Kooyeh - 'Rebellious Meditation' Akoostic Sessions

Kooyeh - 'Rebellious Meditation' Akoostic Sessions

Altering Old, Limiting Realities

Two stories: The first takes place in the Los Angeles Police Department, the other within the ratified art world of New York.

A rookie cop on the Los Angeles police force reported for duty on a vice squad, and found out that his new precinct held an unusual lottery. It turned out that this precinct included a really terrible beat, in a dangerous section of the city. None of the vice cops ever wanted to patrol this area—so after years of fielding objections, the precinct captain had finally come up with a solution he thought was fair.
Every night, as the shift started, the captain held up a bag of marbles. Every marble in the bag was black, except for one. Filing slowly to the front of the room, each cop pulled a marble from the bag and from the marble learned his fate.

Whichever cop drew the single odd-colour marble had to brace himself for a descent into the neighbourhood they dreaded. The atmosphere was stressed and miserable—moments of happy camaraderie were rare. The rookie soon found himself dragging his feet about going to work. Twice he pulled the odd-colour marble and discovered the beat to be every bit as unsavoury as everyone had said. But he managed to survive it.

One night the rookie walked to the front of the marble line, dumped out the marbles, and deliberately chose the odd-colour marble. The next night he did it again. Night after night, he specifically requested that one marble. He no longer worried about losing the marble lottery. Now, for better or worse, his fate was in his own hands.¹ What he had experienced as enormously stressful, he chose to transform. Through his actions and example, the mood and morale in the precinct began to shift.

Across the continent, in New York City, a curator of the Museum of Modern Art spoke of the impact the advent of modern art had on the traditional art world. He said that “modern art, from Picasso’s scrambled faces to Andy Warhol’s soup cans—acts of imagination with no supporting consensus and only the tiniest circle of initial understanding—produced [enormous] changes [in the way we look not only at art, but] at the world. It ignored traditional texts, sidestepped familiar standards, and required people to make judgments without the comfort of stable rules and categories, and to navigate in seas of uncertainty, even absurdity, without a map.”² Critics have said of Picasso’s “Les Demoiselles d’Avignon” that it is “a deliberate throw of the gauntlet to the entire history of art. You can see it again and again and still be struck dumb by its audacity, its freshness and its courage.”³ And, “It changed art more than any other. Before it, paintings at least had to pretend to be decorative and cogent. Afterward anything went.”⁴
Both the realities that existed in the L.A. precinct and the art circles of New York had amassed years of agreement. One fostered a reality of anxiety, stress, and low morale. The other set the standard for purchase price, reputation, and the au courant. In each situation, longstanding realities of the way it was were altered by a new conversation.

What was “real” in each of these cases?

Most of us think of language as describing a reality that’s out there—other people, things, the universe, even ourselves. We talk about ourselves and we say things like, “I am this way or that, I am outgoing/I am cautious.” We talk about ourselves and others almost as if we were objects to be described. That’s not an inappropriate or incorrect use of language. It is, though, just one use of language. Language can and does describe; language also has the power to create. It can bring new worlds into being—worlds that may start off not as real. Possibility is not real at its origin—it’s something we create as real, and then stand for as a reality.

Richard Rorty, contemporary philosopher, makes this point: “We need to make a distinction between the claim that the world is out there and the claim that truth is out there. To say that the world is out there—that it is not our creation—is to say that most things are the effects of causes and do not include [us]. Truth, however, cannot be out there—cannot exist independently of [us].”

“The world is out there, but descriptions of the world are not. Only descriptions of the world can be true or false. The world on its own—unaided by [language] of human beings—cannot. [If] we could ever become reconciled to the idea that most of reality is indifferent to our descriptions of it and that [we are] created by [language], then we should at last [know] that truth is made rather than found. The world does not speak. Only we do.”

In Landmark we say that the reality, conditions, and circumstances of the future do not yet exist as facts; they only exist as a product of the conversations we’re in, we’re having, and in fact are. Both in the case of the rookie cop and the modern artists, the introduction of and standing for a new conversation shifted the existing reality—life’s possibilities and actualities were altered.
People who act out of inspired action do so by creating a possibility—articulating a future in such a way that it alters the way the present occurs. And because the present is now different, people act differently. Because people act in a way that is consistent with a new future, that future can then become possible.… But of course, as with any uncharted territory, there are inevitably gaps, stops and starts, missing bits. At these times, when there are gaps or something is or seems missing, it’s missing not like an invalidation, but like a possibility.
An example of something missing, but like a possibility comes up in Picasso’s juxtaposition of classic western art with African art as he created “Les Demoiselles.” He wasn’t all that confident about what he had done. The more he identified the abstracting quality of tribal art, the more he floundered and kept modifying the painting, sensing something was missing. Adding tribal masks, for him, was “a calculated risk, taken very late in the game.” For many years—until the painting was recognized as a modernist triumph—Picasso insisted something was missing. “‘Les Demoiselles’ holds within it a touching doubt, the angst of modern art as well as its trail to the future.”
Living in the face of a possibility often can carry with it that doubt or angst and can sometimes be difficult—difficult in the ways poetry, music, or a deep intimacy can be difficult, because it doesn’t explain, it doesn’t rationalize, it doesn’t describe, and it doesn’t define. Even at its earliest stages, possibility leaves us with power and freedom, and once fulfilled, is no longer a possibility—it is a reality that now allows for whole new futures.

1“Rookie cop” story adapted from Harper’s article “In Defiance of Gravity” by Tom Robbins (September, 2004).
2 Kirk Varnedoe, “Entering the Software Century,” ARTnews, September 1992, pp. 57, 58, and 142.
3 Thomas Hoving, “Nothing Like This Picasso,” Los Angeles Times, 5/8/07.
4 Michael Kimmelman, “Picasso’s ‘Demoiselles d’Avignon,” New York Times, 5/6/07.
5 Jackie Wullschlager, “The day modern art was invented: Picasso’s Demoiselles,” Financial Times, 1/5/07.

Violance in Media

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The under Dog which is within You

1. Yes Man vs My Choice
One of the basic sales tactic is to provide an illusion of choice to the buyer. A great sales person will always provide you with great choices, but in fact it is a well calculated manoeuvre to nudge you to choose the best outcome for the sales organization. We are surrounded with these kind of choices and, most of the time, we simply just say yes.
What if, instead of deciding on these initial choices, you first seek out for other choices, negotiate for better ones, filter out any noises and then generate your own list of choices? You simply limit to those that will only edifies you with a meaningful prosperity. This is a true freedom that will help you to grow and unveil more opportunities.

Choosing to live your life by your own choice is the greatest freedom you will ever have. - Dr. Shad Helmstetter

2. Likeable vs Resonating Authenticity
One of the most challenging aspect of embracing your true self is the fear of being different. This fear starts well in the early stage of life but continue to resurface throughout your career. Why should you resonate authenticity when faced with potential risk of being ridiculed and becoming isolated?
In her book, Resonate. Nancy Duarte writes, "Being transparent moves your natural tendency of personal promotion out of the way so there's more room for your idea to be noticed". Think of the "I Have a Dream" speech by Martin Luther King, Jr. where his authentic resonance electrified and sparked a movement. Resonance causes change and authentic resonance of your heart, mind, and soul will not only cause an uplifting change to yourself, but can also cause the world to change.

The men who succeed best at public life are those who take the risk of standing by their own convictions. - James A. Garfield

3. Waiting vs Creating Opportunities
It is obvious to know what happens when an entrepreneur has a billion dollar idea, but fails to execute. Oddly more often than not, our inaction -- waiting for the right moment or looking for a serendipitous opportunity, typically goes unnoticed. How do you create a platform where your underdogs can triumph?
It starts by building a measurable goal. Choose your ultimate long term goal, and then break it down to smaller goals that will act as a small stepping stone. Then take whatever actions required to make that a reality. These actions will edify and resonate your authenticity. Measure and learn from both success and failure, re-evaluate and then take the next step.

All worthwhile men have good thoughts, good ideas and good intentions – but precious few of them ever translate those into action. - John Hancock Field

Have you treated life as a game of chess or checkers? How do you deal with the fear of being authentic? What's your way of creating opportunities and achieving them?
 

The words..like yes and courage

Yes” extends boundaries, establishes new playing fields, moves possibility from ideas to actuality. Actress and improve artist Tina Fey points to the opportunity yes affords us when she says, “the first rule of improve is agree—agree with whatever your partner has created.

 The second rule is yes, and—agree and then add something of your own. If I start a scene with ‘I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,’ and you just say, ‘Yeah…’ we’re kind of at a standstill. But if I say, ‘I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,’ and you say, ‘Yes, it can’t be good for the wax figures,’ now we’re getting somewhere.”

In our recurring dialogues, patterns of conversation, the habitual ways that we listen and speak, our first response often defaults around a “no” or a “but.” Toss in a few intricately constructed reasons justifying that response, and we find ourselves limiting the future in front of us.

For anything creative to show up in life—not accidental, not manipulated, not figured out—it shows up in our stand for possibility, in the “yes.” Standing for possibility comes from nothing and creates a generative field; “yes and” extends that field and broadens the game.

Nothing is the foundation for possibility—from nothing we are able to create with a freedom that’s not available when we create from something. In creating possibility, we get to know what’s available to us in being human.

 

Choice. It’s the word that allows yes and the word that makes no possible. It’s the word that puts the free in freedom and takes obligation out of the mix. It’s the word upon which adventure, exhilaration, and authenticity depend.

 

It’s the word that the cocoon whispers to the caterpillar. We tell ourselves, sometimes, that living a transformed life isn’t  that important, that it’s enough just to get by. We get wrapped up in our own concerns, particular points of view, or positions, and the idea of getting ourselves to a place where things can be great seems too big an undertaking.

 

If somebody had a magic powder to come and sprinkle on us and just through that we’d  be transformed, we might say, “No, thanks—I don’t want any!  Let me stay just as I am.” It takes courage to live in a transformed way—to wrestle with our resistances, to give up mediocrity, to live consistent with what we know is possible in being human. It’s always and only a matter of our choosing.

 

Communication, conversation, language are predominately thought of, anchored in our minds, as an expressing, a speaking, a vocalizing. That outward expression goes far beyond talking, far beyond describing or representing reality—it is in fact what allows for “who” and “how” we are in the world.

 

It’s what allows for the futures we create, where we evoke experience in others, where our ideas become clear and possible, where we share ourselves, and where others are expanded by our participation with them. Though speaking is not where things get handled—it’s not powerful enough. The possibility that there’s an edge, the possibility of impact, lies in our listening.

 

 Listening, we often think of as more passive—important, but somehow lesser or secondary. But listening is the clearing in which speaking can occur—without it, there isn’t any speaking. Listening is an action. Listening doesn’t receive speaking, it isn’t a receptacle for speaking—it gives speaking. Listening is the possibility for meaning, for understanding.

 

The possibility for being loved lives in one’s listening; the possibility for learning lives in one’s listening. Listening is what allows others to be—it’s where both the speaker and what is spoken come alive, exist, and flourish.

 

How we describe, label, hold things, think things—it’s within those frameworks that our lives unfold. There are no “facts” that limit possibility, there are only “conversations” that limit and constrain, or those that create and forward, what’s possible.

 

The “glass-half-empty” folks lean toward the idea that something’s wrong, something’s not there, something’s missing-as in problematic. The “half-full” folks are attending to what’s actually in the glass-as in what could be brought to the party-as in “missing as a possibility.”

If we’re going to create a possibility, it’s a matter of choosing, a matter of saying, and that’s the whole deal. It’s about discovering what’s possible in being human beyond the places where, unknowingly or knowingly, we might restrict or limit ourselves.

 

When we create “something missing as a possibility,” we set a point of choice, a point of commitment-things show up as openings for action.

 

For most of us, “I” is positional (“you” are there and “I” am here), a location in time and space, a point of view that accumulates all previous experiences and points of view. Does this “I” presume a substantial entity located inside our bodies, or is it located in our minds, our families, job titles, Facebook profiles, bank accounts—those trappings that help us maintain the meanings and understandings that we have up ’til now considered ourselves to be?

 

How we “arrive” at this identity is mostly inadvertent. Essentially it is built from a series of decisions we made in response to what we felt or saw (consciously or not) as failures to do or be something. When these “apparent” failures arose, we made decisions about how to compensate for, respond to, and accommodate ourselves to them. The degree to which who we are today is filtered by those early decisions goes unrecognized.

 

Whether it is one or 10 or even 40 years later, we still hold on to that with which we’ve identified—obscuring access to ourselves and leaving us no powerful way to be with whatever is going on. But stepping outside of our identity isn’t so easy—it’s achieved a certain density throughout our lives, and it is all we know of ourselves.

 

The idea that another whole idea of self is available can be disconcerting, invalidating. In setting aside those things that gave us an “identity” we “become aware that this so-called self is as arbitrary as our name. It’s like standing over an abyss, recognizing that ‘I,’ as we know it is not an absolute.”* 

 

It is here, with this recognition, where transformation occurs—where we can invent ourselves as we go along. This revealing of our selves to ourselves occurs in a profound way that can alter the very possibility of what it means to be human.

 

The Harvard Business Review might not be where you’d expect to read about fear’s pervasive presence, but an article there referred to a great passage from a Joseph Heller novel. The novel’s hero and narrator, Bob Slocum, a middling executive at an unnamed company, is driven nearly mad thinking that decisions might be made behind his back that could ruin his career and his life. He’s not alone in these thoughts. Slocum says, “In the office in which I work there are five people of whom I am afraid.

 

Each of these five people is afraid of four people (excluding overlaps), for a total of twenty, and each of these twenty people is afraid of six people, making a total of one hundred and twenty people who are feared by at least one person.” The company, in other words, is a pyramid of potential panic, ready to topple when someone whispers, “Jig’s up.” *

 

Perhaps even more than sadness, anger, or disappointment, we find it difficult to deal with fear. Fear often keeps us from participating, from doing what we’re capable of—from experiencing and expressing the full range of possibility available in being human. This is not so much a function of the fear being operative, but rather of decisions made unwittingly long ago, and the automatic way we pull in our past experience. Old circumstances have the power, not us.

 

We don’t have to push down, work on top of, accommodate, or adapt to these old fears. We survived the first time, the second, third, and so on…. Completing a past fear includes recognizing that we would survive if the past repeated itself.

There’s a big difference between being realistic about what happened once, and being resigned or stuck that things have to continue to be some way now, or that they just are some way, or they’ll be that way again.

We have the freedom to choose our relationship to whatever it was back then, and that’s the beginning of building power. It takes enormous courage to try out new ways of being in the space where fear used to be.

 

There was a forest at the beginning of fiction too. Its canopy of branches covered the land. Up in its living roof birds flitted through greenness and bright air, but down between the trunks of the many trees there were shadows, there was dark. When you walked this forest your feet made rustling sounds, but the noises you made were not the only noises, oh no. Twigs snapped; breezes brought snatches of what might be voices.

 

Lumpings and crashes in the undergrowth marked the passages of heavy things far off, or suddenly nearby. This was a populated wood. All wild creatures lived here, dangerous or benign according to their natures. And all the other travellers you had heard of were in the wood too: kings and knights, youngest sons and third daughters, simpletons and outlaws; a small girl whose bright hood flickered between the pine trees like a scarlet beacon, and a wolf moving on a different vector to intercept her at the cottage.

 

Each travelled separately, because it was the nature of the forest that you were alone in it. It was the place in which by definition you had no companions, and no resources except your own uncertain self.¹

 

When we’re young, things can get out of control pretty quickly. We experience danger as a distinct possibility that’s “out there somewhere,” and it becomes a notion that stays with us, at some level or another, throughout time. So from a very early age, we’re kind of on alert. The idea that life can be dangerous doesn’t go away just because we become (more rational) adults. And when we carry around the idea that life could be dangerous for many years, even the notion of possibility can seem, well…threatening.
 

When we give our fears rein, even the smallest moments can be daunting. Fears arise when we look back, and they arise when we look ahead. Fears arise about ourselves, and about our reception from others. Whatever their origins, they prevent us from living fully. Whether a threat is real (a situation where our survival is at stake—our security, our health, keeping our families safe) or imagined (a situation that might await us, something that might happen—or where we might be made to look foolish, for example), it is all about survival.

Those moments of fear and anxiety—with the constriction in our chest, the fluttering of our hearts, the feelings of imminent danger or potential embarrassment—can be overwhelming, because we think some aspect of our survival is at stake.
 

Perhaps even more than sadness, anger, or disappointment, we find it difficult to deal with fear. Fear can keep us from participating, from doing what we’re capable of—from experiencing and expressing the full range of possibility that’s available to us in being human.

The disempowerment, constraints, and stops, however, are not a function of the experience of fear but rather a function of the meaning we’ve added, and the decisions we made, at a particular time in the past. Another way of saying it is that it’s not the fear that is operative, but the automatic way we collapse something that happened with what we say it signifies. It’s that automaticity that keeps us stuck in place, and what has us lose our power. Old circumstances now have the power, not us.

When we stop going for it—when we step back, play it safe, or say we can’t do something—we might avoid the experience of fear for the moment, but at the same time we are reinforcing where we’re stuck. We’re limiting our freedom, and cutting off possibility.

Being alive includes risks, threats, and danger—the possibility of “bad” things happening is always there. In planning our life to avoid those things, we’re essentially avoiding life—obviously not the wisest way to be alive.

The Harvard Business Review might not be where you’d expect to read about fear’s pervasive presence, but the following appeared in a recent issue and I thought it apropos: “I get the willies when I see closed doors.” That is the first line of Joseph Heller’s Something Happened, one of the handful of superb novels about business. Heller’s hero and narrator, Bob Slocum, a middling executive at an unnamed company, is driven nearly mad thinking that decisions might be made behind his back that could ruin his career and his life, or might merely change things that are, while odious to him, at least bearable. Without transparency, Slocum is a quivering wreck. He’s not alone.

 As the second chapter begins, Slocum says, “In the office in which I work there are five people of whom I am afraid. Each of these five people is afraid of four people (excluding overlaps), for a total of twenty, and each of these twenty people is afraid of six people, making a total of one hundred and twenty people who are feared by at least one person.” The company, in other words, is a pyramid of potential panic, ready to topple when someone whispers, “Jig’s up.” ²

There’s a big difference between being realistic about what happened once, and being resigned or stuck that things have to continue to be some way now or that they just are some way or they’ll be that way again. Instead of wishing we could change our past experience—a futile exercise—we have the freedom to choose our relationship to whatever it was, and that’s the beginning of building power.

That’s the beginning of creating possibility. Possibility invites us into areas of creativity, of side or another, unsettle old realities. Our own identity, say, or the certainty of some fact, the behaviour of others, or even the meaning of words can come to be seen and understood in new ways.

It takes enormous courage to try out new ways of being in the space where fear used to be, and by choosing to do so, we come to be authors of our own experience. Choosing requires courage—and courage leads to the ontological question of being. Courage is rooted in the whole breadth of human existence, and ultimately in the structure of being itself.³

Courage can show us what being is, and being can show us what courage is, uncertainty, of paradox and surprise. It invites us to bring things into existence that haven’t existed, take a step to one

* Thomas A. Stewart, “Seeing Things,” Harvard Business Review, February 2008

1 Francis Spufford, The Child That Books Built, pp. 24-25
2 Thomas A. Stewart, “Seeing Things,” Harvard Business Review,
February 2008, p. 10.
3 Paul Tillich, The Courage To Be.

glasses as a metafore

Some of us think happiness is dependent on things outside of ourselves—we’ll be happy when…or happy because…or happy if… Others think of happiness as a rare and fleeting thing, or are dubious from the start that it’s even possible, kind of like there’s an underlying position or commitment of “I’m not happy.” If that’s true about you, it is a pretty useful thing to know.

Being happy can’t have some “thing” in mind because it is not some “thing” in the foreground; it’s a background stand that creates the possibility of what’s in the foreground. “I am happy,” is a matter of saying—a sacred saying, a saying that has no ground underneath it, but becomes the ground. No rationale, no evidence. Being happy exists only as a possibility—it’s an inside job. If we can say, “I am happy,” and it’s true because we said so, that’s power, instantaneous, and timeless. And that’s the ultimate act of creativity.

Glasses saw better or only different worlds…Whatever reality may be, it will be shaped by the lens through which we see it. When we are born we are handed multiple lenses: genetic inheritance, gender, a specific culture and the variables of our family environment, all of which constitute our sense of reality. Looking back later, we see that we have perhaps lived less from our true nature than from the vision of reality ordained by the lenses we used.^*

The good news is that our actions are not correlated to some reality ordained by those lenses, but rather to how the world “occurs” to us. With the unsettling of old realities, stepping to one side and another, we become interested in what might be, what we can imagine. “Reality” is a phenomenon that arises in language. Language is both the ultimate reality and the medium through which reality is brought forth—there is no reality “per se,” no fixed reality. There’s only how we see it, how we say it is—it’s interpretation all the way down.

It’s language—what we say (with and about others, ourselves, and the world at large) that constitutes who we are. Getting that at the most fundamental level alters the very nature of what’s possible—not merely in the way we think about ourselves, but in the actual experience and expression of who we are. Language is inseparable from who we are, and what gives us access to our true nature—to the full panoply of being human.

^*James Hollis, The Middle Passage

Reach your highest potential! Your altitude is the highest potential that you want to reach although is easier said than done it can be done. It can be a daunting task and these tips will assist you.

1. Envision Your Future Self

Picturing yourself in the future can be challenging – look in the mirror and really ask yourself what is my altitude, what is my highest potential and do I want to achieve that? Some people are able to do this quite comfortably and others find asking trusted friend or engaging a coach to be helpful.
If your altitude or highest potential relates to your career and it is to become a Vice President – envision yourself in this position. What will your office look like, how will you treat your team and peers, what will you wear to work, what will create a great day, what will create a bad day? Really spend some time envisioning yourself in your new role.

2. Become Comfortable with Failure

This is a tough one. The concept of failing is hard to accept and even harder to become comfortable with. Many people are raised to succeed, to ‘win’ and be competitive. There are high expectations to meet, failing is often not an option. One of my best lessons learned in recent years is that one cannot truly succeed and enjoy success until you have taken a risk, tried and failed.
The feeling of defeat can be overwhelming and filled with regret – we tend to ask ourselves “why did I do that, why did I say that, I should have done, I wish I did…, etc.” It is these questions that encourage us to reflect on our decision making process and to learn.
Failure is a very powerful change agent – failing allows us to move forward and improve. We do not want to fail because we do not want to disappoint our colleagues or loved ones and we do not want be vulnerable.
J.K. Rowling (author of the Harry Potter series) presents the benefits of failure during her 2008 TED talk on "The Fringe Benefits of Failure". There are many benefits of failure and sharing these and the relevant learning is important for success.
The amazing thing is that when you fail and you are comfortable with it, others are rarely disappointed – they admire your vulnerability, how well you bounced back and how resilient you are. Not only will you appear stronger, you will be stronger. Being vulnerable is a great strength that will make you stronger and push you closer to your altitude.

3. Have Self-Awareness

To reach your altitude you need to have a great sense of self-awareness – ask yourself these questions (and answer them)

• What impact do I have on others?
• How do others perceive me? Is this the same as I perceive myself?
• What are my strengths? What would others say my strengths are?
• What are my weaknesses? What would others say my weaknesses are?

There is often a disconnect between how we see ourselves and how others see us – these are often called blind spots.
Speak with a friend or engage a coach to work with you to improve your self-awareness and work to work on your blind spots. Once you have a great sense of self-awareness including your strengths and weaknesses you will be well on your way to reaching your altitude.

4. Ask for Help

Once you answer the questions about self-awareness it is time to ask for help. Being comfortable with asking for help is another strength – it is not a sign of weakness to ask for help. It is a sign of being smart, being able to understand yourself and knowing who you have in your network who may be able to help you.
No one has ever reached their true potential and become successful all on their own, with no help.
Most people have a wide network of contacts – some you know well and others not so well (think about your LinkedIn network!). Become comfortable asking for help from others, take a chance and call them or e-mail them. Most people are willing to help and if they are not that is OK, thank them and move on.
Reach out and ask for support or advice if you need help going around, over or through any challenges – having support to improve is a critical to reaching your altitude.

5. Be Humble and Show Gratitude

Humility and showing gratitude are two of the most important character traits that are an absolute must for reaching your potential. Very few great leaders or successful people have reached their potential without being humble or thanking people along the way.
One can be confident and humble. Finding the right balance of these is challenging but important – it can be part of self-awareness building.
Humility shows through as one becomes more comfortable with failure, being vulnerable and asking for help. And of course when one asks for help or anyone provides support directly or indirectly this is a great opportunity to say Thank You! Be gracious and let them know their support is appreciated and how the help has contributed to you reaching your potential!