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So, here’s where I admit to one (only one this time…) of my guilty pleasures.

I like tal­ent shows - So You Think You Can Dance, etc.

Yes­ter­day, I was watch­ing America’s Got Tal­ent, and I was mes­mer­ized by an act called “Tiny Tal­ent.” I got a photo or two of it. So, what I saw was this. (also see above, and below, for the actual video…)

The stage was set with typ­i­cal dog agility equip­ment — a tube for the dogs to run through, boxes to leap up on and down from, planks to walk, etc. The con­tes­tant walked out, hold­ing a Chihuahua.

She indi­cated that her act was an ani­mal act with crazy Chi­huahuas.

Next to her was a but­ton, which read, “Res­cue Button.”

Next to that was a box filled to the brim with Chihuahuas.

She opened the box.

The dogs raced out, ran around the stage aim­lessly, and ended up scat­tered across the stage, back­stage, and in the audience.

Two dogs just stood there, and then one mounted the other, halfheartedly.

The con­tes­tant looked totally bemused, and spent her time chas­ing the dogs she set loose. Even­tu­ally, the dogs scat­tered every­where, and all Chi­huahua lady could do was stare into the mid­dle dis­tance, no doubt won­der­ing what she had wrought.

Here’s the video (and here’s a link for those of you that don’t see the video, below.)

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And then, there was Con­nor Doran, a high school stu­dent (and epilep­tic) who grace­fully flies four-line indoor kites. (Again, a link if you can’t see the video) GO LOOK!!!

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OK, so I watched the Chi­huahua lady, then went to say good-night to Dar­bella. I tried to tell her about the act, but started laugh­ing so hard I was cry­ing. And I thought,

“It seems to me that most peo­ple I meet con­duct their lives like the Chi­huahua lady. She walked on stage, “let the dogs out,” and then just stood there while they ran amok. She occa­sion­ally raised her hands to the heav­ens, or looked off­stage, appar­ently seek­ing res­cue. Ulti­mately, she seemed to dis­ap­pear, leav­ing the host, Nick, to run about, chas­ing after the rem­nants of a mediocre idea gone ter­ri­bly askew.”

There is, of course, as Paul Har­vey, used to say “…the rest of the story.”

Chi­huahua lady had, at some level, the lofty goal of win­ning the mil­lion and con­quer­ing Las Vegas with her “scat­tered, hump­ing dogs” act.

Or, she was a Zen mas­ter, and did the whole thing intentionally.

Nah.

She had a dream, and a lot of Chi­huahuas. So far, so good. The dream is not the issue, nor are the dogs.

The miss­ing piece is in the hours nec­es­sary for plan­ning, train­ing, prac­tic­ing, and exe­cut­ing. She looked supremely con­fi­dent, until the door to the Chi­huahua box opened.

Then, all she could do was plead for help–for res­cue from her own plans, dreams, and ineptitude.

I say pretty sim­ple stuff here — I con­fess to being a Sim­ple Zen Guy, empha­sis on sim­ple. But sim­ple has a thorny catch to it.

Sim­ple becomes sim­ple only with end­less practice.

Dear Con­nor walked out, calmly explained how indoor kite fly­ing kept him calm and helped with his epilepsy, and pro­ceeded to sim­ply, beau­ti­fully, and ele­gantly fly his kite… indoors… just using the motion of his body to pro­pel the kite to great, if sim­ple, heights.

Com­mu­ni­ca­tion takes practice—not when you feel like it, but all the time, and espe­cially when you don’t.

Deep­en­ing your rela­tion­ship takes time, effort, diligence—not when you feel like it, but all the time, and espe­cially when you don’t.

Sit­ting to med­i­tate, or choos­ing to feel your emo­tions, or decid­ing to be in your body as opposed to lost in your head, requires com­mit­ment and fol­low through—not when you feel like it, but all the time, and espe­cially when you don’t.

Throw­ing your hands in the air, blam­ing “the dogs,” look­ing for res­cue (most of us don’t have a “Nick” to herd our “dogs,”) — all futile.

It is, on the other hand, pos­si­ble to develop your art into your pas­sion, into your life.

Con­nor demon­strates that, in spades. There is beauty, and sim­plic­ity, and, I am sure, hours and hours spent fly­ing his kite indoors. He reached the stage with much effort, love from his mom, and a (excuse me, I have to…) dogged effort. And then, sim­ple magic.

What “dogs” are you end­lessly releas­ing on the stage of your life - messes and con­fu­sion — things that cause you to throw up your hands?

How often do you find your­self run­ning in cir­cles, lit­tle Chi­huahua feet­sies scur­ry­ing a mile a minute?

How often do you just stand there, hands raised, look­ing stunned?

And, don’t even get me started on the two dogs humping…

Life is all about get­ting your kite to soar in a wind­less room.

The kite soars, pow­ered by you, by your effort, by your fore­sight, and by your deter­mi­na­tion. At every step of the way, there are cor­rec­tions, strings to pull, and always, always, you must keep mov­ing. Then, and only then, are you real, alive, and present.

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Make Con­tact!

So, how does this week’s arti­cle sit with you? What ques­tions do you have? Go to the top of this arti­cle, click on the title, and leave a com­ment or question!

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Work­shops, Retreats!

Dar­bella and I can help you to find a new, vibrant, rich path. We offer day-long and week­end events —just you and us—and we will work with you, to be the change you want to see.

Read about it here:

Day-long Inten­sives
Week­end Residentials

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Related posts:

1. A Life Appre­ci­ated: Tak­ing Time to Reflect
2. Putting Your Soul into your Being
3. You Can’t Win
4. Body, Mind, Spirit as Classroom
5. 10 Zen Prin­ci­ples to Help You Live Life Better

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Tagged with: equanimity • self-mastery • showing-up-for-your-life

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