Conversations For Transformation

Essays By Laurence Platt

Inspired By The Ideas Of Werner Erhard

And More

Natural Expression

Chicago, Illinois, USA

May 14, 2009

This essay, Natural Expression, is the first in the fifth trilogy Visits With A Friend: Natural Expression Essential Question There Is No "The Answers" in that order.	The first trilogy Visits With A Friend is: Second First Impression Do Artists Retire? Presence Of Love in that order.

The second trilogy Visits With A Friend is: Black Brick Wet Water On Saying Nothing in that order.	The third trilogy Visits With A Friend is: Master Of Life Face To Face Love And Kindness in that order.

The fourth trilogy Visits With A Friend is: Personal Piece Magnum Opus Walk A Way With Me in that order.

The fifth trilogy Visits With A Friend is the sequel to Close Up, Face To Face, Larger Than Life, And Twice As Natural and the prequel to Mint Condition.

Werner Erhard

It's hot. Very hot. It's summer in the city. I'm here early. There's some gorgeous pieces of art which capture my attention. I remove my jacket for the heat, hook my finger through the collar loop, and sling it over my shoulder as I walk around, scrutinizing each piece, paying attention to the carefully displayed artist's notes. Eventually even the jacket on my shoulder adds too much warmth, so I lay it down carefully on an empty pedestal, most likely the home of a temporarily absent sculpture. I wait. But there's no impatience. I'm here. You'll come soon.

I turn around, away from "Winter In Oils" or something like that ... and here you are! You throw open your arms and greet me with "Hello Laurence!" in the rich, deep, Philadelphian accent, a blazing smile flickering across your face. We embrace. God! It always seems this moment will never come. My eyes mist over but I'm not embarrassed. I'm careful, very careful about your privacy and confidentiality, so I don't greet you by name. I say "Hello Chief! It's great to see you again.". I mean it. No kidding!

The cab driver's having a hard time keeping his eyes on the road. He's stealing furtive glances at you in his rear view mirror. Finally he can't contain himself any more. He bursts out "'scuse me, Sir: does anyone ever tell you you look like Werner Erhard?". I anticipate your answer. You could say (and still be telling the truth) "Yes, I get that a lot.". That would be a good response. Privacy and confidentiality stay paramount. Instead you say "I'm Werner Erhard.". The cabbie's eyes open wider. He's delighted. "Damn! I knew it!". He's all smiles now, but his eyes are on the road ahead. The thought "Wow!" crosses my mind ... but I remain silent.

It's a short, easy walk to the restaurant you've chosen. We talk along the way. But I'm still a bit giddy. Ground control to Major Tom: come in, please. My concern for your privacy and confidentiality snaps to attention again with what happens next. You greet the Maitre D' who, sure enough, asks for the name on the reservation. I assume it'll be the aide's who made the reservation.

Wrong again! Without pause you reply "Erhard", again in the rich, deep, Philadelphian accent, the same megawatt smile blazing for her as it did for me. No hiding. No holding back. Heads turn. Now there's a whole new frame of reference in place for me. Something of which I've been totally sure has just been vanquished, blown away. But then again, isn't this what always happens around you?

When I lived in the Fiji islands I learned to eat with my fingers, eschewing utensils the way the islanders do, adding an extra dimension to the eating experience: touch ... in addition to the already sight, smell, and taste. I suddenly realize I'm eating with my fingers. At the table set with crystal and silver, I'm eating with my fingers and I don't realize I'm eating with my fingers until I notice you smiling at me. I'm totally uninhibited around you, so much so I don't consciously realize I'm totally uninhibited around you. "I'm sorry" I say, catching myself, and this time I am just a tad embarrassed. "No, please don't be. I like eating with my fingers too" you say, picking up some salad, putting it in your mouth. Suddenly the dots are connected. Laurence's lost weekend in Fiji (which lasted a year) comes clear through from thirty three years ago into the present ... and what better time, what better place, what better friend to share it with than now, here, and with you?

Something comes up. Abruptly you stand to leave. You say you'll be back shortly. "I'll come with you!" I say, standing too. "No. You stay here.". It's more than firm. It's more like running into a brick wall. No one I know is so clear. No one I know is as intentional. Only this brick wall has a velvet veneer. There's no force in the expression. There's no aggression. The total 100% certainty of it speaks for itself. I get clear instantly my place is here, and your place is gone.

And then an amazing thing happens. I'm sitting looking at your empty chair, looking at your napkin laid neatly, just so on your place setting, and I realize that's who you are: an empty space, a clearing, a true nothing in which a true something can show up. I'm awed. In a way, you're more here when you're gone than when you're here! As I see you returning to the room, I spontaneously stand up in respect. There's no decision to stand up, mind you. I just notice my legs extend by themselves ... and now I'm standing alone in the center of the room. It's a natural expression. You see me standing from across the room, nodding your head in acknowledgement as you walk back to our table.

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