Finding My Center

As those of you who are regular readers know, I've been struggling to get back to my center--where I know I am love and where I know I am being who I am in my heart.  I had lots of things I should be doing today, but when I awakened, I knew the most important of those was to find my way home.

Even as I was first becoming conscious, my heart was racing with panic.  As all the things I have to do this week chased their ways into my psyche, every bit of me went into overdrive...and I was hardly awake.  I recall thing it was like playing tennis against 20 people, each volleying something my way.

"I am love," I said to myself.  Usually that brings me down, but not today.

I sat up cross-legged in bed and attempted to meditate.  Even concentrating on my breathing was a challenge because it was shallow and fast.  Pulling my attention to my diaphragm, I focused on slowing and deepening my breathing.  I could not make it work.  My fallback position for meditation is to visualize Paulina Spring in Central Oregon. (See "The Headwaters," 5/1/14) That will be the answer, I thought. My heart continued to race.  My breathing erratically speeded.  What was I to do?

What I would have given to be able to jump into sweats and race over to the Spring and be lulled into the peace amidst the chaotic spring waters.  That is it, I thought.  Jumping out of bed, I grabbed my iPhone and spun through my tunes.  There it was: "Babbling Brook," by Joe Baker.  I had downloaded it a couple years ago for just such a time.  Popping in my ear buds, I straightened up in meditation posture again. 

Slowly, the sounds of nature brought me home.  It's almost as if God knew that we were going to need babbling brooks when the world was created.  The gift of nature for times when we need to be still and can't quite find our way home. When I felt myself breathing calmly again, I opened my eyes.  Just 20 minutes but yet a whole different experience of the world about me.  Not a thought about all the things I have to do this week, and mostly they stayed at bay all day.

I did almost nothing I needed to do today, and it was perfect.  I just listened to my center and did what I needed to do to "stay home."  A walk on a late summer's day, followed by an ice coffee and frozen yogurt.  A nap. Reading for my vacation. Time playing in the kitchen, creating healthy foods to support my intention to refocus on health this week. 

I've written before about the term "sin," originally an archery term, which means that we aimed, missed, and need to adjust the aim. We express an intention, we head in that direction, and when we  fall short, we adjust our aim back to the core intention. Whatever this reaiming process in which I now find myself ends up being, it must include finding my center every day.  My babbling brook will help me start my day tomorrow, and it will be with me on my desk during the day.  I will use the gift of nature to keep me home.

The Headwaters

My mother was never going to be nominated "Mother of the Year," but I feel it is important to give credit where it is due.  When our birthday's arrived, we were the center of everything.  Everyone ate what the birthday person wanted to eat, did what the birthday person wanted to do, and watched what the birthday person wanted to watch on TV.  It was a very big deal from a parent who largely didn't seem care what we wanted the rest of the year.

Today was my birthday.  It was a landmark one that I won't mention.  For the last several years I've spent the day alone.  Last year I dined with a friend who didn't know it was my birthday until we were almost done eating. Another year I had a dinner party, but with one exception, no one remembered it was my birthday. It's not that I want a birthday party or anything. I am an introvert; mostly parties are utterly painful. Surprise birthday parties are the very worst.  I do like people I care about to remember, and I like to dine with one or two close friends.  I got several birthday emails and texts today.  Thanks to all who remembered.

As my special day had approached, I've been restless. I am a big girl; I know the special treatment all day thing was for a kid. Still, I wanted to mark the day in a special way--a trip maybe--but couldn't settle on anything.  I've been working long hours, and even scheduling a trip has proven a challenge. A couple of weeks ago I realized that work commitments had closed the window on a trip, so I put in a leave request for today.  At least I wouldn't be working today.

I decided that a day of pampering would be perfect.  I don't think I've ever scheduled a whole day of special treatment for me: a pedicure, a manicure, a facial, and a luscious two-hour massage.  That would salve my self-pity, I thought.  I went to bed when I wanted, which, for me, is always very late.  I awakened when I stopped sleeping.  Maybe it would be the perfect day.

I struggled to remember a dream which I recalled as being vivid, but couldn't recall any details at all. So, I moved into meditation position.  Almost the moment my eyes fell closed, I saw a familiar and almost sacred place to me:  Paulina Spring.  A friend first took me to the "spring" in Central Oregon almost 30 years ago.  I have loved it since first seeing it. 

When I was living in Oregon, I would always enjoy heading there on walks and bike rides when I was in the area.  However, for probably 20 years, Paulina Spring has been my frequent refuge in meditation.  Paulina Spring defines "peaceful spot" for me.

I believe Paulina Spring is properly called a spring, but it is also the headwaters for a creek that quickly gains volume and speed just feet from the spring, first as a marsh, and eventually meandering through Black Butte Ranch.  My special place is right where a number of springs gurgle out of the middle of a grassy horseshoe-shaped knoll.  The sound of the bubbling is mesmerizing, and on a pretty sunny day has been known to lull me to sleep.

That impression this morning shifted my whole day from one of salving my wounds to gathering energy for the future.  As the spring quickly gains speed to become something much greater, I felt like my meditations were saying, "Paulina Spring has a lesson for you." I listened. It was water of life for me...and helped me have a perfectly different birthday.

I struggle to put into words what I seemed to know in a whole as I saw that picture in my mind's eye because there were different aspects but not separate pieces.  First and foremost, however, was that this was about a beginning. Accomplishment is in the future not in reflecting on the passing of another year. The spring was flowing forth with great energy to give life abundantly to hundreds of species throughout its watershed.  I too have a job to bring great energy and to give life--to help people find life from the inside out--from what they know in their hearts.

But there was more.  There is chaos in the bubbling and mingling of waters, and at the same time there is incredible peace as the flow follows as it has timelessly for decades, maybe centuries or even millennia.  A natural order exists, and all we have to do is allow it--to literally go with the flow instead of resisting what wants to happen. 

So it is that my perfect birthday began, settling in to the natural order and what wants to happen instead of making up how my day should have been but will never be.  I surrender a watered down reflection on what has been and embraced a celebration of what can be.  This new year has all the earmarks of a great adventure.

Emotional Intelligence and Intention

Way back in graduate school, I remember studying the levels of learning: the next-to-highest level of learning was teaching. I intellectualized that concept, but it was much later, when I actually was teaching on a regular basis, that I really started to "get it."

Probably in my second year teaching at the university, I remember presenting something one day, and all of the sudden having a personal Aha! moment during which in an instant I connected content that I knew well in a whole new way.  It was like a jigsaw puzzle that suddenly rearranged its pieces and created a totally different picture.  It happens to me now and again, even with topics that I've written about significantly. If I say the new understanding out loud, it doesn't sound all that different than what I may have written, but on a gut level my understanding is quite different.

Spiritual teacher Carolyn Myss has said that her understanding of "energy anatomy" came to her while she was teaching a related class. I suspect that most of us who have taught material we know well have experienced something like this.

That is how one day I related "emotional intelligence" to "intention." Now I understand why I've enjoyed writing  and teaching about both.

Because I am an Organization Development consultant and not a trainer, I rarely stand at the front of a classroom and teach any more. Instead, my coaching and consulting often afford me "teachable moments." By far more frequently than any other topic, emotional intelligence presents itself as a teachable moment. One day when I was coaching someone and writing on the board in back of my desk about emotional intelligence, it just came to me that my words were similar to ones I'd used with intention.

A number of authors and researchers have written about emotional intelligence, so the language is slightly different depending on who is writing.  Five generally accepted elements comprise emotional intelligence:

1. Self-awareness
2. Self-management
3. Self-motivation
4. Empathy
5. Social Skills

Simply put, self-awareness underlies all of the others.  The next two are internally focused. Once we are aware of what we want and need, then are we able to manage and motivate ourselves to do what we want or need to do?  The last two are externally focused. Self-awareness feeds both.  Am I aware of how I react to others? Do I have the social skills to behave appropriately?  Of course, self-management and self-motivation are key to those last two as well.

My Aha! about emotional intelligence (EI) and intention came when I was talking about EI the day after I'd been writing about intention.  The self-awareness piece of intention is that in order to live my intention, I need to listen to my heart and to learn what is written on the back side of it. Then, can I manage and motivate myself to act in accordance with what I know in my heart?

As simple as that.  I say that tongue in cheek because I know full well how very difficult self-awareness, self-management, and self-motivation are.  I've written in blog posts as recently as yesterday about my struggle being able to do what I know I need to do. Slow down, rest, exercise, skip sugar...you've heard them all.

I believe that none of us ever gets those pieces 100%.  At least not in this world.  A coaching client once surmised that when people got close to the 100% they were "called home."  They had nothing more to learn.

What is important is that we have an awareness of what we want to create and, when we don't succeed, like falling off a horse, we climb back on and give it another try. I actually sat and ate lunch today.  For two nights in a row, I've left the office only 30 minutes late, and I walked for 30 minutes through the beautiful spring weather and abundant blossoms.  And, instead of preparing for a job interview I have tomorrow, I am doing what I love--writing.  For this moment, I am totally at peace, and this moment is the only one that really counts.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Peace

While not without a couple more computer bumps, this has been a good day. I slept until I awakened naturally, remembering several dreams. I wrote for several hours, and I took a walk in our beautiful 50+ degree day as our snow rapidly melted.  It felt good to move, and after a month of bitter cold, I loved being able to walk comfortably in a short jacket with the sun on my face. I ate a delicious healthy dinner, and then I watched the Winter Olympics.  I am an Olympics junkie, and I am particularly fond of the ice skating events in the winter games, part of tonight's program.

When I sat to write, I was totally still.  My mind, which races so much of the time, was quiet.  It was quite remarkable, as if I were ending a meditation rather than starting one. The white stillness is quite a gift, and while I truly relish the exquisiteness, I was also curious.  Why so still tonight?

I believe that just BEing all day opened the door.  I flowed effortlessly through the day without thinking or planning, just following my inspiration, moment to moment.  I was being me.  This seems to me how it should be all day, every day--the way we were meant to be.  I cannot think of anything more important to say than being at peace is truly heaven on earth, and today I am most grateful to be there.

Post script: The morning after I wrote this post, NPR reported on a new study done on "happiness."  Participants in the study were given an app to report when they felt most happy.  After reporting their happiness, they were asked what they had been doing.  Activities in which people were totally engaged generated the most happiness.  I called it "peace" but I sure was happy too.

Rewriting Our Stories

A visit to the local Farmers' Market has been a regular part of my summertime routine for at least 25 years.  I love the smells of fresh fruits and vegetables at their peak, and the taste of perfectly ripened produce, which hasn't been refrigerated and shipped, just can't be compared to any other human experience. 

While that is true of Farmers' Markets in general, my real weakness is fresh peaches.  The real secret though is to get the ones that are beat up.  In North Carolina, they call them "windfalls" because they are so ripe that they fall at the least wind.  Of course, the fall bruises them, but what is left is exquisite, so sweet that the juice literally runs out while I am peeling the fruit. 

Some people would look at that beat-up fruit and think it was garbage.  To me, it is the tastiest thing in the natural world.  The difference?  The story that the observer tells about what he or she is seeing.  It's the same fruit.  As they say, "One man's trash is another's treasure."

A coaching colleague emailed me a link to an NPR piece about rewriting stories* today.  The story was about a boy who was frightened by a statue of Frankenstein, but instead of telling about how the boy was frightened when he went passed the statue, his mother related that the boy had peed on the statue when he went back.

The ability to rewrite our stories in an empowering way allows us to exercise our power over our own experience.  For years, I've been helping clients rewrite their stories where they've created disempowering fiction.  Recently, a client told about something she didn't want to do because she knew that she wouldn't be successful at it.  One at a time she gave me excuses about why she wouldn't be successful. One at a time I asked her for an example of someone who had succeeded but didn't meet that particular success criteria.  By the time we finished, she realized that there was no legitimate reason why she, too, couldn't succeed.  Then she could rewrite her story.

Today I started working on my fifth or sixth book, depending on whether you count one that is started but not yet finished.  Although I've been writing quite literally since I could hold a pencil, I didn't start writing seriously until I was in my mid-forties because my mother always said to me, "Writers are poor and starving."  When a college professor commented on my talent and encouraged me to consider a writing career, I responded, "Writers are poor and starving."  I had made my mother's story my own without even being conscious of what I was doing.

For over four decades, I lived the story my mother had given me.  Then at some point, I could no longer run from my gift. Being an artist is a toss-up, but can the artist not be an artist?  If my mother were still alive, she would point at me and shake her finger and say, "I told you so," because I have struggled financially.  More importantly, I have occasionally been frozen with fear of doing what I am here in the world to do.

But today, I felt more alive than I have since I last worked on a book.  I am rewriting my story.  The work I began today is a memoir, and I am telling myself that it will be the next Eat, Pray, Love.  It's author, Elizabeth Gilbert, is living proof that authors need not be poor and starving.  A reader of this blog has said she could see me at the celebration when the book deal is announced. I've seen myself on the New York Times Best Sellers' List for years.  Maybe these too are fiction, but they are far more productive that an equal fiction than "Writers are poor and starving."

When my colleague sent me the link to the NPR piece, he said, "This could be useful in coaching."  It can, indeed.  I believe the ability to rewrite our stories is a basic life skill.  We should teach our children how to dress themselves, brush their teeth, balance a checking account, and rewrite their stories.

This evening I feel a deep sense of peace, joy, and power.  Writing does that for me.  Hmm.  Writing is where I find peace, joy and power.  That is a story I can live with.

 

*http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2014/01/01/258674011/editing-your-lifes-stories-can-create-happier-endings

Going toward or running away?

The most primitive part of our brains--the part that formed millions of years before our rational brains--is hardwired to respond to fear.  When humans existed in the wilds, and life was a day-to-day struggle for survival, what is called the "reptilian brain" developed two basic instantaneous responses to threat: "fight" or "flight."  Interestingly, this primitive response will literally short-circuit the rational part of the brain when threat is perceived, stopping it from functioning. 

What does all this have to do with the spiritual journey? Almost everything, actually.  Because the reptilian brain is programmed for survival, it will try to keep us in survival mode.  It's purpose is to keep us alive.  By definition, living in constant fear is constraining and limiting.

The spiritual life is expansive.  It is one of learning, growth, and acceptance.  We are sent into this world with service to perform, spiritual growth lessons to learn, and gifts and talents to develop. If we do any of these things well, we will regularly look fear in the face. If we listen to what we know in our hearts, though, what compels us is the urge to thrive. 

It seems to me that there must almost always be the grappling of these two forces within us: the part of us that wants only for us to survive wrestling with the part of us that wants to grow, perform our service, use our talents...and thrive. Contraction versus expansion.

Not so many years ago, I can recall having made the statement that I'd never made a decision which was based on money considerations.  I would have said that I always listen to my heart and just know that if I do so, everything will work out.  Except when it didn't.  About 12 years ago, I lost everything...really. But for friends that allowed me to use spare bedrooms, I would have been in the streets. 

Circumstances from my early childhood had left me fiercely independent from a very early age.  I had gone from being a successful global consultant, author and professional speaker with a lovely home and office overlooking a lake to having no assets, being homeless and not knowing how I would pay for food.  How could that have happened to me?  I'd had a savings account since I was an infant and a well-funded retirement since my early thirties.  Then I had nothing.  I was terrified.  I plugged into my reptilian brain, and I haven't fully been able to shake it. 

I struggle with that.  I want to thrive.  I want to do the work I came into the world to do.  I want to learn and grow and to use my gifts.  Quite thankfully for this blog, I am getting my writer's groove back.  I really believe that we are to listen to our hearts and do what makes them sing.  The spiritual journey is about following that to which we are drawn, rather than running from what we fear.

After I'd completed my end-of-the-day ritual of affirmations, gratitude journal, and prayer last night, and had turned out the lights, I suddenly knew that something was wrong in what I'd posted yesterday.  Throwing back the covers and turning the light back on, I padded out to my desk and rebooted my computer in my otherwise dark apartment.  I felt it urgent to correct before I slept. Really, I think I needed to acknowledge my truth.

Yesterday I compared the human connection to Love source to that of the aspen grove which appears to be hundreds or thousands of trees, but shares a common root structure and is connect at the most fundamental level.  We look like individual people, but in truth, we are connected through a common source: Love. What I had said is that when we are connected to source that we couldn't be hurt.  I realized that was my reptilian brain talking about avoiding hurt.  My change, although apparently only a minor one, was to say that when we are connected through Love, we are safe and peaceful.  The shift is from running away from something--hurt--to moving toward something we want--Love, peace, and safety.  Such a small thing...and everything. 

On the spiritual journey, when I can be awake enough to remember (translate that I have disengaged my reptilian brain,) my real lesson is to follow Love. What I wan to move toward. That's all...and everything.

The Peace That Passes All Understanding

As I was making myself something for dinner this evening, I began to think about what I might write in my blog tonight.  Well, of course, that is all wrong.  There I go thinking again:  my writing is supposed to come from my heart and not my head.

Nonetheless, almost like an earworm, for the last 90 minutes, the phrase from the Christian New Testament of Philippians "the peace that passes all understanding" has been playing over and over again, echoing behind cooking sounds, the radio, the TV, and even as I ran water to wash my face and brush my teeth.

"The peace that passes all understanding."  I thought it was a topic.  Now, my heart knows it is a process.  Just allow myself to sink into peace and let the words flow through me.  Why the repetition?  It was almost as if my soul was meditating me instead of me meditating.  I've often talked with coaching clients about letting their prayers pray them.  Like a mantra, the phrase "the peace that passes all understanding" meditated me. 

The point of letting prayers pray us is to just listen deeply to what our soul wants to pray and to let go of the clutter with which our brains would clutter our communication channels.  When I've prayed this way with clients, it is very slow, and the words just gently float out. Mostly what floats out are words of gratitude, and gratitude for such little things that most of us would never think to include in our prayers.   It has been such a long time since I've let my prayers pray me.  I think it is time.  Our souls are so wise.

The River of Peace

Back in the day before blogs, my regular writing gigs were columns in business publications.  I've never had difficulty writing, once I had a topic, but there have been times that I stared at the computer screen for a while, waiting for inspiration.  I remember encountering a friend who had just finished reading Leading from the Heart on one of those days. 

"Hey!" I said.  "What really stands out to you from the book?" 

Without a hesitation, he responded, "The River of Peace."  We chatted a bit about the topic, and when I headed back to the office and computer, I knew that would be the topic of that week's column. 

In the book, I described what Joseph Campbell called The River of Peace, which flows between the banks of Fear and Desire.  As he described it, we can float through life in peace as long as there is neither anything we fear nor anything we desire enough to leave our place of peace.

Then, as I've drawn on many a flip-chart, I added to The River of Peace, making it The River of Peace, Love, and Joy, those consummate spiritual qualities for which most of us yearn.  As I talk about the banks, I "X" through the word "Desire," because I say that most things that we desire enough to leave The River of Peace are actually driven by fear.  So, I say, The River of Peace, Love, and Joy actually lies between two banks of fear.

Today, I ponder The River of Peace.

After two weeks of furlough, we finally have glimmers of hope that the government may soon be open again.  As I compare my dwindling checking account to the monthly bills that have arrived, part of me is quite joyful.  The fear of not being able to pay my bills and what that might mean clearly underlies the desire to pay my bills.  Far greater are other fears. 

As I've written in this blog, I've reclaimed the woman I had been until recent employment.  I am the creative, the writer, the coach, and the speaker. I am smart and have a sense of humor. I am joyful. I take care of myself.  I love my life.  What I really fear is that the darkness that consumed me so totally that it took nine days of furlough to reclaim my being will eat me alive again.  Having almost birthed an e-book from a hard copy book and germinated at least two new books, I am terrified that my creative self will be subsumed by "Just follow orders!" or "No one asked what you thought."

AND, I want peace, love and joy even more.  I want to embrace my work with the passion and creativity that I brought to it for almost three decades.  I want to jump out of bed, looking forward to helping people work together better. I want to love my colleagues and laugh with them throughout the day. I know that is what awaits me in The River of Peace, Love, and Joy. My spiritual work: stay in the river.  Staying in the river implies staying present...in the present.  That's it!  That's all there is.  :-)  That's all...