Abundant Future
Let’s All Be a Verb
Buckminster Fuller stated it clearly. “I seem to be a verb.” I love the idea of being a verb. What verb would you wanna be?
Living on earth is not the easiest thing to do. We struggle. We strive. We falter. We worry and we stand up again. Because there’s not much else to do.
We go on.
But why?
And how?
Often, when I have such thoughts, something happens that gives me clarity. In this case, it is reading a quote. In this article by Daniel Christian Wahl (another one of my inspirers), the quote is clear.
“I live on Earth at present, and I don’t know what I am. I know that I am not a category. I am not a thing — a noun. I seem to be a verb, an evolutionary process — an integral function of the universe.”
— R. Buckminster Fuller (1970)
Richard Buckminster Fuller was an American architect, systems theorist, author, designer, inventor, and futurist. A visionary. And he’s one of my inspirators when I write about co-creating an abundant future.
He gives me wisdom when I try to see the systemic solutions for our world problems. He gives me clarity when I struggle with the immensity of the chaos. And now he gives me simple wisdom for my daily life.
Okay. So I’m a verb.
I do feel that I’m a verb. Today my truth has shifted a little again. The chaos in the world seems to make the movement more tangible. But for this story, I don’t want to stick in philosophical musings. I want to make it concrete.
My mind starts spinning. What verb would I like to be?
To laugh?
This is a good contender. If I were a verb, I’d love to laugh my head off. Recently I read two passages that made me laugh about myself. About my own seriousness and striving for perfection.
The first story features Heyokah. This contrary clown teaches us through laughter and opposites. Heyokah will make us wonder if what we are doing or saying is actually correct, which will then make me think and figure it out for myself.
The story goes a bit like this.
A very serious woman (you can read Desiree, me, here) is told that she will get her lessons when she gathers the poo of various animals. Then, I have to mix the poo with water, until it has become a paste. The consistency of the paste has to be just right. Not too thin. Not too thick.
I get it. And I create the perfect paste. Fluid, but not watery.
Taking a stick is the next step. I have to draw a perfect circle in the sand. Which I do. Often stepping back to see if the circle is perfectly round. Correcting if it isn’t perfect, of course. I have to put the paste into the groove. The circle is ready to receive my wisdom.
Heyokah tells me to sit in the circle until my message emerges. So I sit. And I wait. Message. What message? I expect it to be a totem animal. And I wonder which one will show up. Or maybe it’ll be someone who tells me what I need to hear. Loud and clear. In words.
My sitting lasts for hours. I try. I try hard.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
Until it dawns on me.
I see myself sitting in a circle of poo. Shit made by others. I surrounded myself with these excrements and sit in the middle taking myself mighty seriously.
The stupidity of the situation gets to me and I start to laugh.
Bellowing with laughter.
Rolling around in the sand with laughter.
Punching the sand with my fists. Perfect paste! Perfect circle! Perfect stupidity!
One more story then.
This one was told by Kees Klomp in this story written in 2017.
Kees went to visit a Tibetan Buddhist gathering in Amsterdam. An old, brittle monk went up on stage. He walked on stage very slowly a sat down on a chair. He took all the time in the world to have a look around the room.
And then he asked two questions.
The first one: “Are you having a good relationship with yourself?”
A few hands were raised.
The second one: “Who of us is having a bad relationship with ourselves?”
A tsunami of fingers punched the air.
The old Tibetan monk started to chuckle. First very quietly and softly. But his laughter got louder and louder. And it was contagious. Everybody started to laugh. It was a very surreal scenery: hundreds of people roaring in laughter.
Then all of a sudden he went quiet.
The silence was deafening. And lasted. People must have felt uncomfortable after a while, I guess.
Kees says: After what felt like hours, the old Tibetan started to talk again. He asked us: Do you get the point I’m trying to make? Do you get it?
And he got up and walked off stage.
Leaving everyone confused.
If you want to read the explanation by Kees, read his story. But if you are like me, just let it marinate in your mind. Chew on it for a while. Feel the laughter vibrate in your bones. You’ll get the clue sooner or later…
Yes, I’ve chosen the verb I want to be. To Laugh.
Not to laugh away the mess. The misery. The fear.
No. It’s because laughing will chop a path through the chaos. I might be able to see more clearly where I’m going. I will be able to feel the connectedness to all-there-is in my body.
It might stop the fanatic strive for better. For perfection.
Paradoxically, it will be easier to create a better world when I stop trying so hard. Laughing might help me do that.
To laugh is my choice of verb.
What is yours?
Sherry McGuinn, is this an answer to the hole in your pants? Perhaps Elisabeth Khan Timothy Key Eli Snow Rasheed Hooda Bob Jasper Charles Roast Sana Rose Agnes Louis Rosennab Megan Holstein Emma Austin Lucien Lecarme Chris Hedges Matt Lillywhite Nicole Akers Helen Cassidy Page Jessica Cote Dennett Erika Burkhalter FILZA CHAUDHRY Francine Fallara Ryan Fan George J. Ziogas Christina Hoag iWrite! B. A. Cumberlidge. Jyssica Schwartz Jennifer Rosater Roz Warren Mallika Vasak Michele Thill Keno Ogbo Terry Mansfield Kathryn A. LeRoy, Ph.D. Aurora Eliam, CMP Joe Luca will have some answers as well. Or anyone else who wants to join in. I’d love to read about being a verb from your perspectives.
And if you want to connect, you can find me on LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, or my website. Or somewhere putting my hands in the soil. Fermenting poo to become compost. Laughing and making space for new explorations…
Thank you, Mike, for adding your wise energy to my words.
