Author: carebear

Freedom. What does it mean to Be free? I say “be” because to “have” freedom, freedom as a direct object, implies that it can be taken away and given to you or to/from somebody else–like a toy, a cookie, or affection. However, if you view freedom as something that you innately are, an adjective–maybe even more than that–freedom as a part of your being, your core essence, that is.  What does it mean to be “free”?

I would like to propose this idea that everyone of us, no matter where we live, are truly free beings. Some may argue, we are either free and have liberties; or we aren’t free and are enslaved in one way or another. This perspective is true when looking on the outside. But I am trying to offer a different perspective on freedom. Freedom with liberties is not the same as “being free”. So what do I mean by being free?

The Freedom (with a capital F) that you are is a truism–no matter the circumstances that you are living now, you are expressing yourself as one who is empowered and connected to the core essence of who you are. Being Free is knowing who you are beyond just your circumstances and from that place of knowing, you express your true nature as one who is eternally free.  There is a lot to unravel in that, so let me tell you a story…

…Imagine if you will, a child. A little girl or boy, it doesn’t matter. I will use the pronoun ‘he’ for simplicity.  This child was raised by very loving parents. The only child of this couple. Wanted and cherished he was.  As he grew from infancy and learned to walk, his parents protected him; following his every move. They put bumpers around the furniture, stoppers on the doors so he wouldn’t fall and hurt himself.  They loved him and protected his every step.

As the boy grew older, he started not needing those safety nets. He was running, playing, and learning to ride a bike. But the parents, out of their concern, kept the bumpers on the furniture and the training wheels on his bike. They followed his every move–ready at a moment’s notice to catch his falls.

A year or so passed, the child asked to have the training wheels taken off his bike.  The parents refused. “You’re safe this way”, they said. The child insisted that he was ready. Oh, was he ready to experience the freedom and the thrill of riding his bike all on his own. However, the parents argued out of love (or fear), that they knew better than their child. For they have lived longer, experienced more things, have felt the pain of hurting themselves and wanted to prevent their only child, whom they loved from experiencing that pain. So the bumpers stayed on the furniture and the training wheels stayed on their bike.  

As the child aged into a young adult, he lived his whole life being fed information that his parents wanted him to have; he was told stories that his parents wanted him to hear; he was surrounded by images that only his parents deemed he was worthy enough to see.  But time keeps moving forward, they couldn’t surround him forever. Then the day came, when the child became a man and moved out into the world. 

He saw furniture and doors for the first time without bumpers. He got used to rounded corners until the first time he ran his knee into the edge of a coffee table.  The pain hit, but it was temporary. “That’s not so bad.” He thought. And he carried on his way.

For the first time, the man got on a bike without training wheels. He didn’t know if he could ride or not. It didn’t take long for him to learn how to handle the curves in the road, to pedal uphill with power and coast when gliding back down. Soon the man was proficient and even successful navigating on his own. 

During the first few years as an adult, the man experiences all the joy, happiness, love, heartache, pain and disappointment that a life offers.  The man was empowered to be who he was born to be–with all of his own ideas, desires, and imperfections. Soon, the time came when he went back to see his parents.

They were so happy to see each other. It had been a long time and all of them embraced in love. The man began to tell them of his adventures–how he created his own life stories and experiences. He told them of how he even rode a bike for miles without training wheels! He told them how he fell off once or twice–the pain eventually healed and he wasn’t afraid to get back and ride again. 

His parents looked at him with endearment, but confusion. “Why wouldn’t you want to do things the way they’ve always been done? The way we raised you?” They asked. “The world is a tough place, full of disappointments; things that can make or break you. Why, my son, are you living out there this way?”

The man looked into their loving but fearful eyes. He felt a wave of compassion roll over him. Compassion for those who he loves and compassion for all the people who let fear cloud their perceptions of the world and stifle their ability to be truly free from within…

So, I ask…What does it mean to Be Free? I think freedom means different things to different people. To me, it means to view the world in your own truth no matter what others want you to see or believe. It means to be confident in your own journey, no matter how many falls or mistakes you make–it’s your journey, not anyone else’s. 

I’d like to end with a quote from his Holiness the Dalai Lama:

“If we want to see a more peaceful world, we have to learn to collaborate. Young people should not follow previous patterns of behavior. New conditions, such as our independent, globalized world require new ideas. New concepts. Dividing people into Us and them is out of date! And so it is!”

–Dalai Lama-June 21st, 2021.

I am eternally grateful for the opportunity to share my thoughts and feelings. Love and gratitude to everyone listening and reading. May we each find peace within and radiate it outward as a shining light of love.

Imagine if  you will, a small classroom full of 6th graders anticipating the first day of school.  There is a slight murmur of noise and laughter. Some students are confidently leaning back in their chairs. Others are trying not to be seen, with their heads down and pencils writing some unknown, non-sense words in a crisp new notebook. I am their teacher, ready for their attention at the white board.  All of us are anticipating the next move. Which proverbial shoe will drop first?

That is when I heard it.  A low humming sound at first. Then it stopped. I look around the dimly lit room. Something was different about these students.  I noticed some kids had their mothers with them.  Others were very sad looking and had pacifiers.  Odd, I thought. Why would there be mothers in class? And what is it with a 6th grader using a pacifier? Do I take it away? Gross! Is it a special fidget that is allowed by the child’s learning plan? I was in the middle of this conundrum, when I heard the noise again…This time it was louder.

…Is that….Is that…chanting?!

Can’t be. This is science class after all, and I am the teacher. I’m here, at the white board! The learning objective was written;  I fully expect my students to be writing it down and paying attention to the day’s lesson.  Yet, I can’t ignore the chanting. I turn and look to the back of the classroom where the noise was coming from. And there I see him.

He is a young native american man. Navajo, I’m told in my head.  He is older than a 6th grader, but not old enough to be out of high school.  He has a daisy tattooed underneath his left eye. And his eyes! Big, brown, soft glowing eyes. Innocent like a babies–yet full of wisdom and pain.  He is sitting next to his grandmother, who seems nervous–as if she was in a doctor’s waiting room anticipating bad news.  On the other side of this man-child is a young girl, about 10 years or so.  She is playing with a thick, black braid in her hair.  

My gaze turns back to the man-child’s face. He is just sitting there, chanting in his native language.  I start to notice that the other student’s in the room have become aware of this man-child and I. My teacher “spidey-senses” picks up and I realize I am going to lose what order I have of my class, unless I put an end to this disruption.  

I kneel down next to the man-child.  He is now taller than me sitting in his chair. My eyes lock with his eyes. Inseparable we were–for that brief moment in time. Oh my God, he is reading my soul! Chanting to the rhythm of every life I have ever lived. He is chanting the language of Light that is speaking the truth of who I am, who I ever was, and who I ever will be.  

Being exposed at my core, left me vulnerable–an emptiness I can’t explain.  Not wanting to stay in the void for very long, I stood up and looked at the grandmother sitting next to him.  “Please.” I somehow choke the words out. “I’m going to have to ask him to step outside while I continue class.”  Those words echoed in the hollow room. Was it the room that was hollow? Or perhaps it was my courage that was missing–a body full of fear.  

I now see myself watching the three of them leave the room.  Like wisps of leaves being blown by an unseen force, they exit the classroom not looking back.  I stand there now alone in this room.  No students. No mothers. No desks. Just me looking down at me, at the white board. Frozen in a dream state. I am waking up…Unfortunately.  

If this was your dream, how would you feel waking up from it? Oh, I have an idea of what it all means–for me. I can’t help but think, somehow I threw myself out of that classroom. A part of me, like the grandmother, really wanted to stay–but lacked hope that the outcome would be anything than what it was. Two innocent children, different from the rest, were singled out and labeled as a distraction.  

Why was the man-child, this Shaman in the room, a distraction to me? What is more important than acknowledging the beautiful ancestral gifts I have within? What is more important than looking into my own eyes and seeing the magnificent soul I possess? Deep down, I know the answer to that question. Yet have not the words nor the courage to say.

What can our dreams tell us about ourselves? Dreams are like the Netflix of the subconscious.  We can choose to just play the reruns of our daily lives–binge watching one marathon after another, until we wake up to what they are trying to teach us. Or we can learn from them and apply that to our waking life.  Socrates is quoted as saying “An unexamined life is not worth living.” I’d like to add “An examined life that is not lived, is not really a life at all.”