The Workshop, by Jennifer Comeau

My eyes sweep the space:

Empty chairs lined up like sentries at tables;

new white pads rest on easels;

boxes are laden with supplies;

the room seems to be waiting, holding its breath.

And I exhale

and lift my hands, eyes closed.

To each corner I send love.

(“Let there be laughter here.”)

Into every chair I breathe comfort.

(“Let wisdom unfold.”)

Upon the tables I arrange

binders and pads, worksheets and pencils

in a pleasing way.

(“May curiosity and boldness dwell.”)

In the center, I place —

sometimes a candle,

sometimes a koosh ball.

(“May insights and AHAs abound.”)

In myself I hold a Mighty Purpose: Inspire and Heal.

Then a Tom or a Nancy, a Jim or a Lynn arrives.

Wiley’s song is playing in my head.

“Welcome!” I say. “Come right in.”

Sometimes, sometimes the hand of the Divine lifts you up ever so gently and breathes healing life into your wracked body and spirit.

And this becomes

your day to live.

She Flies

(A song for Karen)

Apples heavy on the trees

bright leaves falling down

musty, damp-filled autumn air

acorns on the ground.

Blackish nights are lengthening;

bright, cold Hunter’s moon.

Garden beds are all used up;

snow is coming soon.

Once upon a time she held

the promise of her youth.

Days and days filled with things

to be and see and do.

Her sexy, summer siren calls

have mellowed into sounds

of easy music with her mate

as she makes her rounds.

Eyes on her wings;

thoughts in the air.

Watch her, watch her.

See her there…

And she flies, harnessing the wind.

And she’s free – she’s free! to greet the dawn again.

It might have been the slanted cast

of early winter’s rays.

Maybe she was tired from

her busy summer days.

So unexpectedly;

how could this come to pass?

Her body sounds like gunshot

when she hits the glass.

Falling, falling crazily;

spinning round and round.

Wings won’t work; nothing works.

She crashes to the ground.

Her body lies upside down

upon the cold hard stones.

Gasping, blinking stunned by this;

her mind filled with unknowns.

Gently, gently lift her up;

cradle her and give

warming, calming healing breath.

Is this her day to live?

Eyes on her wings;

thoughts in the air.

Watch her, watch her.

See her there….

And she flies, harnessing the wind.

And she’s free – she’s free! to greet the dawn again.

©2011, Jennifer Comeau. All rights reserved.

{From a series of sermon-speeches Jennifer conducted in October 2010.}

I write and speak about topics such as GREATNESS and SUCCESS because I have always been curious about the notion of destiny and making the most of our gifts and talents. The destiny of a rosebud is its full fragrant flowering self. What is MY full fragrant flowering self? Who are you at your full fragrant flowering self? These are the questions that drive me to explore GREATNESS RISING.

As I was writing this, I looked out my Great Room window and noticed the butterflies. They are fewer now. Only a few stragglers stop to feed at our butterfly bush as they travel thousands of miles closer to the equator. The cast of light is different already. Lower in the sky. Less intense. And yet, as the earth tilts away from the sun, it is this new, lower angle that lights up the plate glass surrounding my large Great Room window. It casts fiery prisms that cannot be seen in summer when the sun is at its zenith.

Birds have often been fooled by the large, shiny glass that seems transparent to them, especially during this time of year. Some, in a rush from the feeder, have flown into it at full speed. Several have died. Returning from a client visit, I’d see the telltale splotch on the window and run to the door to find a cold, dead bird lying on the patio.

The Audubon Society estimates that hundreds of thousands of migrating birds are killed each year in New York City because of collisions with the myriad glass windows high up in the sky where they fly. This saddens me. And I was contributing to the losses with my own shiny glass window.

Last autumn when working from my home office I heard a loud thud and went to investigate. There, lying on the patio lay a goldfinch, colors already transitioning from summer’s bright yellow to winter’s muted brown. It lay on its side, panting. Its little eyes opened and closed. Oh not again! Rushing out the door, I crept up to the little bird. It was clearly in shock. But still breathing! I invoked Reiki healing energy and lifted my hands out to within inches of the bird. Please God, let this beautiful, innocent creature live. Let this one live, I breathed, over and over like a mantra; silently vowing to do something about that window for once and for all.

I imagined white healing light entering the tiny bird’s body. Still it lay there, panting, eyes opening and closing, although slower now. An acorn fell to the earth, autumn leaves fluttered in the breeze; a Chickadee called – it all seemed loud to my ears as if as if someone had suddenly turned up nature’s volume.

My hands pulsed and I thought of other healers. Jesus of Nazareth of course. And in our lifetime, Mother Theresa, who healed the many, many poor of Calcutta in body and spirit. I imagined what kind of person she was. The sacrifices she made! Not sure I could do that, I thought.

But still! What caused a normal girl from a well-off household to rise to a call so great! What does it mean for me, crouching there on the gray patio stones trying to save a single bird? Is there something “greater” that I am turning away from in selfishness or fear? Are we all meant to be “mother theresa-like” in our own greatness? If so, I need a few more lessons in courage!

Economist and futurist Robert Theobald reasoned for just this idea. He said, “This is a time for courage and risk. It is a time to argue for a higher vision of human purpose. This is a moment when the actions of each of us can make a profound difference.”

Maybe our definition for success is wrong. Many of us have responsibly followed our culture’s rules for success, working hard to clamber up the organizational ladder, striving for and often achieving titles, minions – and, yes, results as well. But what kind of results? Increasingly, they seem inadequate – without consideration for those who cannot voice their needs, and for what is wanted best in the longer term. We need a new definition for success.

The world needs a new definition for success. Paul Hawken writes in his ground-breaking book, “Blessed Unrest”, “The dawn of the twenty-first century has witnessed two remarkable developments in our history: the appearance of systemic problems that are genuinely global in scope, and the growth of a world-wide movement that is determined to heal the wounds of the earth [and humankind] with the force of passion, dedication, and collective intelligence and wisdom.”

I come only recently to this assertion about a new definition for success. For over 30 years, I rather blindly followed the advice of family, community and bosses. I became an engineer because my parents “told me to”. (After having 8 children they were less concerned about us following our hearts than they were about us getting good jobs!) I too sought the evidence of competency and leadership that promotions seemed to provide. I took jobs of increasing challenge in high tech and manufacturing.

One day not so long ago, I woke up exhausted. I realized I was running from some “better part of me” that wanted to be expressed. Don’t we all run away at times? What are you running away from? I wrote a song, Baltimore, at a point when I knew that I was losing myself. Einstein said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” I wanted to change. And after having written a song about it, I felt more compelled than ever to leave the six-figure technical work that had defined me in search of a different measure of success.

I wrote then: “Each of us has something the world needs that is ours uniquely to contribute. And the gains awaiting us go far beyond external status and the acquisition of stuff but to the absolute essence of our existence: Humankind’s natural longing to contribute to something greater than personal gain — and the paradoxical inner richness we receive as a result.”

However…believing that and translating it into a new picture, a new landscape for my life are two different things. Frankly, I wanted an answer key! Remember the good old days when we were given math problems with answers in the back of the book? It didn’t tell us which formula to use or HOW to get there, but we sure knew if we had the right answer!

When defining what success looks like, each of us is likely to come up against one of three things: a) a longing for the surety of an answer key, b) the realization that answering the “what do I want” question is really hard, or c) a desire to bury our heads in the sand or slide back into the world we’ve known in spite of its deficiencies.

I felt stuck. It was from that stuck place that I wrote a song called, Muddy, which uses Mud Season in Maine as a metaphor for the uncertainty that accompanies the big gaping hole left in our lives when we surrender what no longer serves us. And, ironically, just as we give in to the uncertainty, without plans or warning, out comes the sunshine – a moment of clarity. A knowing that feels true.

I’ve learned that moving through differing levels of “stuckness” seems to be part of this journey of living the question: “What is greatness in me and what is my definition for success?” Nonetheless, I have a voracious propensity to want to “get things right”. So, I continue my seeking. It’s likely that many of you in this room can define greatness, or what it means to live a life “full measure”; how to find and heed a call; and ultimately how to live without regrets. Everyone has an opinion! I’ve learned the risky terrain we find ourselves in when desiring one “right answer” to these lofty questions. But it’s hard for me. I’m an engineer: It’s a learned behavior for me to want to “problem solve”. I’ve spent many years as a project manager: It’s natural to want to plan out all the teeny tiny actions between here and Nirvana – and then manage the risks along the way. Life is not like work! It’s not ever as certain as those project plans I used to manage.

I’ve learned it’s more like a dance, isn’t it? A dance of setting intent – defining for ourselves (using songs or pictures or journal writing or when hitting golf balls or fishing) who we are at our best and then allowing God, the Universe – whatever Divine Mystery you might choose — to bring opportunities forward. Hoping all the while that we are awake enough to see them and courageous enough to seize them.

The most important part of all this is defining who we are at our best. And it requires listening to our own still, small voice. There is no external answer key. Once again, I wrote a song to live into the lesson, this one called, “A Kind of Grace”.

Ultimately I believeGreatness Rises in the presence of three things

1: Courage: Having the courage to self-transform, continually seeking only our best selves and letting go of those dimensions that we know deep-down do not serve us.

2: Connection: Maintaining a propensity for kinship with all people, with every person, the birds and the beasts and all of the wonders of the planet. If we treat each as our teacher, and connect to them, we are able to choose best solutions.

3: Contribution: Striving to contribute to something greater than personal gain. What does the world need that only you can uniquely provide? For me, it’s currently a colorful tapestry of songwriting, speaking, consulting and giving back using my leadership and project management skills.

Greatness Rising in me and in you. Does it have to be Mother Theresa-like greatness? Only you can decide. Mythologist and lecturer Joseph Campbell muses, “People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive,”

I remember again back to that autumn afternoon a year ago, when I prayed over the little goldfinch, hoping some loving vibration would create a miracle in his tiny body. After many minutes, my legs had cramped, my arms ached from awkwardly reaching out toward the bird, I was aware that his eyes were now closed and his chest no longer heaved. From where I crouched, I could not see a pulse. I’m sorry, I said. I’m sorry little birdie. I began to move my body away and upright. Suddenly, there was an explosion of sound and feathers. I watched him rise up, up, up toward the Oak trees until he could no longer be seen. Thank you. Thank you. My eyes filled with tears.

Did I heal the bird? I don’t know. Is this greatness? Probably not. Is it a measure of success? Maybe so. Ralph Waldo Emerson may have understood it best. He said, “To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends. To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.”

Thank you.

In it, during an early exercise, we ask participants to answer this question:

What is the most important conversation you are NOT having?

We ask participants to post their responses in this format, avoiding confidential information:

With ______ About _______.

I am not at all surprised to learn that many people when responding are avoiding a conversation with themselves.

Having the often-avoided and oh, so important conversation with ourselves is the primary focus of today’s blog.

A Good Talking To

The poet and speaker David Whyte suggests that as adults, we need to give ourselves a “good talking to” from time to time. Perhaps it is because no one else has the guts to do it now that we’re all grown up. I do not know whether he insists the “conversation” goes on out loud. I do know from my own experience, that verbalizing those bald truths makes it impossible for me to ignore them.

It has been dawning on me these last two years, that somewhere, somehow along my journey, Discipline lost its way. I recall in earlier years a mentor telling me that he wished he had my discipline, so “I had it, I know I did!” I hear myself say encouragingly.

Last January I took stock of my difficult truths:

1) I had allowed the excuse of a slow healing knee to keep me from exercising – something I had always done – you guessed it – in a disciplined way. As a consequence, I had gained a dozen pounds and was in the worst shape of my life.

2) I had allowed red meat and fried foods to slowly infiltrate my eating habits. I went from eating red meat once or twice a year to once or twice a week. I went from “No fried foods” to filching my husband’s fries – or even ordering fried clams from The Ramp (the absolute BEST place for “healthy” fried food – or any gourmet comfort food for that matter!)

3) Increasingly, my love affair with wine was becoming a concern. Two or three glasses each time were a thoughtless necessity rather than a once-in-a-while choice.

Perhaps those things don’t sound too bad to you. Perhaps they sound horrifying. Each of us has our own struggles that feel smaller or greater by comparison. To me, it was evidence that I needed to reacquaint myself with Discipline.

This slippage in behavior happened so slowly that it was hard to detect rationally. It was as if all of the sudden I woke up to a new series of consequences in my life and wondered where I had gotten off track. Beware the moment by moment choices that, as Annie Dillard once wrote become, “how we spend our lives.”

Reacquainting with Discipline

It would be nice to describe the intentional way I made specific and planned changes in my life. I imagine the story: How I created a Ceremony of Commitment for myself, involved friends and family and chronicled the whole process. Not so! It was and is much more organic than that. Funny thing though, as I look back at my journaling, I signaled a readiness to change in my entry on Tuesday January 20, 2009, Inauguration Day for President Obama, our 45^th President of the United States. I wrote:

“To inaugurate means to begin. Today I am witness to what I hope will be a new chapter in America — and in my life.”

I set in motion some things, intentional or not.

I have Daryl Conant, owner of the Fitness Nuthouse to thank for providing the inspiration, information and personal challenge to me in physical fitness (he calls it FAT LOSS) as well as in nutrition. The results? In many of the metrics that count, I now range from ideal to average: Resting Heart Rate, % Body Fat, Blood Pressure, Cholesteral, Triglycerides, and Body Mass Index.

And I always have my thoughtful, generous and warm-hearted husband to thank for EVERYTHING that brings me joy.

It’s not easy, this vigilance of responsibility. There is an appeal to the looseness of living more carefree – or perhaps I should say less intentionally, more thoughtlessly. However, today I am laughing more. I am not plagued with guilt. I feel as though an omnipresent heaviness had lifted. I feel ready for a new challenge.

So I ask you:

What is the most important conversation you want to have with yourself?

Is it about wellness? Or about work? It is about your relationship with yourself? Or with others?

What part of your best self do you wish to be re-acquainted with?

Set your intention and watch what appears!

Life and death,

a twisted vine sharing a single root

A water bright green

stretching to top a twisted yellow

only to wither itself

as another green unfolds overhead

One leaf atop another

yet under the next,

a vibrant tapestry of arcs and falls

all in the act of becoming.

Death is the passing of life.

And life

is the stringing together of so many little

passings.   ~ Rabbi Rami M. Shapiro

We watch September skies become a deeper blue, and feel a new edge in the wind. We are keenly aware that Summer’s party is nearing an end. The gradual and beautiful decline of our full-leafed trees keeps our eyes ever upward, taking in the vibrancy of color.

Autumn. Such a symbolic time. Everything in nature is dying, only to return again next Spring. Rejuvenated and yet, not quite the same.

This is the time to contemplate what is “dying” inside of us. For some, what is dying is unplanned and undesired. My friend, Rob, for example, has just been notified that he has lost his job as Executive Director of an organization he was devoted to heart and soul. Another friend, B.J., is recovering from the loss of what to many women is the essence of her femininity with the radical removal of a cancer-filled breast.

For these friends and many like them, there is little choice in the situation. Only how best to deal with it. And they deal — perhaps bravely or with hand-wringing, with faith or fists raised, alone or through the help of friends.

For the rest of us, we have a choice in this season: We can choose to intentionally “die” to the thing that no longer serves us, in the act of becoming.

What no longer serves you? What do you know deeply in your heart that you must walk away from?

We ALL know our own opportunities — the mind chatter of our 2AM restlessness reveals them to us.

Is it medicating away our stress (call it fears) through the happy haze of martinis or beer?

Is it hanging on to a relationship that only drains us and turns us bitter?

Is it neglecting our holy bodies in sessions of binge eating?

Is it as simple as telling ourselves small lies so as not to stand up for what we believe?

What is nudging you for resolution?

The Importance of Ritual

If you feel the readiness to surrender that thing that no longer serves you, congratulations! This is a courageous act. One that begs for ritual to signify its importance.

I use rituals all the time. They help to solidify my intent. For example, when I realize I am in a work-related funk (of whatever sort or cause); I leave my office for the kitchen, and make myself a cup of Sweeten the Mind tea.  [It happens to be the byline on the Vanilla Almond flavor made by The Republic of Tea.] In this small act, I am filled with intent — to shift and reframe my mood to one of calmness and sweetness. And no surprise the power of intent — it works!

I invite you to consider a form of ritual to honor and solidify your letting go process.

Exercise:

Carve out some time for yourself and simply stop the doing of things. Just be still in contemplating what it is you wish to let go of. Be in an appreciative space in thinking about the behavior, issue or situation. Think about how it has helped you learn and grow. Now take a walk outside. Sometimes the splendor of nature can help us in our letting go process. My friend, Anne Fitzgerald would say, “when you feel heavy, give your heaviness to the rocks because they can carry that heaviness.” Find something that can be symbolic of your letting go (examples: a decaying leaf or twig). Blow into it what you want to let go of. Journey to a stream, the ocean, or even a high place without water. Release your symbolic object — with silence or a word or chants or screams — whatever feels right to you.

As the beautiful poem by Rabbi Shapiro suggests, “life is the stringing together of so many little passings.”  This season of decay and dying, as colorful as it is, a will result in a stark landscape of grays and browns. Dying is necessary in order for the cycle of rebirth to continue in spring. Dying is necessary in order to make space for something new. Something better. More aligned with who you are now, or who you are becoming.

A friend of mine, Fran, took a workshop in which participants were asked to reflect upon and then list their single greatest fear. Many of the respondents listed things like, “death”, “fear of becoming ill”, or “fear for my son’s safety”. Fran’s was, “being disapproved of”. It was eye opening for her. “Being disapproved of? Come on! That’s my greatest fear?” she thought to herself. “I need help!”

I have at times taken my people-pleasing role as seriously as Fran had taken hers. In fact, I wonder if it is my biggest fear as well. It is certainly not one of the usual list toppers. For example, it is not public speaking. I do that for a living and love it. It is not death. I’m a Hospice volunteer, I am not afraid of death. In fact, one of my favorite quotes is,

“The soul leaves a body as a school boy jumps through a school door — suddenly, and with joy. There is no horror in death.” ~from the movie, “A Rumor of Angels”.

(But now I’m making all the rest of you freaked out, so I’ll continue my assertion.)

The point is that as she tells this story, I see myself in it completely. I remember the sudden realization at 37 years old that I had no idea who I was. I had lived most of my life being “Gold Star Girl”, a name applied to me by my writing coach some years ago. You know, the kind who is busy doing what others think is the “right thing” while not having a single notion of what really matters to her.

Who were these “others” who were so influential? First, my parents. They urged me, “Become an engineer. It’s good pay and a secure job.” They valued that quite a bit, having had eight children. Yet as an engineer, I was like the proverbial round peg in a square hole.

Second, it was a consulting client – I called him “the vortex” because he consumed so much of his staff’s (and my) life. “Come, be a part of my team and we’ll develop new products for amazing markets!” This was his entrepreneurial dream. Not mine. The list goes on. In fact, at one point in my life, I drew apicture of myself and my formula for success: Success = what everyone else says it is!

So at the moment in my life when I realized I didn’t have a clue who I was, the worse part was that I feared I stood for nothing. I had no picture of myself outside of what I had created by following others’ dreams or values. Naturally this sent shock waves though me. And for the next several years, I began to unearth the Jenny that only an inner voice knew. It was terrifying. It is the subject of a manuscript I have written, so I won’t continue it here. Accept to say that as time went on, new interests stirred in me. Passions I did not know I had (like songwriting) – or was too afraid to mention – began to bloom.

Now, entranced in a whole new life for myself, I wonder, did Gold Star Girl really die? Would I be willing to actively “seek disapproval” to prove it?

As evidence that at least one other has done this, I present my amazing friend, Fran, once again. Did I mention that as a personal learning challenge she prayed for situations where she would have the opportunity to stand firm in disapproval? Oh, yes, the universe is amazingly supportive in giving you what you ask for. And she got them – loads of opportunities! In one of the worst, she simply bombed at an important workshop for scientists. These scientists routinely thrashed speakers for sport. She was afraid to speak to large groups. They wanted data. She had heartfelt experiential data. The sought to critically analyze her assertions. She wanted them to talk about their feelings. When she describes how truly awful it was, I squirm. This would be a fate worse than death.

But here’s the kicker: she didn’t cave. She stood in the fire of their disapproval and smiled. She also continued to put herself in front of large groups, learning as she went about how to simply be herself and let the rest be okay.

Today, she is no longer afraid to speak to large groups. She now stands firm with her experiential data. And guess what? People LOVE her. Okay, it may not be scientists that are her target market. But she is changing perspectives, beliefs – and lives.

So, it seems in this life of duality – both business consulting and songwriting – that a song has emerged out of holding this idea of seeking disapproval. Perhaps it is the start of actually doing it. In my experience, once I write a song, I am much more inclined to “live into it”.

Here is the chorus:

Seeking disapproval from a whole bunch of people.

Why does that seem like fate worse than death?

Watching their arms cross and lips purse in judgment

Give me that learning again and again.

What is your biggest fear? How might you lean into that resistance?

Fran leaned. I’m leaning. Go ahead, lean a little.

]]> http://jennifercomeau.com/view/?feed=rss2&p=25 http://jennifercomeau.com/view/?p=20 http://jennifercomeau.com/view/?p=20#comments Mon, 05 Jan 2009 23:10:54 +0000 Jen http://jennifercomeau.com/view/?p=20

One day after performing for a large crowd at a Christmas concert, “Embrace the Season” sponsored by the United Baptist Church in Saco, Maine. I am keenly aware of the musicians with heart who comprised the “& Friends” portion of “Jennifer Comeau & Friends”.

I decided to share my introduction notes with you. I hope you can imagine them jamming in our final songs, “Go Tell it On the Mountain” and my own, “3AM Blues“. Their music is still ringing joyously in my ears.

Heartfelt thanks to these very good teachers and Friends!

Jen’s Notes from the concert:

These talented musicians make my job so easy – and lots of fun. Please help me show my appreciation for them. Mickey Roache on lead guitar (among the many instruments he plays) is not only a huge talent, but he has a gentle heart and has been a guitar mentor for me. Maker of flutes and now, of beautiful silver jewelry; suburban farmer, and knower of all things music, the multi-talented, Mickey Roache!

Michael McNerney – the man behind those drums – is not only a classically trained percussionist and great friend, but he owns Port Media recording studio and co-produced my CD, “Feed the Tribe” The man makes me laugh, helps hold us in tempo better than anyone I know, and is a great friend – Michael McNerney!

“The “rock”, as we call him, John Comeau is on bass. He is a multi-dimensional man of intellect and heart. “Holder of my kite string” and man of my dreams, I’m a lucky girl. And I can’t tell you how much fun it is to share the natural high of music with him – together learning, together finding new ways to express our joy. Thank you – John Comeau!

Wiley Beveridge is a man who has exacting musical standards when playing piano and yet has an amazing ability to be loose and fun in his delivery. That is a sign of a true professional who someone you definitely want to make music with. It is Wiley’s beautiful song, “You Are Welcome Here” that I listen to over and over just before a concert. His music comforts, inspires and makes us grateful to be in his world. Wiley Beveridge!

I am grateful to have my friend, talented vocalist and Union Church leader, Ada Goff “in the house” tonight. You know in the intensity of seeking to create the best song arrangements, it is not only talent that I seek. It is a certain kind of spirit. A spirit of genuine appreciation for music, of kinship and mutual respect and most importantly, a recognition that something HOLY is at work in the making of music. The belief that music transforms everyday moments into magical ones. Ada Goff is a personification of this spirit. Thank you, Ada Goff!

I am delighted to welcome Mary Kennedy to this event. Mary is the real deal — continuing her extensive musical training in Flute and Saxophone with a Masters Degree from Longy School of Music in Cambridge and is being mentored in jazz improvisation by the great Charlie Benacus. A therapist by day, Mary has certainly provided the coolest musical therapy to our group. Thank you, Mary Kennedy!

I am sure these musicians would love to hear your comments and posts about the concert. In a few emails and phone calls today, I have heard:

• We’re all still high after last night’s concert performance! Fantastic job!!!
• The concert was fabulous! You all did a fantastic job and can be immensely proud of yourselves. Thanks you for all the had work to put this together, it seemed effortless to all of us (but we know it is really a lot of work!) KUDOS to all of you.
• Your voice is a great pleasure to listen to.
• It was great!
• That Mickey can make a guitar sound like no one else!
• Peter came home with raves!!
• We thoroughly enjoyed your concert. It was worth the wait! Just consider us among your “groupies”. Wherever you play, we will show up.
• Mary Kennedy was on fire! What a talent!
• Your concert was so much fun!! The songs you write are beautiful, and the voices and instruments blend so well together. Thanks to you and “your friends” for great entertainment.
• Wiley Beveridge is like a tuxedo with tails for your group - high class!

]]> http://jennifercomeau.com/view/?feed=rss2&p=20 http://jennifercomeau.com/view/?p=16 http://jennifercomeau.com/view/?p=16#comments Thu, 13 Nov 2008 15:35:13 +0000 Jen http://jennifercomeau.com/view/?p=16

Note: To listen to the song One Constellation.

A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of spending a weekend camping with girls 5 - 16 years old as part of a local Maine Girl Scout “camporee”. I was the staring attraction for Saturday evening, with tired but expectant girls arriving at a large campfire just as darkness descended. Mind you, I couldn’t compete with the traditional “smores” that were planned, and tried to keep my guitar away from all that — GOO — while 60-some girls went to and fro the roaring fire with marshmallows in various darkened stages. It began to be funny, this “keeping the guitar safe”, with the scout leaders joining in and forming a wall of safety.

At long last, satiated by sweets, the girls settled in to soak up the warmth of a fire and share song and story.

I began with some songs everyone knew. For example, “The Bear Song” (”The other day, I met a bear. A great big bear, in the woods out there….”) I fear those of you who know this song will not be able to sleep tonight as it will be playing over and over in your head. Sorry! Others: “Row, Row, Row Your Boat”, and “On Top of Spaghetti”….

Next, each troop offered a song of their own. Quite a delight.

Finally, my troop leader contact, Karen Hinchliffe, began to ask me some questions about the art of songwriting. “Which comes first, the melody or the words?”. I turned it back to the girls and asked them: Have you ever made up a song in your head? Which comes first? As with many things in life, it is never predictable and always different. Sometimes a phrase haunts me for days and then suddenly emerges as a melody and song. Sometimes a melody pops into my head seeking words. (I’ve been working on one dynamite blues melody that came to me — still don’t *feel* the emotion enough to convert to a song with lyrics!)

Next, she asked me, “Can you help us write a song?”. Why yes! I said, swallowing hard. Why not? And so I described that all songs are fundamentally written about “what you know”. In that approach, lies authenticity and truth. So, given this weekend’s theme of Astronomy, I asked them to think about what they’ve done or learned that they might want to write about.

And so it began. One girl boldly offered that “We’re all stars in the sky.” So, I strummed some common chords: G, C, D. Then, I advised that most songs, though not all, rhymed. So, we want to rhyme with the word, “sky”, I urged. From the fire lit darkness I heard a voice, “How about, ‘One Constellation…um, uh, … ‘ And then another voice, “Way up high!”.

And in that moment, a song began. It is a simple song, exactly the right kind for sitting around a campfire. But the theme — about each of us being different in our own special way AND at the same time being a part of One Constellation — carried with it a wisdom greater than our own. The experience of creating something unique in the world was enchanting. So much so, that the Girl Scouts decided they wanted to record the song. And so, we now have a beautiful version — recorded at Port-Media, with Michael McNerney, the co-Producer of my own CD, Feed the Tribe.

I leave you with a note from my good friend and wonderful scout leader, Karen in her email to the troops:

A very special thanks to the generosity the following people showed us in sharing their many gifts and talents with us today in studio to create: One Constellation (2008) Recorded and produced by Michael McNerney (www.port-media.com) with Mickey Roache (acoustic guitar), John Comeau (bass guitar) and our own angelic star singer/songer Jennifer Comeau (www.jennifercomeau.com) who co-wrote this song with us during Girl Scouts of Maine at a Machigonne Neighborhood Camporee and who today directed 20 “nex-jen-ers” from Troops 1700, 1712, 1921 and 2166.

Oh glorious day!

your blue jean skies and sapphire seashore

glittering like a New Year’s gown

your racing plovers chubby from summer’s feast

and warm white sands littered with dried kelp;

your stony, tidal islands

protecting us from ourselves.

A lone seagull stands

sentry at my blanket

as I count five last boats–

a vestige of summer’s crowds.

Rhythmic waves pause in meditative breath,

slipping noiselessly to shore.

When Mars was close in our late summer skies

and I depleted from hosting hordes,

September dawned

a glorious chapter

in the long book of my life.

A Meditative Walk at the Franciscan Monastery in Kennebunkport

I stroll to an outdoor shrine

in honor of Our Lady’s visit to Lourdes.

Two elderly women occupy

space on the sun-bleached benches, lips

moving, eyes closed.

I ease down in the front row

and gaze upward at Mary’s white marbled

likeness. The serenity here penetrates

instantly. I begin

to relax as tears of release spring

from my eyes.

On a woodland path I pass

an Erma Bombeck look-alike in pink;

big sparkly cross dangles

below her breasts. She emits

a shy hello, her heady perfume

trails along like a bride’s train.

Mushrooms – honey and golden, sculpted

like stacks of pancakes — rest

atop nature’s platter, made punky

by last week’s rains.

To the coastal trail

I go where mosquitoes

cannot fly in the quickening salt breeze.

In the sun

now on a grassy point, absorbing

the heat from a green wooden Adirondack chair

I watch a blonde in her canary yellow kayak struggle

against these stiff winds. I am facing

west

my most auspicious direction says the ancient

Chinese Bagua. I conclude

a friar must come to this sacred

spot each evening, to watch

the sun slip below the trees

(at least that’s what I would do).

If I close my right eye

and squint my weak left, the inlet

looks like a razzle dazzle Christmas light show

that never

never

ends.

Kylie’s Chance motors by chock full of sightseers

listening to the helmsman’s steady cadence

of interesting tid bits about The Port.

Grebes paddle this way and that

sucking the grasses near the rocks. A pair

moves near me as if to visit; and then

away again.

Hinckley’s, Zodiacs, Boston Whalers and the double-masted schooner Eleanor,

cruise by with colorfully dressed

families, happy

against a deep blue sky. A waft

of fried clams drifts over from Arundel Wharf.

Ummm. My stomach responds.

But

I make no move

to leave. I feel

deliciously pinned to this spot,

to this

stillness.

My body and spirit have been

waiting for this

moment for an eternity.

On the way out I stop at the statue

of Kateri Tekakwitha, ‘Lily of the Mohawks’.

Beneath a granite rock on her alter

I place a note, a declaration

of my state

of mind: “I am drenched

in Your grace and it slows

my pace.

I know

I know

I know.”

Suggested Practice: Meditation Walk

Carve out some time to meander in a favorite place.

Have no destination in mind.

Simply allow whatever catches your attention to guide your pace.

Move when you become aware that it is time to move.

Pause when an inner *something* asks that you pause.

There is nothing that needs to be accomplished.

Notice what happens to your breath; your mind; your body; your spirit.

Inspiration for this walk: Sabbath ~ Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives, by Wayne Muller, ©1999, Bantam Books.

©2008, Jennifer Comeau. All rights reserved.