Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the first day of the Season of Lent. Lent is the Christian tradition of taking the 40 days before Easter for prayer, engaging in spiritual study, fasting, and giving up something that separates us from God for the season. As those who have been reading my column for a while will know, for me that means that I give up sugar to satisfy the last of those requirements.
Lent is one of many biblical references to the number 40, which some biblical scholars believe to be God's number for times of trial and hardship. Although there are more, some are honored by all three of the Abrahamic traditions. Rain fell on the earth for 40 days and 40 nights in the great flood. Moses spent 40 days in the desert after killing the Egyptian and another 40 days on Mt. Sinah. (For others, see: http://www.gotquestions.org/40-days-Bible.html.)
In the Christian tradition, it is appropriate that Lent is 40 days because before his crucifixion, Jesus was tempted for 40 days and 40 nights, and 40 days also passed between Jesus’ resurrection and his ascension into heaven. It makes sense that one of the aspects of the holiday is to give up what we are tempted by.
I find it interesting that biblical scholars consider 40 the number of trial and hardship. Maybe I am not doing it right, but I find this time to be one of purification or "coming clean." While I am usually fidgety for the first two or three days as I flush out the junk from my system. I have prepared some detoxifying foods this evening to accelerate that process, and I've done this enough to know that this too will pass.
With three or four days I am noticing that I am much calmer and making healthier choices. While I am very active, I have fought going to the gym in recent years. On Ash Wednesday instead of heading home at the end of the day, I went down to the gym, and I enjoyed it. Being more disciplined about meditation also contributes to that calm.
I expect within a week or so, I will feel quite calm and centered. I am more relaxed. I will move through the world with more ease than any other time of the year. So, biblical scholars aside, I do not think of this as a hardship at all, and only to the extent that the detoxifying process is a bit of a struggle is Lent a trial for me. Instead, it feels like coming home. For that I am grateful.
Showing posts with label spiritual. Show all posts
Showing posts with label spiritual. Show all posts
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Sunday, April 12, 2015
Rejoice!
A young seminarian spoke at services this morning, and she called on a scriptural passage that included that there had been rejoicing. She explored how often in scripture that we read what is around the rejoicing, but don't really consider that the rejoicing itself is as important.
Leaving the church in downtown DC in the middle of the "peak" weekend of the Cherry Blossom Festival, I couldn't help but think of her words as I looked at nature rejoicing around me. I wish I knew the names of all of the blooming trees and bushes, but suffice it to say, they were exploding in a range of whites and pinks, accented by the yellow of forsythia all about. I stopped and chatted with a homeless "friend" after leaving the Metro, and as the warmth of the sun bathed us, we talked about how wonderful the singing of all the birds.
Those who have read this blog for a while know how excited I get when nature produces splendid displays. Astrologically, I am an earth sign. I don't follow astrology all that much, but I wonder if that is why I am so impacted by nature. I know there is nothing that makes me feel closer to God than one of these explosions of nature.
Today, I can't help but wonder whether rejoicing with nature isn't similar to the scriptural references to rejoicing. We get caught up in whatever is happening on stage and totally miss the splendor of the sets the establish the tone for our lives. I am going to be very intentional this season about letting all the "stuff" that is going on in my life be less important and allowing the rejoicing of nature around me be what is truly important.
Leaving the church in downtown DC in the middle of the "peak" weekend of the Cherry Blossom Festival, I couldn't help but think of her words as I looked at nature rejoicing around me. I wish I knew the names of all of the blooming trees and bushes, but suffice it to say, they were exploding in a range of whites and pinks, accented by the yellow of forsythia all about. I stopped and chatted with a homeless "friend" after leaving the Metro, and as the warmth of the sun bathed us, we talked about how wonderful the singing of all the birds.
Those who have read this blog for a while know how excited I get when nature produces splendid displays. Astrologically, I am an earth sign. I don't follow astrology all that much, but I wonder if that is why I am so impacted by nature. I know there is nothing that makes me feel closer to God than one of these explosions of nature.
Today, I can't help but wonder whether rejoicing with nature isn't similar to the scriptural references to rejoicing. We get caught up in whatever is happening on stage and totally miss the splendor of the sets the establish the tone for our lives. I am going to be very intentional this season about letting all the "stuff" that is going on in my life be less important and allowing the rejoicing of nature around me be what is truly important.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Knowing My Shadow
Personal growth has often been described as being like an onion: every time you complete one layer, there's another under it. The one under it is smaller but more intense, challenging the person on that journey to use everything learned in other layers to continue to progress. Often, it is so much tougher, the traveler doesn't feel like it is actually progress.
Jungians describe personal growth as a "hero's journey," also a circular sequence of lessons, but they would say that the one on the journey of growth is learning a series of successively more challenging lessons in a repeated set of archetypes, such as the lover, the warrior, or the magician.
One of my weaknesses is my appetite for books which significantly exceeds my time and energy for reading. Another is that I am easily distracted by the lure of a new book when the one I am reading ceases to fully engage me. The consequence is that, at any time, my nightstand hosts anywhere from six to ten books in some stage of reading, often overflowing to the floor beside it.
At the first of the year, while flirting with another new book, I looked at the daunting pile, and, after a deep sigh, I decided that I had to surrender to some of the ones on my nightstand before starting another. I slowly looked through them, sorting into two stacks--ones that I really wanted to finish and ones with which I'd become bored and was ready to quit. Sadly, when I finished my sort, they were all in the same stack--those that I really wanted to finish. After another deep sigh, I decided to pick one to concentrate on finishing first.
The one that I chose to start with had been a gift from friends who are also consciously on a growth journey. Falling Upward by Richard Rohr takes a different spin on the journey. He says we have one set of lessons in the first half of life and a different set for the second. His book was to be a guide for the second half.
I remember struggling with the first third of the book. I wanted to stay with it because I knew that, if my friends thought it was a fit, there must be something of value for me. Yet struggle I did. Although I was solidly in the second half of life, was my resistance to admitting so?
For whatever reason I found the book difficult, I've picked the book up a few times a year, read a page or two, and then placed it back in the stack for a few more months. And, for whatever reason that it has a different appeal to me this time, Falling Upward has completely engaged me. There is an Eastern philosophy that says, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Perhaps I had finally gotten to the place in the book that was interesting to me, or perhaps, I as the student was finally ready to hear its message.
The content that has intrigued me is about the role of exploring the shadow in the second half of life. The shadow is also a Jungian concept, but I've most often heard it described as our dark side--thus the name "shadow."
Rohr, by contrast, proposes that our shadow side is comprised as our weaknesses. Think of my overactive hunger for books and my habit of abandoning one I am reading for another. Those, who have read this blog for awhile, might also remember my addiction to sugar or my struggle to get back to my 30-year fitness regimen which was abandoned when I started working ridiculously long hours two years ago.
Suddenly, I had a whole different perspective on the shadow, and, almost as quickly, I realized much, if not all, of my posts in this blog have been an exploration of what Rohr described as my shadow side. It would seem that I have intuitively stumbled into this second half of life work without realizing what was occurring.
As I've laid my struggles with my "weaknesses" out in front of me for the whole world to see, I've often wondered why I would want to do that. Rohr says that owning our weaknesses results in a humility that is characteristic of the second half of life. I have certainly been humbled by my "weaknesses," which I prefer to call my life lessons.
While I haven't finished Falling Upward, I am near enough to know there is real truth in the shadow work. Yet on my journey, I've experienced a real sense of urgency about fully using my gifts and talents and being of service--an urgency to assure that I don't squander the precious opportunity that this life offers me to leave the world a better place--while feeling myself regularly thwarted in that resolve, often by my shadow.
A couple decades ago, someone wrote a book entitled something like The Destination is the Quality of the Journey. I never read it but I've loved the title. I have discovered that at this point in my life I am much less tolerant of goals and making things happen than I am with allowing and enjoying what wants to happen.
That change in perspective has certainly been enabled by the humility of admitting that some things are just not going to happen or at least not going to happen in my schedule. There was a time when I thought that determination and perseverance were good things. Now in my second half of life work I wonder if they weren't just part of my shadow, robbing me of the freedom to just enjoy life.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Jungians describe personal growth as a "hero's journey," also a circular sequence of lessons, but they would say that the one on the journey of growth is learning a series of successively more challenging lessons in a repeated set of archetypes, such as the lover, the warrior, or the magician.
One of my weaknesses is my appetite for books which significantly exceeds my time and energy for reading. Another is that I am easily distracted by the lure of a new book when the one I am reading ceases to fully engage me. The consequence is that, at any time, my nightstand hosts anywhere from six to ten books in some stage of reading, often overflowing to the floor beside it.
At the first of the year, while flirting with another new book, I looked at the daunting pile, and, after a deep sigh, I decided that I had to surrender to some of the ones on my nightstand before starting another. I slowly looked through them, sorting into two stacks--ones that I really wanted to finish and ones with which I'd become bored and was ready to quit. Sadly, when I finished my sort, they were all in the same stack--those that I really wanted to finish. After another deep sigh, I decided to pick one to concentrate on finishing first.
The one that I chose to start with had been a gift from friends who are also consciously on a growth journey. Falling Upward by Richard Rohr takes a different spin on the journey. He says we have one set of lessons in the first half of life and a different set for the second. His book was to be a guide for the second half.
I remember struggling with the first third of the book. I wanted to stay with it because I knew that, if my friends thought it was a fit, there must be something of value for me. Yet struggle I did. Although I was solidly in the second half of life, was my resistance to admitting so?
For whatever reason I found the book difficult, I've picked the book up a few times a year, read a page or two, and then placed it back in the stack for a few more months. And, for whatever reason that it has a different appeal to me this time, Falling Upward has completely engaged me. There is an Eastern philosophy that says, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Perhaps I had finally gotten to the place in the book that was interesting to me, or perhaps, I as the student was finally ready to hear its message.
The content that has intrigued me is about the role of exploring the shadow in the second half of life. The shadow is also a Jungian concept, but I've most often heard it described as our dark side--thus the name "shadow."
Rohr, by contrast, proposes that our shadow side is comprised as our weaknesses. Think of my overactive hunger for books and my habit of abandoning one I am reading for another. Those, who have read this blog for awhile, might also remember my addiction to sugar or my struggle to get back to my 30-year fitness regimen which was abandoned when I started working ridiculously long hours two years ago.
Suddenly, I had a whole different perspective on the shadow, and, almost as quickly, I realized much, if not all, of my posts in this blog have been an exploration of what Rohr described as my shadow side. It would seem that I have intuitively stumbled into this second half of life work without realizing what was occurring.
As I've laid my struggles with my "weaknesses" out in front of me for the whole world to see, I've often wondered why I would want to do that. Rohr says that owning our weaknesses results in a humility that is characteristic of the second half of life. I have certainly been humbled by my "weaknesses," which I prefer to call my life lessons.
While I haven't finished Falling Upward, I am near enough to know there is real truth in the shadow work. Yet on my journey, I've experienced a real sense of urgency about fully using my gifts and talents and being of service--an urgency to assure that I don't squander the precious opportunity that this life offers me to leave the world a better place--while feeling myself regularly thwarted in that resolve, often by my shadow.
A couple decades ago, someone wrote a book entitled something like The Destination is the Quality of the Journey. I never read it but I've loved the title. I have discovered that at this point in my life I am much less tolerant of goals and making things happen than I am with allowing and enjoying what wants to happen.
That change in perspective has certainly been enabled by the humility of admitting that some things are just not going to happen or at least not going to happen in my schedule. There was a time when I thought that determination and perseverance were good things. Now in my second half of life work I wonder if they weren't just part of my shadow, robbing me of the freedom to just enjoy life.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Monday, January 19, 2015
Ladybugs
I've been down with a humdinger of a cold for most of a week, and I'd been fighting it for at least 10 days before that. My body has seemed to be thumbing its nose at my "New Year's resolutions." I generally don't believe in "resolutions," instead favoring "intentions," which are renewed in the decisions of every moment. My "intentions" for this year were to 1) be regular about exercise and 2) to bring a special man into my life.
Unfortunately, I embraced my intentions with the zeal of resolution, and they bounced back in my face. I was off to a magnificent start on both. I walked an hour a day, beginning New Year's Eve and straight through the holiday week. Then the pre-cold fatigue set in, and I could hardly make it through my days at work.
Over the New Year's weekend, I also joined an expensive internet dating site, which boasts of a higher success rate of matches and marriages than others, while updating my profiles on others, and I've been faithful about checking "matches" every day even while being down sick. Quite frankly, I'm weary of it.
During the last week as I lay lifeless, dozing, and curled up under the quilt my grandmother handmade for me when I was 20 years old (literally my security blanket,) I've caught up on missed television programs, Golden Globe winners, Netflix that had been awaiting viewing, and even reviewing some of my favorites.
About 2 a.m. Sunday morning, I was out of new viewing and pulled a favorite movie, "Under the Tuscan Sun," from the shelf. I've watched it so many times that I know the lines before the actors even begin to speak them. Perhaps the movie is a favorite because there is some sage advice sprinkled through the picture. And some of the sage advice flies right in the face of my resolutions.
"Dolce far niente" is an Italian concept, which means "the sweetness of doing nothing." There was no sweetness in my doing nothing over the last week, but this concept, by contrast, connotes that we are capable of doing something and choose to do nothing. I think what it really means is "just being present" and "feeling alive." We choose to meander, following our hearts, instead of focusing on the goals of our minds. Savoring the moment, one moment after another, choosing in each moment the life I want in that moment. Clearly my body hasn't wanted to exercise in the last two weeks.
The protagonist in the movie is a middle-aged writer who has been jilted by her cheating husband. After months alone, she is ready to have someone in her life, not unlike myself.
The other bit of wisdom comes to her from a flamboyant but aging bon vivant relates who relates that, as a girl she would look hard for ladybugs, and when exhausted from her efforts, she would fall asleep in the grass, only to awaken to find herself covered in ladybugs--those delightful little red spotty beetles that just seem to come out of nowhere. The parable of the ladybugs being that some things can't be forced, they will happen in their own time. It was true of the protagonist in the movie, and it is true of me.
When I get away from the craziness of resolutions and settle back into my wisdom, I know that what I need to do it to relax and be what I want to be in a relationship to my body and to a potential partner--dolce far niente--and the ladybugs will find me.
Unfortunately, I embraced my intentions with the zeal of resolution, and they bounced back in my face. I was off to a magnificent start on both. I walked an hour a day, beginning New Year's Eve and straight through the holiday week. Then the pre-cold fatigue set in, and I could hardly make it through my days at work.
Over the New Year's weekend, I also joined an expensive internet dating site, which boasts of a higher success rate of matches and marriages than others, while updating my profiles on others, and I've been faithful about checking "matches" every day even while being down sick. Quite frankly, I'm weary of it.
During the last week as I lay lifeless, dozing, and curled up under the quilt my grandmother handmade for me when I was 20 years old (literally my security blanket,) I've caught up on missed television programs, Golden Globe winners, Netflix that had been awaiting viewing, and even reviewing some of my favorites.
About 2 a.m. Sunday morning, I was out of new viewing and pulled a favorite movie, "Under the Tuscan Sun," from the shelf. I've watched it so many times that I know the lines before the actors even begin to speak them. Perhaps the movie is a favorite because there is some sage advice sprinkled through the picture. And some of the sage advice flies right in the face of my resolutions.
"Dolce far niente" is an Italian concept, which means "the sweetness of doing nothing." There was no sweetness in my doing nothing over the last week, but this concept, by contrast, connotes that we are capable of doing something and choose to do nothing. I think what it really means is "just being present" and "feeling alive." We choose to meander, following our hearts, instead of focusing on the goals of our minds. Savoring the moment, one moment after another, choosing in each moment the life I want in that moment. Clearly my body hasn't wanted to exercise in the last two weeks.
The protagonist in the movie is a middle-aged writer who has been jilted by her cheating husband. After months alone, she is ready to have someone in her life, not unlike myself.
The other bit of wisdom comes to her from a flamboyant but aging bon vivant relates who relates that, as a girl she would look hard for ladybugs, and when exhausted from her efforts, she would fall asleep in the grass, only to awaken to find herself covered in ladybugs--those delightful little red spotty beetles that just seem to come out of nowhere. The parable of the ladybugs being that some things can't be forced, they will happen in their own time. It was true of the protagonist in the movie, and it is true of me.
When I get away from the craziness of resolutions and settle back into my wisdom, I know that what I need to do it to relax and be what I want to be in a relationship to my body and to a potential partner--dolce far niente--and the ladybugs will find me.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Taking Risks
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
Friday, September 19, 2014
Affirmation of Intention
I am always amazed at what happens when I get really clear about my intentions. The Universe responds.
On the first of September, when I pledged to bring more balance into my life, I knew that I already had work commitments which will force my hours to continue to be long through mid-November. Yet I knew that I had to take better care of myself to survive. Opportunities just began falling onto my path.
I went to look for something related on Google and found a Laughter Yoga certification course being offered just a few blocks from my home Sunday before last. I signed up. I went and laughed for most of a day. It ends up that serious belly laughing not only feels good, but it is aerobic (who knew?) and good for the immune system. Since it had been a lovely day, I walked the 20 or so blocks to the class and home again. What a great start in adding balance.
You will also recall that I committed to starting the day with a "babbling brook" meditation (8/25), and the most amazing thing happened. But before that, a little background.
I am a natural night owl. My juices start flowing about 4 pm, and by 10:00 or 10:30, I am ready to rock and roll. My best time on my career was when I could work all night, either writing or working with clients in Asia into the wee hours. I would knock it off about 4:30 in the morning, go to the 24-hour gym to workout, and be ready to go to bed at 6 am. (Oh, how I lust for those days.)
So it should come as no surprise that my current schedule, which has pretty much been my workday schedule for a dozen years, of getting up between 4:30 and 5:30 a.m. really does not either optimize my natural cycle or personally delight me. I set two alarm blocks, one in a different room to make sure I get up.
Now back to the babbling brook. As soon as I stated that commitment, I started waking up on my own 20 minutes early several days a week, and at least 10 on the others. On Friday, I start an hour later so I get to sleep in until 6:20, and it happened today as well. At 6:00 a.m., I was wide awake. I really feel the whole invisible world must be cheering my commitment so loudly that it awakens me. Even more astounding, I haven't felt tired. Not the least bit sleepy, just raring to go.
As I've written, I moved from the waiting list where I'd been sitting for weeks and got into a personal growth workshop last week, which was really good for my soul.
A coach that I've been mentoring invited me to lunch yesterday, assuring that I not only got lunch, but also had a break, and social interaction. Yeah! A colleague from the class I took last week stopped by to visit for 30 minutes and talk about the experience, giving me more social interaction.
The weather shifted about the same time as my commitment, making it most pleasant to walk 30 minutes to the Chinatown Metro stop instead of the one that is five minutes away, assuring that I get my 30 minutes of aerobic activity in almost every day.
Finally, I have gotten back to my Thursday night Argentine tango class, which feeds my right brain (praise The Lord!) my body, and my spirit.
I believe that by firmly drawing a line in the sand about bringing balance back into my life, I unleashed forces beyond me to affirm my intention. This has happened before. When I get truly clear, I have lots of help. All I have to do is re-member how much help I have out there.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
On the first of September, when I pledged to bring more balance into my life, I knew that I already had work commitments which will force my hours to continue to be long through mid-November. Yet I knew that I had to take better care of myself to survive. Opportunities just began falling onto my path.
I went to look for something related on Google and found a Laughter Yoga certification course being offered just a few blocks from my home Sunday before last. I signed up. I went and laughed for most of a day. It ends up that serious belly laughing not only feels good, but it is aerobic (who knew?) and good for the immune system. Since it had been a lovely day, I walked the 20 or so blocks to the class and home again. What a great start in adding balance.
You will also recall that I committed to starting the day with a "babbling brook" meditation (8/25), and the most amazing thing happened. But before that, a little background.
I am a natural night owl. My juices start flowing about 4 pm, and by 10:00 or 10:30, I am ready to rock and roll. My best time on my career was when I could work all night, either writing or working with clients in Asia into the wee hours. I would knock it off about 4:30 in the morning, go to the 24-hour gym to workout, and be ready to go to bed at 6 am. (Oh, how I lust for those days.)
So it should come as no surprise that my current schedule, which has pretty much been my workday schedule for a dozen years, of getting up between 4:30 and 5:30 a.m. really does not either optimize my natural cycle or personally delight me. I set two alarm blocks, one in a different room to make sure I get up.
Now back to the babbling brook. As soon as I stated that commitment, I started waking up on my own 20 minutes early several days a week, and at least 10 on the others. On Friday, I start an hour later so I get to sleep in until 6:20, and it happened today as well. At 6:00 a.m., I was wide awake. I really feel the whole invisible world must be cheering my commitment so loudly that it awakens me. Even more astounding, I haven't felt tired. Not the least bit sleepy, just raring to go.
As I've written, I moved from the waiting list where I'd been sitting for weeks and got into a personal growth workshop last week, which was really good for my soul.
A coach that I've been mentoring invited me to lunch yesterday, assuring that I not only got lunch, but also had a break, and social interaction. Yeah! A colleague from the class I took last week stopped by to visit for 30 minutes and talk about the experience, giving me more social interaction.
The weather shifted about the same time as my commitment, making it most pleasant to walk 30 minutes to the Chinatown Metro stop instead of the one that is five minutes away, assuring that I get my 30 minutes of aerobic activity in almost every day.
Finally, I have gotten back to my Thursday night Argentine tango class, which feeds my right brain (praise The Lord!) my body, and my spirit.
I believe that by firmly drawing a line in the sand about bringing balance back into my life, I unleashed forces beyond me to affirm my intention. This has happened before. When I get truly clear, I have lots of help. All I have to do is re-member how much help I have out there.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Little Influence Early May Make Long-Term Impact
I'm guessing it was 25 years or so ago that I went to visit my college roommate, her husband, and her young son. I really don't remember what age he was, but little. I wanted to bring something to him, but I really knew nothing of little boys. At the time, I lived in Eugene, Oregon, so I went to the University of Oregon bookstore, and I bought him a University of Oregon pennant. End of story or so I thought.
Fast forward how ever many years it has been, and I learned two or three years ago that the little boy, now an accomplished man in his mid-20s, has been smitten with Oregon sports teams ever since. While I was working at my computer this afternoon, I got a text from his mom. The family has finally sojourned to the Mecca for Oregon Duck fans: Autzen stadium. My friend sent a picture of her son in front of the stadium where they were attending a football game.
I slumped back into my chair and had a flash. How could I have ever known that such a little thing as a souvenir pennant would grab a young man's attention for decades? A humbling thought.
That really set me thinking. I didn't even remember giving him the pennant until his mom and dad reminded me. (I do remember that the toddler and I had quite a love affair during that visit. How very sweet to recall.) I wonder what else I have given children in my life that I have forgotten about, which has impacted their lives. I am not thinking about "stuff," like pennants or other gifts. My concern is of acts of kindness or unkindness, thoughtfulness or sleight.
We really never know when we do something for or to a child what long-term impact the act will have. As part of my personal growth session this week, one of the things we did was to create a "conflict history." Some of the things in our lives were not huge in the normal scheme of things, but because of timing or impact, they have colored how we faced the events of our lives since then.
I wonder about the two little miracles that are in my life right now. ("Anticipation," 8/8 and "Through the Eyes of a Three-Year-Old, 8/9) How very mindful I will be in the future of what I do or say and how it may color their young lives. I want them to remember our times together as planting seeds of love and excitement for when they are older, like happened today. I don't ever want to end up on someone's "conflict history" 30 years from now. The only way I can avoid that is by being very conscious and intentional about every moment we have together.
Perhaps there is nothing that we do that more influences the world we leave behind than how we love and treat the children around us. That is how we make miracles happen. That is how we change the world.
Fast forward how ever many years it has been, and I learned two or three years ago that the little boy, now an accomplished man in his mid-20s, has been smitten with Oregon sports teams ever since. While I was working at my computer this afternoon, I got a text from his mom. The family has finally sojourned to the Mecca for Oregon Duck fans: Autzen stadium. My friend sent a picture of her son in front of the stadium where they were attending a football game.
I slumped back into my chair and had a flash. How could I have ever known that such a little thing as a souvenir pennant would grab a young man's attention for decades? A humbling thought.
That really set me thinking. I didn't even remember giving him the pennant until his mom and dad reminded me. (I do remember that the toddler and I had quite a love affair during that visit. How very sweet to recall.) I wonder what else I have given children in my life that I have forgotten about, which has impacted their lives. I am not thinking about "stuff," like pennants or other gifts. My concern is of acts of kindness or unkindness, thoughtfulness or sleight.
We really never know when we do something for or to a child what long-term impact the act will have. As part of my personal growth session this week, one of the things we did was to create a "conflict history." Some of the things in our lives were not huge in the normal scheme of things, but because of timing or impact, they have colored how we faced the events of our lives since then.
I wonder about the two little miracles that are in my life right now. ("Anticipation," 8/8 and "Through the Eyes of a Three-Year-Old, 8/9) How very mindful I will be in the future of what I do or say and how it may color their young lives. I want them to remember our times together as planting seeds of love and excitement for when they are older, like happened today. I don't ever want to end up on someone's "conflict history" 30 years from now. The only way I can avoid that is by being very conscious and intentional about every moment we have together.
Perhaps there is nothing that we do that more influences the world we leave behind than how we love and treat the children around us. That is how we make miracles happen. That is how we change the world.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Discovering the Truth About Ourselves
"Discovering the Truth about Ourselves" was jotted on a pad beside my computer. I use it to capture ideas I have while in the bath or cooking or in the middle of the night when I don't really have time to blog, but I don't really want to lose the thought. Most of the time when I sit to write the ideas just flow. Today, I sat and looked at this one for a while. I actually have some current thoughts about the topic, but for the life of me, I just can't remember what my original intention had been. Maybe it will come.
I've been in a personal growth training this week. Yesterday was very slow. Today we got the results of two different assessments. One of them was a 360. If you aren't familiar with a 360, feedback is solicited from people all around me: my boss, my peers, a customer, and a coach that I have mentored. The customer didn't get his input submitted in time for the report I received today, but the others did.
People, who I have coached, that have had a 360 assessment often discover they've had blind spots. Feedback is often painful, so I thought I had steeled myself for the worst. I was wrong. Some of the items didn't surprise me. I don't take time to socialize because I work 11- and 12-hour days and almost never even have time for lunch. I totally own that I make the decision that it is more important for me to leave after 12 hours than to chat and leave after 12 and a half.
I also got feedback that I don't mentor. Same reasons apply, plus my field requires a graduate degree so it is not very practical to mentor someone without a bachelor's degree to do organizational development. I had mentored the afore-mentioned coach for 10 hours and spent several more hours listening to his recorded sessions, but I don't talk about it. Except for the person I coached, probably none of the others knew. I am not sure what to do about that, but I can't see that I am going to publish (except anonymously in this post) that I am mentoring someone. That is between me and the person with whom I am working.
What was really painful though was feedback that I received that I don't care about people. I am not sure what kind of armor I've been stepping into lately that people have been seeing, but I bleed when people are hurting. I lose sleep over a sleight.
Actually, that's not quite true. I have given this reflection over the last few hours. I do know what kind of armor I've been stepping into: it is the armor that gets me through those long days. I just put my nose down and stay focused. No one looking at me would know that my heart is aching at the end of a day of listening to people in pain from their workplace. That is what I carry home with me. It is the truth about me, and discovering it wasn't fun. Yet, as I said a few days ago ("Growth Spurt," 9/6,) I am ready to grow. I can't do anything about this perception if I don't know about it.
The executive, who launched our program Monday morning, said something that really stuck a chord with me and has given me an important lesson. She said that just before her first child was born, she worked late. She put together packages of urgent projects with post-it notes containing instructions. When she returned five months later, two of the urgent projects were just where she left them. She said that she learned right then that no matter how important a project seemed to be, most of the time, it can wait.
A few days ago I wrote that on the first of September I was no longer going to work the killer hours.("Boundary Issues," 9/4) The executive's words simply reinforced that decision. The 360 feedback reinforced it even more. It is time for me to take time to let the people around me know the person inside the armor and not the one they've been seeing and experiencing over the last year.
Even though the feedback was painful, it has served as a painful reminder that if I forget who I am, no one else has a chance to see me.
I've been in a personal growth training this week. Yesterday was very slow. Today we got the results of two different assessments. One of them was a 360. If you aren't familiar with a 360, feedback is solicited from people all around me: my boss, my peers, a customer, and a coach that I have mentored. The customer didn't get his input submitted in time for the report I received today, but the others did.
People, who I have coached, that have had a 360 assessment often discover they've had blind spots. Feedback is often painful, so I thought I had steeled myself for the worst. I was wrong. Some of the items didn't surprise me. I don't take time to socialize because I work 11- and 12-hour days and almost never even have time for lunch. I totally own that I make the decision that it is more important for me to leave after 12 hours than to chat and leave after 12 and a half.
I also got feedback that I don't mentor. Same reasons apply, plus my field requires a graduate degree so it is not very practical to mentor someone without a bachelor's degree to do organizational development. I had mentored the afore-mentioned coach for 10 hours and spent several more hours listening to his recorded sessions, but I don't talk about it. Except for the person I coached, probably none of the others knew. I am not sure what to do about that, but I can't see that I am going to publish (except anonymously in this post) that I am mentoring someone. That is between me and the person with whom I am working.
What was really painful though was feedback that I received that I don't care about people. I am not sure what kind of armor I've been stepping into lately that people have been seeing, but I bleed when people are hurting. I lose sleep over a sleight.
Actually, that's not quite true. I have given this reflection over the last few hours. I do know what kind of armor I've been stepping into: it is the armor that gets me through those long days. I just put my nose down and stay focused. No one looking at me would know that my heart is aching at the end of a day of listening to people in pain from their workplace. That is what I carry home with me. It is the truth about me, and discovering it wasn't fun. Yet, as I said a few days ago ("Growth Spurt," 9/6,) I am ready to grow. I can't do anything about this perception if I don't know about it.
The executive, who launched our program Monday morning, said something that really stuck a chord with me and has given me an important lesson. She said that just before her first child was born, she worked late. She put together packages of urgent projects with post-it notes containing instructions. When she returned five months later, two of the urgent projects were just where she left them. She said that she learned right then that no matter how important a project seemed to be, most of the time, it can wait.
A few days ago I wrote that on the first of September I was no longer going to work the killer hours.("Boundary Issues," 9/4) The executive's words simply reinforced that decision. The 360 feedback reinforced it even more. It is time for me to take time to let the people around me know the person inside the armor and not the one they've been seeing and experiencing over the last year.
Even though the feedback was painful, it has served as a painful reminder that if I forget who I am, no one else has a chance to see me.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
My Prayers Praying Me
When I was growing up, I was taught that prayer was about talking to God: impassioned pleas, begging, bartering, asking for guidance from God by only offering two options, or the metaphorical equivalent of parting the waters for us to get the date we wanted for prom. Clearly, it was about asking God to help us get what we wanted. I once heard something (Marianne Williamson?) refer to this kind of prayer as "the carhop in the sky." We tell God what we want, and he/she is supposed to bring it to us.
I have come to believe a few different things about prayer. First, it is at least as much about listening as talking...maybe much more. Second, when we ask for guidance, we should do so with open-ended questions so that we really give God room to point us in the right direction, and when we ask for help, we should listen very carefully. The answers often float in as if on the wings of a butterfly and always without explanation. Reasoning with Go about why is pure foolishness. The answer is the answer.
Third, everything is a gift; no matter how much we don't like or understand the answers when they show up in our lives, if we are open-minded, we will eventually see that they are a gift.
Finally, God will tell us what to pray, if we will still our minds and listen.
All of these weave together to produce a very different kind of prayer than what I grew up with. When I started to pray this way, the term that came to me for it was "my prayers praying me." How this works is that I allow myself to become very still. Then I express the intention to prayer. Since everything is a gift, I begin by expressing gratitude, but not for stuff in my life. When I say that God will tell us what to pray, I mean that things will become apparent for which I should thank God.
I don't know if it works exactly the same way for everyone. Most of the time, I hear what to be grateful for, but occasionally I may see a picture which reminds me of something to be grateful for. In a recent prayer, I started noticing the buzz of the cicadas in the park behind me. That reminded me to thank God for having an apartment in a large city that overlooked a national park. It also reminded me of my home, having a home, and being able to afford my home, all things that I've learned to not take for granted. I was grateful that I had friends who opened their doors for me and that I was never on the streets during my season of homelessness. Then I remembered how wonderful it was to have a trailhead into the park just feet outside my backdoor.
After I'd taken time to be very grateful for my apartment and a number of other positives in my life, I started to thank God for things for which others may not take time to express gratitude. I thanked God for my pain because there was a time when I might have become a quadriplegic and couldn't have felt pain. Then I was grateful that I could wiggle my fingers and toes.
I thanked God for my difficult bosses because I was grateful to have bosses and all the things that went with them--a regular paycheck, benefits, and even paid time off. I even thanked God for my less-than-wonderful eyesight because before my February surgery, I understood I might lose the sight in one eye. You get the idea.
I wasn't running a stop watch, but my guess is that I was grateful for at least 20 minutes. Most of what I was thankful for weren't things that normally would have been on my Top 10 of gratitude. Instead, they were really very meaningful things for me to remember. When I am thankful for pain, bad eyesight, and even not being on the streets, when I get curve balls in my life, they remind me to look for the gift.
Then, it was time to ask. Once again, I asked: what should I pray for? There it was, just like in the wings of a butterfly, "Heal me." There was a knowing acknowledgement in my throat as my head involuntarily shook to the affirmative. "Heal me," I said.
Then, there was stillness again. No drama. No begging. No choices. Just "heal me." The roots of the word "heal" are "to make whole." Gratitude, and a request to be made whole. When my prayers pray me, they are simple and distilled. What more could I ask for?
I have come to believe a few different things about prayer. First, it is at least as much about listening as talking...maybe much more. Second, when we ask for guidance, we should do so with open-ended questions so that we really give God room to point us in the right direction, and when we ask for help, we should listen very carefully. The answers often float in as if on the wings of a butterfly and always without explanation. Reasoning with Go about why is pure foolishness. The answer is the answer.
Third, everything is a gift; no matter how much we don't like or understand the answers when they show up in our lives, if we are open-minded, we will eventually see that they are a gift.
Finally, God will tell us what to pray, if we will still our minds and listen.
All of these weave together to produce a very different kind of prayer than what I grew up with. When I started to pray this way, the term that came to me for it was "my prayers praying me." How this works is that I allow myself to become very still. Then I express the intention to prayer. Since everything is a gift, I begin by expressing gratitude, but not for stuff in my life. When I say that God will tell us what to pray, I mean that things will become apparent for which I should thank God.
I don't know if it works exactly the same way for everyone. Most of the time, I hear what to be grateful for, but occasionally I may see a picture which reminds me of something to be grateful for. In a recent prayer, I started noticing the buzz of the cicadas in the park behind me. That reminded me to thank God for having an apartment in a large city that overlooked a national park. It also reminded me of my home, having a home, and being able to afford my home, all things that I've learned to not take for granted. I was grateful that I had friends who opened their doors for me and that I was never on the streets during my season of homelessness. Then I remembered how wonderful it was to have a trailhead into the park just feet outside my backdoor.
After I'd taken time to be very grateful for my apartment and a number of other positives in my life, I started to thank God for things for which others may not take time to express gratitude. I thanked God for my pain because there was a time when I might have become a quadriplegic and couldn't have felt pain. Then I was grateful that I could wiggle my fingers and toes.
I thanked God for my difficult bosses because I was grateful to have bosses and all the things that went with them--a regular paycheck, benefits, and even paid time off. I even thanked God for my less-than-wonderful eyesight because before my February surgery, I understood I might lose the sight in one eye. You get the idea.
I wasn't running a stop watch, but my guess is that I was grateful for at least 20 minutes. Most of what I was thankful for weren't things that normally would have been on my Top 10 of gratitude. Instead, they were really very meaningful things for me to remember. When I am thankful for pain, bad eyesight, and even not being on the streets, when I get curve balls in my life, they remind me to look for the gift.
Then, it was time to ask. Once again, I asked: what should I pray for? There it was, just like in the wings of a butterfly, "Heal me." There was a knowing acknowledgement in my throat as my head involuntarily shook to the affirmative. "Heal me," I said.
Then, there was stillness again. No drama. No begging. No choices. Just "heal me." The roots of the word "heal" are "to make whole." Gratitude, and a request to be made whole. When my prayers pray me, they are simple and distilled. What more could I ask for?
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Growth Spurt
They tell me that many kids go through growth spurts and shoot up a few inches in just two or three months. Actually, I remember seeing that in one of my nephews over a summer. Me? I was the tallest kid in my class until fifth grade; then I stopped growing...completely. At least physically, that it. In adulthood, I am the size of a tall fifth grade, which is to say a pretty short grown up.
We grow in different ways, though, and in some ways I've never stopped growing. I like to believe that emotionally and spiritually I continue to grow. There have been years when it felt like I'd have a major Aha! moment at least every week. I've been in a growth dry spell for a while. You might say I've been stuck.
For several months, I've been feeling like something was coming. On November 2 last year, I wrote about "feeling pregnant," about to give birth to something. I've kept feeling that something positive was about to come my way over the months. Waiting...waiting...but nothing yet.
Over the last two weeks I've started into a growth spurt. (I'd love to be taller, but I think I will have to be happy with spiritual growth.) As I've stepped out in new ways, the Universe has been very affirming. I got into the class I'd been on a waiting list for, and it ends up that it is going to approach leadership from the perspective of personal growth, something I wrote about in Leading from the Heart and The Alchemy of Fear.
As I've done pre-work assessments, I've realized how I've shrunk personally over the five years I've been in my current job; I've significantly lost confidence in myself. Dumbing down on a daily basis has really undermined not only my potential, but also how I show up each day. As I've written over the last few days, discovering that I don't advocate for myself and that I have boundary issues has been a major breakthrough as well. A continuing education class for certified coaches also helped me rediscover aspects that I'd forgotten were part of me.
I've climbed out of the rut, and I am back in the growth groove. YEAH!!!!!!!!!
Tomorrow I am taking an all-day class that I also expect to be revealing, and then the next five days, I'll be in the personal growth class. I am not only in a new groove, but odds are on that I am about to go from zero to sixty very quickly.
I love to grow. I love to discover new things about myself. For a long time, I've thought that our personal growth follows the cycle of nature. In the fall seeds of who we might become drop, rest in the soil, and in spring they sprout. By this time of the year, it is harvest, and we are ready to drop seeds for another cycle of growth.
I usually recognize the beginning of the cycle around the Jewish New Year, which is coming in about three weeks. Although I am not Jewish, over those holidays I usually take a few days to sit and reflect about the year past, what seeds have sprouted and matured, and what seeds I want to plant for the year ahead.
It was at that time last year, that I committed to writing more, and I have written regularly in this blog since that time. I have also written several chapters of my memoir, and I am very, very close (I hope) to having The Game Called Life on Amazon. There were other things that I wanted to bring into my life--more of the work I used to love doing, including coaching, and a new job with better pay and more importantly, a more respectful work environment. Some of those things have happened, and seeds have been planted for others. I'd also knew I wanted a personal relationship.
The truth about some of those things which haven't happened yet is that I haven't been ready. In synch with the cycle of nature, I believe this growth spurt is what I've needed to get me ready. There's an expression: "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear." As nature has approached the harvest, this student has gotten more and more ready, and suddenly teachers have appeared from every direction.
The nature of spiritual growth spurts is that we can't really know from this side what things will look like on the other, but what we can be assured is that a whole new world of possibilities will await us.
What it will look like, I cannot know now, but I am confident that a rich harvest awaits everywhere in my life that I've planted seeds.
We grow in different ways, though, and in some ways I've never stopped growing. I like to believe that emotionally and spiritually I continue to grow. There have been years when it felt like I'd have a major Aha! moment at least every week. I've been in a growth dry spell for a while. You might say I've been stuck.
For several months, I've been feeling like something was coming. On November 2 last year, I wrote about "feeling pregnant," about to give birth to something. I've kept feeling that something positive was about to come my way over the months. Waiting...waiting...but nothing yet.
Over the last two weeks I've started into a growth spurt. (I'd love to be taller, but I think I will have to be happy with spiritual growth.) As I've stepped out in new ways, the Universe has been very affirming. I got into the class I'd been on a waiting list for, and it ends up that it is going to approach leadership from the perspective of personal growth, something I wrote about in Leading from the Heart and The Alchemy of Fear.
As I've done pre-work assessments, I've realized how I've shrunk personally over the five years I've been in my current job; I've significantly lost confidence in myself. Dumbing down on a daily basis has really undermined not only my potential, but also how I show up each day. As I've written over the last few days, discovering that I don't advocate for myself and that I have boundary issues has been a major breakthrough as well. A continuing education class for certified coaches also helped me rediscover aspects that I'd forgotten were part of me.
I've climbed out of the rut, and I am back in the growth groove. YEAH!!!!!!!!!
Tomorrow I am taking an all-day class that I also expect to be revealing, and then the next five days, I'll be in the personal growth class. I am not only in a new groove, but odds are on that I am about to go from zero to sixty very quickly.
I love to grow. I love to discover new things about myself. For a long time, I've thought that our personal growth follows the cycle of nature. In the fall seeds of who we might become drop, rest in the soil, and in spring they sprout. By this time of the year, it is harvest, and we are ready to drop seeds for another cycle of growth.
I usually recognize the beginning of the cycle around the Jewish New Year, which is coming in about three weeks. Although I am not Jewish, over those holidays I usually take a few days to sit and reflect about the year past, what seeds have sprouted and matured, and what seeds I want to plant for the year ahead.
It was at that time last year, that I committed to writing more, and I have written regularly in this blog since that time. I have also written several chapters of my memoir, and I am very, very close (I hope) to having The Game Called Life on Amazon. There were other things that I wanted to bring into my life--more of the work I used to love doing, including coaching, and a new job with better pay and more importantly, a more respectful work environment. Some of those things have happened, and seeds have been planted for others. I'd also knew I wanted a personal relationship.
The truth about some of those things which haven't happened yet is that I haven't been ready. In synch with the cycle of nature, I believe this growth spurt is what I've needed to get me ready. There's an expression: "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear." As nature has approached the harvest, this student has gotten more and more ready, and suddenly teachers have appeared from every direction.
The nature of spiritual growth spurts is that we can't really know from this side what things will look like on the other, but what we can be assured is that a whole new world of possibilities will await us.
What it will look like, I cannot know now, but I am confident that a rich harvest awaits everywhere in my life that I've planted seeds.
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