Climate Change

I am intensely experiencing climate change today. Not that kind of climate change--the kind where temperate Washington is hammered with a brutal 4-month icy, snowy, cold winter and my former rainy home in Oregon is experiencing drought and forest fires in what is normally the rainy season--although the kind I write about today is related.

I've spent the last two weeks indoors, mostly in darkened rooms, recovering from eye surgery. Yet even in that environment, I've experienced my own personal climate change. My retina has been liberated from film and fluid that have darkened my world for almost two years. Even in dark rooms, I have felt like I have burst from an all-twilight life boldly into sunny high noon...24x7.

I've always been someone who needs light, but I didn't fully understand the impact until this week. I not only see better, but I feel lighter and brighter emotionally too.

Climate change worked it's way into my life in another way today. Just five days ago wind-chill temperatures were zero. Even though I was out very little, I could judge the temperature by how hard my heating system worked to keep my normally toasty apartment a little chilly.

Like a miracle, today temperatures have broken into the 60s (16-17 C). Street musicians once again serenade walkers and runners on the sidewalks. Attired in shorts and skorts, tennis players flocked to the University courts near my home. Undaunted by many remaining piles of snow up to three-feet high, I spotted several 80-and 90-somethings walking with their push-carts to run errands, and one  elderly women, who had walked to a bench with her walker, stopped me to chat.

Like them, I feel lighter, too. I lost 10 pounds today! Layers of turtlenecks, sweaters, our heaviest coats, boots, hats, earmuffs, and scarves finally shed in a day after months of being one with us.

We have many kinds of climate in our lives. While the reality of global climate change cannot be denied, many of them are influenced by our minds and hormones. The reality of the change I feel in my brighter world cannot be denied. Nor can the uplift of spirit in shedding that 10 pounds of winter attire to walk in the warmth of early spring sunshine. It's enough to make me jump for joy...and that, too, can be a climate change.

Harvard researcher Amy Cuddy has researched the victory stance. You know it: arms extended upward with chin up and head back, just as an athlete crosses a finish line. She says that when we take that position, our bodies release hormones associated with winning, without doing anything else! If we want to be winners, all we have to do is take the stance, and we change to the inner climate of a winner. (If you haven't watched her TED talk, it should be must-viewing for life.*)

So today I am going to jump for joy, change my inner climate to match the outer climate...and head to my balcony to get ready for the inevitability of those first crocus sprouts, which will pop through the soil any day now. Yes!

*Link to Amy Cuddy's TED talk. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ks-_Mh1QhMc


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I'm Happy!

"Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth...I'm happy!" I truly feel it!

I am not much of a music person anymore, except for music to which I dance. Not because I don't like music, but mostly because I love the stillness of just BEing.  That said, I have a crazy earworm for the Pharrell Williams' song, "I'm Happy!" (from Despicable Me 2.)  Since I've already confessed that I am not much of a music person, then I guess it is safe to admit that I'd never heard this song until Sunday evening on the Academy Awards program.  I guess I may be the only person on the planet who could actually say that, but I am sure there must be someone else out there.

Confessions behind me, I love this song.  It is so infectiously...well, happy.  I can't listen to one play-through of that song without feeling really good...no, great.  When I was hall-walking tonight, I felt like I was flying down the halls.  I had a spring in my step that is usually reserved for those first delicious spring days. (I admit that I even danced a bit, clapping to the music.)

The line above, "Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth," haunts me.  I really believe that "...happiness is the truth!"  I think that as human beings we are hard-wired to be happy, but sometimes life gets in the way, and I forget.  I can remember working at a place where my nickname was "Little Mary Sunshine," and I mourn the amnesia of the part of me that knows I am happy and knows that happiness is the truth.  This week it has awakened.  Did a piece of music jar me back into happiness?

The mail today brought the Omega catalog.  (Toys R Us for personal transformation.)  The CEO's opening letter reminded me of a Native American myth with which I always resonate.  In the myth, a grandmother is teaching her grandson, "A fight is going on inside of me.  It is a fight between two wolves.  One is an angry, greedy, self-pitying, arrogant, jealous and prideful wolf.  The other is a joyful, generous, kind, peaceful empathetic, and humble wolf.  The two wolves are always fighting. And that same fight is going on inside you--and inside every other person, too."

The grandson reflects for a moment before asking, "Which wolf will win?"

The grandmother smiles and responds, "The one you feed.  The one you feed."

I am certain that I have not been feeding the joyful, happy wolf in me nearly enough.  "Happy" is a rich, wonderful, and delicious meal for the happy part of me.  I also feel the happy wolf when I write, and I freely admit that I've missed writing and the happiness it brings while I've been recuperating.  Exercise and healthy foods feed the happy one, too. And, always, always, dance feeds the happy, joyful one. 

But the grandmother is right.  The two are always fighting.  My second full day of Lent had been consumed with nervousness as my body withdraws from sugar...until "Happy."  Less than one minute of feeding the happy wolf, and I am excited, joyful, and energetic.  The two cannot co-exist: they  stand in juxtaposition, but they cannot co-exist. 

So, as I wrote in Leading from the Heart (and a lot of other places.) Life is a choice: you choose.  I am choosing to be happy and to feed the happy wolf in me.

What Separates Me From God?

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of the 40-day Lenten season. Lent is traditionally observed by certain sects of Christianity, although my first Lenten observance far pre-dated my association with a church that observes Lent. 

I feel pretty ecumenical about my spiritual observances: when I learn about a practice from any religion that I believe will enrich me spiritually, I keep it.  I have grown from a number such practices.  That is how I came to observe Lent before doing so actually was part of my dedicated celebrations.  Now that I officially mark Lent, I find that many do not give up things with the seriousness to which I have brought to the practice.  ("I am going to give up smoking."  "Oh, really?  I didn't know you smoked." "I don't.)

During Lent, we are to take an accounting of our lives and determine what it is that separates us from our relationship with God, our Higher Power, All That Is, or however we describe that presence in our lives. While some give up things they never partake in, I think the determination of what separates us is every bit as important as the relinquishment.  Over the years, I have given up one thing and another, and each time I found myself much closer to the divine at the end of Lent. 

For at least a decade, I have given up sugar because I have found that there is nothing in my life that more quickly numbs me out than sugar.  Giving up sugar implies giving up alcohol because sugar is a basic ingredient in alcohol, and I have found a cycle between sugar and alcohol.  I am more easily able to resist that sweet dessert that I crave if I haven't had a glass of wine with dinner.

What astounds me each year though is that within a week or so, I miss neither the sweets nor the alcohol.  I am calm and connected and peaceful. I know I am closer to God.  Some years I've continued to observe the omission of sugar for weeks and even months, but sometime I slip down a slippery slope into Candy Land, until Lent is upon us again. 

Each year at this time, I ask myself why would I want to put something into my body that not only separates me from God, but leaves me feeling agitated and out of control...not to mention a few pounds heavier...each year.  I am beginning a season of gratitude for having sugar out of my system, and I will once again appreciate the peace and connection.  I am certain I will ponder whether I will do this to myself again, and while I am fairly certain I will, I really do not understand why.  For now, I am going to enjoy the richness of peace and connection for 40 days.

The Gift of Self

I had a delightful afternoon.  This was my last recuperation day, and a dear friend, whom I haven't visited for a while, came to visit and to encourage my healing.  We had a simple soup and bread...and chocolate...lunch. Then we talked and talked...about all manner of things past, present, and future.  We were relaxed, and until we felt rush hour encroaching at the end of the afternoon, we existed in a wonderful timeless space. Ah!

Unlike the typical rush to fit a quick visit in before the next appointment that seems to run much of my life, when she left, I felt happy and satisfied. What a rare and wonderful gift she had given me: a gift of herself.  I like to think I carve out special times for these suspended times of connection with friends, like half-day into the evening play dates with one friend a couple times during pool season. But, I felt so rich today that I think I will do this more often. 

It is such a precious thing to be able to give to another while receiving from that person...and having fun, too.  Somehow I think we did this more when we were younger, or maybe the world wasn't spinning quite so fast when we were younger.  I do recall the ends of afternoons of yard work, which inevitably ended with several neighbors convening on someone's porch for popcorn, chips, and libation.  There was a timelessness about those moments as well.  The thing about those times is that I remember them in much more detail than finely planned and orchestrated parties and dinners that involved the same people.

In the slow-motion of recovery, it is easy to commit to intentionally making more of these times. When the world begins spinning faster, I fear that time will slip by too quickly.  Yet, if I do not commit to doing so, I risk losing something way more important that whatever else I would have done when I was racing through life.  Who knows? Maybe making time for these special moments will slow time as well as quality of life.  I hope so.

What Brings Me To Life?

“I have my own soul. My own spark of divine fire.” George Bernard Shaw, Pygmalion and My Fair Lady

I flipped the TV on just in time to hear this line at the end of My Fair Lady over the weekend.  I've seen that movie several times and read Pygmalion at least twice.  I don't remember those two sentences.  For some reason this weekend they grabbed me and nearly paralyzed me.  I went to the desk and wrote down, "My own spark of divine fire."  Then I just sat and looked at it.

That I have my own spark of divine fire is not a new concept. I've felt it burning intensely within me before, often and for long periods of time.  I've written about it.  But Saturday those words captivated me.  As I've thought about it since, hearing those words was an awakening for me.  After many years of having my spark burn so brightly, I don't feel that now.  I may have realized it before, but I am not sure I had named it.   To acknowledge that was quite painful. The haunting questions have been: "How could I have lost that?" and more importantly, "How do I fan the flames of my spark again?"

I definitely feel like the last week of recovery and reflection have brought me to the place where I was ready to really hear those words and realize that somehow I lost myself.  I can't say exactly when it happened, but I do know that over the last two months when I had been writing I felt that divine spark again. I know that when I started exercising I felt that divine spark.  I know when I am in nature, I feel it. 

A number of years ago I was attending a conference at which one participant spoke of his personal way of staying in touch.  He said that when he is in doubt, he asks, "What brings me to life?" and "What brings life to me?" So simple, and yet I believe so true.

The hard part is being awake to that choice in each and every moment: the choice point that inevitably leads to our divine spark.  The divine spark in each of us is what brings us to life and burns brightly in us.

Somehow in my heart I know that I lose myself when I fall into autopilot life, going through the motions of life without really being present to it.  As I think about going back to work day after tomorrow, I know that I can be in that job and feel my own spark of divine fire, but I can only do that when I am awake and present in each moment.  Because, when I am awake and present, I can consciously ask myself, "What brings me to life?" and "What brings life to me?" And, then...just do it! 

What Price Courage?

I love movies, and while my tastes are fairly omnivorous, my favorites have often been true stories.  (Intention and Inspiration, 2/18/14)  Since we are in Oscar season, Turner Classics has been playing Oscar-nominated and Oscar-winning films for the last month. Since I am recovering from eye surgery, I really need no more reason than the need to sit in a dark room to allow me to indulge myself in watching some of these great films.

Over this weekend, I've watched Indians fight for independence in "Gandhi," the British withstand incredible torture in "The Bridge Over River Quai," and heroism and leadership as Arabians also fought for freedom in "Lawrence of Arabia."  I recalled other films of incredible courage this year of as I've reflected on "42" and Jackie Robinson's courage to not fight back, "12 Years A Slave," being lost in space in "Gravity," being lost at sea in "All is Lost," and facing real-life pirates in "Captain Phillips."

Over and again, what kept bubbling up in my psyche was a story about which I first became aware as a youngster of about 10, as I explored the dimensions of my grandmother's bookcase to find entertainment in a sleepy small town summer.  Several books all by the same person--Corrie ten Boom--mesmerized me.  They poured out the story of a Christian family in Haarlem, The Netherlands, during World War II.  The family ultimately ended up in Nazi concentration camps, and Corrie's sister succumbed there. 

Their crime was harboring Jews escaping the jaws of those very same concentration camps.  At the very moment that they were captured, six Jews hid in their walls and eventually made it to safety because of the courage and sacrifice of the ten Boom family.  It would have been easy for them to turn away from the many fugitives that passed through their home over several years of that war, but they did not.

A number of years ago there was a theory put forth that age 10 is when we are most impressionable, and what we experience at that age will be defining for the rest of our lives.  Perhaps that is why every time I see a movie in which a character displays extraordinary courage, my mind inevitably drifts back to the ten Booms.  As a 10-year-old just as freshly as yesterday, the question lingers in me: if I needed to demonstrate such courage, would I find it in me? 

My best me would like to think that, of course, I would.  And, in my heart I pray that would be so.  However, I am not sure I would find it.  That leaves me feeling humble and hopeful--hopeful that I would find that courage and hopeful that I won't need to find it.  Thinking about Corrie's family puts everything in perspective for me.  No matter how grim some days might seem, they really don't even scratch the surface of the greater picture of courage in human history. 

I am glad that I have these moments of personal soul-searching brought forth in films of courage.  Somehow, I find it assuring that each time I pledge that no matter how deeply I will need to reach within myself, that I will find the courage I first pledged to find as I read Corrie's story when I was 10 and found again today.

Being My Best Person

In about two weeks I will have been writing this blog almost every day for six months.  The "almost" is a result of a very bad cold and recovery from an eye surgery which has made being on the computer difficult recently.  During that down time, though, I have continued to ponder the questions of the spiritual journey and this blog.

In the beginning, I said of this blog:  I don't claim to have the answers, but often the questions are informative and the intention is powerful. My goal in this blog is to share reflections from my journey that I think others might also find heart provoking. 

While I still believe that is true, after several months of writing what is on my heart each day, I have come to a more nuanced understanding of my mission for the blog.  I want to be my best person.  I intellectualize what that requires of me, and many, maybe most, days I can do that.  But, there are spiritual annoyances that would pull me from my intention.  Some days that has involved re-membering or re-owning what I know to be true in the blog, such as the spiritual growth that comes from experiencing gratitude, forgiveness, or even joy.

More often my postings have reflected the inner battles that I have fought, and continue to fight, such as with being present and being in present time. Gandhi is quoted as saying, "The only devils in this world are those running around inside our own hearts, and that is where all our battles should be fought." I have chosen to share my own inner battles with my readers.

Self-awareness is a platform, perhaps the only platform, from which we may grow spiritually.  I believe there are two levels of self-awareness.  The first is how I think I see myself. This perspective is problematic because from this kind of self-awareness we cannot see our blind spots--what I have described as what I don't know I know and what I don't know I don't know. Problematic at best, this perspective is inevitably sugar-coated with excuses, more what we'd like to believe is true that what actually may be true.

The second type of self-awareness is how I see myself from the perspective that Eastern mystics have called "the observer."  As the observer, I can see the world from inside me as well as what another person observing might see. Stripping away the veneer of sugar-coating, I am able to see my foibles and shortcomings.  We cannot change what we do not know.

Each day I have sought to strip away the veneer and share with readers what I believe others might see if they were being honest with me. I am fairly confident that the devils with which I wrestle are not unique to me alone. Consequently, I have attempted not to stop in that spot, but to determine how I can move myself ever closer to my best self while still knowing that it is only a matter of time before I once again slip and fall...and share that as well.

Thank you for your support as I wrestle with my imperfections and struggle to be ever closer to being my best self.