Resistance is Futile

I like to spend some time before the celebration activates of merry and happy descend, in quiet contemplation.  I prefer to allow the one loudest thought to come forth and identify itself.  This year it is “resistance is futile”.  In order to be the most aware of these words, I look them up, and their definitions can be found here. (Resistance and futile ).  I read each definition carefully, as if I were seeing for the very first time.  I offer the words a place within me so that they may bring forth their new meaning. 

Immediately I am struck by the strength of my reaction to them both.  I can feel them as they move through me and I notice how their new found presence shakes me to the core.  I can see how I respond to them, not just mentally, but also physically, emotionally and spiritually.  These letters and their meanings attached permeate the concept of self and somehow divide this concept of the self into its pieces. 

I retreat to, “the space within that observes it all; with no judgment”, and I begin to examine each of these “selves”.  Not caring to know the stories each has to tell, as I would be there until infinity; I just notice how each feel when the words both individually and collective are placed as a prism. 

What I really do notice is how much energy is used to resist.  Resistance within me seemed to be a constant flow of both conscious and unconscious energy. How I resist everything!   Interestingly enough I saw that the same was true for the word allowing, as they both seemed to be the opposite side of the single coin.  There is a constant push and pull between resistance and allowance, with no peace on which to rest. 

Futile on the other hand, was met with resistance as it was viewed as a giving up as opposed to letting go.  However both concepts giving up or letting go require a great deal of energy;  and through more observation I could see how exhausting just these four concepts are to me. 

I could not help but wonder if these two simple words were exhausting, what about the some of the others that are in my vocabulary?  How many of these word concepts attach themselves to these different selves and suck the life force energy out of me? 

So I gently return to the words “resistance is futile”, and begin to see their true message.  For they really do speak the truth; “resistance is futile” meaning that the selves that claim these words, can no longer do so.  And in that understanding I need to no longer approach my life in the ways and thoughts that brought me to this point.  It can no longer be resistant, allowing or even letting go.   I need to return to that “space within that observes all with no judgment”.  To seek the safe shelter of that place where energy is neither flowing out nor flowing in, it simply is.  For it is within this place that time, distance, and energy are at peace;  for there is nothing that needs to be done and there is nothing that was left undone. 

So in the coming New Year, when I find myself within the thought of “resistance is futile”, I will smile and gently return to this place, for it is my natural home. 

Wishing you and yours both, Merry and Happy all around and peace to us all, Namaste. 

Sunday Morning Routine

I spend my Sunday mornings in a quiet state of reflection as I view this day as the “bridge” day; the day in between the weeks. I use this day to reflect on the past week’s activities and thoughts and then bridge them into the intentions of the next week.  I have found this quite useful in my attempt to live my life in the most constructive of ways. 

So naturally my mind always moves to the ones I love, how grateful I am to have them in my life! My mind moves slowly to the idea of love.  What is that emotion? How can it be described? What are the physical sensations I feel when I think of love?

As I ponder these thoughts, I realize how the expression of love seems to flow outward; flowing towards the ones I love.  In many ways I gain strength from this outward flow, but I can’t help but to wonder where the energy flows back to me.  My logical thought is that it flows back in the reciprocated feelings of love.  But what happens when that reciprocal return of energy is not the same or even returned?

So I begin to examine love.  I have been told that personalities can’t love as they always want something.  So I am I loving only to receive love?  Perhaps… 

I begin to see that my feelings of love when filtered through the human experience are distorted from the essence of love through the veil of fear into a desire.  “I love you, so you should love me back. Or even I love you in this way; you should do the same for me.  (If you don’t I won’t love you any more.)”  It has now become a completion or game with expected or desired outcomes. 

I begin to understand that the thoughts of love, or better put, the way I was taught love to be, is just selfishness and fear.  When viewed through the mind and/or personality this emotion becomes a weapon.  A weapon I use to hurt both myself and others.  I love for what I can give and I love for what I can receive. 

So I begin to ponder, if the essence of us is love, how can we live this love? Neither giving nor receiving?  Just being love?  Not being IN love, just love?  I realize I must change the definition of love.  Love can’t be a feeling, as there are judgments, expectations and conditions placed on this; as well as all feelings.  I begin to understand that love must be an internal process alone.  It’s not something that flows out of me to you, it is something that moves and grows inside of me. It gathers its strength from the silence essence that lives within me.  It grows gradually through an open awareness and freedom to exist without expectations. 

It is through this nurturing, that it becomes the awakened essence of itself.  It is only through the internalized revelations that I can become the truest essence that love offers. 

I walk with these thoughts today, loving you, but yet somehow understanding that the love I feel merely scratches the surface of what love really means.  

A Quintessential Human Trait

As I was reading my news this morning (don’t have the stomach to watch any more),  I was naturally drawn to the quagmire that is the U.S. government shut down that screams to me from the headlines.  (I can’t read the sports, as the Saints suffered a heartbreaking defeat on Sunday!)  As my eyes went from headline to headline, I began to notice how they were all about winning or losing.  So the “right” was winning/losing because… or the "left" was winning/losing because… Then the articles about the current negotiations again winning and losing… I don’t want to weigh in on the topics themselves as that would add more fuel to a fire that is well out of control; however the concept of competition with the main goal of winning really struck me. 

My thoughts immediately went to “this is ridiculous”, can’t saner heads prevail?  Why must everything be seen in the context of competition?  It then dawned on me that this is a quintessential human trait, competition.  Winners and losers, saving or losing face or victory and defeat.  I am equally as guilty of this, as I am often defined as “competitive with air”, meaning I never met a competition I wasn’t ready for. 

I sat with these thoughts and realized that our current American government is merely a reflection of ourselves.  I sit in my home and expect our elected representatives to rise above the fray, yet I do not. Are our elected representatives just reflecting back to us what we ourselves expect?  I understand and relish in the idea of a good game, but I now see that life has become a blood sport. We have moved from the fun of the game (competition) to winning at all cost.  It’s no longer about the glass being half full or half empty; it’s about smashing the glass. 

I continue to ponder these ideas and look inside myself for ways I participate.  Obviously my great love of our NFL team comes to mind, but I try to look deeper.  Do I try to meet you where you are?  Do I extend an open hand and not a fist?  Do I turn the other cheek when struck on one side? These seem to be eternal questions. 

I sit and breathe in the morning sun and air I ask:  Does the sun compete with the moon or does it simply rise as expected?  Is the moon loosing as the morning appears or is it simply moving to its proper place?  Is either winning? Losing?

I realize that nature again has led me back to me.  There is a time for the moon and a time for the sun, each ebb and flow within their rightful place; allowing each to shine and glow, neither taking, receiving or needing anything from each other to be magnificent.  I begin to feel the joy of the tie that bind us all, human. 

So with that, it is my greatest wish that today in some small way I can take a step back from the abyss of competition to experience, all that this human experience has to offer, our glass and all intact. 

My Truth About Lying

I woke up this morning with the brain in its “full on position”, again, working with the analysis of life’s quandaries. This morning it was on lying. 

So naturally I thought; I am not a liar. As if in some small way I could separate the person from the deed. Then the voice inside me said; you don’t lie… until you do. 

So I had to explore, why do I lie? In fact it is in my nature to be quite truthful and forthcoming, so why do I do this? 

My mind wonders through society, situations then hits on someone I have lied to. Why did I do this? Why did I lie to them? I begin to realize that I lied to them; and for that matter, all the reasons I lie is; I want you to love me or I want you to see me in an idealized light. I am afraid that if you see “me” well, you know that thought.

In every way for me it is about power. I feel powerless (afraid, unsure) and in some very small way the lie keeps me powerful, keeps me safe.  But can simple words keep me safe? And in that same vein, can words bring me actual harm? No, not the implied meaning of these words, but the letters within the words themselves?  Of course that sounds silly; as I have never heard of an attack by the letter M.  (Z maybe and you had better watch out for that Q, it is always followed by the U and we all know how U's can be,  J but I digress). 

I have now come to understand that: lies are the truth wrapped in a different color paper. Maybe it's the truth I want so desperately to believe, maybe it's the truth in this moment that I think I need; to gain your or even my own approval, doesn't matter. For in that moment, for that very second, it was true. My words reflected my truth: I was afraid. I spoke the words of fear and that fear was my truth. Whatever words came out of my mouth, they are irrelevant; as they began in the truth of that instant emotion.

My life’s purpose has always been (now is that really true?)  continuing on, that I live authentically. I used to believe that authentic living meant to be truthful to the moment. I have now come to a simpler place; just to be the moment, alive to it, within it. Not separate from it in truth or lies, simply within, lung breathing, heart pumping no more and no less.

It is from this vantage point that I have found for me both truth and lies are all the same; exactly as is dark and light are the same things; just things seen from different perspectives. So to me lies are truth wrapped in different color paper. Whether or not I choose to open them (share my lies with you) or not is of no consequence for they are perfect in their own way. So will I lie again? 

No, of course not, until I do. And so it goes; lung breathing, heart pumping; alive,and most definitely human.

Why do I do this to myself?

I woke this morning with my head spinning around.   I could not sleep again.  I have spent the last month existing on caffeine and cigarettes.  Why? I took a project for work that I am not particularly suited for because of… well money and prestige.  Normally I wouldn't have done this, but eating and ego seemed to be good enough reasons.  The project has limped along, consuming my days and nights for the past month, soon it will be over.  Never have I wanted anything more.

However, this morning my internal attacks begin, in earnest.  All along there has been that voice in my head constantly drumming its tune, “not good enough, things must be perfect.”  This morning due to lack of sleep the drumming became a roar.  All of these thoughts and feeling I hold in my head and heart come out with a rush whoosh.  And I believe them. 

I begin to melt into the darkness, wondering if this will ever end.  Why do I do this to myself? My mind (who is quite tricky) throws back at me all of these thoughts and feelings stored in the DNA of my being, failure, looser, inadequate.  It seems that if I make one stumble I am there to push myself even lower. 

I sit quietly and wait.  Breathing slowly I walk toward that darkness, realizing that it must be entered to become seen.  I move into these feelings, welcoming them home as if they were a long lost friend.  I encourage them to move through my body as sensations and relish in their energy.  I ask myself, why do I choose to believe these particular negative thoughts about myself?  Why must I defend myself against the very self that is attacking? Why must I struggle in this never ending struggle of me vs. me?

I breathe more deeply, allowing the morning sun to share its radiance.  I welcome the warmth and light into my body, breathing in the morning air. The moment of crisis has past.

Have the challenges of the past month gone? Nothing has changed.  Has the project improved? Nothing has changed.  But I have changed.  This particular battle between me and me is over.  I rest comfortably knowing that there will be another and another and yet still another, and by allowing these thoughts and feelings to come, welcoming them home, they will steadily walk away. 

I breathe in and out deeply and begin the day.  

The Universe’s Gently Reminder to Slow Down

I have been very busy working on a project.  It was originally scheduled to be a month’s worth of work that has been condensed into 10 days.  All it seems I have been doing is work, smoke (I know), and sleeping, always forgetting about eating.  The push to get things done seems to be the overwhelming thought that I wake up to and go to be with. 

Today was no different.  Wake up early, drink my morning cup of tea and begin my 12 hour work day.  Sigh.  In the background I have classical music playing, as it seems to sooth my ragged nerves.  My thoughts are pushing me back to work, “must be completed”, “get this done right”, “over deliver”.  The continued stress grows.  Then out of nowhere comes this tune by Pachelbel’s Canon in D. 

I have always loved this song, but never really knew who wrote it.  My mind stops… listens.  No really listens.  It seems I am hearing it for the first time, and in some small way written for me for this exact moment in time.  It brings me to tears.  The waves of joy and gratitude rush through my body.  I feel this momentous shift, from overwhelmed to completeness; peace.  I simply breathe the music and all the emotions through my body. 

I am now remembering that it is the space in between objects, words, and even actions are where magic lives.  It is there where we can find our comfort, our home.  It is where I often forget to go, being too busy with the requirements of my everyday life. 

I am grateful for Pachelbel to have written this piece of music in the 17^th century and James Galway  to have played this music for me today.  For it reminded me of the timelessness of life and the space that exists within this life.  The space that is never ending and within it I find so much comfort. 

And now I exhale… and really listen... and get back to work! J

Perception: The Different Between a Millimeter and a Mile

I was having a conversation the other day with a friend of mine, talking about what we had been experiencing the last couple of years.  Now in full disclosure, when I know there is a possibility of these discussions, I usually show up with Diet Coke and party sandwiches ready for the slumber party!  But I digress...

I was telling her how over the last few years I have really embraced the concept of vulnerability.  I was explaining all of the discoveries and terrible heartaches this concept had made available to me.  How although it is a painful road, I have relished in this journey. 

She looked at me and said simply; vulnerability is a sign of weakness.  I was stunned by this comment as I was feeling particularly strong for facing vulnerability.  So I had the thought, is vulnerability weakness?  I had to admit to myself, that of course; I had always thought of it as a weakness, as I had taken this on as my own personal mantra. 

This mantra had been the most telling voice in my head, which drove me.  I would in no way, EVER, show others that I was weak or vulnerable.  I was capable, fearless, and impenetrable.  Never letting you see me bleed.  But oh how over the last few years I was bleeding.  It seems as if I open the flood gates and all of this came running out.  I would bleed on you if you were in shouting distance.  “Over here!  I am bleeding!” 

During this time, I could really see the paradox in these feelings.  The more I bled, the stronger I felt.  The more I was told I was weak, the more I saw the strength within me growing.  I was facing a core fear in myself.  The fear that if I needed you and asked you for assistance, you wouldn't love me.  And if I needed your help, I wasn't uh me; thus unlovable. 

In the past I would have taken her comments and reacted, VERY STRONGLY.  Aggressively pushing those words and her back, until she admitted defeat.  But by embracing the very strong, silent side of vulnerability I realized that I was stronger than I ever had been.  By facing a core fear and walking to it and through it, I found the me I knew I was.  Not the fearful me afraid of you, but the one that can embrace the “us” together. 

Truly the paradox of life.  How grateful I am. 

Weakness =strength

Me = us

Us = all that is and ever could be

In that understanding I am able to see that it is our perspectives (millimeters) that put the distance of miles between us.  I stand open hearted to my vulnerability to you, welcoming you to meet me here. 

Namaste

On the Menu Tonight: Karma with a Side of Irony

Sometimes you just have to love the universe.  Last week, I got into an argument with a friend over a perceived slight.  (My perception) Before the fight, I had a whole conversation in my head about what this person not done and even what they had not said.  So into the conversation I went, ready for the fight.  After all was said and done fight and all, I thought I had learned all that I needed to know about these types of occasions. Well, the universe wanted me to make sure that I really got this point. 

Today, I had made what I considered an innocuous comment that really came back to bite me.  Karma begins. Apparently this comment was mentioned to someone, who shared it with someone else and I was blasted via email. (This seems to be the week of everyone yelling at me, sigh.)  I've let this person down, violated some trust and my behavior was not appropriate. My first inclination was to apologize, which I did of course.  (Did I mention that I am a middle aged, southern women) for any indiscretions on my part and that it was never my intention to hurt or disrupt any thing that was going on.  OK so far.  Not sure of the end result, but I know it was an honest “mistake”. 

My second thought was why didn't they just call or reach out to me and simply ask.  Ask, why did you say that, what was your motive (did you have one), etc.  As soon as I thought that, the circle was closed and the irony of the situation became apparent. 

Hadn't I just done the same thing not two days ago?  Hadn't I just reacted to what I thought was an indiscretion or slight to me?  Didn't I perceive the person who had “slighted” me as the “other”?

Talk about getting hit in the head with a brick.  How often do I look at you as the enemy?  Even if we are friends or colleagues, am I ready to pounce on you whenever the situation arises?  My defenses keep you always arms length away from me, as I am watching and waiting for you to do something that proves to me, you are not me – you are the “other”.  I am now able the see the separation in me that keeps me from you.  My thoughts about me bleed into my thoughts about you.  I am one that can be harmed and you are the one that can harm me.  I am powerless because you took my power. 

The circle has closed but I am now open.  Open to me standing in all that is me, smart, funny, and saying things I most likely shouldn't.  Open to you to react or respond to me, and meeting you where you are.  

Finally understanding that where you are has nothing to do with me and how you perceive me is simply your thoughts about me and really has nothing to do with me, the person. 

I stand simply in the truth that there is no me, there is no you, it’s simply we.  And the power we have is the power we share that can’t be taken from either of us.  The realization comes we are simply one. The irony of all of this is not lost on "we".  

Pandora’s Box Revealed it’s Treasure

Today was the day Pandora’s Box revealed its treasure.   I have spent the last few months, walking to all of the pain that I could find in my thoughts in my false belief that the treasure lies somewhere within this pain. If I could see, feel my way through..  But yet, there was always some residual darkness in this journey.  I felt something was always leering from right around the corner. But I was committed! I was being courageous in this journey, badge of honor; you know the crap we tell ourselves.  I was both the heroine and victim in my story. Offender and offended and so life went on, until today. 

Something very interesting happened. Earlier in the day I was having a conversation with a friend that turned into an argument as my “mind”, “emotion”, and the “me that was hurt” took over.  I couldn't move past those thoughts so I attacked.  I am hurt, so I will hurt you. And hurt I did. Offended turned into offender.   How quickly I believed those thoughts and how easy it was for me to turn. 

In a while after the conversation ended, I recognized what I had done, I called and apologized.  Well, was I blasted, apology not accepted, who did I think I was, etc.  The game played so often had begun.  I was the offended turned into the offender.  I was to be hurt again for hurting.  

But something happened in the middle of that conversation. I listened, with no judgment.  I knew she were right. I had done all the things she said, not only in this instance but in many, many more.  I was the offender.  I played this game, and I was excellent at it. 

Now the interesting part, during this conversation “the one that observes” just watched. In a moment there was a space where time simply stopped and in that moment, I was free.  Free from what drove me to the argument, free from the pain of the attack, and free from the future consequences.  I knew I was neither the offender nor the offended; I was so much more and yet so much less. I appeared to be the space between the works and the space around the words, but somehow NOT the words or their intended meaning.  This experience may have cost me my very best friend (years of built of resentment and anger) but in this moment, simply “free”.  Something “broke” something “changed”. Can this game truly be over? 

I think, I may lose her as my friend and yet I am free, happy.  My first instinct is to call and share this moment with her, but alas I cannot.  She is still really pissed at me.  And I understand why, ironically that makes me laugh out loud. 

In full disclosure, I hope it’s not seen as I “used” her to get to here.  I didn't and would never.  The consequences are real, her feelings are real and her anger and pain she believes I have caused her are real.  And I own that and am truly sorry. I behaved in a way that she can call those beliefs real. I am just free from the belief that, her anger and judgment makes me unlovable thus; who I am is unlovable. She may never forgive me and yet I know there is nothing that either of us needs to forgive each other for.  We have seen each other as both the offender and the offended.  And in reality we are neither.  We are simply human and we believe what we are taught to believe about ourselves. 

Simply Grateful

All my life I have wondered from place to place meeting people after people.   I must admit that I have often taken these experiences and people for granted.  For whatever reason (I call it head up my ass syndrome) I never really stopped to look at what was before me.  –You-.  So this note is for each and everyone one of you that have entered and yes even for those that have exited my life. 

I have come to realize that I am a summation of those interactions.  Each of you has left an indelible mark on my DNA that has come to be known as –Me-.  I have come to the realization that many times I was too busy, too disinterested and yes too distracted to really acknowledge you standing in front of me; caught up in my mind’s games of important. 

So I stand here, simply grateful to all of those who have made their way through my life, impacted me in ways you may never begin to understand.  To all I say thank you.  Thank you for sharing a bit of yourself with me, thank you for holding your place in the world and thank you for simply being you.  

Pandora’s Box

"Feelings", seeing the word on the page it seems quite harmless.  Pulling the letters apart, mixing them up (gnefneisl) these letters hold no meaning to me.  However when I internalize what I think the word "feelings"  means to me, how powerful that word seems.

All my life, I was shown that feelings were a dark, mysterious force in the human existence.  As a child I learned to fear some feelings in “others”.  Anger, resentment, frustration would send me hiding to my favorite hiding spot.  I also learned that what I thought I was feeling was incorrect. (There is nothing to be mad about, you shouldn't cry about that, etc.)  Since I wanted to please, I learned to put my feelings in a box.  And as a child who loved mythology, it was Pandora’s Box.  My Pandora’s Box was a jewel encrusted box made of gold.  She was magnificent and yet what she held inside was both treasure and pain. 

As I grew, I would often place items into my Pandora Box, feelings of my own, love, fear, hate, resentment.  I made regular deposits along the way.  Sometimes I would open this box just for a second to let some of those feelings out.  And they came rushing out with full force.  I learned to fear those emotions. And so they sat and sat and sat. 

Then there came a time, when my box was just too small to hold all I had placed within, and these emotions, so well hidden; came out everywhere I went.  Someone said something to me I didn't like, well I told them.  AT&T commercial, I cried like a baby.  It seemed to me I was no better off feeling these things than I was before not feeling them.  I feared this box even more.  The dark magic is possessed, possessed me.  I was an emotional wreck.

And so the journey to understand this box began.  I noticed how I would completely validate “your” emotions while totally discounting mine.  “You” were justified in your feelings, mine were stupid and senseless.  I also noticed that this box had become quite heavy to carry, in fact too heavy. 

So I sat down with my box.  Looked at it from all angles, examined the rusted locks which kept it closed tight.  And I decided to open it.   

Mind Games

While sadness seemed to rule the day last week, I woke up this morning with a physical feeling of energy swirling in my belly.  What I was able to notice was my mind went to that sensation and asked it, “what is that you are feeling?” My mind immediately said sadness.  Then the observer in me said, “are you sure that is sadness?  Could it be something else?”  My mind stood in stunned silence?  Something else?  Could that be possible?  We have always thought that was sadness… The sensation continued on its own until it was finished.  The mind had no name for it; it was just energy, now undefined.  I had a huge chuckle at the mind games, my mind plays on itself.  Could it really be so simple?  

Public Service Announcement: New Orleans

I live in one of the greatest cities in the world.  I know, many people say that, but my city, New Orleans is known by its first name.  (It’s kinda like the Cher or Madonna of cities).  We never have to say “New Orleans, Louisiana, USA.  Most people don’t even know or care what state we are in and as we say here, we are a place all unto it’s self. ( OK a banana republic, but you have to admit the food is great!)

New Orleans is a complex and simple city at the same time.  We are complex because of our history that lives on every street corner and in every citizen.  To be called a Native New Orleanian, one must be born here.  Many people say I have lived her only 45 years. New Orleans is simple because it doesn't pretend to be something that it’s not.  It’s in your face from the moment you arrive. 

New Orleans and its citizens are steeped in a multicultural, multi-generational experience that pulls from our past and into our lives today. We are who we are, because being who we are not seems a waste of time.  We speak our minds because we have an opinion on everything and feel we need to share it. (Whether you want to hear it or not!)  I have often said, I love sitting around a family dinner table, oh the stories, the food, and oh can I say LOUD! 

New Orleans attacks your senses upon arrival, no subtleties here.  The smells, the sounds, the sights and the soulfulness of this city can either intoxicate you or scare the living hell out of you. The city is draped with the bends and curves of the Mississippi River that shares with us all of the Midwest’s discards.  From the toxic soup run off from farms, petrochemical plants and debris that rush past us, we take what other share with us willingly.  (Yes I drink the water, it hasn't killed me yet!) 

Much has been written and said about the underbelly that exists here in New Orleans, which Katrina put on display for the world to see.  Yes we are a urban city with abject poverty, but it from that poverty that our greatness arises.  Our soulfulness, many would not consider this city soulful; in fact many have said we are damned, exists for all to see.  Our cemeteries are cities, our churches are cathedrals and our beliefs are steeped in mysticism.  And this city constantly challenges all of your beliefs.  Think you like warm weather, spend a summer here.  Think you are a football fan, welcome to heartache.  The energy of the city pushes you past your comfort zone, ever challenging you to change.  She forces you to question your beliefs, to open your heart to the darker side of life – engaging that as willingly as you would sunshine.  For we are a city of the dark, not the oh look it’s the moon dark, but an in your face “hey it's fucking dark, now move!”  

We are a city where ghosts, sinners and saints live.  We are a city that loves life and the people in it.  We celebrate our today's because we know that tomorrow may never come.  We are the city that holds for you the stabilizing thought, that you can leave New Orleans for 15 years and come back and everything is exactly as you left it. “Laissez les bons temps rouler” ya’ll!  

The Little Girl Who Lives in my Head

I must admit that there are several “people” (thoughts) that live in my head.  (I realize that this might sound a bit off, but bear with me.)  The one that has seemed never to move far away from my everyday thoughts is this little girl.  When I close my eyes, I can picture her.  She is about 5 years old, standing on the front lawn of the home I grew up in, wearing a sundress with white Striderite shoes.  (OK so my mom’s idea of how I should dress really comes through on this thought!) 

She stands there so small, so innocent, and so full of wonder, that I can’t help but to want to love and protect her.  You know, she just looks so cute and innocent.  Immediately I flash to the 6’6” “, 300 lb. “Black Celt” whose has taken on the role of this protection.  NOTHING will get past him. He WILL protect her! 

For years, these two “people” (thoughts) lived in what I thought was complete agreement.  The young girl would venture out into the world and the “Black Celt” would make sure she was always safe. 

Recently, I began to examine this relationship.  Whenever I would inquire to see how they were doing, the Celt would always answer, we are fine; she is safe.  It dawned on me that she never said a word, she never answered the question.   She just smiled and looked cute.  I finally realized that this was the pattern over many years.  (OK, so I am not too quick.)  So I turned to her to ask:  How’s it going?  How is this symbiotic relationship working for you?

And man, was I in for a surprise.  She looked at me with all the wisdom in the world and said, you know, I just keep him around only so he could feel needed.  I don’t need him, for I am fine.  I am always safe; because my heart is open.  I am every curious; for I know there is nothing that could ever hurt me.  I am always willing to love, as love is my essence. 

Mind-blowing revelations from the mouth of a child!

I realized that for all of my life, I have felt the need to protect myself, from the world, from someone, or even something.  In trying to keep myself “safe” I have discounted my own strength and resilience.  I have forgotten who I really am; for I am that little girl, on the lawn, with the strength, wisdom, and courage of a child. 

Today, I honor that child in me, for she has always known the way!

The Human Box

I had a very interesting conversation the other day about how we as humans feel the need to label everything.  How we take the infinite of all there is any and begin to label all that we see, think and feel through our own personal human experience. It seems as if by labeling it we try to quantify and qualify the observed into something we can “know”.   I walked away from this conversation with the intent of becoming aware of how I label my human experience. 

I immediately noticed that my stomach (label) growled (label) and I (label) was hungry (label).  I (label) went to my (label) fridge (label) to get some food (label). 

How and/or from whom did I learn these labels?  Where did they learn them?  Why do I believe them? 

I realized that this simple example seemed rather trite; but as I sat with these thoughts, I began to see how we as humans feel the need to reduce all that is into something quite trite. 

I wondered into the courtyard and began to look at a rose.  How could I explain this to someone else?  Well if the person was blind, I might begin with the color, shape, size, etc.  If they couldn't smell, I would do my best explain the fragrance.  Then I realized how I have limited the full experience of the rose by simply trying to describe or label it.  By my labeling, the rose was limited, the other, to whom I was trying to share this rose was limited by my labeling and I was limited by sharing my experience to the other that couldn't see or smell.  The rose became a flower that smells nice and grows on bushes with thorns. 

I gently moved my thoughts to me.  How do I label myself?  Woman, 51, daughter, aunt, human, etc.  I recognized how each label made me smaller and smaller until I could fit into a human box.  My thoughts wondered to the other internal labels I have accepted as my truth: not enough, not lovable, talkative, optimist, willful, etc.  And then, the final door sealing label; judgment: like/don’t like, agree/disagree, mine/yours, and finally you/me.  And I became even smaller until all that I/you are, was or could ever be could fit into a small box. 

Slowly the realization of the unlimited has turned into a speck of dust.  I view you (the other), the world and myself through the labels that I place on them.  I have limited my experience of all that is by continuously reducing, reducing, reducing until the actual experience is nothing but a speck of dust floating by. 

I closed my eyes to the finite only to open them to the infinite.  

The Song of Silence

In full confession, I must admit that I am a talker, a talker from way back.  My parents used tell the story of how I used to sit on the edge of their bed as a small child, waiting for them to wake up so I could talk to them.  (As I grew they sent me to my grandparent’s house down the street to “share some of my words with them.”  I am so very sure they were pleased!)  I can’t even tweet because 140 characters is hardly enough for me to get started!

For whatever reason, most helpful people feel the need to ask me,  if I know I talk a lot... They often look at me with the most glorious look of discovery in their eyes.  I usually thank them for their insights and promise I would love the opportunity to talk with them about that discovery.  (I have found they usually RUN.)

So when the mind musing of the Song of Silence came to me I was quite intrigued.  Silence – as a song?  What is a song with no words or music? As I began to explore this thought, my mind, of course, had to make up a song, yes with words and music to fill the silence.  OK, so not exactly silence, but I got the song part right.  Sigh…

So as I prattled through my house, I began to notice the talking in my head. The running commentary on everything, this is good, this needs cleaning, this is a floor, etc.  No silence there.  The words seemed as if there were pulsating from my brain.  A constant commentary on everything, 

Outside I go, to hear the song of silence.  Ah, I hear the birds chirping, the sounds of the Calliope on the Natchez Steamboat, the tugs on the Mississippi River, and yet there I was commenting on all of them.  Wonder what kind of bird that is? Why do they always play those songs?  Wonder where those barges are going? 

Then it dawned on me the song of silence must come from within me.  To observe things as they are with no judgments, no thoughts, just be completely with the observed.  To watch and wonder with complete abandon.  To allow the moment to come to me with all of its secrets and hidden beauty.  To let it speak to me so that I could take in this most precious moment in its entirety. 

As I began to relax in this moment, the song of silence appeared, for I was silent and the whole world spoke to me.  Gratefully I am silently singing. 

The Dream of Drowning

I awoke early this morning, again; in a pool of… I struggle to consciousness from an apparent deep sleep.  Where was I? What was I doing again?  I notice that I am covered with sweat.  Ah, it must have been a dream. Or was it?  

As I begin to pull myself from my slumber, I remember I was in a vast pool of water, drowning.  Or was I simply struggling to breathe?  I allow that thought to wonder through my brain, breathing under water?  Could that be possible?  

Then my then fully conscious mind moves to from the dream to the symbolism this dream represents in my “awaken” life.  When do I think or feel as if  I am underwater?  How do I feel or react when I believe this to be true? Do I struggle to get out? Do fight with everything I have to get back to dry land? (a place of seeming in control and safety?)   Literally underwater or feeling like I am underwater…  Where are the differences?  Are they any, differences, really?  Don't I react, think or feel in the same way?

So as the gentle light of the sunrise moves me from darkness to light, I begin to understand.  Perhaps all I need are different eyes to see and gills to breathe.  Realizing that being underwater and on land can be the exact same thing, if I were equipped with gills. 

So in the gentle light of day, I discover that I have both gills and lungs, everything that I need to live in either place, land or sea.  With that knowledge, I completely understand when I find myself in situations that feel as if I am drowning, I know I have all that I need to be OK.  And the first step to relax and breathe.  From there it is easy, for I am home. 

“It All Depends on How We Look at Things, and Not How They Are in Themselves”

Ah, Carl Jung.  So is it the thing I see or is it a lifetime of memories that I see?  I have often given much thought to the concept of thoughts. (Nuts, thinking about thinking).

I have often caught myself in the middle of a conversation and sometimes even an argument between someone else and me in my thoughts.  Have you?  I can quickly run through the dialogue speaking all parts, feeling totally justified by my all of my thoughts and emotions.  Only to look around the room and see… well, no one except me.  To whom was I speaking?  To what purpose was this conversation? All of this happened in my head or did any of that actually exist? To me it was a real as any conversation, but the person that I was speaking to was in no way here to  hear any of this. 

And so I wonder how have these thoughts changed or affected my opinions or actions toward this person.  Has this, visible only to me conversation, changed “how I look at things and not see how they are themselves?”  Has this conversation brought me closer or farther from the realness of the moments of time I share with them?

Thoughts have always been to me as real as an apple. For it was from my thoughts that everything else in my life moved.  Think about an apple. What do you see? Can you hear the sound when you bite into it? Can you taste the sweetness? Can you feel the juice running down your chin?

Stop, take a moment and really picture an apple. … 

So in short I picture a nice Red Delicious apple. Then my thoughts would wonder to: Apple = food = I like it.  The same comes from the darker thoughts: loss of someone = sadness/fear= I don’t like this. 

I have been able to see that my thoughts about something can have an equal or greater effect on me as does the actual event.  I have noticed how by thinking certain thoughts I would either run away or walk toward certain situation.  I would bring with me all of my past thoughts, feelings, and emotions to an event.  I could totally miss the event, being lost in thought. 

How many moments have depended on how I look at things through the prism of my mind and not how they really are? The real question is how many moments have I ever seen things as they truly are…

I have but just a few moments in my life, (however many years) and how many have I missed being distracts by thoughts?  They come at me, these thoughts of mine, millions per minute.  And I wonder why no peace? How can I slow down this process, quiet the constant drone? How can I simply just ..be.. without the need for a constant narration? (Notice more and more thoughts, sigh). 

The Truest Gift of the Camino de Santiago

I often been asked since I have returned from the Camino de Santiago questions.  Some include: Why did you go on this journey? What did you expect to get from this walk?  Did you get what you were looking for? Was there any wisdom gained from this experience? 

I have often answered these and other questions with standard rote answers.  So it is now that I have decided to begin the Camino again; no, not the walk itself, but to use the concept of the walk to journey back to me. 

The truest gift of the Camino de Santiago is that she keeps on giving.  I am often amazed at how these few days have become the basis of my life.  The one advantage of the Camino is that through her rolling hills, fields and streams, I was able to have the time to move inward, closer to myself.  (Frankly not much more to do walking 15 miles a day).  The real shock was when I returned home, this serenity turned into the hustle and bustle of daily life.  And with each passing day I moved further and further from any truth I had discovered. 

I found that “life” took over from that peace.  It was no longer an option to quietly sit and reflect as cars zoomed by, emails needed to be answered and things needed to be done!  What happened to that peace? Where did it go?  I realized it’s easy to capture and keep safe in that safe space called the Camino, but perhaps a bit more challenging in my everyday life. 

So I choose now, to begin again, to walk the Camino, in my life every day.  To take the same journey inward with all that life avails me in this moment.  To listen to the sounds of my soul, to really experience the world around me that I have created, and to honor the truth that lives inside of me.  

I share this journey, not from a place of wisdom, as I am not wise, not from a place of knowing, because I know nothing, but from a place of perspective.  All I can humbly offer are musings and thoughts with a sense of deliberate truth.  Take what you wish or nothing at all as I offer it freely.