Endings...Beginnings...

While I am by no means an authority, for a long time I've been interested in the Jewish mystical study of numbers.  I apologize for anyone out there, who may actually be an expert in this field if I in any way misrepresent the study of numerology, but I will do my best to share what I have taken from my limited exposure that applies to what has been on my heart lately. I do so completely from memory because, as often happens, I apparently loaned my book to someone who hasn't returned it...and I don't remember who that was.

Numerology looks at the Jewish Tree Of Life, a set of spiritual lessons, which each person works through in cycles of nine years.  Each lesson has a feminine aspect and a masculine dimension. Throughout our lives, we repeat each of the nine lessons, one per year, and then we start the cycle over again. Some years the focus is the masculine side of the lesson; other years it is the feminine. Similar to the hero's journey about which I've written previously, although the basic lesson is the same each time, we go through more advanced versions of the lesson. We go through the cycles individually, and planetarily.

The cycle has been on my heart because the energy of the planet is now transitioning from the end of the cycle to the beginning of a new one.  The transition began at the Jewish New Year (October 2-4 this year.)  It will end at the Winter Solstice (December 21.)  During that three and a half months, it is our spiritual work to "clean house."  2016 has been a "9" year, which is about endings.  People often leave jobs, even careers, end relationships, sell houses, and let go other significant parts of our lives that have served their purpose, but with which we are finished.

By December 21, we should have cleaned out anything that is not part of a new beginning for us. What we carry into the 21st will be with us for another nine years.  I've had this on my mind, but all of the sudden this week I realized that I just have a month left, and I haven't done much cleaning out. Frequent reader of this blog and my friend Amy Frost told me in the Super Moon, which occurred a couple weeks ago, that we should write down anything we wanted to let go of and then set the paper on fire, letting the smoke release the energy of the past into the atmosphere.  That was a busy day, but I did some general letting go into smoke that day.

But I know I have way too much baggage to carry with me into the future.  Let me count the ways.

Besides the energy of spiritual baggage, there is some literal baggage I am dealing with.  Almost a year ago, construction in my apartment building's storage area required me to bring up everything from my storage unit.  It has been sitting in my bedroom closet since then.  I knew I needed to clean out, but I haven't made doing so a priority.

When I left my last job in August, I hastily packed up anything that was mine personally and brought five boxes home with me...also in my bedroom closet.  (Fortunately, I have a bedroom closet big enough to party in.)  I know there is a lot to be left behind there as well, but sorting through my office boxes has not been a priority either.

I thought I was going to have the time to just sit in my closet this weekend and sort, but I have allowed the approaching holidays and associated activities encroach on my time. I am not sure whether that is avoidance or choosing my future to be with friends...or a little of both. While I make an effort to keep my Sabbath sacred, I have decided that this spiritual sorting exercise is an appropriate Sabbath activity, and I will sit in my closet on Sunday afternoon.

I also have a desk at home that I have been sorting through for two weeks, and I am close to seeing the surface of at least a third of it now.  There is more, for sure, but great progress.  What remains are my time-consuming projects, and I am not sure when I will find the time, but doing so is a priority for me now.

There are bookshelves that are bulging as my appetite for new books always exceeds the time I have to read them.  My folder of clipped recipes was so full at the beginning of last week that it wouldn't close.  I am grateful for Thanksgiving and Christmas menu planning for nudging me to begin to go through it two evenings earlier in the week.  There is more, but I have found that some of the recipes just don't look good any more, and pitching them has been easy.

When I think about what I want to take into the next nine years, though, more important than cleaning out "stuff" is being conscious of what habits I am ready to let go of and what new ones I want to choose for my future.  As I reflect back over the last nine years, I think that this cycle has been about the time period during which I've forfeited the intentional life I had built and allowed myself to be overtaken by work, in every variety.

For decades, I ate healthfully, exercised daily, meditated at least once a day, did extended meditation retreats, danced several times a week, practiced gratitude daily, spent time with friends and laughed a lot.  Morsel by morsel, most of that has slipped out of my life since 2007, and I want to reclaim "my" life and let go of whatever has consumed me.

New habits are formed in 30 days. I could be overwhelmed as I look at all the new habits I want to form.  However, at least for me, I respond well to any positive change in my life.  Intuitively, I know that if I change one thing, changing others seems much easier.  I feel it is almost like flipping a switch back to the "real Kay," rather than changing eight different habits.

In my as-yet-unpublished book Choice Point, which I thought was "finished" in 1997, I wrote that life should be a meditation, and in each moment we should consciously ask, "Is this a 'yes' or is this a 'no?'"  When I think about reclaiming my life, the question I need to ask isn't will I exercise or not today, it is "Will I be who Kay's soul intended her to be today?"  A single question, applied to every situation, asked consciously.  Life as a moment-by-moment meditation.

What I know in my heart is that all I want to carry into the next nine years is the consciousness to ask that question a 1,000 times every day...and the courage to act on what I know.

Falling back

Today is that delicious day we each get once a year when we set our clocks back and get an extra hour of either sleep or daytime activity. I got a little of each.

I expectedly awakened a little earlier than I normally would on a Sunday, and I indulged myself in an extended period of prayer, something I'd been yearning for since mid-summer when I began the chaotic wind down of my old job and transition into what is seeming to be an equally busy new job.

For me, prayer satisfies me most when I do it regularly.  I think of it as being a bit like exercise. When I am doing either every day, I slide into it easily and often get into "the zone"--that enchanting place where time and space cease to exist, and I am mindfully in the present.  However, not unlike being off exercise for a while, when I come back to prayer after time away, I struggle.

Now it isn't as if I haven't prayed for months.  I have.  Yet instead of deep, solace-inducing communion, my prayers have been less two-way communication and deep listening and more pleas for aid, like "Help me know what to do right now," "Show me the way," or "Help me get through this day." More often than not, I heard no answer.  I am sure that the answers were there, but I was either not present enough to receive the answer or overly intellectualizing to figure the answer out myself. Most likely, both.

This morning the need to develop my prayer muscles was clearly apparent.

With that said, I did hear that I should write a blog post, so here I am.  I do often feel that writing becomes a prayer for me, and my listening becomes richer when I allow myself to not know what it is I am going to write but rather just allow it to flow through me.  As I write this post, I understand some of what was missing from my prayers this morning that I couldn't seem to know when I was in them.

Back in the day when I prayed with clients, I used the term "let your prayers pray you."

"God," I said, "would let us know what we should be praying for."  Then we would sit and pray together.  Often what would come up would be things about which my mind would never have thought to pray.  "Thank you for the birds that sing outside my window every morning," or "Thank you for the sun and its warmth on my skin when I walk."  Occasionally, I expressed gratitude for just being still.

The most interesting thing about letting my prayers pray me is that much, maybe most, of my prayers uttered from that space expressed gratitude and, more often than not, they acknowledged the little things in life of which I so often don't even make notice.  I believe that focusing attention on the exquisite order of the world around me diminished whatever might have been on my heart and mind that day to an appropriate proportion.

The practice also reminds me of the non-linear nature of the Universe. For instance, my struggle to pray this morning did send me to computer to write about prayer.  Now I remember what I had forgotten about praying and can go back to prayer again with an open heart and mind.

Soon, I will do that.

As I ponder doing so, however, the thought that nags at me is how I got so far from my prayer practice to have forgotten how to connect.  The answer may go back to the metaphor of exercise.  My actions haven't made either priorities when in my heart I know that I ache for both. Articulated priorities, which aren't acted upon as such, are clearly not the focus of our intention.

In the busyness of a life that seems to be driven by urgencies, like finding a new refrigerator before all my food thaws on a gorgeous fall day when I would prefer to go for a long walk in the woods. Always there seems to be something urgent that cuts into my time. Yet if I want my life to reflect the focus of my intentions, I must act accordingly.

I truly don't have an answer for the refrigerator-versus-the-fall-walk dilemma but somehow I know in my heart that if I spend more time in prayer and exercise, how to bring life to my intentions will become clear to me.  Right now, I am savoring the extra hour to focus on prayer and exercise and feeling comfortable pushing back the urgent for just a little longer.

Unencumbered Love

I've been learning a lot about love this week.  My journey to the Midwest carried me first to visit 87- and 89-year-old aunts, one of which I hadn't seen for over 20 years and the other for much longer.  When the "younger" one and I left the older, we paused for a "group hug." The moment was so precious.  I felt like my heart would explode, and I could hardly hold back tears.  It had been wonderful catching up on the passing years with these two women, who had been such an important part of my youth.  However, the moment of our parting opened me in a way that I haven't allowed myself for a very long time.  Pure love flowed between us.

Forty-eight hours and a couple hundred miles later, I found myself joining my college roommate and her husband as they prepared for the rehearsal dinner preceding the marriage of their son.  We each had our roles, awesomely orchestrated by the roommate.  I experienced such joy in joining in the preparations for this young man, now 31 but whom I'd known since shortly after his birth.  When everything was in order, the three of us also paused for a "group hug," and once again, I felt such amazing love that I was certain my heart would break wide open.

I was reminded of a moment at least 25 years earlier when the groom-to-be was a youngster of four or five.  At that time, we had quite a love affair as one can only have with a four-year-old. The night before I left town after a visit, he crept into my room and asked if I would move to their city.  Similar to the two flows of love this week, I recall so vividly being overwhelmed with love and joy with this little boy that all these years later the feeling is as fresh as it was all those years ago.  

Yesterday, I took time from the busyness of pre-wedding events to pray, and the image that came to me at that time was of my heart in shackles, swelling so that it bulged beyond and between the constraints.  I immediately felt that my heart has been shackled by the pain of many heartbreaks, and this week it is bursting forth.  The term that came to me was unencumbered love.  In an instant that felt right, but I did look up the term "unencumbered" to clarify the meaning.  According to Google, to be "unencumbered" is "not having any burden or impediment." I suspect that unencumbered love is so free that it cannot be burdened.

The shackles that have protected my heart have been an impediment to a full experience of love.  In fact, until this week, I would say that "love" has been a concept or intellectual construct that I thought I understood but have rarely allowed myself to feel.  The realization also registered that, although I never articulated it or probably even thought about it that way before, I believe in the back of my mind, I've thought about love as a commodity.  I think I've seen it as something I give or something I receive.  In the instances this week I question whether we can give and receive love.  It seems to me that unencumbered love is just there to experience--to wash over us and take our breath away, forever changing us from the soul out.

As I am coming to know, "unencumbered love" requires complete and total surrender to the feeling, and in my case, I think the surrender means that I must let go of the protection that the shackles have provided and to risk the potential of pain in order to be vulnerable to the joy promised.

I am not sure I would have understood this on a spiritual level a week ago before the experiences on my journey. Having glimpsed the wonderful experience of love once again after so long, I ponder how to remove the restraints that I've allowed to remain in place for so long that removing them seems a formidable task. Yet, having glimpsed the wonder of unencumbered love, how can I not persist freedom from impediments to love?

I just really wonder, what if the more we allow ourselves to surrender and be engulfed in the vastness that is love that love itself is what can melt away all impediments, leaving us swimming in a sea of love.

The Wanderer

Friday evening I invited a younger work colleague for dinner at my apartment.  Her own spiritual journey has been intensifying recently. She has frequently asked me questions about my journey.  Not that any of us are ever an expert on the journey, I do have a few more years in my spiritual journey experience bank.  Since we aren't working together any more, dinner seemed to be a more appropriate solution than attempting to text about the journey, as we have since I changed jobs.

After dinner, we pulled our chairs over to the bookshelf--the one with spiritual titles, not the one with books related to work.  I've been feeling spiritually fidgety for most of the year, but especially since changing jobs. As I shared with her some of my favorite titles, I was learning again for myself. When I pulled out Carol Pearson's The Hero Within, a book explicitly about the spiritual journey described through Jungian archetypes, a diagram fell out.  What immediately jumped to my eye as I glanced at "Three Turns Around the Hero's Wheel," (p. 14) was the archetype of "The Wanderer," whose purpose is to provide clarity to the next stage of life.

The diagram is like a pie with each of five pieces devoted to one of five archetypes.  The inner wedge of each piece/archetype describes the lessons for the first journey around the wheel.  Pearson explains that we go through the journey several times each life and with each we have a different lessons to learn on each archetype.  (I attempted to find a reproduction of the diagram online, but most are much more complicated than the simple-yet-clear version on yellowed pages that I have.  Markings on my own render it useless to others.)

The progression of archetypes that we go through starts with "orphan," where we learn "trust."  You might think about this as disappointment that things aren't as you might have thought they were but learning trust in an emerging, but not at all yet clear, world view. "Orphan" is followed by "Wanderer" where the lesson is "clarity."  This is how the "not at all yet clear world view" gets clarity--we listen and learn about the next evolution of how things really are.  You might also think about this as the time in the desert, demonstrated in many spiritual stories, including Abraham, Moses and Jesus, involve time spent alone in reflection.

After we have clarity, we move to the "Warrior," where we might have to fight for what we've received spiritual clarity about. Embarking on the lessons in order is critical; otherwise, we might be fighting for the wrong things.  The warrior is about learning and claiming "power."  The lesson after "Warrior" is that of "Martyr," where we learn about "love" and giving our lives to the Universe. The last of the five archetypes is the "Magician."  The lesson of the "Magician" is "joy."  Then we are ready to be "Orphans" again.

So what does this have to do with me...now?

I've spent a lot of time stuck in "Orphan."  Instead of learning the lesson of "trust," the long stall there exposed me to repeated examples where I couldn't/didn't let go of the expectations I had and move on to wander and figure things out.  My experience with this transition is that it requires a leap of faith, but each time I've had the courage to take it, everything has worked out perfectly.  For example, when I chose to leave Oregon, buy a house in North Carolina as I'd been guided to do, and drive across the country without a job or even knowing anyone, I was taken care of.  Work fell into may path within a week, but I had to wander first.

I've also spent way too much time in "Warrior" in recent years where I was fighting to survive rather than fighting for the spiritual truth I should have learned in "Wanderer."  When I've made the journey successfully before, I have found my inner power, the power that comes from connection with the divine and knowing if I do what is right and true, I will be OK.  When I've fought to survive, I've tried to control or manipulate things to assure I'd be taken care of rather than taking the leap of faith knowing I would be OK.

While the move to North Carolina worked out splendidly, there have been times when I have been "invited" into the desert, and I didn't follow, and it hasn't worked out so well.  On February 4, 2004, I received a clear message that I should move to Washington, D.C.  Depleted of resources from the dot.com bust and without a job in D.C., my reply was "I will do it when I have a job." I looked but didn't find one. Of course, that is not how this is supposed to work.  Leap of faith occurs first and then it works out.

One of the scripture readings in church today was about Jacob wrestling with the angel or God.  Our pastor said he always thought this passage was about our internal struggles.  Do I do what I want or do I do what God wants?  For the 28 months between my message to move to Washington and when I actually did move, almost everything of value was taken from me.  Yet, I struggled to control the transition by insisting on having a job first.  I should have wandered.

Last March when I told my old boss that I would leave my job at the end of the summer, I think what the Universe heard was that finally I had relented to go into the desert and find the next manifestation of me and my spiritual truth.  As the end of the summer approached, I was totally at peace.  I had accumulated vacation pay, and my financial planner and I had figured out how I could get by for several months after that.  Then, the job offers started coming--three of them, and they were good ones.  So I took the bait.  I could leave my job, go to a new one, and I wouldn't have to take the leap of faith, I thought to myself.  And, I also wouldn't learn the lesson of wandering.

When the diagram fell onto the floor Friday evening, in a flash I realized I had robbed myself of my season in the desert.  While it isn't exactly the bold leap of faith that leaving my old job without a new one would have been, I leave on Tuesday for a meandering trip to the Midwest, reconnecting with old friends and one of my few remaining relatives.  The wedding of the son of a dear friend lies at the end of the journey, but in the stillness of my road trip, I expect that I will find passages into my truth.

$25,000 or 2,000 chocolate bars

In my last post, I wrote about attending a workshop on somatic (physical) aspects of personality.  In that post I focused on the deliterous effects of the gut-punched posture. Today I'd like to visit another dimension of somatics: the smile.  

Our instructor reported that on scans of the brain, the simple act of changing from a neutral face to a smile produces the equivalent brain response as receiving $25,000 or 2,000 chocolate bars.  All that we need to do is smile.  If you will allow a pun, this is a no-brained. 

I've been traveling for work this week, and while we had some serious laugh-out-loud moments at the destination meeting, in transit I saw very few smiles.  Now imagine that if even half the people at a boarding gate smiled, it would be like raining money...or chocolate (but that could be a messier visual.) But they don't.

I did observe though that I could create a little proverbial money magic by giving away smiles.  Without stopping or making other contact, about half of the strangers with whom I made eye contact as I smiled actually smiled back at me.

An old saying about hugs suggests, "You can't give one without getting one." While it would seem that not everyone to whom I smile also smiles back, a lot do. When I give my brain a shot of cash or chocolate with my smile, I am simultaneously able to give the same to a total stranger as they smile back. And, I get one back as well.  The possibilities are almost limitless.

Over the years that I've been writing this blog, I've encouraged readers to generate positive energy around the world by multiplying some spiritual quality, such as gratitude by saying "thank you." Today I am encouraging readers to smile.  Give smiles and get smiles.  I am certain you will feel richer at the end of your day.

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Discovering Heaven

A couple weeks ago my pastor shared a Thomas Hobbs quote upon which I've been pondering.  "Hell is truth seen too late."

A few days after the pondering began I had the breakthrough I shared in my last post.  In that post I shared my focus on the negatives of my new position, and when I was able to see that was in my perception rather than objective reality, everything shifted.  

In the days since, however, I have continued to notice my posture going reflexively to one of being "gut-punched."  The truth is no one in my present world is gut-punching me, either literally or figuratively.  The "puncher" exists totally in my imagination and memory. 

Which brings me back to emotional intelligence about which I've written several times in recent years.  The first key to being emotionally intelligent is self-awareness.  Because I have been able to notice the gut-punched posture, I am at least moving toward self-awareness.  The second key is to self-manage or to choose a different behavior or response.  When I take that split second for a deep belly breath and adjust to an open, relaxed posture, I am demonstrating self-management.

...at least to a degree I am self-aware and self-management.  It seems to me that I am at the stage of needing to intentionally tell my body to shift my posture.  I look forward to the point when a natural, open, and relaxed posture will occur automatically, but I am clearly not there yet.

Over twenty years ago when I was struggling with the worst of my chronic pain, resulting from an accident, a doctor recommended a book to me.  Tom Hanna, the author of Somatics, described neuromotor amnesia.  The condition results when some part of the body forgets how it is supposed to work.  Back then, it was my hip and neck.  Now, it would seem it is my abdomen and the low back that supports it in pulling back to gut-punched. 

Yesterday I had the opportunity to attend a workshop on somatic dimensions of various aspects of our personalities. During the lecture portion, the workshop leader projected an X-ray of a person in a posture similar to the gut-punch.  He related that just being in that particular posture produces the hormone cortisol, which has been nicknamed "the stress hormone."  It causes progressive shutdown of the immune system.  (Small wonder that after 20 years without one, I had a cold, including one debilitating one, each of the last three winters at my old job.)

The particularly remarkable twist is that, changing nothing else, a person can induce stress by simply going into that posture.  Conversely, I can elicit confidence and relaxation by moving out of the posture.  That's all that is necessary.

So it should also not be a shock that the morning that I noticed the gut-punch posture the first time that as soon as I changed how I held myself physically, everything else seemed to change as if flipping a switch, and in a way that is just what happened.  By opening myself to expectation of positive outcomes, I switched off the cortisol and turned on oxytocin, the hormone associated with giving birth and trust, among other functions.

Harvard professor Amy Cuddy detailed in her recent book "Presence" that body language is not necessarily a reflection of what we are feeling, but instead the reverse is true: our body determines what we feel.  (If you haven't seen her TED talk, it is the second most viewed of those popular lectures.)

There are two other aspects of emotional intelligence.  The third is our awareness of others, and the fourth is how we manage our relationships different because of that awareness. When I walked into the room the morning I made the shift, I noticed openness and hopefulness.  Because of my heightened awareness of both myself and participants in the event, I managed the relationship that I had as the facilitator with my participants differently.  I recalled earlier days before my last job when I listened deeply to my inner knowing and didn't do what I planned.  At the end of the day, the leader said I had been "masterful."

As the evolution of pondering the Hobbes quote, I've come to understand that I don't have to wait until it is too late to see my truth. I can avoid that hell by choosing to hold myself in the place of trust, openness to my inner knowing, and birthing things instead of stress.  That is discovering heaven in every magical moment.

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Free at Last

I just finished my third week in my new job.  The journey (and it has been a journey) has been a defining one. 

While I fully understand that I am within a legitimate honeymoon period, there is almost nothing that isn't almost perfect.  That means my continuous improvement eye is just out of luck. The pay is at the top end of what I'd hoped for, the benefits are better, and the physical environment is quite pleasant.  I truly like my new team, which really seems to function as a team. So far, my clients have been pleasant, which, given that my clients are what held me at my old job long after it was healthy for me, is a delight.

All that given, I have been in something of a spiritual crisis these three weeks.  First, because I had worked exceptionally long hours I a job with normally long hours in order to meet client commitments, and I was just plain exhausted physically.  No amount of sleep would seem to relieve my fatigue during the first 2 to 3 weeks.

An overlay to the fatigue was an uneasiness, like waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Then, I noticed a reticence as I started into my work.  That really shocked me: having started semi-professional work at 16 and worked my way through college, I've always been quite confident in my work, even when doing something for the first time. And, the tasks I was assigned initially weren't at all challenging. That feeling continued for at least a week.

In parallel, or perhaps as a function of the reticence, I felt constrained, when I was fully aware nothing was constraining me.  I could intellectualize that part though.

In the late 1990s there was a study widely reported that often came to mind in the first days.  The study reported on fish in an aquarium. After swimming freely for a significant period of time, a clear glass plate was placed in the middle of the tank, blocking the fish from swimming beyond the midpoint.

For a while, the fish kept swimming, smashing repeatedly into the glass barrier.  After some period, the fish became conditioned to swim up to the plate and stop.

Eventually, the scientists removed the impediment.  The fish, who had been conditioned, continued to swim up to where the offending plate had been and would go no further. 

That's how I felt.  I had become so constrained in my last job, that I'd become uneasy doing activities that I'd done almost without thought for years previous to that job. 

I was angry.  How could I have allowed myself to tolerate such treatment, when I must have known what it was doing to me? I must have known, I told myself in the first few days of my new job. Yet, if I did, I had no recollection.  While some constraints had been  brutally blunt, the magnitude of hundreds of small limitations is what nearly destroyed me.

Now I was free; the proverbial glass plate had been removed.  And, I spent a few days frozen.  Then, one morning I was in my groove again on a design project.  A happy little introvert, I sat at my desk, cranking out work. 

Over the next 48 hours, I started to feel as if I was able to exhale for the first time in years.

Last week was my first facilitation in my new job.  For two of the three days, I was clearly not hitting on all the cylinders.  I didn't have energy or creativity.  I never hit the groove where I felt the group and I were one. 

I blamed it on lack of sleep, because I'd been awakening two hours early, able to go back to sleep.  Then, I questioned whether I'd burned out the small amount of extraversion the good Lord had given me. I was leading strategic planning, one of my favorite things, and it felt like crashing.  Finally I went to fear: what if I'd found this perfect place to work, and I was going to fail?

At last on Wednesday night, I slept all night and awakened full of energy.  I felt good.  I had some reflective time.  Over the three hours after awakening, I had several little epiphanies.  I was walking down the hall to my new office and realized I was carrying myself as if I'd been gut-punched.  Without losing stride, I opened my middle and breathed deeply into my belly...and smiled. 

When I arrived at my office, I was aware that mentality I'd gone back to the "running scared" mindset which resulted from years of way too much work and not nearly enough time to do it.  I took another deep breath. I had 90 minutes before the session started.  I told myself I could enjoy this.

Joy in my work.  I'd written about it extensively.  I'd lived it for many years, but temporary amnesia had possessed me in recent years as work had slowly slipped into a drudgery that I had to do do to buy groceries.  As I sat down at my desk Thursday morning, I smiled and gave myself permission to enjoy my work.

I remembered that the last time I'd facilitated strategic planning in June, one if the participants came up to me halfway through the day and said, "You really love this stuff don't you?"  I agreed.  He continued that I "radiated passion for the work."  Thursday morning I gave myself permission to radiate passion again.  Every few minutes that morning delivered an Aha!

When I hit the meeting room an hour later, I was energized.  I'd hit my stride.  I am certain that the team noticed: the difference was certainly palpable to me.

I have had what I think are a couple legitimate concerns about the work, but I am fully cognizant of my tendency to bolt when things are feeling too good, more conditioning but from a very young age. Right now, I am allowing myself to enjoy my new little piece of heaven.

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