It's been a while since I've posted, and while I could use the busy holiday season as an excuse, it would be just that--an excuse. While I often figure things out as I write, I have been restless and unfocused and, quite frankly, I just haven't known how to get started. Once or twice I've actually sat and stared at the computer, something that has never happened with this blog before. Over the last 24 hours, pieces have come to me. I still don't have a clear picture but I have enough to get started and feel my way along.
Last night at midnight...I actually looked at the clock, and it was straight-up 12 a.m....I finished watching a movie I'd been given for Christmas. It wasn't a great movie, but not a bad one either. What clicked last night was that several plot lines in the movie said the same thing: you're never going to get what you want if you don't stop doing what you've always done and risk doing something completely different.
That wasn't the first time I'd stumbled onto that theme this week. I've actually been proofing The Game Called Life before it becomes available as an eBook. I have been reading my own words, or more appropriately the words that moved through me a dozen years ago onto the screen of my computer. Three of seven steps to what the book describes as "living a prayer" are to: ask for guidance, follow fearlessly and risk greatness.
I haven't been so good at getting guidance recently, not because I think God has stopped handing out guidance, but because I think I've been afraid of what I'd hear. I've stopped asking. When I've followed fearlessly before, I have thought that I lost and lost big time. However, all I lost was money, retirement savings, other assets, and a business that I loved. It is true that I was homeless for a while, but thanks to the grace of a couple friends, I never slept on the streets. And while I was down to my last $300 with $600 in "must-pays" due, that was very moment that I got a job that made the situation moot.
From a very human perspective, I was terrified when I'd followed fearlessly, but I was really never in harm's way. I was so terrified that I have been unwilling to go there again. I stopped asking. It hasn't been a conscious decision, not one I even recognized until today, but a decision nonetheless.
What I was feeling before I watched the movie last night was that 2014 had been a fallow year. In the farm country, where I grew up, a fallow year is one during which the land has been plowed and harrowed but left unsown in order to restore its fertility. Several places in the Bible, we are told to allow the land to be fallow, usually every seventh year. For much of the year that is about to end, I've felt a restlessness. I've written about it here.
As I watched the movie last night, it became clear to me that until I was willing to let go of my security-focused existence and really turn my life back to God, I would probably continue to be fallow. In fact, I think I've fallow for much longer than 2014, unwilling to risk following fearlessly.
This morning our pastor seemed to speak directly to me. He said that God promises maximum support but minimum protection. He said, "There are no Kevlar vests," when we follow God's path of growth. He was right. I had had maximum support: I never slept in the streets and a job came when I absolutely needed it. (And not one second sooner.) But I'd also had minimum protection: my material assets vanished.
The pastor continued to say, "Growth is necessary. If we are not growing, we experience distress." It is our responsibility he said to create situations that require learning and growth. Just the kind of thing that happens when we "ask" and "follow fearlessly." Just the kind of thing that happened when I gave up my unsatisfying, minimum-wage teaching job to come to Washington to find consulting work that I had long loved.
The pastor talked about growing in our relationships. That was actually a theme in the movie as well. It suggested that we each have to give up how we've done relationships in order to grow into more satisfying and more rewarding ones. At this point, I am unwilling to risk losing my home and retirement again, although that day may be nearer than farther. However, I think I am willing to risk doing relationships differently. I don't really know what that means, but I am "distressed" at lying fallow any longer. I am certain that if I am willing to "ask" again, I will find out what it means.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Saturday, December 20, 2014
There was Water Out There
When working with groups, I've often focused the attention of participants on one part of the room, and then asked them a question about a different part of the room. Rarely can anyone recall anything for the part of the room away from where they were looking. What we focus on truly determines what we miss.
I worked out of town this week at NASA's Stennis Space Center in Mississippi. By the time I stowed my car, gathered my luggage, and arrived at my room, it was long after dark, and I had a call to make. The draperies in my hotel room were drawn, and I had no reason to open them. I slept. I awakened, got ready, and went to work.
Tuesday evening I returned before dark and threw the draperies open to get light. To my amazement, my hotel room looked out over a beautiful estuary. I believe it was the Pearl River. The water was as smooth as glass, accented by sailboats at a small marina. The view literally took my breath away. I'd had no idea there was such a beautiful view.
I worked out of town this week at NASA's Stennis Space Center in Mississippi. By the time I stowed my car, gathered my luggage, and arrived at my room, it was long after dark, and I had a call to make. The draperies in my hotel room were drawn, and I had no reason to open them. I slept. I awakened, got ready, and went to work.
Tuesday evening I returned before dark and threw the draperies open to get light. To my amazement, my hotel room looked out over a beautiful estuary. I believe it was the Pearl River. The water was as smooth as glass, accented by sailboats at a small marina. The view literally took my breath away. I'd had no idea there was such a beautiful view.
My discovery really made me think: what else in my life am I missing, just because I'm not looking? I'm failing to throw back the draperies that conceal magic.
Yesterday I spent the day with a fairly new friend, learning to make tamales and talking for hours as we made the ingredients and then assembled and cooked them. Although a crush of pre-holiday have-to-dos were awaiting, I chose to be present and totally focused on our fun. It was relaxing and joyful. I was so pleased with myself and having had the consciousness to turn away from the lists and just be with my new friend.
This evening, my focus was on old friends. The annual task of writing Christmas cards turned joyful as I reveled in the opportunity to stay in touch with people who have been special in my life for decades, some going back to college days. Once again, I allowed myself to be present to the joy instead of distracted by others things I might be doing.
My intentions for the new year are pretty much the same as they've been for a couple years: write more, get more exercise, and spend time building meaningful relationships. What has distracted me from these important things in the past has been that I focused on the have-to-dos related to my work instead of the choose-to-dos in my personal life.
In 2015, the vivid imagery of the estuary behind my hotel room will remind me to focus on the sources of beauty in my life and be joyfully present to them.
Monday, December 15, 2014
Would you be willing...?
Would you be willing...to just let go?
One of the regular readers of this blog and I were talking about just surrendering to the guidance we received. The words "Would you be willing..." echoed in my head as we talked. They have haunted me as a non-musical earworm all evening. Mother Teresa's name came up. Would I be willing to go and work in squalor in Calcutta with people in such dire conditions? We also mentioned working with refugees in Lebanon and caring for the injured in Syria. How about caring for those suffering from ebola in West Africa?
There was a time when I am certain that I would have dropped everything to go wherever I was called. After losing my business and having struggled to get back on my feet financially, I feel like I must have a "regular day job" at this time in my life. The particular regular day job I have has me so booked up that in order to have 10 days vacation I had to schedule it six months in advance. I am not sure how I would drop everything and go.
Yet, I know that is what I should do. I'd like to say that it was easier for people who dropped everything to do God's work in biblical times, but the truth probably is that it wasn't. They didn't have to worry about mortgages and funding retirement to support themselves if they lived to be 100, but I suspect their existences were far more on the edge. Walking away to serve has probably never really been easy. I am certain they didn't have paid vacations to worry about scheduling.
For decades I've thought that when I retire that I would serve, but now it looks like I may never retire. In the years when I was writing and speaking, I truly felt like I was showing up to serve just as God would have me do. My friend reminds me that how I do what I do now is serving. It rarely feels that way.
This blog is about living with the intention to do what you know is right in your heart...or more accurately, it is about me living with the intention to do what I know is right in my heart. I hope others will be inspired to share the journey. I wish I could say that I am doing that. However, in something like the keyboard equivalent of a Freudian slip, when I wrote two lines above "to do what I know," what came out my fingers was "what I know is write in my heart." Maybe that is the answer. Will I be willing to make writing my intention because I certainly know in my heart that is right for me?
One of the regular readers of this blog and I were talking about just surrendering to the guidance we received. The words "Would you be willing..." echoed in my head as we talked. They have haunted me as a non-musical earworm all evening. Mother Teresa's name came up. Would I be willing to go and work in squalor in Calcutta with people in such dire conditions? We also mentioned working with refugees in Lebanon and caring for the injured in Syria. How about caring for those suffering from ebola in West Africa?
There was a time when I am certain that I would have dropped everything to go wherever I was called. After losing my business and having struggled to get back on my feet financially, I feel like I must have a "regular day job" at this time in my life. The particular regular day job I have has me so booked up that in order to have 10 days vacation I had to schedule it six months in advance. I am not sure how I would drop everything and go.
Yet, I know that is what I should do. I'd like to say that it was easier for people who dropped everything to do God's work in biblical times, but the truth probably is that it wasn't. They didn't have to worry about mortgages and funding retirement to support themselves if they lived to be 100, but I suspect their existences were far more on the edge. Walking away to serve has probably never really been easy. I am certain they didn't have paid vacations to worry about scheduling.
For decades I've thought that when I retire that I would serve, but now it looks like I may never retire. In the years when I was writing and speaking, I truly felt like I was showing up to serve just as God would have me do. My friend reminds me that how I do what I do now is serving. It rarely feels that way.
This blog is about living with the intention to do what you know is right in your heart...or more accurately, it is about me living with the intention to do what I know is right in my heart. I hope others will be inspired to share the journey. I wish I could say that I am doing that. However, in something like the keyboard equivalent of a Freudian slip, when I wrote two lines above "to do what I know," what came out my fingers was "what I know is write in my heart." Maybe that is the answer. Will I be willing to make writing my intention because I certainly know in my heart that is right for me?
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Reclaiming My Life
I'm not really sure why it is that when I fall out of a habit--even a habit I love--overcoming inertia is so darned hard.
Approaching the end of my second week of normal work hours, I've only contemplated going to the gym again. Now this should not be difficult for me. I have access to free workout facilities in the both the buildings in which I live and work. Furthermore, daily exercise has been part if my daily routine, when I haven't had an injury, for 30 years. I enjoy it! I feel good when I am exercising. This is not an onerous task, but something I enjoy!
Similarly, I very much enjoy my Thursday evening Argentine tango class and miss my dance partner friends. Last Thursday after work I was back and forth about whether to get on the train that would take me to the class or the one that would take me home. I came home.
So when I bumped into a colleague when changing trains this morning, and I shared with her my frustration in not getting back to tango, she said, "it's like going to the gym; the first time is always the hardest."
Yes! That's exactly what it is like. The moment she said it, something inside me clicked. I knew I would love both when I overcame the inertia.
In that moment I sat the intention to change my trends and the sooner the better. After work, I grabbed the workout clothes that had been sitting in my bottom file drawer for months, and I headed to the gym. It was a short workout, but it accomplished the most important thing: it was enough to get me started again. I am sure I will be back soon, maybe even tomorrow; it was fun.
The workout was short because I'd also pledged to get back to tango, and I did. I really enjoyed myself there, too. Most importantly, I have allowed my healthy intentions, and not my inertia, to dictate my life. I truly am reclaiming my life.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Approaching the end of my second week of normal work hours, I've only contemplated going to the gym again. Now this should not be difficult for me. I have access to free workout facilities in the both the buildings in which I live and work. Furthermore, daily exercise has been part if my daily routine, when I haven't had an injury, for 30 years. I enjoy it! I feel good when I am exercising. This is not an onerous task, but something I enjoy!
Similarly, I very much enjoy my Thursday evening Argentine tango class and miss my dance partner friends. Last Thursday after work I was back and forth about whether to get on the train that would take me to the class or the one that would take me home. I came home.
So when I bumped into a colleague when changing trains this morning, and I shared with her my frustration in not getting back to tango, she said, "it's like going to the gym; the first time is always the hardest."
Yes! That's exactly what it is like. The moment she said it, something inside me clicked. I knew I would love both when I overcame the inertia.
In that moment I sat the intention to change my trends and the sooner the better. After work, I grabbed the workout clothes that had been sitting in my bottom file drawer for months, and I headed to the gym. It was a short workout, but it accomplished the most important thing: it was enough to get me started again. I am sure I will be back soon, maybe even tomorrow; it was fun.
The workout was short because I'd also pledged to get back to tango, and I did. I really enjoyed myself there, too. Most importantly, I have allowed my healthy intentions, and not my inertia, to dictate my life. I truly am reclaiming my life.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Feelin' Alive
An odd thing happened about 8 p.m. last evening: I started to feel. Not emotionally; I seem to do well with that. What I started to feel was alive.
I had pledged for months that, as soon as I was through Thanksgiving, I would begin to work "normal" hours. Until that point, I was boxed into long-term commitments with clients. For months, I had been very judicious about accepting new work so that I would continue to dig my hole deeper.
Yesterday was one week since we went back to work after Thanksgiving. Last week I did work shorter hours but I was in training two days, so I did attend to things before and after class. Yesterday was the first "regular" work day since Thanksgiving and my first "regular" work day for over a year. I actually worked the number of hours I am scheduled to work.
What was even better is that I could work at a sane pace. For months, I'd felt like I was juggling so many glass balls that I couldn't possibly keep them in the air, but also couldn't let any drop. I could feel the tension mount in my shoulders even as I would be walking toward my office in the mornings. Yesterday, I just took on one task after another and completed each, allowing myself to be totally absorbed in what I was doing--being present.
I did stay 15-20 minutes late last night, time that I actually relished, because I was relaxed and just pulled a couple things off the stack on my desk that has been mounting for a year. This morning I continued, sorting through a stack of rolled up chart pad pages that have been accumulating, and I was able to almost empty that corner of clutter of the room. I am astounded at how relaxed I have been the last two days...and what a difference that has made in how I feel.
That brings me back to what I felt last evening. I got home 2-1/2 hours earlier than usual. I had a nice dinner that I could actually enjoy because I wasn't falling asleep in my soup. Then I paid a few bills and balanced my checking account. This may all sound pretty mundane, but I haven't had energy or focus to do anything that required thought for months.
All that, and it was still before the time I normally got home. :-) I almost didn't know what to do with myself, but that was the point when I realized what I was feeling. The deep exhaustion that had worn on me for so long was gone. I had energy. My head was clear enough to concentrate, and I actually had time, energy, focus, and enthusiasm to plan a weekend trip with a friend. None of this would have been possible even a week earlier.
Today I began to feel glimmers of optimism. I actually volunteered to help a colleague on something, and I'm contemplating assuming a responsibility that a different colleague has been urging me to take for some time. I am doing so with a view not to overload myself again, but I delighted to have the option to choose to take on something else. I've felt so buried for so long that I didn't have the choice. Now I do. Choice is a powerful intoxicant, and I am dizzy with joy for being back in the driver's seat in my life.
Now, one step at a time forward....
I had pledged for months that, as soon as I was through Thanksgiving, I would begin to work "normal" hours. Until that point, I was boxed into long-term commitments with clients. For months, I had been very judicious about accepting new work so that I would continue to dig my hole deeper.
Yesterday was one week since we went back to work after Thanksgiving. Last week I did work shorter hours but I was in training two days, so I did attend to things before and after class. Yesterday was the first "regular" work day since Thanksgiving and my first "regular" work day for over a year. I actually worked the number of hours I am scheduled to work.
What was even better is that I could work at a sane pace. For months, I'd felt like I was juggling so many glass balls that I couldn't possibly keep them in the air, but also couldn't let any drop. I could feel the tension mount in my shoulders even as I would be walking toward my office in the mornings. Yesterday, I just took on one task after another and completed each, allowing myself to be totally absorbed in what I was doing--being present.
I did stay 15-20 minutes late last night, time that I actually relished, because I was relaxed and just pulled a couple things off the stack on my desk that has been mounting for a year. This morning I continued, sorting through a stack of rolled up chart pad pages that have been accumulating, and I was able to almost empty that corner of clutter of the room. I am astounded at how relaxed I have been the last two days...and what a difference that has made in how I feel.
That brings me back to what I felt last evening. I got home 2-1/2 hours earlier than usual. I had a nice dinner that I could actually enjoy because I wasn't falling asleep in my soup. Then I paid a few bills and balanced my checking account. This may all sound pretty mundane, but I haven't had energy or focus to do anything that required thought for months.
All that, and it was still before the time I normally got home. :-) I almost didn't know what to do with myself, but that was the point when I realized what I was feeling. The deep exhaustion that had worn on me for so long was gone. I had energy. My head was clear enough to concentrate, and I actually had time, energy, focus, and enthusiasm to plan a weekend trip with a friend. None of this would have been possible even a week earlier.
Today I began to feel glimmers of optimism. I actually volunteered to help a colleague on something, and I'm contemplating assuming a responsibility that a different colleague has been urging me to take for some time. I am doing so with a view not to overload myself again, but I delighted to have the option to choose to take on something else. I've felt so buried for so long that I didn't have the choice. Now I do. Choice is a powerful intoxicant, and I am dizzy with joy for being back in the driver's seat in my life.
Now, one step at a time forward....
Friday, December 5, 2014
Noticing
Since my trip to Greece, which ended in early October, I haven't been eating as healthfully as I'd like. After eating way too much on Thanksgiving, I knew I had to do something different. I decided to do a cleanse that I'd read about in The Washington Post. The eating regimen isn't that differently from how I try to eat most of the time. No dairy, but that's no biggie. I don't eat much dairy any way. Most importantly, however, is no sugar. After just a couple of days of having sugar out of my system, I felt much better, and I know I am much more relaxed.
The interesting thing about this cleanse is not just what I eat or don't eat, but also how I eat. Specifically, I am not to do anything while I eat except eat.
I didn't realize until I attempted to comply with this part of the regime how I'd slipped big time into multi-tasking while I eat, and everywhere else. I know that multi-tasking has become a fact of life in this decade, but I am not even aware how or when I slipped into the multi-tasking habit. Eat my breakfast fruit while doing my makeup in the morning. Catch up on my email while I eat lunch at my desk. Watch Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert while I have dinner. (I watch it the next day, when it airs at a time that allows me to view without literally losing sleep over it.) Snacks are even worse, often they're eaten "mid-flight" while running to my next meeting. As much as giving up sugar, giving up whatever else I am used to doing while I eat has been harder.
One of the first things that I noticed was that most of the time, I eat about half as much. I eat more slowly. When I am only concentrating on eating, I actually notice when I am full, probably because I've taken enough time to let the messages reach my brain and register that I'm full. Or maybe the messages have been there, and I haven't been noticing. And funny as it may seem, I actually feel more full than when I am eating more but not being mindful.
I'm sure that I was a rabbit in a past life, because I love eating the crunchy greens. Most often, dinner is a large salad. When I am actually paying attention to my eating, I notice that I get tired of chewing about half-way through the salad, and I'm kind of bored with the chewing, too.
Little cues, like being full, tired of chewing, and bored, have just gone flying by without me noticing. So, now I am noticing.
Curious about what else I've been missing, I've tried little single-tasking, focusing-on-what-I'm-doing experiments. (I wouldn't want to go full throttle.) Tonight, I turned off radio, music, TV, and Greek lessons and focused completely on preparing my salad. While it is not uncommon for me to nibble as I cut and chop ingredients for my salads, since I wasn't multi-tasking, tonight I had to actually stop what I was doing and enjoy the grape tomato that I'd popped in my mouth. What an experience!
I could hear and feel my molars breaking the skin of the tomato. I could feel an explosion of the juices as the tiny fruit sprayed my mouth. The taste was delicious. I just stood there for 20-30 seconds, leaning against the counter, totally absorbed into the experience of one solitary grape tomato. One grape tomato! Something similar happened when I stopped my preparations to eat one of several pecans that I was chopping for my salad.
The exquisiteness of being totally in the moment with my dinner preparations didn't stop with oral experience. I noticed cutting a wedge of lemon how I noticed the different textures on my fingers and how my knife moved differently through the skin/rind than through the inner recesses of the fruit and the juice.
And, all of this in less than the 20 minutes it took to make a salad...just because I was noticing.
I've written a lot in this column about being present. I've quoted spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss as saying "being present" was the most important spiritual lesson that we have to learn. I know it is hard, but in such a short time this evening, I really "got" what that means on whole different level.
I will continue my cleanse because I know how much better...how much mellower...I feel when I don't eat sugar, and it seems that the only thing that can keep me away from the white stuff is something like this cleanse or Lent. Yet, I am certain the spiritual lessons that I have to learn from this focus are to be present, to do one thing at a time, and to truly notice all of the dimensions of experience that can be had from even the simplest of things, like popping a grape tomato or pecan in my mouth while cooking.
The interesting thing about this cleanse is not just what I eat or don't eat, but also how I eat. Specifically, I am not to do anything while I eat except eat.
I didn't realize until I attempted to comply with this part of the regime how I'd slipped big time into multi-tasking while I eat, and everywhere else. I know that multi-tasking has become a fact of life in this decade, but I am not even aware how or when I slipped into the multi-tasking habit. Eat my breakfast fruit while doing my makeup in the morning. Catch up on my email while I eat lunch at my desk. Watch Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert while I have dinner. (I watch it the next day, when it airs at a time that allows me to view without literally losing sleep over it.) Snacks are even worse, often they're eaten "mid-flight" while running to my next meeting. As much as giving up sugar, giving up whatever else I am used to doing while I eat has been harder.
One of the first things that I noticed was that most of the time, I eat about half as much. I eat more slowly. When I am only concentrating on eating, I actually notice when I am full, probably because I've taken enough time to let the messages reach my brain and register that I'm full. Or maybe the messages have been there, and I haven't been noticing. And funny as it may seem, I actually feel more full than when I am eating more but not being mindful.
I'm sure that I was a rabbit in a past life, because I love eating the crunchy greens. Most often, dinner is a large salad. When I am actually paying attention to my eating, I notice that I get tired of chewing about half-way through the salad, and I'm kind of bored with the chewing, too.
Little cues, like being full, tired of chewing, and bored, have just gone flying by without me noticing. So, now I am noticing.
Curious about what else I've been missing, I've tried little single-tasking, focusing-on-what-I'm-doing experiments. (I wouldn't want to go full throttle.) Tonight, I turned off radio, music, TV, and Greek lessons and focused completely on preparing my salad. While it is not uncommon for me to nibble as I cut and chop ingredients for my salads, since I wasn't multi-tasking, tonight I had to actually stop what I was doing and enjoy the grape tomato that I'd popped in my mouth. What an experience!
I could hear and feel my molars breaking the skin of the tomato. I could feel an explosion of the juices as the tiny fruit sprayed my mouth. The taste was delicious. I just stood there for 20-30 seconds, leaning against the counter, totally absorbed into the experience of one solitary grape tomato. One grape tomato! Something similar happened when I stopped my preparations to eat one of several pecans that I was chopping for my salad.
The exquisiteness of being totally in the moment with my dinner preparations didn't stop with oral experience. I noticed cutting a wedge of lemon how I noticed the different textures on my fingers and how my knife moved differently through the skin/rind than through the inner recesses of the fruit and the juice.
And, all of this in less than the 20 minutes it took to make a salad...just because I was noticing.
I've written a lot in this column about being present. I've quoted spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss as saying "being present" was the most important spiritual lesson that we have to learn. I know it is hard, but in such a short time this evening, I really "got" what that means on whole different level.
I will continue my cleanse because I know how much better...how much mellower...I feel when I don't eat sugar, and it seems that the only thing that can keep me away from the white stuff is something like this cleanse or Lent. Yet, I am certain the spiritual lessons that I have to learn from this focus are to be present, to do one thing at a time, and to truly notice all of the dimensions of experience that can be had from even the simplest of things, like popping a grape tomato or pecan in my mouth while cooking.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Seeing the Bigger Picture
For over two decades I've done a special Thanksgiving meditation. It hasn't always fallen on Thanksgiving Day; sometimes I've done it a day or two before or after in order to accommodate travel, cooking, or social demands on the "big day." Each year my Thanksgiving meditation has proven one of the most spiritually rewarding focuses of my whole year, and once again the practice was powerful.
This year the meditation happened last evening, and I noted a difference in how my thoughts presented themselves. Generally, I've tried to think through the year, day-by-day, beginning with the last Thanksgiving. As I got to each day, I tried to recall something I'd been grateful for that particular day. On years when I've kept a gratitude journal the practice has been easier than others, like this year, when I had been sporadic in doing so.
What I discovered last evening was a struggle to even remember what had happened in the last year, even month to month, much less day to day. I believe the crazy pace of the last year of having 20 glass balls in the air at any given time, any one of which would be irreparable if dropped, has "smooched" (technical term) the year together in very non-linear way.
After fighting to make the old way work, I surrendered to what every meditator knows is the best way to reflect: let go of control. When I did, an amazing thing occurred. I held the intention to be grateful for the last year, and I surrendered to how that would occur. I was able to observe that even amidst the craziness, something larger was afoot.
Instead of working my way through the year in a linear, one-dimensional way, clusters of events, people, and occurrences bubbled up. What might have seemed unrelated on first blush actually did connect from a spiritual growth point of view. I observed progressions of seemingly unrelated events that occurred during the year that actually supported bigger spiritual lessons. Normally, I would have been grateful for single occurrences. Last night allowed me to begin to see how random events weren't isolated at all, but were very much related to evolving me spiritually.
My one-dimensional gratitude practice quickly evolved into a multi-dimensional one. This seems like important learning to me, and it is learning that I don't want to lie fallow until next Thanksgiving. I am considering "upping" the gratitude journaling practice to reflect throughout the year how an event on any given day is connected with something that occurred previously.
Before meditating last night, I watched on episode of Neil deGrasse Tyson's series "Cosmos," which aired earlier this fall. The episode that I watched last night examined DNA and how most human DNA is shared across all species, including plants. Earlier this week Louis Henry Gates looked at DNA on his "Finding Your Roots" program, where his conclusion across humans is that what we share is much more similar than what distinguishes us. Sometime in the last year, I read that humans around the world share about 97% of our DNA with all other humans.
As I drifted off to sleep last night, what spun in my head what how connected everything is. Events in our lives are not random and disconnected. Neither are we as beings or even as a species isolated. Seeing the bigger picture truly does allow us to see who we are: we are One.
This year the meditation happened last evening, and I noted a difference in how my thoughts presented themselves. Generally, I've tried to think through the year, day-by-day, beginning with the last Thanksgiving. As I got to each day, I tried to recall something I'd been grateful for that particular day. On years when I've kept a gratitude journal the practice has been easier than others, like this year, when I had been sporadic in doing so.
What I discovered last evening was a struggle to even remember what had happened in the last year, even month to month, much less day to day. I believe the crazy pace of the last year of having 20 glass balls in the air at any given time, any one of which would be irreparable if dropped, has "smooched" (technical term) the year together in very non-linear way.
After fighting to make the old way work, I surrendered to what every meditator knows is the best way to reflect: let go of control. When I did, an amazing thing occurred. I held the intention to be grateful for the last year, and I surrendered to how that would occur. I was able to observe that even amidst the craziness, something larger was afoot.
Instead of working my way through the year in a linear, one-dimensional way, clusters of events, people, and occurrences bubbled up. What might have seemed unrelated on first blush actually did connect from a spiritual growth point of view. I observed progressions of seemingly unrelated events that occurred during the year that actually supported bigger spiritual lessons. Normally, I would have been grateful for single occurrences. Last night allowed me to begin to see how random events weren't isolated at all, but were very much related to evolving me spiritually.
My one-dimensional gratitude practice quickly evolved into a multi-dimensional one. This seems like important learning to me, and it is learning that I don't want to lie fallow until next Thanksgiving. I am considering "upping" the gratitude journaling practice to reflect throughout the year how an event on any given day is connected with something that occurred previously.
Before meditating last night, I watched on episode of Neil deGrasse Tyson's series "Cosmos," which aired earlier this fall. The episode that I watched last night examined DNA and how most human DNA is shared across all species, including plants. Earlier this week Louis Henry Gates looked at DNA on his "Finding Your Roots" program, where his conclusion across humans is that what we share is much more similar than what distinguishes us. Sometime in the last year, I read that humans around the world share about 97% of our DNA with all other humans.
As I drifted off to sleep last night, what spun in my head what how connected everything is. Events in our lives are not random and disconnected. Neither are we as beings or even as a species isolated. Seeing the bigger picture truly does allow us to see who we are: we are One.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
There will never be a time...
Famed mystery writer P. D. James died today at the age of 94. In the news coverage of the passing, NPR played part of an old interview with James. The lead-in to the interview was the notation that James didn't begin writing until she was middle-aged (whatever age that is.) Then she produced popular works almost until her death. In the interview, James says that she always wanted to write, but was so busy with her family and her job that she never had time. When she reached middle-age, she said, she determined that there was never going to be time to write unless she just made the time.
As I began reflecting on the last year in preparation for my annual Thanksgiving meditation, what immediately popped into my mind that I had to be grateful for in the last year was writing. For close to half of the year, I wrote posts for this blog almost daily and for two months early this year, I produced almost fifty pages of my memoir manuscript. I also connected in a deeper way with regular followers, many of whom had been in my life for years...even decades. I loved that.
When I heard the James interview, I realized that she was right. If I waited to have time to write, I wouldn't ever write. Just as she had done, I needed to make time to write.
As I reflected, I realized that what had shifted since last winter was my intention. My work hours were just as long, and I was just as mentally exhausted and tired of looking at a computer screen last winter as I am now. I even managed to keep writing pretty regularly through two eye surgeries. Last winter, however, I came home with the intention to write because I knew that doing so was feeding my soul in a way that nothing else in my life did anymore.
Today I am grateful for the time I invested in writing last winter and for the realization that I would make writing a priority again.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
As I began reflecting on the last year in preparation for my annual Thanksgiving meditation, what immediately popped into my mind that I had to be grateful for in the last year was writing. For close to half of the year, I wrote posts for this blog almost daily and for two months early this year, I produced almost fifty pages of my memoir manuscript. I also connected in a deeper way with regular followers, many of whom had been in my life for years...even decades. I loved that.
When I heard the James interview, I realized that she was right. If I waited to have time to write, I wouldn't ever write. Just as she had done, I needed to make time to write.
As I reflected, I realized that what had shifted since last winter was my intention. My work hours were just as long, and I was just as mentally exhausted and tired of looking at a computer screen last winter as I am now. I even managed to keep writing pretty regularly through two eye surgeries. Last winter, however, I came home with the intention to write because I knew that doing so was feeding my soul in a way that nothing else in my life did anymore.
Today I am grateful for the time I invested in writing last winter and for the realization that I would make writing a priority again.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Feeling Alive
I was at a professional meeting over 20 years ago where we were engaged in dialogue, attempting to support each other in learning "the Truth." One executive said he had a simple rule about what to do in life: "Do what brings you to life and life to you." When I've pondered decisions and remembered to do so, it has proven good advice for me. I am amazed how often when there are two alternatives, almost always one sparks my heart, and the other leaves me feeling lifeless.
I think that what he was saying was to follow your heart because when I do, I am energized. Even when I've had no experience with something before, my heart will point me in the right direction.
As I faced the summer between the years of graduate school, I had two choices for internships. One was with a Fortune 100 company, would have paid well, and perhaps would have led to a permanent job after graduate school. The other was unpaid and with an unknown company. I sat with a counselor who simply asked me about the paid internship, "Is it a 'yes' or a 'no'?" In that instant, I knew: it was a "no."
That summer was among the most joyful in my life. In my work with the small unknown company, I was learning every day. The work allowed me independence in solving a very complex problem. What I learned that summer has served me well in the over 20 years since then. As I've learned more about myself since that time, I know I would have been spiritually dead in the other internship. Although it most certainly would have provided me a more lucrative and secure career track, it would have been a terrible mistake.
For my whole life, I've wanted to dance. As a kid, when my family was out of the house, I'd pull the drapes closed and twirl like a dervish. Nothing in my childhood brought more life to me. For a lot of reasons, I never pursued dance until a health crisis. When threatened with paraplegia, I knew the only thing I would have missed was dance. I came through the crisis with healthy life and limb. AND, I began to dance. Never, ever have I had more joy than when I dance. Time and space stop, and magic happens.
A torn hamstring has laid me low since September, and I haven't danced since then until last Sunday. On my doctor's advice, I only danced one or two songs and then sat out the same amount of time...and I left after an hour. That was really hard, but I knew that I needed to be prudent if I wanted to get back to a dance floor on a regular basis. Yet even only dancing for 30 minutes, I was aware of how alive I felt. Long after I left the ballroom, I felt like my heart was skipping a beat in a good way, and energy surged through me for a couple days.
I am going to give it a go again tonight...cautiously. Even though I know I must exercise control, my heart has raced all afternoon with anticipation. I truly do feel alive. And, just as I intuitively knew all those years before I danced that it was calling me, I know that this evening will jump start my aliveness again.
For many years I was pretty good at following my heart; then, our overly logical world gradually eroded the receivers of my heart's messages while deafening control from my head has taken control. As I contemplate an evening of dance again and how alive it will make me feel, I wonder how I soften the messages of my head while accentuating those from my heart again. As they always did before, I am certain that they will not fail me, even when I do not understand them. Somehow, they just know.
I think that what he was saying was to follow your heart because when I do, I am energized. Even when I've had no experience with something before, my heart will point me in the right direction.
As I faced the summer between the years of graduate school, I had two choices for internships. One was with a Fortune 100 company, would have paid well, and perhaps would have led to a permanent job after graduate school. The other was unpaid and with an unknown company. I sat with a counselor who simply asked me about the paid internship, "Is it a 'yes' or a 'no'?" In that instant, I knew: it was a "no."
That summer was among the most joyful in my life. In my work with the small unknown company, I was learning every day. The work allowed me independence in solving a very complex problem. What I learned that summer has served me well in the over 20 years since then. As I've learned more about myself since that time, I know I would have been spiritually dead in the other internship. Although it most certainly would have provided me a more lucrative and secure career track, it would have been a terrible mistake.
For my whole life, I've wanted to dance. As a kid, when my family was out of the house, I'd pull the drapes closed and twirl like a dervish. Nothing in my childhood brought more life to me. For a lot of reasons, I never pursued dance until a health crisis. When threatened with paraplegia, I knew the only thing I would have missed was dance. I came through the crisis with healthy life and limb. AND, I began to dance. Never, ever have I had more joy than when I dance. Time and space stop, and magic happens.
A torn hamstring has laid me low since September, and I haven't danced since then until last Sunday. On my doctor's advice, I only danced one or two songs and then sat out the same amount of time...and I left after an hour. That was really hard, but I knew that I needed to be prudent if I wanted to get back to a dance floor on a regular basis. Yet even only dancing for 30 minutes, I was aware of how alive I felt. Long after I left the ballroom, I felt like my heart was skipping a beat in a good way, and energy surged through me for a couple days.
I am going to give it a go again tonight...cautiously. Even though I know I must exercise control, my heart has raced all afternoon with anticipation. I truly do feel alive. And, just as I intuitively knew all those years before I danced that it was calling me, I know that this evening will jump start my aliveness again.
For many years I was pretty good at following my heart; then, our overly logical world gradually eroded the receivers of my heart's messages while deafening control from my head has taken control. As I contemplate an evening of dance again and how alive it will make me feel, I wonder how I soften the messages of my head while accentuating those from my heart again. As they always did before, I am certain that they will not fail me, even when I do not understand them. Somehow, they just know.
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Are You Ever Going to Grow Up?
Since writing the post "The Christmas-Crazy Kid," I've had the sense that something was missing. I wasn't sure what it was, but my regret that I might lose the childlike wonder that made me who I am sliced into me. I literally felt like I was dying; I couldn't breathe. I needed help reviving my "inner child" or maybe my outer child.
First thing the next morning, I emailed my former dance partner, the one who sang carols and loved decorating the tree and asked him if he would help me recover the child in me. The jury is still out on the answer, but just saying that to lose my child was to die was an important admission.
Sometime this evening, I recalled having been asked by someone when I was well into my adulthood, "Aren't you ever going to grow up?" as I was being playful and crazy. "Oh, my Lord!" I said, aghast at the possibility, "I hope not!" I couldn't possibly imagine why anyone, and most especially me, would want to "grow up."
Maybe the problem is and always has been that it took me well into my adulthood to become a child. Although it may seem a natural thing for a child to be, being a child wasn't for me. Born into a family of very responsible people, I was terribly adult and responsible long before starting school. My parents grew up with the poverty and responsibility so I suspect that they were never children either. And, it was passed down.
Many think that childhood is related to the years one has lived. I don't think that is so. I think childhood is an inner state, and I am certain that it comes from the heart. Having done so myself, I am certain that we can fall in and out of childhood.
I can't really say when I learned to be a child. I do know that between my terribly responsible freshman year in college when I had a very high grade point average but absolutely no fun and the end of my sophomore year when I had way too much fun something shifted in me. But, that wasn't when I found the child in me. Being a child connotes an innocence, and that was just a wild and crazy year.
Yet, even though it was just wild and crazy, that transition allowed me to shed the mantle of over-responsibility. I've never really stopped being responsible for myself, but at least from time to time, I'd like to think that I have given up being responsible for the whole world. I would like to think that, but most of the time, I think that just isn't so. I do worry terribly about the ills of our world from war and poverty to global warming.
I find that I wrestle with understanding what it means to be a child since I am sure I wasn't one when I was young and am not sure when I became one. Although I am not sure it makes sense, what comes to me is that being a child has more to do with tuning in to who I am and letting go of expectations of others. A fundamental part of who I am is worrying about the ills of our world, and I think I did that from a very young age.
I googled "What does it mean to be a child?" and I thank barbaracdf on Yahoo Answers for her thought that "...being a child at heart is being sweet, true, say what's on your mind in a cute way, and most....very loving!!!"* Her thought captures the essence I'd been searching for and what took me so long to find. Being true. Saying what's on my mind in a cute and unabrasive way. Without the innocence of my child, saying what's on my mind can be abrasive. Being loving. Add to that playfulness, and I think we've got it.
But, perhaps the most poignant part of barbaracdf's comment is about "being loving." I don't think when I was a child that I knew what it was to be loving, because I hadn't experienced loving much. When I experienced lovingness, I found my child. I found the safety to be playful...and I was.
That is probably what I captured sometime in my thirties when I think I finally found my child. I found what it meant to be true to me, to be playful, to experience humor, and to laugh. And, no, I don't ever want to grow up and lose those things.
*https://au.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20100422093017AAlG5mR
First thing the next morning, I emailed my former dance partner, the one who sang carols and loved decorating the tree and asked him if he would help me recover the child in me. The jury is still out on the answer, but just saying that to lose my child was to die was an important admission.
Sometime this evening, I recalled having been asked by someone when I was well into my adulthood, "Aren't you ever going to grow up?" as I was being playful and crazy. "Oh, my Lord!" I said, aghast at the possibility, "I hope not!" I couldn't possibly imagine why anyone, and most especially me, would want to "grow up."
Maybe the problem is and always has been that it took me well into my adulthood to become a child. Although it may seem a natural thing for a child to be, being a child wasn't for me. Born into a family of very responsible people, I was terribly adult and responsible long before starting school. My parents grew up with the poverty and responsibility so I suspect that they were never children either. And, it was passed down.
Many think that childhood is related to the years one has lived. I don't think that is so. I think childhood is an inner state, and I am certain that it comes from the heart. Having done so myself, I am certain that we can fall in and out of childhood.
I can't really say when I learned to be a child. I do know that between my terribly responsible freshman year in college when I had a very high grade point average but absolutely no fun and the end of my sophomore year when I had way too much fun something shifted in me. But, that wasn't when I found the child in me. Being a child connotes an innocence, and that was just a wild and crazy year.
Yet, even though it was just wild and crazy, that transition allowed me to shed the mantle of over-responsibility. I've never really stopped being responsible for myself, but at least from time to time, I'd like to think that I have given up being responsible for the whole world. I would like to think that, but most of the time, I think that just isn't so. I do worry terribly about the ills of our world from war and poverty to global warming.
I find that I wrestle with understanding what it means to be a child since I am sure I wasn't one when I was young and am not sure when I became one. Although I am not sure it makes sense, what comes to me is that being a child has more to do with tuning in to who I am and letting go of expectations of others. A fundamental part of who I am is worrying about the ills of our world, and I think I did that from a very young age.
I googled "What does it mean to be a child?" and I thank barbaracdf on Yahoo Answers for her thought that "...being a child at heart is being sweet, true, say what's on your mind in a cute way, and most....very loving!!!"* Her thought captures the essence I'd been searching for and what took me so long to find. Being true. Saying what's on my mind in a cute and unabrasive way. Without the innocence of my child, saying what's on my mind can be abrasive. Being loving. Add to that playfulness, and I think we've got it.
But, perhaps the most poignant part of barbaracdf's comment is about "being loving." I don't think when I was a child that I knew what it was to be loving, because I hadn't experienced loving much. When I experienced lovingness, I found my child. I found the safety to be playful...and I was.
That is probably what I captured sometime in my thirties when I think I finally found my child. I found what it meant to be true to me, to be playful, to experience humor, and to laugh. And, no, I don't ever want to grow up and lose those things.
*https://au.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20100422093017AAlG5mR
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
The Christmas-Crazy Kid
The day after Halloween, it started: the Halloween candy replaced with red, green and silver wrapped Hershey kisses and red and green M & Ms. Not long after that an occasional carol. By the second week of November the cable channels were playing Christmas movies.
For much of my life, I was the Christmas-Crazy kid. I delighted in finding just the perfect gift for each special person in my life, and I could hardly wait to make Christmas cookies. Planning and cooking for a large holiday open house was a highlight of the season, and I had reduced decorating to a fine art. A former dance partner started playing carols non-stop at Thanksgiving, and we knew every word to every song and belted them out at the tops of our lungs as we drove down the highway.
The whole season was special, but the most special was Christmas Eve. I always planned a special dinner, and I could hardly wait to see loved ones open the special gifts I'd carefully shopped for. I am certain that I was more excited to see the joy in their eyes than any anticipation I had about my own gifts. Finally, the evening would be topped off with midnight church service and carol singing. A little snow was always nice, but truthfully, since I spent half of my adult life in Oregon, rain was more likely.
That Christmas-Crazy Kid was truly like a kid...even though I'd 40. There was something triggere inside me that was like being 8 or 9 again...year after year after year. My parents did a really good job at being Santa, so much so that I was the only kid in my fourth grade class who still believed. The moment that even a hint of the season approached, I was transported back in time.
I am not sure how or why I lost that kid, and I am not sure that I fully acknowledged that until I hrrmphed at the sight of those red, green and silver Hershey kisses on November 1. Some would say that it is the normal aging process, but I don't believe that. I think the magic of Christmas lies in delighting those around us, whether with specially sought gifts, lovingly prepared foods, or Christmas decorations unwrapped year after year, each with a memory attached.
Maybe it is the pace of life. Taking time to really know people well enough to actually be able to find the perfect gift appears to be a figment of the past, and often an obligatory gift card fulfilling a duty substitutes for the loving care that was once an important part of Christmas shopping. I have to say that until I started writing this post that I'd flirted with not even getting a tree this year, and that seems like waving the flag of surrender to my inner humbug. And I won't give in to this creeping...creeping...what?
Thirty years ago there was a movie called "The Neverending Story--Part I." In the fantasy, a young boy named Bastion is charged with stopping "the great Nothing," a force taking over the world. Wikipedia describes The Nothing as "human apathy, cynicism, and the denial of childish dreams." The Nothing occurs when we lose our capacity to feel. Imagination through the power of wishing is the only thing that can overcome The Nothing.
Somewhere, somehow, I think the Nothing stole the Christmas-Crazy Kid from me. I need Bastian's help...fast...I am in danger of losing the Kid in me. My childish dreams kept the spirit of Christmas alive inside of me. After all, isn't that a big part of what Christmas is all about: finding the kid inside each of us.
I have some serious work to do over the next week when the traditional Christmas season starts at Thanksgiving. The serious work is to find my childish dreams and imagination. I wish, I wish, I wish...Bastion, I need your help...!
For much of my life, I was the Christmas-Crazy kid. I delighted in finding just the perfect gift for each special person in my life, and I could hardly wait to make Christmas cookies. Planning and cooking for a large holiday open house was a highlight of the season, and I had reduced decorating to a fine art. A former dance partner started playing carols non-stop at Thanksgiving, and we knew every word to every song and belted them out at the tops of our lungs as we drove down the highway.
The whole season was special, but the most special was Christmas Eve. I always planned a special dinner, and I could hardly wait to see loved ones open the special gifts I'd carefully shopped for. I am certain that I was more excited to see the joy in their eyes than any anticipation I had about my own gifts. Finally, the evening would be topped off with midnight church service and carol singing. A little snow was always nice, but truthfully, since I spent half of my adult life in Oregon, rain was more likely.
That Christmas-Crazy Kid was truly like a kid...even though I'd 40. There was something triggere inside me that was like being 8 or 9 again...year after year after year. My parents did a really good job at being Santa, so much so that I was the only kid in my fourth grade class who still believed. The moment that even a hint of the season approached, I was transported back in time.
I am not sure how or why I lost that kid, and I am not sure that I fully acknowledged that until I hrrmphed at the sight of those red, green and silver Hershey kisses on November 1. Some would say that it is the normal aging process, but I don't believe that. I think the magic of Christmas lies in delighting those around us, whether with specially sought gifts, lovingly prepared foods, or Christmas decorations unwrapped year after year, each with a memory attached.
Maybe it is the pace of life. Taking time to really know people well enough to actually be able to find the perfect gift appears to be a figment of the past, and often an obligatory gift card fulfilling a duty substitutes for the loving care that was once an important part of Christmas shopping. I have to say that until I started writing this post that I'd flirted with not even getting a tree this year, and that seems like waving the flag of surrender to my inner humbug. And I won't give in to this creeping...creeping...what?
Thirty years ago there was a movie called "The Neverending Story--Part I." In the fantasy, a young boy named Bastion is charged with stopping "the great Nothing," a force taking over the world. Wikipedia describes The Nothing as "human apathy, cynicism, and the denial of childish dreams." The Nothing occurs when we lose our capacity to feel. Imagination through the power of wishing is the only thing that can overcome The Nothing.
Somewhere, somehow, I think the Nothing stole the Christmas-Crazy Kid from me. I need Bastian's help...fast...I am in danger of losing the Kid in me. My childish dreams kept the spirit of Christmas alive inside of me. After all, isn't that a big part of what Christmas is all about: finding the kid inside each of us.
I have some serious work to do over the next week when the traditional Christmas season starts at Thanksgiving. The serious work is to find my childish dreams and imagination. I wish, I wish, I wish...Bastion, I need your help...!
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Let Go of Your Plan....
Much of my life has been magical. One door closed, another opened. One relationship ended, the next week another began. Whenever I needed resources, suddenly they appeared. Tired of one job, as soon as I'd say it was time for something else, another was there. Once I was chastised by an executive in the community for not letting him know I was looking because he would have liked to hire me: alas, I told him, I wasn't really looking.
Then somewhere along the line, something shifted. I cannot pinpoint when the change occurred, but I do know it was somewhere around the time that the world got much more focused on goals, metrics, master minding, and being able to demonstrate a plan and progress toward execution. I know it happened for me; I think it happened for a number of my clients. What happened?
I watched a movie over the weekend in which there was a line, "Let go of your plan and let Fate carry you." In that moment, a thought crystallized that I haven't considered for a long time. It has to do with letting God be God. In the old days when a relationship or job began to feel stale, I'd let God know it was time for something new. (My intention) But, I didn't try to figure out next steps or what I wanted. I just let God send me something better, and inevitably, it was.
I've been wanting a relationship for years. I've put together the collages that the proponents on Oprah have espoused, and I've put them under my mattress so that I could send the Universe my message as I slept. I've occasionally perused internet dating sites with unsatisfying results. I've even attended events that I thought would attract my kind of guy. Needless to say, I've been available at dances.
A more satisfying job has been on my wish list, too. I've applied for a bunch for which I was well qualified without any response. I did that again this afternoon, spending several hours modifying my resume for the keywords in the posting so that the technology could find me.
When I heard that line last night, "Let go of your plan and let Fate carry you," I knew it was time to let God be God again. Let be whatever will be to my higher good and that of the Universe. Wow! I can exhale because I can let go of attempting a job for which I will never qualify: the job of being God. I do believe what the actor in the movie implied by "...let Fate carry you," is to allow myself to flow with what God wants to happen. Allow miracles to happen. So, I will...let go of my plan and let Fate carry me.
Then somewhere along the line, something shifted. I cannot pinpoint when the change occurred, but I do know it was somewhere around the time that the world got much more focused on goals, metrics, master minding, and being able to demonstrate a plan and progress toward execution. I know it happened for me; I think it happened for a number of my clients. What happened?
I watched a movie over the weekend in which there was a line, "Let go of your plan and let Fate carry you." In that moment, a thought crystallized that I haven't considered for a long time. It has to do with letting God be God. In the old days when a relationship or job began to feel stale, I'd let God know it was time for something new. (My intention) But, I didn't try to figure out next steps or what I wanted. I just let God send me something better, and inevitably, it was.
I've been wanting a relationship for years. I've put together the collages that the proponents on Oprah have espoused, and I've put them under my mattress so that I could send the Universe my message as I slept. I've occasionally perused internet dating sites with unsatisfying results. I've even attended events that I thought would attract my kind of guy. Needless to say, I've been available at dances.
A more satisfying job has been on my wish list, too. I've applied for a bunch for which I was well qualified without any response. I did that again this afternoon, spending several hours modifying my resume for the keywords in the posting so that the technology could find me.
When I heard that line last night, "Let go of your plan and let Fate carry you," I knew it was time to let God be God again. Let be whatever will be to my higher good and that of the Universe. Wow! I can exhale because I can let go of attempting a job for which I will never qualify: the job of being God. I do believe what the actor in the movie implied by "...let Fate carry you," is to allow myself to flow with what God wants to happen. Allow miracles to happen. So, I will...let go of my plan and let Fate carry me.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Loving My Emotions
Anyone who has known me five minutes probably knows that I wear my emotions on my sleeves. I cry at ribbon cuttings. Just a passing thought will bring a lump to my throat. Even when I was a teenager when we would play a card game that I later would come to know as liar's poker, I always lost big. Friends would always say I could neither lie nor hide my feelings.
Today is Veterans Day. Since coming to Washington, I've made it a practice to walk around the Tidal Basin, visiting each of the memorials to one war or another. Once I went to another part of town to see a memorial to African-American soldiers who fought in the Civil War, 250,000 or so of them, as I recall. That lump in my throat has always been a constant, and sometimes tears fill my eyes, rolling down my cheeks.
I cannot visit the World War II memorial without thinking about the toll that war took on my father. The World War I memorial, a very simple one which is easy to miss, reminds me of both my grandfathers, who went away as boys. They came home as men, one of them badly broken by what we would call Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD) now. Shell shock was the term used then. Just the distant sight of the Vietnam War Memorial wall brings to mind a friend in my high school car pool, who was killed shortly after arriving in Vietnam.
I don't really know why I am so emotional, but if I were to guess, I think it is a deep sense of loss, not only of lives nipped so young, but of the loss of a very human part of those who did return. Unlike me with my emotions on my sleeves, many of them cannot find that vital part of themselves. Others, like my dad, can only find that part of themselves when they withdraw from family members and spend time with other veterans.
My day started when I heard about London's recognition of the 888,246 people from Britain and her colonies who died during World War I. I was predisposed to feel tears roll down my cheeks as I looked at 888,246 ceramic poppies filling the "moat" of the Tower of London, one for each life lost in the "war to end all wars." (http://www.cnn.com/2014/11/07/world/europe/tower-of-london-poppies/index.html?hpt=wo_c2)
Since I am still getting around stiffly, my annual walk around the Tidal Basin wasn't an option this year. My friend, who has joined me before on the memorial walk, joined me instead for a visit to Washington's Newseum. Although I was feeling a pang of guilt at not doing something more "veteransy," it ended up that the Universe had other ideas. We were going for a photo exhibit, but then we wandered around parts of the museum we hadn't seen before.
Coincident to the 25th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, we spent quite a bit a time at the Berlin Wall exhibit. A rather large (maybe 25 to 30 feet long by about a dozen feet tall) piece of the Wall, covered with graffiti on one side and stark concrete on the other, mirrored the marked differences in life on the two sides of the Wall before it fell. A guard station towered over the segment of the wall. What was really moving, though, were pictures and video clips about that time in the Cold War when the world was torn apart by a war of words, wills, and walls.
I choked, thinking about a friend who was from Germany. We were in Graduate School at the time the Wall fell. She couldn't believe the fall.
In a video interview with a man, who had been a guard in the American Sector of Berlin, told of a young East German man who had been shot and lay screaming for help just a few feet away. I was reminded that this was a war with casualties, just as all those wars honored with memorials on the mall. As I watched the videos of families, torn apart because they lived in different parts of a single city, flood through the Wall, I couldn't help but think about similar reunions at the end of "real" wars. More lumps in my throat.
The Universe had conspired to keep me in the reflective state of heart and mind that my walk around the memorials usually produced. There was no way, however, that I could have guessed the exhibit that would move me the most. It is an exhibit that many Americans would find moving, but I am certain I had a somewhat different experience. The part of the museum that really choked me up was the one that was dedicated to the onset of the "War on Terror"-- the 9/11 exhibit.
You see, on September 10, 2001, I went into my usual fall silent retreat. While I'd usually done that at home, I had the opportunity to use a rural retreat center about 25 miles from my home. Since the center was usually used only on the weekends, I was there alone. When I headed home in the late afternoon on the 13th, I turned on the radio news, expecting the usual fare.
What I heard was far from a standard newscast. Many disjointed stories that made no sense to me. Something had obviously happened, but after two days of the normal news cycle, the assumption built into every story was that everyone on the planet must know what I did not. I was still confused when I finally arrived home 30 minutes later, so I flipped on the TV to see if I could learn more. It was a full year during anniversary of 9/11 that I finally saw pictures of the plane flying into the World Trade Center.
Only today did the full impact of those events reach me...and touch me. I literally had no idea. It truly was war. I bit my lip to keep from turning into a puddle right in the museum.
After my friend went her way, I sat in the sun for a long while just reflecting, thinking about the "regular" war memorials and pondering the salutes to the less conventional. For several hours, my emotions took me to a deep soulful place.
Sometimes the lump in my throat is embarrassing. I have wished that I didn't tear up so easily. But those same emotions are what make me really human and connect me with people across time and space. I can be with my father in northern Africa, France and Italy, long after he is gone. I am with my grandfathers in trenches in France a century ago. Today, I was with people in Berlin racing through the Wall and a teenage girl, looking for her dad, missing after 9/11. This evening I connected with a Medal of Honor winner, whose own eyes filled with tears, during the Concert for Valor
Today, I love my emotions...and the places they take me.
Today is Veterans Day. Since coming to Washington, I've made it a practice to walk around the Tidal Basin, visiting each of the memorials to one war or another. Once I went to another part of town to see a memorial to African-American soldiers who fought in the Civil War, 250,000 or so of them, as I recall. That lump in my throat has always been a constant, and sometimes tears fill my eyes, rolling down my cheeks.
I cannot visit the World War II memorial without thinking about the toll that war took on my father. The World War I memorial, a very simple one which is easy to miss, reminds me of both my grandfathers, who went away as boys. They came home as men, one of them badly broken by what we would call Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSD) now. Shell shock was the term used then. Just the distant sight of the Vietnam War Memorial wall brings to mind a friend in my high school car pool, who was killed shortly after arriving in Vietnam.
I don't really know why I am so emotional, but if I were to guess, I think it is a deep sense of loss, not only of lives nipped so young, but of the loss of a very human part of those who did return. Unlike me with my emotions on my sleeves, many of them cannot find that vital part of themselves. Others, like my dad, can only find that part of themselves when they withdraw from family members and spend time with other veterans.
My day started when I heard about London's recognition of the 888,246 people from Britain and her colonies who died during World War I. I was predisposed to feel tears roll down my cheeks as I looked at 888,246 ceramic poppies filling the "moat" of the Tower of London, one for each life lost in the "war to end all wars." (http://www.cnn.com/2014/11/07/world/europe/tower-of-london-poppies/index.html?hpt=wo_c2)
Since I am still getting around stiffly, my annual walk around the Tidal Basin wasn't an option this year. My friend, who has joined me before on the memorial walk, joined me instead for a visit to Washington's Newseum. Although I was feeling a pang of guilt at not doing something more "veteransy," it ended up that the Universe had other ideas. We were going for a photo exhibit, but then we wandered around parts of the museum we hadn't seen before.
Coincident to the 25th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, we spent quite a bit a time at the Berlin Wall exhibit. A rather large (maybe 25 to 30 feet long by about a dozen feet tall) piece of the Wall, covered with graffiti on one side and stark concrete on the other, mirrored the marked differences in life on the two sides of the Wall before it fell. A guard station towered over the segment of the wall. What was really moving, though, were pictures and video clips about that time in the Cold War when the world was torn apart by a war of words, wills, and walls.
I choked, thinking about a friend who was from Germany. We were in Graduate School at the time the Wall fell. She couldn't believe the fall.
In a video interview with a man, who had been a guard in the American Sector of Berlin, told of a young East German man who had been shot and lay screaming for help just a few feet away. I was reminded that this was a war with casualties, just as all those wars honored with memorials on the mall. As I watched the videos of families, torn apart because they lived in different parts of a single city, flood through the Wall, I couldn't help but think about similar reunions at the end of "real" wars. More lumps in my throat.
The Universe had conspired to keep me in the reflective state of heart and mind that my walk around the memorials usually produced. There was no way, however, that I could have guessed the exhibit that would move me the most. It is an exhibit that many Americans would find moving, but I am certain I had a somewhat different experience. The part of the museum that really choked me up was the one that was dedicated to the onset of the "War on Terror"-- the 9/11 exhibit.
You see, on September 10, 2001, I went into my usual fall silent retreat. While I'd usually done that at home, I had the opportunity to use a rural retreat center about 25 miles from my home. Since the center was usually used only on the weekends, I was there alone. When I headed home in the late afternoon on the 13th, I turned on the radio news, expecting the usual fare.
What I heard was far from a standard newscast. Many disjointed stories that made no sense to me. Something had obviously happened, but after two days of the normal news cycle, the assumption built into every story was that everyone on the planet must know what I did not. I was still confused when I finally arrived home 30 minutes later, so I flipped on the TV to see if I could learn more. It was a full year during anniversary of 9/11 that I finally saw pictures of the plane flying into the World Trade Center.
Only today did the full impact of those events reach me...and touch me. I literally had no idea. It truly was war. I bit my lip to keep from turning into a puddle right in the museum.
After my friend went her way, I sat in the sun for a long while just reflecting, thinking about the "regular" war memorials and pondering the salutes to the less conventional. For several hours, my emotions took me to a deep soulful place.
Sometimes the lump in my throat is embarrassing. I have wished that I didn't tear up so easily. But those same emotions are what make me really human and connect me with people across time and space. I can be with my father in northern Africa, France and Italy, long after he is gone. I am with my grandfathers in trenches in France a century ago. Today, I was with people in Berlin racing through the Wall and a teenage girl, looking for her dad, missing after 9/11. This evening I connected with a Medal of Honor winner, whose own eyes filled with tears, during the Concert for Valor
Today, I love my emotions...and the places they take me.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Have a Story to Tell
Last winter an artist friend created a wonderful collage which she then cut into pieces and shared with many of her friends. I have loved my own piece. (See blogpost, January 5 of this year, "Pieces of the Whole" to see the collage. http://youknowinyourheart.blogspot.com/2014/01/pieces-of-whole.html)
When I was cleaning my desk last weekend, I found a different piece of the collage, sent to me by a mutual friend of the artist's and my own. Featured prominently in the piece she had sent were the words, "Have a Story to Tell."
I really don't remember when she sent this to me; she frequently gifts me with little timely mementos. The fact that I don't remember getting this usually means I wasn't ready to do something with it until now. "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear," kind of thing. It is now displayed prominently on my desk, and I've been sitting on this for over a week. Almost every day, sometimes multiple times, I look at it and think, "What is the story I want to tell?"
Last winter I stalled on writing my memoir after over 100 pages because I couldn't figure out what the story was. It felt like a bunch of anecdotes. There were commonalities: resilience, overcoming, persevering, spiritual learning and growth, but what was I trying to communicate in this book? I wish I could say that I have the answer, but as I've pondered "Have a Story to Tell" over the last week, I still don't know the answer.
What has become increasingly clear is that we can use the same words and relate the same events, but based on the story we want to tell, they can take on vastly different meanings. For instance, this weekend presents an example. In the last week, my less-than-two-years-old-but-off-warranty refrigerator, my food processor (mandatory equipment for a foodie like me,) and my rather expensive computer battery for my five-year-old computer have all sent up the message that they are not long for this world. Depending on whether I replace the expensive battery or the aging computer, these three items could easily cost me over $1,000.
What is the story I could tell about those somewhat objective facts? If I wanted to be a victim, I could say that just as I've gotten myself out of a financial hole and where I can start saving for retirement again, the Universe is unloading on me...again. The story could be: "You just can't win."
Or, I could tell the story that "At least things have held off until I was in a position to be able to replace them." The story might be: "Whew! Just dodged a bullet, but it isn't safe to exhale yet."
Still another story might be that I reached out to friends and discovered less expensive alternatives, which won't totally solve my problems, but which will extend the life of these items so that I can plan replacement and not pay for them all at once. (Actually, I got a real bargain on a food processor, and since I know my priorities, I did spring for that replacement right away.)
Which is true? They all are, of course. But the one that I attach myself to will influence my attitude toward life. Do I want to be a victim? Then Story One will be the one I choose. Do I want to feel supported by my friends and the Universe and feel empowered to control what is thrown my way? Then Story Three is my choice. I am choosing Story Three.
As I look at this beautiful three by six-inch piece of collage with "Have a Story to Tell," featuring prominently, I am reminded I cannot control what comes my way, but I am always of choice about the meaning I assign what comes my way.
What is the story I want to tell about my life? I am still working on that one, but knowing that I assign the meaning may have just taken me one step closer to the answer.
When I was cleaning my desk last weekend, I found a different piece of the collage, sent to me by a mutual friend of the artist's and my own. Featured prominently in the piece she had sent were the words, "Have a Story to Tell."
I really don't remember when she sent this to me; she frequently gifts me with little timely mementos. The fact that I don't remember getting this usually means I wasn't ready to do something with it until now. "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear," kind of thing. It is now displayed prominently on my desk, and I've been sitting on this for over a week. Almost every day, sometimes multiple times, I look at it and think, "What is the story I want to tell?"
Last winter I stalled on writing my memoir after over 100 pages because I couldn't figure out what the story was. It felt like a bunch of anecdotes. There were commonalities: resilience, overcoming, persevering, spiritual learning and growth, but what was I trying to communicate in this book? I wish I could say that I have the answer, but as I've pondered "Have a Story to Tell" over the last week, I still don't know the answer.
What has become increasingly clear is that we can use the same words and relate the same events, but based on the story we want to tell, they can take on vastly different meanings. For instance, this weekend presents an example. In the last week, my less-than-two-years-old-but-off-warranty refrigerator, my food processor (mandatory equipment for a foodie like me,) and my rather expensive computer battery for my five-year-old computer have all sent up the message that they are not long for this world. Depending on whether I replace the expensive battery or the aging computer, these three items could easily cost me over $1,000.
What is the story I could tell about those somewhat objective facts? If I wanted to be a victim, I could say that just as I've gotten myself out of a financial hole and where I can start saving for retirement again, the Universe is unloading on me...again. The story could be: "You just can't win."
Or, I could tell the story that "At least things have held off until I was in a position to be able to replace them." The story might be: "Whew! Just dodged a bullet, but it isn't safe to exhale yet."
Still another story might be that I reached out to friends and discovered less expensive alternatives, which won't totally solve my problems, but which will extend the life of these items so that I can plan replacement and not pay for them all at once. (Actually, I got a real bargain on a food processor, and since I know my priorities, I did spring for that replacement right away.)
Which is true? They all are, of course. But the one that I attach myself to will influence my attitude toward life. Do I want to be a victim? Then Story One will be the one I choose. Do I want to feel supported by my friends and the Universe and feel empowered to control what is thrown my way? Then Story Three is my choice. I am choosing Story Three.
As I look at this beautiful three by six-inch piece of collage with "Have a Story to Tell," featuring prominently, I am reminded I cannot control what comes my way, but I am always of choice about the meaning I assign what comes my way.
What is the story I want to tell about my life? I am still working on that one, but knowing that I assign the meaning may have just taken me one step closer to the answer.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
What To Do With An Extra Hour
Yesterday I heard a commentator pondering what to do with an extra hour this weekend. He suggested a number of options from reading one of several books that he had purchased but never had time to read to starting or completing a number of projects around the house. I used my extra hour this weekend to attend a fascinating lecture. It felt like a guilty pleasure, and because I had an extra hour, it was mine to indulge.
The commentary got me started thinking, not only about what to do with the extra hour this weekend, but also about settling into a normal work schedule. After a year of 11- and 12-hour days, would I know how to use two extra hours each day? Last week I worked in a different organization and I was able to leave almost-on-time two days.
I found myself at loose ends when I got home at 6. I did a number of little projects, including making phone calls to businesses that are usually closed by the time I got home. But, mostly I frittered the time away without focus. I couldn't remember when I hadn't felt like I was on a dead-run from project to project without time to breathe. Suddenly, I had time to exhale, and I'd forgotten how.
The commentary yesterday reminded me that I didn't have an extra hour in a weekend, but would soon have an extra two hours a day. I want to be intentional about what I do with the gift of an extra day each week. I am not sure that I've ever really appreciated what a gift time is, and there are things I really want to make sure that I accomplish. What would take me where I wanted to go? I had some ideas.
Yesterday I entertained some special women friends for a lazy, lingering brunch. After they were gone, and I'd cleaned up my kitchen, I decided that Job One was cleaning off my desk. Actually, that isn't quite right. My desk was clean, but only because I'd gathered up the mess before my guests arrived and shoved it into a closet. Intuitively, I knew that I couldn't be intentional about dispensing with my extra hours if I didn't know what was in my stack.
I reduced the stack by half and then started a list. Writing is on the top of it. I hope that you will soon be seeing more regular posts to this blog because I have a full page of notes about posts to write. My head was literally spinning with all the ideas. More came this morning in church. Others have popped in this afternoon. I felt like cleaning the desk had cleared out thinking room in my brain.
Getting back in shape is right up there too. Exercising isn't really competing for writing with Number One. Exercising is how I used to clear the cobwebs of the day's activities from my brain so that I could listen. Exercising feels more to me like how I facilitate writing than competition with writing for time.
On the desk, I also found my list of last-day items that I'd created after a blog post last winter about living each day as if it is your last. Since it got buried in the stack, nothing more had been accomplished. The list has worked its way to the top of my stack.
Amazingly for me, that is where I stopped, and that's a good thing. I tend to be someone who makes big lists and then accomplishes just a few items before either becoming overwhelmed or getting distracted. I think it is good that I am being very intentional about how I will use my extra day each week.
I also think it is good that I don't fill every moment with replacement activities. I want to have time to exhale; that is something I don't want to forget. Who knows? When I exhale, I might just make space to breathe in new and wonderful miracles that I can't anticipate. That is where I allow God to be God.
The commentary got me started thinking, not only about what to do with the extra hour this weekend, but also about settling into a normal work schedule. After a year of 11- and 12-hour days, would I know how to use two extra hours each day? Last week I worked in a different organization and I was able to leave almost-on-time two days.
I found myself at loose ends when I got home at 6. I did a number of little projects, including making phone calls to businesses that are usually closed by the time I got home. But, mostly I frittered the time away without focus. I couldn't remember when I hadn't felt like I was on a dead-run from project to project without time to breathe. Suddenly, I had time to exhale, and I'd forgotten how.
The commentary yesterday reminded me that I didn't have an extra hour in a weekend, but would soon have an extra two hours a day. I want to be intentional about what I do with the gift of an extra day each week. I am not sure that I've ever really appreciated what a gift time is, and there are things I really want to make sure that I accomplish. What would take me where I wanted to go? I had some ideas.
Yesterday I entertained some special women friends for a lazy, lingering brunch. After they were gone, and I'd cleaned up my kitchen, I decided that Job One was cleaning off my desk. Actually, that isn't quite right. My desk was clean, but only because I'd gathered up the mess before my guests arrived and shoved it into a closet. Intuitively, I knew that I couldn't be intentional about dispensing with my extra hours if I didn't know what was in my stack.
I reduced the stack by half and then started a list. Writing is on the top of it. I hope that you will soon be seeing more regular posts to this blog because I have a full page of notes about posts to write. My head was literally spinning with all the ideas. More came this morning in church. Others have popped in this afternoon. I felt like cleaning the desk had cleared out thinking room in my brain.
Getting back in shape is right up there too. Exercising isn't really competing for writing with Number One. Exercising is how I used to clear the cobwebs of the day's activities from my brain so that I could listen. Exercising feels more to me like how I facilitate writing than competition with writing for time.
On the desk, I also found my list of last-day items that I'd created after a blog post last winter about living each day as if it is your last. Since it got buried in the stack, nothing more had been accomplished. The list has worked its way to the top of my stack.
Amazingly for me, that is where I stopped, and that's a good thing. I tend to be someone who makes big lists and then accomplishes just a few items before either becoming overwhelmed or getting distracted. I think it is good that I am being very intentional about how I will use my extra day each week.
I also think it is good that I don't fill every moment with replacement activities. I want to have time to exhale; that is something I don't want to forget. Who knows? When I exhale, I might just make space to breathe in new and wonderful miracles that I can't anticipate. That is where I allow God to be God.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Lesson 3: Be vulnerable
The third and final lesson I have to master in order to open my heart, find intimacy, and create connection is: be vulnerable. However, I want to make it clear that I don't think there is an order to the three lessons. I suspect that they are interrelated, and mastery of one will lead to mastery of all. Or, maybe mastery of all will require mastery of only one...but, which one?
By contrast, if I am willing to be vulnerable, I'll risk confronting things, people, and circumstances in my life that keep me from doing the things I love. Then I will be joyful.
Finally, if I make time for the things I love and love what I do, the bubble of God's love will provide the security to be vulnerable. I will most certainly be grateful and joyful.
So, slow down, Kay. Just be. Do what you love. Rejoice. Be vulnerable.
I am taking baby steps. I left work at 5 p.m. tonight even though my colleague who usually works late, and I choose to let me feel guilty, really wanted to talk about a project. I felt quite vulnerable making the choice, but I have to say that the building didn't quake because I left on time. She didn't protest even a whimper. I scheduled time tomorrow evening to talk with her, an evening when I have an extra hour to kill between work and a dance class. I will love working with her; she's great. I will love the dance class.
I had an extra two hours. I've done several things this evening that I at least enjoy, even if they aren't quite in the "love to do" category. I had leftovers from a meal out, but I took time to artfully arrange them on the plate and make a special labor-intensive salad. That I loved doing.
I've had some paperwork to complete a certification I started about six weeks ago. I've been putting off doing it. I just didn't think I could add one more thing to my plate. When I emailed the instructor that I needed to put it off for a while (being vulnerable,) she was relieved because she is over-taxed.
I really wonder how many times when I've pushed myself to near-exhaustion that I've pushed others as well. At the very least, my pushing back probably wouldn't have been a concern.
Even if any of the lessons will lead to the other two, I have a hunch that "be vulnerable" may actually be the easiest to bring to consciousness. I am not sure why, but I think that in any given situation, if I ask myself, "What will make me the most vulnerable?" that I will not fail--will not fail to be human. I will finally feel secure in abandoning superwoman. Sigh. What a relief just to say that!
In the spirit of full disclosure, I am not sure that I've ever totally mastered one of my lessons during a single year. I have always made progress. The way it has usually happened has been that sometime down the line, a year, two years, or five years, I will suddenly realize that I am doing the very thing that I'd committed to mastering. Once we set an intention, we unleash a powerful force to support our desires. Then acting in accordance with that choice incrementally carries us toward that intention.
I am unequivocal about choosing to open my heart, find intimacy, and create connection. I will master these lessons--one day at a time.
- Make time to do the things you love and love what you do
- This is the day the Lord hath made; rejoice and be glad in it.
- Be vulnerable
By contrast, if I am willing to be vulnerable, I'll risk confronting things, people, and circumstances in my life that keep me from doing the things I love. Then I will be joyful.
Finally, if I make time for the things I love and love what I do, the bubble of God's love will provide the security to be vulnerable. I will most certainly be grateful and joyful.
So, slow down, Kay. Just be. Do what you love. Rejoice. Be vulnerable.
I am taking baby steps. I left work at 5 p.m. tonight even though my colleague who usually works late, and I choose to let me feel guilty, really wanted to talk about a project. I felt quite vulnerable making the choice, but I have to say that the building didn't quake because I left on time. She didn't protest even a whimper. I scheduled time tomorrow evening to talk with her, an evening when I have an extra hour to kill between work and a dance class. I will love working with her; she's great. I will love the dance class.
I had an extra two hours. I've done several things this evening that I at least enjoy, even if they aren't quite in the "love to do" category. I had leftovers from a meal out, but I took time to artfully arrange them on the plate and make a special labor-intensive salad. That I loved doing.
I've had some paperwork to complete a certification I started about six weeks ago. I've been putting off doing it. I just didn't think I could add one more thing to my plate. When I emailed the instructor that I needed to put it off for a while (being vulnerable,) she was relieved because she is over-taxed.
I really wonder how many times when I've pushed myself to near-exhaustion that I've pushed others as well. At the very least, my pushing back probably wouldn't have been a concern.
Even if any of the lessons will lead to the other two, I have a hunch that "be vulnerable" may actually be the easiest to bring to consciousness. I am not sure why, but I think that in any given situation, if I ask myself, "What will make me the most vulnerable?" that I will not fail--will not fail to be human. I will finally feel secure in abandoning superwoman. Sigh. What a relief just to say that!
In the spirit of full disclosure, I am not sure that I've ever totally mastered one of my lessons during a single year. I have always made progress. The way it has usually happened has been that sometime down the line, a year, two years, or five years, I will suddenly realize that I am doing the very thing that I'd committed to mastering. Once we set an intention, we unleash a powerful force to support our desires. Then acting in accordance with that choice incrementally carries us toward that intention.
I am unequivocal about choosing to open my heart, find intimacy, and create connection. I will master these lessons--one day at a time.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Lesson 2 -- This is the Day the Lord Hath Made
The second spiritual lesson that I am undertaking for the year ahead as a result of my retreat in Greece is to celebrate each and every day in its perfection. Those who read "Coveting" (10/2/14) will recall that I was deeply moved by the concept that any time we wish for anything in our lives to be different than what it is, we are "coveting." We miss the value of what is because we are caught up in what it might be.
During my reflective time I pondered, how would I word an intention for growth that meant "loving what is." Each time I would think about it, a single scripture would immediately come to me:
"This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24
If I was not going to wish my life to be different than the gift God had given me, that scripture captured what I needed to do. I must be aware that God had made this particular day expressly and intentionally for me. This day is God's gift to me, whatever it is. My job is to rejoice and be glad about the gift, not to complain about what God had chosen not to give me in this day.
I will be the very first to say, this is a very difficult lesson. First, I have to keep myself conscious each and every day that this day is God's gift to me. That is the really hard part. When I remember that the day is God's gift, I find that being intentional about rejoicing in what is happening is easier. That old thing about being conscious is the hard part.
You will recall that my intention for the year ahead is to open my heart, find intimacy, and create connection. I cannot do any of those without being conscious. Even more important though is that if I am wishing to be somewhere else having some other kind of experience, I will be guarded and defensive. If I am guarded, how will I ever open my heart, and without an open heart, I am hopeless for find intimacy or create connection.
Today celebrating the day God had made for me was easy. It was the most perfect blue sky, sunny autumn day imaginable. I had almost nothing I had to do. I just completely enjoyed everything I did: you might say I was rejoicing and being glad. The challenge will come tomorrow when I am thrust back into my work environment. This is my spiritual lesson, and it will be work. And, I will rejoice and be glad about learning this important lesson.
During my reflective time I pondered, how would I word an intention for growth that meant "loving what is." Each time I would think about it, a single scripture would immediately come to me:
"This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24
If I was not going to wish my life to be different than the gift God had given me, that scripture captured what I needed to do. I must be aware that God had made this particular day expressly and intentionally for me. This day is God's gift to me, whatever it is. My job is to rejoice and be glad about the gift, not to complain about what God had chosen not to give me in this day.
I will be the very first to say, this is a very difficult lesson. First, I have to keep myself conscious each and every day that this day is God's gift to me. That is the really hard part. When I remember that the day is God's gift, I find that being intentional about rejoicing in what is happening is easier. That old thing about being conscious is the hard part.
You will recall that my intention for the year ahead is to open my heart, find intimacy, and create connection. I cannot do any of those without being conscious. Even more important though is that if I am wishing to be somewhere else having some other kind of experience, I will be guarded and defensive. If I am guarded, how will I ever open my heart, and without an open heart, I am hopeless for find intimacy or create connection.
Today celebrating the day God had made for me was easy. It was the most perfect blue sky, sunny autumn day imaginable. I had almost nothing I had to do. I just completely enjoyed everything I did: you might say I was rejoicing and being glad. The challenge will come tomorrow when I am thrust back into my work environment. This is my spiritual lesson, and it will be work. And, I will rejoice and be glad about learning this important lesson.
Monday, October 20, 2014
The Organizing Principle
A week ago, after writing my last post about loving what you do and doing what you love (October 13,) I had an interesting night. I kept waking up for a few seconds all night, but it wasn't a fitful sleep. I slept well, but just woke up a number of times.
Each time I awakened I would hear the words "the organizing principle." That's just how long I was awake--just long enough to hear "the organizing principle." I say I heard the words, but I almost have the sense that there was a flash of light, and I'd also see the words. But only for a split second. Then, back to sleep.
When I woke up there was a stunned silence inside me. I just lay there, mulling over this message that kept washing over me in waves. While I wasn't sure exactly what it meant, I knew it was important. What did it mean? Somehow I felt like it related to love and the post I'd written, but I didn't know what.
The next night "the organizing principle" showed up again. Not as often, but at least twice. The next night...again. What did this mean?
My meditations produced nothing. "The organizing principle." I looked it up in Wikipedia: "Having an organizing principle might help one simplify and get a handle on a particularly complicated domain. On the other hand, it might create a deceptive prism that colors one's judgment." I am not sure what that means.
Then yesterday, again just as I awakened and as gentle as a snowflake on a kitten's nose, it came to me. We each have a view of the world, and our expectations, some might say intentions, create that reality. If I expect threats, that is what I will find. If I expect everything to be a gift, I will find gifts everywhere in my life. If I expect to love everything I do, and do everything I love, that too is what will happen.
I believe my message was telling me that loving what I do and doing what I love should be the organizing principle in my life...at least an organizing principle. (I don't know if we get more than one.) If life is the "complicated domain," then even that Wikipedia definition might make sense: loving what I do and doing what I love certainly simplifies the complicated domain of life. And it applies to everything in life.
I get it!
Being awake enough to stay alert to loving what I do will be my biggest challenge, but for now it is critically important to understand that the bright light of love at the center of my life will simplify every aspect of life.
Each time I awakened I would hear the words "the organizing principle." That's just how long I was awake--just long enough to hear "the organizing principle." I say I heard the words, but I almost have the sense that there was a flash of light, and I'd also see the words. But only for a split second. Then, back to sleep.
When I woke up there was a stunned silence inside me. I just lay there, mulling over this message that kept washing over me in waves. While I wasn't sure exactly what it meant, I knew it was important. What did it mean? Somehow I felt like it related to love and the post I'd written, but I didn't know what.
The next night "the organizing principle" showed up again. Not as often, but at least twice. The next night...again. What did this mean?
My meditations produced nothing. "The organizing principle." I looked it up in Wikipedia: "Having an organizing principle might help one simplify and get a handle on a particularly complicated domain. On the other hand, it might create a deceptive prism that colors one's judgment." I am not sure what that means.
Then yesterday, again just as I awakened and as gentle as a snowflake on a kitten's nose, it came to me. We each have a view of the world, and our expectations, some might say intentions, create that reality. If I expect threats, that is what I will find. If I expect everything to be a gift, I will find gifts everywhere in my life. If I expect to love everything I do, and do everything I love, that too is what will happen.
I believe my message was telling me that loving what I do and doing what I love should be the organizing principle in my life...at least an organizing principle. (I don't know if we get more than one.) If life is the "complicated domain," then even that Wikipedia definition might make sense: loving what I do and doing what I love certainly simplifies the complicated domain of life. And it applies to everything in life.
I get it!
Being awake enough to stay alert to loving what I do will be my biggest challenge, but for now it is critically important to understand that the bright light of love at the center of my life will simplify every aspect of life.
Monday, October 13, 2014
Do What You Love, and Love What You Do
In my "Layers of Learning" post (October 9,) I shared that my year-end/year-beginning reflective time this year had not led to any major Aha! moments, but instead kept presenting lessons that I have already been working on for years, only in different forms. Every time I would bump into a lesson and examine it, I would almost always see familiarity. "Oh, that again!" This week I'd like to explore the three big lessons that I will continue to focus on this year.
"Do What You Love, and Love What You Do" may actually be two, but they seem to fit together so I am going to consider them as one.
"Do What You Love" has haunted me for some time. I love writing. I love dancing. Right after those two come cooking tasty and healthy food and watching movies. I am actually much better about the cooking and watching movies than my core loves of writing and dancing. Perhaps that is because I need to eat every day, and I want to eat healthfully. In a lot of ways, I've let cooking become a survival activity rather than a passion.
The difference in how I approach what I love ties to the "Love What You Do" part of the lesson. Over the weekend, I watched a movie (twice) about a chef who really was passionate about his cooking. In the movie, we see him growing and harvesting his own vegetables and herbs and deriving great pleasure in "listening to his heart" as he cooked. At one point, viewers see him mentoring an aspiring chef by blind-folding her so that she will learn to listen to her inner knowing about food.
Too often, my cooking has fallen into an auto-pilot activity rather than being something I approach with the passion of the movie chef. It wasn't always so. There was a time when I approached cooking as a dance, engaging with the food I was preparing with great joy. I still enjoy going to the Farmers' Market around the corner on Saturday morning, but rarely do I stop and drink in the sights and smells and let my imagination run wild the way I used to do. I recall a time when I would walk out on my deck with a bowl and grab hands-full of fresh herbs, which I'd use to make up recipes.
It's been way too long since I had a relationship with the food I prepare. I blame time, but when I am honest with myself, I know that it doesn't take appreciatively longer time to engage and really experience the love of what I am doing than it does to do the same activity mindlessly. The difference isn't time. The difference is consciousness and intention. I bring the intention to be really awake to my passion for the activity, and then I am conscious of doing so.
What else is true is that when I bring that intention and consciousness to my efforts in the kitchen, my whole being changes. I am physically relaxed. I am spiritually engaged. I am joyful. I am creative. My activities are easy, effortless, and enjoyable--in a "flow" state when I lose track of time and everything else. When I consume the products of effortless labor, I truly en-joy them...I am in joy with what I eat. Until I face the dirty pots and pans, all lines are blurred into a single oneness of being. (Even clean-up is less onerous when I allow myself to flow to it.)
Although I watch a lot of movies, the same thing might be said of how I experience them any more. More often than not, the movie comes at the end of a very long day, and watching a movie is a passive activity to keep my exhausted body awake until a respectable hour for an adult to go to sleep. I don't really engage with the movie most of the time.
Saturday I joined in a ritual movie event with two friends who also love movies. Every couple of months, the screenwriter in our trio picks two classic films for us to watch. In the middle, we usually take a walk and cook/eat together. I was conscious this time about how different it is when I participate in these conscious-viewing events than the passive consuming, which has become my norm. As with cooking, I will bring more attention and intention to my passion for movies in the future. I will not only do what I love, but I will consciously bring love to the movies I watch.
I hesitate to call the other two things that I love "activities." Each is at the core of my being. I've had the conversation with people in the dance community before that there are "dancers," and there are "people who dance." "People who dance" can take it or leave it. They could as easily go bowling or play tennis if they were in a relationship with someone who enjoys those activities.
"Dancers," by contrast, are one with dance. They could more easily give up breathing than dance. Dancing almost instantly takes them into a "flow" state where the dimensions of time and space drop away. I've had evenings when I had a good partner(s), good music, and a good floor, when the time for the "last waltz" was announced, and I felt as if I'd just arrived. I had totally lost track of time. Once I danced for seven hours straight, and it felt like a flash.
There are often moments of "other worldliness" to a single dance, too, when the partners will just look at each other at the end of the dance because they know something magical just happened. (This is not a romantic thing; it is a dance thing. I really don't know how else to describe it.)
Similarly with writing: it is who I am. I carry a knot on the second finger of my right hand from writing since I could hold a pencil. When I sit and get in the flow, it just comes. I lose track of time and bodily needs, often going hours without food, water, or elimination. I just don't notice. I wrote The Game Called Life in five days, one day writing 32 pages. I really don't know how I did it. As with the "other worldliness" of the magical dance, I always feel like I am one with some divine force within me when I write.
There are excuses why I have not been writing and dancing much recently. I could blame the long hours at work, but that is getting lame. I know that I've been unconsciously choosing work over my passions. My colleagues with families leave work earlier to be with what they love, but until now, I've not made it my intention to put what I love first. I have other excuses, too, but they all boil down to being conscious of my intentions and then acting on them to assure that I do what I love.
A third dimension of loving what I do and doing what I love looms for me. It involves the actual work I do. Organization development is a wide field. Some parts of it I really love. Others, not so much. Some parts of the profession that I used to really love have burned me out. Call it compassion fatigue. What used to flip my switches now sends me into a semi-fetal position at my desk.
When I had my own business, I made a conscious decision to turn away work that I didn't enjoy. As an employee consultant, that is a luxury I no longer have. I do what I am assigned to do. "We all have to do things we don't enjoy," I am told. I have expressed my desires, but mostly they have been disregarded. I need to either learn to love the "not-so-much" stuff and do it with love, or I need to find another way to earn a living that allows me to do what I love. Maybe both.
As you can see, the Universe has left me a lot of room to grow myself this year in "Do What You Love, and Love What You Do," and at its essence that lesson is to be intentional and then be conscious of how I live my life. I should be "in love" all the time. That is how we are intended to be. At that point, I believe I've segued from spiritual lessons to life purpose.
Friday I Skyped with a friend in Canada, and I said to him that this was going to be a year of intense personal growth. He asked me how I knew. "The lessons I am working on this year are at the very core of who I am," I said.
While I am certain that I will pass through these lessons more times in what I expect to be a long life, I am confident that if I embrace them this year they will profoundly impact the rest of my life, bringing joy and resilience to my days. I feel like if I can "get it" this time, I may be in a position to really do the transformational work with others that I am here to do. While humbling, the prospect is exciting...and terrifying.
I recall the words of an executive that I coached 20 years ago. They resonated such truth that they are always with me. She said that she had become convinced that when we were on our uniquely defined, divine path that we would simultaneously feel unabated joy and sheer terror. As I embrace this year's lessons, they foreshadow just such a spot in my life.
"Do What You Love, and Love What You Do" may actually be two, but they seem to fit together so I am going to consider them as one.
"Do What You Love" has haunted me for some time. I love writing. I love dancing. Right after those two come cooking tasty and healthy food and watching movies. I am actually much better about the cooking and watching movies than my core loves of writing and dancing. Perhaps that is because I need to eat every day, and I want to eat healthfully. In a lot of ways, I've let cooking become a survival activity rather than a passion.
The difference in how I approach what I love ties to the "Love What You Do" part of the lesson. Over the weekend, I watched a movie (twice) about a chef who really was passionate about his cooking. In the movie, we see him growing and harvesting his own vegetables and herbs and deriving great pleasure in "listening to his heart" as he cooked. At one point, viewers see him mentoring an aspiring chef by blind-folding her so that she will learn to listen to her inner knowing about food.
Too often, my cooking has fallen into an auto-pilot activity rather than being something I approach with the passion of the movie chef. It wasn't always so. There was a time when I approached cooking as a dance, engaging with the food I was preparing with great joy. I still enjoy going to the Farmers' Market around the corner on Saturday morning, but rarely do I stop and drink in the sights and smells and let my imagination run wild the way I used to do. I recall a time when I would walk out on my deck with a bowl and grab hands-full of fresh herbs, which I'd use to make up recipes.
It's been way too long since I had a relationship with the food I prepare. I blame time, but when I am honest with myself, I know that it doesn't take appreciatively longer time to engage and really experience the love of what I am doing than it does to do the same activity mindlessly. The difference isn't time. The difference is consciousness and intention. I bring the intention to be really awake to my passion for the activity, and then I am conscious of doing so.
What else is true is that when I bring that intention and consciousness to my efforts in the kitchen, my whole being changes. I am physically relaxed. I am spiritually engaged. I am joyful. I am creative. My activities are easy, effortless, and enjoyable--in a "flow" state when I lose track of time and everything else. When I consume the products of effortless labor, I truly en-joy them...I am in joy with what I eat. Until I face the dirty pots and pans, all lines are blurred into a single oneness of being. (Even clean-up is less onerous when I allow myself to flow to it.)
Although I watch a lot of movies, the same thing might be said of how I experience them any more. More often than not, the movie comes at the end of a very long day, and watching a movie is a passive activity to keep my exhausted body awake until a respectable hour for an adult to go to sleep. I don't really engage with the movie most of the time.
Saturday I joined in a ritual movie event with two friends who also love movies. Every couple of months, the screenwriter in our trio picks two classic films for us to watch. In the middle, we usually take a walk and cook/eat together. I was conscious this time about how different it is when I participate in these conscious-viewing events than the passive consuming, which has become my norm. As with cooking, I will bring more attention and intention to my passion for movies in the future. I will not only do what I love, but I will consciously bring love to the movies I watch.
I hesitate to call the other two things that I love "activities." Each is at the core of my being. I've had the conversation with people in the dance community before that there are "dancers," and there are "people who dance." "People who dance" can take it or leave it. They could as easily go bowling or play tennis if they were in a relationship with someone who enjoys those activities.
"Dancers," by contrast, are one with dance. They could more easily give up breathing than dance. Dancing almost instantly takes them into a "flow" state where the dimensions of time and space drop away. I've had evenings when I had a good partner(s), good music, and a good floor, when the time for the "last waltz" was announced, and I felt as if I'd just arrived. I had totally lost track of time. Once I danced for seven hours straight, and it felt like a flash.
There are often moments of "other worldliness" to a single dance, too, when the partners will just look at each other at the end of the dance because they know something magical just happened. (This is not a romantic thing; it is a dance thing. I really don't know how else to describe it.)
Similarly with writing: it is who I am. I carry a knot on the second finger of my right hand from writing since I could hold a pencil. When I sit and get in the flow, it just comes. I lose track of time and bodily needs, often going hours without food, water, or elimination. I just don't notice. I wrote The Game Called Life in five days, one day writing 32 pages. I really don't know how I did it. As with the "other worldliness" of the magical dance, I always feel like I am one with some divine force within me when I write.
There are excuses why I have not been writing and dancing much recently. I could blame the long hours at work, but that is getting lame. I know that I've been unconsciously choosing work over my passions. My colleagues with families leave work earlier to be with what they love, but until now, I've not made it my intention to put what I love first. I have other excuses, too, but they all boil down to being conscious of my intentions and then acting on them to assure that I do what I love.
A third dimension of loving what I do and doing what I love looms for me. It involves the actual work I do. Organization development is a wide field. Some parts of it I really love. Others, not so much. Some parts of the profession that I used to really love have burned me out. Call it compassion fatigue. What used to flip my switches now sends me into a semi-fetal position at my desk.
When I had my own business, I made a conscious decision to turn away work that I didn't enjoy. As an employee consultant, that is a luxury I no longer have. I do what I am assigned to do. "We all have to do things we don't enjoy," I am told. I have expressed my desires, but mostly they have been disregarded. I need to either learn to love the "not-so-much" stuff and do it with love, or I need to find another way to earn a living that allows me to do what I love. Maybe both.
As you can see, the Universe has left me a lot of room to grow myself this year in "Do What You Love, and Love What You Do," and at its essence that lesson is to be intentional and then be conscious of how I live my life. I should be "in love" all the time. That is how we are intended to be. At that point, I believe I've segued from spiritual lessons to life purpose.
Friday I Skyped with a friend in Canada, and I said to him that this was going to be a year of intense personal growth. He asked me how I knew. "The lessons I am working on this year are at the very core of who I am," I said.
While I am certain that I will pass through these lessons more times in what I expect to be a long life, I am confident that if I embrace them this year they will profoundly impact the rest of my life, bringing joy and resilience to my days. I feel like if I can "get it" this time, I may be in a position to really do the transformational work with others that I am here to do. While humbling, the prospect is exciting...and terrifying.
I recall the words of an executive that I coached 20 years ago. They resonated such truth that they are always with me. She said that she had become convinced that when we were on our uniquely defined, divine path that we would simultaneously feel unabated joy and sheer terror. As I embrace this year's lessons, they foreshadow just such a spot in my life.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Temporal Free-fall
(This was supposed to be posted on 9/28. I didn't do something right with the technology and just found it in "drafts" for the blog. It may add continuity to my posts from Greece.)
Sometime between 8 and 9 last night when I attempted to charge my iPhone, I discovered that I'd left my cable in Athens. I was at 57% charged, which meant that I really needed to conserve energy. This was my only timekeeping device. It was also my writing device, GPS, currency converter, and metric converter.
What would I do?
Immediately, I powered off my device. Then I went into a temporal free-fall. I am still in my first 48 hours in Greece, and I am jet-lagging badly. Despite pharmaceuticals, I was up much of the night. I can't tell you how much because I was powered down.
As the hours passed, I wondered: what time is it? I knew that it was passed the normal Greek coming in time of midnight; I'd heard people coming in earlier. Lights were on and off several times as I would almost read myself to sleep, only to be wide awake when I turned the light off. I had no idea if it was 1 a.m. or 5 a.m.
Then, what difference did it make? I didn't have to be anywhere for over a week.
Breakfast was served in my hotel until 10:30, so I knew it was before 10:30 when I cut into an exquisite Greek peach. I am certain they are the best in the world. I've been salivating for months just thinking about them, and at last I was embracing the succulence of this divine creation.
I climbed 999 (maybe 890, depending on who was telling) steps to the ancient fort. I stopped and chatted in cobbled Greek with an ancient Greek woman, who showed me the way when I became confused. I came back into town and sat on a bench at the water's edge, almost drifting to sleep after my short night. I kept wanting to know if it was "time to eat," rather than whether I was hungry. Several times I caught myself going for the phone to check the time only to stop myself. Each time I was aware that I was not hungry.
When I walked through the narrow streets back to my hotel to dispose of acquisitions, cafes were packed, but I resisted: I was not hungry. Some time later when I was hungry, I meandered back into town. Cafes were now empty.
By this time, I'd borrowed a charger, but I'd also become aware how much of my life has occurred based on the clock, rather than my wisdom, so I have resisted looking.
Like my meditational retreats at home when I tape over the clocks, I am choosing a temporal free-fall. How can I have become so out of touch with myself? I find myself drifting to what I will do tomorrow, only to catch myself with: "Does it matter?" I don't have to be anywhere for over a week.
I resist the American tourista in me to see as much as I can in a few days, and instead, I choose to just be...in this moment. What else is there? After a long lingering lunch, followed by an iced espresso, I will wander back to the waterfront with my book for who knows how long. And, does it really matter?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Sometime between 8 and 9 last night when I attempted to charge my iPhone, I discovered that I'd left my cable in Athens. I was at 57% charged, which meant that I really needed to conserve energy. This was my only timekeeping device. It was also my writing device, GPS, currency converter, and metric converter.
What would I do?
Immediately, I powered off my device. Then I went into a temporal free-fall. I am still in my first 48 hours in Greece, and I am jet-lagging badly. Despite pharmaceuticals, I was up much of the night. I can't tell you how much because I was powered down.
As the hours passed, I wondered: what time is it? I knew that it was passed the normal Greek coming in time of midnight; I'd heard people coming in earlier. Lights were on and off several times as I would almost read myself to sleep, only to be wide awake when I turned the light off. I had no idea if it was 1 a.m. or 5 a.m.
Then, what difference did it make? I didn't have to be anywhere for over a week.
Breakfast was served in my hotel until 10:30, so I knew it was before 10:30 when I cut into an exquisite Greek peach. I am certain they are the best in the world. I've been salivating for months just thinking about them, and at last I was embracing the succulence of this divine creation.
I climbed 999 (maybe 890, depending on who was telling) steps to the ancient fort. I stopped and chatted in cobbled Greek with an ancient Greek woman, who showed me the way when I became confused. I came back into town and sat on a bench at the water's edge, almost drifting to sleep after my short night. I kept wanting to know if it was "time to eat," rather than whether I was hungry. Several times I caught myself going for the phone to check the time only to stop myself. Each time I was aware that I was not hungry.
When I walked through the narrow streets back to my hotel to dispose of acquisitions, cafes were packed, but I resisted: I was not hungry. Some time later when I was hungry, I meandered back into town. Cafes were now empty.
By this time, I'd borrowed a charger, but I'd also become aware how much of my life has occurred based on the clock, rather than my wisdom, so I have resisted looking.
Like my meditational retreats at home when I tape over the clocks, I am choosing a temporal free-fall. How can I have become so out of touch with myself? I find myself drifting to what I will do tomorrow, only to catch myself with: "Does it matter?" I don't have to be anywhere for over a week.
I resist the American tourista in me to see as much as I can in a few days, and instead, I choose to just be...in this moment. What else is there? After a long lingering lunch, followed by an iced espresso, I will wander back to the waterfront with my book for who knows how long. And, does it really matter?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Layers of Learning
I can remember having moments when I was teaching at the university when I would find words spilling out of my mouth, and in that very moment I would have the thought, "Oh, that's what that means." Generally, it would be something I'd thought I'd known and understood for 10, 20, or maybe even 25 years. All of the sudden in that moment in how it came out, I understood what I thought I'd known for a very long time in a different way. I got it! Differently.
That has happened in books that I've written too. Almost every time I reread one of my books or even part of one, there will be a moment when I will think to myself (and occasionally even exclaim out loud) "I didn't know I knew that then." I had known it, but just on a whole different level.
Those who have been reading this blog for a while will know that there are certain themes that repeat themselves. I believe what is happening is that I discover something different about each spiritual lesson every time I write about it. In The Game Called Life I say that each of us comes into this life with certain lessons that we have to learn, and learning them is one of three purposes of our lives. (The other two are performing service and developing/using our gifts and talents.)
I am quite certain that the recurring themes in this blog are lessons that I have to live and learn in this lifetime. However, I also believe that humankind periodically needs to evolve itself spiritually, and in order to do so, many of us, who are working on the same lesson(s), choose to come and work on the same lessons in parallel. As we master the nuances of the same lessons, we collectively evolve our world.
I've been taking an autumn/new year retreat for about 20 years, more or less. I didn't know when I did it the first time that it would be the first time and not a solitary occurrence, so I can't be more precise. I've been taking several days in silent reflection for longer than that, but I don't really know when I fell into a twice-a-year, fall and spring rhythm.
For the first few times (10, or maybe 15 or 20) there would be major Aha! moments. I would really experience on a deep and profound level something about myself that I don't think I'd ever known, or if I did, I certainly hadn't understood the impact. I like to say, "We can't not know what we know." After those early retreats, my learnings literally shook the foundations of how I lived my life, immediately and profoundly so.
In more recent retreats, the learning has been much like the aspects of Organizational Behavior that I used to share with my university students: something bubbles up that I've known for a long time, but I just understand it in a different way. "Oh, that again," I will say to myself. Inevitably, it is one of my enduring lessons, popping up in a new form.
During my recent pilgrimage in Greece, I kept bumping into the same lessons that I've struggled over and again to integrate into my life. Each time I did, I'd be a bit irritated at myself that I've been working on something years, and even decades, and I still don't have it. I guess that is why they are life lessons and not this week lessons. I don't know why I had to go to Greece to learn them...again. Maybe my lesson is that I can't run away from them. They also showed up in different forms, but certainly not different enough that I didn't recognize them and feel the sting of on-going learning.
My three intentions for the year ahead are to open my heart, be vulnerable, and create connection. I am not 100% sure, but I am pretty confident that they are all the same. Over the next few days, I will share the lessons which I will need to master in order to accomplish those intentions. There will be similarity to other postings, since these represent layers of learning for me.
However, if I were to summarize what I think will be different this time, I would say there are two things. First is that I've been attempting my lessons unilaterally. That means, I am trying to do it all by myself. These are all lessons that can only be learned in relationship with others and with particular others. I can't create connection with someone who isn't equally committed to creating connection. To attempt to do so is insanity. What comes to mind is the often quoted definition of insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
The second aspect that I believe will be different has to do with complexity. The lessons are inter-related, and mastering each has impacts on the other two...and others as well.
That has happened in books that I've written too. Almost every time I reread one of my books or even part of one, there will be a moment when I will think to myself (and occasionally even exclaim out loud) "I didn't know I knew that then." I had known it, but just on a whole different level.
Those who have been reading this blog for a while will know that there are certain themes that repeat themselves. I believe what is happening is that I discover something different about each spiritual lesson every time I write about it. In The Game Called Life I say that each of us comes into this life with certain lessons that we have to learn, and learning them is one of three purposes of our lives. (The other two are performing service and developing/using our gifts and talents.)
I am quite certain that the recurring themes in this blog are lessons that I have to live and learn in this lifetime. However, I also believe that humankind periodically needs to evolve itself spiritually, and in order to do so, many of us, who are working on the same lesson(s), choose to come and work on the same lessons in parallel. As we master the nuances of the same lessons, we collectively evolve our world.
I've been taking an autumn/new year retreat for about 20 years, more or less. I didn't know when I did it the first time that it would be the first time and not a solitary occurrence, so I can't be more precise. I've been taking several days in silent reflection for longer than that, but I don't really know when I fell into a twice-a-year, fall and spring rhythm.
For the first few times (10, or maybe 15 or 20) there would be major Aha! moments. I would really experience on a deep and profound level something about myself that I don't think I'd ever known, or if I did, I certainly hadn't understood the impact. I like to say, "We can't not know what we know." After those early retreats, my learnings literally shook the foundations of how I lived my life, immediately and profoundly so.
In more recent retreats, the learning has been much like the aspects of Organizational Behavior that I used to share with my university students: something bubbles up that I've known for a long time, but I just understand it in a different way. "Oh, that again," I will say to myself. Inevitably, it is one of my enduring lessons, popping up in a new form.
During my recent pilgrimage in Greece, I kept bumping into the same lessons that I've struggled over and again to integrate into my life. Each time I did, I'd be a bit irritated at myself that I've been working on something years, and even decades, and I still don't have it. I guess that is why they are life lessons and not this week lessons. I don't know why I had to go to Greece to learn them...again. Maybe my lesson is that I can't run away from them. They also showed up in different forms, but certainly not different enough that I didn't recognize them and feel the sting of on-going learning.
My three intentions for the year ahead are to open my heart, be vulnerable, and create connection. I am not 100% sure, but I am pretty confident that they are all the same. Over the next few days, I will share the lessons which I will need to master in order to accomplish those intentions. There will be similarity to other postings, since these represent layers of learning for me.
However, if I were to summarize what I think will be different this time, I would say there are two things. First is that I've been attempting my lessons unilaterally. That means, I am trying to do it all by myself. These are all lessons that can only be learned in relationship with others and with particular others. I can't create connection with someone who isn't equally committed to creating connection. To attempt to do so is insanity. What comes to mind is the often quoted definition of insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
The second aspect that I believe will be different has to do with complexity. The lessons are inter-related, and mastering each has impacts on the other two...and others as well.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Connecting Against All Odds
My retreat launched with three intentions. One was to create connection. As my journey drew to within three days of its ending, I regretted the failure to connect as I have in the past when I've traveled, feeling more like I was a target for a sale than someone to know and care about.
Over my several days in Santorini, I kept running into a couple that I would guess were of about my age. We would smile, they in Greek and I in English, but the magic is that we could understand the smiles perfectly. We were connecting.
When we all returned to our lodging last night, they offered to let me go up the stairs first. I motioned for them to go ahead, signaling that my chronically aggravating hip was slowing me down. She said, "knee." We limped up the stairs in file with her husband, pulling up the rear. We were connecting.
I found myself needing a piece of information about the Athens Metro, and none of the English speaking travel folks seemed to know the answer. Emboldened by one word--knee, I wondered if the couple was from Athens and might answer my question. I approached them after our file up the stairs. They didn't know the answer, but first thing this morning they were able to.
Two times we ran into each other in town and "chatted," each time me braving to use a little more Greek and she more English. We road to the port together, and they invited me to coffee while we waited for our ferry. Given the extent of our common language, the hour we had could have been painful. Instead, it was delightful.
For most of the hour, we each stretched ourselves, my Greek more than her English, which was much better. I learned about her profession: she had been a high school science teacher, as had her husband. I learned about her two sons. (Thank goodness for the Greek lessons that taught me about family members.) I shared some about myself. Rarely did we stop. Occasionally, her husband jumped in to bridge our gaps in vocabulary.
As we approached the ferry gate, where we would part, I was pointing to the hawkers of hotel rooms, and saying the Greek word for hotel, and she answered in English "rooms to let," as we both laughed. What a special moment of connection! And it had all begun with her single word--knee--and both of our willingness to be vulnerable.
As I think about it, what more is there to creating connection than looking for a bridge and allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. What a nice way to learn that lesson.
As an interesting post-script, Amalia found me on the ferry, and we exchanged Facebook addresses. Through the modern miracle of technology our connection can continue.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Over my several days in Santorini, I kept running into a couple that I would guess were of about my age. We would smile, they in Greek and I in English, but the magic is that we could understand the smiles perfectly. We were connecting.
When we all returned to our lodging last night, they offered to let me go up the stairs first. I motioned for them to go ahead, signaling that my chronically aggravating hip was slowing me down. She said, "knee." We limped up the stairs in file with her husband, pulling up the rear. We were connecting.
I found myself needing a piece of information about the Athens Metro, and none of the English speaking travel folks seemed to know the answer. Emboldened by one word--knee, I wondered if the couple was from Athens and might answer my question. I approached them after our file up the stairs. They didn't know the answer, but first thing this morning they were able to.
Two times we ran into each other in town and "chatted," each time me braving to use a little more Greek and she more English. We road to the port together, and they invited me to coffee while we waited for our ferry. Given the extent of our common language, the hour we had could have been painful. Instead, it was delightful.
For most of the hour, we each stretched ourselves, my Greek more than her English, which was much better. I learned about her profession: she had been a high school science teacher, as had her husband. I learned about her two sons. (Thank goodness for the Greek lessons that taught me about family members.) I shared some about myself. Rarely did we stop. Occasionally, her husband jumped in to bridge our gaps in vocabulary.
As we approached the ferry gate, where we would part, I was pointing to the hawkers of hotel rooms, and saying the Greek word for hotel, and she answered in English "rooms to let," as we both laughed. What a special moment of connection! And it had all begun with her single word--knee--and both of our willingness to be vulnerable.
As I think about it, what more is there to creating connection than looking for a bridge and allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. What a nice way to learn that lesson.
As an interesting post-script, Amalia found me on the ferry, and we exchanged Facebook addresses. Through the modern miracle of technology our connection can continue.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, October 3, 2014
Finding Peace in the Chaos
I pondered what is "guidance," as I arrived on this meditational journey. Was it the inner whisperings I heard from within to go to the Peloponnese? Was it messages from four people immediately before my journey that I should go to Santorini and Crete? Was it something I'd found in a file from my last journey to Greece 16 years earlier, which particularly resonated with me now? The answer I believe is "yes."
I found important lessons in Peloponnese. I learned a lot from listening at other places. Perhaps the most surprising have been the lessons learned on Santorini. When each of the friends who advised I come here did so, I always said I liked to avoid tourist places. The answer was always that I must come here. So I did.
I admit that I was more than a little grouchy upon my arrival yesterday. I don't believe I've ever been to a more touristy spot. There was literally not a thing that spoke of integrity with the local region. Most infuriating was the perfect English all about me. Was I in Greece or a local Greek cafe in Washington?
I was immediately convinced that this most photographed place in Greece had only been accomplished by excellent cropping of photos. That would have been the only way not to include unabashed tourist-mongering.
Yet, I was sure I was sent here. How could any wise guide have brought me to such a place, I had asked in my prayer time this morning?
The answer was immediate and clear: find peace and stillness amidst the chaos. That would be a challenge. But I set about to find it.
My guidebook purported three nearby towns which required enough effort to find that only the most determined of guests attempted. Then over breakfast I found a boat trip to out-islands. I booked for tomorrow.
As I hiked to other towns, I was surprised at how quickly the noise of the maddening crowds quieted. In Imerovigli I found a small chapel where I sat for some time. I had truly found peace in the silence.
Just as I had that thought, I heard the Universe laughing at me with the challenge to find peace IN the chaos not withdrawn from it. I chuckled. There are still more ways to find peace in the chaos. The hardest lay ahead: surrounded by the tourists and the hockers.
What echoes in my mind is the parallel with traditional meditation when the mind spins, and the meditator is challenged to still the mind and find peace. It is the same lesson. I am not sure that one ever ends for most of us.
After a lunch break away from that maddening crowd, I am now ready to move to the next lesson: find peace IN the chaos.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I found important lessons in Peloponnese. I learned a lot from listening at other places. Perhaps the most surprising have been the lessons learned on Santorini. When each of the friends who advised I come here did so, I always said I liked to avoid tourist places. The answer was always that I must come here. So I did.
I admit that I was more than a little grouchy upon my arrival yesterday. I don't believe I've ever been to a more touristy spot. There was literally not a thing that spoke of integrity with the local region. Most infuriating was the perfect English all about me. Was I in Greece or a local Greek cafe in Washington?
I was immediately convinced that this most photographed place in Greece had only been accomplished by excellent cropping of photos. That would have been the only way not to include unabashed tourist-mongering.
Yet, I was sure I was sent here. How could any wise guide have brought me to such a place, I had asked in my prayer time this morning?
The answer was immediate and clear: find peace and stillness amidst the chaos. That would be a challenge. But I set about to find it.
My guidebook purported three nearby towns which required enough effort to find that only the most determined of guests attempted. Then over breakfast I found a boat trip to out-islands. I booked for tomorrow.
As I hiked to other towns, I was surprised at how quickly the noise of the maddening crowds quieted. In Imerovigli I found a small chapel where I sat for some time. I had truly found peace in the silence.
Just as I had that thought, I heard the Universe laughing at me with the challenge to find peace IN the chaos not withdrawn from it. I chuckled. There are still more ways to find peace in the chaos. The hardest lay ahead: surrounded by the tourists and the hockers.
What echoes in my mind is the parallel with traditional meditation when the mind spins, and the meditator is challenged to still the mind and find peace. It is the same lesson. I am not sure that one ever ends for most of us.
After a lunch break away from that maddening crowd, I am now ready to move to the next lesson: find peace IN the chaos.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Coveting
A few days ago, I read Rob Bell's Love Wins. A number of thoughts have stuck with me, some stingingly so. I find myself having pondered an early discussion on "coveting." A lot.
"Covet" is an interesting word. I think of it as a biblical word, as in "Thou shalt not covet your neighbor's wife," but I suppose it is perfectly good word in other contexts.
Bell's context was about wishing for things we don't have. In this time of reflection, the word sent me to my own heart for self-examination.
The whole thing with time, which has been with me over the last few days, was a good place to start. The tendency to drift to another time or place than the one of the moment is one of coveting of a sorts. I drift to where I am not, instead of savoring where I am. There was reflecting on going to eat when I was not hungry. ("Temporal Free Fall") It is reflected by planning for the future instead of enjoying this moment.
Yesterday I enjoyed about 90 minutes in delightful conversation with a young woman who allowed me to charge my iPhone while she shared a coffee frappé with me. It took me about five minutes to get over my antsyness that I had a bus to catch and should find something to eat first.
An interesting thing has occurred as I've unplugged eating from the clock: I've discovered that being hungry is just being hungry. It passes, and I am in no danger of starving. It just is. I got by the day before on a handful of pistachios until mid-evening, due to lack of opportunity to buy anything I could eat. (I have food allergies that are challenging in Greece.) I am just fine.
So, I reveled in my conversation with the beautiful young woman in her early 30s. She'd worked as a globetrotting anchorwoman for an Athens TV station and was proud of her profession as a journalist. She also seemed delighted with her decision to move to the small city of Napflio, near her father's home village, and run the small hotel where I'd stayed for two nights. I didn't sense that she was coveting anything. She related some freelance jobs she had done, "but the hotel is my occupation now."
Upon thought, this coveting thing seems like the flip side of gratitude, about which I've written a lot over the months. If I am wishing for something different than where I am and what I have, I am coveting. I miss the opportunity to be grateful for what is. Then, I miss everything.
I have spent several hours on a ferry today. I have no idea how many. It is quite cold and windy outside, a harbinger of the coming winter, even in Greece. There aren't enough inside chairs for the throng seeking warmth. Food options have been challenging for my gluten intolerance. And, I've resisted coveting anything different.
I am relishing time to read, a guilty pleasure in recent years with my work load. I did find a chair and have decadently napped a couple of times. This time of reflection is proving to be about my way of being than anything else.
My intentions for this retreat, and for the seeds for which I am planting to grow in the year ahead, are to open my heart, find intimacy, and create connection. The profound question that continues to echo is this: how can I do any of those things if I am wishing to be somewhere else, doing something else, or be with someone else? Acceptance and gratitude for the moment are Ground Zero for open hearts, intimacy, and connection. So I will put this device down and create some now.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
"Covet" is an interesting word. I think of it as a biblical word, as in "Thou shalt not covet your neighbor's wife," but I suppose it is perfectly good word in other contexts.
Bell's context was about wishing for things we don't have. In this time of reflection, the word sent me to my own heart for self-examination.
The whole thing with time, which has been with me over the last few days, was a good place to start. The tendency to drift to another time or place than the one of the moment is one of coveting of a sorts. I drift to where I am not, instead of savoring where I am. There was reflecting on going to eat when I was not hungry. ("Temporal Free Fall") It is reflected by planning for the future instead of enjoying this moment.
Yesterday I enjoyed about 90 minutes in delightful conversation with a young woman who allowed me to charge my iPhone while she shared a coffee frappé with me. It took me about five minutes to get over my antsyness that I had a bus to catch and should find something to eat first.
An interesting thing has occurred as I've unplugged eating from the clock: I've discovered that being hungry is just being hungry. It passes, and I am in no danger of starving. It just is. I got by the day before on a handful of pistachios until mid-evening, due to lack of opportunity to buy anything I could eat. (I have food allergies that are challenging in Greece.) I am just fine.
So, I reveled in my conversation with the beautiful young woman in her early 30s. She'd worked as a globetrotting anchorwoman for an Athens TV station and was proud of her profession as a journalist. She also seemed delighted with her decision to move to the small city of Napflio, near her father's home village, and run the small hotel where I'd stayed for two nights. I didn't sense that she was coveting anything. She related some freelance jobs she had done, "but the hotel is my occupation now."
Upon thought, this coveting thing seems like the flip side of gratitude, about which I've written a lot over the months. If I am wishing for something different than where I am and what I have, I am coveting. I miss the opportunity to be grateful for what is. Then, I miss everything.
I have spent several hours on a ferry today. I have no idea how many. It is quite cold and windy outside, a harbinger of the coming winter, even in Greece. There aren't enough inside chairs for the throng seeking warmth. Food options have been challenging for my gluten intolerance. And, I've resisted coveting anything different.
I am relishing time to read, a guilty pleasure in recent years with my work load. I did find a chair and have decadently napped a couple of times. This time of reflection is proving to be about my way of being than anything else.
My intentions for this retreat, and for the seeds for which I am planting to grow in the year ahead, are to open my heart, find intimacy, and create connection. The profound question that continues to echo is this: how can I do any of those things if I am wishing to be somewhere else, doing something else, or be with someone else? Acceptance and gratitude for the moment are Ground Zero for open hearts, intimacy, and connection. So I will put this device down and create some now.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Monday, September 29, 2014
Listening Deeply
Readers: please note that this post should have been posted early. My challenges with technology resulted in it laying in drafts. I hope it will provide continuity to this current pilgrimage that may have been missing.
From sometime in 1995 or 1996 until June 1998, I frequently heard messages in my meditations that I should go to a country in which English was not a dominant language. I was to take no credit cards and very little cash. I was to take one carry-on bag and to follow where I was led. Mostly, I ignored.
Those were days when I was writing and generating more outflow than income. Even though I was to take little cash and no credit cards, I thought I couldn't afford such a venture.
In June of 1998 I worked a conference in Greece--very, very long hours. After four days, the conference moved from Athens to the Greek island of Rhodes late at night. I was fatigued and almost immediately fell asleep. Suddenly, I was awakened by a booming voice. It repeated the messages I'd been getting, but this time with more specificity. "You are to come back to Greece before summer's end...with little cash and no credit cards." More details followed.
Awakened from a deep sleep, I sat bolt up in my plane seat. Looking around at a sea of sleeping passengers, I was shocked that I appeared to be the only one awakened by the commanding voice.
Really?!
I got it. When I returned from my business trip, I immediately made air reservations to return for 30 days, the minimum time for which I'd been directed. I'd been given a number of other details, to which I rendered complete attention. The rest amounted to nothing less than a mystical adventure, much more of which will be detailed in my memoir. Suffice it to say, I've never been the same since that journey.
In early spring of this year, I was exhausted and began shopping for a trip. I am a bargain/adventure traveler, since 1998 most often traveling to a foreign airport and going wherever spirit leads. For weeks I shopped travel sites, looking for bargain air fares. In at least two months, the best fares kept coming up to Athens.
I wasn't sure that I was ready for what another Greek adventure promised. Finally, I relented. As soon as I booked, a plethora of other destinations presented, so I was certain I was supposed to be in Greece again.
Three months ago I picked up two travel guides to Greece, but was totally uninterested in them until three weeks ago. Somehow I knew it would be clear to me where to go.
On more than one occasion, I've heard the big booming directive; those are easy for me to follow. Harder are the subtler signs. I've written at length about how guidance comes to us, but over the last several days, I've thought I was receiving contradictory messages. I talked with a friend about which was true. I prayed about it yet no clarity came.
I've written that when several people give similar advice, it is probably more than human advice. Four people have urged specifically that I go to Crete and Santorini. Those two islands from more than 300 Greek islands. Yet that just didn't seem right.
Then three weeks ago I found a note from a friend, written in 1998, urging me to go to Galaxidhi at that time. I swear that I don't remember ever seeing the note before. Was finding it now "a sign?" I went to the referenced website, but it didn't seem quite right either.
For several years, I've thought of going to the Peloponnese. Galaxidhi was close, but not quite right. When I read about the Peloponnese in my guide books, two little towns jumped off the pages. One of my friends, who had urged Crete and Santorini, told me I didn't want to go there. I have just let decisions go, being certain that "where" would be clear to me when I needed to know.
Friday I traveled to Athens. I don't sleep in planes so Saturday evening I fell into bed at 8, some 37 hours without sleep. I had no idea what was next, but as I fell asleep, I set the intention that I would know in the morning.
I awakened slightly at 6 this morning, long enough to "rest" myself and fall back asleep, but with no clarity yet as to where I was to go. At 10:15, after the long sleep for which my body yearned, I sat right up in bed, and in an instant I knew where I was to go: the two towns in the Peloponnese that I'd felt were right in the beginning.
I jumped up and looked in the guidebook for commuting details. I quickly gathered my things, got directions to the bus terminal, and sped off, arriving at my bus just 8 minutes before it departed.
After just a few hours here, I know this is right. I do not know what else awaits me on this peninsula-turned-island, but I know enough that I can feel in my bones that what I knew in my heart from the beginning is right. I literally "fell" into a little hotel with a lovely garden this afternoon shortly after arriving. I think I will extend for another day, but that won't be clear until morning. I'm OK with that.
As I surrender my need to know once again, I find an incredible freedom and relaxation. Without itinerary or schedules to meet, there is nothing to stress me. I need only be in the present. Earlier this evening, I truly enjoyed a marvelous meal, followed by a walk along the Argolic Gulf, as the sun slipped into the horizon. I chuckled at swimmers below me over the cliffs and wondered at the cacti, which were about to bloom so near the water. Absolutely nothing distracting me from the moment.
My intention as this new cycle begins is to open my heart and find intimacy and love. I guess those things begin being here, wherever I am. For now, that is where I am.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
From sometime in 1995 or 1996 until June 1998, I frequently heard messages in my meditations that I should go to a country in which English was not a dominant language. I was to take no credit cards and very little cash. I was to take one carry-on bag and to follow where I was led. Mostly, I ignored.
Those were days when I was writing and generating more outflow than income. Even though I was to take little cash and no credit cards, I thought I couldn't afford such a venture.
In June of 1998 I worked a conference in Greece--very, very long hours. After four days, the conference moved from Athens to the Greek island of Rhodes late at night. I was fatigued and almost immediately fell asleep. Suddenly, I was awakened by a booming voice. It repeated the messages I'd been getting, but this time with more specificity. "You are to come back to Greece before summer's end...with little cash and no credit cards." More details followed.
Awakened from a deep sleep, I sat bolt up in my plane seat. Looking around at a sea of sleeping passengers, I was shocked that I appeared to be the only one awakened by the commanding voice.
Really?!
I got it. When I returned from my business trip, I immediately made air reservations to return for 30 days, the minimum time for which I'd been directed. I'd been given a number of other details, to which I rendered complete attention. The rest amounted to nothing less than a mystical adventure, much more of which will be detailed in my memoir. Suffice it to say, I've never been the same since that journey.
In early spring of this year, I was exhausted and began shopping for a trip. I am a bargain/adventure traveler, since 1998 most often traveling to a foreign airport and going wherever spirit leads. For weeks I shopped travel sites, looking for bargain air fares. In at least two months, the best fares kept coming up to Athens.
I wasn't sure that I was ready for what another Greek adventure promised. Finally, I relented. As soon as I booked, a plethora of other destinations presented, so I was certain I was supposed to be in Greece again.
Three months ago I picked up two travel guides to Greece, but was totally uninterested in them until three weeks ago. Somehow I knew it would be clear to me where to go.
On more than one occasion, I've heard the big booming directive; those are easy for me to follow. Harder are the subtler signs. I've written at length about how guidance comes to us, but over the last several days, I've thought I was receiving contradictory messages. I talked with a friend about which was true. I prayed about it yet no clarity came.
I've written that when several people give similar advice, it is probably more than human advice. Four people have urged specifically that I go to Crete and Santorini. Those two islands from more than 300 Greek islands. Yet that just didn't seem right.
Then three weeks ago I found a note from a friend, written in 1998, urging me to go to Galaxidhi at that time. I swear that I don't remember ever seeing the note before. Was finding it now "a sign?" I went to the referenced website, but it didn't seem quite right either.
For several years, I've thought of going to the Peloponnese. Galaxidhi was close, but not quite right. When I read about the Peloponnese in my guide books, two little towns jumped off the pages. One of my friends, who had urged Crete and Santorini, told me I didn't want to go there. I have just let decisions go, being certain that "where" would be clear to me when I needed to know.
Friday I traveled to Athens. I don't sleep in planes so Saturday evening I fell into bed at 8, some 37 hours without sleep. I had no idea what was next, but as I fell asleep, I set the intention that I would know in the morning.
I awakened slightly at 6 this morning, long enough to "rest" myself and fall back asleep, but with no clarity yet as to where I was to go. At 10:15, after the long sleep for which my body yearned, I sat right up in bed, and in an instant I knew where I was to go: the two towns in the Peloponnese that I'd felt were right in the beginning.
I jumped up and looked in the guidebook for commuting details. I quickly gathered my things, got directions to the bus terminal, and sped off, arriving at my bus just 8 minutes before it departed.
After just a few hours here, I know this is right. I do not know what else awaits me on this peninsula-turned-island, but I know enough that I can feel in my bones that what I knew in my heart from the beginning is right. I literally "fell" into a little hotel with a lovely garden this afternoon shortly after arriving. I think I will extend for another day, but that won't be clear until morning. I'm OK with that.
As I surrender my need to know once again, I find an incredible freedom and relaxation. Without itinerary or schedules to meet, there is nothing to stress me. I need only be in the present. Earlier this evening, I truly enjoyed a marvelous meal, followed by a walk along the Argolic Gulf, as the sun slipped into the horizon. I chuckled at swimmers below me over the cliffs and wondered at the cacti, which were about to bloom so near the water. Absolutely nothing distracting me from the moment.
My intention as this new cycle begins is to open my heart and find intimacy and love. I guess those things begin being here, wherever I am. For now, that is where I am.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)