Thar Be Dragons!

Thar Be Dragons
Thar Be Dragons by Claire Perkins aka Artful Alchemist on Polyvore

On ancient nautical maps, beyond the edge of the known world, mapmakers would write “thar be dragons.” It seems to be human nature to first project fear into uncharted realms before considering expanding the map.

Even when some individuals begin to push the boundaries, the collective culture often pushes back. When Copernicus and Galileo dared suggest that the world was round, they were ridiculed and severely punished by the powers that be.

We each hold our own map of reality – our certainties about how things work. This map is necessary. It allows us to move through our days without having to relearn every single thing. It’s also exponentially smaller than the whole of reality – and often quite wrong. While Columbus believed that the world was round and set out to prove it, he still thought he’d found the East Indies, not a new continent, because that’s what his map told him he would find. We filter everything through our own very limited map and tend to disregard anything that doesn’t match up.

The ego-self is the keeper of the current map of reality. And let’s not bash the ego as something we need to get rid of. The ego-self is indispensable; it is what allows us to get things done and to maintain order in our lives. Doing those things is easier with a fixed map, and so the ego has a vested interest in not letting the map change.  When your map and my map disagree, the ego-self declares your map “wrong” and my map “right.” It is the ego-self who ridicules and punishes when the status quo is challenged. It is the ego-self who sees dragons in the dark unknown.

The essential-self is the bridge to larger possibilities. It is the part of you that remains connected to deeper realities and truths that lie beyond individual perception. When your map and my map disagree, the essential-self looks for new possibilities and deeper connections. It creates synergy where there were differences and pushes for growth and transformation. The essential-self is not only willing to expand the map, but even to completely redesign it – to recognize when a 2-dimensional flat map will no longer do because a 3-dimensional  globe comes closer to depicting what’s true.

The constant tension between the essential-self and the ego-self is what drives the course of our personal and collective evolution. The essential-self, recognizing the map is too small, pushes forward. The ego-self, fearing dragons, pushes back. As more and more new territory is revealed, a new map emerges and the ego-self is now able to comfortably navigate a much wider territory.

We seem to be living in a time when our collective sense of “how things are” has become painfully dysfunctional. We are recognizing, I think, that the map is too small. Our essential-selves are pushing for a quantum leap – a change on the scale of flat map to spherical globe. Our ego-selves can’t quite wrap their heads around that, so they do what they do: hold tight to the status quo, polarize right and wrong, ridicule and punish the pioneers of new thinking, and project dragons into every dark corner.

It is only temporary ignorance and fear. The new map is emerging. I can’t quite see it yet, but my essential-self can. Beyond the dragons, thar be light!

The Universe in an Orange Shirt

Did you ever think that maybe the Universe is talking to you all the time?

There used to be a show on TV called “Joan of Arcadia.” Joan Girardi was a typical high school kid – except that God was always showing up as random people in her life. These people (who were really God in disguise) would challenge her to do things she probably would not otherwise do. Sometimes God was the cafeteria lady, sometimes a little girl, sometimes a goth kid at school. The theme song was Joan Osborne’s “One of Us” (What if God was one of us? / Just a slob like one of us / Just a stranger on the bus / Trying to make his way home).

I had a Joan of Arcadia experience this morning when the Universe (my preferred name for God) showed up in the form of a city utility worker. On the last leg of my morning walk, I rounded the corner from the busy main street into my peaceful neighborhood and saw that I would have to skirt around a huge fallen eucalyptus branch. A City of Mesa utility truck was parked next to the mess. I removed my iPod’s earbuds as I was greeted by a smiling man in a bright orange shirt who’d been scratching his head and looking over the debris and the ravaged remains of the tree.

“Good morning!” he said jovially with a twinkle in his eye (think Morgan Freeman in “Bruce Almighty” or “Evan Almighty”).

“Did that fall down in the night?” I asked, stupidly pointing out the obvious.

“These eucalyptus trees do this all the time,” he replied, with a kind of pleased enthusiasm that didn’t seem warranted given that he’d likely be the one to have to cut it up and haul it off.

It was certainly true, I reflected, remembering when our neighbor’s eucalyptus had come crashing through our fence a few years back. Not just a branch – the whole tree. And my own eucalyptus in the front yard split in two one day and had to be cut down. Eucs tend to suck up all the water they can, growing faster and heavier than their frames can manage. When there’s not much water to be had, their giant limbs grow brittle. They’ll weather all kinds of wind and heat and then one day, when not a breeze is stirring, a humongous branch will come crashing down with no warning.

“Heat’s coming on us today,” he observed, not ruefully but with the attitude of a man about to do battle and relishing the thought.

“Yep. Supposed to hit 100 today,” I said over my shoulder as I resumed my walk.

It was just a brief, random exchange. Except that as I’d rounded that corner, I’d been stewing over some financial challenges my family is facing right now. I’d been feeling like things might come crashing down at any moment. I’d been worrying whether we could stand the heat, or if we’d have to get out of the kitchen. Like the eucalyptus, our national economy had grown top-heavy and it seemed like a great big branch of it was about to fall right on us.

Then I ran into the Universe wearing an orange shirt and a big smile and pointing out to me that these things happen all the time. The Universe, standing ready to clean up the aftermath of anything that might come crashing down, heat be damned. Suddenly, I felt better. There might be some hard work ahead, but I’m willing to roll up my shirtsleeves and see it through. And I know the Universe has my back.

I quickened my pace just a bit and started singing out loud to the tune on my iPod: Stevie Wonder’s “Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing.”