[postlink]http://newbestmotivator.blogspot.com/2009/12/kemna-semua-konten-yang-ada.html[/postlink]kemna semua konten yang ada
[postlink]http://newbestmotivator.blogspot.com/2009/10/join-me-at-bar.html[/postlink]Join Me at The Bar
Join Me at The Bar
[postlink]http://newbestmotivator.blogspot.com/2009/07/bringing-motivation-from-newcastle.html[/postlink]
One summer I taught a master class at a festival in Newcastle, which was filmed by the BBC. One of the students in the class was a young tenor who had just landed a job at the prestigious La Scala Opera Company in Milan and everything about his demeanor said that we were to take his recent success very seriously indeed.
He was to sing: "Spring Dream" ("Frullingstraum"), from Schubert's Die Winterreise, a song cycle that describes the yearning depressive journey of a jilted love through the cold days of the soul. In this song, the hero is dreaming of the flowers and meadows of a springtime past when he delighted in the warm embraces of his beloved. The gently lilting music conjures up blissful joy, blissful fulfillment. Suddenly a crow screams from the rooftops-he awakens and discovers it is dark and cold. Half in a dream, he mistakes the frost patterns on the windows for flowers and asks," Who painted those flowers there-when will they turn to green?" The answer comes to him: "When I have my loved one in my arms again." But, despite the major key, we know from the dynamic markings and the shape of the phrasing that he will never get her back.
The music is some of the most intimate, soft, subtle, and delicate in the repertoire. It depends for expressions on an understanding of the nuances of sadness, vulnerability, and never-ending loss. But when Jeffrey began to sing, there was no trace of melancholy. Out poured a glorious stream of rich, resonant, Italiante sound. Pure Jeffrey, taking himself very seriously. How could I induce him to look past himself in order to become a conduit for the expressive passion of the music?
I began by asking him if he was willing to be coached. "Oh, I love to be coached," he said breezily, though I doubt he had any idea of what was to follow. For forty-minutes, I engaged in a battle royal, not with Jeffrey but with his pride, his vocal training, his need to look good, and the years of applause he had received for his extraordinary voice. As each layer was peeled away and he got closer to the raw vulnerability of Schubert's distraught lover, his voice lost its patina and began te reveal the human soul beneath. His body, too, began to take on a softened and rounded turn. At the final words, "When will I have my lover in my arms again?" Jeffrey's voice, now almost inaudible, seemed to reach us through some other, channel than sound. Nobody stirred-the audience, the players, the BBC crew-all of us were unified in silence. Then, finally, tremendous applause.
I thanked Jeffrey publicly for his willingness to give up his pride, his training, and his vocal accomplishment, and explained that our applause was for the sacrifice he had made to bring us to a place of understanding. "Whenever somebody gives up their pride to reveal a truth to others, " I told him," we find incredibly moving; in fact, we are all so moved that even the cameraman is crying." I hadn't actually my conviction that no one in the room could be left unmoved.
Later that evening, in the pub, cameraman came up to me and asked how I had known he had been crying. He confessed that he hadn't been able to see through his lens for his tears. "When I was sent on his job from London," he said, shaking his head,"I had no idea that this music shift was about my life."
One summer I taught a master class at a festival in Newcastle, which was filmed by the BBC. One of the students in the class was a young tenor who had just landed a job at the prestigious La Scala Opera Company in Milan and everything about his demeanor said that we were to take his recent success very seriously indeed.
He was to sing: "Spring Dream" ("Frullingstraum"), from Schubert's Die Winterreise, a song cycle that describes the yearning depressive journey of a jilted love through the cold days of the soul. In this song, the hero is dreaming of the flowers and meadows of a springtime past when he delighted in the warm embraces of his beloved. The gently lilting music conjures up blissful joy, blissful fulfillment. Suddenly a crow screams from the rooftops-he awakens and discovers it is dark and cold. Half in a dream, he mistakes the frost patterns on the windows for flowers and asks," Who painted those flowers there-when will they turn to green?" The answer comes to him: "When I have my loved one in my arms again." But, despite the major key, we know from the dynamic markings and the shape of the phrasing that he will never get her back.
The music is some of the most intimate, soft, subtle, and delicate in the repertoire. It depends for expressions on an understanding of the nuances of sadness, vulnerability, and never-ending loss. But when Jeffrey began to sing, there was no trace of melancholy. Out poured a glorious stream of rich, resonant, Italiante sound. Pure Jeffrey, taking himself very seriously. How could I induce him to look past himself in order to become a conduit for the expressive passion of the music?
I began by asking him if he was willing to be coached. "Oh, I love to be coached," he said breezily, though I doubt he had any idea of what was to follow. For forty-minutes, I engaged in a battle royal, not with Jeffrey but with his pride, his vocal training, his need to look good, and the years of applause he had received for his extraordinary voice. As each layer was peeled away and he got closer to the raw vulnerability of Schubert's distraught lover, his voice lost its patina and began te reveal the human soul beneath. His body, too, began to take on a softened and rounded turn. At the final words, "When will I have my lover in my arms again?" Jeffrey's voice, now almost inaudible, seemed to reach us through some other, channel than sound. Nobody stirred-the audience, the players, the BBC crew-all of us were unified in silence. Then, finally, tremendous applause.
I thanked Jeffrey publicly for his willingness to give up his pride, his training, and his vocal accomplishment, and explained that our applause was for the sacrifice he had made to bring us to a place of understanding. "Whenever somebody gives up their pride to reveal a truth to others, " I told him," we find incredibly moving; in fact, we are all so moved that even the cameraman is crying." I hadn't actually my conviction that no one in the room could be left unmoved.
Later that evening, in the pub, cameraman came up to me and asked how I had known he had been crying. He confessed that he hadn't been able to see through his lens for his tears. "When I was sent on his job from London," he said, shaking his head,"I had no idea that this music shift was about my life."
Bringing Motivation from Newcastle
[postlink]http://newbestmotivator.blogspot.com/2009/07/truth-and-reconsilialiton-motivation.html[/postlink]
Mandela's post-apartheid, fully representational South African government confronted the dilemma that faces every nation emerging from a long period of savage violence. What attitude do you take toward the perpetrators, the people whose very existence intensifies bitterness and hatred in an already wounded society? What policies do you adopt to heal the nation?
To address this question, the South African government put into place a framework for the possibility of the integration of all aspects of society, and appointed Archbishop Desmon Tutu as its chairman. The Truth and Reconciliation (TRC) offered amnesty to individuals who were prepared to tell the whole truth, publicity, and could prove that their violent deeds had been politically motivated. If an individual close not to appear before the Commission, he or she agreed to be tried in conventional ways. Written into the South African contribution was the vision of the TRC: "a need for understanding, but not for vengeance, a need for reparation but not for retaliation, a need for ubuntu (brotherhood) but not for victimization."
It might seen that Mandela's government took a huge risk by instituting the Truth Commission. After all the atrocities, wouldn't justice have to be served? Might not people otherwise take the law in their own hands? But the TRC appears to have been founded on another story, the story that we really are our central selves longing to connect, seeking a structure that supports us to dissolve the barriers. It seems, too, to have been predicted on the idea that when the all of all of us is out in the open, and our capacity to be with the way things are expands, communities will naturally evolve toward integration. The Truth Commission served as a framework for possibility whose results, as is always the case, were unpredictable.
More "truth" was revealed than anyone had imagined was hidden, coming to light by degrees throughout the proceedings of the TRC. As one story after another emerged, the dualistic definitions of victims and perpetrators shifted and new patterns were formed, deeper understandings, and perhaps the fundamental sense of connection that we were seeing on our visit. It was not uncommon, apparently, to see the perpetrators break down in tears as they described their actions to the very families they had violated.
As a young woman realized, having just heard a policeman tell how he had killed her mother: "The TRC was never supposed to be about justice; it's about the truth truth." The all of all of us. Designed to put the impulse for revenge at one remove and to bring forward the enemy as a human being, a part of US, it was a framework for the possibility of social transformation.
And, as Mandela said, the Truth Commission "helped us to move away from the past to concentrate on the present and the future." It left the society free to take the next step.
Mandela's post-apartheid, fully representational South African government confronted the dilemma that faces every nation emerging from a long period of savage violence. What attitude do you take toward the perpetrators, the people whose very existence intensifies bitterness and hatred in an already wounded society? What policies do you adopt to heal the nation?
To address this question, the South African government put into place a framework for the possibility of the integration of all aspects of society, and appointed Archbishop Desmon Tutu as its chairman. The Truth and Reconciliation (TRC) offered amnesty to individuals who were prepared to tell the whole truth, publicity, and could prove that their violent deeds had been politically motivated. If an individual close not to appear before the Commission, he or she agreed to be tried in conventional ways. Written into the South African contribution was the vision of the TRC: "a need for understanding, but not for vengeance, a need for reparation but not for retaliation, a need for ubuntu (brotherhood) but not for victimization."
It might seen that Mandela's government took a huge risk by instituting the Truth Commission. After all the atrocities, wouldn't justice have to be served? Might not people otherwise take the law in their own hands? But the TRC appears to have been founded on another story, the story that we really are our central selves longing to connect, seeking a structure that supports us to dissolve the barriers. It seems, too, to have been predicted on the idea that when the all of all of us is out in the open, and our capacity to be with the way things are expands, communities will naturally evolve toward integration. The Truth Commission served as a framework for possibility whose results, as is always the case, were unpredictable.
More "truth" was revealed than anyone had imagined was hidden, coming to light by degrees throughout the proceedings of the TRC. As one story after another emerged, the dualistic definitions of victims and perpetrators shifted and new patterns were formed, deeper understandings, and perhaps the fundamental sense of connection that we were seeing on our visit. It was not uncommon, apparently, to see the perpetrators break down in tears as they described their actions to the very families they had violated.
As a young woman realized, having just heard a policeman tell how he had killed her mother: "The TRC was never supposed to be about justice; it's about the truth truth." The all of all of us. Designed to put the impulse for revenge at one remove and to bring forward the enemy as a human being, a part of US, it was a framework for the possibility of social transformation.
And, as Mandela said, the Truth Commission "helped us to move away from the past to concentrate on the present and the future." It left the society free to take the next step.
Truth and Reconciliation: A Motivation from Mandela's Story
[postlink]http://newbestmotivator.blogspot.com/2009/07/no-human-enemy-motivation-for-peace.html[/postlink]
Just such a device was forged out of an unusual interaction with a couple in my psychotherapy practice, a couple on the verge of separation. The husband, who had resisted coming to the session in the first place, had retreated to the farthest corner of the office, albeit only a few away. His wife was in a rage at him for his habit of withdrawing, just as he was doing, and for leaving her alone too often. As the tension built,she pleaded with him and accused him and then she literally howled at him: "YOU DON'T LOVE ME!"
I heard my own voice shouting back at her "Who could love you when you act like this?" and realized that I had hurled myself between them. This was pretty terrifying for me-never mind what they must have felt. I was standing a foot from the woman's face, the face of someone with whom I had worked intimately and whom I knew very well, saying the most untherapeutic thing imaginable. I was truly out of the boat. In a split second of fear I made eye contact with her, and I suddenly caught sight of her central self.
"But it's not you speaking," I blurted out. "It is something else: Revenge. Revenge is speaking in your voice. It's a creature, sitting on your shoulder, and it's going to get him no matter what, even if it has to destroy you in the process." And the creature appeared, right there on her shoulder, in front of our collective mind's eye.
Suddenly and miraculously I wasn't angry and I wasn't trapped,and our sense of connection was completely restored. Moreover a whole new set of phenomena appeared. I saw how much harder it was on the woman to have to manage this Thing than it was on the rest of us. I saw vicious circle in which she would have to blame her husband for her outrageous behavior just to keep her sanity, while the Revenge Creature celebrated its victory. It was clear to me that It had come into being and split off from her at some early age and had not evolved since then by an inch or an ounce. And, I knew it was all a metaphor.
The man moved out of his corner and stood by his wife. Things came into view, one after another. "It's not going to enjoy being discovered, "I said. " It's scheming right now to find new hiding places so it can make use of you again to get him." The woman turned to her husband: "What she is saying is true. I hate being this way!" And he grasped it completely by the tone in her voice. She plaintively asked me how she could get rid of the Thing.
I felt confident in telling her she would not be able to do away with it, as though I were an expert on Revenge Creature; but in fact, once it was distinguished, I knew exactly how it would behave. I knew that if she resisted, it would gain in strength, and if she brought it to the light day, it would lose its power. "Just keep calling it by name," I told her,"assume it's lurking somewhere." Ask yourself," What's the Creature doing now?"
Here was an apparition-part invention and part discovery-that removed the barriers between us and allowed for a flow of compassion, no matter how badly we had behaved. It meant that wholeheartedness between people was always possible. I saw that if we describe revenge, greed, pride, fear, and righteousness as the villains-and people as the hope-we will come together to create possibility. We don't have to restrict ourselves, and we don't have to compromise. With our inventive powers, we can be passionately for each other and for the whole living world around us. We need never name a human being as the enemy.
Just such a device was forged out of an unusual interaction with a couple in my psychotherapy practice, a couple on the verge of separation. The husband, who had resisted coming to the session in the first place, had retreated to the farthest corner of the office, albeit only a few away. His wife was in a rage at him for his habit of withdrawing, just as he was doing, and for leaving her alone too often. As the tension built,she pleaded with him and accused him and then she literally howled at him: "YOU DON'T LOVE ME!"
I heard my own voice shouting back at her "Who could love you when you act like this?" and realized that I had hurled myself between them. This was pretty terrifying for me-never mind what they must have felt. I was standing a foot from the woman's face, the face of someone with whom I had worked intimately and whom I knew very well, saying the most untherapeutic thing imaginable. I was truly out of the boat. In a split second of fear I made eye contact with her, and I suddenly caught sight of her central self.
"But it's not you speaking," I blurted out. "It is something else: Revenge. Revenge is speaking in your voice. It's a creature, sitting on your shoulder, and it's going to get him no matter what, even if it has to destroy you in the process." And the creature appeared, right there on her shoulder, in front of our collective mind's eye.
Suddenly and miraculously I wasn't angry and I wasn't trapped,and our sense of connection was completely restored. Moreover a whole new set of phenomena appeared. I saw how much harder it was on the woman to have to manage this Thing than it was on the rest of us. I saw vicious circle in which she would have to blame her husband for her outrageous behavior just to keep her sanity, while the Revenge Creature celebrated its victory. It was clear to me that It had come into being and split off from her at some early age and had not evolved since then by an inch or an ounce. And, I knew it was all a metaphor.
The man moved out of his corner and stood by his wife. Things came into view, one after another. "It's not going to enjoy being discovered, "I said. " It's scheming right now to find new hiding places so it can make use of you again to get him." The woman turned to her husband: "What she is saying is true. I hate being this way!" And he grasped it completely by the tone in her voice. She plaintively asked me how she could get rid of the Thing.
I felt confident in telling her she would not be able to do away with it, as though I were an expert on Revenge Creature; but in fact, once it was distinguished, I knew exactly how it would behave. I knew that if she resisted, it would gain in strength, and if she brought it to the light day, it would lose its power. "Just keep calling it by name," I told her,"assume it's lurking somewhere." Ask yourself," What's the Creature doing now?"
Here was an apparition-part invention and part discovery-that removed the barriers between us and allowed for a flow of compassion, no matter how badly we had behaved. It meant that wholeheartedness between people was always possible. I saw that if we describe revenge, greed, pride, fear, and righteousness as the villains-and people as the hope-we will come together to create possibility. We don't have to restrict ourselves, and we don't have to compromise. With our inventive powers, we can be passionately for each other and for the whole living world around us. We need never name a human being as the enemy.
No Human Enemy: A Motivation For Peace
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