Automatic:
ClicheSaying the same thing to the same person in the same wayAll the ways we use jargon or business-speakPredictable reactions to what you're feeling (lashing out, withdrawing, self-criticising)Tuning out from what's really happeningMost of our habitsAlways knowing, always being sureExcluding certain emotionsKeeping conversation within predictable, narrow boundsSaying "I am this way"
Responsive:
Asking "What's needed now, here?"Tuning in to the wholeness of the situation - with mind, emotions, bodily sensationRelaxing your need to know what to doLetting go of feeling safe, so that what's needed can ariseAllowing yourself to be surprised - at yourself, at othersFeeling it allGiving up defending, clinging on, controlling what's happeningDoing what's called for, rather than what 'one does'
We easily become masterful at automatic. And although responsive is our human heritage, for most of us mastering it takes ongoing practice because so much of what we've learned - at school, in work, in our families - gets in the way.We could do well to remember that responsive - much needed in our lives - is a lifetime's work.
Between June 2011 and the following July I had three close encounters with death. Three life punctuating events brought about by sudden and unexpected changes within my body, each shocking and frightening, each a reminder of how fragile and unpredictable life can be.As I recovered from each episode I expected - hoped - that I would in some way be profoundly different. I wanted so much to find myself more grateful, more accepting, more joyful of life's many small blessings, less judgmental, less afraid, less irritated by small things, more kind, and more dedicated to being present and welcoming and loving with the people who matter to me.But it didn't work out so simply. I emerged from each experience blinking and shaken and grateful, and soon settled back into many of my familiar patterns.Over time I've found myself thinking about this differently. What happens if I allow these experiences to inform the way I live rather than expecting them to change me? How can I, having encountered the possibility of death so closely, use my experience to commit fully and wisely and generously to life?In taking on this question I'm finding out that the change I seek is a question of practice rather than of events. And that I am an ongoing process much more than I am a thing with enduring properties, an object that is a particular way. I live myself into being, day after day. I am always living myself into being by the very ways in which I live.How I move, how much I take care of myself, how I express curiosity and interest in the world, how I speak and listen, how I sleep, how I sing and laugh, how I play and create, how I bind myself up in community, how I practice compassion and stillness, how I love, how I work - all these shape the life I am living and who I become, far more than the punctuating events themselves.And this tells me so much about the mistaken ways in which I look for change in myself and in my relationships with others. When I mistake life for a thing I imagine an event of sufficient power will do it. An affecting conversation, a kiss, a show of force, a book with a revelatory idea in it, an illness, a windfall, a conference, an argument, the right gift, or a brush with death will fix things, in the same way that I might fix a dented metal bowl by attempting to knock it into shape. But when I know myself as a living, unfolding process, events take up their proper place as teachers rather than fixers, educating me about the ongoing practices by which I can take care of this one precious life.The more I imagine events alone will do it, the more I set myself up for the despair and frustration that comes from relying on something that cannot help.And the more I commit to the ongoing, long-term, diligent and patient practice of living in a way that brings life, the more genuine reason I have to hope.
It's probable that our conscious minds, the part we each so readily take to be 'me', is but a tiny sliver of light floating on a darker, more inscrutable background.Deep in this mysterious substrate lie a host of automatic processes - monitoring, regulating, pulsing, analysing, stimulating, suppressing. We don't have to do anything to make our hearts beat faster when we're excited or scared. And breathing, while amenable to control by the conscious mind, just gets on with itself when we're not looking.Alongside the complex but more automatic processes are parts of us - equally hidden from our direct experience - with immense intelligence, capable of making sense, following through on goals and plans, directing us, holding us back, moving us forward. As Timothy D Wilson says in 
Our rituals give us an opportunity to rehearse a different kind of relationship to ourselves and to others than those in which we ordinarily find ourselves.This is exactly what we're doing with the ritual of a formal meeting where we take up assigned positions (chair, participants, etc) and give ourselves new ways of speaking with one another that are distinct from everyday conversation. It's what we're up to with the ritual of work appraisal conversations, which are intended to usher in a new kind of frankness and attentiveness than is usually present. It's in the ritual of the restaurant, where the form and setting gives us, from the moment we enter, a set of understandings, commitments and actions shared with both other diners and with the staff. And it is, of course, present in all religious rituals when performed with due attention, which call us for a moment into a fresh relationship with the universe, or creation, or the rest of the living world.The more we practice a ritual - especially if it's one practiced with others - the more we develop the imagination and skilfulness to live in this new relationship in the midst of our ordinary lives.It is for this reason that among the most powerful ways we have available to shift a culture - in a relationship, in a family, in an organisation - is to imagine and then diligently practice new rituals.And by naming them as such, by declaring that they are ritual, we can help ourselves step in and be less overcome our inevitable resistance, our anxiety, at trying on new, unfamiliar and much needed ways of being together.
We human beings need rituals, and we create them everywhere. We have rituals for getting up in the morning, rituals for brushing our teeth, rituals for making breakfast, rituals for leaving the house, rituals for speaking to our families, rituals for paying the bills. And our organisational life is brimming with them - rituals for checking our emails, and rituals for responding to them; rituals for interviewing, hiring and promotion; rituals for the presentation of documents and proposals; and rituals for meetings.Each ritual, whether private or public, gives us a stable form for our actions and relationships - a way of navigating without having to reinvent ourselves again and again. But each is far more than just a repetition of particular behaviour. A ritual - with its particular structure and pace, style and mood, and with the specific roles taken up by those engaging in it - brings out and rehearses a kind of relationship with life and with one another. And the more we perform it, the more habitual and familiar that style of relating becomes for us.This, in itself, can be a fascinating area for study. Who am I being when breakfast is a coffee grabbed on the run from a street vendor on the way to the train? And who would I be if I made time to prepare food for myself with care and attention, and with enough time to eat? Who are we being when we gather in the meeting room, rehearsing the familiar pretence that we've read the agenda already and checking for emails under the table? And who would we be if we set our devices and papers aside, looked one another in the eye and talked about something really important until we were done?We don't have to continue simply enacting the rituals we've inherited in a thoughtless way. We could make a start by understanding that even the existing rituals with which we're familiar are fertile ground for reimagining - and that there are many interpretations available which could bring us into more truthful, engaged and alive relationships with ourselves and those around us.We could sometimes take up the ritual of travel from place to place as a way of cultivating wonder at the world. We could reinterpret the rituals of getting up in the morning as a way of bringing out exquisite care for ourselves and those closest to us. We could take on our rituals for spending money as an opportunity for cultivating sacredness rather than running afraid or getting just want we want. And we could even take up the ritual of meetings as an opportunity to build welcome, truth and openness rather than as a way of reminding ourselves who's in charge, how busy everyone is, and how in control of things we are. 
Once again the feeling in my body is as it was