Teller’s Plight
Teller rarely dreamed. Or, more accurately, he only occasionally remembered his dreams. Even when he woke up in the middle of the night with the awareness of particularly vivid images in his mind, and with the serious intent to remember what had just been happening, absolutely no memory was left by the time morning arrived. Whereas other folks seemed to retain their dreams and talk about them a lot, Teller always remained silent during those kinds of conversations.
So, it was particularly interesting recently when Teller found himself, in the deepest, darkest part of the night, at his former home in the big city (in the most northern part of Cascadia). As he entered the living room from the bedroom that served as his office, he was astounded to see a huge animal occupying the space. While paralyzed in place at the sight of this beast (what was this thing? could it, gasp, be a monster guinea pig?), Teller had some time to process in his head the thought that this thing was actually more than huge, it was unbelievably gigantic. It more-than-filled the entire room: yes, it seemed to be bigger than the room itself, and when the beast (was there really anything else it could be called?) inhaled, the house expanded, and when it exhaled (it had awful breath!), the house contracted. And, amazingly, although this was a sixty-year-old wooden structure, the building seemed to not make any noise while it rhythmically responded to the animal’s breath. The living room, actually the house itself, was a supple, tight-fitting body-glove for this beast.
As Teller listened, spell-bound, to the animal’s respirations, he thought, somewhat detached and analytically, hmmmmm, what is going on here? This is really interesting…
However, while Teller’s mind was trying to adjust to the reality of this thing in his house, and frozen in place thinking about what this all might mean, the giant animal noticed Teller’s diminutive presence. The beast looked at Teller, and Teller looked at it; their eyes locked. Teller’s demeanor was mostly neutral as he adjusted to this startling new development, though the beast’s face (somehow Teller thought he could make out the features of the face well enough) took on an expression of true curiosity: a sort of “cock your head” kind of reaction, as a housecat might make when suspecting a mouse is somewhere around.
But, the expression of simple curiousness rapidly disappeared, replaced by one of a predator sighting new prey: the look of a carnivore anticipating its next meal. Teller recognized the expression, and his rational mind told him to run. This is not someplace I should be, he thought. But his feet, somehow, were superglued to the hardwood floor; he simply could not move.
Teller knew a little bit about guinea pigs, and thought he remembered they were not carnivorous, but rather herbivorous. (How he could even be thinking this, though, at a time that should have been utter panic, he did not understand.) However, this was obviously not your average guinea pig. Who ever heard of a guinea pig as big as a house? He guessed, by the look on the beast’s face, that its size was indicative of its overall abnormality, and that this particular non-garden-variety guinea pig was, indeed, a killer looking for someone to eat.
Teller turned. Finally. He knew he had to make a run for it. There was no other option other than being devoured by this rodent of mythic proportions. However, just as he took his first step, the beast was finally ready to make its move. Teller immediately felt himself being lifted up by the scruff of the neck. The back of the neckband of his t-shirt was in the beast’s mouth, and, as Teller was lifted up, he started to gag and choke. I sure did overdid the analysis part this time, Teller thought to himself. I should have made a dash for it a LOT sooner.
The beast knew it was in total control now. Its next meal was trapped with nowhere to go. With this fact confidently in mind, the beast, incredibly, decided to treat itself to a nap first and enjoy the meal, that is Teller, upon waking. With Teller dangling from his black and orange (“Beaver,” another kind of rodent, how ironic) t-shirt, the beast carried him down into the basement, while all the time, the house oozed around the beast to accommodate its immense size.
The beast was apparently skilled at keeping trapped prey in its mouth and sleeping at the same time — so promptly dozed off. Teller was virtually apoplectic, with a very high level of adrenaline coursing through his veins, and, of course, scared out of his wits. He knew he was toast when the beast awoke. But, what to do? Here he was: trapped in the teeth of a sleeping beast, down in the cold, dank basement, in the middle of the night, with no prospect of being saved. It seemed like his life was over. What a way to go, he thought. A monster guinea pig; this is my fate.
But wait: was there a noise upstairs? Was there somebody else around? Was it possible that he could be saved? Can I call for help without waking the beast? What do I do now? …were all questions that raced though his mind.
He knew he had to act. And act swiftly. He had no idea who or what might be making a noise upstairs, but he had to try and make his plight known. He needed to be saved…so he summoned all he had and, literally, screamed: HEEEEEEELLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPP!
And, of course, with this, Teller screamed himself awake.
During the next half hour or so, while he tried to calm himself down (and waited, rather anxiously, for the police to arrive — thinking that certainly a neighbor had reported the screaming), he resolved to not do so much obsessing, during any given evening, about the challenges of the next work day. On this particular occasion, Teller had an early morning appointment with Cascadia College’s Provost, Dr. Mennace, and he just knew he must have been processing this in his subconscious during the night.
Teller really needed to work on letting go.
On Integrity
I recently provided some observations about the Four-Fold Way and the difficulty level associated with the concept of surrender. Now, don’t get me wrong: I continue to think that letting go of outcome is truly a hard thing to do. Wow, yes, of course.
However, recent events have me thinking a lot about the difficulty of, and price associated with, maintaining one’s integrity – and what it means to continue to speak one’s own truth in the face of remarkable resistance. That’s what it feels like I’ve been doing lately, and, frankly, I’m exhausted.
In a meeting two weeks ago, I found myself, unexpectedly, on the hot seat. Our CEO dropped by, sat down (as a result of an impromptu invitation), and joined us in a group discussion; as fate would have it, I wound up being the featured attraction. I was asked, at least a couple of times, for my views regarding some of our challenges, and, since I was specifically prompted, I answered directly and honestly. I told about my personal experience of trying to function at the nexus of two warring factions (i.e., with great levels of difficulty and stress); of an organization that lacks trust in its leadership (two individuals specifically); and of a place that is “stuck” and in dire need of a focused, protracted healing process.
I spoke for almost an hour on this occasion, in front of a small group that included a handful of the organization’s leaders. I received verbal support from only one other person, and even that was quite tentative. I felt very much alone. Isolated. And somewhat afraid.
Just that one hour totally drained me. To speak out loud a reality that is in opposition to a group’s is very hard work. It reminds me a lot of the “obedience to authority” social-psychology experiments, conducted in the 1960s by Stanley Milgram. The primary value of Milgram’s work was documentation for the willingness of individuals to engage in activities contrary to their own consciences, simply upon the command of an authority figure. Of course, I feel the desire to conform to the press of the environment and “go along” – who among us does not want to live in harmony with others around them? Especially our “bosses?” Certainly I am not immune to such forces.
I would love to be able to tell people what they want to hear. To be able to do what they want me to do. To conform. To fit in. To belong. Who doesn’t want that?
To resist. To persist. Steadfastness. To remain true to oneself. Honesty. Integrity.
Difficult. Taxing. Necessary.
Be A Duck
Aptly entitled “AZDUCK,” this huge, somewhat unsightly (but still colorful), ceramic (I think) sculpture now resides in the Oakway Mall in Eugene. I snapped this with my new little Nikon COOLPIX S7c while up there last Friday. Although I currently “live” in Roseburg, since I moved here in July I have spent an inordinate amount of time on I-5 between the two cities.
As the new job search season begins to heat up, I find I keep thinking about the position at the University of Oregon that I’ve applied for. Could I possibly, possibly end up back in Eugene? Wouldn’t that be just ducky?
Good Stuff Happens
In keeping with the happiness theme that I wrote about yesterday, this morning I started to make a list of the “good things” that happened. By noon, I had three already:
One of my coworkers stopped by, closed the door, and ran a number of ideas by me. It was a very good use of my listening, relationship and leadership skills.
The same person said: “do you know how much you’re appreciated here?”
Another individual complimented me on the two photographs that have appeared on this blog in the last few days.
All of this felt incredibly good. I stopped the list-keeping with these three items, but other good stuff happened as well. (I should pay more attention to this than I do!)
Surrender
Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’
Into the future (Steve Miller, 1976)