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!)
Tweet

A Rather Awkward Pickle

I’ve felt that under-the-skin shaky kind of feeling all morning, the result of waking early after going to bed way, way late... it feels like my nervous system has been soaking in brine, my weary but restless mind spinning scenarios- "what if"-s, "why not"-s, "why does it have to be this way"-s tumbling over one-another like puppies with their eyes only half open.  Not as cute as it sounds.

This leaves me with only twenty minutes to write.  So how ironic that it was writing that kept me up all night?  Not the act of it, but rather the thought of it.  How a Very Cool opportunity could be staring me in the face, and how I may have to be uncommonly transcendent (even for a breakthrough junkie) in order to attain it.  And whether it’s worth the risk.  I spent the wee hours inventing risks, then transcending them, then deciding the whole thing wasn’t worth the heartache, then getting mad that everything has to be so complicated, finally completing the circuit with a vision of what-happens-if-I-can’t-transcend.  Then starting anew with a round of oh-but-what-if-I-can.  If I don't at least attempt transcendence, will I (n)ever forgive myself?

And because I am not in this picture alone, there arises the issue of others’ willingness to transcend as well-  which leaves me with buckets of quandaries regarding boundaries and respect for others.  

The cardinal question is emerging to be this:

Can we insert ourselves into situations in which our presence may be potentially challenging and awkward for another person or group of people, if we start from the position of presumed goodwill and show up willing to do the work?

I'll have to marinate in that one for a while.

Tweet




 
  

Intention, Yogini Style: NOT Your Pop Shrink's Affirmations

You can’t spend as long as I have in the areas of Bodywork, Eastern Religion, Earth-Based Spirituality, and Natural/“Alternative” Health, and be unfamiliar with the concept of “intention”.  That the power of the mind can be focused in such a way as to actually bend the course of events unfolding is no new-age curiosity just stumbled upon by the makers of The Secret (don’t get me started). 

It’s been around as long as we’ve been aware of our own mentation, of the phenomenon of consciousness.  It’s spelled out in ancients texts from traditions all over the world, and passed down through oral teachings in traditions that don’t use texts.  Intention is the backbone of transformational work, without which results are flimsy and without substance (soundtrack to this rant: Talking Heads’ Making Flippy Floppy)... which is to say, intention is nothing to be taken lightly.

I’ve rubbed elbows and bumped auras with my fair share of Affirmations Enthusiasts over the years, and I’m simultaneously heartened and irked when I listen to them speak  (as intriguing as it sounds, those sensations do not make for a winning combination) because though they are often standing within spitting distance of "the point", they just as frequently miss it!

I’ve heard people say they don’t need to tend to their finances any more because they’re  “Investing in the Universal Bank of Eternal Bliss”.  I’ve heard them blithely declare that they have rid their bodies of disease by doing nothing more than taping healing statements to their bathroom mirrors.  It’s as if they see dragons and monsters clawing at their door, and choose to call them “rainbow-eating unicorns”, even as they’re devoured alive.

What gets me is that there is a grain of truth in each of these approaches.  But (and I take care to never start sentences with “but”)... that grain of truth has not been given what it needs to germinate, sprout, and grow into a real thing... and that is a certain something I like to call subtle attention.

You need to get your subtle attention aligned with the subtle energy of money, the subtle energy of healing, even the subtle energy of the monsters at the door, if you have any hope of influencing them with intention/affirmation.  You can't stand in your customary mindset and expect to influence the most subtle and mysterious processes in the known universe- you have to adjust your own mentation, which means going within.  And, as you develop that skill, you also have to be crystal-clear that what you are asking for is exactly what you want.  I mean crystal-clear as in, there is no room for ambiguity or misinterpretation; as if you were hanging by your knuckles from a cliff edge and precision in speaking would save you:

Rainbow-eating unicorns are hell on your food budget.

The act and art of intention as it is marketed today, (and it is marketed; don’t get me started- again) it’s as if a candy-flavored decal has been manufactured that you can just slap over existing truths and situations in a sugar-glazed denial of anything that needs introspection, attention, or the most jonesed-after of activities for the Breakthrough Junkie: Inner Work.

The Spanda-Karikas are a heady, philosophically dense collection of pithy sanskrit verses that, properly understood, outline the entire relationship between our mental processes and the power that manifests the universe (spanda).  I could spend my entire career unpacking just the 22nd verse of the first section (from Jaideva Singh’s translation):

“In that state is the spanda-principle firmly established to which a person is reduced when he is greatly exasperated or overjoyed, or is in impasse reflecting what to do, or is running for life”

In short, it is precisely during those times when we are thrown mentally off-track by some heightened emotional state (and whether it is interpreted as “good” or “bad”, “happy” or “afraid” matters not a whit) or are at a complete mental impasse, that we are in a position to access and influence the creative pulse out of which the world throbs its way into being.
 
The commentary on this verse describes the manner in which the yogin(i) must grasp hold of the mind at precisely the moment that the heightened state arises, in order to bear influence on the situation.

In western culture it is customary to ignore the immense power in these heightened states.  When in fear or anger, we grasp at nothing (least of all, our minds) and let the situation spin out of control by focusing on more of what is wrong, unwanted, or unnecessary... thereby creating more of it.  Or, and this is where Modern Affirmationists often miss the boat even while standing on the deck, we craft a phrase or picture that is the opposite of the reality that's got us all fired up, and pretend it's true.  The old "fake it 'til you make it" routine does have its virtues; it is a great warm-up exercise for the work we're talking about here - but it does not manifest the whole enchilada.

What is required, and what this verse describes, is a stealth operation carried out by the experient on his or her own perceptions.  It is a skill that requires diligence, practice, and steadfastness on the part of its practitioner.  Having caught hold of the mind in the moment between one thought and the next, the yogin is instructed to immediately turn within. When this is accomplished, the experient is in the company of the manifesting power of the universe and uses laser-like focus to create the desired outcome.  The commentary goes on to say that those who are not yogis (practiced at turning within) will remain only stupefied.

In other words, this ain’t no platitudinous, candy-ass bumper-sticker philosophy; it’s a rigorous discipline that involves wrangling with the realities of the situation-as-it-is, while harnessing the subtle, yet run-away-train nature of the emotions.  And yes, it can bring you wealth.  And turn illness to health.  Monsters into unicorns?  Sure, if unicorns are truly useful to you (and if you can train them to eat whole enchiladas instead of rainbows).  But the trick is, and the point that pop-shrink marketers the world over are missing, is that it is Subtle.  Sub. Tle.  And it

Requires
Your
Participation.

Tweet

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...

Tweet

Reframing During Crisis

Reframing:

By my own definition it’s the skill of challenging one’s habitual or automatic reaction to a situation, person, or mindset with the intention of gaining a new and more useful outlook, then harnessing the energy that would be otherwise lost, to use for transformative purposes.

Most of the time, our minds are on automatic pilot, tossing our customary reactions out into the world like kids throw bread at ducks, with certainty that because it came to us so quickly it must be the right and true and “natural” reaction.

The thing about our “natural” reactions, is that they come into existence with no thought given to the consequences of adding the energy behind them (typically non-useful energy like dread, anxiety, abject terror, spite or judgement, am I right?) into the mix of what’s already going on.

Where human beings are now in the history of things, it is imperative - now - that we start recognizing that the state of our minds impacts the state of our world, individually and on a larger scale.  We can start in our own heads.

Once upon a time I challenged a group of students to spend an entire day examining their customary thoughts, and endeavoring to “reframe” the ones that were not useful or productive.  The most frequent objection, was that sometimes truly horrible things happen and that denying that reality was just adding layers of fluff to an already unbearable scene.  This is not what I am talking about here; denial is a whole other useless mind-trick and though it is sometimes cleverly disguised, it is not the same as reframing.  Ask me sometime about the day I returned from two weeks in a foreign town, where I’d gone to retrieve my partner who herniated a cervical disc while traveling and who was then bedbound for the next several months, to have a friend enquire about the ordeal by asking: “how was your mini vacation?”, and I’ll tell you about burying real things in fluff.  This is So Not what I’m after.  Let me demonstrate:

I have a “stepmom” who is at the top of the “short list” of people most dear to me.  She married my dad and me as a family deal in a Unitarian Church when I was 15, and while  my dad left the marriage about three years later, she and I are still related.  She is the core of my experience of “family”.

Three weeks ago she and her husband travelled to a major city about 6 hours from where they live, for her to have a minimally invasive heart surgery.  The procedure involves running fiberoptic-size threads through a major artery from the top of the leg into the heart, so the incision is only an inch or so.  I was advised the surgery could take from 5-6 hours, so when my phone rang at 5 hours 15 minutes I anticipated news that she was on her way to recovery.

Instead, her husband informed me that there had been a complication resulting in uncontrollable bleeding, and that they were going to have to expose the heart directly in order to get to the bleed- this means separating the sternum.  When they say “open heart surgery”, it doesn’t mean that the heart is open- it means they have to open the chest cavity to get to the heart.

He had other family to alert and his own feelings to deal with, so our call was brief.  I stood on the spot, stunned for a moment by the enormity of what was taking place and the fact that I was thousands of miles away.

First in line was grief.  As if I’d already lost her, the grief came in and sat right on my heart, insisting that I empty myself and give in to the spinning vortex of loss.  Next in line, and impatient, was fear.  Fear and grief were actually struggling in line, trying to trip one another up in order to gain my attention.  As my breath stalled in my chest and tears were wending their way to where they make my nose sting, I remembered that none of this was helping her a bit.

She was lying somewhere in a sterile room thousands of miles away while doctors scrambled to save her life by cutting her dear chest open.  My drama would not serve her one bit!  The only thing I could do, was decide how I was going to spend my energy in reacting to the news.  It was mighty energy, it was powerful!  I could waste it playing pinball inside my own body, bouncing anxiety and fear off my organs like I was going for the high-score, or I could bundle it all up and send it off where it could do some good.

You don’t have to be someone who prays to get this: emotions are energy, and they can travel.  I made a choice to change the direction of the energy I was feeling in the form of panicky emotions. I chose to challenge my assumption that the doctors were “scrambling”.  Scrambling is disorganized, panicky, and unclear- like I was feeling.
I decided to convert my scrambled emotions to clarity, steadiness, and swift action - the kind you feel when you’re totally “in the zone” of doing something you’re really good at- and send it to the doctors in that room with the dearest of stepmoms anyone’s ever known.  I steadied my breath and practiced the sensation of calm certainty, and I sent it to the surgeons, nurses, anesthesiologists, and other professionals into whose hands her life had been delivered.  I pictured them thanking eachother for a job well done.

Not every instance of reframing needs to be this dramatic or difficult.  But it bears pointing out that, if we start with the small stuff, we develop our skills so that eventually we have the moxie for when the stakes are high.

...and yes, she made it.  She’s home having a cuddle with her critters and resting up for the next round in her recovery.

Tweet

Words, Writing, Wisdom Not My Own...

I have a dear friend who’s a blogger.  She sent me an email yesterday, and through her words I was brought directly to her side, going through the same things she was going through... though I realized eventually that her descriptors really were vague enough that I have no specific idea what the particulars are to her situation... her phrases were watercolors of human emotion, evocative of experience but devoid of details... and yet so poignant that I had a very in-the-skin snapshot of what her emotional world was like at the moment she’d been writing.

What happened next, I could not have anticipated.  I replied with words of deep knowing, compassion, and kind-hearted understanding.  I conveyed my support of her, my fondness for her, my belief in her stalwart inner strength.  I even dusted off my sanskrit/eastern-religion-major mantle, and pontificated on 5,000 year-old philosophy that describes how the state of one’s mind and the quality of the reality they generate are inextricably linked, that there are words in sanskrit (but in no other language) that describe the method by which the experient (the person going through the stuff) actually manufactures the experience.  Then I sent her a cyber-hug and a wish that I could bring her cocoa.

It made me want to write back and forth with her all day.  I can distill that down even further: It made me want to write. 

Words, words, words... always my favorite things.  Skillfully used, they make it possible to translate the most subtle of experiences from one being to another, so that we can share and teach and learn from one-another’s insights and perceptions.
My mother told me recently that I began writing before I could read.  All my youth I anticipated that I’d become a writer.  Then, and then and then...

Began the pursuit of making a living, I suppose.  And through that pursuit I garnered experience and expertise in so many varied fields that I now find myself flustered if I think about writing as a career - about which bag of tricks would I write?!  

The bits in my repertoire include the connection of body/mind/spirit from several years as a massage therapist and teacher of massage therapists; the power of words to create reality, based on direct observation, an unexpectedly clear understanding of ancient texts that spell it all out, the blessing of an enlightened master and the statement of one Sally Kempton (then Durgananda) that “this information wants to be known”; the connection between the human cerebrospinal fluid system and certain passages in other ancient texts; essential oils as medicine; replacing household toxins with natural healthy solutions; urban farmsteading; vermiculture; growing wheatgrass; self-reliance and permaculture... oh and of course, of course - what readers have responded to most, is when I write about nothing more than my internal processes.
My insecurities, demons, and the whole cast of characters that make up my inner dialogue, make pretty entertaining material as they wrangle their way into one tangled web after another, always intent on Breakthrough at any cost...
And so, with or without a chosen direction or area of focus, writing season is upon me.
We are at a time in human history where people who know things that may be helpful to the situation are beholden to share them.  Like the unexpected flow of words in response to my blogger friend’s email, there are times when we just need to speak what we know in case there are ears to hear it.

The past few weeks have been full of circumstances that were trying, frightening, and confusing for several people close to me.  While we were separated by thousands of miles, I have somehow been able in each situation to call up words that brought solace and also to offer guidance about how to harness the power in the “negative” feelings and turn it around to be of benefit. For no reason that I know, I have been endowed with the capacity to “reframe” just about any situation. My friends and family know they can always count on me for this kind of service; they’ve come to rely on it.  They call it my “wisdom”, as if I inherently possess this cache of tidbits that are real and powerful and useful and heartfelt.

What I know to be true is that I no more possess this wisdom than I possess the air I breathe.  I do let it flow through me, and in trying times I do know how to expand so I may access a deeper flow... so when it is expressed it may appear to come from me; It has lodged in me perhaps as a result of study and practice I’ve undertaken over the years (it certainly was not inherent in my younger days!), and while I feel humbled and honored to have access to it, I still recognize that it is consciousness flowing through me from a still place I’ve somehow learned to access, and it is not mine at all.

Tweet

Time to grow, Again...

I spent a long hard winter "cybernating" - weeks and even months at a time when I could not gather the where-with-all to get out of bed a moment early, let alone brave the blank screen.  Today, though- growth is happening all around.  At 80+ degrees outside and rain every night, everything is bursting forth with such unbounded enthusiasm... to grow, climb, bud and blossom... and who knows?  Bear fruit?
With a dear friend's musings serving as the epiphany to get me back on the pages, it is clear tonight that the morning will find me here, tappy-tap-typing my way into my own good graces once again.  Breathe in, breathe out... all the way out. 

Tweet

A Yurt, A Yak, and You...

I saw a friend recently whom I hadn’t seen in some time.  In the process of catching up, I told her of our mission to visit ecovillages around the globe, to research them and interview their residents and to sort of “try on” life in intentional communities such as these. 

This was probably the first time she heard me talking about such things, especially in terms of a new life mission.  I mean, we’d talked about gardening before but here I was rambling on about permaculture (starting at the beginning and going all the way to Findhorn) and how I want to blog about the “inner journey” involved in living authentically in intentional community. 

I said that we are looking for a way to create a life in which we have a minimal “footprint” in terms of impact on the earth, and cooperate with others as well as the land for our sustenance so that when we are living in post-oil society, we will be equipped to produce food and other resources.  She listened thoughtfully, as is her way, and then declared the notion a noble one, adding, “Somebody’s got to do it”.

When I laughed at this, she looked up and said, “No, I’m serious.”

This friend is a doctor, the kind of doctor you feel really lucky to find.  She’s up on all the current research and is also well versed in the offerings of natural remedies.  She often helps people navigate the otherwise murky waters of health choices.  I’m lucky enough to work with some of her patients and know that their experience of her is the same as mine- that she listens with such genuine concern and interest that you literally feel compassion coming from her.  She grasps the big picture of a situation and can help break it down so you need not be overwhelmed.  She has a gentleness that you can wrap around you, and still carries the authority of a wise woman who knows the worth of her words.  So when she declared our mission a noble and necessary one, I felt a deep sense of affirmation of the worth of our venture.  And when she came up with the title for this blog and challenged me to post it, I said, “Done!”

It happened like this:  we were talking about the notion of living off the land and also growing older (I’ll admit it - part of the allure of living in community is that at my age, by the time I learn to do everything I need to do to be self-sufficient, I may not be able to do it on my own anymore!).  How the dream of retiring someday to the old family homestead becomes harder to realize in today’s economy; that people are working harder and for more years to provide for a “comfortable” retirement, and how tempting it is to settle for uncomfortable retirement just to get a break from the exhaustion of working nonstop.

I mentioned that, earlier this summer, we’d almost bought a used yurt for eight thousand dollars.  At the time we’d just given up on the notion of home ownership, at least in our current town, in deference to our real dream to homestead or join an existing community.  I said the thought was that whatever happens and wherever we are, we’d have a place to live, comfortably or otherwise.  “You’d need a yak too,” my erstwhile friend pointed out.  We locked eyes and chuckled together.  “It sounds like a Valentine. ‘All I need is a yurt, a yak, and you’...”.

Of course every day since this conversation I’ve struggled with the fact that this isolationist picture really appeals to me in some sense, kind of blowing the community aspect of my proclaimed wishes right off the map.  After a long sleepless night under our noisy night-owl neighbors, with whom every effort at problem-solving and productive confrontation has failed so bitterly that it’s prompted another post titled, “When the Highroad Bites”,  it is so easy to picture myself cuddled up with my loved one, sipping yak milk in front of the woodstove in the middle of our yurt, in the middle of our garden in the middle of a field in the middle of some land far, far away...

But of course that’s another story.

Tweet

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...

Tweet

Daring and Delicious Life Changes!

Change is in the air, along with that subtle shift in the angle of light in late afternoon.  There’s ripening going on everywhere, out in the field and here in the life-path-assessment region of my mind.

In the last installation I mentioned that we had just essentially scrapped plans to do the “logical” thing - buy a house where we are because the market is good and there’s a window for funding that closes in three months.  We scrapped it because, at 42 and 47 we aren’t ready to close the door on adventure and a life full of meaning.  The old notion that home ownership is the primary element in establishing security is quickly fading in light of the fact that all of the things previous generations relied on for security are failing fast.  Traditional forms of investment, climate stability, and fossil fuel are no longer the reassuring assets they were to our forebears. 

It is perfectly reasonable to assume that all of these things will change dramatically in my lifetime (and most certainly that of the generation that follows); and while a great being once said, “Ahhh, What would we do without the last minute?”... I’m starting to think, why not learn to be adaptable before the last minute?

This brings us to my latest plan to visit a number of ecovillages over the course of the coming year.  We’ll be exploring what it is about this intentionally designed way of life that is so compelling to us, what it offers to our imaginations, and what talents/skills/assets/resources we can offer to such an enterprise if we should choose to pursue it.

Jenn has great talents for design and putting things together, the how to do things part of the equation.  While this part interests and fascinates me, and I really really enjoy it, my real skill is more about exploring the why of it all- the philosophical underpinnings of the movement away from the extractive economy and toward real community and self-reliance.  Of great interest to me, is the inner work required to make this shift authentically and with integrity.  After all, if it should ever come to pass that we have to live together without oil, “convenience” foods, entertainment gadgets and the like, we are going to have to have some skills that have long gone dormant in most of society.  There are lots of people who will teach you how to tend a composting toilet or build water catchment, and I am So Grateful for them!  While they get that part of the equation rolling,  I’d like to help folks with the inner transition.

This very morning I’m awaiting word on my application to spend time at a globally recognized ecovillage in Scotland.  There’s nothing in the inbox yet, so it’s just going to be another delicious day of waiting.

Tweet

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!

Exploring the Inner Sanctum...Through Matinee Cinema

There but for the grace of Danielle LaPorte go I... to see Karate Kid.

Recently I read a comment added to Bindu’s post about the cobra snake person living in her head - Danielle mentioned a part in the film where the boy witnesses a lady balancing on one foot, hanging off a cliff, and  her every movement is in sync with the cobra coiled in front of her.  The master goes on to explain that it is the snake who is following the lady.  I've carried this image with me since.

So it happened that when my partner hesitantly suggested we go see the flick while everyone else was out blistering and imbibing in the 4th of July swelter, I surprised her with my enthusiasm, even popping the corn (yes I am one of those people, and I will stand up to anyone who challenges me by telling them I have violent adverse reactions to artificial flavorings and genetically modified anything).

And so we went.  We decided to take the afternoon off for "a little bit of light, uplifting, overcoming the odds and obstacles and whatnot" cinema.

I wasn't prepared to see the stunning side of China; I was really grateful for that. It was a kind of "lift you out of your seat and transport you" type of cinematography.

There were a few times when there was a certain poignancy that stung the ol’ tear ducts, but none like the moment (I am TRYING not to give the story away) when the little guy is being given the choice of whether to continue in a certain, very trying challenge.  He wants to go on despite an injury and the master is trying to dissuade him, thinking it is his pride or sense of revenge at work. He asks the boy why he is so insistent, and he says, “Because I’m still afraid.  When I leave here tonight I don’t want to be afraid any more”.

I clutched my lover’s knee and handed her a napkin.  We jiggled in our seats, stifling sobs of recognition.  Oh geez.

Of course it plays out like you expect it to, as it certainly should.  What I loved was that this kid was not afraid of being beaten, nor of being beaten up.  His ass has already been duly kicked around the screen a number of times before he gets to this point.    What it turns out he is afraid of is, in my interpretation, that if he gives up he will not have the opportunity to apply the level of inward-directed focus required of him in the moment.  If he gave up he would never accomplish the equivalent of the girl with the snake in the earlier scene – an inner focus so complete that she was entirely merged in the moment.
Of course these moments are available to us in everyday, if we should choose to meditate/contemplate and otherwise apply our immeasurable capacities to the inner realm.

But to apply them in a moment of real danger, or adversity, is to trigger the principle the Spanda Karikas refer to when they say that it is in moments of heightened emotional intensity that the experient (the person going through the thing, and through whose senses the experience is being processed) can seize hold of the spanda principle (ie: the creative force of the universe, which is continually and spontaneously creating the world around us in response to our our words and thoughts).

This little dude was absolutely linked in to the idea that facing fear theoretically is not the same as doing so in actual practice.  He needed to prove to himself on an experiential level that accessing that place of inner focus literally brings you to your fearless place regardless of extenuating circumstances.
Nah, I did not expect this at a Karate Kid matinee.  I was in awe.

As the day progressed I reflected on this more and more.  One of the prevailing themes of #215800 is, how do we deal with fear?  Do we run at it head-on, try to pretend it isn’t there, or give it a tap on the shoulder and a howd’ya do?

And more fascinating to me on this day, more than the outward manifestation of our actions around fear, what is our inner posture with it – how do we conduct ourselves on the inside when we are faced with a “big scary”?

The other day I found myself in a very uncomfortable conversation that had begun to bring up a lot of fear and insecurity about abandonment.  At a certain point I actually felt myself disconnecting, like a big steel curtain was set to automatic and it was descending on the conversation with such precision it could have cut a syllable in two.

This was one of the first times in known history that I actually witnessed this taking place- the ptsd moment where there's a scenery switch and the present moment is catapulted off the field of my awareness.  After a few moments I was able to describe the phenomenon out loud and begin the slow ascent back to where I could engage in the conversation.  It was like there was a witness within that could say, “oh no you don’t, missy.  You don’t get to close the curtain on this hurt.  You stay with it”.
My inner witness knows kung-fu, it seems.

I think this is what touched me so much when I saw this little guy declare that it didn’t matter that he’d proved his point, and that his urgent desire to continue wasn’t about honor or revenge or victory – it was as if he "got it" that he would only experience freedom from fear by going to that inner sanctum and aligning  with his witness –.  I’ve come to believe that no outward manifestation of fearlessness matters nearly as much as this one inner gesture- to hasten ourselves to the place inside where we can align with the deepest core of ourselves- the place inside that only we can ever go, and which is the same in each of us.  In that place is exquisite safety.

To Do The Work, or Not To Do The Work...

I’ve come to believe there are two kinds of people (is this idea a trite cliche yet, or can I make just one last comparison before we retire the tired old term?).
No, but really....

I’m lying in my bed thinking about the kinds of comments people are writing on my posts (thank you) and the kinds of things I’ve been reading from other #215800-ers (are we going to get t-shirts made?), the kind of changes we’ve made possible for ourselves and one-another.

From here I can’t tell whether it’s true of all the participants or just the ones who have popped into my little world, the ever-expanding circles I run in in this extravagant experiment - but from all my experience can tell me, this is a group of people dedicated to self-growth. To getting down and dirty and vulnerable and doing the needful.  To doing the work. 

The other kind of people, are not.  They either are not interested in doing their inner work, would rather be entertained/fed/numbed/stimulated/what-else-have-you-got than to buck up and do a little psychic housecleaning, or don't believe they have any work to do.
And to a certain degree, they are the reason the rest of us have so much work to do.

Is this laying the responsibility for our difficulties at another’s feet?  Saying, “I would not have this struggle if not for you”?.  To some extent I suppose it is. On the other hand, if we could say such a thing and get a cooperative response, we would know that the person is in the “do the work” camp and could be trusted to take their share of responsibility in the healing endeavor that is “the work”.

Way back when I was in massage school I received instruction in the art of Lomilomi massage.  This is a sacred Hawaiian form of bodywork traditionally taught by kahunas.  We delved deeply into the spiritual traditions that inform Hawaiian healing arts, which revolve around the assumption that everyone is doing their own work diligently, and that problems come when we cease to do so. In a world where hurricanes and tsunamis are considered Nature's response to neglect of inner work on someone’s part, there is a lot of personal responsibility going down.

We were taught that forgiveness in the ancient Hawaiian tradition is not unconditional. That's right,
Not. Unconditional.

This notion went against everything I believed at the time: we forgive despite all the ranting and thrashing from our injured selves that we should not let the bastard off the hook, in order to transcend the injustice and take “the higher road”, I thought.  Or, I thought that the act of forgiveness releases the healing energy pent up behind the plug that would go “pop” when forgiveness took place (and was not really for the other person anyway, but merely an exercise to relieve my own blockages). 

But here was this idea (a very old idea, from a culture that grew out of peaceful intentions) that forgiveness could be offered with a contingency clause. 

Once I grasped the concept, it made sense on a level that vibrates in all the knowing centers of the body:  When a person is wronged, they are expected to express it to the wrongdoer, who is then expected to seek forgiveness.  The person wronged must decide what penance will be sufficient to restore balance. The penance must be appropriate in content and magnitude to the injustice. Only when the penance is completed does the forgiveness actually take place.  It’s like a system of absolution mediated by the inner knowing of the people involved. 

Now my old notion of forgiveness as an exercise in transcendence was revealed to be nothing more than an elaborate ruse to keep from having to do the confrontational part of the work: the “you did this to me” part.  And why the avoidance?

Because this is not ancient Hawaii, where holding people accountable was de riguere; here and now it is very nearly the highest form of social inpropriety to call someone on their shit. There is no social expectation that people will take responsibility for their actions or the impact those actions have on others. In fact, such a confrontation would serve only to cause the other party to trot out their display of denial, violence, and mindtwisting head games... whatever’s in the bag of tricks that keeps them from digging down into their own neglected work. 

The “don’t do the work” camp are often in denial that anything needs doing- none of it is their responsibility, nobody has the right to judge their choices (regardless of the impact on others), those who are upset with them are just hysterical or uptight or not to be taken seriously.  My therapist quotes M. Scott Peck in A Road Less Traveled and says these people have “disorders of character”. 

At times it seems these Disordered Characters who make up the "avoid the work" camp are in the majority, leaving the rest of us baffled, embittered and bemused...
...and yet strangely empowered.

When we commit to our own inner work, we are taking some of our power back from those to whom we’ve given it in the past.  Has it ever occurred to us that most of the power they hold over us was taken, borrowed, or stolen from us in a moment when we were blinded by fear - that it is in fact our OWN POWER in whose shadow we’ve cowered all this time?

What I’ve learned is that we can unplug our circuitry from theirs, directing our own power back in the direction that serves us.  In effect, we stop feeding the dragon.

This is not to say we play the denial game or the turn-away-from-it-and-it’s-no-longer-true game (no, no... no one ever wins that one).  It’s to say that while it  may not be necessary (or even possible) to confront the people responsible for the work we’ve got in our respective baskets of woe, we can start by recognizing that we are already ahead of the game because our willingness and determination to do the work surpasses their refusal to participate. 

To borrow from an encapsulated summary of the Road Less Traveled by Newton Fortuin:

    “For the entirety of our lives we must continually assess and reassess where our  responsibilities lie in the ever-changing course of events. Nor is this assessment and reassessment painless... we must posses a willingness and the capacity to suffer continual self-examination.
    This capacity or willingness is not inherent in any of us...”

In other words, the capacity and willingness to do the work does not come pre-packaged.  Each of us in the “do the work” camp has had to develop these virtues on our own, often in the dark and in spite of abject terror and real harm coming down on us.  These have become our greatest assets, opening us to experiences, lessons, and even people that are simply not available to those who can’t/won’t/don’t-think-they-should-have-to go there.

The experiences, lessons, and people we’ve encountered in the last however many days it’s been since #215800 was launched are the gifts bestowed because we have fostered the willingness and the capacity to grow.  As we continue, may we unplug the energy we’ve been channeling to our demons and use it to nurture the delicious, outrageously fabulous beings we are on our way to becoming.

Gotta sign off now- going to see Karate Kid for Independence Day.  Ciao Lovelies...

Meltdown: The Soundtrack

(The photos, circa 1980-something... me and my shadow.)

Yesterday had many of us #215800-ers taking a look at the creatures in our own heads.  Many of us recognized in Bindu’s “cobra snake person” a variation of our own in-dwelling critters and commenced battle.

I confronted mine while agonizing over the decision to sever connections with her counterpart - the very real and still living person who gave her the script she uses to undermine, diminish, trivialize, and mock me (thank the havens I hired a therapist on day 10, because this is about to get messy).  I nicknamed her “bitchslap” and started practicing the mantra to keep her at bay when she gets out of hand.  “Not now, bitchslap”. 

I went about the day as one under the influence of super powers.  I felt strong, steady, a little bit taller.  I not only did more yoga than usual, I went to the gym and biked like a fiend, then got in the pool and did all the yoga my knees can’t handle on land. I discovered I’ve lost three pounds. Now I was feeling limber, capable, a little bit gorgeous - in other words, fully possessed by Brave Me (see yesterday’s post if you haven’t met her yet) who was driving from the helm from the moment I hit “publish” in the morning.

On the way home we stopped for lunch and I said to my partner, “You know how in movies there are these segments where - sometimes a character has made some kind of commitment or is undergoing a transformation and there’s this segment that shows them doing all the various things that get them there?  Like in Rocky, all the punching bags and running up the steps...?” (don’t know why Rocky came to mind, I’ve always been more of a Personal Best type of girl myself) ...”And there’s always some kind of a soundtrack song that epitomizes the whole thing?”.  She indicated that she understood but was not sure where I was going.
“Well, it seems like my life’s been kind of like one of those segments lately.  I imagine shots of early morning yoga, tapping at the keyboard, bumping it in therapy...”  She nodded.  Then I got to my point: “I wonder what the soundtrack would be”.

On coming home I declared it time to clean house in a big way.  For one thing my room was a pit from being neglected too long while more important things happened.
For another, I’m having surgery in a couple of weeks so I’ll be spending a decent amount of time in there and I won’t be able to clean then.  So off I went.  Sorting, tossing, organizing... doing the grand purge-and-order routine. 

As the project progressed, we put on some great house-cleaning music.  When one album ended I was going for my old standard cleaning album (Laura Love’s Helvetica Bold) but suddenly took pause... wait a minute.  Yeah, some of the older stuff that used to define me in the way that only young people can be defined by their music.  The stuff that transports me to the volatile time and place of my formative years as surely as the smell of fried chicken takes me to my grandmother’s kitchen.

So it came to pass that Siouxsie and the Banshees was blaring from a stereo barely equipped to withstand the rigor of such an exercise, while I huffed and heaved and strutted and threw. out. everything. that. doesn’t. serve me. Me.  ME!

The angst-ridden me of the 1980’s had arrived, and she was demanding her due.  The respect, consideration, and care that were not hers when she was being torn to shreds on the inside for want of someone to confide in about what she’d gone through on her way to young-womanhood was suddenly sitting on the edge of my bed, putting on black lipstick and wiggling her ridiculously high heel back and forth from the tip of her toe.  She was putting on her “don’t fuck with me face”, and practicing emotional distance. 

On her behalf, I sang along at the top of my lungs and let the anger sing through me in order to release its grip on my physical being at least.

The album ended.  My partner said something about tripping down memory lane and mentioned that the cat did not seem to enjoy Siouxsie, hiding as she was in the back of the house.  I promised to switch tone but keep it in the same era... flip, flip, flip.  Oh yeah.  Smiths.

More morose and brooding than the Banshee’s dark ravings, and so melodic.  I let my voice trail along with the dips and curves as I began to tidy up from the whirlwind cleaning.  Singing along, singing along...

My partner calls out that dinner is ready, and asks what I’d like to drink.  She repeats my name several times, and finally comes looking because I haven’t answered. 

When I enter the kitchen I am unable to speak; my throat is blocked with choking sobs.  I have been hollowed out on the inside and filled with a sensation that is larger than my body can contain, my face contorted and red, my body shaking.

She asks what’s wrong and I can only say I don’t know.  I’m pointing to the stereo.  Morrissey is going on about “15 minutes with you...”.  Can that be it?  Surely not.
It takes only a few minutes to cry myself out.  In that hot, moist place of sudden anguish I relive the trigger moment and come upon these words:
“It’s time the tale was told, of how you took a child, and you made him old...”
Grief for the child that was me hits me like a wall of hot air.
My eyes turn hot and well up again, my heart rising against my breastbone like it’s coming up for air.  Bingo.

In 1986 I would have thought it cool that my soundtrack would still be The Smiths at 42 (if I could have conceived of living this long). 

Today though, it simply serves to show me where my melting point is.  I can cry it out without attaching more history to it, and use it as a kind of bookmark for where to start the next round of healing process.
The Meltdown is never a bad thing if you use it for transformation.  When you are melty you are vulnerable, yes.  And malleable. Each of these conditions bring our attention to the strength of things that are not rigid.  Who said, “Nature has a funny way of breaking what won’t bend”?
So when you can be present in your vulnerability and malleability, you are in charge of the meltdown. The final form is still up for negotiation, and it’s in your hands.  Be bold!

Essential Oils and Yoga

This post was borrowed from my new blog which is linked with my new twitter: @oilpeeps.  Follow me there too by clicking the white twitter button on the lower right (or go straight to the blog at http://essentialoilmavens.blogspot.com/)!

The last time I had a steady yoga practice (and I’ll admit it was only four days in a row, but at the time it was revolutionary), I was traveling to attend the annual convention of the essential oil company with which I’m aligned for my health and livelihood (ok, cat out of the bag- it's Young Living).

I was heavier than the previous year, attending without my partner and rooming with someone I’d never met before (who was a delight as it turned out). I was a bundle of insecurity on a mission to untangle myself by engaging fully in all the sessions and “putting myself out there” socially (NOT my forte! I’m a recluse in the disguise of a gregarious teacher type).

Since the Convention experience (3,000 people heading to keynote engagements, expo demonstrations, and trying to choose 6 of the 12 available breakout sessions) is pretty much an exercise in distractibility and busy-ness, you’d think I’d have my whole “not-gonna-do-yoga” excuse in top form.

Ah, but not so. All of the equanimity, stamina, and focused attention that expressed itself through me I attributed to the the 6 am yoga classes taught by other Convention attendees who were also yoga instructors, and who were using essential oils in their personal practices as well as in their classes.

The whole thing probably came into being because Rodney Yee was teaching one of the break-out sessions; a 90 minute on-the-mat yoga class which incorporated essential oils throughout.

In the hustle and bustle I never made it to Yee’s class. But I did make it out the door, across the street, down the block and up a formidable set of stairs to class by 6 am each day to stretch, honor, and care for my being. We were a diverse bunch; from the fit and toned to the brave unfit, and never was there a better smelling bunch of sweaty people!

We began by sanctifying our practice with intention and frankincense, which heightens spiritual receptivity. Each participant duly anointed, the entire energy in the space shifted in a matter of 90 seconds. Suddenly we were on holy ground.

There’s a lot I can say about essential oils, and a lot of reasons I only use and teach about Young Living’s oils... matters of purity and integrity and authenticity and validation, and so on. I could (and do sometimes) go on for days. It’s all on the upcoming site.

What it came down to for me in that moment, was that because the integrity of the plant is honored and never distorted with all the chemical alterations that other companies do, the holy component of this oil is still intact. It doesn’t just impart the smell, it actually has the mojo. It’s the closest thing you can get to when the yogis of old would simply rub the resin on themselves in preparation for meditation.

This stunning moment was mine to cherish each of the four days of Convention. It was followed every morning by an experience of Valor when we did a more challenging pose, Peace & Calming with Savasana, and Deep Relief when I paid later for having gone deeper than good sense would have indicated.

Of all the astounding amount of information imparted to me those four days, what struck me most deeply was the impact of using the oils during yoga practice. Every day I looked forward to putting my body through a difficult challenge with the subtle emotional-spiritual support of the oils chosen to compliment the day’s routine. Once home and asked to declare what one thing stood out the most from the entire experience, I could only point to the pouch in which I carry my oils about and declare, "this stuff is holy!"

Rekindling "Intention"

I do not desire to rise from my bed.  The alarm beckons nonetheless.  I am not resistant, especially - I’m just having a very nice time in my dozing.  I am thinking of the matcha tea that awaits me, and the ceremonial whisk I'll use for the first time.  I am thinking of the yoga mat that anticipates my arrival based on a promise made last night, and my body starts stretching as if in response to the thought.


I’m thinking of the writing that awaits me too, and how the past two mornings I spent a good 30-40 minutes performing the following ritual: stare at the screen/write a few words (30 tops)/stare at the ceiling/erase the words/choose a new topic/repeat until you’ve exhausted the options: survivor child stuff/essential oils website content/yogic philosophy on words and manifestation/home grown food update... then heave a big sigh and commence to fretting.

This is when I remember I’d chosen my topic last night as an experiment to see if I could save all that wasted time and energy.   I’d committed to write this morning about Intention. 
Ahhhh.  Deep Breath.  Up I go.

If my experience is any indicator, “Intention” is one of those words bandied about in yogic and other spiritual, healing, and creative circles with such frequency that it could be in danger of overuse, misuse, and abuse of such magnitude as to diminish its usefulness.
  
More and more I hear “intention” and its verb form “intend”  used as an alternate form of “goal” for things (activities) to be accomplished, as in “I intend to get up at 6:30 and do surya namaskar”, “I intend to get a certain amount of writing done before anyone else gets up”...

Used like this, that regal word “Intention” becomes little more than a euphemism for “to-do list”.  And I cannot, in good conscience, let this continue.
I’m launching a campaign to Preserve the Integrity of Intention.

Intention is a word fraught with meanings that get glossed over in the bustle of wordplay.  Like the rest of us, it suffices in mundane circumstances while its deeper meaning is rarely elicited or, even more rarely, sought out. Sure, it's a pointer toward that-which-I-plan-to-do.  But to use it exclusively in this way is to waste its beautiful, deeper meaning.
To Intend in the deepest sense is to purposefully imbue an event with significance.
It involves your participation, your mindful consideration, your careful attention.
Your Intention is, in itself, and act of creation.

Furthermore, it sets the stage for the unfolding of the action/event/situation for which you craft the intention in the first place. It’s like the foundational garment to creative/healing/spiritual endeavor (my dear pert-chested, straight-out-of-a-yoga-magazine, never-had-to-wear-a-bra ladies will have to extrapolate on this; jealous as I am, I have never had that blessed luxury. We write what we know, yes?).

In other words, Intention conveys not so much the gumption or the commitment to do a thing, but the container that informs the thing.  It has to do with how the action is carried out rather than the fact of it.  It’s the purpose that imbues it, gives it life, makes it wholly ours.  It’s the state we choose ahead of time to bring to the thing:  Not, “I will do surya namaskar at 6:30”, but rather, “When I do surya namaskar at 6:30 I will do so with reverence and gratitude”; not, “I will get 800 words done in time to post before work”, but rather, “I approach this writing session in the spirit of openness and discovery”, or “May the words that flow through me today offer solace or insight to myself and others”. 

In our efforts at expression we have all-to-often relinquished this sacred effort in the service of efficiency - we get caught up in the doing at the expense of the most valuable part of the process.  With intention, we take part in the granting of our own wishes.  Why would we short-change ourselves in the time we spend crafting them?

The act of Intending is a sacred internal undertaking.  A true Intention is inspired.
It takes place in the moment we connect with our Source in a sort of conference call about the matter at hand- we dial in, as it were, to That-with-which-we-are-aligned and wait for a cue.  We may sense a flurry of noise while the mind rattles off responses it thinks will be pleasing but eventually the mind quiets and the Source itself speaks.  The Source, of course, lies just beneath/above/behind/beyond the chattering mind and it is for that reason we must take the blessed time to make a connection. 

When we take the time to formulate an Intention, then, we are in fact bestowing a blessing upon ourselves and that which we hope to accomplish.  We are holding ourselves accountable for the state in which we approach it, which informs and influences its outcome in inestimable ways.

I approached my surya namaskar this morning with the intention to open further physically- and emotionally, to experience appreciation for the rediscovery of movement as a sacred practice. 

I approached my writing with the intention to rekindle my own commitment to “mindful mentations” in a public forum, that others might follow suit and enrich their own experience as well...
A sort of psycho-spiritual performance art in the service of the greater good.
May it serve us all as we carry on...
Blessings to those who conclude their 21 days today.  Blessings to those who continue.
May this time together support and sustain us all.
In the deepest of all possible ways,
~Namaste