Better Man

       After my morning meditation, my first interaction with a human being (other than myself) today went exactly like this:
       At my local Starbucks, I go to sit at one of those big four person tables, where there’s already one guy sitting. His big black bag is on the table, taking up half of it. As I go to sit diagonally across from him, I ask him, “Is that your bag?”. He says yes, but does not move the bag. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. So I gently nudge the bag over and say “Excuse me, I’m just going to make a little room for myself here”. He says that I should have asked him before I touched the bag. I respond, “You’re right, I apologize. And you could have just as easily moved the bag when it was apparent that I was going to sit down”. He shot back, really nasty, “You could sit somewhere else. Sit over there!”. “I don’t want to sit over there”, I said. “I’m choosing to sit here.” He then called me stupid and finished with a nice “Fuck you!”. When he realized I wasn’t going anywhere, he grabbed his bag to leave, and nudged my computer with it, saying “Oops!”.
       Now, there was a time in my life when I probably would have gotten into it with the guy. There was a time when such an interaction would color my world for a little while afterwards; maybe even for a long while afterwards. But today, I just smiled and said, “Have a good day”, and shot him a silent prayer. Because this guy is obviously fighting a hard battle on his inside. When I went to get my coffee, Greg and Scott, two of the really outstanding baristas at Starbucks, apologized to me, telling me that this was not the first time that this guy has caused a problem. I thanked them, and said “I’m sure I’m not the first, and I’m sure it’s not me.”
       The expression “Hurt people, hurt people” came to me this morning during my meditation. Meaning that the more we hurt on the inside, the more we hurt others with our words and actions. Especially if we are unaware or unconscious of this reality. Now, like everyone else on this planet, there are places inside of me that still hurt. I, like all of us, have places within that need healing. But I’m far more aware of my unhealed places these days. Moreover, I consciously attempt not to let those places run my behavior. I don’t always succeed, meaning that sometimes my residual pain still creates actions that hurt others. But I’m far more conscious of this dynamic. I’m more awake to it. I’m more awake, period. And I’m waking up more and more all the time. Because that’s the kind of life I want to live.
       I’m a better man these days.

©2014 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved. 

 

You, The Artist

       You are an artist in one definitive sense. You create your life. And anybody who creates, anything, is, in my book, an artist. So you’re an artist. Maybe you don’t think of yourself as one. Maybe you don’t call yourself one. But I challenge that. Here and now. Come along on this ride with me for a few minutes and see what happens. For the rest of the read, call yourself an artist. Think of yourself as an artist. You can go back to calling yourself whatever you want afterwards. That identity will still be there. But maybe, if I’ve done my job, that identity will be a little broader. And that’s a beautiful thing.
       In the simplest of actions, we can think of ourselves as artists. When we say hello to somebody, for example, we are creating something. An interaction. A moment. Maybe that moment lasts but a second or so. Maybe it’s gone as quickly as it was created. Over in a flash. But not all art is permanent. Most of it is fleeting. That isn’t the point. The point is that we created it. It existed. It’s gone. We make another moment. It’s gone too. We make more. And on it goes.
       Look at your life. You are creating moments perpetually. You are creating something, perpetually. The most mundane of acts is a creation. Of something. It’s very zen, for as mundane as it is, it is as equally sacred.
       An email. A voice message. A conversation. A Facebook post. A selfie. All little creations. All little art projects. One after another. Even when we sleep, we create. From the subconscious come our dreams. Even if we don’t remember them, we’re still dreaming. It’s what we do. So even when we don’t remember our creations, we create. Actually, we can’t not create. Even our thoughts are creations. And when’s the last time you didn’t think? Anything? During meditation, perhaps. Maybe you have lots of quiet, thoughtless moments. But even in meditation, even in thoughtless moments, you are creating. You are creating space. Space within yourself. You are creating open moments.
       What if you actually thought of yourself as an artist throughout this process? Consciously at first. Right now, say to yourself, “I am an artist”. Maybe it sounds silly. Do it anyway. Nobody will hear you. Except you. And you matter. Your mind and your heart and your soul need to hear you say that. Because your mind and your heart and your soul love to create. The proof is in the pudding, because they are doing it all the time.
       Why bother consciously calling yourself an artist? Because if you practice, you start thinking of yourself as an artist without being aware you’re thinking it. You just are it. But we need to practice that. It’s a muscle. Flex it. Use it. It grows over time.
       The benefits of calling ourselves artists is that, because we are being conscious of our creations, because we are more aware of the fact that we’re creating all the time, we start seeing opportunities to create even more. We see that a simple hello is indeed a creative act, and that maybe we want to create something consciously. Like a really positive moment. Like a real connection. Like love. As temporary or as lasting as it may be. Awareness breeds awareness. Consciousness breeds consciousness. Love creates love. The more we realize that we are creating, the more we create.
       And the more we create, the more meaning our lives have. The more fun our lives are. The more impact we have on others. The more connected we are to all of humanity, to all of each other. The more connected we are to ourselves. The act of creation is hard wired into us as viscerally as our bloodstream. The more we create, the more alive we feel. The more alive we are. Even quantum mechanics tells us that, if we break it all down to its most basic level, all of everything is energy. So when we create, anything, we are creating energy. And the more energy we create, the more energy we have to create. Energy begets energy. So our lives have more energy. Our lives have more blood, more meat, more juice. Our lives have more of us. In every moment.
       So how was that? Artist.


©2014 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Piatelli Construction

       Over the weekend, I stayed in an old Boston hotel that used to be called The Bradford. It’s a Marriott Courtyard now, in the theatre district right across from the Wang Center.
       My family has a history with that hotel. Back in the mid 1980’s, my dad and a few partners were thinking about buying the hotel and renovating it. I remember accompanying my father to those business meetings at that hotel. I was fresh out of college, very green, busting with pride to be helping my dad, and observing how some big boys operated. The deal didn’t work out, but Piatelli Construction ended up doing some work on the place before another group took it over. For that phase, my dad didn’t need me in the boardroom but in the bathroom - of the hotel - so I worked with the demo crew. My sister Cheryl got a very cool brass water fountain from the old Bradford.
       I miss my dad a lot these days. I miss him a lot most days, actually, but something in particular is up between me and him right now. He’s trying to tell me something. Either something I haven’t heard before, or something I haven’t been able to hear before.
       Dad’s aura was all over that hotel last weekend. I felt it. I felt him. It was actually a little surreal. Aside from going to the old Roxy nightclub, I hadn’t been in that hotel since I ripped mirrors and such off the walls many years ago. My dad was still alive then.
       When I think about my dad and his construction company, I remember that I felt that he, and it, would be around forever. Piatelli Construction was as much a part of my life, as my whole family’s life, as any person. It was like the great container that we all navigated the world through. Manned by my father, it gave us all so much; it would be impossible for me to imagine my earlier life without it. It was like my third parent.
       It saddens me that the company no longer exists. That none of us took it over and continued the legacy. My dad was okay with that, however. At least he said he was. He always wanted his kids to do what we wanted for work, not what he wanted. That point was made clear to all of us again and again, and I know it was sincere. And yet, I can’t help but think he would have loved to see one of his sons take the company over. Then again, knowing dad had some serious control issues, especially around his business, maybe not. I’m sure he had mixed emotions over the whole thing.
       The legacy of my dad and Piatelli Construction are inexorably entwined. They both made a huge difference in so many people’s lives. I wonder what my legacy will be. I don’t ponder that question in the future tense. I understand that whatever my legacy will be, it’s determined by the choices I make, by the actions I take, now. Today. This moment. And I want to make a difference in people’s lives. Now. Today. This moment.
       So I’m listening dad. Speak to me. At no other time in my life have I had my ear more to the wind of my own heart. Your heart was your greatest gift. Yes, your head was magnificent, but it was your heart that drove you to be the man you were. The man so loved, so deeply, by so many.
       Especially this son.      

©2014 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Vortex

       Moments fill up our lives like raindrops in a bucket, all blending into what we collectively call Life. But, unlike the raindrops once they fall, we are often able to separate the moments. We look at them, each a tiny universe on its own; we see how they created the water in the bucket, even as we experience each one as completely distinct. A few days ago, one of those raindrop moments hit me in the middle of my chest, its moisture now forever a part of me, as it made its way into the bucket of My Life.
       Kripalu is a magical place for me. It’s a kind of vortex. The Omega Institute, where I spent the last month before coming to Kripalu, is a vortex too. Certain experiences happen in a vortex that don’t as easily manifest themselves outside of that vortex. With practice, however, we can learn to create more of those kinds of experiences anywhere in our lives. Which is precisely what I’m aspiring to do once I leave these magical places.
       The other day, I had a brief, rather ordinary interaction with one of my fellow workshop participants. Immediately after that interaction, as I was walking to an outdoor yoga class, I experienced a visceral physical and emotional sensation, accompanied by a crystal clear image. I saw both sides of a giant, heavy double door made of iron and wood in the middle of my chest, suddenly open. The ornate door, the kind you would see entering one’s castle, opened naturally and rhythmically, at a smooth and steady pace.
       As the doors opened, I felt a flood of warmth spread throughout my chest and make its way throughout my whole body. This energetic escape floored me, as my lips trembled and my head vibrated, like one of those little electric motors that hums from the residual energy that can’t be translated into whatever it’s powering. Tears filled my eyes, and unable to be contained, streamed down my face. My voice made little quivering sounds, like the one a kid makes when he’s overwhelmed by the experience of receiving the teddy bear he’s always wanted.
       There was no voice in my head telling me that this private display of emotion was emasculating, or trite, or childish. In this moment, I gave myself full permission to just completely engage in whatever the fuck was happening to me; without judgement, without internal editorializing, without hardly any thought at all. Just feeling. Pure, beautiful, powerful feeling. For a few precious moments, all I felt was what I felt. All I felt was the unexplainable. All I felt was love.
       In that fleeting sacred space, I felt loved by all the everything that is My Life: all the people, all the things, all the circumstances. In that divine timeless vortex that made up but a single moment, I loved all that is, all that has ever been, and all that will ever be, My Life.
       Like I said. These places are magic.  

©2014 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.