Redemption Goes Both Ways

My childhood was imperfect.  Regular readers will know that one relationship in particular has stood out as by far the most damaging, disruptive, and difficult to reconcile.  Last summer many of you cheered me on as I unplugged the power this person had over me and reclaimed it for myself. 

I rode the vehicle of a writer’s challenge group to delve deep into the wounds that held me back, to challenge the inner demons that took most of their cues from this one troubled relationship and set of unfortunate circumstances.

At one point the transformation accelerated to the point that I wanted professional help to navigate emerging ptsd-style memories, so I hired a therapist whose vehement advice was to sever all ties with that person, forever, and never look back...

In the past twelve months another story has unfurled, which has ripened now to the point that it is only fair to give it voice.

After receiving the recommendation to sever ties, I recognized something inside was very unhappy with the idea.  Not a shred of good work could come from that tactic!  I was on a roll, I was feeling mighty, and I had two objectives: I was going to do myself the favor of saying, face-to-face, exactly what happened to “wee me” as a result of their actions, choices, and neglectfulnesses; and they were going to get the opportunity to rise to the challenge of hearing it full-on, and possibly make the jump to transformation.

It was a colossal risk, and the whole thing could have blown up in my face.  But here I had these inner demons nattering away at me, at the same time that I had this burgeoning force moving me forward-  Having reclaimed all the energy I’d been giving away through the damage itself, the time came to take the risk that was creating all the fear.

So. I did not sever ties.  I made a coffee date.

I arrived with a set of notes because this person is my single greatest ptsd trigger and the notes serve as an anchor to be sure I don’t miss anything I wanted to say, and I can also jot responses so they don’t get whirled away in the intensity of the moment.

I walked to the cafe- tall, strong, confident.  I chose the seat and sat calmly, waiting... within two minutes my stomach was turning flips, my hands were shaking, and my breath was all over the place.  I had to hit on my asthma inhaler.  A little baby panic attack.

And then my “date” arrived.  We exchanged what pleasantries we could, then got down to business.  Whomever said, “Speak your truth, even if your voice shakes”, totally had my back right then.  I was standing on a towering cliff while perched on a stool in a trendy little cafe.

I was about to take an irrevocable leap, and all the tumultuous scenes from the past were spooling to replay themselves indefinitely if I missed my footing.

But I started.  I started, and I kept going, and I was a river of anger and frustration and loss of innocence.  I explained everything that was wrong way back when, what it did to the tiny person I was, who had no tools to cope with it and who then responded by storing it all in hidden pockets of her being that occasionally rupture when current-time too closely resembles “back-when”.  I was bitter, I was caustic, I was on fire.

... and I was heard.

I had expected vehement denials, half-assed explanations, a violent eruption like the ones that resulted from past efforts to stand up for myself, and that were the hallmark of the original trauma.

But no.  On the other side of the table I saw a person holding themselves wide open, unflinching, to receive whatever I had to put forward.  No arguments, no denials, just a willing container for the outpouring of bile, venom, and tears I was churning out.

When I was emptied, I was told that I was right, that the past was indeed regrettable, and that I should not have been made to bear what I did.  Redemption as a verb goes two ways.  A person can redeem themselves, by taking responsibility for the things of which they are guilty (which, last summer I did not believe was possible for this person). 
A person can also redeem another, by confirming that the penance they’ve undertaken has been sufficient in accordance with the wrongs they’ve done.  We began this two-way process that day, perhaps to our mutual surprise.

At the very end, I was asked if there were any, any memories from childhood that were of brighter days.  At the time there were none I could access- they were still buried under the rest that I’d just begun to express.  This brought sadness to us both, but I said I’d keep an eye out as I continued clearing useless baggage.

The scene described above has been repeated a number of times since last summer, and by now I’ve said all I needed to.  Last time we got together it was just to have lunch.
This is not to say things are suddenly rosy and uncomplicated.  But so much of the mess has been cleared away that we can sit together in present time without first confronting the spectre of yesteryear.

Recently I began a course of bodywork that assists in releasing stored trauma.  During the first session I came up against a strong emotion from childhood which caught me off guard.  It was the simple, uncomplicated love of a young child, before anything awful happened to taint it.  It swept into/through/over me with a surge of such tenderness that I wept.

This must be my own small redemption.

A Witness to Transcendence

I have a dear friend who’s been grappling for years with a series of injuries that have seriously hampered her ability to engage in life physically.  I’ve seen her bed-bound for months at a time, on and off crutches, in and out of braces, and in the kind of pain that makes your heart stop.

And lately, I’m watching this friend transcend.

As in, cast-off-the-shackles-and-walk-forward-into-the-light, kind of transcend.  And it is one of the coolest things I’ve ever had the honor to witness.

When we undertake Healing-with-a-capital-H, it can take months or years to find the combination of modalities that will hasten us on the path.  We may have to grapple with practitioners who just don’t “get” us, others who go too far and make things worse, those whose work seems promising but is just-not-quite-the ticket, and some who react to the notion that the emotions impact healing by offering a prescription for pain meds.  Yikes!

Add to the above, complications with insurance, logistics of transportation (my friend hasn’t been able to drive for nearly a year), the disheartening fear of being a burden, and the time and energy it takes for the body to integrate all it’s been through, and you have all the makings for a very long, very frustrating ride...

At the end of which is transcendence.  

Deep Breath In, Deep Breath (all the way) Out.  Finally, after years of being subjected to the scrutiny and handling of dozens of different practitioners, my friend has wended her way through the gauntlet of modalities and found what works for her, in a combination of modalities that work pointedly with the subtle systems of the body/mind, in combination with the breath. 

Bodywork and mysticism are so intrinsic to my basic view of the world that this comes as no surprise.  Traumas that have no safe avenue of expression get stored, period.  Keep them long enough, and they will change the way you use or experience certain parts of your body.  They may come to define your posture, your habitual movements, the way your nervous system interprets sound coming from behind.  They are like subtle impostors- they’ve been exerting their influence so long that they just feel like part of the fabric of normalcy. 

The thing is, the physical body is dense.  And most of us, even if our belief system points to the interconnectedness of all things, still function with a very linear sense when it comes to healing our bodies.  Got a physical injury?  Go to a physical therapist. Or physiatrist, or physician, or any number of skilled professionals trained to diagnose, treat, and cure physical problems. 

And if you fail to heal from such treatment?  You are offered a prescription for anti-convulsants.  I'm not kidding; I’ve seen it done half a dozen times.

Of course much of this just points to the western model of medicine.  Even if the patient recognizes the problem as stored trauma, or emotion that’s become stuck in the tissues (“emotion” means “to move”, and if we’re not safe to move emotions through our bodies they get stuck there and begin campaigns for more and more attention until they manifest as illness or injury- but that’s a different post), most of us can’t get a referral to the local shaman, cranio-sacral therapist, or integrative energy practitioner (or even a western-trained counsellor, for that matter) to deal with what appears to be a physical issue.

What’s compelling is that, as my friend  has navigated the course from physical to subtle in terms of her treatment, she herself has become more subtle. What began as an endeavor to “fix what’s wrong” in order to “get back to normal”, has become a courageous journey into awareness, a willing exploration of Things Buried Deep... a whole-hearted endeavor toward integration.

And now?  Now that she seems to have bumped up against the modalities that agree with her body and are allowing her to accomplish what she’s been so willing to do for so very long? 
I’ve been in awe.

Things have come out of her mouth recently that simply weren’t possible a year or six months ago.  Arcane concepts she previously understood mainly through the intellect, have now become inherent to her experience of the world.
She’s developed a capacity to discern delicate points of interconnectedness within her being.  She has been prone to beautiful little “aha” moments- not the kind that konk you on the head and then vanish, but the kind that arrive on little cat paws and slowly unfurl before your eyes so that you can really take them in and integrate them.

As these insights seep into her awareness of things-as-they-are, I’ve seen her step forth into a new sort of power- a certain self-possessed presence has begun to shine forth that is truly magnificent to behold.  There’s a twinkle in the eye that tells you something new is lit up inside, a stance in the body that’s a little softer somehow, but also stronger.  It’s hard to put your finger on, but it’s there, a subtle knowing that changes everything.

I'm humbled today by the strength of courage that I see in her transformation.  And I mean that velvety, rich, gorgeous kind of humble; where you are just flooded with gratitude for the chance to behold humankind at its most vulnerable, mighty/delicate best.

"I am thinking today of dragonfly's wings,
and the gossamer strength
of delicate things"...  me,  circa 2001


(p.s. yesterday, she drove!)
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The Power of One Word

When I was practicing as a massage therapist I discovered that my clients’ recoveries often accelerated after we had conversations in which I said things like, “You know, you keep referring to the accident in which your neck was injured as, ‘My accident’.  The word’ ‘my’ indicates possession, and possessions are usually things we are attached to, and want to keep. So, I just wonder what message that’s sending to your body.  What if you used something less charged while still telling the truth- like “the accident’?”

In traditional study of the sanskrit language, it is emphasized that each syllable carries a whole plethora of meanings.  Each written letter makes one sound, and one sound only.   Consonants always have an inherent vowel attached, which makes every letter a syllable in its own right. The pronunciation is so precise that to place the tongue in the wrong position during any part of an utterance may render an entirely different meaning.

In sanskrit, each syllable has its own associated diety, color, element, state of mind, place of influence in the human being (sometimes in the physical body, sometimes in the energetic layers that surround and influence the body - what westerners think of as “personal space”).  Add to this list, certain physical processes, states of feeling (called “bhav”), powers (discernment, compassion, anyone?), and a whole wealth of subtleties that could take a lifetime to unravel in their entirety.  What it comes down to is, this point of reference places tremendous emphasis on the fact that the words chosen to describe a circumstance will have an influence on that circumstance.

The power of words to influence and create things... from emotional states and body processes, to governmental policy and weather patterns... has always been taken seriously by the proponents of this particular brand of wisdom.  The sanskrit term that describes it is “matrika shakti”.  Unpack any sanskrit word, and thousands of meanings will tumble out!  So, to gain a simple translation we will call shakti simply “power”.  It’s distinctively the power to manifest (as in, the universe).  Matrika can translate as “little mothers”.

“Power of the little mothers?!”, you say.  Consider this:  the sanskrit alphabet, when taken in its entirety, is considered to be the very body of the great mother from whom the entire universe is manifest (even this is an oversimplification, but it’ll do).  Each syllable is like a holographic part of that larger whole.  So, yes, the power of the spoken word is made from the collective power of all the syllables together.  Little mothers.  (Is it too much to add that the matrikas are also warrior goddesses that support Kali, the goddess of destruction (don’t fret, dear readers - she’s out to destroy the ego-riffic ignorance that’s gotten us into the mess we’re facing in the 21st century))?  And that Kali wears a necklace made up of... well, depends on whose translation you read.  Some say 50 skulls.  But if you’ve trained to read between the lines you’ll know that it’s the 50 letters of the sanskrit alphabet from which she derives her power.

It’s always fascinating to me to look back on my time as a bodyworker and realize that perhaps the most useful thing I ever did for my clients was to make a small observation about the language they used to describe their condition.  Without even meaning to, I became something of a “matrika coach”.

I’d say, “Let’s play with ‘injury’ and ‘healing’.  Which do you want to keep?  Which do you wish to let go of? Look at the difference between these two phrases:
‘The healing of my injury’
‘My healing of the injury’
It might look like they say the same thing, but look at the power of the small words!
In the first example, you possess the injury.  In the second example, it’s the healing that is yours.  Whatever your mind may think, your body recognizes and responds to the difference.”

Sometimes a client would get really gung-ho and start revamping their entire “language wardrobe”, suddenly spinning off phrases like, “Every day I’m blessed in every way”, and “I’m turning it all over to the universe”.   People tend to start with extremes when we learn new skills, so I reign them in and point out that sugar-coating or denying situations don’t change them, and that the powers-that-be actually require our participation if things are going to be different.  You can’t just wrap your circumstances up in a cloak of new-age phraseology and expect to alter the course of the universe.

Instead, I encourage people to hone in on one single word in their habitual repertoire.  I say, “You are looking for a word that carries power and significance.   Listen closely to yourself (or enlist the support of family and friends) for phrases that you repeat often, like refrains to the soundtrack of the day, and look for one single word to change”.  

My favorite example:
If you replace “I hate...” with “I love...”, it makes a lot of affirmation enthusiasts happy, but it doesn’t tell the truth about your experience.

But when you replace “I hate” with “I don’t understand...”, it still describes the truth of the situation, and it also changes the charge.  If you don’t understand a thing, you may or may not choose to seek understanding -that’s up to you. But at least it doesn’t push it away and close the door, and engender bad feelings like hate does.  Ask anyone who hated gay people until they learned they were raising one.  Their hate had to change to “don’t understand”, so that it could change to “trying to understand”, and eventually to understanding. Then “I hate” can morph into “I love”, through understanding.
With this one single change, we open the door to peace between people who come from different backgrounds, traditions, cultures, and belief systems. 

One thing about those little mothers - they will give you anything you want. 
Problem is, they think you actually want everything you say.
And that is another topic, for another day...

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Anticipation and Growing Pains

A word about programs that promise to stretch you emotionally and spiritually: The experience begins as soon as you register for the course, no matter how far in advance or through what technological medium.

To wit: As part of our excursion to the overseas ecovillage on our itinerary, my partner and I each plan to partake of different courses that are taught as part of the rotating curriculum offered there.  I will be doing a week-long intensive introduction to the place, including lots of inner work/transformational mojo.  Jenn will stay on for a whole month and complete her Permaculture Design Certificate as well as training in other aspects of ecovillage life.

We each had applications to fill out for our respective programs, and I sent mine in by email about two days before she sent hers.  Somehow I remember reading that I would get notification of acceptance within 48 hours, so on the day she sent hers in I was holding the quiet hope that I would hear soon- maybe even that same day.  It WAS a weekend day, so I held space for the fact that maybe it would be 48 work-week hours.  Still, I checked my email about every 4 hours, even at work (this is normal for some people, I realize- but for me once a day is usually it, sometimes not even that).  Yesterday was an exceptionally long day.  I worked early and hard all day long, came home to shower and change clothes, then do a presentation on essential oils in my living room.  These are always enlivening and fun- I get to slather on calming oils while I help others learn to support their own health... at any rate I am always starving when we’re done, so as soon as it was done we bolted out the door for the neighborhood taco joint (yeah, I know they don’t have those in ecovillages.  There will be plenty of time dedicated to wrapping my head around that!).
An hour and a half later, sated and sleepy, I started getting ready for bed.  I was brushing my teeth when Jenn popped her head in and said, “Oh, by the way, I heard back on my application.  They said which building to go to to pick up the registration packet, where to go for meals...”  Her words kept going because it took her a while to catch up with what was going on.  That wasn’t a smile on my face, it was a holding-back-the-tears grimace.  Oh yes, it had been a long day, and the strain of waiting to hear back on my application was beginning to wear on me.  It had been six days, after all... not two, or even four (considering the first two were weekend). 

Let me be clear that there is no question for me about whether I’ll be accepted.  I have not experienced any anxiety about whether I will “get in”.  I’m very well suited for the course, there are openings, and I’ve paid my deposit.  No questions lingering here.  What it is, is that I’ve been looking forward to the rush you get when some new dream suddenly begins to move forward of its own volition, as if the “powers that be” are in alignment and your life’s new direction is being forged.  It’s the little zing that makes you suck in your breath for a second, the “Here goes!” moment. As eager as I am for the commencement of the adventure, I have total certainty that it is coming to pass.  So I knew I wasn’t falling apart because I thought anything was wrong. 

From deep inside I could see that it has to do with taking that brave and irrevocable step of agreeing to undergo transformation.  It’s nothing to do with whether I’ll get in, and everything to do with what will happen to me once I’m in there.  The ego (and understand when I talk about the ego I do so from the Eastern Philosophy standpoint rather than Western Psychology - so, ego is not about self-aggrandizement, it’s about keeping you small and separate and insecure and uncertain of everything except your own unworthiness - - THAT ego is the one I talk about), is mortified at the prospect of me delving in deep again.  It’s going to be threatened, and I will know it because I will be uncomfortable.  I will have moments when I think I am not good enough, that I can’t transform fast enough (or authentically enough, or radically enough, or....).  I will doubt myself and my commitment, I will fantasize about neighborhood taco stands, I will wonder how on earth I will sustain this experience and whether all these wonderful people think I am a fraud.  I will probably also wonder who among them are frauds, or worse- I may presume to know.  This is what happens when you purposely choose to move beyond your present set of limitations.  Your spirituo-emotional uglies start to show up.  Any old #215800-ers still out there?  Know what I mean?  And so, with all the bravery and compassion you can muster, you welcome the little darlings.

This tender young sproutling of transformative motion is what unveiled itself last night as I sat sobbing on the edge of the tub.  Since I am a staunch defender of the notion that you create what you focus on, Jenn was understandably concerned to know whether I was painting awful pictures inside this skull of mine as I mopped up my face.  I smiled at her.  “No, not at all.  Just a case of ‘back to school’ nerves”. 

This morning I returned to the email I’d received to acknowledge receipt of my application, to see how long it had actually been.  Late, late tonight it will have been seven days since I hit “send”.  I’ve had a good laugh.  Here are the words I somehow missed the first time around:
“We will contact you personally within about a week”.

Ahhh, so it’s begun...

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Forging a New Path

Ahh, how I’ve missed this daily routine of wake, stretch, write!  Oh, and of course the steaming bowl of matcha tea at my side. 

This blog has been sitting here taking up space (wait, is there space in cyberspace?) while I got my body healed and my priorities straightened out.  It was difficult to grapple with the fact that I would be better off not to follow  #215800 to its logical conclusion with the intensive retreat. Instead, I’ve done the best I can on my own.  I’ve been reading lots of writers’ works on writing, the creative life, and kicking my creative self in the butt (with greatest compassion, of course).

The big shift has come, and it is this: I do not need to hold on to the disturbing details that defined my childhood just because there is so much good material there.  I do not need to be the next Augusten Burroughs or David Sedaris just because my young self was in a lot of twisted situations of questionable benefit to developing minds and characters.

I finally had a conversation with myself that echoed one I’d had with a dear friend I’d once coached through a very dark time.  This person had put heart and soul into creating something that was practically carved out of his own being, and while there was a haunting beauty to it, while it was evocative and compelling and showcased his talents beautifully, it was not gaining the recognition he had hoped it would, and he was not having the success he’d felt sure would follow his efforts. For all its virtues, it was also incredibly depressing by virtue of its content and focus.  I remembered a time early in our friendship, asking the difficult question, “Is this really what you want to be known for?”. 

When you have received an awakening, it becomes your responsibility to shine more light on the world than shadow.  Even at those times when you are completely overshadowed by the shadow, it is up to you to find a way to, as my friend now says, “show it to the light”.

The awakening came like this: I was in a treatment room where I was expecting to receive lymphatic work to support the final stages of healing from July’s surgery.  Instead, the practitioner said she’d like to do some energetic work and began asking a series of questions.  I found myself saying outright that I resist healing a troubled relationship from my childhood because it would diminish the material I have to choose from when writing.

Oh dear.  One of my best-kept secrets was suddenly out there, and irretrievable.  Like good merlot on a white linen shirt.

Our best-kept secrets are the ones that surprise us when they’re revealed.  They’re  like some unknown bit of us has snuck out the back door, come around the side of the house and up behind us while we’re on the front porch.  We may have an inkling something is there, then it leaps out like a mischievous little brother with a water balloon, yelling, “Surprise!  Can’t catch me!”.  And the challenge, of course, is to not try to catch it.  To let it be free.  Because when we hear the secrets we’ve been keeping from ourselves, so much space opens up inside.  It’s like we’ve had a boarder in the house who suddenly vacates and now we have this whole room back.  Now we could have an office, or a sewing room, or a nursery, or a yoga studio...  We are now free to clean the space out and do something useful with it. Meaningful, at least.

When my childhood vacated the “potential material” vault in my awareness, there was a period of mourning.  There’s still work to be done with that past, if I and the other parties choose to do it, but I no longer have to keep transformation at bay in order to ensure the authenticity of my “abused kid reveals all” bestseller, because that tome is no longer even a twinkle in my future.  However popular it might have become, however many millions I might have raked in, the practice of dredging through what’s already happened, and which messed up a good portion of the first third of my life, is not a good way to spend time- recreationally or to make a living.  It’s not right living, at all.  So I had to temper my shame and anger at even harboring the idea in the first place (secretly or not!) with the incredible sense of lightness and possibility that followed in its wake.

Suddenly there is so much to write about, so much that is important and true and hopeful and imperative and useful and genuine and very, very exciting!  Suddenly the things and thoughts that are truly of value to me can breathe again!  So much passes through this head of mine that, if put into practice, could really be a transformative force for positive change in the world... and now I’ve been freed up to show all of it to the light.

Now I am on the verge of a whole new world, where everything has turned on its head.  How else can you explain the life-path that, in two weeks' time, shifted from house-shopping in a town I don’t really love, because the market is good and the timing of finances says it has to be this year... to blogging my way across parts of the country and across the ocean (hello, Scotland, my ancestral home!), visiting sustainable communities and ecovillages in search of the source of that which draws me to them. 

First, of course, comes the unloading of all the stuff that’s in my physical spare room (and back porch, and office, and... you know the story).

More soon!