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The Constellation Learning Newsletter
October 2005
“If
you look without, the world of the many exists; if you look
within, then the world of one [exists]. If you go outside
you may achieve much but you will miss the one. And that one
is the very center; if you miss it you have missed all.”
From The Mustard
Seed, by Osho, Indian Mystic
Last week my husband and I traveled to Chicago to see U2
perform. It was the week after they played four shows
in Toronto, a rather ironic footnote, but it was a family
reunion, or more accurately put, a sibling reunion with a
few spouses thrown in for good measure. Originally planned
as a way for the six of us to reconnect beyond the summer
cottage or other traditional holiday meeting grounds, the
outing had been initiated by my husband’s and my survival
of carbon-monoxide poisoning, one brother’s recent fiftieth
birthday and one sister’s upcoming one. Life’s
too short we decided. Let’s do it.
Heather’s birthday is September 21st, she loves U2
and they were to play a gig in the windy city on that day,
so another sister who lives there asked another brother who
“knows people” to get a bunch of tickets for us
back in May. He did. The price per ticket was outrageous,
compounded by the fact that it was in US dollars – a
scalper’s dream. We paid it anyway, the important thing
being that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to declare
our love of one another, a recommitment to the foundation
of our mutual heritage and an investment in our collective
future.
Standing at the concert I glance at my various siblings:
my surgeon brother, mouth agape, arms hanging loosely, bopping
to the music in his best white man fashion, looking every
bit as malleable and open to life as he was when I worshiped
him at seventeen; another brother, he who oversees billions
in his position as president of a major corporation, sliding
down our row offering a pen with which to sign the back of
his t-shirt, hands raised in the air, wagging his fanny as
he moves down the row; a sister, jumping up and down while
singing along with the Edge’s pounding electric guitar
chords looking half her forty years; still another, a priest,
wagging her head from side to side, eyes half closed, smiling
the smile of one who and is aware of the moment of grace produced
from the fellowship of family, the ultimate and original community
of love.
My youngest sister, Jenny, who played hostess to us in her
hometown, surprised us with an assortment of brightly coloured
T-shirts that she’d had made. The front read “U2”
in big block letters and underneath it the word “Cooks,”
a play on words as it is both a verb and our family name.
On the back was the word “ONE” and below it “sisters,
brothers.” We rented a 15 passenger van (“the
love van”) and made quite a scene on our way to and
from the concert. The phrase “can you feel the love?”
is now firmly ensconced in our family lexicon, used indiscriminately
and without restraint with each other and strangers on the
street. Afterwards people stopped and asked where we got the
shirts, they wanted to buy one. No can do, we told them. Special
shirts. Soon to be enshrined.
Each of us had our struggles actually getting there –
business hiccups, missed planes, financial forfeitures –
but we had made a commitment to each other and commitment
often demands one to re-examine what’s truly important.
In the aftermath of my own near death experience, inclusion
and kindness have stepped to the front of the line shoving
logic and pragmatism to the rear.
The last song in the set is One, an anthem of unity,
compassion and understanding. Each of us wears on our wrists
a white plastic bracelet imprinted with the word. From somewhere
to my right a hand reaches out and grabs me. I am pulled into
a small circle of six siblings, enveloped by arms that seem
to have no owners. We are one. I hear the lines distinctly,
“Love is a temple, love the higher power…One life
with each other, sisters, brothers; one life but we’re
not the same. We get to carry each other, carry each other.”
In that moment of connection the rest of the world and all
its demands fades far from feeling; there is no room for anything
other than the oneness, the wholeness, the love I am feeling.
I am transported to a plane I think we were intended to occupy
permanently. The song ends. The cheering soars. From behind
comes a tap on my shoulder. Turning I see a young woman half
my age with a look of something – envy? desire? admiration?
– in her eyes. “How do I get in your family?”
she asks me. Which one? I want to reply. The family before
you is a finite set. The family of man is open to all. I smile
and say the only thing that can be heard above the roar of
the crowd clamoring for an encore: “Love.”
The next day Jenny turned on the Oprah show convinced that
Bono, the band’s prophetic lead singer, would be the
guest that day. He wasn’t. Chris Rock was on talking
about his experience visiting the Katrina flood victims in
New Orleans. A film crew had captured Chris in conversation
with a seven year old girl, sitting on her father’s
lap smiling broadly. “Look at this” Chris said
on camera as he choked back tears, “she’s happy
just sitting with her dad.” Visibly moved, he shook
his head and choked out, “She’s got her daddy.
She’s smiling. Makes me think of my two little girls.
Reminds you of what’s really important. Family. If you’ve
got your family you’ve got everything. Everything.”
Bono himself couldn’t have put it any better.
I have often waxed lyrical on the notion that change begins
first in the individual and spreads outward. This is the basis
of the work we do corporately. When we stop communicating
with our families, when we make the day-to-day routines of
survival more important than the once-in-a-lifetime moments,
the everyday chances that arrive with or without planning
we forfeit the very thing for which we yearn – a sense
of connection. When we do it at the office as well, our world
begins to wither and our passion for life along with it.
It is somehow even more poignant to have been present with
my family of origin during the devastation of Katrina’s
(and now Rita’s) aftermath. As CNN continues to broadcast
pictures of New Orleans’ missing children I am reminded
of the most precious possession of all: the love we choose
to generate internally and express externally. It’s
a choice. It’s a commitment.
Returning to Toronto, I visit the grocery store and pick
up a few things. After paying for the items, the cashier hands
me back some change and the receipt. “Have a nice day,”
she says parrot-like. On automatic pilot I reply, “You,
too,” and then realize what I have said. Halting my
forward progress out the checkout lane I look directly into
her eyes and smile. “You, too,” I repeat. “U2.”
________________________________________
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