighter and somehow eager to be with us longer than the allotted time. He asked us to return after his talk and concluded by summing up his teaching by saying there was no need for prolonged study, or stage development, or progressive accomplishment, it was really just a one step program. Step into the now. Be present in as many moments as possible and in this way the world will be transformed.

Being present allows us to see connections. Three important things happened in the month of May: my mother’s passing away at the age of 90, the trip to Findhorn and the flood of 2004. My mother’s passing was a beautiful experience that left a hole in the life of our family, the trip to Findhorn reminded me of a journey that led us to this place and this life, and the flood re-awakened my sense of awe. As I waded in water above my knees I marveled at the power, force, and unpredictable nature of water. Knowing that water is often associated with the feminine principle I connected the three events easily. Water is life. My love for Scotland is deeply connected to how alive it feels after a rain, the sound of water rushing throughout the land. My mom loved the water and after her belly flop dive would surface with a huge smile, and she was the source of my life. And the trip to Findhorn led me to these words from Eckhart’s book Stillness Speaks:

Whenever any kind of deep loss occurs in your life-such as loss of possessions, your home, a close relationship: or loss of your reputation, job, or physical abilities-something inside you dies. You feel diminished in your sense of who you are. There may also be a certain disorientation. "Without this who am I?"

When a form that you had unconsciously identified with as part of yourself leaves you or dissolves, that can be extremely painful. It leaves a hole, so to speak, in the fabric of your existence.

When this happens, don’t deny or ignore the pain or sadness that you feel. Accept that it is there. Beware of your mind’s tendency to construct a story around that loss in which you are assigned the role of victim. Fear, anger, resentment, or self-pity are the emotions that go with that role. Then become aware of what lies behind those emotions as well as behind the mind-made story: that hole, that empty space. Can you face and accept that strange sense of emptiness? If you do, you may find that it is no longer a fearful place.

My mom’s last breath led to a very still moment. My brother Morris, who had held her tenderly for three nights, was strangely quiet. Karen and Anna and the hospice volunteer were quiet as well. I looked at my mom’s frail body and saw that it was no longer alive. In that silence I remembered her last word: water.