One of the most iconic figures that came out of stories of the Wild West was Billy the Kid, also known as William H. Bonney, a gunfighter who entered American folklore and inspired more than one tall tale. His life as a “desperado” has been described in books, film, music, and on stage. A television series ran two years in the early 1960s, depicting Billy as a pretty nice guy–a fabrication that appealed widely to audiences. In every depiction, he is followed by Sheriff Pat Garrett, the man who eventually shot and killed him in Fort Sumner, New Mexico. Billy was 21 years old.

Billy the Kid murdered eight people, lived for a time as a cattle rustler, and when he was first captured by Garrett managed to release himself from handcuffs and shackles, kill two deputies, and escape–some said singing on his horse on his way out. His crimes were written up by the New York Sun. His reputation was enhanced further when a bounty of $500.00 was put on his head. In today’s money, that is equivalent to $11,000.00.

Copland’s “Billy the Kid”

When Aaron Copland wrote his “Billy the Kid: Ballet Suite” in 1938, he saw it as “perception of the pioneer West, in which a figure such as Billy played a vivid role.” It is a marvelous piece, filled with folk tunes and cowboy songs woven into it, and hailed as the beginning of the unique “American sound” in classical music. The music romanticizes Billy, and only much later did Copland observe that had he known the real criminal mindset of Billy the Kid, he might not have written the music at all. But it is a grand piece, and we would be bereft without it. It is an old argument–is something of less value because of the premise that inspired it? Or does creativity require  a different dimension of judgment?

Why the Myth of the Cowboy”?

What is a more salient observation, though, is the question of why Americans have absorbed the myth of the gunfighter so absolutely. The degree has varied, but it is a myth that has never been forsaken.

Many years ago I worked on a grant for the National Endowment for the Arts about the last of the cowboys. In the course of it I went with others to Missouri and saw Jesse James’ homestead, a farmhouse that lay in the distance across an open field. I’d grown up watching westerns–it was a thrill to see that legendary place. But that is the power of myth–of believing something that was always in the distance, that sparked the imagination, and brought with a feeling of adventure and action and glamour. For that is exactly what the legends of the cowboys did–brought us into a world that didn’t exist, but we half wished did–a world where we never experienced the same routine, never stayed in one place, always had a new horizon ahead of us. That is the power of myth–that we can be more than we think we are.

But the Truth of It…

The truth of it is we have extolled, valued, remembered, and absorbed legends that belong to killers and thieves, a violent set of characters who lived larger than life, yes, but with the intent to do harm, whenever they had the chance. These were not nice people. For whatever reasons, they were damaged in some way, perhaps even by the relentless westward expansion of America that took no prisoners. We have as our heroes people who would as soon do us in as say hello.

Yet the power of the legends does not fade, even now. Our society is a mirror to the Old West, though we are far ahead of it in time. We visualize violence as a virtue–a hero’s path. Look at 80% of the films and television shows now available. It is a world, in that respect, that has not changed.

The question is–is this the truth we want? Is that why it persists? Or does it signal something else we are unwilling to give up?

The Dream of Acadie

“THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.”

These words open Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem Evangeline, published in 1847.

I have heard this poem since childhood, read aloud to me by my father and read also in school often. The sometimes archaic expressions did not phase us back then–we understood the idea was that we were meant to feel the words when we listened.

Living in the Maine Woods in Early America

Although Longfellow tells the true story in this poem of a place called Acadie and the expulsion of the French from Nova Scotia by the British, separating two lovers, these opening words are an image from his home near the coast of Maine, at a time when the pristine wilderness in America still existed much as it had before the invasion of the Europeans in the early 1600s. This aspect carried great meaning to his contemporary audience, for the book went through six printings in its first six months and was received with enthusiasm internationally.

Why? It was more than the story. In the setting he gives, we are delivered into a region that existed much as it had for millennia, that had never until now been explored, that was still a symbol of the frontier to many, though soon that frontier would encompass the west at a furious pace. And it was a place also experiencing the encroachment of the foreign invasion–faster than could be dreamed.

An American Enigma

There is a curious contradiction in the American  mindset, a two-sided vision of our reality. On the one hand is our materialism, our sense of ownership of the land and everything on it, there for the taking. On the other is awe, something embedded in us by the poets and artists and writers and painters and composers who have from the beginning attempted to explain this vast landscape in symbols of their own, an awe that at its source reveals a deep love and reverence for the incomprehensible beauty and gift of the earth we live on, of this wilderness we have entered. 

We have so far tended to learn only one side of that contradiction, the hunt and grab one.

Yet we are not bereft of the other side, the awe and acknowledgment of this wondrous land. It is still there to know.

God willing we keep it so.

An absolutely wonderful and wise person, James Van Praagh, described in one of his books what he felt held him back the most whenever he let it:  DISTRACTION! He put a large piece of paper on his refrigerator with that one word on it, to remind himself not to yield to the seductive power of getting distracted from his purpose or in his life. He wasn’t suggesting we must be focused all the time. But he was observing that we must be willing to allow quiet time, reflective time, and also to use time with some form of intention.

No Quiet Time

What is it we seem to do these days? It isn’t to allow quiet time. Very much the opposite. Pema Chodron described in an interview with Bill Moyers that when she was on a plane journey, the battery of sounds from devices all around her was overwhelming–cell phones, broadcasts, movies, laptops, video games–no one was just sitting and looking out the window, or engaged in thought–the closest they came to quiet time was when they were sleeping. What struck her most was that people seemed afraid to be in their own thoughts, as if there was some real disconnect going on between the inner and outer selves.

Becoming Oblivious

Late in his life Ray Bradbury watched people walking along the street with ear buds, listening to a device, oblivious to the world around them, and not speaking to the person they were with. He shouted out in frustration that he’d written a story about that very happening in 1953 and it was supposed to be science fiction! But the telling point in his story wasn’t that we should not enjoy listening to a recording–perhaps an audiobook, or music–but that we seemed to use our devices unceasingly, constantly, for everything, as if being without the device were impossible. What would he say to the sea of heads walking along the streets now! Heads everywhere bent to their cell phones anxiously seeing what message had come in. Was it important? Did it help them discover some idea? Was it vital to receive, so much so they had to check even while dining or at a movie and grow anxious, get an adrenaline flow, if no messages showed up for awhile? Unless they were emergency personnel or doctors, they had no reason to do this–did they?

So What Is Going On?

Maybe people cannot stand themselves, or are afraid of their own thoughts? Sure, sometimes, we all are. But this level of usage, this passion for checking for messages, is different in degree, in its omnipresent visibility. This kind of distraction, at a subconscious level, comes from a persistent,  almost insatiable desire to escape the reality that is, to control reality as much as possible, to make sure everything that is going on is known, sorted, addressed–with nothing left to chance.

Addiction Tipping Point

It’s possible that soon we will have reached a tipping point, in which our consuming need to be “doing” something has translated into an addiction to stare at our phones–not missing a single message, or a new tweet, or an ad for a movie, or a news flash, or a word from an unknown admirer–anything will do.

It is a global event. Each country has its own version of this, whether it be Twitter, Snapchat, or Whatsapp, and more. It is a global phenomenon that on its good side allow a level of communication unheard of, unimagined, in just a decade. But at what price?

Addictive Effect On Us

It is also a terrible burden, for it slices our life into fragments of experience. And these fragments are forgotten as soon as they arrive–our need is to have them happen, not to remember them. They keep us from ourselves, from our work, and from each other–we have become silos of texting.

Perhaps most of all it is the distraction of our technology that has taken us away from being involved in life in deeper ways.

It has taken us away from  being “present” in our own life.

But the technology is not at fault. It is neutral. It makes no decisions. It has no power. It does not control anything. Unless we say so.

We are the ones who choose to give our own personal power away to it.

We always, always, always have the right to say NO to using the devices, to turning on the phones. We can–sometimes–refuse the distraction of it all. Our decision. Our responsibility. Our choice.

What Does That Mean?

Are we are willing to know who we are and, for a while at least,
enter the quiet time within, uninterrupted?

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Woodland Thicket

Erasing the debris of old energy frees us. But it is not easy to do. It is like trying to cut through a dense thicket with a pocket knife. We often cannot fathom what a better tool might be, or even how to use it. Yet that debris weighs us down, saps our energy, so that we are not giving 100% of ourselves to life and living.

How can we remove that debris? What often goes unacknowledged is that sometimes we don’t want to–not because we want to stay where we are so much as that we are afraid to move out of the familiar, even if that familiar state is not good for us.

Allowing Change

Change–any kind of change–is a step out into the unknown. It isn’t surprising how many of us hesitate to do that. Anything could happen and what control would we have over it, when the shift into something new has no markers for us to follow?

But the heavy word in that sentence is “control.” It is fear that drives us when we think something could be out of our control. We are not accustomed to letting life evolve. We have to make things happen–our way. And there is the difficulty–the thicket we create for ourselves, and the debris we keep adding to it, inside ourselves, to make sure we are safe–all comes from the feeling that whatever happens must be our way or else it does not make sense to us.

Staying aware but allowing each moment to be whatever it is, whatever it is showing us–this is not easy to do. It takes practice.

Letting Go of Fear

That practice is to let go–let go of our demand that everything be safe and stay safe, be familiar and stay familiar. Of course, we want some predictability in our life–and we enjoy doing things in familiar ways for study, for community, for entertainment. But that is different than choosing to leave our comfort zone in an action of trust that new worlds of perception might open, or are opening.

Our creativity–at a core level–comes from allowing ourselves to explore other ways of being. We don’t have to follow them, necessarily. But we discover suddenly there is a new energy in us, running through us, that in its natural evolution expands our consciousness.

And in essence, consciousness–all levels of our consciousness–creates the precious uniqueness of who we are.

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If there is one thing that seems to affect most of us, it is a hesitancy to dare to be known, to let who we are “show up” — so that our authentic selves are visible wherever we are. Instead, we try to hide, to disguise, to cover up, to misdirect any attention away from our true inner being. It could even be said we are content to be anonymous.

Now, by all accounts, this appears to be the opposite of our day-to-day experience wherein each person we encounter wants their opinion, thought, idea, or outlook to be front and center. People want to be heard, to be noticed, to have a feeling of being wanted, desirable, important, liked, admired, praised. Each of us at some level feels each of these things.

The difference is that being noticed or praised or important has nothing to do with our authentic self. To dare to be known has nothing to do with any action we take or behavior we lay claim to.

Living an authentic life means we look at who we are in terms of one thing only–that we love who we are. Everything begins there.

What Is Your Inner Chatter About Yourself?

Have you caught yourself thinking negative things about your appearance, thoughts, behavior, outlook, achievements, social skills, intellect, likeability, worthiness? Or do you find most of the time the voice inside your head has good things to say — that you are not only loving but loved, that your presence on earth is unique and for that reason alone invaluable, that you matter as much as anyone else, that your outlook is creative and life-giving?

A good guess is that if you dared to log your inner chatter about yourself for even one hour, the negative to positive comments would have a ratio of 80/20 — or even 90/10. Most of us habitually diminish ourselves by feeling disappointment at our choices in the past, distress over our personality, uncertainty in what we believe, and intense fear other people will find out we are not valuable.

The truth is every person is valuable, no exceptions. What happens is we forget, or ignore, or cannot accept this truth. Why not? The reasons are as varied as the number of people on the planet. No two stories are the same.

Do You Deserve the Good Life?

You don’t have to do anything to deserve the good life. You ARE the good life, and every time you choose to know this — to remember this — you give that feeling to everyone you encounter.

It isn’t rocket science. If in your spirit you feel loved, then you automatically send that love out into the world wherever you go.This doesn’t mean you will like everyone you meet, or find common ground  with them, or experience only positive things. It just means you allow all that because it is life. You deal with what you have to and move on. Without judgment.

You don’t feel loved, you say? If you exist, you are loved, by God, by All That Is, by the Universe–you choose whatever word works for you. Just know it is true. There is no doubt of this. And you are meant to love who you are. Without judgment. Your presence here is no accident.

When we dare to be known as we are, we are saying YES to who we are.

It changes everything.

Try it just once for ten minutes. If you dare. You will be amazed at what happens.

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Do you trust yourself? Do you believe you are made of “star stuff,” as the scientists tell us? Do you know how perfect you are?

You do know these things. We all do, but we live life often in a state of amnesia, or as if this information is meant to be hidden away. Our focus is given over to time-honored distractions instead — fitting in, being a certain way to please another, choosing a safe career or path or point of view, not rocking the boat, settling for less, distrusting our abilities and talents…

and distrusting our ability to thrive.

Yet here we are, created in the image of God, every single person and creature and tree and flower on the planet. Every sigh of the wind, every pebble on a dirt path, every leaf blown across a field or along the street, every sea tide — all are evidence of God in and on the Earth, just as your own presence is.

Choosing to Say Yes

When you trust yourself, you say YES to life. You have already lived many stories, gone through many stages, and walked many unexpected paths.

It is a certainty things have not turned out the way you have planned, not always or even often. Life requires us to FEEL it all. It is a journey through your  feelings, according to the details  of your experiences and reactions and actions taken. Saying YES to this is acknowledging not only the life-force, but your own place in it.

There is no “objectivity.” What we see is through  the prism of our emotions. That is our purpose on this earth — to sort through our emotions and discover how to experience them in a way that adds to the quality of our life. This is how we bring passion into our heart and spirit.

Integrating Trust into Who You Are

There is no way anyone else’s feelings affect you as much as your own feelings do. They are the manifestation of your heart, not your brain — they are the source of joy or pain, according to how much you have discovered about yourself, and how  much of that you are willing to face, absorb, and integrate.

We tend to spend an inordinate amount of time doing what we are supposed to do. It is easier, and it is often safer. Yet it means — it always means — we are letting go of our innate being, who we are in God’s image — to accommodate a way of life that is not genuine to our soul.

Our public institutions — and that includes the law, religion, groups, and family — have rules for us to follow. These are often fine–they create a choreography of action and response, a dance, if you like, of what is both predictable  and unexpected. We learn from these. It is when we give our power — or trust — over to them to the exclusion of the inner heart that we begin to falter in spirit.

Integrating trust in ourselves into everything we do brings peace, and a joy that cannot  be contained.

It also brings a feeling of inner power, a feeling that we are meant to give service to the planet, to ourselves and those we love, and to the voice of the stars that sing all the time in our very cells.