Dream Time

I'm just finishing up reading Brendon Burchard's The Charge, with all its reminders of the joy and necessity of living our truth. This is a daily inquiry for me, informing every moment, every action, almost every thought. The ideal of expressing our deep truth in every second of our lives, bringing joy and life to the world and encouraging others by our example and our words to do the same, is in the front of my mind every hour of every day.

The last section of my novel The Moment of Change (extract below) addresses this idea directly as the protagonist, Ocean, twenty-eight-year-old ex-rebel-schoolgirl, sets up a Dream Time club at a local high school, bringing out not only the passions and dreams of the students, but of the principal as well.

So apart from the obvious: listening to our hearts, tuning into intuition, doing the brave things when they rise up from us, what does following our dreams consist of? For me, in the absence of dramatic inner direction, my rule is to do what is in front of me and keep going till it's done.

Today I have an article to write and some pieces for the Paris Women of Success collaborative book My Paris Story: Living, loving and leaping without a net in the City of Lights to edit. This morning I finished writing my own chapter for that book. I have a client's book to continue editing, an inspiring look at connected parenting by Dr. Linda Mallory; I have a call with my mastermind group this afternoon, an email to write to a friend of a friend, encouraging him to write the book that is in him and then, summoning all my courage, my video Writer's Blog post to do. Once all that gets done, or at least progressed, or if intuition prompts me in the meantime, there are many, many other possibilities and opportunities to be created or followed up.

Living my dreams, for me, for the most part, is just a matter of doing the next obvious thing.

Back to Ocean and the school principal. Here's an extract of their conversation. You'll notice the trumpet theme coming through again:

“So what are you thinking? How would it work?”

“The idea is very simple. Do something you love, for a little time each day. It could be five minutes, half an hour, anything. The point is to respect and act on that part of you that is who you really are. Sure there’s practical stuff to do. But for a few minutes, each day, you connect with yourself, what you want, what you love to do. Do you have any hobbies, Mr Howarth?”

“Please call me Henry. No, not really, no. I read, in the holidays, but during term there’s not time for, well, anything, really.”

“And before, in the past?”

“Well, I used to play the trumpet. I was in a jazz band, when I was at university. I enjoyed that.”

I smiled at his smile, as he remembered. “Do you still have it, the trumpet?”

“Yes, I do, somewhere.”

Jennifer's books, including The Moment of Change, are available from Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk and all major book and eBook sites.

Air

When I learned to play the trumpet, which I took up just a few years ago, it was a totally different experience than any other instrument I had played before. I started piano lessons, eagerly, and after years of nagging my parents, at eight years old. I had eleven years of regular lessons with a teacher who became a close friend. I did exams, payed attention to all the aspects of technique, learned the theory, played in concerts, in the school orchestra, in church.

Learning the trumpet was much more like falling in love. I was irresistibly drawn to the instrument, which we had hired because my daughter wanted lessons. I played it while she was at school, just experimenting with the sounds, not officially "learning". When she stopped a term later, taking up the drums, I took over her lessons and could continue my fascination openly. 

Still it was different. I played, not to learn music, but to hear the notes. I felt, rather than heard, the resonance of the air, flowing through smooth or rugged, clear and pure or distorted, and I shifted my body, my breathing, so that more and more consistently I felt that glorious lamina flow, perfect slow drawn-out notes, bending and shaping like smoke in a bottle, twisting and dancing, spiralling in full natural beauty.

Instead of practising the pieces my brilliant, long-suffering teacher gave me, I put on my favourite music and played along with slow harmonies, chiming with the spirit of other intuitive musicians: Sarah McLachlan, mostly, with a bit of Bach and Cole Porter thrown in. 

Instead of doing the exercises my teacher, Mark, wanted, my lessons were sequences of duets, his music leading mine, interspersed with wild stories, told by me, distractions to allow my body to rest from the pressure in my lungs, the numbness of my lips. The experience was so intense I couldn't sustain it for long.

During this period, I wrote a novel about a trumpet player, with the title Air. In it, I explored the experience of living this way, feeling through life instead of following the notes on the paper, the rules.

Here's a quote from that novel:

"Her voice came as if from far away. I took the instrument from its case, looked around for the mouth piece and found it sitting in one of two special slots for it. I took it out and fitted it into the fine end. It slotted in cleanly, firmly. I twisted slowly it until it stuck, and then I raised the trumpet to my lips.

"From somewhere I had an understanding that it wasn’t easy to get a noise out of one of these, so I blew hard. It made a honking squeak and then was silent. I tried again, lighter. Nothing. I turned away from Paula, walking into another room. I needed to be alone to do this, it was serious. My life had taken on a new direction; in fact, my life had never really had a direction before. This was it. Outside words and explanation. I had found myself." 

Air is currently being edited for publication. Jennifer's other books are available from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.

Fireworks and passion

My friend Kathryn loves fireworks. Well, we all love fireworks, but this is a special passion, a vivid display of personal fireworks on her face when she even talks about it. Watching her run out onto the lawn with a box of matches in her hand is something else again.

I love that passion, and I want to be around it, be near it, experience it vicariously, be as close to it as possible. I feel a little sadness this year, because Kathryn lives in New Zealand and I am in France. I have a rare sense of missing something precious.

At the same time, that sense of regret shows me something beautiful: that being passionate, expressing ourselves fully, indulging our delights brings a contagious joy. I find myself smiling just at the memory of those fireworks evenings, that shining face, of previous years.

This morning brought me a parallel joy, a new contact through my work as The Flow Writer: Michelle Pozon, The Closet Guru in Paris. Michelle worked as a successful fashion designer in New York for twenty years and now finds joy bringing out the beauty in her clients, mostly working with what they already have in their closets. She said "I just see outfits everywhere. I see clothes. The greatest joy for me is bringing out the beauty that already exists in every woman."

Spending time in conversation with people who are living their passion, their joy, is such a gift, such a delight.

So now, it must be our turn to do the same, pass on the gift of our passion to those around us. To me, that sounds like divine permission to go for it, and live my passion, too. How about you?

The next step on the path...

I find myself talking more and more lately about the fact that, while I know in each moment what to do, I know less and less where those actions are taking me. It's clear that there is a direction, a plan, but from here, the destination is unclear.

That's not to say it's not an exciting ride. The people I meet inspire and excite me. I spend a lot of time talking, laughing, connecting. I hear deep truth from the people I meet along the way. I see so much to admire; so much to learn from. I create, projects unfold, effortlessly - so effortlessly, in fact, that it would be easy to downplay their significance if I didn't remind myself to look back once in a while.

More and more, I meet people who are having the same experience of life: there's that part of us that knows our deep truth, whatever we call it - intuition, gut, inner wisdom, God... As I go along in life, I judge that terminology less and less. Whatever we call it, my sense it's the same thing. When we sink down inside ourselves and listen, there is a voice, a prompting, that leaves no room for doubt or hesitation. The faster we act, the faster we respond, the greater the rewards seem to be.

Looking forward, I could say I don't understand it. But looking back, it seems there may be a pattern. The easiest of steps brought me to my greatest achievements; and often where the road was hard, it faded out. The goal was realised, but in retrospect seemed far less important than those that felt inspired.

From where I am now, my strongest desire is to speak, to connect, with people I love - whether that's a lover, friends over dinner, or an audience of thousands.

The "permanent" things seem the least important - houses and cars and jewellery. Conversation is ethereal, gone as soon as uttered. And yet something important remains, stamped on the DNA of all present, ready to be passed down through the ages, in the collective consciousness of all to come.

I have a sense of being on the growing edge of something, following a path clear, and yet step-by-step undefined. It's easy to follow, however, one step at a time.

Jennifer Manson is the author of Easy - Stories from an effortlessly created life, available from Amazon.