Another month comes to an end. We have focused on Step 4, feeling our feelings, this month, a hard topic for many of us. We've learned to identify and honor our feelings, choose which ones to feed, transform them, own them, and cradle them.
So just for fun, let’s end with a song. Here are the lyrics to “What a Feeling” from the movie Flashdance. No deep meaning here. Just enjoy.
First when there's nothing
but a slow glowing dream
that your fear seems to hide
deep inside your mind.
All alone I have cried
silent tears full of pride
in a world made of steel,
made of stone.
Well, I hear the music,
close my eyes, feel the rhythm,
wrap around, take a hold
of my heart.
What a feeling.
Bein's believin'.
I can have it all, now I'm dancing for my life.
Take your passion
and make it happen.
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life.
Now I hear the music,
close my eyes, I am rhythm.
In a flash it takes hold
of my heart.
What a feeling.
Bein's believin'.
I can have it all, now I'm dancing for my life.
Take your passion
and make it happen.
Pictures come alive, now I'm dancing through my life.
What a feeling.
What a feeling I AM MUSIC NOW
Bein's believin'. I AM RHYTHM NOW
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life.
What a feeling. YOU CAN REALLY HAVE IT ALL
What a feeling. PICTURES COME ALIVE WHEN I CALL
I can have it all I CAN REALLY HAVE IT ALL
Have it all PICTURES COME ALIVE WHEN I CALL
CALL CALL CALL CALL WHAT A FEELING
I can have it all BEIN'S BELIEVIN
Bein's believin' TAKE YOUR PASSIONMAKE IT HAPPEN
make it happen WHAT A FEELING
what a feeling BEIN'S BELIEVIN'
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Cradling Our Feelings
Hush little baby, don’t you cry
Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby
When I moved to the Northwest, my son had just turned four. I knew something was not right, but I didn’t have a word for it yet. After lots of diagnostic testing, I had a word. Autism.
Suddenly I was in a new world, a world I did not want to be in. A world I didn’t know how to navigate. A world I only wanted to escape from.
There were lots of people to meet that I never would have crossed paths with. Experts. Parents. Doctors. Teachers. Specialists. Support groups. I was flooded with way too much information. I couldn’t begin to sort it out. I was numb. No time for feelings. I had to function. I was alone with a son I loved who had a problem. I had to fix the problem. That is what I knew how to do and I did it very well. Fix problems. Find a solution. Make everything all right.
Someone said I should talk to Sherry, a mom/expert. Sort of the mother superior for all the novitiate moms. I took James to her house. She was so friendly. I thought she was so happy because she knew how to make this all go away. She was going to share the secret cure with me. She had this great big smile on her face as she exclaimed, “I love autism!” Wow, I thought, will I ever love autism? I was pretty sure I wouldn’t.
We sat at her kitchen table while James played with her son. She was so perky as she laid out the future, my future, and told me what I needed to do. I stared out the window, wanting to be anywhere but there, like the guy in the commercial for Southwest Airline when the narrator asks, “Want to get away?” At one point she was talking about another family. She sighed, shaking her head, and confided that they had not even grieved yet. Grief. Now there was a concept I had not thought of. She seemed to think that it was important. I filed that away for another day, another year, another decade.
Feelings can be so scary. Grief, anger, shame, sadness. Sometimes they are too scary to even name. But acknowledging our feelings can help us accept them. Labeling them brings them into the light. Tara Brach describes the following example in her book Radical Acceptance. An elderly Buddhist teacher named Jacob continued to teach even though he had mid-stage Alzheimer’s. He sat down to teach a large group one time and suddenly couldn’t remember why he was there. He began to panic. His training kicked in and he started labeling out loud what was happening – afraid, confused, shaking, lost.... Gradually, he relaxed and he labeled that, too. Relaxed, safe, okay, calm. The students were moved to tears by this deep teaching. By simply labeling, he stayed grounded and didn’t get sucked into his agitation.
Thich Nhat Hanh teaches us to cradle our feelings, all our feelings, like a baby. If you are agitated or overwhelmed by whatever you are feeling, you can label it like Jacob did. Then hold it gently in your arms and rock it like a baby. You can even rock your fear to sleep. (I just had this image of Rosemary, in Rosemary’s Baby, cradling her demon-spawn child. Love is that powerful.) Cradling our feelings helps us contain them, tolerate them, soothe them, embrace them.
Eventually, I did stop fighting my grief and fear and sadness. I yielded. And the pain was not so great. I learned that living with the fear of feelings was much, much worse that living with the feelings themselves.
In a classic Buddhist story, a mother, crazed with grief over her son who just died, begs Buddha to use his power to bring her child back to life. Buddha promises her that he will grant her wish if she can bring him a mustard seed from a home in which no one has ever died. She frantically goes from door to door, but everyone tells her a story of loss. She cannot find even one home that has not been touched by death. By the time she returns to Buddha, she understands the truth of sorrow and life. She asks Buddha to help her bury her son and becomes his disciple.
When I feel a distressing feeling now, I rock it tenderly and sing it lullabies. I think about all the other people in the world who feel this feeling. I know that whatever I feel has been felt before, and is being felt this very moment, by millions of people. I reach out to them, filled with compassion for us all. Our hearts are one. And in that oneness I find peace.
Mama’s gonna sing you a lullaby
When I moved to the Northwest, my son had just turned four. I knew something was not right, but I didn’t have a word for it yet. After lots of diagnostic testing, I had a word. Autism.
Suddenly I was in a new world, a world I did not want to be in. A world I didn’t know how to navigate. A world I only wanted to escape from.
There were lots of people to meet that I never would have crossed paths with. Experts. Parents. Doctors. Teachers. Specialists. Support groups. I was flooded with way too much information. I couldn’t begin to sort it out. I was numb. No time for feelings. I had to function. I was alone with a son I loved who had a problem. I had to fix the problem. That is what I knew how to do and I did it very well. Fix problems. Find a solution. Make everything all right.
Someone said I should talk to Sherry, a mom/expert. Sort of the mother superior for all the novitiate moms. I took James to her house. She was so friendly. I thought she was so happy because she knew how to make this all go away. She was going to share the secret cure with me. She had this great big smile on her face as she exclaimed, “I love autism!” Wow, I thought, will I ever love autism? I was pretty sure I wouldn’t.
We sat at her kitchen table while James played with her son. She was so perky as she laid out the future, my future, and told me what I needed to do. I stared out the window, wanting to be anywhere but there, like the guy in the commercial for Southwest Airline when the narrator asks, “Want to get away?” At one point she was talking about another family. She sighed, shaking her head, and confided that they had not even grieved yet. Grief. Now there was a concept I had not thought of. She seemed to think that it was important. I filed that away for another day, another year, another decade.
Feelings can be so scary. Grief, anger, shame, sadness. Sometimes they are too scary to even name. But acknowledging our feelings can help us accept them. Labeling them brings them into the light. Tara Brach describes the following example in her book Radical Acceptance. An elderly Buddhist teacher named Jacob continued to teach even though he had mid-stage Alzheimer’s. He sat down to teach a large group one time and suddenly couldn’t remember why he was there. He began to panic. His training kicked in and he started labeling out loud what was happening – afraid, confused, shaking, lost.... Gradually, he relaxed and he labeled that, too. Relaxed, safe, okay, calm. The students were moved to tears by this deep teaching. By simply labeling, he stayed grounded and didn’t get sucked into his agitation.
Thich Nhat Hanh teaches us to cradle our feelings, all our feelings, like a baby. If you are agitated or overwhelmed by whatever you are feeling, you can label it like Jacob did. Then hold it gently in your arms and rock it like a baby. You can even rock your fear to sleep. (I just had this image of Rosemary, in Rosemary’s Baby, cradling her demon-spawn child. Love is that powerful.) Cradling our feelings helps us contain them, tolerate them, soothe them, embrace them.
Eventually, I did stop fighting my grief and fear and sadness. I yielded. And the pain was not so great. I learned that living with the fear of feelings was much, much worse that living with the feelings themselves.
In a classic Buddhist story, a mother, crazed with grief over her son who just died, begs Buddha to use his power to bring her child back to life. Buddha promises her that he will grant her wish if she can bring him a mustard seed from a home in which no one has ever died. She frantically goes from door to door, but everyone tells her a story of loss. She cannot find even one home that has not been touched by death. By the time she returns to Buddha, she understands the truth of sorrow and life. She asks Buddha to help her bury her son and becomes his disciple.
When I feel a distressing feeling now, I rock it tenderly and sing it lullabies. I think about all the other people in the world who feel this feeling. I know that whatever I feel has been felt before, and is being felt this very moment, by millions of people. I reach out to them, filled with compassion for us all. Our hearts are one. And in that oneness I find peace.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
The Joy of Sadness, the Sadness of Joy
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
I sat in the subdued lighting of the ultrasound room. The technician glided the wand over my daughter’s growing belly. Too soon, too soon. Too young to have a baby. And yet, there it was. Checking, checking. Heart, brain, spine, abdomen, arms and legs, fingers and toes. Everything was there. Surreal.
And finally, the announcement we had been waiting for. “It’s a boy.” I started crying. Laughing and crying. Was I sad or happy? I have no idea. All I know was that my heart was full and overflowing.
How am I supposed to make sense of this? My mind tells me stories, stories of judgment and fear, embarrassment and worry. Oh, but my heart. My heart tells me stories of love and forgiveness, acceptance and anticipation, willingness and wonder, trust and faith.
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. There we find freedom. We can soar with eagles in the vast blue sky.
The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe. –Joanna Macy
Underneath the fear there is sadness
In the sadness there is softness
In the softness is the vast blue sky
–unknown
I sat in the subdued lighting of the ultrasound room. The technician glided the wand over my daughter’s growing belly. Too soon, too soon. Too young to have a baby. And yet, there it was. Checking, checking. Heart, brain, spine, abdomen, arms and legs, fingers and toes. Everything was there. Surreal.
And finally, the announcement we had been waiting for. “It’s a boy.” I started crying. Laughing and crying. Was I sad or happy? I have no idea. All I know was that my heart was full and overflowing.
How am I supposed to make sense of this? My mind tells me stories, stories of judgment and fear, embarrassment and worry. Oh, but my heart. My heart tells me stories of love and forgiveness, acceptance and anticipation, willingness and wonder, trust and faith.
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. There we find freedom. We can soar with eagles in the vast blue sky.
The heart that breaks open can contain the whole universe. –Joanna Macy
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Be an Eagle!
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. –A Course in Miracles
I knew someone once who had a cockatoo named Hank (or maybe it was Frank). When Hank wasn’t sitting on my friend’s shoulder nibbling his hair, he was on his perch, shifting from one foot to the other, bobbing his head, and squawking.
One day while I was visiting, my friend casually called to Hank on his perch, “Hey, Hank, be an eagle!” Hank stopped mid-shift, mid-bob, and froze. I chuckled, thinking that Hank was doing a poor imitation of an eagle. But then I stopped, mid-chuckle.
Something was happening. Hank’s eyes got darker, with little flames licking the blackness. He locked his smoldering gaze on me. I couldn’t move. He drew himself up straight. He was much bigger and taller than I had noticed. His talons were longer and sharper. His crest was fully erect. And then in slow motion he unfurled his wings until they seemed to stretch across the room. A more fierce raptor never graced any United States insignia.
Hank held his pose. My heart was pounding. The room was silent. And then he slowly folded his wings and shrank back into his goofy cockatoo self. It was still a few moments before I could move. I turned to my friend, who was lounging in his easy chair watching me, smiling.
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
I want to fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I’m free
–lyrics from Fly Like an Eagle, Steve Miller
I knew someone once who had a cockatoo named Hank (or maybe it was Frank). When Hank wasn’t sitting on my friend’s shoulder nibbling his hair, he was on his perch, shifting from one foot to the other, bobbing his head, and squawking.
One day while I was visiting, my friend casually called to Hank on his perch, “Hey, Hank, be an eagle!” Hank stopped mid-shift, mid-bob, and froze. I chuckled, thinking that Hank was doing a poor imitation of an eagle. But then I stopped, mid-chuckle.
Something was happening. Hank’s eyes got darker, with little flames licking the blackness. He locked his smoldering gaze on me. I couldn’t move. He drew himself up straight. He was much bigger and taller than I had noticed. His talons were longer and sharper. His crest was fully erect. And then in slow motion he unfurled his wings until they seemed to stretch across the room. A more fierce raptor never graced any United States insignia.
Hank held his pose. My heart was pounding. The room was silent. And then he slowly folded his wings and shrank back into his goofy cockatoo self. It was still a few moments before I could move. I turned to my friend, who was lounging in his easy chair watching me, smiling.
I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
I want to fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I’m free
–lyrics from Fly Like an Eagle, Steve Miller
Friday, April 22, 2011
Owning Our Feelings
“You make me so ...!” Sound familiar? All of us have probably said this at one time or another. Probably more than once. Possibly many times. And it must seem that way. Someone does something and afterwards we feel pleased or upset. Our minds attach a causal connection between the act and our feelings. But is that true?
We learned earlier this month that our feelings are based on our own thoughts and beliefs. When someone does something and then we feel a certain way about it, we are attributing a causal link that overlooks the role of our thoughts. It is our thoughts about the act that give rise to our feelings, not the act itself.
Attributing to someone or something else the power to make us feel a certain way leaves us helpless and passive. We see our feelings as an uncontrollable response to outer stimuli we can’t control. We are at the mercy of other people and events. We become “feeling victims.”
We can shift from being feeling victims to feeling victors by a simple shift in language. Instead of saying “You make me so...,” say “I feel [name feeling].” Own it. Your feeling is your responsibility, not someone else’s.
Consider the difference between “You make me so angry,” and “I feel angry.” Or “You make me so happy,” and “I feel happy.” How do you feel (!) if you say one or the other?
When I say “You make me feel so...,” I feel powerless and anxious. I want you to behave a certain way so that I will feel a certain way. My emotional well-being becomes your responsibility and I become dependent on you. If I’m feeling happy, good for you. But if I’m not feeling happy, it must be your fault. Chances are I won’t feel happy all the time, so I’m setting you up to fail. And even if I feel happy, there is always an underlying anxiety because I know I can’t control your behavior. It will only be a matter of time before you do something to “cause” a distressing feeling.
But if I say “I feel...,” I feel grounded and centered, even if the feeling itself is distressing. Owning my feeling gives me the opportunity to examine my underlying thoughts and beliefs and to adjust them if appropriate. I recognize my power to transform my feelings. Even distressing feelings are less scary because I have tools for dealing with them.
The bonus to owning our own feelings is that we also recognize that we are not responsible for someone else’s feelings. What a relief!
We learned earlier this month that our feelings are based on our own thoughts and beliefs. When someone does something and then we feel a certain way about it, we are attributing a causal link that overlooks the role of our thoughts. It is our thoughts about the act that give rise to our feelings, not the act itself.
Attributing to someone or something else the power to make us feel a certain way leaves us helpless and passive. We see our feelings as an uncontrollable response to outer stimuli we can’t control. We are at the mercy of other people and events. We become “feeling victims.”
We can shift from being feeling victims to feeling victors by a simple shift in language. Instead of saying “You make me so...,” say “I feel [name feeling].” Own it. Your feeling is your responsibility, not someone else’s.
Consider the difference between “You make me so angry,” and “I feel angry.” Or “You make me so happy,” and “I feel happy.” How do you feel (!) if you say one or the other?
When I say “You make me feel so...,” I feel powerless and anxious. I want you to behave a certain way so that I will feel a certain way. My emotional well-being becomes your responsibility and I become dependent on you. If I’m feeling happy, good for you. But if I’m not feeling happy, it must be your fault. Chances are I won’t feel happy all the time, so I’m setting you up to fail. And even if I feel happy, there is always an underlying anxiety because I know I can’t control your behavior. It will only be a matter of time before you do something to “cause” a distressing feeling.
But if I say “I feel...,” I feel grounded and centered, even if the feeling itself is distressing. Owning my feeling gives me the opportunity to examine my underlying thoughts and beliefs and to adjust them if appropriate. I recognize my power to transform my feelings. Even distressing feelings are less scary because I have tools for dealing with them.
The bonus to owning our own feelings is that we also recognize that we are not responsible for someone else’s feelings. What a relief!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
I Named Her Lily
She was on the other side of a room filled with kids, mostly girls, at the orphanage in China. She was already grown, a teenager, not a child. She glanced at me and smiled. I fell in love.
A year and a half later, with adoption plans moving forward, I wrote to ask her if she wanted an English name, and if so, what name appealed to her. She replied that in China, a parent gives her child a name that represents a wish or hope for her child. She wanted me to choose her name, to state my wish for her.
I thought about all that had transpired since I met her. I thought about her courage to leave everything behind, everything that was familiar to her, and to begin her life anew, where nothing would be familiar. It was like being born again. A new life full of hope and promise.
I named her Lily, the flower of Easter, in hope that her new life would bring her joy and fulfillment, the fulfillment of life’s promise.
As we approach Easter Sunday, I hope that, whatever our faith beliefs, we can all find renewed hope, an opportunity to start afresh, excitement about possibilities, a release of all that holds us back or holds us down.
I have a watercolor painting in my room of a little sparrow nestled in meadow grass as the dawn breaks. The title is “For today, newly bright.”
Every day is a new day. Every day is Easter.
Related posts: Zen Girl; For Today, Newly Bright
A year and a half later, with adoption plans moving forward, I wrote to ask her if she wanted an English name, and if so, what name appealed to her. She replied that in China, a parent gives her child a name that represents a wish or hope for her child. She wanted me to choose her name, to state my wish for her.
I thought about all that had transpired since I met her. I thought about her courage to leave everything behind, everything that was familiar to her, and to begin her life anew, where nothing would be familiar. It was like being born again. A new life full of hope and promise.
I named her Lily, the flower of Easter, in hope that her new life would bring her joy and fulfillment, the fulfillment of life’s promise.
As we approach Easter Sunday, I hope that, whatever our faith beliefs, we can all find renewed hope, an opportunity to start afresh, excitement about possibilities, a release of all that holds us back or holds us down.
I have a watercolor painting in my room of a little sparrow nestled in meadow grass as the dawn breaks. The title is “For today, newly bright.”
Every day is a new day. Every day is Easter.
Related posts: Zen Girl; For Today, Newly Bright
Monday, April 18, 2011
Transforming Our Feelings
If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself but to your own estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment. –Marcus Aurelius
As we continue our discussion this month on Step 4, Feeling Our Feelings, let’s try to put together some of the concepts we have talked about so far. First, we recognized the importance of identifying and acknowledging our feelings (Nice to Meet You, Mad/Sad/Glad Game). Then we looked at the power we have to choose which feelings to feed (Which Wolf are You going to Feed?), and we identified ways we feed feelings, especially feelings that only serve to cause us suffering because they close our hearts and separate us from other people (Feeding the Wolf).
Our feelings are based on our thoughts and beliefs. Consider how the same event can trigger different feelings in different people. (Think about most any election, for example.) Unlike feelings, we can choose our beliefs. If we can change our thoughts or beliefs, we can change our feelings. The Dalai Lama uses this method of cognitive intervention to replace anxiety-generating thoughts with well-reasoned positive thoughts. I like it because it honors our feelings rather than denying them or repressing them.
Cognitive intervention (which also goes by other names like cognitive behavior therapy or reactive emotive behavior therapy), basically takes us through several steps based on some version of the following questions.
1. Triggering event – What happened that caused an emotional reaction?
2. Feelings – What feelings am I experiencing? How intense are they?
3. Beliefs – What went through my mind? What beliefs do I have about this event?
4. Evaluating beliefs – Do I know for a fact that these beliefs are true? Am I playing head games (amplifying, guessing, identifying, forecasting, blaming, justifying)?
5. Alternative beliefs – Is it possible that other or opposite beliefs are true? Is there another way of seeing this?
6. Feelings – What am I feeling now that I’ve considered other beliefs?
Here’s how it works.
1. Let’s say you are walking down the street and you pass someone you know. You smile and nod, but the person doesn’t acknowledge you. This is the triggering event.
2. You might feel hurt or annoyed or confused.
3. Look underneath the feelings to the thoughts or beliefs. You might think that the person is upset with you, or that the person is a snob. You might think you have done something wrong, although you can’t think what it might be. Or that you are not good enough in some way. Underneath each feeling that you identify, you will find some thought or belief.
4. Ask yourself if you know for sure that these beliefs are true. Go through each belief. Do you know for a fact that the person is upset with you? Or that you are not worthy of a greeting?
5. Consider other possibilities. Is it possible that the sun was in the person’s eyes? Perhaps the person was deep in thought and not aware of the surrounding people. Is it possible that you did nothing wrong to cause this person to ignore you? Perhaps the person was having a really bad day and just not feeling friendly.
6. These thoughts generate very different feelings, even compassion. The event didn’t change, but your feelings are different now because you questioned the underlying beliefs. You have transformed your feelings from ones that increase your suffering and separation into feelings that open your heart and soothe your distress.
I have used this technique in many circumstances. Sometimes, if a distressing feeling is particularly intense and recurring, I have to use it several times with the same event! Give it a try and let me know if it works for you.
Emotions don’t reveal the quality of your life; they reveal the quality of your thinking at any particular moment. –The 4:8 Principle, the Secret to a Joy-Filled Life, by Tommy Newberry
Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things. –Philippians 4:8
As we continue our discussion this month on Step 4, Feeling Our Feelings, let’s try to put together some of the concepts we have talked about so far. First, we recognized the importance of identifying and acknowledging our feelings (Nice to Meet You, Mad/Sad/Glad Game). Then we looked at the power we have to choose which feelings to feed (Which Wolf are You going to Feed?), and we identified ways we feed feelings, especially feelings that only serve to cause us suffering because they close our hearts and separate us from other people (Feeding the Wolf).
Our feelings are based on our thoughts and beliefs. Consider how the same event can trigger different feelings in different people. (Think about most any election, for example.) Unlike feelings, we can choose our beliefs. If we can change our thoughts or beliefs, we can change our feelings. The Dalai Lama uses this method of cognitive intervention to replace anxiety-generating thoughts with well-reasoned positive thoughts. I like it because it honors our feelings rather than denying them or repressing them.
Cognitive intervention (which also goes by other names like cognitive behavior therapy or reactive emotive behavior therapy), basically takes us through several steps based on some version of the following questions.
1. Triggering event – What happened that caused an emotional reaction?
2. Feelings – What feelings am I experiencing? How intense are they?
3. Beliefs – What went through my mind? What beliefs do I have about this event?
4. Evaluating beliefs – Do I know for a fact that these beliefs are true? Am I playing head games (amplifying, guessing, identifying, forecasting, blaming, justifying)?
5. Alternative beliefs – Is it possible that other or opposite beliefs are true? Is there another way of seeing this?
6. Feelings – What am I feeling now that I’ve considered other beliefs?
Here’s how it works.
1. Let’s say you are walking down the street and you pass someone you know. You smile and nod, but the person doesn’t acknowledge you. This is the triggering event.
2. You might feel hurt or annoyed or confused.
3. Look underneath the feelings to the thoughts or beliefs. You might think that the person is upset with you, or that the person is a snob. You might think you have done something wrong, although you can’t think what it might be. Or that you are not good enough in some way. Underneath each feeling that you identify, you will find some thought or belief.
4. Ask yourself if you know for sure that these beliefs are true. Go through each belief. Do you know for a fact that the person is upset with you? Or that you are not worthy of a greeting?
5. Consider other possibilities. Is it possible that the sun was in the person’s eyes? Perhaps the person was deep in thought and not aware of the surrounding people. Is it possible that you did nothing wrong to cause this person to ignore you? Perhaps the person was having a really bad day and just not feeling friendly.
6. These thoughts generate very different feelings, even compassion. The event didn’t change, but your feelings are different now because you questioned the underlying beliefs. You have transformed your feelings from ones that increase your suffering and separation into feelings that open your heart and soothe your distress.
I have used this technique in many circumstances. Sometimes, if a distressing feeling is particularly intense and recurring, I have to use it several times with the same event! Give it a try and let me know if it works for you.
Emotions don’t reveal the quality of your life; they reveal the quality of your thinking at any particular moment. –The 4:8 Principle, the Secret to a Joy-Filled Life, by Tommy Newberry
Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things. –Philippians 4:8
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