New Thinking Allowed with Jeffrey Mishlove Jun 20, 2024 Psychology and Psychotherapy Gary Lachman is the author of over twenty books about the history of esotericism and its influence on politics and society. He has written biographies of Carl Jung, Aleister Crowley, Rudolf Steiner, Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, Emanuel Swedenborg, P. D. Ouspensky, and Colin Wilson. His newest book is Maurice Nicoll: The Forgotten Teacher of the Fourth Way. His website is https://www.gary-lachman.com/ Here he weaves a fascinating tapestry involving the ferment in the early twentieth century, including the emergence of depth psychology and a burgeoning esoteric culture including theosophy, anthroposophy, ritual magick, and – particularly – the Fourth Way movement of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky. Maurice Nicoll was in the center of this world. 00:00:00 Introduction 00:01:53 The Fourth Way 00:18:13 Maurice Nicoll and depth psychology 00:28:36 Fourth Way paradoxes 00:44:12 Fusion of psychology and esotericism 00:57:38 Gurdjieff movements 01:06:56 Maurice Nicoll’s significance 01:16:46 Conclusion Edited subtitles for this video are available in English, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Russian, Polish, and Swedish. New Thinking Allowed host, Jeffrey Mishlove, PhD, is author of The Roots of Consciousness, Psi Development Systems, and The PK Man. Between 1986 and 2002 he hosted and co-produced the original Thinking Allowed public television series. He is the recipient of the only doctoral diploma in “parapsychology” ever awarded by an accredited university (University of California, Berkeley, 1980). He is also the Grand Prize winner of the 2021 Bigelow Institute essay competition regarding the best evidence for survival of human consciousness after permanent bodily death. (Recorded on June 6, 2024)
Category Archives: Consciousness
Ontology, metaphysics, spirituality
The Animals Who Keep Us Cozy
Cozy living is enhanced by pets at our side
Toby Neal Jun 15, 2026
Right now there are fifteen pounds of timid rescue dog asleep beside me.This boy’s name is Koa. He’s a German Spitz, long-furred and soft as a dandelion gone to seed, and his red sable coat reminds me of the Hawaiian hardwood. Whenever I sit in my rocker, he wedges himself in with me. I let him—I’d miss the weight and warmth if it were gone.When he settles there, my breath slows. Whatever I’d been bracing against all day loosens its grip and lets go as I stroke his fur; it’s the silkiest, springiest and most enjoyable texture. He even smells good most days (for a dog.)A warm animal asleep at your side is one of the coziest things a home can hold.
I’ve loved three dogs into and out of this life.
When I left Maui and followed Mike to the continent in 2017, I came with what mattered: a couple of suitcases, and our then-dog Liko in my arms.Liko bounded across baggage claim to swamp Mike in barking joy loud enough to turn heads once we arrived. This little Shih-Tzu told the world that we were still a family, and that the next chapter of our life could be wonderful, too.Before Liko there was Nalu, a Chihuahua-terrier who never understood how small she was. Fierce, loyal, a Rottweiler trapped in a six-pound body, she was certain she was our last line of defense. If you’ve read my Paradise Crime Mysteries, you’ve met her: she’s the inspiration for Keiki, the brave Rottie who guards Lei through every danger I throw at them both.I gave Nalu a second life in fiction because I couldn’t bear for that much loyalty to ever end. Gah! That our dogs precede us is one of life’s truest hardships.After Liko passed, I swore I couldn’t handle the pain of loss. I tried to go pet free; but I got depressed. Had no excuse for my nature and forest walks. Six months into malaise Mike was the one to find Koa on Petfinder; I was too apathetic to make such an important choice.Koa is the most submissive dog I’ve ever known. He lets bigger dogs shove him until they lose interest, and he’s terrified of loud noises and bags in any form. He’s a great pet, don’t get me wrong—but he’s not perfect. None of them are. Get a pet, and you’re signing up for EXPERIENCES—but a pet in the house changes the air to a cozier feel.
Animals know things about us that they shouldn’t.
I have loved three dogs in this life, and each taught me about love in a different way.A reader named Valerie wrote to me about her two shih-tzu mixes, Huck and Finn, half-brothers born a year apart. Neither dog had ever been the cuddly type. Then, when Valerie and her family lost their thirty-one-year-old daughter to cancer, the dogs changed overnight. “They seemed to know I needed them,” she said. “They became my shadows, and were always on my lap when I sat down. They brought so much comfort and love–they helped me through the darkness.” Years later, the dogs have never stopped this comforting behavior, and Valerie counts Huck and Finn the greatest blessings she could have asked for during the hardest season she’s lived through.
No one trained Valerie’s dogs. Grief moved through a house, and two empathetic animals responded to be closer and more present.
For years I assumed this bond with pets was sentiment, the soft anthropomorphizing we drape over creatures who can’t speak for themselves–but research revealed more.Stroke an animal, and your nervous system calms measurably. A 2022 systematic review in the International Journal of Psychophysiology pooled 129 studies and found that human–dog interaction reliably moves the body toward the parasympathetic state, the “rest and digest” branch of the nervous system, lifting heart-rate variability, lowering cortisol, and quieting the stress axis of anxiety. Researchers at Sweden’s Karolinska Institutet found that a few minutes of gentle contact between dogs and their owners raises oxytocin, the same bonding hormone that flows between a nursing mother and her baby, lowering the owner’s cortisol (and probably the animal’s, too.)Cats have their own set of comfort skills. A cat’s purr lands roughly between 25 and 150 hertz, squarely inside the “sound healing” frequency range clinicians use to ease pain and encourage healing. In a randomized controlled trial of 249 college students, ten minutes of hands-on time with shelter cats and dogs measurably lowered the students’ salivary cortisol, more than watching others pet the animals, more than looking at photographs of them. Ten minutes, measurable in spit.Co-regulation is the clinical word that describes what happens with me and Koa in that rocker: one nervous system borrows steadiness from another, the way a frightened child borrows calm from a parent’s heartbeat. (It’s the same thing happening when Kat holds Tiki, the one-eared former feral feline in my Paradise Crime Cozy Mysteries.I’ve spent much of my career as a therapist teaching people to find their way toward calm and feeling good; my dog delivers it without a single technique.

(that fur though…and Anita’s gloves)
Kelly shared with me that her life changed drastically with COVID, when she developed a permanent disability that ended her career. Her rescue cats have carried her through much of the devastation. “My cats are my daily companions,” she said. “They sit with me when I’m in pain or sad. So grateful to be blessed with these loving rescues.”A reader named Meli shared that she took in a cockatiel named Buddy when an elderly owner, ninety years old, had to move into senior care. Buddy was twelve by then and had been mostly ignored for years. Under Meli’s roof he came roaring back to life, affectionate and opinionated in equal measure. “He talks my ear off,” she said, “even when I’m having important conversations on the phone. He can be downright embarrassing.” At the moment, she says, he’s overusing a single phrase: “You hoo?” Announcing that it is, in fact, dinnertime, and he would like his carrots and lettuce now, or that he wants attention. Cockatiels can live thirty-five years with good care, and Meli expects Buddy to go the distance. “He has brought light to my life that I didn’t know I needed,” she shared. “Life without Buddy would be awful right now.”
A grieving mother’s dogs. A disabled woman’s cats. A widow’s loud, ridiculous, beloved bird. The animal can be different. The mechanism doesn’t change: a living, breathing presence that asks nothing of you but your attention and love, and in return gives your body permission to relax and feel good.
The Danes, who gave us hygge, count a sleeping animal among the most hyggelig things a home can offer, right up there with candlelight and a warm drink–and I totally understand why.Every few days, when the weather allows, I sit with Koa out on the deck and brush his coat, letting the loosened underfluff drift off my fingertips into the wind to catch on a nearby bush; lining for a bird’s nest later in the season.He goes boneless with pleasure. So do I. No one can hurry while brushing a happy dog (or cat, or horse, or chicken, for that matter).Animals and cozy living: they don’t just live in the warmth you make. They amplify it
(A note on the science, and some references:)Teo, J. T., Johnstone, S. J., Römer, S. S., & Thomas, S. J. (2022). Psychophysiological mechanisms underlying the potential health benefits of human–dog interactions: A systematic literature review. International Journal of Psychophysiology, 180, 27–48.Petersson, M., Uvnäs-Moberg, K., Nilsson, A., Gustafson, L.-L., Hydbring-Sandberg, E., & Handlin, L. (2017). Oxytocin and cortisol levels in dog owners and their dogs are associated with behavioral patterns. Frontiers in Psychology, 8, 1796. (Karolinska Institutet / Swedish University of Agricultural Sciences.)Pendry, P., & Vandagriff, J. L. (2019). Animal Visitation Program (AVP) reduces cortisol levels of university students: A randomized controlled trial. AERA Open, 5(2).Cat-purr frequency range (25–150 Hz): widely reported in veterinary and bioacoustics literature.
(Contributed by John Atwater, H.W.)
Kahlil Gibran on getting beyond the pain

Gibran in 1913
“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.”
~ Kahlil Gibran
“Many of us spend our whole lives running from feeling with the mistaken belief that you can not bear the pain. But you have already borne the pain. What you have not done is feel all you are beyond that pain.”
~Kahlil Gibran
Jubrān Khalīl Jubrān, usually referred to in English as Kahlil Gibran, was a Lebanese-American writer, poet and visual artist. He was also considered a philosopher, although he himself rejected the title. Wikipedia
Born January 6, 1883, Bsharri, Lebanon
Died April 10, 1931 (age 48 years), St. Vincent’s Hospital
Havening
Community Meetups for Havening® Practice and Discussion
withFeather WindwalkerCommunity Connection FridayReviewPractice
June 19 Register for the Link
(Contributed by John Atwater, H.W.)
Our memory – A phenomenal storage system
\DW Documentary May 29, 2026 Our memory is a machine of superlatives. Every second, it processes unimaginable amounts of information, decides what’s important and what’s not, and stores what we experience and learn. Our memory also makes us who we are. The experiences and feelings we’ve stored, the knowledge we’ve retained – all of this connects us to ourselves and our past. But how can we improve our memory and make it more efficient? How can we keep it fit and healthy? What happens when it fails us? This documentary follows people who are connected in different ways to the topic of “memory”. In her late 40s, Nicole Adam lost her memory after suffering several strokes. She’s determined to regain it – with occupational therapy and VR glasses. On her road to recovery, she also asks herself the question: Who am I if I don’t know who I used to be? As her story shows, our memory is both vulnerable and adaptable. For actor Henriette Hölzel, on the other hand, learning large amounts of text for roles at the Dresden State Theatre is part of everyday life. She has eight different roles at her fingertips at the same time. She reveals how she manages to keep complex dialogues in her head. Johannes Mallow, multiple German champion and two-time world champion in memory sports, also explains how he streamlines the process of information recollection. Using methods such as the “mind palace”, he takes us to Magdeburg Cathedral to show how he memorizes his appointments so that he never forgets them. But it’s not just training that keeps our memory fit. In fact, forgetting is also important for keeping our memory healthy. Neuroscientist Andreas Papassotiropoulos explains that forgetting is an active process that helps us distinguish between what’s important – and what’s not. To benefit our memory, he recommends sleep and exercise as well as art and culture. Heidelberg neurobiologist Prof. Hannah Monyer makes it clear that our memories have not only shaped our past, but also shape our future: what we remember today influences who we will be tomorrow. A film that tells stories of learning and forgetting, presents exciting research findings and shows how we can strengthen our memory so that it stays with us throughout our lives.
What Is Social Resilience—and How Can You Foster It?
Some problems are felt by many, and just can’t be solved by one person.
By Emiliana R. Simon-Thomas | June 9, 2026 (greatergood.berkeley.edu)
Imagine two ship crews marooned on opposite coasts of the same wild and inhospitable island.

One group drops seafaring formalities and coalesces around collective survival. They tend to each other, work together, and split what they have. Each person’s subsistence is tied to the other’s.
The other crew maintain their maritime hierarchy, compete for power and status, hoard resources—and ultimately turn on each other.
Everyone from the first crew survives. Most from the second group die from various ailments and unfortunate incidents, including cannibalism.
That’s a scenario based on real historical examples that is sketched by John Cacioppo, Harry Reis, and Alex Zautra in their 2011 paper entitled “Social Resilience.” In this article, the authors explain their approach to developing a training program for U.S. Army personnel meant to help them function better in teams.
The premise? Human survival depends on being able to turn toward each other under difficult circumstances and join forces to identify, avoid, or address challenges and catastrophes. Our ability to coordinate effort in response to shared threats is an evolutionary mandate for ultrasocial creatures like humans. Born helpless and lacking physically dominant features like giant apex predator teeth, the authors write, “Our remarkable accomplishments as a species are attributable to our collective action, not our individual might.”
Stephanie Brown of the Stony Brook Neuroscience Institute attributes this collaborative sensibility to “fitness interdependence”: my survival depends on yours, theirs, and, to some degree, ultimately, everyone’s. Because the harm from some threats to survival and reproduction is distributed to everyone (like crop dusting to cull agricultural pests), our human nervous system is sensitive to others’ vulnerability, and so driven to protect the group from shared threat.
The biological and psychological processes underlying these features include being able to synchronize our bodies and behaviors (e.g., empathy), feeling innately compelled to share joy and relieve each other’s pain (e.g., social capitalizing, compassion), and celebrating heroic virtues like helping one another and working to make the world a better place. Serving each other’s welfare through caregiving, protection from harm, and relief of suffering, it turns out, is fundamentally rewarding and healthy. Many studies have reported activation in the brain’s reward pathways that signal pleasure after behaving generously—the “warm glow.” People who spend more hours volunteering experience less disease and live longer, for example. Like any other ability, prosocial and altruistic tendencies are also shaped over the course of life by culture and context, both of which can increase or suppress how prominently they show up within any given person, society, or period of time.
According to Cacioppo, Reis, and Zautra, each person attending to their own needs and being able to cope with and protect themself does not ensure group success, and can actually lessen the probability of individual success over the long run. It’s wrong to assume that each individual’s resilience will naturally ladder up to group-wide resilience.
Instead, they call for social resilience, which means acknowledging and documenting stress and harm coming from higher-order, even existential threats, beyond the sum of how each person might feel about their own lives. Further, it means investigating and tracking sources and contributing factors that are often systemic (policy, neighborhood design), invisible (culture, historical precedence), or vast (climate, natural disasters). Once we understand causes, we can work together to help the group recover and ensure future well-being.
Other scholars have also used the term social resilience since this 2011 paper, though disciplines tend not to define it in the same way.

- Talk With Teens About Civic IssuesInvite your teen to have conversations about civic empowerment.
In public health, for example, social resilience often refers to aspects of a person’s environment and resources like whom they live with, what their level of income is, or whether they have access to health care and education. There are well-established links between these factors and an individual’s resilience—that is, their capacity to recover from or learn and grow from stress and adversity in healthy ways. Many people have dedicated their lives to improving equitable access to these resources for the betterment of humanity.
Articles also use the terms “community resilience”—measured by survey questions like “People in my community help each other during crises”—and “national resilience,” which refers to a group’s ability to handle crises. A 2013 paper by Markus Keck and Patrick Sakdapolrak offers this high-level definition: “Social resilience is the ability of social entities, that is, individuals, organizations or communities, to resist, adapt to, and recover quickly from disasters.”
Studies suggest that social resilience is not unique to humans. The prosocial underpinnings of social resilience were alluded to by none other than Charles Darwin, who concluded that “those communities [of animals and other creatures], which included the greatest number of the most sympathetic members, would flourish best, and rear the greatest number of offspring.”
For example, insects are the most populous species on earth, and the most populous insects are ants. Ants rapidly adjust and adapt to demands and threats to the colony in seamlessly coordinated ways: They’ll make a raft from their bodies for all to survive a flood. While humans, too, can detect, monitor, and band together to fix the existential crises we face, that’s a path we need to consciously choose and pursue.
Evolutionary psychologist David Sloan-Wilson, professor of biology and anthropology at Binghamton University and founder and president of ProSocial World, thinks so, too. His work highlights the importance of interpersonal trust, a key facet of social resilience, for working together toward shared goals. Further, he describes how evolution has favored biological features that enable group-wide, collaborative, even amicable adaptation to environmental challenges:
Only when we could trust our social partners to work toward shared goals could we rely upon them to share meaningful information. Our ability to function as team players is reflected in anatomical features such as the whites of the human eye, which turn it into an organ of communication, and in basic cognitive skills such as the ability to point things out to others and to laugh in a group context, in addition to more advanced cognitive and cultural abilities.
More attention has been paid to investigating and strengthening resilience for individuals than for organizations or communities. Of course, individual resilience matters, and is certainly worth cultivating. For people who are more resilient, symptoms of stress don’t last as long, and upsetting personal experiences morph into fodder for meaningful learning and growth.

- Best Possible Self for RelationshipsBuild the kind of relationships you want by fostering optimism.
There are biological (e.g., greater heart rate variability), life context (e.g., safer neighborhoods), and behavioral (e.g., self-compassion, optimism) factors that influence a person’s individual resilience, and social life also plays a formative role. For example, people with loving, supportive caregivers early in life tend to get through hardship more easily, and people who have close relationships with friends and family tend to handle losses and setbacks more gracefully.
With some know-how and regular practice, most people can improve their own resilience. We can learn strategies for restoring calm and coping with difficulty, engage with uplifting activities, or adopt outlooks like gratefulness or optimism that buffer against despair. We can enrich and strengthen our interpersonal ties by offering and asking for compassion, and being more curious and humble.
But some sources of stress—like widespread ideological polarization, rampant social inequality, global pandemics, natural disasters, terrorist attacks, and warfare—aren’t just about you or me. They’re inescapably about all of us. While it can be convenient or momentarily comforting to avoid or dismiss, harm to people in one place imposes stress on everyone, like stories of violent crime spreading through social media.
Resilience to these broader shared threats requires more than what it takes to be individually resilient one person at a time. It requires us to clearly see the hazy collective weight that we all, regardless of privilege or power and to different degrees in any given moment, bear from shared sources of harm. It involves channeling our pooled stress toward teaming up—coming together to confront, document, address, and solution-find for the benefit of us all. It also involves documenting and accounting for the true costs of ignoring or escalating the sources to shared harm, such as extractive or exploitative practices or profiteering at the expense of collective well-being.
But how do we humans cultivate social resilience? In their paper, Cacioppo, Reis, and Zautra offer a list of nine personal resources for social resilience that can be strengthened with practice. I think their suggestions can be distilled into three actionable steps each person can take to contribute to social resilience.
1. Tune into, trust, and connect with people
Exercise your empathy muscles by paying more attention to other people’s expressions, noticing how this feels in your own body, and trying to understand what the others are feeling and why. Try to assume goodwill and look for common ground and shared humanity with others. You might even make a list of qualities, characteristics, or experiences you share with others, or reflect on times when you supported someone, or someone supported you. Marvel at all the ways that people seamlessly coordinate effort to make everyday life both interesting and full of opportunity. Make time for open-minded and honest conversations about meaningful issues, topics, and life experiences with people. Join group or community activities centered around creative expression, play, or activism that addresses unmet needs.
2. See the struggle, and do the best you can to help
When you encounter harm, try to discover ways that it may also harm you. Notice how that feels deep down. Ask how it reduces prosperity and the common good (such as loss of potential and progress, or costliness of repair). While honoring the self-protective urge to avoid or escape, aim instead to direct your inner tension toward approaching and doing whatever you can to remedy the situation. Try to offer help, even if it feels inconvenient, costly, untimely, or unpromising. Be more curious and humble about the context of harm and how you can be most helpful. Ask yourself: “Can I leave this shared circumstance, system, or space better than I found it?” Let the meaningful belonging gained from actively contributing to your community strengthen your heroic impulse to fix the world’s vexing challenges together with other people.
3. Constructively problem-solve and reconcile

- Making an Effective Apology. A good apology involves more than saying “sorry.”
Hone your cooperative mentality. In whatever settings you find yourself, try to work together with people to learn what each other’s pain points and threats are, and openly discuss where they might be coming from. Inquire and analyze how existing structures, policies, systems, and settings affect day-to-day experiences among the people you encounter, and crowdsource ideas for improvement. Exercise skills like labeling feelings clearly and authentically, and offering an effective apology to learn, grow, and deepen interpersonal connections even after disagreement or conflict. Ask for help, knowing that most people feel uplifted and honored by the opportunity to do something that matters. Uplift group morale and creativity by encouraging shared positive emotional experiences like moral elevation and amusement, and celebrating team successes. Leverage the varied perspectives and strengths from a diverse group to discover truly collaborative, innovative, and effective-long term solutions to shared challenges.
There are also contextual opportunities for scaffolding social resilience within a neighborhood or city, like designing free and inclusive spaces for people to gather in recreational, celebratory, and awe-inspiring ways (e.g., parks, community events). Safe, inviting opportunities for storytelling and public dialogue around key issues and concerns also improve social resilience. Increasing social resilience, in turn, can shape civic institutions in ways that benefit everyone. According to the “Well-being and State Effectiveness” chapter of the 2023 World Happiness Report, countries that routinely channel resources toward common interests (e.g., improving social well-being) score significantly higher on a composite measure of national prosperity that includes per capital income, collective capacity, and more peaceableness.
Social resilience, like individual resilience, takes practice. As a bipedal species, we are equipped with the innate urges to roll, scoot, crawl, then walk, but if we want to walk bravely into older adulthood, we cannot just passively expect it. We cannot just sit comfortably all day. Regular physical activity is crucial to lifelong health and longevity. The same goes for social resilience: Getting better at seeing the shared burden that broader, more pervasive problems impose and prioritizing coming together to support one another and find solutions take regular practice, which may not always feel easy or convenient.
Rejuvenating and investing in social resilience means explicitly studying and documenting the shared harm of widespread, existential threats and joining forces to solve them—to preempt avoidable destruction, and to help each other recover from painful disasters. Would systematically measuring, educating, and optimizing for social resilience promise a better, smarter, less wasteful future? Leaning into how we naturally synchronize emotionally, perceptually, and behaviorally—and using our inborn “forest in the trees” capacity to see the world through a more global, long-term, course-of-human-survival lens—social resilience could amplify our potential to mobilize together to address threats and find fixes that can, while minimizing harm, protect and uplift us all.
About the Author
- Emiliana R. Simon-ThomasEmiliana R. Simon-Thomas, Ph.D., is the science director of the Greater Good Science Center, where she directs the GGSC’s research fellowship program and serves as a co-instructor of its Science of Happiness and Science of Happiness at Work online courses.
(Contributed by John Atwater, H.W.)
Very Necessary Qualifications of a Great Storyteller
By Maria Popova (themarginalian.org)
Toni Morrison once lamented that people have been taught to think of a book as a mirror, when it ought to be a door. All great storytelling — be it a novel or a poem, a film or a song — enchants us precisely because it swings open the door to a world distinctly other than our own, whose very otherness clarifies ours, returns us to it magnified and annealed. To be able to build such a world, to make it believable and beguiling, to leap across the abyss that gapes between any one consciousness and any other, the storyteller must draw on an immense library of experiences and impressions across the infinite spectrum of life’s possibilities — those building blocks of which we make the combinatorial work we call creativity.

Art by Carson Ellis from What Is Love? by Mac Barnett
Long before the poetic neurologist Oliver Sacks delineated the three essential elements of creativity, Nobel laureate Elias Canetti captured this beautifully in a passage from his extraordinary meditation on mortality, copying out the “very necessary qualifications” of a great Persian storyteller from an unnamed book he was reading:
In addition to having read all the known books on love and heroism, the teller of stories must have suffered greatly for love, have lost his beloved, drunk much good wine, wept with many in their sorrow, have looked often upon death and have learned much about birds and beasts. He must also be able to change himself into a beggar or a caliph in the twinkling of an eye.
A generation before him, Rainer Maria Rilke offered a similar prescription for creativity to the young man asking his advice on how to be a poet:
For the sake of a few lines one must see many cities, men and things. One must know the animals, one must feel how the birds fly and know the gesture with which the small flowers open in the morning. One must be able to think back to roads in unknown regions, to unexpected meetings and to partings which one has long seen coming; to days of childhood that are still unexplained, to parents that one had to hurt when they brought one some joy and one did not grasp it (it was a joy for someone else); to childhood illness that so strangely began with a number of profound and grave transformations, to days in rooms withdrawn and quiet and to mornings by the sea, to the sea itself, to seas, to nights of travel that rushed along on high and flew with all the stars — and it is not yet enough if one may think of all of this. One must have memories of many nights of love, none of which was like the others, of the screams of women in labor, and of light, white, sleeping women in childbed, closing again. But one must also have been beside the dying, one must have sat beside the dead in the room with the open window and the fitful noises.

Art by Rockwell Kent for a rare 1937 edition of Leaves of Grass. (Available as a print and more.)
Another epoch earlier, Walt Whitman distilled these eternal truths even further. Under the heading “Laws of Creation,” addressed to “strong artists and leaders… fresh broods of teachers… and coming musicians,” he considers the elemental material of creative work:
All must have reference to the ensemble of the world, and the compact truth of the world.
Whether the words be few or many, practical or poetic, emanating from them all is the same fundamental truth about the nature of creativity, demanding the same basic qualifications: nonjudgmental curiosity, an empathic imagination, and a willingness to live not flawlessly but fully.
Existentialist Embroidery
By Maria Popova (themarginalian.org)
The summer I turned forty, my maternal grandmother, then ninety, gave me an astonishing embroidery she had completed it when she was my age after, having worked on it for years. The cascading geometries of blue, black, and white, interlocking extraordinary precision and extraordinary passion, may have taken less time had she not needed to supplement her paltry elementary schoolteacher income by tilling potato fields and pruning plum trees in rural Bulgaria. Born in the final years of the sovereign monarchy Bulgaria briefly enjoyed after five centuries of Ottoman occupation, she had worked on her embroidery in the middle of the Communist dictatorship that had begun when she was five and would last until I was five. Denied university admission on account of her family’s opposition to the regime, my grandmother never strained a single synapse on higher mathematics, yet her embroidery exudes the elegant simplicity of a great theorem — a living affirmation of trailblazing astronomer Maria Mitchell’s insistence on the needle as an instrument of the mind.

She had learned the technique from her own grandmother, who had in turn learned it from her grandmother before that — generations of women using thread and needle to pattern a world of chaos and peril into something sensical, something resinous with feeling and time, defying the banality of mere survival with a quiet, methodical insistence of beauty.
The year the Communist dictatorship curled its fist around Bulgaria, the English writer Rebecca West (December 21, 1892–March 15, 1983) — one of the finest, subtlest, most passionate and precise minds I have ever read — traveled to the Balkans and recounted her encounter with those ancient cultures in Black Lamb and Grey Falcon (public library), at the heart of which is a reckoning with the relationship between art and aliveness, between storytelling and resilience, between the things we make and the world we make.

In village after village, West saw elderly women bent over their embroideries, saw in what they did a way of “examining life as they lived it and inquiring into their destiny as it overtook them” — a philosophy for living in the shape of a craft, passed down the generations to make life more livable. She writes:
The old women [are] not fully conscious of the part their embroideries play in the preservation of their ancient culture: when an Englishwoman plays a sonata by Purcell she is not likely to feel that she is maintaining English musical tradition. Yet these women are certainly aware that they are about some special business when they sew. I am told by an Englishwoman who has collected such embroideries for twenty years and knows their makers well that it is an esoteric craft, those who are expert in it do not give away their mystery. Many of the themes which often reappear in the designs have names and symbolic meanings which are not confided to strangers, and a woman will sometimes refuse to discuss the embroidery she has worked on a garment made for her own use. When they marry they make caps for their bridegrooms and about these they are always resolutely reserved. Here is, indeed, another proof of the impossibility of history. There cannot be taken an inventory of time’s contents when some among the most precious are locked away in inaccessible parts and lose their essence when they are moved to any place where they are likely to be examined carefully, when their owners are ignorant of parts of their nature and keep secret such knowledge of them as they have.
In this West sees a scale model of all we call tradition:
A tradition is not a material entity that can survive apart from any human agency. It can live only by a people’s power to grasp its structure, and to answer to the warmth of its fires.

I look at my grandmother’s embroidery, aflame with her life, prayerful as an Islamic mosaic, perfect as a Euclidean proof, and West’s closing words resound like a bell in the cathedral of time:
If during the next million generations there is but one human being born in every generation who will not cease to inquire into the nature of his fate, even while it strips and bludgeons him, some day we shall read the riddle of our universe. We shall discover what work we have been called to do.
In my early forties, living through a rupture of overwhelming complexity and no small measure of heartache, I took up embroidery — untrained, unpatterned, not following any tradition, more like jazz improvisation to my grandmother’s Bach cantatas. I did it daily, obsessively, not understanding what it was doing for me but trusting that it was doing something, shifting something. It did. It was a way of learning, not with the mind but with the hands, that you have to make a hole to make a stitch.
Story: The Bird in the Gilded Cage
The Only Three Distinctions Between People
By Maria Popova (themarginalian.org)

It may be that consciousness evolved to sieve the relevant from the incomprehensible allness of all there is, to parse the world into concepts and find an organizing principle for the chaos of them. Our cognitive inheritance is a restless yearning to fathom how things cohere and where they belong, a yearning we have given shape to in laws and labels, weights and balances, hierarchies and categories. It has served us well, this instinct to categorize in order to contain, giving us music, the laws of planetary motion, and democracy. But it also pulsates beneath every ism we have ever invented, beneath every stereotype and every genocide, beneath every algorithm that reduces us to variables then adds them up to sell the sum of who we are, beneath all the parcels of preconception we trade daily and mistake the barter a for a genuine encounter with one another.
Two centuries ago, Nathaniel Hawthorne (July 4, 1804–May 19, 1864) offered a pithy, powerful antidote to this double-edged instinct.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
In a notebook entry from the autumn of 1836, penned shortly after his moving meditation on how not to waste your life, Hawthorne proposes a revision of our standard classification system for humanity — one that would rehumanize us with the simple awareness that what binds us is infinitely stronger than what divides us or by what affiliations we divide ourselves. He writes:
A new classification of society is to be instituted. Instead of rich and poor, high and low, they are to be classed, — First, by their sorrows: for instance, whenever there are any, whether in fair mansion or hovel, who are mourning the loss of relations and friends, and who wear black, whether the cloth be coarse or superfine, they are to make one class. Secondly, all who have the same maladies, whether they lie under damask canopies or on straw pallets or in the wards of hospitals, they are to form one class. Thirdly, all who are guilty of the same sins, whether the world knows them or not; whether they languish in prison, looking forward to the gallows, or walk honored among men, they also form a class. Then proceed to generalize and classify the whole world together, as none can claim utter exemption from either sorrow, sin, or disease; and if they could, yet Death, like a great parent, comes and sweeps all through one darksome portal, — all his children.
What a magnificent way to remember that down where the spirit meets the bone, we are all facing the same struggle: to feel safe, to feel seen, to wrest some meaning and some marvel from the ephemeral bewilderment of being alive.

Community Connection FridayReviewPractice
In addition to having read all the known books on love and heroism, the teller of stories must have suffered greatly for love, have lost his beloved, drunk much good wine, wept with many in their sorrow, have looked often upon death and have learned much about birds and beasts. 