Staying in My Lane

2nd on the list of activities in my life that serve as barometers of my spiritual footing is my behavior in the pool (the 1st activity on the list is my behavior in traffic !)

When in my best Self,  aligned with my Higher Power,  I stay in my lane - literally and figuratively.

When I believe I am in charge,  I am JAWS.

Two weekends ago, my spiritual ground clearly in question,  I am irritated by a man who is taking up an entire lane (at the pool where I swim,  lanes are shared by 2 people when it is crowded) during prime Sunday morning swim time.   He is swimming purposefully,  I believe,  down the middle and so sprawled out that it is nearly impossible to share a lane.   In my place of self-righteous anger,  I dub him "The Old Walrus" and feel justified doing so.   There is no room in the pool when I arrive and I have a futile and aggravating experience in negotiating space with him,  until fortunately a lane opens up.   I swim next to him seething the entire time with fantasies of splashing him or dunking his face full force under the water.   I have allowed this experience to rent space in my head and yet want to blame him for all of it (this would be known as "resentment").   I talk about him to a dear friend and want to find allies in seeing the injustice of his behavior.

I go to a meeting later that day which I was chairing on Step 8.   I recognize that I am not practicing willingness to treat every person with care,  as they suggest in this step,  and I allow myself temporarily to see my part,  to see my vulnerabilities of character and to share humbly about it all at group level.

Fast forward to the next Sunday,  which was yesterday.

I arrive promptly at the opening of the gym,  make my way into the pool, and who is there but 

The Old Walrus.  I feel a familiar pang of irritation arise.  I choose a different lane.   The pool slowly but surely begins to fill up with enthusiastic Sunday morning mermaids and mermen.   The Old Walrus is fully engaged in his taking up an entire lane so that no one can share and I glance over from time to time,  thankful that I am sharing with a kind woman who makes it easy for each of us to swim effortlessly.   Out of the corner of my eye,  I see a young man who enters the pool area with no other choice but to go in the lane with the Old Walrus.   He is clearly a swimmer:  broad shoulders,  thin muscular legs,  able to sport a Speedo.  He is a pool Adonis.

 He hops in the lane and it appears that he may be more of an egomaniac than the Old Walrus and this is the perfect monsoon.  He proceeds to do, of all strokes,  the Butterfly !   Watching these guys duke it out for splashing rights is a sight to behold.  I try not to gawk and to just stay in my lane and swim.  I am very aware of how I secretly want to see the Old Walrus put in his place once and for all.

And then something else happened ...

The two people sharing the lane next to me both exit at the same time.   It is completely open.  I am content swimming where I am and quite sure that the Old Walrus will want that lane.   As I am kicking away on my board toward the end of the lane,  the Old Walrus motions with his hand to the open lane -- gesturing as to whether I want it or not and can he have it.   I motion and state  "Go right ahead."   I realize in this moment that it's not that important and I don't need to exercise my power to prove a point or to do to him what the Adonis was doing.   I recall a reminder that a beloved soul shared with me just a couple days before about "seeing the God in everyone".   My week had been such that I was residing on much more solid spiritual footing than I previously had been.   

As I reach the end of the lane and put my kickboard up on the ledge so that I can return to doing breaststroke,  my eyes now come into clear focus with this older man (no longer objectified by the term of non-endearment I was using).   He remarks:  "I don't share lanes very well."   I reply:  "It seems like you prefer a lot of space."    His eyes get wide and light up:  "You have NO idea..."   My gaze met his and there was an understanding in that moment that went unspoken.   

I returned to swimming,  my heart wide and my whole being softened.   I pondered whether or not he lived with a domineering,  intrusive spouse and this was the only place he could have his own space.

He became so human to me;  there was no longer any "thing" here between us.

When I got out of the pool to leave,  he waved goodbye and I waved back.

I was given an opportunity for healing and to practice the principles of the 12 Steps in all my affairs.

It was a choice point and I chose to be happy and not to be right.

I stayed in my lane.

Infinity and then some ...

Infinity, a photo by Angelionli on Flickr.

I had a dream in the wee hours entering yesterday morning where I was looking to purchase a new home. I had really liked the one I just viewed and was steered toward another one, a "must see this" urged the realtor. There was a number 8 on the door and my thought in the dream was: "that's my lifepath number, this is meant to be".

As I opened the door, there was utter destruction and ruin. Walls torn down, gravel and old wallpaper on the floor, some rooms with floors or ceilings caved in. I looked in disbelief and yet I didn't turn around. I became curious. I can recall the tiny pebbles of dirt and other material glistening on the floors. In spite of the wreckage, there was a seemingly solid foundation.

After a good 24 hrs to ponder this, I decided to investigate this dream. 8, which I have a strong numerological connection to, is also the symbol of infinity when on its side. It also corresponds with the Universe of Assiyah and the Hebrew letter, Chet -- which happens to be tattooed on my foot. On the Tree of Life, it is assigned to Hod -- the sefirot of location, placeness, splendor, one's secret garden.

In my last Lifepath year, 2006, significant life-altering events happened. In February of that year, a former client made false allegations which have since taken a different shape and I am in the midst of legal matters to resolve my past mistakes of poor boundaries. In July of that year, my partner attempted to slit her wrists in our kitchen and I had her placed in a rehab the following day. 10 days later, in an attempt to talk about our failing relationship, she threw me out of our home and I was never to return. The month was August -- the 8th month. In October of that year, I would attend an intro workshop and meet my soon-to-be healing teacher, entering this school in December of 2006.

I return to the #8 house in my dream. This house IS me,  a representation of the assiyatic action I am taking in my life in the present. I am literally clearing away the wreckage of my past. There is beauty and splendor (Hod) in being solidly located in this -- hence, the shimmering in the rubble on the floors.

The symbol of Infinity, 8 on its side, is boundless; it is the cyclical nature of Life. It is the spiral of Chesed of Yesod, the rhythm of all Life that contains the nega, the oneg and the pause in between.

I am fully in it ... in the infinite movement of my Life path ...

Form Preciousness

Surface Tension, a photo by nickwheeleroz on Flickr.

I have been on a blogging hiatus.

I have not, however, stopped writing in my head or in my heart or in the palm of my hand.

For 4 and a half precious hours this morning, I was engaged in form preciousness. Fully giving my attenion to each movement, activity, feeling and allowing each to be just as it is, including any anxiety or fear.

I sat in communion with God and my Dog this morning (a Divine anagram !). After lingering a bit in bed, I ground delicious coffee beans and made french press coffee. I talked for awhile to my sweetie, who made me laugh just being herself. I made breakfast and listened to a Tara Brach podcast. I did one of my non-dual practices for conflict. I changed sheets and washed my comforter. I did the dishes. I swept and dusted and mopped my entire apt -- giving each room my undivided attention. I walked the dog. Then walked myself and stopped to look at tulips and daffodils along my trek to pick up a variety of fresh produce. I took a steamy shower. I made lunch.

This is my IDEAL Sunday. Every sense stimulated while I luxuriated in every moment.

Everything that is allowed to exist, exists in light.

In a different place ...

Measure These Things by Your Eyes, a photo by [ Kane ] on Flickr.

One day
you suddenly

WAKE up

and find

you are

sitting

in a
                                     different place

in your Life

And

scratch your head

wipe the tears
of SURPRISE    away from your face

upon realizing

I am the

One

who has     
                 moved away,


not them

I will be what I will be ...

~ daybreak ~, a photo by ~Fussel~ on Flickr.

Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh.
Hebrew for: I am what I am.

Or, as my healing classmate translated for me, the "burning bush" moment when God asked Moses to lead His people [as God would have him] ...
"I will be what I will be."

After a week of wrestling with myself, I have landed on an intention -- my desire for change.

"I want to be in the Life that is here, including its uncertainty and unpleasantness, trusting that I am safe and secure in this awake Presence. I honor the voice of my wise interior who knows what she wants and needs. I can bear and experience Reality without poisoning anyone or keeping my story alive."

My dear friend received and healed me from a place that I was calling forth and she trusted what was here. She felt the luminosity of the threads of my poisoned ground, like a vapor, hovering around my deep places of wisdom and knowing. These threads simply needed to be gently turned.

An alive awareness to my woundedness, without being overtaken, allowing it to have its rightful place beside my desire for health, well-being, presence of mind ... I am calling the Awake. The marriage of the exiled and the free.

I will be what I will be ...

Illumination

Luna and the Evening Star, a photo by Mr Geoff on Flickr.

I have gotten free of that ignorant fist
that was pinching and twisting my secret self.
The universe and the light of the stars come through me.
I am the crescent moon put up
over the gate to the festival.
~ Rumi

God, please release me from the bondage of Self.

It has been my own fist, as noted in Rumi's words above, that was doing the pinching and twisting.

I am currently engaged as an observer and a participant in seeing the battle I've been having nearly all of my life with myself. There has been much bloodshed and scars. I fear that I have hurt many an innocent bystander. I am perhaps as toxic as a nuclear waste site.

AND

I have goodness and light. I am holy as I am.

Opening my eyes and ears and heart a little more and a little more to all of the voices of all of the Who-Is's that make up the entity that is me, I am both surprised and weary.

A statement of the One in me who does not like uncertainty which took me aback was this:
"I don't want to die alone." I didn't know that actually lived in me.

The voices that I am sick and tired of are all the whining and complaining drones about being seen and heard and met and respected. Blah, Blah, Blah. Those are tiresome, self-seeking voices that come from trying to keep the Woe is Me story alive and well. I've read it dozens of times and it doesn't have a happy ending. Let's toss that book into the fire, shall we ?

My teacher Jason has pre-warned that the venture into examining our poisoning thoughts is a road to be trudged gingerly. I can attest, being on the trail for a spell, that it is the muddiest path I've dragged my boots in AND, for me, there is no turning back. This IS a choiceless choice. The operating mechanism on this here piece of human machinery is rusty and in dire need of an overhaul.

If I want the lights of heaven to shine through me, so that I am indeed the moon over the festival -- the celebration of Life -- I need to keep putting one dirt-drenched foot in front of the other. This is the path to Salvation. I don't want to poison another soul, including me.

At Her Deathbed ...

Gustav Klimt: Ria Munk On Her Deathbed, a photo by deflam on Flickr.

I stand today at the bedside of a loved one who is dying.

This dear soul is me.

I should clarify by saying – the former ”Who Is” of me.

What also will disintegrate in this process are the attachments held by this version of me.
Tears stream down my face as I let go and say goodbye to each of them. What finds me in the deepest well of sorrow is bidding farewell to the one who has been attached to the unavailable, with an imagined hope of  Fullness. One cannot be nourished on breadcrumbs trying to be convinced it is a feast.

She now heeds the call, which whispered her out of a deep sleep, a number of nights ago:

“Follow your own trajectory.”

I cradle this One close to my heart.

Grieving and holding and standing simultaneously, I am gazing into the eyes of suffering in a way that has never seemed possible, definitely not tolerable.

There is nothing to grasp, so I fall back into the arms of God. The lines from the AA Big Book bellow: “We stood at the turning point. We asked His protection and care with complete abandon.”

Wide awake to this Reality, my face collapses into my cusped hands, defeated and surrendered.

No control: it is not yours to do but the purpose of the world itself.

I Have a Dream ...

Ray of Hope - Cambodia, a photo by Maciej Dakowicz on Flickr.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

On this "MLK Day of Service", I ventured out onto the streets of my neighborhood, answering the call from an email to do "community clean-up". This is not new to me, as I spent many summer mornings doing this very task.

What felt new to me today was my reaction to the repulsive sights and the association to the person whose legacy was most definitely NOT this.

My stomach turned knots and angry, judgmental tears got stuck in my windpipe with each disgusting piece of filth I picked up -- evidence of the disregard and disrespect for the earth that is not ours but was freely given to us by a loving God who absolutely worked through Martin Luther King. Yes, I am engaging in self-righteous anger and I will need to make amends and put myself in-check later !

After being in the midst of the ick of the world today, I too have a dream:

That no one is exposed to the kinds of things that should go unseen --
empty 40's of stale beer
cigarette butts that decorate the sidewalk like confetti
used condoms still oozing with their contents
empty crack baggies in every color of the rainbow
the refuse of an entire meal from Chick-Fil-A, complete with straws, napkins, empty soda cups and chicken carcasses
gum and candy wrappers of every kind

I have a dream of seeing beauty in the world; at least for one portion of today, there are a few streets that have a little more shimmer to them.

And this too ...

Day 133/365 ~ And it will be Just like You Were Never Gone, a photo by Amanda Mabel on Flickr.

rising like a ball
of lava in my throat
i choke back
each
indelible
façade
i  once believed

with my
whole heart

the repeating words
of promises un-kept
play like a broken record

notes
i can no longer hear

i retaliate
with meditation

and tearful prayers

searching for the
answer

in the Divine

i cannot
seem to reconcile

accept

or
let go

instead
i sit
and
notice
and make room

Oh.

And this too …

Genuine Acceptance

spacious, a photo by a.c.thomas on Flickr.

I have made a return to listening regularly to the Buddhist teacher, Tara Brach. The podcast I chose tonight was titled: "Genuine Acceptance".

This is EXACTLY the nourishment my being needs.

"Acceptance does not = being a doormat."

She speaks about how when we "give up" and resign ourselves to a situation or to how a person is  -- it is under the guise of accepting, but this is not the case. Acceptance is NOT passive.

Genuine Acceptance is recognizing the truth of this moment, without resistance. It is an engaged willingness of our heart to be with the Life that is here.

Easier said than done. I feel like I need to listen to this podcast several times daily. I want to disengage with what's here and distract or lash out or blame or tense against my Life circumstances on a regular basis. I do a practice called "Work of Return" which opens my senses to the thoughts, bodily sensations and feelings that are in the present moment. It can be deeply painful or disconcerting or cause me to cringe when I really am awake to this.

Tara says that true, genuine acceptance is more than just an intention to be awake to what is here. It also involves continuing to stay with what is here in us, soften, lean into, get curious about what is arising, until there is simply a surrendering presence that finds us able to fully let go.

I have a Big Toe in this. I need to go all the way to the edge and dive in.

The statement that really got my attention was this one: "The space of the heart that absolutely accepts what's in me in relation to another is LOVE." I really have to wrap my heart, not my brain, around this. My willingness to engage what is here in me and totally accepting what is here in me -- in relation to another -- is LOVE. I feel like this means if I can FULLY and TOTALLY own my reactions, feelings, thoughts -- about another -- I wouldn't try to place blame on them or want to cut them out or want to run away. That this kind of presence is LOVE. And it's not targeted for the other person. It's not, in fact, about loving them. Because they could be acting like an asshole ! But if I genuinely accept, it is being with what's here for me about them. It may not change me liking them any better or any of that, but I won't act out or resent them or try to poison them as a result. The act of LOVE is really for me and how I relate to another.

Tara ended the talk with this:
If you let go a little, you'll have a little peace.
If you let go a lot, you'll have a lot of peace.
If you let go absolutely, you'll have absolute peace.

Moving to the Light Source ...

We can only appreciate the miracle of a sunrise if we have waited in the darkness, a photo by sharaff on Flickr.

"God could and would if He were sought."

This is the last sentence of the AA literature piece read at the start of meetings, titled: "How it Works". This brief and concise statement has a powerful electrical charge when you really plug into it.

My last couple of days in recovery rooms have all been lovingly moving me to the Light Source -- through the God-connection of the members and the shimmering container of the sacred spaces we gather.

In a struggle last evening, I dropped to my knees and actively sought God. I didn't get a could or would ...He DID. In the form of an angel on earth. Nurturing and Loving and Unconditional. Sending me on my way to carry the message as I chaired the Alkathon meetings that brought us into the entryway of 2012.

My intention for the coming year is simple: keep moving away from a drink and toward the Light Source. I wish every soul traveling this path the same.

Destined ...

Day 92/365 ~ And in That Moment, I Swear, We Were Infinite, a photo by Amanda Mabel on Flickr.

Pulsing
an alive
turning,
purposeful,
within a
3-dimensional
shape,
embedded deeply
and it is of me,
birthing the holomorph
of not-yet
though what is
inevitable,
my God-given path.
Can I let go,
surrender,
into what
I am
destined ...

Skeletons in the closet ...

Today is your big day, a photo by Fer Gregory on Flickr.

Yesterday, I visited a dear friend who has been admitted to an eating disorder treatment program and will remain there for 6 weeks. While she does not look the part, the skeleton in her closet is actively at work, starving and excessively exercising in hopes to be the real deal someday.

As I walked up to her building from the parking lot, there were a cluster of young girls on the path. They were literal stick figures. Hollowed faces and clothing barely hanging on their bones. I see why my friend is still comparing herself to those around her and shaking her head over and over: "I can't be that bad?"

It's a matter of perspective. As I see it, addiction is an inside-job. And so is recovery. When we let the outside inform our interior, we get confused, trying to make sense of what we see and then that influences how we feel.

My friend is at the wee beginnings of what I suspect will be an enormous shattering. She is without her 3x daily rigorous workout regimen. She is watched at every meal and if she refuses, then she is made to drink Ensure. She has no contact via cell phones or internet. It is just her and the 4 walls of her tiny room and tiny roommate and all the other tiny women trying to figure out if they can be full again.

I will admit that I couldn't wait to leave. Not to get away from my friend, no not that at all. It was the empty, vacant stares of the inhabitants of this place piercing through my heart. I became aware of the solidity of myself, much in the same way I feel the personal in impersonal space. I wanted to make space full. I had discomfort in the nothingness of what was here. Funny, this IS my work. But this is NOT the place.
I have another variety of skeletons in the closet I must face ...

The Mystery of the Dead End

No more efforting ..., a photo by playzwifstonz on Flickr.

“I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.
Delicious Ambiguity.”
― Gilda Radner

In a rather spontaneous, in the moment conversation with my healer over a lovely dinner, she shared with me a "seeing" that she had about my biological lineage. One that was riddled with tragedy, from addiction of all kinds to depression to early deaths and even suicide. This information confirmed the inherent wisdom in my being about "not going there" with regard to a desire to meet my biological family. I've been curious about my ethnic heritage, yet have always had a halting in my system about seeking the actual members out. It is quite likely they are not among the living.

The Reality I dropped into today during a healing session with a classmate about this subject was that moving in the direction of my biological lineage would find me at a dead end. AND ...
there is a mystery within this. I don't know what will arise for me. There are threads that have not yet been revealed or turned.

I became aware today that this is the Reality that lived in the background of me but was not something I actually wanted to see or know in this way.   I would watch stories on TV of adopted children being reunited with their birth families and cry my eyes out.   I believe those tears were a deep sadness for a longing that I knew would never come to fruition.  

My healer shared that exploration of this would bring me to great grief -- that I would feel lonelier than I ever have AND that I would be Not-Lonely in a way that I never have.

I feel the tremendous split here, yet now I am not holding myself as the perpetrator who is doing the splitting but rather I am the container for the splitting -- holding the world of my biological lineage and the world of my adopted lineage simultaneously.

I don't know anything else about what this means and I am committed to being present to the mystery of this dead end, to see what else may arise from the ash.

Giving Thanks

Thanks at the Buddhist Temple, a photo by Stuck in Customs on Flickr.

I am aware of all the ways I can be ungrateful. It comes from self-centeredness.
My new sponsor, tough-as-nails on the outside/teddy bear on the inside, really gets this and has no problem telling me about it.

A grateful heart never drinks.

I might add: asking God how I may serve does not make room for selfish thinking.

For most of this week, I have been profoundly sad. Sadder than I have ever been. My sponsor thinks this is fantastic. Not because I am sad, but because I am deeply feeling and letting in Reality -- the Truth and what is here and what I have created. And then I have a tool which is to humbly ask God to take this and do with it what He will, trusting his plan for me.

So on the heels of this great Sadness, I awoke today giving thanks. It began on my knees when I met the day and continued in every waking moment since. For my connection to God. For my life and my breath. For having a home. For my dog - my constant, loving companion. For my loved ones, near and far. For being able to cook nutritious yummy food to bring to my sister's. For being sober and getting to a Gratitude meeting. For my AA family and my sponsor. For my own family - every single one. For the abundance and prosperity I have been blessed with. For the loving texts I received. For the friends who kept me company on the phone for my drive. For the Fall air and sunshine. For the people who worked at the WaWa on a Holiday so that I could get gas to travel. For my favorite women's AA meeting and the 4 others who showed up tonight. For a body that works and moves and feels deeply. For my humanness and my falling tears. For seeing another day on this earth.

My heart is open and full and aching all at the same time. I give thanks for its every beat and the Life I have been blessed with, if just for today.

The Sad Clown

Sad Clown, a photo by ::big daddy k:: on Flickr.

"People say I'm the life of the party
cause I tell a joke or two
well I might be laughin
loud and hearty
but deep inside, I'm blue
so take a good look at my face
you see my smile looks out of place
if you come closer it's easy to trace
the tracks of my tears ..."
~ Smokey Robinson

I have had a significant amount of grief arise recently. It is for the one in me who has carried long-standing patterns that can be linked back to what I learned and how my ground was poisoned from my mother and my father as a little girl.    How I, in turn,  have poisoned where I stand.

I didn't have the kinds of victories that kids need to boost their self-esteem, to feel valued, to feel loved. I do not make these statements from a "Poor Me" place; they are statements of fact -- this is just the way it was. I didn't know my place in the world. So I made it up along the way. My mother did not allow me to have the fullness of accomplishments in public forums such as church; she, instead, would brag about something I did and talk about me as if I wasn't standing there so that she could receive the accolades. Every once in awhile I'd get an approving nod or smile from one of the other church ladies, kind of like when you're telling people about the great tricks your dog does and then someone coos and pats it on the head. It was like that.

One of the more painful realizations this past week was to fully see that I was a very sad child. You wouldn't know it, as the song lyrics imply above, unless you got close enough to take a good look at my face and see the tracks of my tears. I was, in fact, a sad clown. I was the kid who tried to do pranks and make funny gestures and faces to get you to laugh. I understand that this was a very clever strategy I devised to deflect from my pain -- so you couldn't see it and I didn't have to feel it.

I grieve this week for the little girl who lulled herself to sleep sobbing into the deep crevices of her pillow so that her sister who slept in the same room wouldn't hear. So that her father didn't have to bear the sight of a "big baby" as he would say aloud about any indicator in me that was going to lead to tearfulness. I grieve for the little boy who became my father because I am aware that his mother was depressed and sickly and it is likely that anything that was reminiscent of her poisoning ground activated his own toward me.

I began writing in diaries starting around age 10. I wrote melancholy poems by the age of 12. Not a soul saw these, nor did I reveal them. I had a closet full of journals up until the age of 18 that held my sadness. When I came home at the age of 21 to collect my stuff and move out, I discovered that all of this writing was tossed out -- by my mother. I was furious. I had wondered if she read any of them, but more so, that she discarded the outpourings of my soul. It is only now that I understand how much I drank AT her and loathed her during my twenties yet was never really in touch with those feelings.

And, I grieve for her too. The enabler of an alcoholic husband and the pressure of holding a family together so that it would not disintegrate. She too could not bear my sadness -- for to feel it would mean she might have to feel her own. She kept everything at bay so she would not break into a million shattered pieces. This is how she survived.

My sister refused to experience sadness and, instead, fought and rebelled. An early pregnancy found her kicked out and in the arms of an abusive father of her children.

My brother, on the other hand, took in the most toxic sips of the poison in our family -- the end result being isolation, withdrawal, and eventually a psychotic break. I believe he was deeply depressed -- he came by this rightly having inherited the crippling DNA from my father's side of the family.

Because I am awake and willing and sober -- I can feel ALL of this. It can exist in the same house with my genuine playfulness and joy. This needs to be felt in its fullness so that I can make room for what else may be dormant and not yet known to be birthed from me.

Farewell sad clown ... your make up is running and it's time to put away the costume. Live into the one who can be fully here, no disguise required.

Inviting Everything In ...

O n e H u n d r e d., a photo by Tomasito.! on Flickr.

There is a meditation from my Healing teacher that I have been working with, entitled: "Inviting Everything In".

The intention is to welcome all parts of ourselves: the small frightened parts; the courageous parts; the selfish parts; the devoted parts; the parts that are "standing guard".

This meditation has been working me more than I am practicing it.

As the day unfolded, I found myself getting increasingly indecisive, which then resulted in me getting very irritated and cranky. I couldn't even decide when I was going to take a shower or what to have for lunch ! I kept leafing through the AA meeting list book and unable to pick a meeting or a time. Finally, I moved into the shower and I was on the verge of tears as I lathered my hair, feeling like something in me was cracking. I made a simple salad for lunch because I couldn't figure out anything else even though there were a variety of potentially interesting options.

I got on my usual Sunday call with two heaing classmates and I shared exactly where I was at. This led to a discussion about the meditation and inviting everything in. One of my classmates noted how she's aware of how I had been trying to "let go" of some of the rigid ways I've adopted and always needing to have my days filled up. The other classmate saw my indecisiveness as a friend, a teacher --offering me an invaluable lesson about being unstructured. Just then the insight slammed into me: I had been viewing the part of me who was indecisive as a difficulty, a nuisance, something that I wanted to get rid of. Right there in front of me was the real trouble-maker: my own resistance. I didn't see this part for the gift that it was. I was holding onto a story about worthiness tied to being productive, busy, having my day planned out. The inability to make decisions was a comfortable chair being pulled out for me to rest and relax into -- to not have to rush to somewhere or to do something.

As the discussion went on, another insight bubbled up. It was about being a kid and not being able to go out to play with the other kids until I completed my chores. When I was tall enough to reach the sink, I was directed to do dishes. And then vacuum. Eventually, mow the grass and use the hedge clippers. I, like my mother then, had to accomplish a number of tasks to have some assemblance of order, control and even worth. I had a memory during this discussion about really wanting to go out with friends on their bikes on a sunny summer day and my mother having me vacuum first. I tried to rush and she followed me and pointed the tip of her sneaker at the pieces of dirt I missed. I was fuming inside and ran the vacuum right into her foot on purpose ! She was furious and immediately forbid me to leave the house and I was banished to my room for the day. I stewed and cried and wished her dead.

The part I invited in today was the one in me that stands guard and is quite fearful -- an inner tyrant. I had her make friends with the indecisive one who showed up earlier who was requesting that she "Back the fuck off !". My classmates and I had a belly laugh at the tyrant's expense !

I got off the call without a plan for the rest of the day. I walked the dog, then surfed the Net looking at car reviews and interesting boots. I read. I really wanted to go to an AA meeting and flipped open the book randomly and chose one that was in another county - about a half hr away. On my way there, I got lost. I stayed the course and trusted my sense of direction. It literally just "popped up" ! It made me smile inside.

It was a Step meeting and tonight was Step 4. I almost burst out in a fit of giddiness at the absolute rightness of being there and getting exactly what I needed. "A fearless and searching moral inventory" translates to: "Inviting Everything In". I still can't stop smiling ...

Inside-Outside Confusion

Time, a photo by larsvandegoor.com on Flickr.

My body is in its preparation for dropping temps and putting on sweaters and acclimating to autumn. My body became quite confused yesterday, as the outside plummeted toward the freezing mark and snow and sleet pelleted my windshield. It was only October 29th !

I look out my window today and I see the familiar colors of changing leaves AND snow on the rooftop ! Once again, my inside that says it's October 30th and it's Fall cannot seem to make sense of the white coating that does not match.

I had a well-spent hour on the phone yesterday with someone about the very nature of inside-outside confusion. How in our alcoholic thinking, especially those of us who grew up in homes where behavior by family on the outside didn't make sense to our insides (i.e. what we expected those family members to be doing). In my family, the greatest place of confusion was to look outwardly at faces that didn't match mine when I still believed that the tall people around me were my real parents. I would later learn that I was adopted and this was no longer as confusing, but the aspect of believing it for the better part of my 1st decade of Life would turn out to be more disturbing to my system than I'd ever imagined. For the person I was speaking with, brothers are expected to behave in a variety of ways toward their sisters except they are most definitely NOT supposed to have sex with their sisters. Especially when the brother is 15 and the sister is 11. The inside becomes terrified and deeply confused about what is happening on the outside.

These kinds of lasting body-memory experiences are hard to shake loose as adults. For many of us, it fucks us up. We translate this confusion to every scenario in our lives that doesn't make sense in our interior. The woman I spoke with yesterday is not able to trust most men, even as someone in her early 40's, because of the inside-outside confusion created by the experience with her brother. Every action that seems "misleading" on the outside by a man is instantly translated on the inside for her as a potential threat of harm. She is recognizing this and doesn't know how to break the cycle. We spoke about just having the confusion in our awareness is the first step.

The greater aspects of my inside-outside confusion had to do with watching my father arrive home in one way and then once he started putting the amber liquid from those brown bottles down his throat, he was a completely different way ! And this could change from hour to hour, night to night. I thought Daddies were supposed to pick up their little girls and put them on their laps and talk to them or brush their hair like I saw on TV. My inside longed for this kind of daddy but the one I saw on the outside had no interest in being near me. He cuddled those bottles close to him and that was the only thing getting that kind of contact. He never even got within 4 feet of my mother, his wife. The ones on TV would hug and kiss and say "I love you". I never saw this. I believe this is why I clung so tightly to teachers I had because I was desperately trying to find a match on the outside for what I craved on the inside.

My relationship with men, however, didn't result in mistrust later in life. In fact, quite the opposite happened: I trusted them so much that I allowed myself to be used in every way by them -- mostly sexual. Perhaps the confusion got translated like this: my inside longs for closeness to a "Dad" and even though I am not sexually attracted to men (and clearly a lesbian), I'm going to be promiscious with men to try to meet that inside need. My inside longing to be loved did not match my outside actions of surrendering my body to the gender I had no desire for. And didn't even like sex with !

It is good to have clarity today.  As a kid,  I was powerless to the actions of the outside.  As an adult,  I'm still powerless to the actions of the outside,  yet the difference is that I know what I want on the inside and I seek that for myself in my outside actions. And when these actions aren't aligned, I get the signal: "Houston, we have a problem." It's a pretty cool thing. My healing and recovery work, my connection to God has offered me this gift.

The roof still has snow on top as I look out on this October morning and for now, I tell my inside that sometimes the elements in Nature line up like this. Maybe just to shake things up a bit ! But not to confuse our insides with the outside. We humans do that all on our own.

No More Cross to Bear ...

Crossing the Vineyards, a photo by Vainsang on Flickr.

A thread of an awareness about a particular Truth got illuminated today in a healing session with a dear friend/classmate.

"I don't have to save all the retarded people."

In fact, I don't have to like all of them or work with them.

I have had a gnawing at my interior around inauthenticity. It began, actually, last week when I was illustrating the use of a Genogram and using my own family tree as the example. On my dad's side of the family, there is extensive alcoholism and depression. Except in 1 person: my aunt Judy. Her primary "flaw" was being born with mental retardation. My students asked me: "Do you think there's a relationship to the alcoholism and depression and the fact that a child was born into this family that perhaps brought stigma or shame?" Fantastic question. I had never connected up these pieces before.
I responded: "I don't think it's necessarily linear - meaning one caused the other - but I suspect that there is a relationship in the co-arising of this stressor (my aunt's disability) and the other patterns."

And then, as I drove home from seeing clients at a new agency this week, I feel this place of falling out of integrity, not living in my Truth arise. This is how I begin my healing session today. I got into this field, working with people who have developmental disabilities, out of an affinity for my aunt Judy AND from a place of wanting to rescue. I watched kids make fun and bully her in the neighborhood. I witnessed the maltreatment of her by my grandfather and grandmother, my Uncle and at times, even my own father. I never understood fully, until today, about this burden I had been carrying -- a duty, a sense of moral obligation to advocate and protect people with developmental disabilities. Perhaps because I couldn't save my family from the dirty secret of my Aunt Judy. Or the even dirtier secret of all the hidden alcoholism.

There is a guise of goodness, upstanding citizenship because of doing work with these "special needs people". Hell, it was what I hid my own alcoholism behind ! And, I am increasingly more aware that this is no longer the cross I need to bear. I don't want to abandon people with disabilities completely AND I do want to be clear about which folks I no longer desire to work with and cannot help. I don't want to be with people who wreak of urine. Or who pick at their legs til they become grossly infected. Or who bang their heads on pavement. Or who drool profusely. I am no good for them ! I want to engage with the folks who can -- there is something very alive in this for me and THIS is what feels true. I can no longer pretend to be the "friendly visitor", feigning a compassionate face while cringing and nauseous on the inside.

There is tremendous freedom in the allowance of the Truth that is staring me in the face.

Illumination

The Golden Voyage, a photo by adrians_art on Flickr.

The unfolding of my snake dream is quite astounding.

Over the course of a couple of days after the reptile offered its guidance, I realized that what was here for me was much larger than me ... it was turbulence and chaos of my surroundings that I began to become sensitive to. This ranged from controversial correspondence among colleagues at work to video equipment malfunctioning to traffic gridlocks. My irritation level was rising and my ego thought it was now in charge.

In a highly frustrating traffic detour on my way home from work on Thursday, I receive an unexpected call from my ex. For a few seconds, in between rings, I quickly churn: "What the hell does she want? Fuck! I don't wanna talk to her !" And, in a split second after that mini hissy fit, the snake is right here, insisting that I pick up. I listen to good orderly direction and I do.

After brief small talk, my ex tells me that she has called to make amends. Some things she hadn't said to me previously. I am dumbstruck. She apologizes for abandoning me in our relationship, for being emotionally unavailable, for being secretive. I sit silently, my heart opening in awe, and she asks: "Are you still there?" I reply: "I am quite here; I am simply receiving you." She is relieved. We chat more and she shares news about a former mutual friend's recent diagnosis of stage 4 liver cancer and asks about our dog (the one I have custody of!). Before we're about to hang up, that pesky serpent is slithering by my ear and I listen again. There is an opportunity here for me to also make an amends that I had not previously. The growing irritation and story-making of the week has brought me to this moment. I say: "I did not get to say to you that I was very rigid and critical of you in our relationship. I didn't allow you to be exactly who you are. And for that, I am sorry." I hear her crying softly. She tells me how healing this is. I concur.

The allowance of everything to have a place, to have a right to exist, to be felt and named offers tremendous freedom from control and from fear. I can be more of who I am because I am letting others be more of who they are.   In order to do this,  I have to listen deeply,  with all of me.  And follow each thread of guidance,  trusting where it will take me.

THIS is the illumination.