What if?

It's funny, what if is normally something I don't allow my clients to say because usually it triggers panic.  "What if I get COVID?", for example, is a question that could easily trigger a panic response in any one of us that are sitting primarily on the outside of this thing with no first-hand knowledge to fact check or allay the fears that come from thinking about the possibility of contracting a potentially fatal disease.  Which is why normally, I outlaw that phrase.  Don't say it, don't feed into the negative thought spiral.  It's simply not a productive line of reasoning.

But sometimes, I think it can be a powerful exercise to think about that question in the big scheme of things.  What if, for example, I'm never known for anything other than what I mean to the people who love me?  If I never get famous, never publish that book I sometimes still dream of writing, never revolutionize the field of psychology, never get a Wikipedia article written about me, and never have anything on my epitaph other than "Loving"?  Would that mean that my life wasn't worthwhile?

What if I never "figure it out"?  What if the meaning of life, the great spiritual answers to the universe, the wisdom of the scribes is something that I'm always questioning and never answering?  Would that mean that all those questions beat me?  That I never learned?

Or what if I never have "enough money"- whatever any one of us dreams of enough money to be?  What if paying bills always causes me stress, tax season is always something I experience some small amount of anxiety over, my credit card bill is always more than I thought it would be?  Would that mean that I wasn't successful?

What if, and this is my biggest fear, I fail?  At life.  What if I never achieve whatever it is that I think I'm meant to?  (Which, to be fair, can change on a daily basis.)  What if, on my death bed, I look back and am overwhelmed with a sense of missed opportunities, chances not taken, experiences not experienced?  Will that mean that I failed, that everything I fear is true?  Or what if that's just a perspective?  One that I don't have to take?

I try not to take that perspective.  On a daily basis.  I try to look at the black and white thinking my mind does and see it as just that.  To realize that if even one person I love has a better life because I'm in it, that I am winning at this whole life thing.  To consider that if I help even one person in my work as a therapist, that what I do every day is worth it.  To look at only the experiences I've already had, rather than focusing on all those I've yet to, as enough.  To see my life exactly as it is as worthy, important, and big enough for this life I've been given.  What if I, actually am, enough?

Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott (Takeaways)

This is one of the core literary sources for my church; it gets referenced often. Though Anne Lamott is clearly Jesus-centric in her beliefs she came about it the best way: through pain, addiction, death, failure, and the loving devotion of humans who refused to give up on her. Though I tend to be Jesus-phobic (and really scared of anything echoing classical Anglo-Saxton sensibilities) I could relate to most of everything else. It’s a great reminder that whatever you call it- spirituality, faith, religion, even Jesus- it’s all the same thing. Which is, of course, how I got to join my faith in the first place.

And, side note, but I'm not sure I've ever heard such an equally charming and accurate description of UU: "Mine was a patchwork God, sewn together from bits of rag and ribbon, Eastern and Western, pagan and Hebrew, everything but the kitchen sink and Jesus." Of course, she's not actually referring to UU there. Well, at least not consciously. But it describes my faith pretty damned well so I'm taking it.

This was my first exposure to this author and I can understand the praise I've heard for her from several different sources. Her prose is beautiful. At times poetic, other times purely perfunctory. Alternately achingly painful and hilarious. Deeply personal always, in a way that lets you sit right next to her through these encounters and stories of hope. She never sells herself as someone with answers- she confesses to being a deeply flawed, perfectly fucked up human being. And that is, of course, what makes her lovable. And what lets you feel as close to her as you end up feeling by the end.

She shares stories of everything from her bohemian childhood to her early dive deep into addiction to alcohol and substances. Her eating disorder. Her first exposures to church. Her unplanned pregnancy and the child that ultimately saved her. Her deep, deep grief over the loss of her father as well as the pain she inflicted on herself by trying to fit every man she ever loved into the hole his death left in her heart. She lays everything bare with humility and acceptance. It's inspiring to see someone own up to so much without shame. Or rather, having come through the shame with a new owned sense of identity and acceptance that only comes from looking the darkest parts of yourself straight in the eyes and saying 'thank you'.

Which isn't to say that she doesn't have a lot of deeply poignant and powerful insights about spirituality. She does. But in my experience most of the powerful insights about spirituality come from humanity- not from the heavens. And sure enough, all of hers come from her own deeply flawed and perpetually imperfect existence.

For instance, her thoughts on grief: "I'm pretty sure that it is only by experiencing that ocean of sadness in a naked and immediate way that we come to be healed- which is to say, that we come to experience life with a real sense of presence and spaciousness and peace." Or on Grace: "Grace is the light or electricity or juice or breeze that takes you from that isolated place and puts you with others who are as startled and embarrassed and eventually grateful as you are to be there." Or failure: "it breaks through all that held breath and isometric tension about needing to look good: it's the gift of feeling floppier."

While clearly contained within the timeline of her own life the bulk of these stories feel timeless. Or at least, the wisdom within them does. I can see myself going back to these pages again and again searching for that one highlighted line that perfectly and gorgeously sums up a thought or an insight or a desperately needed reminder during dark times. It's an encyclopedia of pain and wisdom I can easily reference: a gift. And I'm grateful to myself to have finally read it.

Some thoughts on spirituality and grief

Ever since I joined my church- about three and a half years ago- I have wanted to give the sermon.  I can't entirely say why but it felt like a place where I could really speak, where my experiences would have greater meaning by my reflecting on them in front of an audience.  I finally did for the first time last month and I loved it.

My first sermon was about my favorite movie- why I love it, what it means to me, what I feel like it can teach those of us willing to search for spiritual messages in contemporary media.  It was challenging on a technical level- my church, like most responsible churches, is all virtual now- but not on a personal one.  It was relatively easy for me to speak to something that's had a comfortable place in my heart for so long.

But what I've always thought of speaking about, what I thought of when I first formed the desire to give a sermon, is my brother.  His suicide is something that still haunts me, still offers endless unanswerable questions, still hurts in the deepest places.  Of course I want to speak about that.

Well, I recently volunteered to do so.  I'm on the calendar for a little less than two months from now.  And because of that, it's been on my mind a lot.

He died a little over three and half years ago (gee, what a coincidence).  He was just two months shy of his 38th birthday.  My 38th birthday is tomorrow.  It's so strange to think that I'm older than my older brother.

What has become the norm, at least for the past year or so, is that I don't think about him all that often.  Of course I still get the waves of grief- the rage, the sadness, the questioning.  And of course they still come in completely unexpected ways.  But they don't hit nearly that hard anymore and they don't throw me nearly as far off course as they used to.  Nowadays the boat rocks, I feel it move, and then I just go back to rowing.

But since I formally made the request to sermon on this- and not just on him, but suicide in general- I think about him everyday.  About him, the topic, the billions of things about it that must have changed since the world went into pandemic mode.  I start formulating my sermon in my mind, start editing without specifics, start thinking of things I need to research or messages I need to incorporate. 

Here's what I have so far: I would start with a picture of him.  One of the many things I am sad about is that I don't have a recent picture of him that I can just look at whenever I feel the need.  We were so estranged by the time of his death that there hadn't been a family photo with both of us in it for years before- and all of those I left to my mother because I didn't care at the time.  The only physical, holdable photos I have of him are from when he was a child that show an impossibly adorable toeheaded boy with a bright smile and visible warmth.  I don't remember that version of him, and I don't mourn him.  I mourn the man who's face showed the dreariness he felt about life.  And I don't have a picture of him.

Technicality aside, I would start with a picture of him.  And I would talk about the stories- the one I don't like to tell, the one I don't know, and the one I like to share because it's a rare bright moment the two of us had.

The story I don't like to tell is the shortest, easiest, and most utilitarian.  It explains why this person would choose what they did without leaving any questions behind.  That story goes that he struggled on and off with heroin addiction for 20 years before ultimately taking his own life.  See?  Perfunctory.

The one I don't know is much longer, more complex, and contains a sea of questions.  And that is the story of who he actually was.  I don't know that story at all.  I have random facts: he was extremely computer savvy, he watched the Simpsons religiously as a kid, he believed in a lot of conspiracy theories, and he had a chuckle he made when teasing that I absolutely loved.  But that's nothing of the lifetime of this man I never got to know because he never let me get close enough and I ultimately gave up trying.  I don't know if I'll ever know that story and not knowing hurts more than anything else.

The last story, the one I like to tell, is a rare moment of joy between the two of us.  He was in 8th grade, I in 5th.  Our social studies teachers had gotten together so that we were all studying the same thing at different levels: Billy Joel's "We didn't start the fire" and the machine gun list of historical events that form the verses.  We'd both been given handouts with the lyrics and one afternoon, for reasons I can't remember, we decided to sing it together.  He stood in our empty driveway- my parents weren't home yet- singing the verses while I rode circles around him on my bike singing the choruses when the times came.  I love this memory of him because it sounds like something a brother and sister who love each other would do.  I love this memory because I like to think that we loved each other in that moment.

These stories all illustrate some deep points I would then go into with considered attention: the statistics and the trauma that tends to unite individuals who ultimately complete, the experience of those they leave behind who all have unanswered questions that haunt them, and the moments that shine brighter in the memories of those who will never be able to get over their loss.  There's a lot there, and I haven't even gotten to the end.

Because in the end, and the most important thing I want to leave people with, there is hope.  There has to be hope.  It's like air to a person gasping for breath and it's the most important spiritual principle I know.  I can see it, sort of, in my mind.  I just haven't worked out the map for how to get there yet.

I'm ok with the pain that I will willingly invite into my life as I take the steps to prepare this.  I'm fine with the research I'll need to do, the other personal stories I'll read with tears in my eyes, the sorting of songs and movies and moments that I connect with, the narrative that I'll painstakingly form.  I see purpose in this, and hope for healing.

But right now, the thing I'm dwelling on the most is how deep my ocean of grief still is, and how tumultuously the waves still crash.  It's not something I've been consciously aware of because I haven't been paying such close attention.  But I see it- the storm still rages under the surface of my everyday calm.  And I realize that I'll need to ramp up my self compassion as my little boat gets tossed around again.

On Claiming My Own Voice

I am white.  Cisgendered.  Heterosexual.  Able-bodied.  Neurotypical.  White collar.  Middle class.  Suburban American.  All of which can contribute to a feeling of not being particularly special and therefore not having anything particularly special to contribute to a lot of the important conversations going on.  (Black and white thinking, I know, but true.)

I also identify as a suicide loss survivor, mental health advocate, and individual who herself struggles with mental illness.  I work very hard in my role as a therapist to normalize the difficulties my clients face and to enable them to talk about everything from serious trauma and suicidality to every other thought that can make a person feel completely alienated and alone.  And I work very hard on myself in my efforts to not only practice what I preach but also integrate greater levels of spirituality and universal compassion.  All of which leads me to feel like I have quite a lot to say on the subject of mental health and its countless intersections within all of those aforementioned important conversations.

In the end, though, the most accurate term I can use to label myself (for as useful as labels can be) is human.  I think that best captures all the similarities and differences.  Not only of myself, but of everyone.  Human describes all people on the planet regardless of what they do or don't identify as.  And therefore dehuamization in any form is what I hate the most.  And one of the most dehuamizing experiences a person can have is being denied their voice.  Especially when the person denying it is them.

So regardless of how special or completely ordinary I may be I have to speak out.  About what I know and what I don't.  I have to share information and ask questions.  I have to point out what the world looks like from within my own skin and try to get a better understanding of what it looks like from inside others'.  I have to amplify my own voice and also hand the mic over to those being silenced.

It's not about being special.  If I believe in human rights then I have to believe in my own.  Especially the right to my own voice.

Resistance

It's yet another example of on-the-mat experiences mirroring life experiences (or vice versa).  To imagine, you only need put yourself in a position.  A posture, a pose.  You settle into it as best you can, willing your muscles to relax, trying to let your body do what it will without your controlling it.  There's nothing overt stopping you from relaxing- no conscious contractions, no purposeful holding.  And from all appearances you are perfectly at ease.  But then someone comes along and says "relax your jaw" or "let your hip roll out" or "drop your head" and upon following this simple instruction you find an unknown pocket of extreme tension you didn't know was there.

Now imagine the same sensation- the same exact feeling.  Only this time it's an emotional one.  Your body may hold onto it in the same way (it usually does), but there's a distinctly different flavor.  Your thought process is tied up in it.  The way you react to... everything.  It's where the term "feeling emotional" comes from- it's a whole mess of reactions coming out, some of which make no damned sense.  But they're all from that same pocket of emotional tension you didn't know was there.

That's what I'm sensing at the moment.  It's a holding onto when I need to let go.  It's a bracing myself when I need to relax.  It's an incessant thought in the back of my mind that won't go away- I can drown it out with busy activity but it's still there.  In the pauses, the lulls, the dreams you have before you've quite woken up- that fear causes tension on an unconscious level.

I've been putting a lot of stock into the idea of fearlessness as I've been in this process of self change.  I champion the belief that you can do anything- truly anything- if you get out of your own way.  And yet here I am on the cusp of some major changes without the ability to let go of my fear.  It's there- holding back the edges, teetering to avoid a spill, bracing for the impact.

And I know I can't force it.  Just like in that physical posture, you can't force your body to relax what you don't know you're tensing.  I can't erase the emotion.  Even if I think I know what's causing it.  It's there, under the surface, beyond my ability to change it.

But I am learning some things on the mat.  It's the same lesson I've been so often repeating here.  When you can't change something, don't.  Don't fight it, don't berate yourself for not being able to change it, don't give up and back out of it.  Just be in it.  Feel it- in all those tense muscles, all those not-quite-relaxed postures, all those aches and pains.  Just be there, completely aware of it.  Without judgement, without pressure to fix it.  Just be in it.  A skill they call "tracking" on the mat.  The idea being that your greatest self discoveries will come in this state.

And there is a very important difference between tracking and wallowing.  One is quiet observation without judgement.  The other is, forgive the term, being a drama queen about it.  My pain serves no one other than me if I can't learn from it first.

So I'm here, way deep down into the discomfort.  Noticing the sensations- the pulls and pains and stuck points.  Sensing myself bracing for the impact of what I haven't done yet but know I will have to.  And I'm not backing out it.

Miracles

It's something from the book I just read- a simple concept, but a profound one.  The idea that everyday is a miracle.  Regardless of what happens, regardless of how you feel.  That in the big picture realm every single day is a miracle.

The thought first occurred to me when I sat down to meditate this morning.  The sunlight reflecting off the freshly fallen snow hit me in the face illuminating not only the space behind my closed eyes but also covering my whole face with warmth.  There in the presence of so much cold, winter wasteland was sunlight, water, earth and air.  All present, all blessed.  And, in that particular moment, all for me.

I was acutely aware of it as I sat and breathed and chanted and the feeling didn't leave me once I got up to go about my day.

It didn't leave me when I was sitting in the doctor's office receiving some bad news that overtly spelled out my need to change some of my behaviors (diet-wise).  In fact, it made the message that much more overt: why not treat everyday as a miracle by taking better care of my physical body (my temple)?

It didn't leave me when I got to work and conversed with individuals who are working on their own life changes, their own self-care, their own souls.  Another life-changing act that I perform everyday, often without even thinking about it.

It didn't leave me even as I received a concrete kick in the ass at our company staff meeting and noticed my initial response, something that I would have previously dismissed, and identified it as my intuition (my gut).  And as I marveled at how much more comfortable I was in listening to the internal, non-logical voice I felt grateful for how much I've changed: what a completely different person I've become.  I can remember a time in the not-too-distant past when I would have responded to such news as a victim: felling wronged and hurt and powerless.  And now, because of all this work I've been doing on myself, the answer was clear and direct: I deserve better.  Period.  No victim mindset, no woe-is-me.  Just clear sight and motivation to change.

It's something that's relatively new for me: reacting to bad news with clarity and proactive identification.  Seeing the terrible situation as a needed opportunity to change.  Almost looking forward to the challenge.

I've been pretty good at seeing the miracles on the good days: the sunny days, the happy days, the great days.  It's kind-of new to see the miracle on the bad days, the emotional days, the ass-kicking days.  But damned if it doesn't prove the point better than any of those great days ever could: EVERYDAY is a miracle. 

Magick In The Mundane

It's something I've been struggling with for a while: this idea of finding magick in the mundane.  The everyday.  The ordinary.  The reality.

For me, they've always been two dichotomous ideas.  Either or.  Yes or no.  True or false.  But never both, simultaneously.

It's like trying to hold onto a dream when you're awake.  At first, when the edges are still rough, you can almost grasp it.  Things that aren't possible in real life are still possible, maybe. Ideas that the logical mind dismisses as illusions are still somewhat tangible.  But the harder you reach for them, the faster they disappear into the ether.

And without dreaming, with the awake mind in charge, it seems even more impossible.  Too much judgement.  Too many firm lines and boundaries.  Too much to keep you grounded, to prevent you from flying.

This world or that one.  Magick or real.  Never both.  Never happening together.

But the further I tread down into the path of my own soul, the more I hear it: there must be both.  And not this vacillating back and forth, either.  But simultaneous.  Coexisting.  Feeding off one another, blurred boundaries.

Seeing magick in the everyday: the traffic jams, the red tape, the facts and figures and carefully controlled and overseen requirements.  Seeing magick there.  It's something I struggle with, something I haven't figured out how to do.

There are moments, of course.  In the quiet, in the stillness.  You forget about the boundaries.  The mind wanders into the "crazy places".  You can glimpse- just for a second, out of the corner of your eye- things that aren't there.  Feel- just as impulse, a reflex- things that aren't tangible.  Smell... anything.  Ideas.  Words that haven't been invented yet.

But then the conscious mind rebels, violently shoves you back.  Here, feet firmly on the ground, rules and regulations in place.  It chastises you for daydreaming, reminds you of all the duties you have as a responsible adult.  Tells you to shut up and keep moving.  Binds you.

And I want to vilify that voice.  Dismiss it.  Categorize it as irredeemably bad and try to rid myself of it.  But I need that voice, just as much as I need the quiet madness.  I need both.  How to have both at the same time?  I don't know.

There are some rituals they tell you to practice.  And they help, certainly.  The quiet, steady breaths.  The creative practices of writing, drawing, painting, dancing, singing.  The thoughts you can think without dismissal.  But they're only ever temporary buoys in the sea of real life.  I can't seem to stay above water, can't seem to lift myself out.

And perhaps, or most likely, this is how it works.  You have the moments as just moments. You take the pauses as just pauses.  And it takes a long, long time before you start to ingrain that way of living.  It takes a lot of practice before you remember how to let go while still riding the firm rails.

So perhaps the answer is what the answer always is: just be.  Don't worry about what it will be, don't think too hard about what is was, don't try to make it anything other than what it is.  Just be and know that it will change.  Everything changes, always.  Without us trying to make it change it just does.

And perhaps, that itself is the magick.  Answering my own questions, realizing that I already know.    Listening to the whispers in the dark.  Feeling my way along.  Perhaps that's the route I've always been on.  The only difference is, now I know.

Ebb and Flow

At first it's just the simplest instruction: be here.  Now.
Not at your workplace where that endless mountain of paperwork awaits you.  Where there's voicemails and e-mails to return.  Where the daily grind really lives its meaning.
Not at home where chores and adult responsibilities lie: always something to do, always some other project.
Not in the past where mistakes and failures lie in wait to torment you with reminders of where you weren't good enough.
And not in the future where a million fears are ready to pounce and weigh you down in the incessant possibilities of ways in which life can go wrong.
Just here in this safe, quiet space that you create for yourself.  Everything else on hold, nothing you have to do other than be present with yourself.  Be here.

Then the smallest, quietest breathe connecting you to your body.  Bringing the attention away from that busy mind where all those thoughts still swirl in that chaotic, constant vortex.  Notice the body, notice the movement, notice all the sensations that arise.  Feel, don't think.  Be, don't do.

Then the inevitable ebb and flow begins.  In- to the heartbeat, the creaks and cracks, the touch.  To the muscles, the joints, the bones. And deeper down to the earth holding you up, supporting you.  And out- to the connectedness you tap into while in this space.  Part of the whole, joined with the all.  Not separate and lonely but part of and so, so loved.  In and out.  In and out.  Feel, don't think.  Notice, don't judge.

Her words are your guides, leading into the spaces your conscious mind can't go.  You follow the lines of your tendons, your veins.  An intricate network of sensations and feelings you normally never notice, never sense.  And the ways in which you react, the great teacher your body can be.  It's not about comfort, it's about watching, seeing, tracking.  The whys and hows draw connections that the mind can't understand but the soul knows all too well.  There are stories there.  There are vitally important tales to tell and retell.  There is a song that only you can sing.

And for a moment- the briefest, most imperceptibly small moment- there is peace.  Nothing else matters.  Nowhere else, no one else, nothing but you.  Completely settled.  Completely present.  Loved and supported and held.  Perfect in all the impossible ways- in the crevices of all your bumps and bruises and scars.  You.  Here.  Now.  Breathe and be.

And then the gentle reminder: you can't stay here forever.  Tiny, kind movements.  Being as gentle to yourself as possible with little wiggles and pushes.  The mind comes back into the driver's seat with all of those dutiful reminders.  Life needs to be lived, afterall.  So you come back to the thoughts and tasks of the day.  You come back to the plans and "I have to"s.  You let go of that wonderful space in which you felt so free from all of this.

But you know how to get there now.  You can come back.  The map is written in every cell of your body and it's so easy to follow you can do it without thinking.  You must do it without thinking.  Just follow those lines, let the body take you in, drift on the ocean of your own experience.  It's really that simple.  Just take the time to go and you will go.  Just create the space in which to be and you will be. 

That same ebb and flow on a greater scale- in to this space, and out to the real world.  In to the quiet and out to the chaos.  Learning to see the lessons in all of it- all of those times, all of those places, all of those experiences.  Learning to follow the tide of your own existence without resistance.  Surrendering to the movement, the cycles of change.  Letting go.

Ebb and flow.

Panicking Towards Zen

I've been a wreck all day- an irredeemable wreck.  Anxious, irritable, scatter-brained like there's no tomorrow.  And I've been trying really, REALLY had not to judge myself for it.  That old reaction is still ingrained- the ego still has so many negative things to say about this new emotional version of me.  And I've been ignoring it for the most part.

But then I got feedback from another source, a more trusted one (Thanks, Jen!).  A friend of mine who is going through a lot of the same transformations, studying the same course I am on, asked me why this year was so different than last year (since I've been through this panic-inducing thing before).  Why, she asked, was last year so much easier than this year?

We bounced a few ideas around- last year didn't go so well so I had more reason to be worried.  Last year was my first time so I didn't know about the number of things that could go wrong.  Last year I was a little cocky and naive and I got hit pretty hard for it.

But still, I thought, aren't I supposed to be handling things better now?  Isn't this journey that I'm on designed to make me calmer?  More accepting?  Better able to weather life's storms?  Isn't that the whole point?

And then- that perfect timing thing again- a friend of mine from teacher training posted an article about the ways in which I've been feeling lately with the title "15 Uncomfortable Feelings That Indicate You Are On The Right Track".  (Thanks, Tracey!!)  I had every one of these- literally every single one.  Anxious, restless, irritable, fearful, confrontational, dissatisfied, lost, exhausted- all of it.  And that got me thinking: what if there's nothing wrong with me?  The revolutionary question that turns your perspective 180 degrees.

What if me being that anxious was just me doing the best I could do?  What if working my ass off like a lunatic for a week- regardless of what a hot mess I was throughout the course of it- was just me being catalyzed to get everything done?  What if I was feeling that crazy simply because I was allowing myself to?  Without fighting it, without hiding it, without judging myself for feeling it- what's if that's why I was so anxious?  Not because I wouldn't have been that anxious anyway, but because I've just stopped hiding it.

I used to judge myself for being emotional.  Get angry- really, really angry- at myself for crying.  Say terrible, hurtful statements about myself for being angry with someone (for something I really should have been angry at them for).  Look at myself when I was not the epitome of logical, intellectual superiority and just hate myself for it.  That's who I used to be.

That's not who I am anymore.  I'm emotional.  I'm messy.  I'm loud and passionate and I speak up when people piss me off.  I value intuition way more than intellect and I see god in everything.  I look at people I used to judge so harshly for being so emotional and think 'I want to be more like them'.  And I cry all the goddamned time.

Of course I was way more anxious this year- I'm a completely different person this year!  I handled this situation very, very differently than I did last year.  I let myself feel everything I was feeling without trying to talk myself out of it.  And yeah, maybe it seemed unhealthy- who likes having panic symptoms?  But maybe that's exactly what I needed to feel.  Maybe a hot mess is exactly what I needed to be.  Maybe this, like so many other situations I've encountered and will encounter in the future, is exactly right?

I'd certainly like to think so...

Seeing in the Dark

On the bow of a great ship.  Perfect by design, regardless of what complaints you may have of it.  It was made that way.  And it is yours.

Looking our over the horizon but seeing nothing.  The fog is too thick, the night too dark.  The air so heavy your lungs labor under the burden of breath.  Your bones ache and creek with the same rolling sway of the ship as it bobs in the tide.

You're moving, but you don't know where.  You can't see.  No point in steering- you wouldn't know which direction in which to point.  So you stand there, on the bow of this great ship, and wait.  Listening to the waves, swaying on your feet, and wondering what will come next.

But it isn't a useless delay.  It is not a time of no action.  Something is building.

Out there, in the dark, beyond the fog- something is brewing in the wind and water and sunlight that you can't see.  Not yet.  But something is taking those thoughts of yours, something is mixing those swelling desires in the tumultuous seas beyond your brow.  Be careful what you wish for- but do wish.  Do dream.  Do envision.

Because in the dark, in ways that your conscious mind can't grasp, there is much to be seen.  There are actions to be taken.  There are important things to be said and many people waiting to hear them.  There is movement and growth and fruitful bounties to be had.  Just up there, just beyond the horizon.

If you close your eyes, you can see it.  Not with your vision, not with your physical body.  But with your sight.  With that part of you that logic dismisses but is so much more aware than you think.  Close your eyes and peer into the dark and you might catch a glimpse of what is coming.  Pieces that don't quite fit together, elements that will change before you can picture their whole.  Things unknowable, but intuited.  It's out there.  And it's coming.

So wait.  Heave those great, heavy breaths.  Dream your dreams and wish your wishes.  And watch the horizon with your eyes closed.

The Work

It's easy to love yourself on the bright days.  When you smell nice, look pretty and get out of bed before you hit the snooze alarm for the second time.  When you have the time to sit and meditate before sitting in morning traffic and not losing your cool.  When you carry that calm air into the workplace and field e-mails and phone calls while sipping your coffee and thinking about what to go over with your clients.  When you're smart and organized and on top of shit.  Those are the days when you convince yourself of your growing status as a genuinely wonderful person.

But these are not those days.  These are the days when your monsters rear their heads like unbeatable hydra and that voice in your head is so loud you have a hard time hearing the person talking.  The days when those old bad habits you thought you'd learned from and trained yourself out of years ago because they make absolutely no sense to repeat bash your skull against the proverbial rocks and hard places of your own creation.  The days when you're very much the opposite of intelligent, very much the opposite of calm, very much the opposite of the things you convince yourself you are on the good days.  And in these dark times you do what we all do: you make it worse by using soothing but ultimately destructive techniques to take the edge off (insert drug of choice here).

But what they say is that these are the days where the opportunity to love yourself is greatest.  Where the lessons you learn are strongest.  When the ability to amaze yourself is at its max.  Challenge is a nicer word for problem, right?  But maybe it's true- maybe this really is the proving ground.

To be all of those horrible things you wish nothing more than to not be and love yourself anyway.  Smelly and defeated and useless and weak and still perfectly lovable.  Repeating old mistakes, doing all the wrong things and still worthy of appreciation.  Ugly and impatient and full of so much rage your rational mind can't even make sense of it and still a beautiful, shining human life.  Still you, still whole, still radiant.  That's the fucking work.

The Off Days

What if I was good enough even on the off days?  Without doing anything, without accomplishing anything.  With no willpower to get off the couch or check off items on the to do list or catch up on any of the things that need to get done.  With absolutely nothing to show for myself but having breathed in and out all day long- what then?

What if instead of beating up on myself, instead of obsessing over everything not done, instead of listing all of the reasons why I could reasonably hate my lack of progress- what if instead of any of that I just loved myself.  Without judgement, without criticism, without having to earn it.  Just as is, completely off my game.  What if I loved myself instead?

Wouldn't that be a novel idea?

The Seeker- Part 7

 

She was led to the main hall where the light was dimer and the scent of incense encircled her head.  She didn't allow herself to be distracted by the candles or the artwork or the cold stone floor under her bare feet.  She knew better than to judge now, better than to conclude without knowing.  Just look, just listen.

And she was glad- he wasn't what she expected.  Tattoos covered his arms, legs and neck.  His hair was long and unruly and oddly colored.  He didn't have the wise, old eyes of a guru- he had the young, wild eyes of a child.  And rather than the traditional somber robes of the archetype he had rainbow colored  pants and a tank top that read "Wild Thing."  She smirked at herself for thinking he'd be anything different.

"Hey," he said- obscenely casual for such an austere setting.  "How can I help you?"

She sat down before him, assuming her best posture.

"Hey, relax," he said as he himself leaned back on a pillow.

She raised an eyebrow but followed, and her back seemed to explode with gratitude for allowing it to finally rest.  "Thank you."

He looked at her with those wide, wild eyes and waited.  She steadied herself with a breath, and then began:

"I am seeking vidya.  I've been lost in my life, tried so many different things trying to change who I was and I need your help."  There, she'd started.  Her journey could truly begin.

"Do you?" he asked, the same smirk pulling up the corners of his mouth.

"Excuse me?" she asked, irritation creeping into her voice instantly.

"I said, 'Do you?" he said, as if she meant she hadn't heard him.  But the look on his face said that she had and the incredulous expression on hers begged clarification, so he continued.  "It's not easy to get here."

"I know!" she yelled, then instantly shrank back in embarrassment.

"No, no- it's ok.  There's anger in there, you had to go through the fire.  It's cool," he said, sitting up and leaning forward.  "But that's the whole point- you came here.  You faced the fire and the water and the earth.  You breathed the air and listened to the howling wind and saw the light up here- crazy, isn't it?"

She sensed it was a rhetorical question so she said nothing.  But his eager look told her he was looking for an answer.

"Yes, it was- " and she thought about it then, really thought.  Of everything she'd faced, everything she'd sensed, every change she'd surrendered herself to.  "Yes- it's been a wild ride."  And she smiled then, because it really had been.

"Yeah, there you go- it doesn't have to be such a strict ritual.  Seeing is just a state of being, really.  It's just getting out of your own way and living.  It's not what you think it will be, it never is."

And this she heard, this rang true.  "Now we're getting somewhere," she thought.

"Your problem isn't you- it's never been you.  The reason you've been lost is because you've been seeking outside when you needed to look within."

She startled- was he saying he wasn't going to teach her anything?  That she'd traveled all this way for nothing?

"I can see that fire again," he laughed.  "That's a good thing- but listen.  You have what you need within.  You can meditate and study and listen to the wise, old gurus all you want.  But the lessons you need to learn are already inside of you.  You already have what you seek, you just need to get out of your own way."

~

Walking out of the great hall and away from yet another false prophet she felt angrier than she ever had.  So much energy, so much time, so many challenges and for what?  To be told that she already knew everything?  Maddening!

She stormed back to the entrance, past the meditating people, past the rituals and reflections and stopped to pick up her pack.

And then the wind picked up again.  It breathed through her hair, across her skin and down her spine.  She felt the moisture of the snow and the warmth of the sun.  She breathed it in again and her fire cooled.  Her shadow retreated.

And she looked up.  Out at the sun and the air and the landscape, and saw the most breathtaking view she'd ever seen.  She saw the great forest where she'd descended into the earth through ancient roots.  She saw the lake that led to the underground cave where she bathed and moved with freedom.  She saw the field of fire and the leap she'd taken and remembered the promise she'd made to herself.  She saw the fields where the villagers had farmed and remembered the love she'd felt for everything, all things.  She looked out from the top of the mountain and felt the air roaring with the life, saw the light of the sun illuminating the whole world.  And she was overcome by such overwhelming gratitude that it brought her to her knees.

And there she wept.  She wept with love, wept with light, wept with God in her very sobs.  And when she quieted she realized what he had meant.  Look within.  Breathe.  Move and love and feel and steady and leap and cry and see and believe.  All within, and without.  No separation, no disconnection.  Just be.

"Oh," she said to herself.  And laughed.

The Seeker- Part 6

Her ascent was marked with more visions out across the growing expanse of visible land and more affirmations of the power in her voice as she huffed and cursed and joyfully expelled sound into the open air.  She marveled at the strength of her body, so much stronger than she had believed it to be before she embarked on this journey.  She appreciated her legs as they pushed away at the ground, her lungs as they breathed in and out the precious air, her eyes as she looked out at the world around her with wonder and love for all she saw.

So it was almost disappointment that greeted her upon arriving at her destination- so much travel, so many epiphanies only to find herself here at such a familiar scene:

A flat expanse at the top of the rock, thin rugs lain around to soften the hard surface, and rows and rows of the enlightened spread out in front of her.  Their rigid postures with straight back and high head, their hands holding mudras as they rested on their knees, their eyes mostly closed in that un-gaze they were trained to use.  It was instantly intimidating and she faltered, slinking back and struggling with her thoughts.

That old voice came back- you can't do this, you can't be the enlightened person, you're not made of the same stuff.  But she'd learned how to handle that now.  Rather than fighting it she just let it rant.  She breathed, listened to the sound of chanting, focused on her feet underneath her and her body holding firm and waited.

The voice- so full of anger and poison- rattled and ranted and spewed.  And she listened.  And, within a shorter time than she would have expected, it ran out of steam.  The words ran out.  And in the end, she was left with nothing more than that quieter voice she'd been hearing more and more.  Its message was easy and clear: "Just breathe."

She set down her pack, took a seat behind the so-called enlightened masses (which part of her affirmed were there seeking the same exact things as her), closed her eyes, and breathed.  But her body rejected the rigid stance.  Too sore from the climb, too tired for the pose she fidgeted and fretted and moved.  But just as she had with her mind she didn't react- she waited.  She focused on her breath, on the stillness within her, and waited.  And just as her mind had, her body calmed.  She breathed.

She stayed there like that for what seemed like a long time.  But she had no concept of how long, she didn't notice or care.  She just breathed.  And as she did, she noticed a change happen.

The swirl of thoughts and emotions that had erupted upon seeing everyone there seemed to dissipate, weaken and vanish.  The preconceptions she had about why she was here, what she would do, and what it would all mean went away.  And in their place she felt a calm, a renewed sense of purpose, and the same guiding voice that had been there all along.

You can be anything you want to be.   You're not limited to who you were.  You've changed so much since beginning this journey, how could you possibly presume to know where it will lead?  Just listen, just watch with open eyes and mind, and you will see.  You will see.

She opened her eyes and saw clearly.  She saw the light surrounding all of them so far up on this mountain.  She saw the elements which had brought them all there along that same path.  She saw the sky and the clouds and the air and the ether and she breathed it all in.

Then she got up and started off to find the one she'd been seeking.

The Seeker- Part 5

 

She climbed higher into the mountain pass, her determination growing with her strides.  She was feeling bold and strong and connected- but she wasn't.

A gust of wind knocked her clear off her feet and she tumbled over a bolder on the edge, landing slightly further down the rocky surface and taking a scrape on the leg as payment for her troubles.  Anger burst out suddenly and violently as she cursed out loud at her pain, followed by surprise as the sound echoed off the rock walls to her left.

Distracted from the sting she looked up at the high stone face above and around her, and testing, shouted again.

"Hello!" she called, her voice louder and more jubilant than before.

The mountain seemed to repeat her greeting as if on its own accord.  She called again, testing the limits of her sound.  Again the echo bounced her call back.  Soon she was conversing with the stone giant she sat on, call and response flying through the temporarily still air.  She could feel the vibration of the sound reverberating not only off the stone wall, but through the ground itself.  And as it moved she felt that same vibration enter her through her root, up her spine and finally out of her mouth as she called again.  She and the mountain were feeding each other in one continuous, wavering loop of sound.

The wind kicked up again and stole away the echo, replacing it with a screaming wall of air speeding up the mountain.  She peered over the ledge at its source from below and was greeted by a smack of cold, fast sky in her face.  It pulled her hair back from her scalp in a torrent of power and sound.  But she didn't move, she just closed her eyes and let it hit her.  She felt the power and the life again, and the sound in her ears was deafening.

She inhaled and forced the sound again, letting the wind steal it from her lips and join its raging movement up to the heavens.

"Can you hear me?" she screamed.  "I am here!"

And although the wind stole her voice she knew it carried it all the way up the the heavens.

"I am here!" she cried again, watching the colorful wind sweep the sound up and up and up.

And then, without audible sound, she repeated the message to herself:  I am here.  

The Seeker- Part 4

When her feet touched down on the other side and her knees buckled under her weight she felt as though she had passed a point of no return in her journey.  As she stepped forward and worked out the shock from her heels she promised herself that she would not succumb to doubt again, that she would trust that inner voice when it told her where to go, no matter how frightening the prospect.  She left the blackened clearing behind, vowing to simply listen and trust.

Her path took her up into the mountain range she'd seen from the distance, at the top of which dwelt the person she sought.  As she climbed the path the scenery around her erupted with life and her eyes beheld vast fields exploding with plants and food from the nutrient-rich soil.  It was a reminder of how the amazingly destructive power of the lava she'd leapt across could give life to so many things not seen at the source.

She watched as farmers tended those crops, as villagers in the nearby collective cooked them and consumed them, as children danced around the fire where their dinner steamed and grew stronger because of its sustenance.  It was all part of the whole: all valuable, all sacred.

She had an epiphany then, looking out over the life and lives that all relied upon each other.  She realized that she too was whole and that that shadow she'd spent so long fighting and hating was a part of that.  All of her was valuable.  All of her was sacred.  And while she may find herself getting unbalanced at times- while the darker parts of her may have spoken too loudly while the lighter parts were ignored- all of those parts were still a part of her whole.  She was not broken, not lacking, not a thing to be fixed.  She was beautiful.

She felt a growing sensation of warmth and radiant light growing in her chest as she thought these things.  And she felt that energy spreading far beyond the confines of her own body; connecting her not only to the fields and the plants and the animals and the people nearby but back to her family and friends and everyone she had ever held dear- everyone she would ever hold dear.  She realized that she, like the beautiful system of life surrounding her, was intricately and infinitely connected.  Not only was she whole within herself, but she was part of a greater whole that was sustained, fed and rejuvenated by love.

She closed her eyes and breathed then, content for the moment in just being.  Without moving forward, without doing anything.  She felt light and love in the very air around her: the wind whipping across the fields and up the mountain, the breath in her lungs.  She felt boundless and free.

She didn't know how long she stayed there.  It seemed like an eternity and an instant all at once.  But as she resumed her long walk she did so with love in every step.

The Seeker- Part 3

 

It seemed like she'd left the cool, perfect waters so long ago it was difficult to imagine that she'd only been moving for a day.  The climb that followed the emergence from the lake was brutal and tested her resolve with every step.  There were slips and cuts as her feet slid from the missteps or her hands fumbled the grab and it occurred to her that she was fighting with more than just the terrain.

Before long the texture of the rock changed: it was softer, sandier and her hands turned black as she pushed herself up.  As she rose the temperature of the air seemed to rise with her and soon there was steam and the scent of smoke in her nostrils.  Her body began to sweat and the salty liquid felt rejuvenating somehow- like things she really needed out of her body were making their exit through her pores.

She pushed onward, not knowing what was coming next but not daring to indulge those thoughts nipping at the edge of her consciousness.  She focused on the movement and the strength in her muscles.  She kept her mind occupied with the sensory input of a world so strange and yet somehow so familiar to experiences she'd had inside of her own body.

Before long she came out of the caverns and a field of black lay before her.  Setting eyes on it she now understood the heat and the steam and the faint scent of sulfur.  Her feet seemed to bounce on the soft black surface made from years and years of dried and hardened lava flow.  In the distance she could see the mountains she was promised when she set out and the sight drove her forward across the alien expanse.  Steam vents erupted around her and her feet ached from the long climb but she kept on, willing herself to stay true to her cause.

Until she came to the river.  Not one of water, but of fire.  A deep slit in the ground and a flow of magma stretched across her entire path.  It was here that the fear she'd kept at bay through movement finally erupted in full force and claimed her, pushing her back and finally laying her flat on the ground.  She lay there, panting and despairing, and let herself feel the emotion in all its horror.

But that voice which had been with her from the beginning, the one growing in volume with each step she took on her journey, came back again.  "Just look around," it said.  A calm, practical step to take in the midst of such confusion and terror.

She pushed off her pack and looked around- scanning first the edges of the rock, and then further in each direction.  There must be a bridge of hardened magma somewhere, or some narrowing of the gap where she could safely step across.  But as far as she could see there was nothing: no bridge to cross, no safe passage, no break to the unrelenting flow of molten heat.

As panic began to seize her very cells she started running in desperate hope of the view changing- surely it couldn't go on like this forever?  But her legs gave out long before the perpetually retreating end ever came.  She collapsed again, this time for good.

And in her hopeless, defeated state she couldn't fight it any longer- her shadow emerged in all its savage, merciless power.

"What were you thinking?  Of course you can't do this- what an idiot you must have been to even attempt it.  Now you'll have to go all the way back and tell the story of your failure to everyone who asks.  You defective ruin, you weak fool, you useless waste of life..."

She surrendered to it, as the waters had taught her to.  And as she lay there breathing, baking in the heat from the harsh river near foot and not fighting something changed.  That voice, so full of mighty, unyielding power, seemed to fade.  Without her pushing back the dam broke and the hatred flowed out of her.  It seemed to her that she could almost feel it hit the burning surface of the river and join its flow- on to wherever it may lead.

And in the aftermath of such an extreme emptying, shaking and purified and finally free, she had a thought: what if I just jump?

She sat up slowly and took a breath.  The heat of the molten flow hit her in the face but she was no longer afraid of it.  It was made of the same material as she and she knew that without fear she could live in unison with that force, she could even use that power to fuel her.  She stood up and walked the long way back to her pack, watching the flowing light against the obsidian shore.  She mounted her pack onto her shoulders and noted how much lighter it seemed now, how much more easily she moved.

She gingerly crept to the edge and measured the gap in her mind.  Fear bubbled up again, a little trickle of alarm, and listed the facts: her legs were tired, she was exhausted, she might not make it across.  But she didn't argue, she just listened and watched.

And in that space she found her true voice again.  It told her that in order to grow she must leave what she knew behind.  In order to become she had to shed what she was.  "Just jump," it told her.

So she did. 

The Seeker- Part 2

 

The roots of the great tree wound deep into the earth, twisting and winding through the dense terra.  The pathway was narrow and soon became too dark to see and her hands constantly caught in the soil as she tried to steady her descent.  But without her sight she found the touch comforting- a constant reminder of her solid grounding.

"Just be here," she found herself saying when fear crept into her mind.

After what seemed like a long time her fingers began to slide over the surface of jagged rock.  At first sharp edges would poke out from the soil in intermittent crevices.  As she continued on the surface transitioned to hard, smooth stone.  She followed it ever downward, the stone becoming wet and slippery as she moved on.

Soon the sound of water entered her ears- a dripping as if she was entering a cavern.  The wet droplets echoed off the stone walls as she picked her way ever so slowly down.  Then a light began to reflect off the wet surfaces.  At first she thought she'd been in darkness so long her mind was playing tricks on her.  But as she crept further down it grew.  The dripping turned into a constant sound and as she listened she heard a heavy rush of water coming from beyond.

Before long the walls of narrow passage widened and she found herself entering a large cave that stretched high up to the surface where a small opening allowed sunlight and the rushing torrent of water through.  She stared at the waterfall and found herself mesmerized by the glistening surface of the lake it splashed into to.

She searched for a way around the edges of the underground lake but found nothing but steep walls of rock stretching upward on both sides.  She waded just a little ways in until she spotted a shore on the far end of the massive cave.  She stopped then, fear once again grasping her heart.  Would she be able to swim?  What if her pack weighed her down- she could drown there.

But again she breathed, and again trust returned.  The same steady voice that he led her down gave her the next step: "Swim."

She stepped out into the deeper water and stretched her arms over the crystalline surface.  The liquid was surprisingly warm and felt amazing sliding over her skin.  She let go then, her body moving without effort, her mind marveling at how easily she glided.  It was as if the world had wanted her here, had been calling her for years.  She reveled in it: the sensation, the sound, the fluid movement.  A million emotions seemed to wash over her as she swam past the waterfall to the far side- emotions that had laid dormant inside of her for longer than she realized.

It was here that she confronted another lie that had led her actions for so long: the belief that her emotions made her weak.  That the very things that could guide her so fluidly through life somehow made her less than those she admired for their intellect and stony, steadfast appearance.  But here in this space it seemed that everything she 'd derided herself for feeling was finally set free.

She was glad to to finally succumb to them, glad to finally give up the fruitless fight.  She made a promise to remember the feeling and the freedom that came from allowing herself to fully experience it.  And she vowed to never again stifle what was authentic within her.

And as she slowly climbed the far shore of the cave she looked back out at the great lake she had just crossed and said a prayer of gratitude to everything that brought her there.

The Seeker- Part 1

 

When she thought about it she realized the journey began long before she started it.  That internal sense of desperation for something, somewhere that would make sense of life.  That yearning for a feeling of peace.  That panicked, frenzied need for a life raft in the tumultuous seas of existence.  She'd been seeking her whole life.

Her quest sent her in the usual directions: false prophets and misguided philosophers.  Teachers that claimed to know the true path.  Countless books and lectures and exercises all meant to bring clarity and true sight.  But that voice was still there, underneath it all.  Questioning, judging, hating.  And that desperate seeking only increased.

She heard of a place where she might finally find the answers she sought.  But as with all important journeys, this one wasn't easy.  It was a path that wound deep down into the earth, through dark places and frightening possibilities, before finally emerging on a mountain side and culminating with a long trek up into the heavens.

She hesitated- it was a habit born out of constant uncertainty and fear.  But her seeking had led her to some fundamental truths and she knew enough to believe that she had to try, because her soul's thirst  must be quenched.

So she set out, entering into the forest where she was told not to go, looking for the great tree of the stories.  She was fearful upon entering the densely wooded place- so many stories of the evil of witches, the cult of enlightenment.  But she cast these thoughts aside and trusted.

Trusted the simple steps of her feet, the beating of her heart, the movement of her limbs as she crept ever deeper into the woods where the scent of earth was so strong she could taste it.  She felt a peace here, among the sunlight in the leaves and the heaviness of the soil underneath her.  She felt a presence leading her forward, away from the noise of her life and into the quiet of the earth.

And in the stillness she found the ancient tree of the stories with its branches stretching up towards the heavens and its root burrowing deep into the ground.  And there among the unbreakable roots she found the gap in the wood- the narrow opening leading down.

She paused, wondering what would happen if she went further.  But with a steadying breath the trust returned.  "Go down." she heard herself say.  So she did.

Breath Work

In the breath there is peace.
The calm, quiet space between words.  The small pause before speaking.  The slight hesitation before action.
Regardless of the chaos that may abound just outside, in the breath there is peace.

In the breath there is stillness.
A small space in which to just be.  Without responsibility, without chores or tasks or to-do lists.  Without demands or deadlines.  Without the impatient persistence of all those who require you to do.
In the breath there is space to be in the stillness.

In the breath there is control.
No matter what, however haywire life can get or what stress causes the heart to pump and the body to freeze in fear- none of that can stop the breath.
Slow.  Deep.  Easy.
Just for a second- stop.
Breathe and be in control.

In the breath there is god.
The universal life that flows through every single living thing.
We are not separate.  We are not alone.  Only the mind's lies convince us of such.
We are part of the same energy that sustains all life.
The life found in the breath.

So when life feels as though it's swallowing you up-
When events seem to conspire to take what's yours away from you-
When it feels as though you have nothing left-
just close your eyes
and breathe...
and be...
in the breath.