Letting Sorrow Open Us

There are moments when a world-weariness, a deep grief for what we human beings do to each other and the earth, threatens to swallow me whole. Sometimes distraction is the only way to keep breathing. But sooner or later I have to come back to the aching heart that both holds me and lives within me.

So, I've started this little practice when I am particularly discouraged: I decide that I will let the tragic event guide me to make ten small acts of kindness. I let someone into rush hour traffic in Toronto!  I pay for someone else's coffee or meal; I help a neighbour carry his groceries from his car to his home; I tell someone how wonderful they look today; I remember to look at the cashier, the librarian, the wait staff and really thank them for their work.

I do not expect this to change the world, and it doesn't replace collective political action where that is needed. But it keeps me going when something in me is tempted to give up on human beings. And, as I dedicate each action to the memory of those killed and the struggle of those wounded and terrorized yesteday in New Zealand, it helps me be with the enormity of the sadness.

What if every bit of heart-breaking news inspired us to be deliberately generous and kind with each other? ~Oriah

This wonderful photo from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming reminds me that whatever we do, however we are with ourselves and each other, it ripples outward to the world.

Challenging Ourselves To Receive Pleasure

What role does pleasure have in your life, your well-being, your healing? This was the question that challenged me most listening to some of the speakers on the Explore More Summit over the last week. I realized how completely I've been socialized into seeing that which is nourishing as a means to an end- a way to create sustainable energy so I can contribute to the world, and earn what I need (including connection and belonging.)

This isn't news (about moi :-) ) but I let myself consider- What happens if we think of that which gives us pleasure as an end in itself, a way to just en-joy being alive?

So, tell me what gives you pleasure.Tell me what senses it delights. I find pleasure in a hot bath (particularly during 20 below temperatures outside) - the way the heat sinks into my skin, my muscles, my bones.

What do you do simply for the pleasure it gives? Where do you receive pleasure without reservation? ~Oriah

Visually, one of my daily pleasures is enjoying the photos like this one from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming

Your One Thread

Twice in the last week readers have sent me messages, thanking me for writing that, "explores the inner landscape," and "focuses on our inner lives." I was surprised to find myself reacting defensively. I wanted to respond with, "But I pay attention to the external world too!" and "Wait a minute, I encourage people to participate in shaping our world!" I am infinitely curious about almost everything. Truly. If you know all about spiders, or you're an expert on house plants, or mitochondria, or Celtic magic, or the artificial intellilgence. . . I have questions, lots of questions. But my unending exploration is mostly about who and what we are and why we believe and behave as we do, individually and collectively. And that's okay, unless I've secretly (as in unconsciously, and without telling myself) bought into the idea that I "should" do it all, write about everything, be informed on all topics, and participate everywhere. Yeah, I know- you can almost see how I may have been primed for a chronic disease sometimes described as, "Brain on fire." (M.E.- Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.) The truth is, whatever we do, we are each one thread in the larger tapestry we are weaving together. And my thread is about this experience of being human, more exploration than explanation about why we are sometimes so insightful and clear and, at other times unconscious and baffled. As I sit with this, I realize it is enough, and I can stop pretending to myself that I must and will get to everything else someday. So, what is the thread you are weaving into this dream we share? What are the questions you return to again and again? What do you want to do no matter how tired you are? What sustains and enlivens you? ~ Oriah I am grateful that one of the ways Karen Davis offers us her thread is through photography. Deep thanks for this photo of a water weaving like a thread through the ice in her photo from Open Door Dreaming.

Being Inbetween

I am in an inbetween place, feeling my way into what is created when I can hold the tension between two old strategies, waiting for something new to arise.

I have a natural affinity for liminal times- dusk and dawn, spring and autumn- the moments where we are not what we were and not yet what we will become. I let go of what was to cross the threshold with empty hands, not knowing what I will receive.

It has always been like this with me- years ago I wrote this at the beginning of a poem about love-making:

I want to touch
the sharp taste
of the moment inbetween
the second just before
the place where
the breath catches
in anticipation.

My love of the inbetween makes me slow down. I want to stay awake, to feel the tension of not-knowing before I let go into what is as yet unseen. When I am able to do this I taste the sweetness of the journey itself. ~Oriah

The sun rising on the dark morning- feels like one of those inbetween times to me. Deep gratitude for this photo from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming

My Epiphany

Last night was the first new moon of the new year. I’d cleared out my inbox, my apartment. and my calendar in preparation for focusing on writing the book I've been working on. . . . forever. I felt nervous but determined. Despite a body-crushing fever and head-splitting migraine this was the day! (Yes, this "do-or-die" attitude has both helped me focus and taken me off track before.) This morning, in the tradition in which I was steeped as a child, is Epiphany- the story of the three kings bearing gifts journeying to honour the Christ-child, guided by a star. It is a story of following an unexpected light that appears in the dark landscape of not-knowing. This morning the Grandmothers of my dreams came and spoke to me. They told me what my body has been telling me for a decade: I cannot write this book in the way I have been trying to write it (as a memoir) without doing myself harm. Bodies and dreams never lie, but their languages of symptoms and symbols can be easily (and sometimes deliberately) misunderstood. The Grandmothers left me no room wiggle room for misunderstanding. "Write it as a novel. Let the truth shine through in a story that is bigger and deeper than your memory of the facts." I have faith in stories. They're what change us. They're how we live our nature as meaning-making animals. They open the imagination to new ways of seeing our own experience and our shared world. And I am terrified. I know how to write stories, but I write non-fiction, guided by facts that feel more solid than fiction. Opening the door to something that feels larger. . . . to a story I do not already know. . . feels risky. What if I can't do it? What if I write a crappy novel? And telling you about it here feels insane, because I have no idea where it will lead! (Really, it could eventually lead back to memoir, or into a spy novel, or pages filled with nonsense that will never be shared!) So there we have it: the shining star of my own longing to tell a story appearing in the dark night of not-knowing how. So, I gather my provisions (silence, solitude, and the quiet company of fellow travellers) and step into the journey, not knowing where it will take me. That's the thing about creative work of any kind- it's a lot like life: unpredictable, sometimes scary, and filled with dark nights and shining stars. ~Oriah Gratitude for this photo from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming- may we find the light of our own deepest longing reappearing on the horizon each day to guide us.

Being Guided

This is a little story about how prayers are sometimes answered in ways we don't expect.

I'm writing a new book. I start with stories. I think of it like gathering the raw materials- clay or stone- for a sculpture. This can evoke a sense of overwhelm as I sit with all I have gathered and struggle to find a structure for the book

Two weeks ago, I started to pray for help in finding this book's structure. A day later, I got a request to do an interview with Michael Gervais, a coach for the Seattle Seahawks  (yes, I had to look them up to find out they played football) who does a podcast called "Finding Mastery." I was leery. I know nothing about sports, and I tend not to use the word mastery because it awakens my inner perfectionist and can imply a promise of control where little is available. But I listened to his interviews with Brene Brown and others, and said yes.

To prepare, I started writing about what "mastery" might or might not be for me. An email from Gervais' office suggested I talk about the events and people who have influenced me most in my life. So I wrote some more.

At some point it occurred to me that this prep was rendering an outline for the book I was writing. And when the interview was postponed for a week, I got another seven days to refine my sense of the focus and flow for both the book and the interview.

Remembering my prayer, I laughted out loud. I had not thought of my prayer for assistance when the interview request was made, and yet here I was, finding a structure for the book.

In magic-making circles it is said that there is always "an infinity of solutions," so requests for assistance need to allow that which is larger to point to things we aren't even considering. This unfolding was a lovely reminder of just  how one thing can unexpectedly lead to another in the most delightful way. ~Oriah

I titled this stunning photo from Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming, "Layers." Felt like a match with this little story about the layers of experience that can sometimes unexpectely lead us where we need to go.

Living With Others' Choices

How about a little pre-holiday prep for those family gatherings where we sometimes get our buttons pushed?

Let's try a little experiment: think of someone who has a specific behaviour that you feel is damaging to themselves or others or yourself. Maybe it's a family member who seems to make self-sabotaging choices. (We are always so much wiser when examining others' lives than we are our own :-) ) Or, it could be a co-worker or neighbour who does something that has a negative impact on you. Now think of this specifically in the form of "S/he won't . . . . ." (fill in the blank.) Say it to yourself a few times.

I think back to my marriage and how, over a lot of time, I discovered that the wasband was lying. A lot. About things that mattered and things that didn't. I felt hurt, angry, and baffled, often asking him, "Why won't you tell me the truth?"

On the day of my liberation from suffering about this, something odd happened. A lie he'd been telling came out (and a pretty serious one at that.) But instead of thinking, "Oh here we go- he just won't tell the truth," for reasons beyond my comprehension, I felt spectacularly calm and thought, "He can't tell the truth."

In that one small word change I got that 1) his lying actually had nothing to do with me; and 2) it was not going to stop in the foreseeable future. I actually asked him about this and, to his credit, he replied, "I could say it would stop, and really mean it, but no, it probably won't."

Seeing what someone can or can't do makes it less personal, but that doesn't necessarily mean we will want to stick around. He could not tell the truth. And I did not want to live with someone who lied to me daily. So, I left.

The truth is that we cannot know what another can or cannot do at any given moment. When we tell ourselves that someone "won't" do something, we are assuming they have a "real" choice (one they can see, access, and act on under current inner and outer conditions.) And the truth is we don't know if they could or couldn't do something differently. But when we tell ourselves they "won't" it's hard not to take it personally.

So, whomever you thought of at the beginning of this, think of them now and try saying to yourself (about whatever it is you wish they would do differently,) "S/he can't. . . . . "It's not a "solution" to that which impacts us, but it might make us more compassionate and accepting, and from there we can decide what our own choices really are. ~Oriah