Embracing Transformation

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly. ~Richard Bach

Years ago, I was a mess. Chronic fretting and stress were affecting my health. My determination to control my world was wearing me out, and of course it was a complete failure. I yelled at the kids...a lot. I didn’t sleep well. Relaxing and having fun were out of the question.

After ending up in the emergency room twice with excruciating pain that had no medically detectable origin, I knew that this was my wake up call from life. As Step One of the Twelve Steps says, my life had become unmanageable, and I had to change or die. So I set about to transform my life.

Please read the rest of this post at Always Well Within ....

Touching the Earth

Each blade of grass has its spot on earth whence it draws its life, its strength; and so is man rooted to the land. ~Joseph Conrad

In Greek mythology, Antaeus was the son of Poseidon, god of the sea, and Gaia, mother earth. As long as he was in contact with the ground, his mother gave him strength to beat anyone in battle. He vanquished all foes until Heracles figured out his secret and held him in the air, rendering him weak and easily dispatched.

In tai chi and kung fu, our teacher repeatedly reminds us to root through our feet into the ground. All our power comes from our connection to the earth. I got a memorable demonstration of that today. Our teacher was showing us how much energy can be generated by “sinking” into our root. Using me as his partner, he stood in front of me with his open palm facing me, his fingers lightly resting on my chest.

Without withdrawing his hand, he made only the slightest visible move, sort of a dropping of the hips and a settling of the wrist. Power exploded from his hand. It felt like a horse had kicked me in the chest. I flew backwards across the room and landed unceremoniously on my behind. It surprised everyone, including, I think, the teacher, who ran to help me up and was very solicitous of me the rest of class.

As I’ve told people about my martial arts practice, it is a practice in humility! Beyond my wounded ego and derriere, though, I learned something today about the giving and receiving of energy.

On the giving side, it is abundantly clear to me that we are the most powerful when we are grounded. This is true whether we are talking about physical power or spiritual strength. When we are connected with an open channel to our source, by whatever name you want to call it (nature, God, chi, the universe), we are able to offer to others the energy that flows through us and out. People who manifest beauty, whether through art or love or martial arts or any other form, often speak of something coming through them rather than from them.

On the receiving side, the same is true. We are the least powerful when we try to block the natural flow of energy. Knowing what my teacher was about to do (even if I did not anticipate the degree of power), I braced myself to resist. I was not rooted, but rather rigid. Whatever harm I suffered was from my own resistance. Had I been able to stay fluid and rooted, his energy would have moved through me and back into the earth.

And what was my resistance but fear? Fear blocks energy. We can neither offer nor receive energy when we are stiff with fear. Fear uproots us because it disconnects us from the ground of the present moment, from the fluidity of our breath, from the loveliness and the lovingness of the universe.

How often in my life do I resist what is? How often do I get pulled from the perfection of the present moment into fearful thoughts? Yes, too often. So I’ll be back in class tomorrow, and I will ask for another demonstration. Because this is where my practice is, on the ground.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. ~Frank Herbert

related posts: Invest in Loss; Step Away from the Thought

Be Careful What You Wish For

Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans. ~John Lennon

I’ll start by saying that this is NOT the post I was planning to write today. Where to start? I’ll start with rats. I have rats in my attic. No, I’m not speaking metaphorically. Real rats. In my attic.

It started with a soft scrabbling sound above the ceiling in the kitchen. I thought it was a squirrel. I called the ecological, humane pest control company. Eric, the technician, found a hole chewed under the eave above my front door. Hoping the squirrel was outside, he sealed the hole and set a live trap in the attic just in case. We waited.

More scrabbling ... and chewing. Eric changed his opinion and set rat traps in the attic. I pondered my preference for trapping squirrels live and relocating them alongside my willingness to kill rats. One of life’s mysteries.

More waiting. This went on for several weeks. They chewed through the sealed hole, came and went as they pleased, and partied at night till I was sleeping with ear plugs.

Many calls to the company. Many visit from Eric.

Meanwhile, my son’s birthday dinner was Friday night. I had presents for him. Problem – the wrapping paper was in the attic. To get to it, I would have to open the attic door and reach past several traps. I was afraid. What if I opened the door and there was a dead rat in one of the traps? Waaayyyy too disgusting for my delicate sensibilities.

So I did the reasonable thing. I went to the store and bought more wrapping paper, even though I have enough in the attic to wrap presents for the next decade. Really, what else could I do?

Saturday morning, Eric worked overtime to come for another attempt. By now I knew the names of his kids and he knew too much about what I keep hoarded in the attic. We discussed options. I was over my qualms about killing rats. I wanted a blitz attack – poison and traps. Eric discouraged the poison. They would most likely die in the house, would certainly die in the house if he resealed the hole, and it would smell bad for awhile.

I hesitated only a moment. Do it all, I instructed. Seal the hole, put out poison, and set another trap outside on the roof above the door at the resealed hole, anchored to the roof with a wire around the gutter down spout. I want them gone. Eric complied.

Late Saturday night I was in bed reading. Suddenly I heard a “thwack” and some bumping. Then all was still. I knew what had happened. Who could I call at midnight? Or even the next morning since it would be Sunday? Maybe I could just go to sleep and check it out in the morning. Maybe the rat carcass was up under the eave and out of sight, so I could wait until Eric could come on Monday. I turned out the light and tried to go to sleep. The spirit of the dead rat taunted me.

Resigned to my fate, I got up and put my robe on. I dragged myself down the stairs and to the front door. I turned the porch light on. My hand paused on the doorknob. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Right out of a horror movie. The dead rat dangled in the trap, suspended by the wire,  right in front of my face. The trap had exploded its head and there was blood and brains all over my front door, the wall, the window, and the front porch.

I thought about just closing the door and staying in my house until Monday when Eric could rescue me. But then I imagined someone coming up my front walk only to be confronted by this grisly scene. It might be a child. I couldn’t leave it there. I closed the door and sat down for a minute. The squeamishness I had felt about going into the attic to get wrapping paper just a day before now seemed ridiculous. Like life was saying to me, “Oh you think that would be gross? How about THIS?!”

So I did what I had to do. I put on rubber gloves, got a trash bag and some rags, and cleaned it all up. Yep, that was what I did on Saturday night.

Now I’m sure there are some profound insights I can glean from this freakish midnight ratcapade. But at the moment they elude me. Maybe if I take another shower....

What do you think? Any life lessons here?

related post: Night of the Skunk

Three in the Morning

Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself. ~Rumi

In a recent chat with a friend, the issue came up about the state of the world, and the path we are on as a species. Light topic with tea and cookies!

My first thought was a line from Another Roadside Attraction, by Tom Robbins. Whenever a character would pick up a paper or turn on the news, “the world situation was desperate as usual.” The book was published in 1971. Nothing much has changed. I suspect the line could have turned up just as accurately in a book in 1771, or told around the fire in front of the cave.

So what is the appropriate attitude towards the world, my friend asked – hope or despair?

One or the other? Perhaps neither. Here is a story from Inner Chapters, by Chuang Tsu:

When you wrack your brain trying to unify things without knowing that they are already one, it is called “three in the morning.” What do I mean by “three in the morning”? A man who kept monkeys said to them, “You get three acorns in the morning and four in the evening.” This made them all very angry. So he said, “How about four in the morning and three in the evening?” –and the monkeys were happy. The number of acorns was the same, but the different arrangement resulted in anger or pleasure. This is what I am talking about. 

Therefore, the sage harmonizes right with wrong and rests in the balance of nature. 

The world is as it is. There is beauty and horror, compassion and violence, transcendence and tragedy. How do I judge this? I don’t know.

I told my friend about when I fell off the roof of my cabin. I was conscious as I fell to the deck, hitting the edge and flipping down the hill below. Oddly, I was aware of the potential harm to my body and yet I was serene, knowing with a flash of inner clarity that whatever happened was perfect. It wasn’t that I thought I would be spared injury, but that I could see beyond my usual assessment of good or bad, which no longer seemed to have any meaning. For a moment, I was in the balance.

The world did not change that day, but I did.

The road that is built in hope is more pleasant to the traveler than the road built in despair, even though they both lead to the same destination. ~Marion Zimmer Bradley

related posts: Falling into Now; What I Know for Sure

Invest in Loss

If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves. Moving, be like water. Still, be like a mirror. Respond like an echo. ~Bruce Lee

Invest in loss? That does not sound like wise financial planning! Yet it is a slogan we practice with in martial arts. What does it mean?

If I am sparring with someone who is more skilled than I am, which is almost always, I can take one of two approaches.

I can become stuck in my ego, insecure and nervous. In this case, I’m focused on myself, on my own discomfort. I’m tense and distracted. If my partner attacks, I’m likely to just back up, trying to get away. Eventually, I’ll get backed up against a wall with nowhere to go. Or I might go on the offense, flailing away with false bravado to mask my growing panic. At the end of the match I’m winded and discombobulated. I haven’t learned anything.

My other choice is to become free from my ego, confident and calm. In this case, I’m focused on my partner, on my partner’s energy and movements. I’m relaxed and alert. If my partner attacks, more times than not, his attack will connect. (I should interject here that we use only light contact, so I’m not in danger of serious injury.) I’m more judicious with my attacks, waiting for an opening. At the end of the match, I’m energized and excited. And I’ve learned something.

In his book There Are No Secrets, Wolfe Lowenthal explains this lesson from his tai chi teacher, Cheng Man-ch’ing. If you allow someone with superior skill to attack you 100 times, you can study his technique. Out of the 100 times, you might “lose” 99 times. But you have watched and learned. When your partner attacks the 100th time, you are prepared. You neutralize the attack and your partner is defeated by his own energy.

Easier said than done. Yesterday, I was sparring with a very advanced student. At the end of the match I thanked him and asked for advice. His one comment to me? “Breathe.” Hmm. I will be investing in loss for a long time, I think!

That’s okay. It’s better than okay because I’ve discovered that investing in loss applies to life beyond martial arts. There is so much we can learn when we are not attached to “winning.”

The other day, someone was upset with me. I started to react defensively to what I believed was an unfair accusation, but instead, I paused. I listened to what the other person was saying without getting my ego knickers in a knot. As she vented her indignation, I realized that she was ascribing thoughts and motives to me that existed only in her imagination. I listened more deeply to the underlying fear that created the story she was telling herself.

Because I was willing to “allow” her attack, I learned something about her that opened the door to true communication. Without attacking in return, I was able to “deflect and reflect” until she saw for herself that her distress was unrelated to me. I became her ally instead of her enemy. We parted with connection and friendship instead of separation and pain.

Perhaps, to paraphrase the saying, the best defense is no offense.

I can think of other examples, but perhaps you might share an experience from your own life when investing in loss turned out to be a good strategy. I’d love to hear your story.

First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, and then you win. ~Mahatma Gandhi

related posts: My Half of the Bargain; No One Wins in Court

Thin Places

Bidden or not bidden, God is present. ~Carl Jung

I’ve been reading about the Celtic concept of “thin places,” places where heaven and earth come close together. At first, I thought the concept described an inner place where we feel the presence of the divine. But upon further reading, I now understand that these thin places are physical places, places where we sense the nearness of the other side. Some are famous, like Boudanath, the Tibetan stupa in Nepal, where I had the good fortune to visit during a new year celebration. Others are hardly noticeable, discovered only when we stumble across them.

I think there is a thin place beside the creek at my cabin. When I was looking for a mountain getaway, I had narrowed my focus to two cabins several miles apart. Both were on creeks. One was in move-in condition. It had a spacious loft, and inside bathroom, and a view of snow capped Mt. Hood in the distance. The other one, for roughly the same price, was smaller, run down, dark and musty, nestled deep in the trees with no vista view, and sort of an inside bathroom with an electric toilet which didn’t work very well.

I looked at both cabins several times. I took friends to ask their advice. My friends and my rational mind all told me to go for the nicer one with the view. But my heart kept pulling me back to the other one. There was one particular spot by the creek that I kept returning to. There was nothing visually distinctive about it, but somehow it seemed different than anywhere else. When I sat or stood on this spot, I could hear the creek speaking to me. The trees seemed to embrace me, welcoming me into the secrets of the forest.

Against all advice, I bought that cabin. I fixed it up, but it will never be as pretty as the other one. Nevertheless, it is comfortable and homey. I love to read by the fire in the big stone fireplace. At night, I crawl into the tiny loft and open the skylight so that I can hear the creek. And yes, I have a real toilet, for which I’m grateful.

But my favorite place is that spot by the creek, just a small flat moss covered rock less than two feet square. Sometimes it is simply a nice place to sit with a cup of tea and watch the shadows move or the sun dancing on the rushing water. Sometimes, though, a doorway opens and I am in that liminal space between two worlds. If I can still my inner chatter, the trees share their wisdom with me. Mother ducks show me their ducklings. Salmon swimming upstream pause to greet me. The creek blesses me and guides me, offering me a word or an image in the inner chamber of my soul.

I didn’t know the term “thin place” when I bought the cabin all those years ago. But as I learned about this concept, I understood that my little rock is such a place.

What about you? Have you ever encountered a thin place?

related posts: Eternity in a Dew Drop; The Curiosity of Not Knowing

Snow Blessing

Yesterday morning, I was feeling restless and decided on a whim to go up to my cabin for a quick overnight. I quickly gathered some food and books and headed up to the mountain. It isn’t far, just over an hour’s drive. In my haste, I neglected to trade cars with my daughter. When I bought a tiny “city” car a few months ago, I let her take the old “anywhere” car, which I kept because when the family is all together, we still need the bigger vehicle with eight seats. Because the old car also has all wheel drive and higher clearance, I usually take it up to the cabin.

Before I got halfway there, I began to doubt my confidence in spring’s early arrival. As the altitude rose, the rain turned slushy, and then to snow. I wavered, thinking perhaps I should turn back and have a quiet day at home instead. Yet I drove on. Soon I was at the cabin. The logs were crackling in the stone fireplace, and I was in my favorite chair, sipping hot tea and trying to choose which book to read first.

But the release and relaxation I usually feel in my mountain refuge continued to elude me. I fidgeted. I felt melancholy, sad for no reason I could name. Ill at ease, unable to yield to the embrace of the forest, unable to listen to the counsel of the creek. Indecisive. Anxious. Should I pack up and leave, or stay and risk being snowed in by morning?

So I sat. not in my chair but on my meditation cushion. I sat and breathed. And waited.

And watched. The snow that had seemed vaguely ominous before became soothing. Pure and soft, falling so gently, so calmly. Unperturbed. Serene. The snow lovingly caressed my spirit, cradling my raw places, kissing my sorrow. This is why I came, I thought. To receive a blessing from the snow.

I put the tea kettle back on and chose a book.

Be still and know that I am God. ~Psalm 46:10

[Did I get snowed in? Stay tuned for the next post!]

related posts: You Are Here; Cradling Our Feelings; Inviting the Demons to Tea

Arrows into Flowers

My attack thoughts are attacking my invulnerability. ~A Course in Miracles

The story is told of Mara, the evil demon, who attacked Buddha as he was sitting under the tree where he became enlightened. Mara instructed his army to shoot all their arrows at Buddha, but as the arrows drew near, they turned into flowers and fell to the ground.

I have been thinking about this image a lot lately. I mentioned before that I have been struggling with a particular situation in my life that continues to challenge me, to keep me on the razor’s edge, to give me repeated opportunities to practice compassion, fearlessness, and forgiveness.

One of most disturbing aspects for me is the intense hostility that is directed at me and at one of my children. How do I keep my heart open towards this person and at the same time defend myself and my family from the negative energy that is hurled towards us with such rage? It’s like reaching out with one hand while raising the other hand in defense. It’s exhausting!

But then I remembered this story about Buddha and Mara. And the above quote from A Course in Miracles. Ah, the problem is in the concept of defense. Defense presumes attack. If I see myself as attacked, then it is natural to defend myself, even to attack in return. In fact, I’m not sure there is really a difference between defending and attacking. Both involve my seeing the other person as separate from myself. Both involve my judging that other person as a threat, as someone to be feared.

Buddha didn’t defend himself against the arrows of Mara’s army. There was no need. The arrows were no threat to him. What was intended for harm was harmless.

So when I feel disturbed by this situation, I’ve been trying a new approach. I picture the anger coming in our direction as arrows, arrows that turn into flowers and fall gently to the ground. They carpet the earth all around us with soft petals like the cherry blossoms in the spring that we call “pink snow.” No energy is expended; my heart stays open naturally; my spirit remains at peace.

He who knows how to live can walk abroad
Without fear of rhinoceros or tiger.
He will not be wounded in battle.
For in him rhinoceroses can find no place to thrust their horn, 
Tigers no place to use their claws.
And weapons no place to pierce.
Why is this so?
Because he has no place for death to enter.
~Tao Te Ching

related posts: The Circle with No Exit; The Dance of Fear; Forgiveness, the Final Frontier

[I will be away from my computer from later today until Saturday. Because I have comment moderation, there may be a delay in seeing your comments appear. Your comments are valuable and valued, so please leave your comment and be assured that I will publish it immediately upon my return.]

Word of the Year 2013

Wait.

No, not you. Me. Yep, “wait” is my word of the year. Didn’t see that coming.

In fact, I was pretty sure it was another word. I spent the last week savoring that other word, looking up quotes, imagining it, exploring it. And then, as New Year’s Eve moved from afternoon to early evening, and I was starting to get ahead of myself a bit by thinking of my post today, I was reading another quote about that other word, and the word “wait” glowed on the page, calling my attention to it, gently nudging the other word away.

Hmm, I thought, not a very sexy word. A bit dull, even tedious. Not glittery and exciting like my word for 2012, Shine. Waiting well is not something I’m known for. On the contrary, I’ve more often heard myself described, even by those who love me, as, well, impatient.

But I’ve gotten so much better, I protested to this word. I can belly breathe when I get stuck in traffic. I can entertain myself while standing in line to check out. I can almost stay calm when I get handed off through a series of recorded messages to end up still not talking to a real person. Almost.

Really, I don’t think this could possibly be my word, I thought. The word waited. (The irony of that is not lost on me.)

Well, there was that time last summer, which still haunts me, when I reacted quickly and forcefully in fear. I still wonder what would have happened if I had paused to breathe and think before doing what fear told me to do.

And what about all those times when I interrupt? I’m so eager to speak my piece, to move the conversation along, to get things resolved, to override the other person’s opinion.

I have been thinking a lot lately about how scattered I feel, how my mind kittens are high on catnip, how I fidget restlessly while trying to settle in prayer or meditation, how multi-tasking seems to be my default mode because I can’t focus on one thing at a time, how I’ve been yearning to deepen my spiritual practice.

But waiting is not what I had in mind. The word smiled.

So I said the word...and waited. The effect was immediate. My body relaxed, my mind calmed. Like sinking into a soft pillow or warm water. I felt alert, filled with quiet anticipation. My soul expanded, open.

I remembered my word of 2011, and yielded. My new word, Wait, glowed happily and settled in.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.  –Psalm 130:5-6

Do you have a word or phrase that will guide you this year? If you have written about it and would like to include a link to your post, I invite you to do so.  May 2013 be a year of abundant blessings to us all.

Everything Is Impermanent

“Everything is impermanent” is an often used topic of contemplation in certain spiritual practices. I was thinking about it this morning as I was shredding paper. (I use the shredded paper to line the bird cages.) My mind wandered while I was feeding the paper into the shredder, back to the copious amounts of paper I recycled and shredded when I retired last year.

Amazingly, a lot of that paper was not just junk. Well, at least at one time it was not junk. Class materials and notes that I developed over the years guided my teaching of hundreds of students. Cases, articles, news clippings – all were relevant at one time to whatever I was learning or teaching. Notes and memos about clients from different decades and even countries. Samples of every imaginable sort of contract (I taught contract law and contract drafting.)

All of it, at one time, had been useful. I had put a lot of effort and care into amassing and organizing what was, to me, a treasure trove of information and resources. As I cleaned out my office, I considered keeping much of it just because at one time it had been very important. Much of who I was and how I saw myself for thirty years was in those papers. They represented my career, my expertise, my legacy.

But I didn’t keep any of it. I saw that it had been important only to me, and that it had no future usefulness in my life. Boxes of paper gathering dust in the attic did not constitute a legacy of any significance to anyone. The importance of the papers was impermanent.

Even my own importance was impermanent. I don’t mean my value as a human being. I mean that no matter how successful I was as a professor, within three years after I left, no student would know who I was.  I realized that I was okay with that. Indeed, it seemed quite natural.

Why was I thinking about that today as I was cleaning bird cages? Perhaps because I am in another transition in my life, to an empty nest. Oh, I know about that revolving door that seems so common these days, and who knows what will happen in the future? But this is the first time I’ve lived without at least one of my children in the house since I became a mom almost twenty-six years ago.

My nest has been empty for a week now.  I still forget when I wake up in the morning that I’m in the house by myself.  The house, which seemed so small when the kids were doubled up in bedrooms and we had to eat at the dining room table because we couldn’t all fit in the kitchen nook, now seems cavernous.  There’s not as much food in the refrigerator. The dirty dishes in the sink are...mine.

I’m beginning to clean and reorganize, to claim the house as mine, too. To ease into this next stage of life. I’m still a mom, but not a day to day mom. Things that were important just a short time ago, now aren’t. I feel curious and excited. I like it.

And someday, this will change, too.

Anyone who has lost something they thought was theirs forever finally comes to realize that nothing really belongs to them.  –Paulo Coelho

related posts: As It Is; The Doors of Change

Jolly Molly? No Thanks!

Underneath the hardness there is fear
Underneath the fear there is sadness
In the sadness there is softness
In the softness is the vast blue sky
–unknown

My daughter Mia attended a birthday party when she was four.  The party’s main attraction was Jolly Molly, a popular local clown who was a big hit with the preschool set.  When Mia arrived, Jolly Molly opened her arms wide and greeted her.  Mia took one look and ran shrieking from the room.

Sometimes I feel that way about Christmas.  The store decorations go up at Halloween.  Elf commercials start airing. Christmas music is everywhere.  Shoppers battle in the wee hours of Black Friday.  Everything is so manically festive.  Some people love it.  Like the young partygoers who were clustered around Jolly Molly clamoring for her attention, many people’s spirits sing with the season.  And that’s wonderful.

For me, it’s often just too much.  I tend to stay away from the stores.  I look forward to going to friends’ homes for celebrations.  I enjoy Christmas, but in a quiet way.

For others, it is a time of feeling alienated, overwhelmed, sad, anxious, lonely, even angry.  I’ve started noticing blog posts about the dark shadows of Christmas.  There is grief over loved ones who are no longer here, sad memories of Christmases past, isolation in the present, financial anxiety, bitter struggles with family.  Sometimes, it’s too much to bear.

Yesterday, a man ran into the very mall where my children were shopping on Sunday, and started shooting, killing two people and injuring a third before shooting himself.  I don’t know anything about this man and whether his tragic outburst was at all related to the Christmas frenzy, but I know he must have been in a lot of pain.  His attack in a popular mall during a time of holiday shopping is like the two trains of Christmas crashing into each other.

Marlo Thomas, who has continued her dad’s support of St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, ends her commercials with “Give thanks for the healthy children in your life, and give generously to those who are not.”  That seems like a balanced approach. We can be grateful for our blessings and at the same time offer compassion to those in pain, including ourselves.  Our hearts are big enough to hold all these feelings.

Chogyam Trungpa teaches that joy comes from the gentle heart of sadness.  When we can break through the hardness of absolutes and move through our fear of uncertainty, we find ourselves in the sea of sadness.  All the suffering of the world is there.  We might want to escape.  Fear might lure us back to the “safety” of our hard defenses.

But if we can find the courage to stay, to yield, we can sink into the softness of our tender, open heart.  With our heart thus exposed and vulnerable, we  we are connected to the deep heart of all hearts.  And isn’t that what Christmas is really all about?

The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe.  –Joanna Macy

Embrace Limbo

Suffering is the extra tension created in the mind when it struggles.  –Sylvia Boorstein

I was chatting the other day with a friend who is writing a book.  She has worked with much more diligence and self discipline than I ever practiced in writing mine.  So when I asked her about her progress, I was surprised to hear her say that things had stalled a bit, not on the writing side, but on the publishing side, the part she can’t control.

She is such a dynamic and highly motivated person that I expected her to express some frustration and impatience.  But as she described how she is coping with this time of uncertainty, she said, “I’m learning to embrace limbo.”

Wow.  Limbo is not a comfortable place.  In her book Open the Door, Joyce Rupp calls this the liminal space, in the doorway, where you are no longer here, but not yet there. Many of us do not like this space.  We have left the comfort of what was familiar, and we can’t see clearly what is in the next room.  We sometimes handle our anxiety by trying to control things, by pushing through to resolution, any resolution, rather than pausing, waiting, breathing.

Limbo, or the liminal space, is not something I have historically embraced, or even tolerated very well.  I’ve noticed over the years that my life seems to run in four year cycles.  Every four years, there is often some major transition in my life – a move, a new child, the beginning or end of a significant relationship.  I went through many of these cycles before I noticed the pattern.

Even now that I see the pattern, I often forget about it until after the transition into a new cycle, when I look back and realize that I have passed through a cycle year.  Last year, for example, I retired and became a grandmother twice over.  It was only as I started writing this post that I did some quick math and what do you know?  Last year was a cycle year.  I guess by now I should not be surprised.

Leading up to the cycle year is often a time of restlessness, agitation, a time of limbo. This used to be an extremely difficult period.  I often was wedded to the way things were and didn’t want to give up what I thought was going to last forever.  Once I accepted the inevitability of coming change, then I wanted it to come fast and be over with so that I could settle into my new “permanent” state.  (How many cycles did it take me to understand the nature of impermanence?!)

Finding footing in the shifting sands of limbo was challenging on so many levels.  Even more upsetting than knowing change was coming was not always knowing what the change would look like.  And worst of all was trying to alleviate my distress by trying to control things I could not control.

So when my friend said she was learning to embrace limbo, I recognized those words as meant for me.  I have made my peace with limbo, but she has inspired me to see the liminal space as a welcome gift, full of promise.  Embracing limbo is accepting the natural rhythm of the universe, trusting in its basic goodness, releasing our fear, finding perfection in the mystery.

For peace of mind, resign as general manager of the universe.  –Unknown

related posts:  Man Plans, God Laughs; The Doors of Change; The Curiosity of Not Knowing

It Was the Best of Times. It Was the Worst of Times.

Which is it?  Depends on who’s talking.  Half the U.S. is jubilant today.  The other half is devastated.  Some of the disappointed voters even threaten to move to Canada, where, ironically, they will find same sex marriage, a single payer national healthcare system, and abortion on demand.  I’m just sayin’....

Our planet is in great trouble and if we keep carrying old grudges and do not work together, we will all die.  –Chief Seattle

The truth is that it doesn’t really matter who won the presidential election yesterday, unless we can quit demonizing those who don’t agree with us and work together.

Picture two enemies in a canoe arguing about the best technique for paddling, or even trying to knock the paddles out of each other’s hands, as the canoe is swept downstream towards a waterfall.  That’s what our polarized partisanship reminds me of.

Don’t fight a battle if you won’t gain anything by winning.  –General Patton

Yesterday’s win will be a hollow victory if the real danger to America is not addressed.  The real danger is not the deficit or terrorists.  The real danger is our refusal to see that we rise or fall together.  When Hurricane Sandy laid waste to the East Coast, first responders did not ask a victim’s party affiliation before offering help, and victims did not vet their saviors for political correctness.

Years ago, when two of my daughters were gridlocked in bitter hostility, I, in desperation, offered to pay them each a dollar a day to get along.  I didn’t care anymore if they liked each other, or if their overtures were sincere.  I cared that the fighting stop.  Here was the catch: they would have to earn the dollars as a team.  They either both got the dollars or neither did.  I was the decider, and there was no appeal.

The amazing thing was that although their initial efforts were only superficially civil, the pattern was broken, and it wasn’t long before they really were working together toward a common goal.  Did disagreements still arise?  Of course.  But they quickly shifted to cooperative solution mode rather than getting all churned up in their previous blame/attack mode.

Again, I’m just sayin’....

We have seen the enemy and he is us.  –Pogo

There is nothing like watching the election returns with a friend who comes from a communist country to put things in perspective.  As I spent the evening trying to explain what was happening to someone for whom the whole concept of voting is unfamiliar, I could see the process from an outside perspective.

True, in her country there are not billions of dollars spent on campaigns, and government policies can change without endless debate and years of court challenges.  But as I listened to her amazement that people could voice their opinions so freely, and her disbelief that those numbers on the screen represented individual votes that were actually being counted, I felt blessed.

People with clenched fists cannot shake hands.  –Indira Gandhi

Maybe you feel blessed, too.  So I invite us all to consider how we participate in and how respond to our electoral process.  Although our system is based on a win/lose model, no one really wins unless we all win.  Instead of all the vitriol and gloating, I invite us all to find someone who voted for “the other guy” and extend an open hand.  More important, I invite us all to extend an open mind.

From this house, to the world, we will go, hand in hand.  The way of peace, the way of freedom, the way of hope, from this house, to the world we will go, hand in hand.  –Ben Allaway

[Note to my friends from other countries: I try to write about things that will be of universal appeal.  This post is clearly about the U.S. presidential election, but I hope that there is something here that you might find relevant on a broader scale.  Thanks for reading.]

related posts: Righteous Unforgiveness; There Is No Them

The Best Exotic Present Moment

Everything will be all right in the end.  If it’s not all right, then it’s not the end.  –Sonny, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

In the movie The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, a group of British retirees comes to India to stay in what has been advertised as a newly restored hotel.  However, they arrive to find a dilapidated relic run by the ever hopeful Sonny.  Each deals with the unexpected challenges and unfamiliar culture in his or her own way, some embracing the circumstances, some recoiling from them, but all finding some new level of self awareness in the process.

Each of the characters reminds me of various ways that I deal with the present moment. Sometimes the present moment is not what I was anticipating.  In my zen mode, I can open myself up to the gifts of the holy instant, but I’m just as likely to balk, to judge, to try to change it, to escape, to pretend it’s something other than what it is.

When the present moment lands in circumstances not to my liking, I can feel fear start to beat like the orc drums deep in the mines of Moria.  I begin to search for some way out of my unease.  The drums grow louder.  Panic clutches at my throat.  I sometimes flee, or I turn to fight, making a powerful enemy out of what I can’t control.

Ah, what a waste, losing faith like that.  If I believe, and I do, that all things work together for good, then, as Joel Osteen says, things are not happening to me, they are happening for me.  It might not look that way, but the Bible cautions me to not lean on my own understanding, but rather to walk in faith and not by sight.

I’ve lived long enough to discover that events I initially judged as terrible turned out to be wondrous blessings.  What if I had been able, in the time of trouble, to trust in the basic goodness of the universe, to rest in knowing that the pain would pass, to be grateful for the perfection of every present moment?

Like guests at a hotel, we can look on the back of the door at the map with the red arrow pointing to a spot that says “You are here.”  Indeed we are.  It’s the only place we can be.  And it’s more than all right.  It’s perfect.

related posts: Falling Into Now; You Are Here

Pajama Day

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed.  My schedule gets away from me, there are too many phone calls, errands to run, things on my to do list.  I’m behind on reading blogs, paperwork is piling up, I can’t remember something and I think it was important.  Things start to feel like burdens instead of blessings.  I feel tired and cranky.  Then I know.  It’s time for a pajama day.

So tomorrow I will stay in my pajamas all day.  That doesn’t mean staying in bed, although I will probably laze in bed a bit later in the morning.  It means a day to myself with no agenda.  I give myself permission to read, watch TV, meditate longer, eat when I want to, drink my favorite tea, practice tai chi in the back yard, turn the phone off (and maybe the computer).

A day to recenter and refresh.  I’m looking forward to it.

What do you do when you need to replenish your reserves?

Playing the Hand You're Dealt

Let all things be exactly as they are.  –A Course in Miracles

There is currently a big brouhaha in American football over the referees.  Referees in any sport are subject to criticism and must have thick skins to do their jobs.  But the referees who are now officiating NFL games are replacements for the regular refs who are locked out during a labor dispute.  The new refs have walked into a firestorm.

The replacement refs are drawn from the ranks of retired officials, college refs, and refs from other leagues.  They have come under heavy criticism, to put it mildly, in the first weeks of the season as they scramble to get up to speed, learning new rules and applying them in the midst of fast paced games in front of tens of thousands of spectators and millions more watching on TV.

Last night the furor peaked over a call in the last seconds of Monday Night Football. With the game hanging on the last play, the quarterback threw the ball into the end zone as players for both teams reached for it and fell to the ground in a heap of arms and legs furiously fighting for the ball.  Two officials ran up to the scrum.  One official signaled a winning touchdown; the other signaled a losing interception.

Not a good situation to be in.  A decision had to be made, and the touchdown was announced. The Internet and TV commentators have been in an uproar ever since.

Although I have an opinion, I’m not here to debate the correctness of that decision, or any other decision the refs have made this season.  Like other fans, I have felt frustration and dismay over calls made and not made.  But more than anything, I have felt tremendous compassion for these people, thrown into a situation they did not seek out, unprepared for the responsibility thrust upon them, struggling to do their best in front of millions, vilified by millions more.

Have you ever had a nightmare about being called upon to do something you are not prepared to do?  I’ve dreamed that I have to take an exam for a class I didn’t know I was signed up for.  Oh, yeah, and those dreams where we show up in public naked or otherwise dressed inappropriately.  These refs are living that nightmare.

I don’t even have to look to my dreams.  I have been in real life situations where I was in over my head.  I’m thinking back now to when I was a young lawyer tagging along with more experienced lawyers to handle a negotiation for a multi-million dollar transaction.  My job was pretty much to watch and learn.  However, at one point in a meeting, I misunderstood something that was said to me and proceeded to do something so embarrassing (in a professional sense–I still had all my clothes on!) that I still cringe to think of it.  To the other lawyers’ credit, they did not subject me to the sort of reprobation heaped upon these replacement refs.  In fact, they quickly corrected my mistake and moved on with no comment.

It happens.  Tony Dungy, a former Super Bowl winning coach and now a commentator, observed that while it is true that mistakes are being made by the replacement refs, nevertheless coaches and players must go ahead and play the game.  You play the hand you’re dealt.  You don’t blame the refs.  Or the weather.  Or the injuries.  Or the alignment of the planets.  You do your best with what you’ve got.

There are lots of folks screaming for the return of the regular refs.  There are probably a few replacement refs wishing the same thing.  At the least, I’m guessing those replacement refs wish they had had more time to get prepared.  They probably wish they had had more NFL experience before having the whole country scrutinizing their every move.

We expend a lot of energy sometimes wanting things to be other than what they are.  I’m still looking for more than 24 hours in a day, for example.  And I’m really really wishing I had the old Blogger interface back.  But there is wisdom in Tony Dungy’s words.  We can rant all we want, but in the end we are left to play the hand we’re dealt.

Have you ever found yourself in over your head, needing to perform with inadequate preparation or experience?  (If you are a parent, the answer is definitely yes!)  What helped you get through it?  Or perhaps you were on the other side, with more experience but having to deal with folks who were not up to speed.  How did you handle that?

I hope you will share your own experiences.

related post: Bloom Where You’re Planted

My Half of the Bargain

I will fight no more forever. –Chief Joseph

I have read several blog posts in recent weeks focusing on the choice to be right or happy. Then yesterday, I picked up the book I’m reading and there it was again. Okay, universe, you have my attention.

Indeed, once I stopped and thought about it, the relevance of this issue to my life right now became immediately apparent. Since I wrote several weeks ago about an upsetting incident, I have continued to replay the event in an endless loop. Tension remains in my spirit, causing me discomfort, motivating me to explore ways to restore peace, frustrating me when no solution seems available.

The Tao Te Ching counsels, “After a bitter quarrel, some resentment must remain. What can one do about it? Therefore the sage keeps his half of the bargain but does not exact his due.”

Hmm. What can I do about it? Well, I can’t go back and change what happened. I can’t control what anyone else thinks about or does in response to what happened. There’s the rub. I want to restore my inner peace by “fixing” what is out there, beyond my control. So what can I control? My “half of the bargain.” What does that mean?

For one thing, it means dropping labels. In his book, The Ultimate Happiness Prescription, Deepak Chopra says, “No one has ever been made happy by proving that they are right. The only result is conflict and confrontation, because the need to be right always makes someone else wrong.” As soon as I attach right and wrong labels, I have separated myself from the other person. Peace is no longer possible.

For another thing, my half of the bargain means taking myself (my ego) out of the story, realizing that it really isn’t about me. As soon as I react in fear or anger, as soon as my feelings get hurt, as soon as I start trying to fix things or wanting the other person to behave in a certain way, then I have made the issue about me. I have made myself important. And I have made my well-being dependent on what happens “out there.” This only maintains the struggle.

I am reminded of a conflict I was engaged in years ago. Every effort I made to negotiate a settlement was met with resistance and counter demands I was not prepared to agree to. Finally, I gave up, fully expecting to be sued. Miraculously, the conflict vanished. I realized that I had prolonged the conflict by trying to force peace.

A Course in Miracles teaches, “Mistake not truce for peace, nor compromise for the escape from conflict. To be released from conflict means that it is over. The door is open; you have left the battleground.” That’s what I want to do. Leave the battleground. I’m still energetically engaged in a situation now past. I may have left the physical battleground, but the battle continues in my spirit. My desire to be right masks the fear that perhaps I’m not.

Instead, I see that the question of who is right and who is wrong is itself meaningless and only serves to sustain the artificial divide between self and other. I’d rather have an open hand than an upper hand. So I’m walking off the battleground. It’s over.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. –John 14:27

related posts: The Way of No Way; Beyond Right and Wrong; No One Wins in Court

Choosing to Thrive

Yield and overcome
Bend and be straight
–Tao Te Ching

I spent a lovely weekend at my mountain cabin recently. The cabin sits in dense forest just above a rushing creek. On the far side of the creek is a ridge, which keeps that side of the creek in shade for much of the day.

When I’m at the cabin, I spend a lot of time at the creek. I like to have my morning tea sitting on its bank. On a hot day, I stay close to the creek. The water comes from melting snow further up the mountain. The icy temperature creates natural air conditioning above the dancing race of sparkling froth.

Over a year ago, sudden warm weather after a heavy snow flooded the creek. Boulders and trees swept downstream like thundering herds of buffalo. Afterwards, I saw that a birch tree on the far side of the creek had toppled over. It lay balanced on several rocks just above the water, its base hidden in the underbrush by the creek’s edge. Over the winter, it looked just like the other logs and driftwood scattered along the banks.

But with spring came a surprise...

Please click here to read the rest over at MakeGirlfriends. Even though Nancy's blog is MakeGirlfriends, you "boys" are welcome to come along, too!

related post: Bloom Where You're Planted

In the Softness

Underneath the hardness there is fear
Underneath the fear there is sadness
In the sadness there is softness
In the softness is the vast blue sky
–Unknown

This poem describes my life. Lately, the last line has been floating in my spirit like a fluffy cloud on a balmy day. I wrote recently about feeling regret over how I handled my early parenting years. Even bigger than the regret is the sadness, the deep spirit sadness of ungrieved grief.

When my son James was a baby, he was so beautiful. Everything seemed possible. Over time, it was clear to everyone but me that something was different about him, something to be concerned about. But I saw only magical uniqueness. Even when he was diagnosed with autism, I failed to acknowledge or to accept the loss of my dreams. I failed to see him for, yes, the truly magically unique child he was. I denied the impact on my heart and on my life, and set out to force happy normalcy on us all. The alternative was simply more than I thought I could bear.

My heart formed a hard crust like a geode, hiding in darkness whatever feelings might dwell within. Maintaining my fantasy world required an enormous amount of energy. And it was not without a price, in lost relationships, health, and most important, in my ability to accept my son as he was. I spent the first part of his life trying to make him someone else.

One day, as I passed the partially open bathroom door, I heard James exclaim as he made faces at himself in the mirror, “It’s great to be James!” I realized then that the problem that needed to be fixed was mine, not his.

In time, my energy was exhausted and cracks began to appear in the hardness. On the outside my life looked fine. I had a lovely home, a great job, and another child. But inside I was coming apart, and what was pushing through the cracks was fear. Terror. What was I so afraid of? I think I was afraid of feeling all the feelings I had. I thought if all that grief and anger got free, I would be swallowed up in a tidal wave and swirled around in the dark water until I drowned.

But I didn’t. I survived. And when the water receded there was sadness, yes, but also joy. Life went on. And got better. Three more children came into my life, one with autism. I learned to accept all my children as they are. And to accept myself as I am. (Well, most of the time!)

With the arrival of my grandson Jaden, a brown skinned, dark eyed baby who reminds me so much of James when he was a baby, memories of James’s early years have resurfaced. And with those memories, some of the feelings have resurfaced, too. This time, however, I am not afraid. Feelings that I rejected before are now welcomed. Sadness is tenderly cradled.

In that sadness there is softness. A sweet softness. I took James out to dinner last night. Mia and Jaden came along, too. I looked from Jaden’s laughing baby face to James’s laughing grown up face, and thought of all the years, all the years of loving James so much, of hurting so much, of wanting so much. All the years of being so afraid.

I marveled at the cosmic wisdom of timing. What seemed so terrifying all those years ago seems strangely comfortable now. What I tried to hide in shame is now precious. And what I felt so angry about I am now profoundly grateful for. Of all my children, James broke my crusty heart open. Inside the dull geode shell sparkled brilliant rainbow beauty.

There will always be a raw tenderness in my heart for James, a place sensitive to touch. A place of quiet grieving. And that’s okay. The grief I denied all those years ago is now free. I breathe into the softness of it, trusting in the basic goodness of the universe, the perfection of it all, the sunny brightness of the vast blue sky.

The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe. –Joanna Macy

Related posts: Cradling Our Feelings, The Joy of Sadness

Word of the Year 2012

Okay, this is strange. The word I chose last night on New Year’s Eve turned out not to be my word! Here’s what happened.

One word seemed to emerge in the last few days. I liked it. It seemed to resonate in my spirit. I stayed open to other words until the last hours of New Year’s Eve and then settled on that word. I started thinking about the post I would write today when I got back home from the cabin. It was taking shape in my mind just fine.

I woke up this morning and headed home just as the sky started getting light. The last few days have been very dark and rainy/snowy. As I drove down the mountain through forest and beautiful farmland, the sky cleared up, blue patches appeared, and the sun peeked above a ridge. As the rays lit up the sky, a word jumped into my mind – Shine. My heart jumped in excitement. I immediately recognized it as my word, but the timing was all wrong! I tried to go back to the first word, but now it felt flat.

Since my word for 2011 was Yield, it seemed wise to do so. And so I did. My word for 2012 is, much to my surprise, Shine.

When I got home, I didn’t write this post right away. It seemed prudent to pause and see if there were any more surprises. But no, it is clear to me that Shine is here to stay.

I’ve spent the last few hours just letting the word float around in my mind and spirit. The image that comes to me is of removing opaque blocks that hide my natural radiance, like wiping off mud, or polishing gold, or breaking off an outside shell or crust. The radiance thus revealed is the radiance that shines in all of us. We don’t have to do anything in order to shine – the light is already there, brilliant and glorious, as it always has been, is now, and ever will be. We have only to let the blocks fall away.

We are all meant to shine, as children do. ... And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
–Marianne Williamson

So I hope all y’all will shine along with me this year!

This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
This little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
Let it shine
Let it shine
Let it shine
–Harry Dixon Loes