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Tag: failure

More on Goal Setting

Some further thoughts on goal setting as it relates to self-improvement:

Most of the self-help programs out there (at least, the ones that charge a substantial fee and consist of more than a single volume book) assume that the reason you are seeking out their assistance is that you feel unproductive. Of course, for most that unproductivity is measured in terms of accumulated monetary wealth, dissatisfaction with your career or job path (of course, the corollary assumption is that any job that does not lead to the accumulation of personal monetary wealth cannot be satisfactory), a lack of friendships (and therefore a lack of networking by which to accumulate monetary wealth), or a separation from “normal” behavoir that is proven to result in, with the right sort of guidances, the accumulation of monetary wealth.

Self-help programs, in short, seem to focus on ONE thing: getting what you want. Of course, the more complex the program, the more difficult it is to actually define what you want — as a result, the failure to achieve it can always be blamed on your inability to accurate define it.

While the focus is on that one thing, the method for achieving that focus always contains another key element: TIME. Not only are you focusing on getting what you want, but you’re focusing on getting it NOW. Centerpointe Technologies, for example, uses as their selling point that you are able to achieving a deeper state of meditation than Buddhist monks. Bear in mind that most Buddhist monks who achieve the level of concentration and mental states we’re talking about here have been meditating for 20 or 30 years, and in fact, that state of meditation is the purpose for their lives, in a sense. The key to meditation as a spiritual pastime is not just the state of “Nirvana” that you reach, however. The key to meditation is what you learn about yourself by spending 20 to 30 years thinking about it. It is this missing link, the span of time required to actually “build character” so to speak, that is missing from accelerated learning, or quick-time self-improvement programs. The fact of the matter is that until you’ve spent 20 to 30 years thinking about what your goals are, why you picked those goals, and why you require goals at all, the goals that you set to achieve in a super-accelerated meditation program are NOT going to be all that useful — because without that time under your belt, you’re not going to really have an appreciation for those goals if and when you achieve them.

Live a happy and productive life according to a standard you have inherited and probably only somewhat understand. That’s the goal of many self-help programs. What they don’t tell you is that by circumventing the time-span process, by short-cutting the mountain path, you’re bypassing the difficult and necessary process of figuring out your own standards. Of not setting goals, or achieving victories on someone else’s playing field, but in fact taking the time to change the game itself.

Using a time-honored motivational mantra, like, “See the good in everything,” doesn’t work unless you first realize that there is bad in everything too — that there is a necessary balance between black and white, up and down, right and left, on and off. Hyping your circuits so you are ON all the time is not the answer. Using 15% of your brain, rather than 10%, is only useful if you think about things that people using only 10% don’t think of. And learning what that five percent is, requires more than just accelerating your own agenda. It requires looking, as Kurt Godel might have said, at the agenda that is not contained in the set of all agendas. At the goals that not only represent your personal ambitions, selfish desires and private fantasies, but that force you to transcend the personal, selfish and private to understand that whatever CAN happen, DOES happen.

So I wonder. Doesn’t having the ability to meditate more effectively than a Buddhist monk imply that I should be acting as if I were a monk-plus? Doesn’t gaining more intelligence, insight, serenity, personal power, etc. imply that there must be more than myself that must benefit from this increase?

What about the maxim “From whom much is given, much is expected?” I have NEVER seen a self-help or personal improvement program that said by increasing your self-value, you increase your obligation to the universe.

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The Perils of Goal Setting

Since the age of twelve, I have been exposed to the field of self-improvement. My father collected and read books on the subject — Dale Carnegie’s How to Win Friends and Influence People, Napoleon Hill’s Think and Grow Rich, Norman Vincent Peale’s The Power of Positive Thinking and a slew of countless others. He also became interested in, and actually became a distributor for, the motivational self-improvement products offered by Paul J. Meyer’s Success Motivation Institute, and our house became a storehouse of multi-tape collections such as Blueprint for Success, The Dynamics of Personal Leadership and so on. This was in the late 1970s, so it preceding Tony Robbins as far as I know.

I of course being a directionless teenager (in the estimable opinion of my father, anyway), was instructed to read these materials and listen to endless hours of cassette recordings. My father’s speech became peppered with the buzz-words and slogans of this way of thinking — having a PMA or positive mental attitude, developing a POA or plan of action, and remembering quotes like if you are not making the progress you feel you should be making, or feel you are capable of making, it is simply because your goals are not clearly defined. I could go on. My dad was big on goal-setting. Never mind that at 14 or 15 I neither had the tools, experience or authority to exercise what was necessary to achieve my so-called goals — one of which was to avoid motivational instruction altogether.

Over the years, I have supplemented these books of my father’s with some of the same songs, but different verses, from other quarters. I’m OK, You’re OK, The Games People Play, Neuropsychology, The Road Less Traveled. My mother has offered to buy each of the kids one or another of the Tony Robbins courses. I myself have worked with the Centerpointe Holosync series, Learning Strategies Genius Code offering, Michael Gelb’s How to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci, Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way and countless other tomes on creativity, motivation, mental acuity and so forth. The way that some people approach diets, and physical exercise programs, I have followed the strengthening of the mind and the interior world.

But I find myself often at a strange place. The place of hereness. Where there is no need to establish goals, or to plan excessively for the future. It is a world of possibilities, perhaps, but also one in which possibilities are not something to be achieved, anticipated or even engendered, but rather simply to be experienced.

And of course, my success with most of the above referenced materials is something short of stunning. Because, to quote Mr. Meyer again, “my goals are not clearly defined.” Yes, I suppose I’d like to make more money. But for what, exactly? Yes, I’d like to have more free time. To spend doing what? Yes, I’d like to be able to learn faster, retain more information, absorb using more of my sensate capacities, reach a deeper level of understanding. But why? To baffle ’em with bullshit at the next cocktail party? To solve all the world’s problems? To “win friends and influence people,” or in other words, gain the ability to sell something they don’t need to people who can’t afford to buy it?

I wonder.

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The shadow of greatness

I was born, have grown old,
and someday I will die
In the shadow of greatness
named by other men.

In that murky darkness
I’ve been raised and schooled,
my dreams cast in contrast
against a great them.

My peers, likewise crippled
with fear, doubt and awe,
accept this dark prison,
this pinion-wing maw.

And those who would step beyond
what others cast,
and embrace light willingly,
must fight the past,

the spectres and echoes
of self-righteous souls
who built us these prisons
by seeking control

of urges and passions
that they themselves fought,
but knowing their power
thought it best to not

encourage such things.

3 JUN 2005

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the thin kings of aboutness

From Part I:

backward broken pushed against the known,
each awaiting defamation,
two armies fought and fled their thin kings
waiting down among the rushes

forward spoken harsh against the wind,
each a summons hoarse men whispered
plans and expectations lost are we to blame
the thin kings’ ponds were stirring

inwards driven quick against the mark,
each an inchlet close to dying
hopis lost and raiders of the damned sing
for the thin kings’ fateful pushes

outward spoken quick against the door,
each awaiting degradation
two armies raised and wasted time until
the thin kings planned the battle.

the thin kings of aboutness sought
to subjugate the realm of thought,
and ‘gainst the nothing that they fought
the void and emptiness they brought.

of when and what the why became
the struggle birthed from whence they came:
one blind, one deaf, one mute, one lame –
the thin kings and their sorrowed fame.

the thin kings of aboutness yearned
to separate the great unlearned;
and ‘gainst the grip of death they turned
the fire of life, and so were burned.

of which and who the where becomes
the battle spawned from endless drums:
one great, one small, one burst, one dumb –
the thin kings and their kingdom come.

From Part III:

the ink spilled swift and held itself
as nothing kept its silent vow;
letters cowered as the pages dressed
the thin kings in their shining raiment.

wordless crept the secret cause
as something slept in silent death;
whispers shivered as the horses swept
the thin kings through the alleys raining.

the crowd stood murmured and beheld
as nothing stood and spoke parables;
betters glowered as the gates pressed
the thin kings up against their subjects.

worthless wept the one lament
as something passed in hurtful bliss;
lepers wondered as the healers sought
the thin kings in their broken armor.

in winter’s cold and bitter debt
the mistress learns her alphabet
to write of sorrows unfelt yet
until the thin kings she’ll forget

too soon the memory fades, she knew
the trumpets blown the wind it blew
and who remembers then? too few
the thin kings and their kingdom, too.

release me from this hardened shell
outside into the fires of hell
for I’ve a riddle yet to tell
the thin kings and their tolling bell.

a riddle, yes, perhaps a tale
of riders, horses, crop and flail
of frozen rain turned into hail
and hands forgotten with their nail.

the answer sought the lonely kings
beyond the gallows where they swing
yet not a one could bear to bring
their focus on the ghastly thing.

1993

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No More Sad Weepings of Regret

No more sad weepings of regret
for could have beens and not quite yets,
for rituals left incomplete
for locked doors facing empty streets

for words lost in a tempest’s rage
for missteps on an unlit stage
for ancient wounds now faded scars
for long burnt out, far distant stars

for fashions past that won’t return
for matches far too wet to burn
for verbal gaffes, for unrhymed verse
for knowledge gathered and dispersed

for books unwritten and unread
for love once endless, but now dead
for rusting bars on unlit cells
for buckets drawn from empty wells

for seeds and wild oats never sown
for first together, then alone
for motions carried just for spite
for daylight’s retreat into night

for a whole lifetime spent for naught
for fish, and punchlines, left uncaught
for seeming more, and being less
for each new forwarding address

for moments passed that are no more
for losing count, for keeping score
for hours lost in speechless grief
for seeking elsewhere for relief

for finding fault, for feeling shame
for wanting to assign the blame
for wasting one more second’s worth
of this brief span we have on earth.

06 APR 2005

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The Seeker’s Lament

For forty years I’ve sought some kind of truth
and come up empty-handed, more or less.
What dreams I held like treasures in my youth
have lost their gleam; my hands, their tenderness.

The journey has not gone as I had planned,
nor have the self-prescribed instructions been much good.
The waters beyond my small plot of land
remain uncharted depths, and what sparse food

I gleaned from these great oceans has become
like horded manna, fit for only flies;
my touch has turned rare jewels to lumps of coal.
My tongue once loose with song has been struck dumb,
anesthetized by years of speaking lies.
Now, even my illusions cannot hold.

Along the rocky shore, I peer in vain
out in the mist that crowds the twilight shore
with eyes now worn and weak, their muscle strained
from nights in candlelight. There is no more

soft music in the wind that brings delight,
nor quiet silence where I find some peace.
Each moment brings no end, just fruitless fight;
and sleep, once fitful, brings me no release.

At midnight, when the world is calm and still
and secrets are exchanged between the veils,
I stand offstage, behind the curtain’s wall
and where the footlight shadows barely spill,
just listening to others’ wondrous tales,
and realize I’ve found nothing at all.

27 JAN 2005

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A Dirge for the Left Wing

So we’ve inaugurated him
the Jingo Kid, ol’ Cocaine Slim
to serve again as our great chief.

Despite the obvious belief
of many folks that he’s the spawn
of Satan. Soon he will be gone,
and who will fill his king-sized shoes?

That we’re in sad shape is no news,
and four years hence things will be worse
fed evil pap from this wet nurse.

I wonder, though, if just for spite
the constant scheming God-filled right
won’t train a Democrat or two
to follow on the Shrub, Part Deux;
and hoist some harmless seeming Left
upon a nation, now bereft,
its sense of truth and honor gone,
its holy cause, freedom, a pawn
used as a ploy to sell your way
on next inauguration day.

I’ll end with this, and make it brief:
next time you pick our chosen chief
be sure to check at your hairline
for three tattooed inverted nines.

22 JAN 2005

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