Changing Self-Talk

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.

Oriah (c) 2012

Wanting To Be Understood

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.

Oriah (c) 2012

The Subtle Seduction of Speeding Up

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.

Oriah (c) 2012

The Crack Between the Worlds

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

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.

Oriah (c) 2011

Unpacking The Annual Angst

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.

Oriah (c) 2011

Embracing The Dark

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.

Oriah (c) 2011