The Green Bough

The Truest Thing

2012-01-25T08:32:00.003-05:00

It’s Wednesday. On Wednesdays I post a blog, a note, a longer status update. I’ve been doing this weekly for over two years. This week I wrote a few things, but now- in this moment- they don’t feel true enough to warrant time and attention. They’re not untrue. . . . they’re just not close enough to the bone. . . .which is where I like to live and write.

Frustrated, I flip open The Dance to a meditation I put at the conclusion of the chapter titled "The Dance of Shared Solitudes." I want to share it here, because it's about finding, knowing and expressing what is most true for us in the moment. When I am beginning work with a new client I sometimes ask them to tell me in one sentence the most important or truest thing they feel I need to know about them right now.

Of course, what comes when we consider a question like this will change from day to day, moment to moment- which is part of its purpose- to remind us that there is no static solid self that remains unchanging. While some days the truest or most important thing about you may be about how you are feeling emotionally, another day a physcial condition may take precedence over all else, or a part of your history may offer some essential insight. It would be a revealing daily practise to write such a sentence first thing in each morning or last thing each night- to see the ever-changing flow of our experience and identity unfold before us.

So here is the exercise. I would love to hear what comes for you if you decide to try it and are drawn to share in comments.

Meditation on the Truth of Who You Are

On the last day of a writing retreat I led a meditation asking each person to sit in silence and then write the truest statement possible about themselves. I sat for a moment, expecting to write and rewrite statements that would take me deeper and deeper into the essence of the truth about myself. But instead, after only a minute or two, I picked up my pen and wrote,” I am blessed.” I knew immediately that it was the truest statement I could write about myself in that moment.

Sit comfortably with a pen and paper nearby. Close your eyes and take three deep breaths in through your nose, exhaling out through your mouth. Let the muscles of your back relax with each exhale, feeling your shoulders drop and your weight settle into your hips and legs. With each exhale let go of any tiredness and tension in your body. Spend a few minutes just focusing your attention on your breath, following the exhale and the inhale, the rising and falling of your body. If thoughts come simply acknowledge them and let them go, bringing your attention back to your breath.

Now ask yourself, “What is the truest statement I could write about myself right now?” When you are ready, without judgement, pick up your paper and pen and write the statement that comes. Then, just sit with it. What feelings does it elicit? What thoughts? Be with any thoughts or feelings that come without getting caught in them- just watching them come and go. Ask yourself if there is a statement you could write that would be truer than the one you have written. If so, what is it? Write it. If not, simply stay with the statement you have written. Repeat this process with any new statements that come, simply sitting with the truth you know about yourself in this moment, without judgement. Bring your attention back to your breath and sit with the statements that come and any feelings they raise.

("Meditation" from The Dance by Oriah (c) 2001)

Changing Self-Talk

2012-01-18T09:12:00.007-05:00

Some days, if we overheard someone speaking to another the way we sometimes semi-consciously speak to ourselves, we’d feel compelled to intervene, unable to bear the cruelty and shaming we’d overhear. Lately I’ve had two small revelations about negative self-talk.

At Christmas I received a small monetary gift from a relative and decided to treat myself to some face cream I like that does not fit my current budget. I bought the cream and went to see an afternoon movie. I was half way down the block after the movie before I realized I’d left the bag with the face cream in it in the theatre. And yes, when I ran back, the cream was gone.

Disappointed I started to walk home, and that’s when my inner critic began berating me. “How stupid was that! May as well have just burned the money!”

My impulse was to tell the voice to shut up. But, something- some moment of grace- made me try something different. Instead of telling the critic to be quiet (which I was suddenly aware was just going to drive it into my unconscious where the self-shaming could continue covertly) I listened without taking it personally, with a kind of detached curiosity. What really surprised me was the tone of the voice- the vehemence, the rage. What was that about?

I felt like I was eaves-dropping. And I got that the self-talk I was hearing was not really about the current situation. It had been formed and was being unconsciously fuelled by my childhood terror of the consequences of not doing everything perfectly. Understanding this I wanted to sooth the fear, remind myself that perfection is not a possibility (and feel the relief in that) and that the consequences of most of our mistakes (like forgetting a bag in the theatre) are not dire, are just part of life.

Mostly, what I learned that day was that it is possible to hear the inner critic with compassion and in so doing disarm any destruction this voice could do. When I tuned into and softened to the fear behind the shaming, the voice of inner critic just lost its steam, faltered in its conviction and stopped pretty quickly. We don't have to ward off negative self-talk, we just have to hear the pain and fear behind it so we can bring real tenderness and mercy to even this aspect of ourselves.

Which brings me to my second revelation about negative self-talk: we can change the destructive element of the inner critic with small vocabulary adjustments.

Yesterday, after filling my water pitcher, I poured a glass before all the water had gone through the filter, flooding the counter, floor and my lovely woolly socks with cold water. “Well,” I thought, “that was. . . . .” I could hear my inner voice winding up to say “stupid,” but I paused for just a nanosecond and chose differently, completing the sentence with “silly” instead.

And what a difference a word makes! It made me laugh out loud. It was silly. I was distracted and the consequence was a wet counter, floor and socks. No big deal! But calling ourselves “stupid” can become a “big deal,” can be indicative of a semi-conscious self-shaming that does real harm and robs life of its joy.

Sometimes something we’ve done has more serious consequences than lost face cream or wet socks. Real mistakes- choices that cause suffering for us or others- are inevitable in a human life. But if we can soften our negative self-talk and bring some compassion to the fear that drives it when the consequences are small, perhaps we will be more capable of not putting ourselves or others out of our hearts when the consequences are more serious.

And, seeing lost face cream and wet socks as opportunities to practise softer self-talk, I am grateful for the silly mistakes I sometimes make.

Wanting To Be Understood

2012-01-11T06:50:00.002-05:00

I’m always curious about where I (or others) take action unconsciously. As many of you know I’ve decided to slow down a little because of recent health challenges. Amongst other things this has involved posting on Facebook only when the impulse to do so comes in the moment, and (more importantly) not responding to comments. Although I’ve enjoyed the interactive threads on FB, I realized that responding can distract me from my own inner rhythm and really speed me up. So I am (mostly) practising not responding for the moment.

What’s interesting is to notice when it’s hard not to respond. Sometimes, when someone has shared something difficult about their own life, I want to reach out and let them know their struggle has been heard, and prayers and love are being sent. But I’m doing okay with just taking a moment to send the prayers and love, trusting that is enough.

Interestingly, what’s more challenging, is not responding when I feel I’ve been misunderstood. Recently someone posted a brief quote from one of my books on their page and a conversation ensued. Several comments took issue with what they thought the quote had or had not said- and my fingers itched for the keyboard.

Let me be clear: I didn’t want to respond because someone was disagreeing with me (I’m actually okay with letting disagreements be) but because I felt what I’d written was being misunderstood.

And this got me thinking about attachment to being understood, to having our words or actions comprehended as meaning what we intended them to mean. It’s understandable really, and I’m not arguing against clear communication, (particularly in intimate relationships where misunderstanding can lead to serious difficulties and unnecessary suffering.) The challenge is consciously and wisely discerning where and when and how we expend energy to make sure we are understood.

The meaning taken from something said or done reflects, at least in part, the recipient’s frame of mind and heart. A “misunderstood” meaning may be what’s needed at this moment, and may even be wiser and more insightful than anything intended. (Many folks have told me that something I said or wrote was a catalyst for desired change in their lives- and sometimes, when they tell me what it was, I have absolutely no memory of ever having thought, let alone said or written such a thing. And sometimes it’s not even something with which I am in alignment! But that’s what they heard, and for them it seemed true and useful in that moment- and thank goodness for that.)

Attempting to make sure we are never misunderstood, wanting and trying to be understood everywhere with everyone is impossible and exhausting. Being aware of the impulse to correct what we perceive as being misunderstood gives us a choice, the chance to ask: Is this a place where I need to make sure I am understood as I intended or want to be? Perhaps not surprisingly, there are in fact very few places where the answer to that question is an unequivocal, “Yes!” Sometimes, just letting others have their own responses, reactions and understandings- even if they don't reflect the meaning we intended- is simply wiser.

The Subtle Seduction of Speeding Up

2012-01-04T09:16:00.003-05:00

Last week I had a “cardiac incident.” I want to write “little” or “minor” as qualifier and reassurance but one doctor called it “major,” and I admit the pain, duration and lack of any discernable warning did not feel minor. In the last few years it’s been determined that my heart has intermittent “electrical” problems. It’s as if too much current is moving through too small a wire. The risk is that these energy surges could harm the heart muscle- ie.- burn out my motor.

Apologies for the mechanical metaphor- we are not machines- but energetically this is at least an approximation. Physical factors are being investigated, holistic solutions sought, and sound advice will be followed. I am feeling good, just very tired since the "incident."

But my question is: What is my heart telling me?

The obvious answer would be to slow down- but, in part because I have a chronic illness (CFS/ME,) I lead one of the slowest-paced lives I know. Really! I have not travelled in years, I rarely go out after 6 pm, I begin my days with my practise of prayer, meditation and gentle yoga. I have slowed down!

Or have I?

How am I seduced into speediness? I speed up when I become over-stimulated by input, over-engaged in often enjoyable interactions, external or internal. (Yes, monkey mind can interact with itself endlessly!) I know this- it’s why I do not have television, socialize infrequently and avoid shopping malls and large convention centres. But I underestimate how little it sometimes takes to speed me up. This week, having announced I may not be on Facebook as frequently, I’ve posted small in-the-moment observations. I’ve discovered I can follow my own slow rhythm IF I do not read and respond (immediately) to all the comments, do not follow the newsfeed or visit other pages.

Something in this points to why I allow/create overstimulation- I have an overblown sense of responsibility (if not, at times, an outright compulsion) to engage with and respond to everything/ everyone that crosses my path. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like a choice. But it is. And right now I choose to offer what I can, minimize what I take in and where I will respond, defaulting to less-is-more.

The second and not unrelated thing I notice is how often I feel compelled to hand over hand my way up out of a pit of weariness to meet (mostly my own) expectations of how and when something needs to be done. And guess what I use to pull myself away from the desire to simply sit or follow the impulse of the moment? Yep- external stimuli- reading blogs or perusing posts on FB, listening to the news, or talking with a friend on the phone. . . .

My heart is not happy about this, not happy with the over-stimulation, not happy about my semi-conscious reaching and racing and pushing and prodding riding roughshod over conscious decisions to slow down.

This isn’t the whole story- there are deeper narratives my heart is telling, but I’ll allow those to unfold over time. For now I surrender to slowing down on a deeper level- consciously limiting input and engagement; cultivating awareness of using stimuli to mask uncomfortable weariness; enjoying slow walks, classical music, the scent of lavender. . . .

So, that’s how my new year is unfolding. . . . . slowly. And for this, I am grateful.

The Crack Between the Worlds

2011-12-28T09:28:00.003-05:00

In the shamanic world we look for what we call the crack between the worlds, the times when our internal and external routines are most easily interrupted or suspended, when we can open to and access the dreamtine, the realm beyond natural laws where new realites are conceived and incubated.

This week, inbetween Christmas and New Year’s, the crack between the worlds always feels more easily accessible to me. After the holiday rush, but before the normal routine of daily life is re-established, a pause can arise if we allow it. It’s a time to open to the void of not-knowing, of suspending our conscious and unconscious stories about who we are and what we can do, to make space for something else- something we do not yet know about ourselves- to emerge.

I have a breathing exercise that I often do at the start of my meditation practise that gently opens me to the physical experience of the crack between the worlds. It’s very simple.

Right now, wherever you are, take a slow deliberate inhale through your nose. Allow your belly to inflate with your breath, and then allow the wave of breath to leave your body completely. Feel your belly sink and your shoulders drop as all the air is expelled. Let the chair you are sitting on and the earth far beneath you support you completely as the weight of your body drops down into the chair at the end of the exhale.

And then, at the end of the exhale. . . . pause for a moment. Do not immediately and automatically begin the next inhale. Wait for the impulse to take the next breath to come from deep within your body. Do not hold your breath or resist the impulse, but do not reach for it. Let it come. See what it is like just to lightly pause at the end of the exhale, relaxed and waiting for the next breath to find you. And then, ride the wave as it enters and leaves your body.

Explore the moment inbetween, the place where you are neither inhaling nor exhaling, the spacious stillness at the end of the exhale . . . . This is what the crack between the worlds is like. . . . a momentary pause in our daily routine and mental chatter that allows something else to enter . . . that invites new visioning and deeper listening.

Don’t work at it. Just explore it, play with it, with a little curiosity. What are we when we are neither inhaling nor exhaling but are here, fully conscious in this moment. Who are we if we do not automatically carry forward how we have been into the next moment, or the new year?

What are the possibilities that arise? What longing is awakened? What risks ask to be taken? What dreams call out to us to be birthed?

(c) Oriah 2011

Solstice Prayers

2011-12-21T09:44:00.002-05:00

Here in the northern hemisphere, this is the shortest day of the year. Tonight is the longest time of darkness. We go into the darkness knowing our brothers and sisters in the southern hemisphere are holding the place of the longest day, the shortest night. Through present-moment communication with those on the other side of the world we deepen our awareness of a sacred wholeness, an interdependent balance, and the cycles of our earth-home.

On this side of the globe, celebrations are about the promise of the returning light- something that doesn’t happen all at once, but gradually, a little more light each day from this point on until the summer solstice. It’s a lesson in trust, patience and the natural ebb and flow of life cycles- challenging realities for a culture that often eagerly seeks permanent, instant, life-changing “enlightenment.”

Oh, sometimes things do become clear in an instant- but living full awareness is more about stretching into holding what we know at the deepest level of our being. Today, perhaps a small deepening of the perspective that allows for more kindness or patience than yesterday. Tomorrow, a little more letting go of the illusion of control, a modicum of increased clarity about what we can and cannot do in any given moment. Tonight, perhaps the spontaneous arising of new gratitude and the smallest expansion of compassion for even the ungrateful within and around us.

Today- and especially tonight- I remember and hold in my prayers those aspects of self and my fellow human beings who are experiencing a time of darkness that makes the promise of the returning light feel like an empty daydream. For all those who are feeling lost in the darkness, overwhelmed with loss, unsure of their ability or willingness to continue. . . . may those individuals or aspects of self lean a little into the faith of those who, in this moment, remember and experience the promise of the returning light. For all those sitting in the darkness of confusion and not-knowing, of grief or despair. . . may they feel tonight that someone sits with them, holding in their hearts the seemingly impossible promise of the growing light.

And may we all find in the darkness a place of deep rest and rejuvenation, time for clear dreaming for ourselves and our people that we may co-create a sustainable and soul-full way to live together on this tiny planet we call home.

Blessed be.

Unpacking The Annual Angst

2011-12-14T07:58:00.004-05:00

Well, time for my annual confession: I am not a big fan of the holiday season. It’s a bit of a mystery really, since I absent myself from those aspects I find unpleasant (staying away from stores and shopping malls,) limit my socializing to an amount happily tolerated by a dire-hard introvert, and only get together with people I love and enjoy. I have learned to produce the traditional festive meal with minimal labour, maximum flavour and lots of assistance from family and friends. And I love having leftovers that eliminate the need to cook for days.

So what’s my problem? I don’t know. What I do know is that from about December 10^th until January 2^nd I find myself riding an emotional roller coaster- waking up some mornings filled with overwhelming gratitude for being alive and other mornings, with an uncharacteristic sense of dread, considering pulling the covers up over my head for a few weeks. Although I have my share of unpleasant childhood memories, none of them seem to be about Christmas. Don’t think there are any skeletons in that particular closet.

Last year, my first Christmas since my marriage ended the previous spring, I was stunned and relieved just to have survived the tumultuous separation. This year I’m like someone who’s lost an appendage and is feeling an ache in the finger or toe that is no longer there. I find myself remembering a decade of holidays with my now ex-husband- the good, the bad, the exhausting- and feeling a little bewildered. How is it possible to have shared so much, to have had a life so interwoven with another and now. . . . for it to it to be done, gone as if it never was?

Writing this, I realize there’s a clue to my annual general malaise to be found in this year’s particular experience. The seasonal traditions that remain the same for decades highlight the inexorable march of time and continuous change in my life. Hearing carols, a part of me wants to rush to the window to watch for my grandparents’ boat-sized Buick with a trunk full of mysterious and enticing gifts. Looking at coloured lights and tinsel on an indoor tree I see my sons- two small boys in flannel pyjamas- laughing as they throw tinsel onto the tree despite my half-hearted admonishments to place strands on the end of the branches. It all feels like it was just a moment ago. . . .as if I could catch the sound of their voices, or see them out of the corner of my eye if I turned quickly enough.

It’s not nostalgia for past conditions that unsettles me. I am happy with the present, filled with wonder at the men my sons have become, and loving the time I have now with family and friends. Some memories are lighter than others, some happily left behind. But the sights, sounds and scents of the season remind me of what is constant but easy to miss or ignore at other times: the movement, the passage of time. . . . awareness of how fast it all goes by. . . . how short our lives are. . . . how the changes are always happening, whether we notice them or not.

Acknowledging impermanence as an idea is not the same as the visceral experience of feeling life moving like a fast flowing river- sometimes moving through me, sometimes carrying me along. At moments I am overwhelmed with awareness of what has been lost and gained, of how little stays the same from year to year even as I hang the decorations my grandparents used sixty years ago. People pass in and out of our lives; family members age and die; babies are born, children grow up; our health and living situations change; the world changes. Much of it is good, some of it is chosen, and many aspects are beyond our control.

I hadn't been fully conscious of how this season plunges me into the experience of impermanence, into awareness of the relentless and irresistible inner and outer changes. Being with the full range of feelings that arise with this awareness- gratitude and anxiety, joy and sorrow, bewilderment and delight- opens me, softens me to our humanness.

And I recognize that even as there is nothing in this changing reality to hang onto, there is so very much in every moment to cherish.

Embracing The Dark

2011-12-07T09:26:00.001-05:00

When was the last time you sat in the dark without turning on a lamp or lighting a candle, savouring the darkness late at night or early in the morning?

I like the dark, I always have. As a child I used to complain to my mother that I couldn’t sleep with the light shining in beneath my bedroom door. One of the things I like most about my current bedroom is that I can block out all the light from the street lamps outside. When I go to bed there's no difference in the darkness whether my eyes are open or closed. Every night I spontaneously offer a prayer of gratitude for the restful darkness.

This may be one of the reasons why I was open to a shamanic path where spiritual practise involves sitting out in the wilderness at night (no fires) fasting and praying. And when you stay out for many nights in a place with no artificial lights you discover there are gradations of darkness, luminosity from clouds and stars reflected in the lake, and a pre-dawn shimmer in the sky that comes long before the birds begin to sing the sun up.

Here in the northern hemisphere of our beautiful planet, the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting longer. We are approaching the longest night of the year, December 21. Hence all the festivals of light in different traditions: celebrations and reassurances of the return of the light during periods of deepening darkness. But with decorative electric lights and the often frantic pace of holiday preparations and celebrations I wonder if we miss the gifts of the darkness.

Darkness- both a literal lack of light and those times when we are feeling loss or lost- asks us to slow down, to feel our way along, to wait patiently until our eyes (inner or outer) become accustomed to seeing the shadows (which can include hidden or rejected aspects of self.) In this slowing down there can be a deepening, a turning inward to sit quietly with what we don'know and with what has happened in the last year, asking for visioning for the year to come. Western cultures tend to associate the dark with what is negative or difficult, and fear of the dark can keep us frantically moving, trying to outrun our own inner places of ambivalence, anxiety and ambiguity. But our fear of what the darkness might hold can rob us of the rest and revelation it can offer.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the festivals of light. But both the literal ones coming up and the times of fullness and activity in our lives might be more fully savoured and celebrated if we could also receive some of the deep listening, personal insights and rejuvenating rest of the darkness. Ask any artist who paints how they make that which is light brighter- they paint what is dark close to the light making both more vivid and real. Perhaps we need to taste the darkness before we launch into celebrations of the returning light.

So, in the midst of all the activity and preparations, it’s worth remembering the darkness and finding ways to give yourself some time to sit and greet whatever it has to offer to you. Even in the midst of the city where there are always electric lights shining, there is something magical in sitting in the (relative) dark late at night or early in the morning when the city is quiet. There, in the dark, we may find some of the insight and vision we need to prepare for the upcoming year.

Opening Our Stories

2011-11-29T16:37:00.004-05:00

I love stories. Stories are how we learn, how we make sense of our own lives and the world, how we co-create meaning and magic. Some people seem to think that living without any story is the way to create a more "spiritual" life. From my perspective, that's just one more story. Which is not to say that our stories can't create challenges in our lives. Sometimes we find ourselves unconsciously living out a story that isn't ours or an old story that no longer serves life. Sometimes our stories become too rigid to allow needed change. So, it's a good idea to shake up our stories now and then. How we can do this is something I wrote about in The Call:

"Who would you be if you did not do whatever it is you do every day? What if you experimented in ways that would do no harm to yourself or others- were soft where you are normally hard, tender where you feel you must draw a firm line, giving where you usually take, receiving where you have no expectation or habit of receiving?

What if you played with this solid sense of self you have built up, said what you were thinking where you make it a rule to remain silent, were quiet where you always felt you needed to add something?

How much of the story you have created do you mistake for who and what you really are? Do you believe it liberates you from daily decision-making to focus on other things? How much does it confine you, dictate which thoughts and feelings you follow into doing?

Create a gap in your story and sit within the gap, sit in the emptiness of not knowing who or what you are until an awareness of your essential nature fills you. We think the call, that which beckons us away from identifying exclusively with these stories we create, comes and goes. But the truth is, it is always there, it is the very ground of existence. What comes and goes is our ability to hear it, our willingness to let go of what we think we are so we can open ourselves to hearing that which calls us back to what we always have been. When we open to this constant call, we remember why we are here and allow this knowledge to create a new and fluid story coloured with that knowledge and never mistaken for all of who we are." From The Call by Oriah (c) 2003

My Favourite Question

2011-11-22T18:34:00.004-05:00

When I was young I wanted to know why. I wanted to know why good people sometimes do what they know is wrong, why innocent children sometimes suffer, why God allowed bad things to happen to good people. I had a thousand why-questions about social injustice, personal suffering and divine intervention. Some of those questions were addressed with an increased understanding of human nature, socio-economic and political systems, and free will.

But mostly, it became clear that there would rarely be a fully satisfying answer to “Why?” when it came to knowing all of the possible causes and deeper reasons for human suffering. As a young woman reading Man’s Search For Meaning by holocaust survivor Viktor Frank, I let go of my attachment to knowing “Why?” and moved toward asking “What?”

And I was filled with what-questions: What is the world and life asking of me? What do I really want? What does another need or want? What is my responsibility for and to others? What are the deepest desires of the soul?

Over the years, working with students and clients, I realized that we share a commonality in the essence of what we want and what life asks of us. Beyond survival needs, we all want to love and be loved, to belong, to contribute, to express who we are, to have inner and outer peace. And life asks all of us to show up fully each day, to keep our hearts open to ourselves and others, to consciously co-create and receive the world, the day, and each other.

Of course we each have to work out how we individually live these essential answers to what-questions, which is brings me to the quesiton I live: How?

If I want peace within, I have to ask myself- How would I know if I had it? How would peace look, or taste? How would it feel to wake up at peace, to go to bed at peace, to greet others in my day with peace? How is that different from what I sometimes experience now?

And these how-questions lead to others: How do we cultivate these qualities of inner and outer life? This is where the spiritual rubber hits the road. Not many would dispute the merits of peace or compassion or love- but how do we cultivate these qualities individually and collectively in our daily lives while also providing for ourselves and those who depend upon us? How can we cultivate peace where there may be pain, or poverty, or injustice within or around us?

“How?” is the question I ask myself repeatedly throughout my day. When someone says, “It’s all about unity and love,” I ask myself (or them) “How do you live that, cultivate that awareness when someone threatens your child's well-being, or takes your job, or tells you you’re to blame for the illness you have?”

How do we live awake and aware when we are tired or overworked or distracted? Sometimes, the quest for “awareness” starts simply by asking, “How?” And sometimes the answer is as simple as, “Get a good night’s sleep.” (Because it is very hard to be present or at peace or compassionate when you are exhausted.)

Every day, we live in the details of the way in which we answer a thousand how-questions with our actions: how we eat, sleep, move, meet; how we spend our time, money, energy and hearts; how we treat ourselves and others; how we walk on the earth. Our answers to how-questions are the thousands of small and large choices we make every day, they are the means by which we move toward or away from what we long for in our deepest moments.

How we live shapes our inner lives and the world we co-create.

“How?” is my favourite question.

How We Change

2011-11-16T08:46:00.003-05:00

Can we change? Do we change? How do we change? When considering personal changes I think I want to make I am reminded of a quote from Jungian analyst James Hillman who wrote, “That which we want to change, we want to get rid of.”

I think of the early sweat lodge ceremonies I led. I’d been taught to have people name their “giveaways,” the things they wished to be free of (fears, addictions, self-sabotaging habits etc.) But it didn’t work. People came back time after time to give away the same aspects of self. What it did do was create shame about the failure to change and, it seemed to me, that this shame would probably send the fears that drove self-destructive habits further into the unconscious, making them more inaccessible to the conscious desire for change.

So I stopped doing the giveaway round in sweat lodge ceremonies that way. Instead I asked participants to name some gift or strength or aspect of Beauty in their being that they offered to the world as their giveaway. Not surprisingly, many people found this much more difficult.

But I still wondered- how do we change? Was Hillman right- are we always trying to banish some aspect of self when we are seeking to change something about ourselves? Maybe sometimes we are just trying to find a healthy and healing way to address an old wound or live more fully who we are.

Reading Dan Siegel’s book Mindsight, I am encouraged to see that it is possible to actually develop new neural pathways in the brain throughout our lives. Novelty (learning something new or looking at something familiar in a new way,) attention (continued focus in a particular area) and aerobic exercise seem to be three key elements to making this happen. (Okay, so I only consistently go to the first two of these three- it’s a start!)

What strikes me as I read Siegel is that successful change is more about developing undeveloped aspects of self- brain, body, mind, awareness, personality, habits etc.- than it is about trying to get rid of already developed patterns. And I think that’s generally how change happens: by focusing on and enlarging what we want to build, where we want our energy to go.

We allay our fears not by trying to banish them, but by connecting with a deeper desire that can fuel our courage and shape new habits that serve those soul-deep desires. We develop habits that support creativity not by belittling or seeking to get rid of our left-brain ability to organize or analyze, but by doing activities that wake up neural networks on the right side of the brain and make new necessary connections between right and left hemispheres so we can actually do the creative work that calls to us.

We can change. We do change. It requires desire and knowledge, a willingness to see and accept where we are (instead of hoping we could start somewhere other than where we are) and move more deeply into our lives. It requires genuine curiosity about what we really value, what matters to us most and a willingness to consciously and repeatedly shape our inner and outer behaviour to be consistent with these values.

And these days, with all the challenges in the world, I cannot help but think that what we learn and put into practise about change on a personal level, will better prepare us to co-create necessary change on a global level.

Lost and Found

2011-11-08T19:53:00.003-05:00

One of the ways I knew I was “lost” during my marriage was feeling how difficult it had become for me to do my daily practise of prayer and meditation. I had the time, I had the solitude and the quiet, and I had a wonderful spot to sit looking out into the forest around our country home. It was an ideal setting for prayer and meditation, but I felt like I was going through the motions.

It’s not that I’d never felt like this before. In the ebb and flow of life there had been times when I'd found it more difficult to connect with myself and a sense of Spirit, that Presence which is both within and larger than myself. But this wasn’t just a day or a week or a month of feeling disconnected. It started to add up to years. Still, I persisted, doing the shamanic prayers I'd been taught- a way of naming and seeking alignment with the many aspects and manifestations of the sacred that allows for personal present-momented expression within the guiding structure of the medicine wheel.

But, for the first time in my life, it felt futile. I remember thinking that I’d wandered so far from the centre of life and awareness that I couldn’t really pray. My expressions of gratitude (and I had lots to be grateful for) felt hollow, and my requests for help echoed off a sense of futile emptiness I’d never felt before. Eventually, knowing that prayers are often infused with heart when we pray in the particular, close to our everyday concerns, I gave myself permission to pray for anything- no matter how trivial or un-spiritual a desire it might seem to be. But, I was blank. There was nothing for which I could pray that felt alive or possible.

When the marriage ended a year and a half ago my daily practise was revitalized, initially by the strangely co-existing grief over the loss of a shared life and dreams and spontaneous gratitude for a return to a sense of aliveness. It was a little like thawing a frozen body part. (I grew up 400 miles north of Toronto where high winds at forty below zero taught me about frost bite.) It hurts, but you know that pain is a good sign, that it means the frozen tissue is still viable, still alive.

Eventually my prayers became more about being present to my new life. But I still felt something was missing- that I was not connecting with whatever the next step of my journey was, did not know what I ached for so I could fuel my prayers with the passion of my heart and soul.

Until last week. Last week I decided to do a refresher course in some of the skill training I’d done decades before in counselling. I attended a two day training on healing trauma- and it was as if something inside of me opened: a new level of compassion and hope for myself and others; an appreciation for how we are made for healing, always moving inexorably (if often unconscious) toward that which will heal us and allow us to live more fully and deeply.

After the first day of the training I lay in bed and did my evening prayers- and what I needed and wanted to pray for came instantly to my lips and overwhelmingly from my heart: to know my own wholeness restored so I could fully grasp the life I have been given and offer all of who I am to this time and place. I realize that could sound pretty heady or general, but it felt (and still feels) very specific to me and is fired by a deep knowing that this is not only where my intention is focused, but is something that is happening by grace even as I say the prayer. And I am deeply grateful to be able to find my way back to the centre of prayers spoken from the heart and fueled by the soul's desire.

What Inspires Me

2011-10-30T13:34:00.006-04:00

Last week an interviewer asked me, “Don’t you find it depressing to be counselling people who are often going through difficult times- times of pain, illness or loss- in their lives? How do you protect yourself, make sure your energy is not depleted?”

I was surprised by the question. Although my work with individuals includes celebrations of healing and new ways of seeing, it's true that it is often challenging times that bring people to counselling. Many of the stories that are shared are hard stories- are about childhood abuse, the limitations of illness, family violence, or heart-rending and involuntary loss of occupation, or home, or spouse, or child or the very beliefs they had been relying upon.

And every time I hear someone’s story I find my heart opening further to our humanness.

Oh, it's not that I'm blind to the many ways we go into denial and self-deception, how we sometimes reach for unhealthy ways to lower our anxiety or can even cause the very thing we most fear with self-sabotage.

But mostly what I hear is great tenderness and courage. Every human life includes challenges, loss, struggles and difficulties that often create real pain and suffering. And sometimes the suffering is so great, I wonder how people continue. But most often they do. And not only do they continue, they often use the challenge that has taken them to their knees and made them wonder if they can continue, to find a way to live more deeply with themselves and others.

What can you say about a woman whose only child has committed suicide who goes on to discover her own love of painting spectacular images of transformation and working with teens at risk? That she is magnificent in her courage and willingness and ability to walk through the fire of living and keep her heart open. That she is fully human, as you and I are, which means that you and I have within us the same capacity for courage and for loving life so deeply that life can, if we allow it, draw us back into living fully and joyfully even in the face of heart-rending sorrow.

And sometimes, the challenges in front of us are not large dramatic losses, but the small day to day wear and tear of making our way in the world, caring for those who are dependent upon us, doing what needs to be done to feed the children without losing ourselves to a culture that can too easily keep us running on the outside and out of touch with our inner life, the life of soul.

Whether those I work with are facing small daily struggles or large life losses- over and over, I am inspired by their humanness. Many days I finish a session and simply sit in awe of them- of us- and wonder how a creature so tender, so vulnerable that we can feel devastated by a thoughtless comment, can survive the changing and unpredictable conditions of a human life, let alone thrive. But they do- we do- leaning a little on each other at times, opening our hearts a little further, healing from wounds, daring to dream and saying “yes” to life.

How do I protect myself from being depleted or depressed by my work with others? No need for protection. Others open my heart and deepen my faith in the way we are made. They inspire hope and renewed tenderness for myself and the world. And I am grateful.

To Know Your True Value

2011-10-25T18:44:00.005-04:00

On some level, many of us were taught that value was something we needed to acquire- something to be earned or in some way received. Those who taught us- parents, teachers, ministers, media- shared what they’d been taught: that value (our worth as human individuals) had to be achieved in certain ways (by working hard, looking good, making a contribution, by speaking up or being quiet, by being compassionate or aggressive or stoic or expressive. . . . )

We do, of course, create situations, communities, achievements and interactions of value with hard work, compassion, or any other attributes. But our inherent value, does not need to be earned. And the often implicit (and therefore somewhat slippery and hard-to-get-ahold-of) belief that we can or must acquire value to justify our existance is simply not true. And it causes a great deal of suffering.

Been dipping into a book I read years ago, Soul Without Shame: A Guide to Liberating Yourself From the Judge Within, by Byron Brown. Brown examines how the belief that we must acquire or earn value makes us vulnerable to our inner Judge, the aspect of self that learned early in life to operate on the principle that we are not intrinsically valuable. The inner Judge pushes us to “measure up.” It doesn’t matter if we replace materialist values with spiritual ideals- striving to achieve value, however we define it, will only lead to suffering because it separates us from the truth of our own nature.

When we have a direct experience of ourselves as intrinsically valuable, the heart knows itself and a sense of homecoming arises. And, as Brown writes, in that moment you know “you have a right to be here because you are made of the same essential substance as everything else in the universe,” and “by its nature that substance is of value. . . .” We, like everyone and everything else in the universe, are Life. And Life has/is value.

It may sound simple and self-evident. But the unconscious or semi-conscious belief that we must earn our right to be, prove our value to others and the world, drives many- I would say the vast majority in western cultures- for most of our lives.

What you are by virtue of being- regardless of how your life is going, regardless of what you are currently doing or identified with, or how you are presenting yourself to or being seen by others- is inherently of value.

That's the truth.

What if you knew this, really knew this?

What would you be free to be, to do, to question, to create if you fully realized that you do not have to acquire value, do not have to earn the right to be, to belong, to love and be loved?

How would you choose to spend your days, your life, your moments if you knew you were inherently of value simply be virtue of being?

How to Handle Growing Pains

2011-10-18T19:20:00.005-04:00

When I was a child I had what my mother called “growing pains”- aches and pains in my legs that would not let me fall asleep at night. Who knows if they were in fact caused by growth (although I did reach my current height of five feet nine inches when I was twelve so there was some serious growing happening,) but they were excruciating. If I moved my legs around in bed they would feel a little better. Until I stopped, and then the pain would be much worse than it had been before I’d started tossing and turning.

What I figured out was that I had to hold still and bear the discomfort if I wanted it to go away. So, that’s what I did: I would lie very still, and pretend to send my breath down into my legs (divine grace must have prompted this idea), imagining I was breathing out the waves of pain that came. If I could keep this up for five minutes, resisting the overwhelming urge to move my legs, the pain would begin to dissipate. It was short term discomfort for long term relief from pain.

I think of this early experience when I or someone I know is trying to change an old habit we know is not serving us. Because the truth is, the habits we’ve developed, like moving my legs in bed, at some point seemed to serve us even if they simply offered a bit of distraction from or numbing of some discomfort.

For example, people often ask me how they can change the habit of people-pleasing, a pattern of always looking to meet the expectations, or adhere to the standards or preferences of others, a behaviour that often renders us unable to act on what has value for us, even if we somehow manage to stay in touch with what that is. Usually this change involves saying, “No,” where we have too often said, “Yes,” and “YES!” to a few places where we have not allowed ourselves to follow or act on what is truly of value for us

But here’s the catch: as soon as we change a habit, even one that is truly not serving us, our anxiety rises- sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. Because whatever fear the habit was placating begins to stir. If we tend to be habitual people-pleasers, and we start saying “No,” fears or beliefs that others will think we are uncaring or cruel or worse will be stirred.

This is why it's often difficult to make changes we can see would be good for us. Change often raises anxiety that can present in a whole host of uncomfortable ways- worry; fear or dread; guilt; anger and self-righteousness; the physical discomfort of indigestion, headaches etc; general agitation and speeding up, or a sudden loss of energy and sluggishness.

Here’s where I go back to what I learned about growing pains when I was a child: growing often causes discomfort; if we try to avoid the discomfort, it gets worse; if we can hold still, recognize and be with the discomfort, breathe through it and not let it drive us into unconscious motion, the discomfort or anxiety will begin to dissipate (often much faster than we would have imagined.)

Jungian analyst James Hollis maintains that one of the tasks in the second half of life is to learn to tolerate anxiety. It’s a hard sell. Anxiety is uncomfortable, sometimes painful, and we are programmed to avoid pain for survival. But recognizing that the discomfort we are feeling can indicate real growth may help us stick with the choice to create change in our lives, feeling and acknowledging the anxiety as it arises but holding still (not reverting back to the old habit that does not serve us) so that a deeper level of freedom can be discovered.

Where We Separate Ourselves (more lessons in humility :-)

2011-10-11T15:08:00.008-04:00

Last week someone who has ME/CFS* posted on Facebook that she found it comforting to be able to connect with “fellow sufferers.”

I recoiled at the term. I have ME/CFS, have had it for twenty-eight years, but I like to think it’s just one of many factors in my life, that I choose not to “suffer” about it, that I accept it and work with it. My compassion for someone who experiences themselves as a “sufferer” was tinged with just a faint hint of judgement and a desire to separate myself a little.

I should know better.

A few days later, a dear friend who lives three thousand miles away came for a long anticipated visit. I had been very careful in the week before her visit, doing all the things I know help my physical energy and strength. After a relaxed day together (that ended at 4 pm) I was bed-ridden with exhaustion, dizziness and the debilitating pain that is so often part of this illness. I had to modify plans for celebrating another friend’s birthday the next day, cancel Thanksgiving dinner with my sons, and tell a friend whose birthday is next weekend I will probably miss his celebration. I was deeply discouraged.

So much for not being a “fellow sufferer.”

We cannot control all the conditions of life, and expectations can lead to disappointment. But human beings can’t avoid having expectations. We would never see friends if we didn’t make plans, and plans raise expectations of something (hopefully pleasurable.) You can’t cook a meal to share without planning and going to get the ingredients, and that creates an expectation of something tasty. And yes, sometimes the plans are disrupted- people get sick, power outages make cooking impossible, or the dog eats the pie.

Disappointment comes from a combination of unavoidable expectations and the inability to control all conditions. But disappointment can be a momentary twinge and not real suffering if we can hold our expectations lightly, without deep attachment to having things work the way we would like.

Sounds good, and it’s not impossible much of the time. I know I have an unpredictable chronic illness. I’ve learned to keep my expectations realistic, to warn those with whom I make plans that I may need to cancel, to change planned activities based on present-moment physical limitations. And mostly I do not suffer- I feel a twinge of disappointment and let go, realigning to current conditions.

Except when I can’t.

Except when, for whatever reason, I have a moment or an hour or a day, of feeling something more than disappointment, of feeling . . . .crushed, angry, bewildered and discouraged. And then I suffer.

And then, (eventually) I surrender to what is, readjust my expectations, sooth my own suffering with gentle self-care and. . . . return to being able to embrace the present moment- whatever it holds- without suffering. This process does not happen faster if I chastise myself for not living up to the spiritual ideal of never suffering, is not enhanced by adding suffering over suffering to the mix.

So here’s the truth: we all have expectations. If we can hold them lightly, remaining flexible and able to shift our weight to stay in balance as conditions beyond our control change, we will not suffer over the small disappointments in life. And sometimes- because what is changed by conditions matters more than an anticipated dinner party or planned trip, because changing conditions may affect how we are living and will live for a long time and/or happen on many levels simultaneously, or simply because our inner our outer resources are depleted- we will suffer.

Yes, we are all “fellow sufferers,” some of the time.

If we cannot admit this, cannot accept that to be human means we do at times suffer, we will find it hard to respond to suffering- our own or someone else’s- with the compassion that alleviates suffering.

*Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME) is categorized as a neurological disease by the World Health Organization and is misnamed in North America as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS.)

When We Fear God is Gone

2011-10-03T15:57:00.005-04:00

When I was a child I was aware of a Presence that was always with me. From my earliest vague pre-verbal memories- flashes of colour and sound coming to me through the bars of my crib- it was always there. In the daytime and at night, when I was in my bedroom or walking home from school, this Presence was with me. It was there when I prayed, but it was also there when I was reading a book or watching television. If I was engaged in something that demanded my full attention- like writing a test at school or learning how to swim- all I had to do was inwardly glance toward it to feel a sense of reassurance, the way you might turn your face to catch the eye of a someone you love who loves you at a large gathering.

But this description is misleading. It suggests this Presence was something that was localized and outside of me. And. . . . it was, but. . . . it also wasn’t. It was both within me and around me. At times it seemed to be particles of sparkling light that permeated everything, or an underlying hum that all things emitted, or a constant tingling that, while different in my body than in a rock I held in my hand or the cat I petted, ran through everything. And the light and the sound and the tingling were. . . .more than just physical sensations. . . . they had an intelligence, an awareness. . . . an abiding quality of love that was particular and real.

Words are truly inadequate to describe this kind of experience. When the people at church I attended as a child talked about God or Christ, I assumed these were the names for the Presence I experienced. Later I realized that there were many other names pointing toward this Presence- the Sacred Mystery, the Great Mother, Allah, Kwan-Yin, Buddha, Shiva, Shakti, the Grandmothers . . . .

The last year of my life- with my marriage ending and two parents descending into the confusion of Alzheimer's- has been one of logistical and emotional turmoil. But time is kind, and we are made for healing if we allow it to happen.

One morning about a month ago, as I watched the sun slowly slip above the horizon, I realized that my awareness of the Presence had, without my noticing exactly when, become as it was when I was a child: constant and omnipresent, around and within me without any effort on my part. It was there where the breeze touched the skin of my face, in the air I was breathing, in the hand that raised a cup of tea to my lips- in the china cup and the sweet hot tea and the lips that parted and the throat that swallowed- all around and within me. For a moment, I held my breath and sat very still, afraid I was imagining it or might break the spell if I moved. But the Presence- as strong and loving, as clear and constant as it had been when I was a small child- remained. And I wept.

It’s not that this Presence has not been with me since I was a child. As an adult I’d cultivated practises of meditation, prayer and shamanic ceremony that helped me turn my awareness toward this Presence. With a full and busy life I had to deliberately find ways to remember to turn my inner face toward this life-sustaining Presence. And it worked- when I reached out I could always feel the Presence there with me.

Until I couldn’t.

In the last few years of my marriage, no matter how I tried, or prayed I could not feel the Presence that had always been with me. It was like falling into an infinite darkness. I was lost, bereft. I became increasingly ill, unable to read or write. Seeking guidance from a therapist it took me months to confess my deepest grief. Finally I told her, “For the first time in my life, I cannot pray. I just go through the motions. I cannot find the Presence that’s always been there.” I choked on tears and terrror as I let the unspeakable come, my voice rising in an inconsolable wail: “I am afraid that God has abandoned me.”

The recent spontaneous return of a consistent awareness of this Presence feels like a return to life itself for me. That it returns with the fullness and effortlessness that I had as a child is grace beyond comprehension. I will no doubt write much more about this journey of loss and recovery but, for now, I will say what I know for sure:

The sacred Presence that holds us, the essential and sacred life-force of love that creates and sustains all that is, is always with us and within us. To be aware of this Presence we must be deeply connected within ourselves, to ourselves, to our hearts, to Life and Love as they are lived in the form of one particular embodied soul, one small human being.

God did not abandon me. I abandoned myself, separating myself from my own heart and spirit to keep the commitment I had made to stay in the marriage no matter what happened. I am so grateful for the painful events of the spring of 2010 that woke me up, freed me to leave and allowed me to find myself again, so I could feel once again the peace and aliveness that comes with awareness of the sacred Presence that holds and creates all that is.

Oriah’s Newsletter- Fall 2011

I am blessed to be doing so much of what I love, and hope we will connect where it feels appropriate for you. I am:

Doing individual counselling and mentoring sessions on the phone- if you’d like more information about this please email me at mail@oriah.org

Writing a new book that explores how we can expand our ability to consciously make choices (both the Big Life Changing decisions and the small daily choices) that support our deepest desire to live fully who and what we are.

Continuing to work on a novel (which, I have discovered, is a much longer process than non-fiction) about a group of lucid dreamers working together in the dream to co-create change in the everyday world.

Posting weekly on Wednesdays at http://oriahsinvitation.blogspot.com/ You can subscribe to this weekly blog by scrolling down the green bar on the right-hand side and clicking on "Follow by Email."

Posting most days and participating in conversations on the Oriah Mountain Dreamer Facebook page where we share exploration and inspiration for living with open hearts and clear minds as embodied souls. Visit https://www.facebook.com/Oriah.Mountain.Dreamer?sk=wall. (You do not need a FB account to visit see the posts. )

It is a busy, creative life for which I am very grateful. Many Blessings, Oriah

(If you wish to receive the newsletters- 3 or 4 times a year- please send your email address to mail@oriah.org)

Telling Ourselves The Truth

2011-09-28T08:28:00.004-04:00

Have you ever spoken open-heartedly and honestly only to realize, as you heard your own words, that they were not true?

I am overdue for sending out the fall newsletter to my mailing list. I planned on posting it today as the weekly blog/note. The mailing list has been updated, and I wrote the newsletter last week. But. . . . I realize that what is written is no longer true. It’s not that it’s a lie, but it is not the deepest truth I know at this time (which is all any of us can hope to own and convey.) How do I know this? From my dreams of walking through fog, my vision unclear; from the feeling in my body of pulling myself together and “up” to write about where I am and what is planned, a feeling I recognize as pulling away from what is to meet some inner expectation or avoid some hidden trepidation; from dropping down into my practise of prayer and meditation and movement in yoga and finding. . . something else.

There is a feeling in my body that I recognize as one that comes when some “news” about where I am or where I am going comes from deep connection to who and what I am, a place within that is aware of Spirit at the centre. The feeling is of two simultaneous sensations: a slight tension or resistance in my upper body (shoulders, neck, head) and a letting go in the belly, a releasing of something I was not even aware was being held and slightly twisted in my gut.

The slight tensing in my upper body is a kind of quiet, “Oh, no,” the kind of “Oh,no,” that recognizes that a truth I have been outrunning has caught up with me and can no longer be denied. It’s the “Oh, no,” of the ego. I am not vilifying the ego here, (we cannot live in a balanced way in the world without a good ego container.) I’m just reminding us that, at times, we forget there is more to what we are than that ego container and we are not as consciously “in charge” as we like to think we are- which is both the good news and the difficult news of being human. The “Oh, no,” is less protest than a kind of recognition of and surrender to what is needed. It was there when I did a vision quest, years ago, and realized I had to leave my marriage. It was there when I did my next vision quest and realized I had to leave my job as a social worker to teach shamanism full time. It’s an “Oh, no” that is more of a reluctant “Oh, yes,” that gets that what must happen next involves (from the current perspective) both some risk and. . . . an opening to unknown possibilities that will minimally loosen or completely undermine some aspect of the identity I have built for myself.

And the unfurling in my belly? That is the confirmation that although the outcome of the next step is not foreseeable, it is a step toward deepening my life, toward being more of who and what I am, toward living closer to the sacred at the centre of my being. It is a loosening of my resistance to the life I have been given, to the purpose I serve – even if I cannot consciously see or articulate all of what that is. It is a loosening of the ties that bind- ties of fear and conditioning- an opening to the joy of simply being.

I realize that in writing this now I am probably raising expectations of some Grand Announcement to come. But, sometimes the thread we have to follow is the soul's desire to go down deeper into the fertile darkness without knowing what we might be offering from the journey.

We all have our ways of knowing when we are living from the centre of what we are, connected to and aware of that which is larger than ourselves. Slowly, over time, we learn our inner “signals” and on a good day, we have a moment of courage when we do not turn away from or try to bury a signal that does not fit with what we think we need to do to pay the rent or preserve our place of belonging. When that happens, when we listen and heed a deeper knowing, it is a good day. This. . . .is a good day, for me. :-)

Notes to Self on Forgiveness

2011-09-20T16:53:00.005-04:00

I have long thought about and experienced forgiveness as something that arises when I have done my inner work around an old hurt. My own experience is that it is not so much that I forgive another (as an act of doing something) but that our essentially compassionate nature causes forgiveness to arise when healing has taken place. Choice is of coursed involved (I can choose not to forgive) but the act of forgiving is more an allowing than an act of will that can be insisted upon as a “should” or reached for as a spiritual ideal.

This morning, while doing my practise of prayer, meditation & contemplation I had a little “Aha!” moment about one hindrance to allowing forgiveness to arise:

It’s difficult for forgiveness to arise and expand within us if we continue to allow ourselves to be re-injured in the present by the one we want to forgive for past hurts.

Now that may seem painfully self-evident but apparently I needed to "get" it on a deeper level or in a clearer way.

This is probably easiest to see around physical abuse. Even now, thirty-five years later, I would not spend time alone with my first husband (who beat me) not because I do not forgive what was done, (I do) but because I would not put myself in a position to be hit by him again. I did not leave after the first (or second or third) time he hit me. He was remorseful and sought counselling, and I wanted to forgive him. But the physical abuse continued, and it became clear that if I was going to be safe, and if I wanted to forgive him for the injuries and pain already incurred, I was going to have to remove myself from the place where it could happen again.

It gets trickier when the harm is more emotional than physical- for instance when, in intimate relationship, someone we trust lies to us repeatedly. Forgiving the lying (and whatever inner or outer consequences may have resulted) is not really possible if the lying continues and we stick around for it, believing what we are being told again and again.

In fact, when the same person recreates the same or a similar injury as the original hurt, it inflames the old wound. Re-traumatisation interferes with the healing necessary for forgiveness to arise. If we want to forgive another, we cannot allow ourselves to be repeatedly harmed in the same way by the same person again and again.

This may or may not involve removing ourselves physically. We may have good reason to continue contact with someone who has stolen from us, but we do not need to invest in his or her latest money-making scheme. We may not want to end contact with a family member who has repeatedly lied to us, but we can remember to verify information they give us before we act upon it. And, of course, only we can evaluate whether or not we have the energy and desire to continue boundaried contact with someone. Sometimes it is necessary and desirable to simply withdraw.

We can and do forgive each other for injury- intentional and unintentional, conscious or unconscious- all the time. It’s one of the wonderful things about us- we are beings within whom forgiveness arises as healing happens. But when we remember to include not just others but ourselves in our own hearts, when we treat ourselves with the same tenderness and compassion we wish to extend to others, not allowing on-going mistreatment and/or choosing to boundary or step away from potentially (and somewhat predictably) injurious situations, the fullness of our capacity to be compassionate and forgiving can arise unencumbered.

Praying in the Dark

2011-09-14T09:16:00.003-04:00

I keep coming back to the reality of how much I don’t know. When I do my prayers, if they include requests for healing on any level (for myself, others or the world) I always add, “For the highest good of all and according to free will.” It’s my way of saying: “And what the heck do I know?!”

I’m trying to remember this as I assist my two aging parents, both of whom have Alzheimer’s, because it’s so easy to become convinced that a particular path or unfolding of events would be preferable, desirable, or have “better” consequences. But- once again- what do I know?

My mother is grieving the loss of my father (who has advanced Alzheimer’s and had to be sent to a psychiatric facility 100 miles away after escalating aggression.) Her doctors, nurse practitioners, social workers, pastor and myself think that the progress of her dementia might be slowed and her well-being enhanced if she went to assisted living for even a brief stay at a beautiful retirement residence on the lake in her community. She could come and go, receive daily support, and not have to make any immediate decisions re: selling her home or where she will live in the longer term. Seems like a no-brainer.

But, she is adamant (most of the time) that she does not want this, although she is not clear about what she does want & refuses to try a period of respite in assisted living. Understandable, but from my perspective, not really in her best interests.

But, what do I know? My definition of “best” may not be hers. Supportive living might decrease the rate of her mental deterioration. But what if that’s not her priority? What if (and I am not saying this is true) she is semi-consciously hoping that the dementia will progress faster so she will not be cognisant of missing my father? Her entire and sole identity for sixty years has been “Don’s wife.” It is hard for her to imagine any other existence. And. . . . maybe she doesn’t want to.

Which is where the second part of that “rider” I put on my prayers comes in: “according to free will.” People have a right to make their own choices about how they live (unless it impinges on another’s choices and then we have to work toward a mutually acceptable choice) and, if they are not completely mentally incapacitated, how they die. And let’s face it, we all make less than ideal choices all the time. How many of us have watched a friend choose a partner we know is going to treat them badly or make an unwise financial decision? (Because it’s so much easier to see the probable negative consequences of others’ choices.)

Even the situation with my father- which I and many others worked to avoid- well. . . can I be sure that the facility where he is now is not for his highest good? I pray it is.

I’m not advocating passivity in our lives, or in our relationships. I will do everything I can to ensure both of my parents receive the support and care they need. But. . . some of those decisions are beyond my control (at this point, particularly and legally, with my father) and some, rightfully, (again, at this point, with my mother) are not mine to make.

Human beings have free will. Whenever I hear someone say with unqualified optimism that “everything happens for a reason” implying some kind of divine order orchestrating the unfolding of events, I want to remind them about free will. Often “the reason” something happens is because one or more human beings made a free will choice – as is our right and responsibility- that had particular seen or unforeseen, positive or negative (from our current limited perspective) consequences.

So, I’ll keep adding my rider to prayers- so I can pray with my whole heart for what seems to me would be of benefit for myself, other s and the world- reminded that my perspective is very small, and that everyone has the right to exercise the free will we have each been given, for as long as we are able.

Accepting What Is Again. . . and Again!

2011-09-07T07:59:00.002-04:00

I keep thinking about acceptance: about how accepting what is isn’t the same as resignation, and how our fear of the later can fuel denial; about how acceptance can maximize the opportunity to find and take wise action if it’s available; about how acceptance allows for and helps us co-create change but isn’t about reaching for or grasping at change, isn’t about postponing life and love until a hoped for change is achieved; about how accepting what is includes accepting that some of what is sometimes is hard and beyond our control.

I’ve been thinking about how often I can look and sound as if I am accepting what is when secretly (ie.- unconsciously or semi-consciously) I am trying to bargain away, sneak around, or earn my way out of difficult conditions.

As usual, it’s my body that brings me to the truth of how I am doing with reality- revealing at least some denial, disconnection and discouragement where I was hoping I’d cultivated nothing but awareness and acceptance. Ha!

I was blessed in August to have two and half weeks at a small cottage in the woods. From the minute I arrived, my body, heart and mind soaked up the green quiet of the forest. And I slept. For the first ten days I slept fourteen to sixteen hours a day. It’s a little scary to sleep for fourteen hours and need a nap four hours after waking when you’re not doing much except sipping a cup of tea and watching the sunlight on the river. But I surrendered, I rested.

The depth of my exhaustion wasn’t altogether surprising. I’ve had Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome as it is misnamed in North America) for twenty-eight years, with prolonged periods of relatively more energy and less pain, and other times that have been more acutely disabling. And the last year- with my marriage ending, my father moving into the heart-breaking stage of advanced Alzheimer’s, and my mother being diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s- has been particularly taxing.

By my tenth day at the cabin I was sleeping a mere twelve hours a day and feeling a bit better. Three dear friends with whom I have done shamanic ceremonies for over twenty years arrived for the weekend. These are women I love and enjoy. They always arrive with enough nutritious food (and chocolate) and energy to care for all needs. It was a delight to have them there.

And, less than twelve hours after they arrived I started to physically collapse with all the symptoms of acute ME. After they left, I slept for three days, rising only to get food or water and scribble a few desperate notes in my journal. (They can put that on my tombstone: She Kept Writing Until The End. :-) Then, feeling only marginally better, I packed up for the drive back into the city.

It’d be easy to berate myself for a lack of awareness re: my physical state. I mean- after TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS you’d think I’d have honed in on a fail-safe way to gauge my energy and discern what I can and cannot do on any given day. But the truth is that the realities of ME/CFS, like all conditioned realities, change continuously, and situations do arise (like an exploding marriage or two parents suddenly needing increased assistance) that can over-ride the body-self’s awareness.

So. . . I brush myself off, get up off the ground and start over- again!- honing in on the wisdom available to an embodied soul re: how to live this day so I can offer what I am able in a sustainable way.

Am I still attached to/wanting “progress”? Oh yes. No point in denying it. But I’m redefining progress. Progress is not the illusion of “getting” the realities of living with ME/CFS or anything else “once and for all” (which, when you think about it is really a desire to go unconscious and operate on some kind of strangely idealized automatic pilot about things- like physical health- that we must be considering mere means to “more important” ends.) Progress is the willingness to adapt the learning that experience has offered to the present moment reality.

But most importantly, it’s about embracing the paradoxes, living with the tension between truths that seem diametrically opposed. As I deepen my willingness and ability to accept what is, accommodating and compensating for conditions that cannot be controlled, (which is why I put my glasses on in the morning and do not insist that if I just find the right spiritual attitude I’ll be able to read without them) I simultaneously remain open to the full range of possibilities for change.

As I acknowledge and accommodate the limitations of the present (eg.- needing to write in one or two one hour periods in a day instead of five or six hour blocks as I once did) I think of others with ME/CFS or other chronic illness- like athletes or dancers or construction workers- whose work requires physical strength and stamina they no longer have. I send out prayers for their struggles and feel deep gratitude for having work I love that can be done in small bits while lying in bed if necessary.

And that’s the biggest difference between acceptance and resignation: resignation feels like defeat and breeds hopelessness and helplessness; acceptance of what is, even when conditions pose real difficulties, helps us focus on what remains and can be cultivated without denying real loss. It encourages us to see and allows gratitude to arise for what can be enjoyed even in the face of difficulties beyond our control. And acceptance opens the door to spontaneous compassion for those who are facing similar or more serious limitations.

Resignation is a shrinking, a turning away from life. Acceptance is an expansion, an opening that helps us find the courage to be who we are and do what we can. I’m not saying it’s always easy, but I am deeply grateful to have had the time and a place close to the earth where I could see through some of my denial, wrestle with and step away from resignation, and find renewed awareness and acceptance. . . . again!

Ripples

2011-08-10T15:37:00.001-04:00

How we are ripples out from us. I know this, but sometimes it’s hard to remember just how profoundly our state of being affects those around us.

When I sit with my father (who has advanced Alzheimer’s) & talk quietly, stroking his hand, singing or praying quietly, the primary effect of my action may be to calm me. He’s not hearing much & understanding less but he is picking up body language, watching for tone of voice, tuned into the state of being of those near him. Doing what I need to be calm, centred & relaxed seems to reduce his agitation & help him be more at peace.

Consciously cultivating our own calm clear centre has a profound effect on those we live with, work with or strangers with whom we briefly share space in the grocery store or on the subway. In any situation we can ask ourselves- What is rippling out from me? What am I adding to the collective tone of this time & place? If we do this without judgement (not panicking if we are upset for fear of what we are spreading- denying or repressing aggravation will not help) & bring ourselves back to our breath & our hearts perhaps we can find & spread a little peace.

May we cultivate a clear calm presence

_________________________________________
In the interests of cultivating my inner calm I will be away August 16 to September 1 - spending some solo time at a little cabin in the woods on a river. I will not have phone or internet access. Will be enjoying some ceremonial time with three dear friends for a couple of day but most of the time I will be there alone writing, reading, sleeping, eating, walkiing and just watching the water tumbling over the rocks in the river. I will resume weekly posts September 7. Blessings on your summer, Oriah

Learning To Love

2011-08-03T07:49:00.001-04:00

One of the many spiritual “truths” folks like to throw around is: “You can’t love others any more than you love yourself.” While there is usually some truth in these kinds of statements I like to hold them up against real life experience and ask: Is that true? Is that always true?

I have seen myself and others extend love- compassion, understanding, non-judgemental assistance- to others, even when we are harsh and judgemental with ourselves. In fact, sometimes, we can learn how to love ourselves by considering or watching what we offer to others who are in need. If I am frightened or in pain I can sometimes move to a place of gentle mercy with myself by considering how I would respond to one of my sons if he were feeling as I am or facing the particular challenge I am at the moment. Feeling my love for another I can bring this tenderness to myself.

So, sometimes, we learn how to love ourselves by seeing how we love others. And this wisdom in turn is honed by our experience of what is needed and helpful when we are in pain, which allows us to love others more fully. It’s not as linear as the platitude above suggests. It’s not like we go off and learn how to love ourselves completely so we can come back and do it “perfectly” with others. It’s more of a spiralling process, circular and ever-deepening, this learning to love, this opening of our hearts. It’s not a project. It’s a process. It’s life.

How Noticing Changes Things

2011-07-26T13:07:00.004-04:00

I am practicing being present with myself and the world. I am moving a little slower than usual, noticing what is happening within and around me: eating without listening to the radio or watching anything on the computer; walking with awareness of the movement of my body, the shifting of weight, the feel of the sidewalk or floor beneath me; pausing in my apartment or on the street when I feel myself moving away from the moment and all it holds, waiting until I am present before I resume the task I am doing.

And one of the things I notice is where, without conscious choice, I move away from awareness. I spend the day consciously with my breath and being as I meditate and pray and do my yoga, as I prepare my food and wash my dishes, as I write. But then, moving to update my financial books, I feel myself shift gears, disconnect from my own moment-by-moment experience, pull up some energy from deep within me for the task in front of me.

And I wonder: what is it about this task, about writing numbers in columns and adding figures that I unconsciously assume requires that I move away from awareness? I want to turn the radio on and listen to the news or find a podcast that will entertain me while I do the books. Why? Because I don’t particularly like this task. I do it because it has to be done. But I don’t really dislike doing it either, although I anticipate possible problems and small irritations- forgotten receipts, missed entries that must be tracked to make the totals come out right. So what? So, . . . . it seems I want to get it done but do not want to be present for the doing.

No big deal really, and there’s nothing wrong with listening to a podcast while I do the books. But I’m curious to see what happens if I choose to be present with even this task. If I cannot practice being present for something as mildly challenging as a less-than-exciting task, what hope do I have of bringing my full sustained attention to situations that are truly painful- a searing headache, the grief of a friend, news of violence in the world, the challenges of caring for two parents with Alzheimer’s?

The trouble with being absent from even this moment, is that it too quickly becomes a habit, something I hardly notice, something that easily begins to feel “normal,” difficult to drop and an impediment to remembering to bring myself back to mindfulness. A structured daily practice helps me remember, brings me back to the moment, my breath and what is, but the point of such a practice is not to offer an hour of presence before I go back to preoccupation and a lack of awareness. The point, the intent, is to increase my ability to be present with it all- inner and outer conditions that are ever changing and the still center that remains constant.

So, I’m grateful to have noticed the kind of task- mundane, repetitive, and not particularly creative or entertaining- where I move away from being present. And I find that when I catch myself and stay here fully, the task is. . . just a task.

And then it becomes something more. I find myself grateful for having the means to purchase what is needed, (thus the receipts that need to be recorded,) some income that can be taxed for the collective caretaking of my community, the ability to do my own books and take care of this small aspect of keeping life and limb together.

Where there was a flicker of irritation, a desire for distraction, there is the gift of gratitude- not reached for, but found simply by being present.

Waiting

2011-07-20T09:55:00.001-04:00

To wait when waiting feels unbearable
When action seems imperative
But there is nothing to be done.

To trust that what is needed will be provided
When human resources are limited and needs are great
And distrust is more available, but divisive and destructive.

To accept
What is unacceptable
Because to fight with what is adds suffering to pain.

To be attentive
When the mind is clouded with exhaustion
So that opportunities to hold with tenderness are not missed.

To be with the anxiety that arises in muscle and bone
Not letting it drive action or paralyze
Allowing breath to create mercy around the anguish.

To take a break
When the fear-driven mind screams for constant vigilance
So the mind and heart and body can find respite and rejuvenation.

To receive the help offered
From others and from the Great Heart that holds us all
Letting gratitude temper grief,
fullness counter fear,
and compassion carry us all.

~Oriah

(For those of you who don’t know, both of my parents have dementia- my father advanced Alzheimer’s, my mother, early stages. My father was moved to a psychiatric facility -100 miles away from his home- last week because his aggression escalated to the point of choking a caregiver (despite months of great care and strategies to calm.) He is in a ward for those who are violent because of mental illness- not really where he belongs but there simply is no bed available in the psycho-geriatric ward better suited to his needs. My mother of course is deeply distressed.)

Walking Asleep- Dancing Awake!

2011-07-12T09:46:00.010-04:00

Last week I began working on the two books that keep coming to me in dreams, working in earnest, taking myself to one of the university libraries daily (where I am not connected to the ever-seductive internet.) I’ve covered the walls of my tiny apartment with flipchart paper where I make notes with (literally) a hundred different coloured markers, beginning to feel out the armatures of the books, to sense and see where vivid threads fit into slowly revealed tapestries.

I work for hours and then return to the apartment to make notes and reread what has been written that day. And there in the privacy of my two small rooms I find myself both spontaneously dancing (again, literally) with the ecstasy of returning to the center of who I am and, at unexpected moments, coming to my knees in both gratitude and sorrow- gratitude for the reunion with myself, and sorrow at the full realization of how far from home I had wandered.

The writing I love is open-ended (as in, I don’t necessarily know exactly where it is going,) a discovering that takes me deeper into my own life, my own heart and the world. And I have not had a sustained period of following this fire that lights my way for many years. This, this writing, this following of the creative fire, this welcoming of Spirit in the form of words and image, story and colour- is how I touch the Mystery, the essence of who I am.

And I abandoned this to be married.

No doubt, in time, I will write more about how this happened. And no, it was not my ex-husband’s fault, although our neuroses and blind-spots dovetailed nicely as so often happens in intimate relationships. I can say that now, returning to the joy this writing brings, I find it hard to believe that I would have bargained this away for any promise or dream. And yet, having worked with groups and individuals for more than thirty years I wonder why I am surprised. I have often seen people abandon their deepest soul desires to do what they have been taught they “should” in the hopes of earning love. Of course, we don't earn love.

It's both humbling and frightening to know that even after all I have learned, I am still capable of abandoning myself, still willing to risk life itself when I am walking asleep. And the commitment to being fully with myself, to following the fire that lets me offer something to the world cannot be made once-and-for-all but must be lived one step, one breath, one moment at a time.

So, here I am- simultaneously humbled, ecstatic, sorrowful and filled with joy but most importantly: grateful and writing!

Leaning into Mercy

2011-07-05T14:11:00.003-04:00

I am working with forgiveness. Forgiveness is one of those slippery words- a term bandied about so often by spiritually focused folks that it can become almost meaningless. Who would argue that forgiveness isn’t a good thing, a desirable thing? We all know that forgiving someone else releases us from resentment and other less-than-fun-or-enlightened states of mind and heart.

But reaching for forgiveness because we think we should, won’t work. Saying we have “forgiven and moved on” doesn’t make it so. In fact, pushing for or adamantly claiming to have accomplished “moving on” is probably a clue that we have not so much dissolved or left behind old resentments as we are trying to outrun or bury them, afraid of the pain that lies beneath an armour of anger and glimpses of grief.

How do we forgive another or ourselves when real pain and deep suffering have been caused?

It seems to me that forgiveness is less an action than an outcome, less of a goal than a naturally occurring state of grace that comes when we learn to meet hardness with softness, judgement with mercy.

So, I am working with mercy, learning to breathe into the hard places in my body- the armoured belly, the tightened jaw, the lifted shoulders- with a soft inhale. Mercy is the quality of heart-mind I seek to cultivate- kindness toward myself and others in our human frailty; tenderness toward what is feared and toward fear itself; gentleness with aspects of self that feel brittle, stretched too far and weary.

I am leaning into a mercy that is larger than myself, asking to be shown how to have loving-kindness toward all that is unresolved in my life and my heart and the world. I am following the scent of mercy offered to me by the Heart that holds us all, hoping to find my way in each moment into being merciful with myself, others and the world.

In November 2009 I started writing this weekly blog poste. I committed to posting every Wednesday for a year. Now, eight-three postings later, I am heading into a couple of months of retreat to focus on writing a new book. I’m tempted to simply say I’ll be back in September and not post any new blogs for July and August but. . . .I want to leave it more open-ended than that. So, for now, I’ll see what comes. Posts will probably be shorter-snippets of where I am internally or geographically- and I can’t promise they will appear every week- but, let’s see what happens.