I have not written here in a while. But as I was walking along in Inwood Hill Park tonight where the Harlem and Hudson Rivers meet, and watching the reflection of the setting sun (the sun itself was behind the cliffs that rise up here on the top tip of Manhattan between the park and the Hudson where the old growth forest still grows), I could hear someone play an electric guitar...not particularly well, but enough to evoke the 1970s and evenings as a child, sometimes riding in people's vans or old cars, and the odd comfort of that, teenagers or young adults playing Led Zepplin and me in the back somewhere doing whatever, but not in charge and knowing somehow for that moment everything was OK.
I then remembered this realization I had the other day when I was meditating that yes indeed the war is over, but I have no idea how to live outside a war zone. I don't mean that literally in the sense of being in the middle of an actual shooting war (aside from the time we lived on 106th and Amsterdam back in the early 1990s when in fact there were many gun fights outside our window - some with automatic weapons - so bad the police would not show up because - and I quote - "we are outgunned")...but as a child, not guns, but other war zones - some violent physically, some mentally, some verbally, some emotionally, but it was always a crisis and starting as a very young child I had to have my shit together. For instance, my mother has told me, when I was a baby and she and my father would fight violently, so I would hold my breath until I turned blue, which would finally make them stop.
That kind of thing. Rinse. Repeat.
Shift characters, locations, details but the out of joint song in which I had to keep my shit together, be vigilant at all times, and therefore could rarely be a child remained the same.
So, yeah, no, I'm not what you would call laid back. All the yoga and meditation in the world can't undo that shit. It can Help. A lot. It can keep me from inflicting it on others, and at times if I'm lucky myself, but it's not precisely a good run up to peacetime living.
I'm not going to recite my childhood. Anyone who knows me or has read this blog or my plays can catch the gist, but the point remains: no tools to live in peacetime.
Which means all the time living on overdrive. Shocking that I became an alcoholic, I know (ha!). But what is a miracle is that I got sober at 23. And still am. At 54. That shit is weird. But even so, still, no windshield and not really, you know, laid back.
BUT the difference is - when I had this realization while meditating, this time I didn't think OH NO, I HAVE TO DOOOO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS. I HAVE TO HAVE A 10-POINT ACTION PLAN TO DEFEAT MY CRAZINESS. No. I did not go through that. Instead, I just breathed and heard a gentle internal voice say: and that's all you need to know right now.
You don't have to DO anything about it.
Just let it settle in. And I am. And just this. The NOT doing, the letting it settle in, is changing my life. It's kind of a miracle. Not by trying to change my life. Instead by Not trying to change my life. The miracle of acceptance. You accept a thing, hold space for it, and voila, it changes. With no effort. If I resist it, it just gets bigger and more intractable.
And so now, somehow, when feelings I usually find excruciating come up - certain types of sadness or boredom or anxiety or whatever - instead of trying to run away, I just breathe them in. I hold space. I witness. I allow the feelings. I look and see what's there for me to see, feel, experience. And then, yes, it all changes. By not trying to change it.
It's bizarre.
Which is all by way of saying when I heard that guy playing the guitar, I let the pleasant kind of nostalgic memory of those peaceful moments in my childhood wash over me. I felt the nostalgia, the desire to be young again, to have life ahead of me instead of at least more than half in the rearview mirror, and also the knowledge that there were these moments of respite - for all the crazy and the crisis. And that while I might not know how to live outside a war zone, I can allow myself these moments and don't have to judge or overanalyze.
Of course it doesn't help these days how much actual crazy there is in the world and violence and rampant injustice and plain old meanness and cruelty. But the fact is in one form or other that's always been there. I can allow the feelings of powerlessness in and rage and all of it. I can act as I can act, which I do, politically. I can write sometimes, create theater, do my little part. I can spin out, I can step up, I can step aside, freak out, be calm, get angry, cry, wonder what the actual fuck, have a moment of calm, take a walk, stay under the covers, call someone, meditate, stay alone, go be with people, dance, do yoga, write, take a nap, watch stupid things on Netflix, write in this blog, submit work, get rejected, get accepted, feel accomplished, feel like a failure, feel loved, feel lonely, wonder again what the actual fuck, and then breathe and let it all in - when I remember to do so.
This is the gift of getting older, staying sober for a long time, meditating every day, doing yoga when I remember (not as much as I should in other words) and trying to be a decent person - I begin to be able to accept the whole package.
I was also thinking walking home: I want to live long, because I need to figure it out, and then I laughed when I heard an internal voice say: that'll only happen when you stop trying to figure it out. Which, like, of course. But what a seduction it is. For someone such as me anyway.
At night when lying down going to sleep with crystals on me (yes I've turned into That person - try not to hate me), and I sense, my God/dess, so much energy in my head, my mind churning and churning Trying to Figure It Out. And so little energy in the rest of my body. So then breathing into that mysterious rest of me - the part - pretty much all of it - that I routinely ignore. Letting the crystals bring me to those parts of my body. Wondering will I ever allow my body to be fully animated? I don't know. Part of the war zone thing, levels of dissociation I'm not sure will ever go away. It's waaaay better than it used to be. At least I know my body is here. I can even feel it sometimes. A number of years ago, I woke up more fully to my actual emotions (as opposed to the word facsimile cover story that masqueraded as such). But I have a feeling my physical body is the most resistant to my awareness and acceptance. I am only aware of Problems - either physical aches and pains or with How I Look (always wrong) etc. Not sure I will ever be able to embrace my corporeal self, but that's got to be Ok. I don't want to doom myself to this dissociation either. We'll see.
I can breathe now. I can at times be touched. Sometimes easier than others. But I have always been "touchy" - kind of prickly in a somewhat sneaky way. On the surface, I am warm, but it's a patina, something to a certain degree I taught myself how to do. But underneath there is the shrinking away scared little kid, never sure anyone or anything can be trusted and always ready to pick a fight. It's complex. I certainly don't think I'm alone in this.
I'm afraid to even write any of this and publish it in public. What will people THINK?! GASP! As if...but still.
So, here I am. This is me today. Tomorrow or the next day I will post a bunch of things with schedules of events, a staged reading and two readings, all in June. But this is a different post. So be it.
As the African prayer goes: It is. Thank you.
Even if that means I never do know how to live in peacetime. I am here. And there is beauty - and even moments of peace - in the midst of the ever whirring chaos in my brain and sometimes heart.
Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
Saturday, March 4, 2017
30 years is a long time
Honestly, these days since January 20, which was the memorial for my stepfather and the beginning of our Brave New World in the US simultaneously, has rendered me for the most part speechless. I have responded to issues piecemeal on Facebook and such, but here, I cannot find anything to say.
I have had a lot of thoughts and feelings about everything, but because I am afraid that everyone is being so reactive and that is not helping, I don't want to just add to the cacophony.
However, yesterday I celebrated the 30th anniversary of my sobriety and feel I should mark this kind of astonishing milestone somehow. When I last had a drink or drug, Reagan was President, there was a Soviet Union and a Wall in Berlin, most people including me still wrote on typewriters and even if some did have personal computers, there was no public internet; we had no cell phones and used landlines with receivers that were connected to the phone by a cord, and I had a cheap rent in the Haight in San Francisco. I was 23 years old.
The journey from there to here has been a bumpy one - I don't think anyone can live thirty years without bumps. The thing is if you are sober for a long time the best description I've ever heard of that experience is: no windshield. Alcoholics are born without shock-absorbers. There is biochemistry to support this, but that is the effect. Add to that traumatic experiences in childhood on, and you kind of have an addict and/or alcoholic-in-waiting. Some people avoid this fate, but many don't.
I didn't.
However, my drinking story is not that interesting, nor is anyone else's drinking story that interesting - at least not to me anymore. What interests me is finding ways to live sober, without the windshield and without taking it out on everyone else.
This is what preoccupies me, and what I have succeeded at in the technical sense for 30 years (aka no alcohol or drugs) but in terms of living a serene life or whatever, not so much. I mean I have to some degree, and I have meditated for over 20 years, practiced yoga for 16 years, done years of therapy, etc., not to mention going to meetings with people who are struggling to do the same kind of thing. All of this helps. And without all of this I doubt I would still be sober or possess whatever shred of sanity that I do.
However, loss still tears me apart. Another reason I haven't written is the grief over losing David, and then compounded by losing my step-grandmother recently, plus the country arguably, or at least whatever I thought democracy was meant to be. I feel exposed in the rawest way. Sometimes I can cope and sometimes - usually when in yoga class - I can feel deep vital parts of me shifting. I am being shorn of any pretense of pride or whatever, of any sense of "knowing" things. Does this make you wise or just insecure? We will see.
I do feel underneath all of this something is emerging, and I am being forced to surrender to forces larger than me on a daily, sometimes minute by minute basis to move through. Sometimes this can even feel good. A lot of times I feel edgy, sometimes raw, sometimes like everything kind of just itches - not literally - but just - it's uncomfortable.
Sometimes I write about it, but recently I haven't been writing that much either. That field seems to need to lay fallow. It feels almost abusive to try to write now. I have been writing at an almost machine-like pace for years now, and I've hit the end of that line. The good news is I seem to want to be out in the world a bit more.
My fractured foot also has played a large part in my awkwardness this past year. I was unable to move for months without pain and now can move but still can't walk the endless way I used to walk, which was and is my favorite exercise. I feel I became almost agoraphobic, and am now peeking outside of that.
Meanwhile, through all of this, I am sober, and that is a miracle, because all of what I am describing would have been reason enough to drink - a lot. Though to be honest, breathing was enough of a reason to drink a lot most days I drank, so there's that. But the fact I can move through all this massive discomfort that feels like it's probably growth and who really wants that at 53 I ask you? Not me, I assure you, but I seem to have no choice. In fact this endless 'growing' bit appears to be the wages of sobriety. Apparently, if your tendency to mute the effect of all that wind hitting you in the face because of having no windshield is to drink and you stop drinking, or doing whatever else you used to get you through the night, then you are doomed to constant 'growth.'
Growth.
Sounds so lovely, so healthy, so fabulous, right?
Hahahahahahaha.
Think about it. Look at toddlers falling over when they try to walk. It's cool, because they are little and people are encouraging them all the time. But imagine doing this - on an emotional level - at 53. You kind of feel - well - stupid. My experience of long-term sobriety is like being a toddler over and over and over and over again - or like a snake shedding its skin, except when the old one goes there isn't a new one underneath right away. That kinda thing.
I'm not complaining - though goddess knows this sounds like complaining - just kind of trying to give you the felt sense of it. Because if you know any clean and sober people, you probably think they are batshit crazy, and you are probably right. Just remember, if we were drinking, game over. We may even on the surface have seemed a little more normal when we were drinking - until a certain point, but then...disaster, not only for ourselves but anyone around us.
For the vast majority of you lucky enough to not be alcoholics or addicts, just remember when dealing with your sober friends that we are wandering around with literally thin skins and everything is hitting us at 11. In my case that includes sounds, smells, visuals, emotions, tastes. It's like living in a hyper-reality.
There are some benefits to this of course, especially if you happen to write, make theater or art or music of any kind. You can be available on levels that are amplified. On the other hand, it can be hard - if not impossible - to turn down this level of sensitivity. I imagine therefore most of us seem hopelessly self-absorbed, and sometimes, yeah, we are. but sometimes, we just Can't Turn Down the Volume on life while it's hitting us like a motherfucker.
At those moments, I tend to retreat. But then can feel isolated and want to come out, but then feel agoraphobic because have retreated, etc. Weird cycles like that.
But I am also exquisitely attuned to the people to whom I am listening, whether in meetings or classes or with friends. I have learned tools over the years that I think makes me a good friend, especially not giving out advice unsolicited and even being cautious when it's solicited. I find most people - including me - don't want to be fixed, but rather want a sympathetic ear.
I do my best to help others who are trying to live without drugs or alcohol. I also do my best to put voices and work out into the world that might not be heard or seen otherwise.
I am not mentioning politics, because honestly, what's the point? Everyone is talking about it all the time, and I have nothing great to add. I only hope we keep trying to listen to one another and don't block off avenues of communication. The rest is too scary for me to even attempt to write about right now. All I know to do is what I have done with the seemingly impossible foe of addiction: surrender to what I am powerless to change and to work my ass off to change the things I can. I know it seems counter-intuitive, but the surrender has to come first, because if I'm putting energy into trying to change what I can't, I have zero energy to change what I can.
Right now, I am glad I live a life based on the concept of living one day at a time, because I could not cope with any of this otherwise without recourse to better living through chemistry.
I miss David so much it hurts. I miss in some ways my youth and ability to believe my own bullshit or was that confidence? In any case, right now I am tired. It is 4:12am. I don't know what else to say, and not sure anything I have said is worth a damn, but here it is. March 4, 2017. 30 years sober and with a car alarm whining outside my window as cars drive by. The car alarm has finally stopped, and so shall I.
Oops, no, forgot the most important part of all: gratitude. Grateful for all the folks who have helped me along the way. Those in and outside of meetings, who have listened when I was freaking and when I was celebrating, when I was angry and sad, when I was triumphant and when I fell on my face, who attended my weddings - yes that's plural - and helped me through divorces (also plural) - who have been there for me no matter what. Whether for a brief time or a long time. Without all of you and all your love, I would be sunk. Also to my higher power that I choose to call whatever - it changes all the time - and sounds so ridiculous in words and yet is there for me whenever I ask and no I can't explain it and yes it sounds absurd, but there it is and part of it is all of you. So, thank you. You all know who you are.
I have had a lot of thoughts and feelings about everything, but because I am afraid that everyone is being so reactive and that is not helping, I don't want to just add to the cacophony.
However, yesterday I celebrated the 30th anniversary of my sobriety and feel I should mark this kind of astonishing milestone somehow. When I last had a drink or drug, Reagan was President, there was a Soviet Union and a Wall in Berlin, most people including me still wrote on typewriters and even if some did have personal computers, there was no public internet; we had no cell phones and used landlines with receivers that were connected to the phone by a cord, and I had a cheap rent in the Haight in San Francisco. I was 23 years old.
The journey from there to here has been a bumpy one - I don't think anyone can live thirty years without bumps. The thing is if you are sober for a long time the best description I've ever heard of that experience is: no windshield. Alcoholics are born without shock-absorbers. There is biochemistry to support this, but that is the effect. Add to that traumatic experiences in childhood on, and you kind of have an addict and/or alcoholic-in-waiting. Some people avoid this fate, but many don't.
I didn't.
However, my drinking story is not that interesting, nor is anyone else's drinking story that interesting - at least not to me anymore. What interests me is finding ways to live sober, without the windshield and without taking it out on everyone else.
This is what preoccupies me, and what I have succeeded at in the technical sense for 30 years (aka no alcohol or drugs) but in terms of living a serene life or whatever, not so much. I mean I have to some degree, and I have meditated for over 20 years, practiced yoga for 16 years, done years of therapy, etc., not to mention going to meetings with people who are struggling to do the same kind of thing. All of this helps. And without all of this I doubt I would still be sober or possess whatever shred of sanity that I do.
However, loss still tears me apart. Another reason I haven't written is the grief over losing David, and then compounded by losing my step-grandmother recently, plus the country arguably, or at least whatever I thought democracy was meant to be. I feel exposed in the rawest way. Sometimes I can cope and sometimes - usually when in yoga class - I can feel deep vital parts of me shifting. I am being shorn of any pretense of pride or whatever, of any sense of "knowing" things. Does this make you wise or just insecure? We will see.
I do feel underneath all of this something is emerging, and I am being forced to surrender to forces larger than me on a daily, sometimes minute by minute basis to move through. Sometimes this can even feel good. A lot of times I feel edgy, sometimes raw, sometimes like everything kind of just itches - not literally - but just - it's uncomfortable.
Sometimes I write about it, but recently I haven't been writing that much either. That field seems to need to lay fallow. It feels almost abusive to try to write now. I have been writing at an almost machine-like pace for years now, and I've hit the end of that line. The good news is I seem to want to be out in the world a bit more.
My fractured foot also has played a large part in my awkwardness this past year. I was unable to move for months without pain and now can move but still can't walk the endless way I used to walk, which was and is my favorite exercise. I feel I became almost agoraphobic, and am now peeking outside of that.
Meanwhile, through all of this, I am sober, and that is a miracle, because all of what I am describing would have been reason enough to drink - a lot. Though to be honest, breathing was enough of a reason to drink a lot most days I drank, so there's that. But the fact I can move through all this massive discomfort that feels like it's probably growth and who really wants that at 53 I ask you? Not me, I assure you, but I seem to have no choice. In fact this endless 'growing' bit appears to be the wages of sobriety. Apparently, if your tendency to mute the effect of all that wind hitting you in the face because of having no windshield is to drink and you stop drinking, or doing whatever else you used to get you through the night, then you are doomed to constant 'growth.'
Growth.
Sounds so lovely, so healthy, so fabulous, right?
Hahahahahahaha.
Think about it. Look at toddlers falling over when they try to walk. It's cool, because they are little and people are encouraging them all the time. But imagine doing this - on an emotional level - at 53. You kind of feel - well - stupid. My experience of long-term sobriety is like being a toddler over and over and over and over again - or like a snake shedding its skin, except when the old one goes there isn't a new one underneath right away. That kinda thing.
I'm not complaining - though goddess knows this sounds like complaining - just kind of trying to give you the felt sense of it. Because if you know any clean and sober people, you probably think they are batshit crazy, and you are probably right. Just remember, if we were drinking, game over. We may even on the surface have seemed a little more normal when we were drinking - until a certain point, but then...disaster, not only for ourselves but anyone around us.
For the vast majority of you lucky enough to not be alcoholics or addicts, just remember when dealing with your sober friends that we are wandering around with literally thin skins and everything is hitting us at 11. In my case that includes sounds, smells, visuals, emotions, tastes. It's like living in a hyper-reality.
There are some benefits to this of course, especially if you happen to write, make theater or art or music of any kind. You can be available on levels that are amplified. On the other hand, it can be hard - if not impossible - to turn down this level of sensitivity. I imagine therefore most of us seem hopelessly self-absorbed, and sometimes, yeah, we are. but sometimes, we just Can't Turn Down the Volume on life while it's hitting us like a motherfucker.
At those moments, I tend to retreat. But then can feel isolated and want to come out, but then feel agoraphobic because have retreated, etc. Weird cycles like that.
But I am also exquisitely attuned to the people to whom I am listening, whether in meetings or classes or with friends. I have learned tools over the years that I think makes me a good friend, especially not giving out advice unsolicited and even being cautious when it's solicited. I find most people - including me - don't want to be fixed, but rather want a sympathetic ear.
I do my best to help others who are trying to live without drugs or alcohol. I also do my best to put voices and work out into the world that might not be heard or seen otherwise.
I am not mentioning politics, because honestly, what's the point? Everyone is talking about it all the time, and I have nothing great to add. I only hope we keep trying to listen to one another and don't block off avenues of communication. The rest is too scary for me to even attempt to write about right now. All I know to do is what I have done with the seemingly impossible foe of addiction: surrender to what I am powerless to change and to work my ass off to change the things I can. I know it seems counter-intuitive, but the surrender has to come first, because if I'm putting energy into trying to change what I can't, I have zero energy to change what I can.
Right now, I am glad I live a life based on the concept of living one day at a time, because I could not cope with any of this otherwise without recourse to better living through chemistry.
I miss David so much it hurts. I miss in some ways my youth and ability to believe my own bullshit or was that confidence? In any case, right now I am tired. It is 4:12am. I don't know what else to say, and not sure anything I have said is worth a damn, but here it is. March 4, 2017. 30 years sober and with a car alarm whining outside my window as cars drive by. The car alarm has finally stopped, and so shall I.
Oops, no, forgot the most important part of all: gratitude. Grateful for all the folks who have helped me along the way. Those in and outside of meetings, who have listened when I was freaking and when I was celebrating, when I was angry and sad, when I was triumphant and when I fell on my face, who attended my weddings - yes that's plural - and helped me through divorces (also plural) - who have been there for me no matter what. Whether for a brief time or a long time. Without all of you and all your love, I would be sunk. Also to my higher power that I choose to call whatever - it changes all the time - and sounds so ridiculous in words and yet is there for me whenever I ask and no I can't explain it and yes it sounds absurd, but there it is and part of it is all of you. So, thank you. You all know who you are.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Hilarious meditation moments
Yeah, so like, I usually meditate by myself in my study in Inwood, which means a lot of times I am meditating through loud salsa music, screaming children, sirens, fights on the street, etc.
So, now I'm at Kripalu, right? I have a view of a lake and the Berkshires outside my window. Yep. And I'm typing right here, sun shining on the water, creating light diamonds on the lake, the whole bit.
I go to the meditation room, which has the same stellar view.
I see shoes outside. Oh, no, I think Someone Else is In There!
I had the place to myself last time I was here...interloper, etc. I do know this is insane, just FYI, but these thoughts continue apace.
I also want to smuggle in my coffee and am afraid there will be a nitpicky meditator in there who may take umbrage. Worse, they might have An Electronic Device...
So, when I go in there is a smiling young woman taking photos with her phone of beautiful view. She scurries out when she sees me - because I am there to ya know Meditate. I feel slightly smug and smile graciously. I am in fact relieved. Room to myself again. Sanctuary. Mind you, as of now, I don't even have a roommate in my own room so could have meditated here, but nooooo, I need the Meditation Room...damn it. So I can practice Loving Kindness meditation....bwahahahaha.
But OK, so I read my daily books that remind me how to live and not act like an asshole - which I sometimes remember to do every once in a while. Then I sip my contraband coffee...oh and please note any Kripalu alums, they now serve coffee In The Dining Hall for breakfast. In the Dining Hall!
(This is radical if you ever came here back in the day when there was No Coffee, and if you needed it, like I did, you had to bring it yourself. The first morning I was here, I walked into dining hall with my own filter with ground coffee in it, so could get the hot water. I felt like I was bringing heroin into a rehab. One woman was smiling at me like she was on acid. Because breakfast is silent I couldn't ask her why. I felt a silent shunning from others. This may have been in my head...Later on, when we were in a sharing circle, I met this woman, Anne, and she told me she was smiling because she had smuggled her coffee in as instant in a bag that looked like tea whereas I had walked in with coffee For All to See. She thought I had been brave. We became fast friends...So...fast forward from 2003 to 2016 and they are serving coffee in this same dining hall. Times they do change...and of course now coffee is good for you again...)
So, back to meditation room...I have begun meditating - after getting all the pillows Exactly Right. I am happy to be back in this sacred room, which was the site of some profound and healing insights in December 2014, when Someone Else Walks Into the Room. I feel myself bristle inside (while attempting loving kindness meditation....bwahahahahahaha). I wonder how long will the rustling continue. When will this person Settle Down? Of course it takes about 5-10 whole seconds and she is still. I know she is a she because I sneak a look.
All is well, and I notice that it can be easier when someone else is meditating, too, because I am less figidity. I wonder if she is doing the loving kindness meditation, too. I am feeling happy with myself that I am So Tolerant of Another Person meditating in My Meditation Room...when...she starts Breathing. Loudly.
Not loudly, loudly.. but audibly. I realize she is doing some kind of pranayama (yogic breathing). I think hey yo this is a Silent Meditation Room Homie, what up?? I do not say this of course. I sneak another look - alternate nostril breathing - obviously to settle her down. I do that sometimes. But I'm Not Doing That Now! Because it's Silent Meditation...etc...
I then almost burst out laughing when I remember the amount of disruption I'm used to meditating through. But I notice that comparison doesn't help because I can't stop thinking Silent it's Supposed to be Silent here. Don't mess up my Vibe man...
If you were there and heard how not incredibly loud her breathing was, you would have laughed at me. Hard. ... I keep breathing and attempting to Let It Go, using Loving kindness mantras such as "Let me be free from enmity" - which I am saying pretty non-stop actually...then remember even more helpful things like: this too shall pass, which pretty much as soon as I thought that, it did. She had just done this breathing for about 2-3 minutes max.
Silence ensued. I was still irritated because felt I couldn't reach for my coffee, which I'm not supposed to have in that room anyway, but finished out meditation relatively happily, then noticed the lovely birdsong, and birds, watched the clouds go by slowly and watched the light change on the lake as the clouds moved across the sun. I wanted to have the room to myself again, but I was done so left it to her. Even though she is an interloper!
Then I came back into my room - after having taken 6:30 yoga and had breakfast before meditating - and took a sort of nap.
The message that comes to me over and over again here right now is: do less. Do Less. Do Less.
Which is why instead of racing around to every little workshop I've spent the late morning just looking out this window to a gorgeous view and remember how grateful I am to be here.
Also for great luck in not having a roommate at least so far.
Peace out from the Berkshires...what a gift.
So, now I'm at Kripalu, right? I have a view of a lake and the Berkshires outside my window. Yep. And I'm typing right here, sun shining on the water, creating light diamonds on the lake, the whole bit.
I go to the meditation room, which has the same stellar view.
I see shoes outside. Oh, no, I think Someone Else is In There!
I had the place to myself last time I was here...interloper, etc. I do know this is insane, just FYI, but these thoughts continue apace.
I also want to smuggle in my coffee and am afraid there will be a nitpicky meditator in there who may take umbrage. Worse, they might have An Electronic Device...
So, when I go in there is a smiling young woman taking photos with her phone of beautiful view. She scurries out when she sees me - because I am there to ya know Meditate. I feel slightly smug and smile graciously. I am in fact relieved. Room to myself again. Sanctuary. Mind you, as of now, I don't even have a roommate in my own room so could have meditated here, but nooooo, I need the Meditation Room...damn it. So I can practice Loving Kindness meditation....bwahahahaha.
But OK, so I read my daily books that remind me how to live and not act like an asshole - which I sometimes remember to do every once in a while. Then I sip my contraband coffee...oh and please note any Kripalu alums, they now serve coffee In The Dining Hall for breakfast. In the Dining Hall!
(This is radical if you ever came here back in the day when there was No Coffee, and if you needed it, like I did, you had to bring it yourself. The first morning I was here, I walked into dining hall with my own filter with ground coffee in it, so could get the hot water. I felt like I was bringing heroin into a rehab. One woman was smiling at me like she was on acid. Because breakfast is silent I couldn't ask her why. I felt a silent shunning from others. This may have been in my head...Later on, when we were in a sharing circle, I met this woman, Anne, and she told me she was smiling because she had smuggled her coffee in as instant in a bag that looked like tea whereas I had walked in with coffee For All to See. She thought I had been brave. We became fast friends...So...fast forward from 2003 to 2016 and they are serving coffee in this same dining hall. Times they do change...and of course now coffee is good for you again...)
So, back to meditation room...I have begun meditating - after getting all the pillows Exactly Right. I am happy to be back in this sacred room, which was the site of some profound and healing insights in December 2014, when Someone Else Walks Into the Room. I feel myself bristle inside (while attempting loving kindness meditation....bwahahahahahaha). I wonder how long will the rustling continue. When will this person Settle Down? Of course it takes about 5-10 whole seconds and she is still. I know she is a she because I sneak a look.
All is well, and I notice that it can be easier when someone else is meditating, too, because I am less figidity. I wonder if she is doing the loving kindness meditation, too. I am feeling happy with myself that I am So Tolerant of Another Person meditating in My Meditation Room...when...she starts Breathing. Loudly.
Not loudly, loudly.. but audibly. I realize she is doing some kind of pranayama (yogic breathing). I think hey yo this is a Silent Meditation Room Homie, what up?? I do not say this of course. I sneak another look - alternate nostril breathing - obviously to settle her down. I do that sometimes. But I'm Not Doing That Now! Because it's Silent Meditation...etc...
I then almost burst out laughing when I remember the amount of disruption I'm used to meditating through. But I notice that comparison doesn't help because I can't stop thinking Silent it's Supposed to be Silent here. Don't mess up my Vibe man...
If you were there and heard how not incredibly loud her breathing was, you would have laughed at me. Hard. ... I keep breathing and attempting to Let It Go, using Loving kindness mantras such as "Let me be free from enmity" - which I am saying pretty non-stop actually...then remember even more helpful things like: this too shall pass, which pretty much as soon as I thought that, it did. She had just done this breathing for about 2-3 minutes max.
Silence ensued. I was still irritated because felt I couldn't reach for my coffee, which I'm not supposed to have in that room anyway, but finished out meditation relatively happily, then noticed the lovely birdsong, and birds, watched the clouds go by slowly and watched the light change on the lake as the clouds moved across the sun. I wanted to have the room to myself again, but I was done so left it to her. Even though she is an interloper!
Then I came back into my room - after having taken 6:30 yoga and had breakfast before meditating - and took a sort of nap.
The message that comes to me over and over again here right now is: do less. Do Less. Do Less.
Which is why instead of racing around to every little workshop I've spent the late morning just looking out this window to a gorgeous view and remember how grateful I am to be here.
Also for great luck in not having a roommate at least so far.
Peace out from the Berkshires...what a gift.
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Notes from Retreat Limbo
I've arrived at Kripalu, a place I find wonderful to be at to restore myself, and usually arrive in mid-week, but have arrived on a Sunday, when it's All Change and The World Does Yoga (apparently)...so, while usually a room is available when I arrive, this time: no.
So, I am at the cafe waiting for my room, sipping coffee, looking over a lake in the Berkshires. Even this site isn't working properly to write this post.
Mercury in retrograde anyone? Yikes!
So, here I am, listening to people who work here gossip (nicely) in the cafe...and wondering whether I should be attempting to look in or look out for the last minutes before my room becomes available.
I think I need to stop starting paragraphs with 'so'. And perhaps this would be a good moment to meditate on Expectations...
I Expected my room to be available. (Even though it's not officially available until 4pm). I Expect to have a time as special as my last one...I may or may not.
So, (there's So again!), I think I'd best consider surrendering my preconceived idea of how this 'should' go and roll with however it does go. In my experience so far in life, when I do that, things go better. Within reason.
Plus: there is coffee. My brain is returning.
Plus: bus ride was fun and I met a young woman named Rachel who lives near me in NYC and goes to the same yoga studio I do in Washington Heights.
Plus: I'm looking at freaking Lake in the Mountains and have a few days to do Whatever I Want...that is a luxury no matter what.
Plus: I don't have to make food or do dishes!
Plus: I'm inside where it's warm when it's raining and cold outside.
Plus: did I mention: there is coffee?!
So, I think I'll be just fine thank you very much. I think there is a new moon tonight, too, so I can take that as a good sign as well (ok so new moon was yesterday, but close enough for jazz?) New beginnings of all kinds. Apparently Mercury in retrograde isn't All Bad if you're not trying to get a lot of detail shit done. It's a good time to think more deeply and recalibrate. So, perhaps, it would be good to get off of the computer - once I have a room - and do that.
Note to self: Do Not Communicate with Agents or Publishers for the next few days. Allow yourself Not to worry about all the freaking details. This is a Really Bad Time for that.
Maybe: celebrate the fact - finally - that I finished draft of book and now can relax, maybe even breathe...and allow in the next stage...this is a time to be attenuated andnot muscling through to Get to the End of something...
This may be a good time to consciously unwind. However, I wish I wasn't sitting next to this conversation between two sweet-seeming but very young 20-somethings talking about best practice spirituality...
I am definitely 52.
I am definitely not in my 20s.
The 50s are not the new 20s. And for that - let me put this on record - I am extremely grateful.
I was kind of a mess in my 20s. I'm not perfect now, but at least I'm not in my 20s.
If you are reading this and you are in your 20s, don't worry. You are probably way more together than I was. You also have the benefit of a shit ton of energy. I hope you use it well. I hope you don't surrender your will and your life over to some other person who you think for Whatever reason is better than you, more spiritually evolved, smarter, Whatever. They aren't. Trust me. They are not better than you. (Also, I am allowed to say 'they' now even though I said other person singular, because even the Washington Post says that's ok, so there.)
Also, do What you Want - you people in your 20s - this is the time to do that. Don't compromise. Yes, be responsible but include in that sense of responsibility, responsibility to your own damn deeper Self. Again - see above - don't take Anyone Else's word for what that should look like. Preferably: don't get married. Wait. Believe me. Just try to wait. Unless you really want to get married, then don't listen to me, because who the fuck am I? Just some 52 year old waiting for her room at a yoga retreat in the Berkshires...
My cursor marker is behind the cursor...that's a metaphor for something...you decide.
OK, gonna go check and see if my room is available again...and it's not...so you're stuck with me for a bit longer.
I will begin to discuss another subject close to my heart - this study about how traumatic childhood experiences can impact your health - not just mental but also physical - throughout your life. While it was hard to read, it also resonates with my recent experiences with a weird series of health things popping up and my inner sense I've had for ages of being a ticking time bomb, which is the phrase used in this article to explain the bodies of adults who had these kinds of childhood experiences whose bodies then suddenly implode on them - usually in their 40s or 50s - including with heart disease and many other more minor things. So, I'm not crazy or a hypochondriac, I was just sensitive to some deep, internal stuff. Good to know. I won't go into the details because the article is so comprehensive.
However, I qualify, and my body and life experiences have acted accordingly. Apparently the best antidotes include meditation and EMDR. I have been meditating for 20 years and have to assume that plus the intense therapy and other things I have done to address core issues is the reason I'm not batshit crazy and my heart seems OK so far. The amazing thing is no matter whether people are alcoholics, addicts or clean living, these Same health effects happen to people who experienced difficult childhoods, especially if the issues were ongoing, even if not the overtly terrible. So, if you either had that kind of childhood or know someone who has, I would highly recommend reading the article. My husband was really grateful to read it, because he said it made a lot of ways I respond to things make more sense to him. This is a huge relief to me.
I didn't even know about the childhood traumas as biologically manifesting was a thing until I went to a GI doctor for first time a couple months ago and he asked me point blank, without drama, so were abused as a child? I said yes, and we talked a bit about that. He asked if I had this or that symptom and how bad. He looked perplexed. I then happened to mention that I meditated. He smiled and nodded and said, Oh, that's it! I asked, what? He said, that's why your symptoms aren't as bad as they should be. I had been a riddle to him until I mentioned the meditation.
My joke has always been 'meditate or medicate' - and now I know - it ain't no joke.
So, to whatever power/s that led me to meditate that first morning, imperfectly, for 20 minutes, with a cigarette and coffee in 1995 or 1996...and then led me to the same sofa corner again the next day and the next and the next...every day since, I am so grateful. I don't know how I've managed to be so self-disciplined about this, but it has grooved into my life like taking a shower or brushing my teeth. I don't leave home without it, as we used to say back in the day about some stupid credit card...[a moment to reflect on how fucking weird the 1970s were...again.]
The reason I think the study about physical health effects is so important, is it Finally gives the lie to the mind-body dualism and gives Western cred to the need to address the Whole patient. That GI doctor is the First doctor in my Whole life that ever asked about my childhood. Ever.
Sometimes doctors ask you about symptoms: are you depressed? Which to me is like asking how long is a length of string. I answer no because I do not intend to take antidepressants. I meditate, do yoga, take walks, make art. I don't take drugs or drink and don't intend to become a client of the pharmaceutical state. If anyone is suicidal, of course, by all means, take Whatever will get you through the night. Whatever. Because the next day will be different...somehow. But I have rarely been suicidal, and the times were brief - and solved by either getting off certain medications or changing up things in my life or calling someone I trust implicitly or - as happened in the mid-90s - meditating.
By meditate btw I don't mean esoteric woo-woo. I mean just fucking sitting there, with eyes closed or soft-focused and Not Doing Anything. That's it. Your thoughts can go anywhere they like. Just Don't Do Anything About it...and eventually they slow down, or make you sad and you cry or make you mad and you steam or make you want to jump out of your chair but you don't and... eventually... something shifts. And you feel calmer, even if for a fraction of a second - for that fraction of a second, you see that you aren't held hostage by your thoughts or feelings, but they are like clouds or weather systems...just passing by. You are the atmosphere...or sometimes, on really good days, the whole freaking cosmos (I Rarely have those days)...
And as a spiritual mentor of mine wisely told me back in the day when Reagan was still prez, "Sometimes when you have what you think of as a 'bad' meditation - meaning mind racing, etc. - you have a calm day, and after you've had a serene meditation, you can have a crappy day." Truer words were never uttered. (This same person also told me when I called her all blissed out because I'd said a prayer to some inchoate higher power and thought that had taken my menstrual pains away - "Sometimes your Higher Power doesn't take the pain away." - like I said WISE - because I remembered those words and they saved me from some pretty dire places much later in life.)
So, if you are reading this and think, I can't meditate. Oh, yes, you can. If I can meditate, trust me, so can you. I am the world's Least Likely Meditator. But I do it. Every day. I meditated in NYC on 9/11. After the Towers had come down. You can always sit for 20-25 minutes...and if you can't, try 10 minutes, and if you can't, try 5 minutes...you get the picture.
Or, don't listen to me and find what works for you - dancing, walking, drawing, writing, Whatever...but do it every day and let it allow you to hear where you are and sit with it long enough to know it won't kill you and you don't have to keep running from yourself, your emotions, your nattering voices filled with self-hatred or resentment or rage or fear...nor do you have to run from beauty and love and good feelings. It's all OK and - you don't own a damn thing.
That's the beauty part.
Am I at a yoga retreat much?
Bwahahahahaha!
Do I act on all of the above? yes and no. I do meditate every day, but I most certainly do not carry the wisdom of that one action into my whole day. If I did, I'd probably have blown off the planet in a puff of smoke by now. I'm just another bozo on the bus as they say...
I just sit sometime during every day...and let myself become aware of who and what I am and am not.
Apparently, according the article mentioned above, this has probably saved my life.
The rain has stopped - no I didn't make that up I swear. The clouds are whisping by the mountains, green close up, blue-grey as they recede into the near horizon.
Is my room ready?
Ah, before checking, last thing - and this is going to seem hilarious as a segue - but if you know me, you'll know this is a kind of signature wheel of fortune thought process that I share with some other Gemini friends. You know who you are...
And the subject is: (drum roll please) Bernie Sanders.
What?? Politics?!
Yes. Politics. because that matters, too. Oh yes it does.
Because Bernie Sanders supporters, journalists report, say to them a lot, when gathered in rallies, "Now I know I'm not alone." This is huge, because this means for the first time since probably the 1930s (during the Depression that ushered in FDR - as most of you probably know), people in This Country (USA) are beginning to understand that their financial struggles are Not Indicative of a Personal Failing!
This horse hockey - that anyone who is poor or struggling is somehow personally deficient and should just Get Their Shit Together - has been the bread and butter propaganda - spread with the advent of the Age of Reagan in 1980 by the 1% to hold the 99% in a kind of eternal Stockholm Syndrome of Shame. So that everyone believes they can Somehow Get Rich and if they aren't, They have Failed...
I think the Sanders revolution is the beginning - well in some sense the culmination of Occupy but in terms of mainstream politics the beginning - of a real shift in awareness here. That the system is rigged in a small portion of rich folks' favor and Only Group Action can undo that.
As soon as individual Americans really begin to understand that we are not alone and shed the Shame of Struggling/Poverty/Bankruptcy because of Health Issues or Going to College - there are a gonna be a lot of Really Angry People, who will be Just as Angry as Bernie...and maybe, maybe, even in or book, bought and sold electoral system, we can Vote in a change.
I won't go negative about everyone else, except to point out at that Donald Trump will get a lot of the angry people if Sanders isn't on the ballot, because people are really, really, really sick of politicians who are bought and sold by banks and other people's money. Trump is a racist, dangerous asshat, but he's a self-funded racist, dangerous (bordering on fascist) asshat, so he says whatever he wants.
Yes, I said that, too...I could go on more, but I'm checking about my room again...Hope for your sake, it is here.
Room still not here, but will end this anyway...This is what comes of a room not being available right away, and actually, I've enjoyed finally writing all this...
So, am gonna say goodbye because room will be available in 15 minutes at the latest...and I hope to begin the Nothing Doing bit...
So, I am at the cafe waiting for my room, sipping coffee, looking over a lake in the Berkshires. Even this site isn't working properly to write this post.
Mercury in retrograde anyone? Yikes!
So, here I am, listening to people who work here gossip (nicely) in the cafe...and wondering whether I should be attempting to look in or look out for the last minutes before my room becomes available.
I think I need to stop starting paragraphs with 'so'. And perhaps this would be a good moment to meditate on Expectations...
I Expected my room to be available. (Even though it's not officially available until 4pm). I Expect to have a time as special as my last one...I may or may not.
So, (there's So again!), I think I'd best consider surrendering my preconceived idea of how this 'should' go and roll with however it does go. In my experience so far in life, when I do that, things go better. Within reason.
Plus: there is coffee. My brain is returning.
Plus: bus ride was fun and I met a young woman named Rachel who lives near me in NYC and goes to the same yoga studio I do in Washington Heights.
Plus: I'm looking at freaking Lake in the Mountains and have a few days to do Whatever I Want...that is a luxury no matter what.
Plus: I don't have to make food or do dishes!
Plus: I'm inside where it's warm when it's raining and cold outside.
Plus: did I mention: there is coffee?!
So, I think I'll be just fine thank you very much. I think there is a new moon tonight, too, so I can take that as a good sign as well (ok so new moon was yesterday, but close enough for jazz?) New beginnings of all kinds. Apparently Mercury in retrograde isn't All Bad if you're not trying to get a lot of detail shit done. It's a good time to think more deeply and recalibrate. So, perhaps, it would be good to get off of the computer - once I have a room - and do that.
Note to self: Do Not Communicate with Agents or Publishers for the next few days. Allow yourself Not to worry about all the freaking details. This is a Really Bad Time for that.
Maybe: celebrate the fact - finally - that I finished draft of book and now can relax, maybe even breathe...and allow in the next stage...this is a time to be attenuated andnot muscling through to Get to the End of something...
This may be a good time to consciously unwind. However, I wish I wasn't sitting next to this conversation between two sweet-seeming but very young 20-somethings talking about best practice spirituality...
I am definitely 52.
I am definitely not in my 20s.
The 50s are not the new 20s. And for that - let me put this on record - I am extremely grateful.
I was kind of a mess in my 20s. I'm not perfect now, but at least I'm not in my 20s.
If you are reading this and you are in your 20s, don't worry. You are probably way more together than I was. You also have the benefit of a shit ton of energy. I hope you use it well. I hope you don't surrender your will and your life over to some other person who you think for Whatever reason is better than you, more spiritually evolved, smarter, Whatever. They aren't. Trust me. They are not better than you. (Also, I am allowed to say 'they' now even though I said other person singular, because even the Washington Post says that's ok, so there.)
Also, do What you Want - you people in your 20s - this is the time to do that. Don't compromise. Yes, be responsible but include in that sense of responsibility, responsibility to your own damn deeper Self. Again - see above - don't take Anyone Else's word for what that should look like. Preferably: don't get married. Wait. Believe me. Just try to wait. Unless you really want to get married, then don't listen to me, because who the fuck am I? Just some 52 year old waiting for her room at a yoga retreat in the Berkshires...
My cursor marker is behind the cursor...that's a metaphor for something...you decide.
OK, gonna go check and see if my room is available again...and it's not...so you're stuck with me for a bit longer.
I will begin to discuss another subject close to my heart - this study about how traumatic childhood experiences can impact your health - not just mental but also physical - throughout your life. While it was hard to read, it also resonates with my recent experiences with a weird series of health things popping up and my inner sense I've had for ages of being a ticking time bomb, which is the phrase used in this article to explain the bodies of adults who had these kinds of childhood experiences whose bodies then suddenly implode on them - usually in their 40s or 50s - including with heart disease and many other more minor things. So, I'm not crazy or a hypochondriac, I was just sensitive to some deep, internal stuff. Good to know. I won't go into the details because the article is so comprehensive.
However, I qualify, and my body and life experiences have acted accordingly. Apparently the best antidotes include meditation and EMDR. I have been meditating for 20 years and have to assume that plus the intense therapy and other things I have done to address core issues is the reason I'm not batshit crazy and my heart seems OK so far. The amazing thing is no matter whether people are alcoholics, addicts or clean living, these Same health effects happen to people who experienced difficult childhoods, especially if the issues were ongoing, even if not the overtly terrible. So, if you either had that kind of childhood or know someone who has, I would highly recommend reading the article. My husband was really grateful to read it, because he said it made a lot of ways I respond to things make more sense to him. This is a huge relief to me.
I didn't even know about the childhood traumas as biologically manifesting was a thing until I went to a GI doctor for first time a couple months ago and he asked me point blank, without drama, so were abused as a child? I said yes, and we talked a bit about that. He asked if I had this or that symptom and how bad. He looked perplexed. I then happened to mention that I meditated. He smiled and nodded and said, Oh, that's it! I asked, what? He said, that's why your symptoms aren't as bad as they should be. I had been a riddle to him until I mentioned the meditation.
My joke has always been 'meditate or medicate' - and now I know - it ain't no joke.
So, to whatever power/s that led me to meditate that first morning, imperfectly, for 20 minutes, with a cigarette and coffee in 1995 or 1996...and then led me to the same sofa corner again the next day and the next and the next...every day since, I am so grateful. I don't know how I've managed to be so self-disciplined about this, but it has grooved into my life like taking a shower or brushing my teeth. I don't leave home without it, as we used to say back in the day about some stupid credit card...[a moment to reflect on how fucking weird the 1970s were...again.]
The reason I think the study about physical health effects is so important, is it Finally gives the lie to the mind-body dualism and gives Western cred to the need to address the Whole patient. That GI doctor is the First doctor in my Whole life that ever asked about my childhood. Ever.
Sometimes doctors ask you about symptoms: are you depressed? Which to me is like asking how long is a length of string. I answer no because I do not intend to take antidepressants. I meditate, do yoga, take walks, make art. I don't take drugs or drink and don't intend to become a client of the pharmaceutical state. If anyone is suicidal, of course, by all means, take Whatever will get you through the night. Whatever. Because the next day will be different...somehow. But I have rarely been suicidal, and the times were brief - and solved by either getting off certain medications or changing up things in my life or calling someone I trust implicitly or - as happened in the mid-90s - meditating.
By meditate btw I don't mean esoteric woo-woo. I mean just fucking sitting there, with eyes closed or soft-focused and Not Doing Anything. That's it. Your thoughts can go anywhere they like. Just Don't Do Anything About it...and eventually they slow down, or make you sad and you cry or make you mad and you steam or make you want to jump out of your chair but you don't and... eventually... something shifts. And you feel calmer, even if for a fraction of a second - for that fraction of a second, you see that you aren't held hostage by your thoughts or feelings, but they are like clouds or weather systems...just passing by. You are the atmosphere...or sometimes, on really good days, the whole freaking cosmos (I Rarely have those days)...
And as a spiritual mentor of mine wisely told me back in the day when Reagan was still prez, "Sometimes when you have what you think of as a 'bad' meditation - meaning mind racing, etc. - you have a calm day, and after you've had a serene meditation, you can have a crappy day." Truer words were never uttered. (This same person also told me when I called her all blissed out because I'd said a prayer to some inchoate higher power and thought that had taken my menstrual pains away - "Sometimes your Higher Power doesn't take the pain away." - like I said WISE - because I remembered those words and they saved me from some pretty dire places much later in life.)
So, if you are reading this and think, I can't meditate. Oh, yes, you can. If I can meditate, trust me, so can you. I am the world's Least Likely Meditator. But I do it. Every day. I meditated in NYC on 9/11. After the Towers had come down. You can always sit for 20-25 minutes...and if you can't, try 10 minutes, and if you can't, try 5 minutes...you get the picture.
Or, don't listen to me and find what works for you - dancing, walking, drawing, writing, Whatever...but do it every day and let it allow you to hear where you are and sit with it long enough to know it won't kill you and you don't have to keep running from yourself, your emotions, your nattering voices filled with self-hatred or resentment or rage or fear...nor do you have to run from beauty and love and good feelings. It's all OK and - you don't own a damn thing.
That's the beauty part.
Am I at a yoga retreat much?
Bwahahahahaha!
Do I act on all of the above? yes and no. I do meditate every day, but I most certainly do not carry the wisdom of that one action into my whole day. If I did, I'd probably have blown off the planet in a puff of smoke by now. I'm just another bozo on the bus as they say...
I just sit sometime during every day...and let myself become aware of who and what I am and am not.
Apparently, according the article mentioned above, this has probably saved my life.
The rain has stopped - no I didn't make that up I swear. The clouds are whisping by the mountains, green close up, blue-grey as they recede into the near horizon.
Is my room ready?
Ah, before checking, last thing - and this is going to seem hilarious as a segue - but if you know me, you'll know this is a kind of signature wheel of fortune thought process that I share with some other Gemini friends. You know who you are...
And the subject is: (drum roll please) Bernie Sanders.
What?? Politics?!
Yes. Politics. because that matters, too. Oh yes it does.
Because Bernie Sanders supporters, journalists report, say to them a lot, when gathered in rallies, "Now I know I'm not alone." This is huge, because this means for the first time since probably the 1930s (during the Depression that ushered in FDR - as most of you probably know), people in This Country (USA) are beginning to understand that their financial struggles are Not Indicative of a Personal Failing!
This horse hockey - that anyone who is poor or struggling is somehow personally deficient and should just Get Their Shit Together - has been the bread and butter propaganda - spread with the advent of the Age of Reagan in 1980 by the 1% to hold the 99% in a kind of eternal Stockholm Syndrome of Shame. So that everyone believes they can Somehow Get Rich and if they aren't, They have Failed...
I think the Sanders revolution is the beginning - well in some sense the culmination of Occupy but in terms of mainstream politics the beginning - of a real shift in awareness here. That the system is rigged in a small portion of rich folks' favor and Only Group Action can undo that.
As soon as individual Americans really begin to understand that we are not alone and shed the Shame of Struggling/Poverty/Bankruptcy because of Health Issues or Going to College - there are a gonna be a lot of Really Angry People, who will be Just as Angry as Bernie...and maybe, maybe, even in or book, bought and sold electoral system, we can Vote in a change.
I won't go negative about everyone else, except to point out at that Donald Trump will get a lot of the angry people if Sanders isn't on the ballot, because people are really, really, really sick of politicians who are bought and sold by banks and other people's money. Trump is a racist, dangerous asshat, but he's a self-funded racist, dangerous (bordering on fascist) asshat, so he says whatever he wants.
Yes, I said that, too...I could go on more, but I'm checking about my room again...Hope for your sake, it is here.
Room still not here, but will end this anyway...This is what comes of a room not being available right away, and actually, I've enjoyed finally writing all this...
So, am gonna say goodbye because room will be available in 15 minutes at the latest...and I hope to begin the Nothing Doing bit...
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Gretchen Peters' music and interview reminds me: earthquakes are disorienting
Just heard Gretchen Peters' music and interview on NPR...she's kind of great, had a crazy ass year in 2010 and her album is called Hello, Cruel World. Sounds melodramatic but her songs and voice are not...somehow seems to relate to a project I may be creating ultimately from this blog...
Also had a revelation listening to her, as she described event after event as 'disorienting' - Oh, Yeah, that's what it is...my life in this case I mean, disorienting - That's why I haven't been able to move forward like a shot through this or that project I planned, writing or otherwise. There have been massive tectonic shifts and I can't just expect to build the old designs on new ground. That's why I haven't done these things yet, not because I'm a slug...anyway, this is an important thing somehow...also I think we are doing a good thing looking at this project from many perspectives...because the ground is still settling or has re-jigged.
If anyone out there has been in an earthquake, I know you can understand this metaphor...Gretchen Peters experienced a flood in Nashville, the oil spill in the gulf and her son telling her he was transgender (he was born female but she refers to him now as her son, which is just great). I think there may have been other things, but this is what I remember. She has already managed to make an album from all that (not literally but working with emotional reality of this), and at first I was about to go down the envy road, but then realized I've had tectonic shifts going on for a couple years now, and the ground is still settling.
These changes, which are so profound and involve things like who I am on very deep levels, are going to affect how I make work...and as these changes began right after my PhD was complete, affects even the so-called more straight-forward academic work, it even affects that. Until listening to Peters, lying down and doing some minor league yoga, I had not really appreciated this.
Who knew a country music star would affect me so much? Fantastic surprise.
I think this realization may also be another benefit of working with Sharon Salzberg's meditation book, which encourages a kind of spaciousness when encountering emotions or thoughts, which involves Recognition, Acceptance, Investigation and Non-Identification. Not that I was doing that directly but had been last night while snuffling and coughing and I think that may have opened me to this moment. This ability to see something from a different angle. It's also a product of working on detachment in a certain group I attend where that is the watchword. Not detachment as in: I'm not here, but as in that spaciousness, that ability to choose, to not be a victim of emotions or thoughts nor to repress them or judge them as wrong or bad or best and good...but as the proverbial clouds in the sky, which is not, ever, The Sky...but are always part of it...and give it its unique flavor...
I'm still coughing away, fever down, voice now audible but quite literally sotto voce, but managed to make it out of the house for a short walk and bring my laundry, which may also have helped open my mind...However, walking along consisted of moments of coughing fits that made people look at me like I was a tubercular lunatic who managed to escape from the 19th Century...but the laundry lady gave me a lollipop, which in my dazed state seemed quite nice. Mind you, I had not seen another person for 2 days. If I didn't have Ugo the Rescue Cat, I would have probably stark raving mad...but he's here, sitting next to me, purring away. He deeply prefers when I type on the sofa rather than the ergonomic desk area. Ah...cat love...(hey give this to me folks, it's all I got right now...)
Monday, February 13, 2012
Meditation is not for wimps or people who don't want to feel
It occurs to me, since I've been talking about meditation a lot in recent posts and because I had a particularly emotional meditation today that I should perhaps dispel some myths about meditation that people may have who have not done it or that I may have contributed to by generally referring to the happier parts of the practice.
I have been meditating daily since 1995 or 1996 - it's a while back and honestly I can't remember what summer it was. I started meditating because I was beginning each day in a state of anxiety that I would usually assault my then-husband with upon waking. We were running a theater company together out of our apartment at the time, and everything I needed to do and thought had to happen Now would rush into my mind when I woke up and I would try to accomplish it all 5 minutes ago and of course he had to help immediately...
I woke up one day and realized, I am crazy now. I have to stop this. So I went to the sofa, sat down with a cup of coffee and perhaps a cigarette, and closed my eyes for 20 minutes. I remembered some basics I had learned from various yoga teachers and other people who had told me about meditation, such as "just let the thoughts flow on by, you don't have to push them away or hold onto them", vague ideas about paying attention to breath and something a woman who helped me in my early days of letting go of drinking said "There's no such thing as a good or bad meditation." With that information, I did what I could and remember a moment or two of calm.
Then, much to my surprise, I did the same thing the next day, and the next day and the day after that...and haven't stopped doing it since. This still amazes me.
I have worked with breathing meditation, loving kindness meditation, my usual dumb-ass meditation (see above), listening meditation, walking meditation...etc. Sometimes saying things in my head, sometimes silent, sometimes focusing on the space between my eyebrows, the so-called third eye, etc...
What started happening at some point, and I don't remember when precisely, is that emotions came up, really strong emotions. I could spend most of a meditation crying or furious or whatever. I haven't yet read the chapter in Salzberg's book about meditating with emotion and will be interested to see what she suggests. However, I decided to do with the emotions what was suggested for the thoughts - let them be. Don't try to move them or push them away or - crucially - hold onto them.
So, today, I was doing another of the Salzberg variations (yes, I think I will - in honor of her meditation virtuosity begin referring to her instructions this way) - and it was a body scan. Paying attention to each part of the body, starting with the top of the head and moving on down.
All was fine and groovy, until I got to my chest - started feeling a kind of buzzy unsettled feeling - the way it has felt a lot recently - like I've been punched and it's healing, sort of...then down further to the abdomen, which was OK but a little sad, then after the back to the pelvic region at which point I began sobbing...and sobbing...and sobbing.
This has to do with my separation from my husband, missing him in a very visceral way and also the sense I have that right now my sexuality is somewhere in deep freeze and my fear it will never come out again and also older historical things...but what I did was not worry about any of that and allowed the feeling. This was not fun, this was not detached in the negative sense of the word, this was hard work and Very, very real..and healing...
But, to move on in the body scan, because I knew I couldn't stay there, I brought back in the five part witnessing process Stephen Cope suggests in Yoga and the Quest for the True Self (a book of sheer brilliance - read it if you are at all interested in healing old wounds for real and not just for show), which is: breathe, relax, feel, watch, allow. I had already done the first three, but the crucial moment was 'watch' - it gave me crucial space between me - the witness - and the emotions, so I could both allow them and also allow myself to finish the body scan through my legs and on down to my feet. I felt it was important not to get stuck.
I then got up and continued my day, which was gentled down to accommodate this emotional time.
So, in case you think meditation is just for people who want to get outside of themselves or for people who want to run away from reality or whatever, may I respectfully suggest that you are wrong. Yes, there are some people who use it like a drug I suppose, but no one I know.
Meditation is practice for noticing and sitting through life, oneself and everything else. This may seem like a small thing, but I'm relatively sure it's why I don't react to every little thing that happens in my life and why I'm still alive and somewhat sane. And also why I haven't ever so far needed to resort to anti-depressants or the like (though I know for some folks, that's necessary, too - so not suggesting that meditation is a panacea, it's just my experience).
Meditation gives me access to the space between my reaction and my response. It's in that space whatever God/dess is or isn't resides...or the Universe or whatever works for you...it's the space of choice, of inspiration, of something besides habitual reactivity.
I am grateful to now be taking this practice seriously again. I have been practicing all along but was frankly getting lazy - letting it be 25 minutes of thinking about what to do when it was over. This was better than nothing, but just. By following Salzberg's directions and letting myself begin again with each breath, doing body scans and allowing mindfulness to come into every day activities, I'm bringing the real power of this practice back into my life.
An example of the exquisite nature of daily mindfulness - after the body scan I took a shower. While showering, I realized I was doing what I usually do in the shower - thinking about a million other things. So, I took a moment to breathe and begin again. I then received the gift: I noticed for the first time ever the delicate arcs of spray coming off of my shoulder - tiny drops that arced in so many little dashes...like watery sparklers, reflecting off the black shower curtain. A prosaic moment became a visual symphony.
Does this take away the pain? Absolutely not. Does it make it bearable and less likely I will act in self-destructive ways to prolong the pain and thereby cause suffering? Absolutely. And sometimes moments of beauty and joy the likes of which cannot be adequately described, and have nothing to do with anything other than being mindful in the moment. As we say in certain meetings I go to "it's an inside job." Indeed.
I have been meditating daily since 1995 or 1996 - it's a while back and honestly I can't remember what summer it was. I started meditating because I was beginning each day in a state of anxiety that I would usually assault my then-husband with upon waking. We were running a theater company together out of our apartment at the time, and everything I needed to do and thought had to happen Now would rush into my mind when I woke up and I would try to accomplish it all 5 minutes ago and of course he had to help immediately...
I woke up one day and realized, I am crazy now. I have to stop this. So I went to the sofa, sat down with a cup of coffee and perhaps a cigarette, and closed my eyes for 20 minutes. I remembered some basics I had learned from various yoga teachers and other people who had told me about meditation, such as "just let the thoughts flow on by, you don't have to push them away or hold onto them", vague ideas about paying attention to breath and something a woman who helped me in my early days of letting go of drinking said "There's no such thing as a good or bad meditation." With that information, I did what I could and remember a moment or two of calm.
Then, much to my surprise, I did the same thing the next day, and the next day and the day after that...and haven't stopped doing it since. This still amazes me.
I have worked with breathing meditation, loving kindness meditation, my usual dumb-ass meditation (see above), listening meditation, walking meditation...etc. Sometimes saying things in my head, sometimes silent, sometimes focusing on the space between my eyebrows, the so-called third eye, etc...
What started happening at some point, and I don't remember when precisely, is that emotions came up, really strong emotions. I could spend most of a meditation crying or furious or whatever. I haven't yet read the chapter in Salzberg's book about meditating with emotion and will be interested to see what she suggests. However, I decided to do with the emotions what was suggested for the thoughts - let them be. Don't try to move them or push them away or - crucially - hold onto them.
So, today, I was doing another of the Salzberg variations (yes, I think I will - in honor of her meditation virtuosity begin referring to her instructions this way) - and it was a body scan. Paying attention to each part of the body, starting with the top of the head and moving on down.
All was fine and groovy, until I got to my chest - started feeling a kind of buzzy unsettled feeling - the way it has felt a lot recently - like I've been punched and it's healing, sort of...then down further to the abdomen, which was OK but a little sad, then after the back to the pelvic region at which point I began sobbing...and sobbing...and sobbing.
This has to do with my separation from my husband, missing him in a very visceral way and also the sense I have that right now my sexuality is somewhere in deep freeze and my fear it will never come out again and also older historical things...but what I did was not worry about any of that and allowed the feeling. This was not fun, this was not detached in the negative sense of the word, this was hard work and Very, very real..and healing...
But, to move on in the body scan, because I knew I couldn't stay there, I brought back in the five part witnessing process Stephen Cope suggests in Yoga and the Quest for the True Self (a book of sheer brilliance - read it if you are at all interested in healing old wounds for real and not just for show), which is: breathe, relax, feel, watch, allow. I had already done the first three, but the crucial moment was 'watch' - it gave me crucial space between me - the witness - and the emotions, so I could both allow them and also allow myself to finish the body scan through my legs and on down to my feet. I felt it was important not to get stuck.
I then got up and continued my day, which was gentled down to accommodate this emotional time.
So, in case you think meditation is just for people who want to get outside of themselves or for people who want to run away from reality or whatever, may I respectfully suggest that you are wrong. Yes, there are some people who use it like a drug I suppose, but no one I know.
Meditation is practice for noticing and sitting through life, oneself and everything else. This may seem like a small thing, but I'm relatively sure it's why I don't react to every little thing that happens in my life and why I'm still alive and somewhat sane. And also why I haven't ever so far needed to resort to anti-depressants or the like (though I know for some folks, that's necessary, too - so not suggesting that meditation is a panacea, it's just my experience).
Meditation gives me access to the space between my reaction and my response. It's in that space whatever God/dess is or isn't resides...or the Universe or whatever works for you...it's the space of choice, of inspiration, of something besides habitual reactivity.
I am grateful to now be taking this practice seriously again. I have been practicing all along but was frankly getting lazy - letting it be 25 minutes of thinking about what to do when it was over. This was better than nothing, but just. By following Salzberg's directions and letting myself begin again with each breath, doing body scans and allowing mindfulness to come into every day activities, I'm bringing the real power of this practice back into my life.
An example of the exquisite nature of daily mindfulness - after the body scan I took a shower. While showering, I realized I was doing what I usually do in the shower - thinking about a million other things. So, I took a moment to breathe and begin again. I then received the gift: I noticed for the first time ever the delicate arcs of spray coming off of my shoulder - tiny drops that arced in so many little dashes...like watery sparklers, reflecting off the black shower curtain. A prosaic moment became a visual symphony.
Does this take away the pain? Absolutely not. Does it make it bearable and less likely I will act in self-destructive ways to prolong the pain and thereby cause suffering? Absolutely. And sometimes moments of beauty and joy the likes of which cannot be adequately described, and have nothing to do with anything other than being mindful in the moment. As we say in certain meetings I go to "it's an inside job." Indeed.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Breath and new beginnings
A brief post to again advocate for Sharon Salzberg's new meditation book (Real Happiness) or at the very least meditation that focuses on each breath as a new beginning.
I did her meditation again this morning after a kind of difficult night, negative thoughts swarming like a low pressure system around my head, giving me a sinus headache, waking me up often. I breathed some late last night, cried some and slept again.
Then in the morning, I did the meditation, really focusing on each breath as she suggests and seemingly out of nowhere a sense, a real, palpable sense of a new beginning, the type I haven't felt since I was much younger, maybe end of high-school, early college days. I was afraid it would evaporate as soon as the meditation ended but it did not. I hesitate to write about it in fear of driving it off. But have decided to treat it as she suggests treating each breath - holding it like something precious - that needs to be held so as not lost, but not grasped at or else destroyed.
I also did her walking meditation inside, then outside. It inspired me to use some of this with my acting class (they're already used to this by now - we start every class with yoga - they know by now they got stuck with the hippie and they tolerate me - some are even quite game...I think I must seems like some strange artefact from the past or maybe the teacher on South Park...). I then asked them to walk like this as a person they had observed outside. It brought up many observations from the students about physicalizing someone else other than themselves - some felt the person differently afterwards, some did not. We then talked about issues of identity and where they live in the body and mind, how many people we are during the day. All stimulated by one question from Chaikin's Presence of the Actor: Who or what is it that you think cannot be seen by anyone - is it still you?
This feeling of new beginning is probably also inspired by working with The Presence of the Actor again, as that was a part of the most seminal moment in my own student-artistic development.
I am aware I will now try to grasp this feeling, hold onto it for dear life, and that will not work. But I am grateful, very, for the release. Many more things seem possible, my cold has lifted (thanks also to homeopathic remedies in tandem with fresh ginger & lemon tea) and I have way more energy than I've had in ages.
Enough energy in fact to change my cat''s litter box finally. I made a decision to change his cat litter, the fact of which he refuses to accept. I don't know whether to laugh or cry in recognition of this total refusal to embrace involuntary change of any kind even if it's for the better. His looks he shot me were withering. J'accuse you horrible Changer of the Litter. I do hear him using it though so the war is - hopefully - over. I had to move the pheromone diffuser to the bathroom - to seduce him back in to the Evil Litter. I am now listening to him in the box though and am realizing the joke may be on me because it's way louder than the other kind. Hmmmm.
OK, enough meditation on cat litter. I hope the metaphor at least was somewhat interesting...
Gotta go now and finish grading homework assignments for my other class at BCC. The fun never stops. Well the truth is teaching acting is fun, really fun...don't tell anyone, my whole martyr thing will stop working.
I did her meditation again this morning after a kind of difficult night, negative thoughts swarming like a low pressure system around my head, giving me a sinus headache, waking me up often. I breathed some late last night, cried some and slept again.
Then in the morning, I did the meditation, really focusing on each breath as she suggests and seemingly out of nowhere a sense, a real, palpable sense of a new beginning, the type I haven't felt since I was much younger, maybe end of high-school, early college days. I was afraid it would evaporate as soon as the meditation ended but it did not. I hesitate to write about it in fear of driving it off. But have decided to treat it as she suggests treating each breath - holding it like something precious - that needs to be held so as not lost, but not grasped at or else destroyed.
I also did her walking meditation inside, then outside. It inspired me to use some of this with my acting class (they're already used to this by now - we start every class with yoga - they know by now they got stuck with the hippie and they tolerate me - some are even quite game...I think I must seems like some strange artefact from the past or maybe the teacher on South Park...). I then asked them to walk like this as a person they had observed outside. It brought up many observations from the students about physicalizing someone else other than themselves - some felt the person differently afterwards, some did not. We then talked about issues of identity and where they live in the body and mind, how many people we are during the day. All stimulated by one question from Chaikin's Presence of the Actor: Who or what is it that you think cannot be seen by anyone - is it still you?
This feeling of new beginning is probably also inspired by working with The Presence of the Actor again, as that was a part of the most seminal moment in my own student-artistic development.
I am aware I will now try to grasp this feeling, hold onto it for dear life, and that will not work. But I am grateful, very, for the release. Many more things seem possible, my cold has lifted (thanks also to homeopathic remedies in tandem with fresh ginger & lemon tea) and I have way more energy than I've had in ages.
Enough energy in fact to change my cat''s litter box finally. I made a decision to change his cat litter, the fact of which he refuses to accept. I don't know whether to laugh or cry in recognition of this total refusal to embrace involuntary change of any kind even if it's for the better. His looks he shot me were withering. J'accuse you horrible Changer of the Litter. I do hear him using it though so the war is - hopefully - over. I had to move the pheromone diffuser to the bathroom - to seduce him back in to the Evil Litter. I am now listening to him in the box though and am realizing the joke may be on me because it's way louder than the other kind. Hmmmm.
OK, enough meditation on cat litter. I hope the metaphor at least was somewhat interesting...
Gotta go now and finish grading homework assignments for my other class at BCC. The fun never stops. Well the truth is teaching acting is fun, really fun...don't tell anyone, my whole martyr thing will stop working.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
gorgeous day and very tired now
I stayed up crazy late last night watching an old-school bio pic of Martin Luther King, Jr. I did that even though I was exhausted. And it was worth it. I had one of those moments I have every once in a while when I'm by myself doing something I'm fairly sure almost no one else would want to join me in doing, and think: this is great! I can just choose to watch this endless thing, kick back and just be here.
I love that.
Got up late, though, and therefore did not meditate before the lovely cleaning lady Leopolda showed up. My friend Julie hires her to come in twice a month, and I never know what to do in these moments, other than smile a lot and offer coffee. So, I went to a meditation meeting instead, which was good, but I still feel the fact I did not do my own meditation, like a tangible lack in my day.
But I met my plane-buddy Rochelle in Central Park - it was her birthday, and in case she's reading - again - Happy Birthday! We walked along the reservoir (see below) and chatted about how we both want to move here from London and hoping we can both work it out. This time I don't have a visa problem, but remember the dilemma well when I first got to London, so wish her well.
The day was blue sky, cool breeze and sunny, just perfect.
I then went to visit my friend Alyssa and her husband Lynn for another Hurricane-Irene-inspired dinner. Many New Yorkers, told to buy 72 hours of food in case power went out, etc., now have incredibly full refrigerators so are making these gorgeous suppers. Alyssa, too, roasted a chicken (like my friend Louise on Saturday night), made amazing vegetables and then Ivanna came along with three types of ice-cream. I did not leave hungry. We spoke of theater, art, politics and how to make theater and a living in NYC. Always a neat trick.
And I saw Bushwick for the first time. See below photo from inside Alyssa's building.
This signals: (a) smart landlord with Spanish as first and English as second language and (b) this area is not gentrified yet. But, I loved it. The view from the J train, which runs overground on the Williamsburg Bridge is fantastic, and the neighborhood - for those of you from London - has a distinct Dalston feel...as in Dalston circa 2000 not 2011, just to be clear. It is now getting the overspill of hipsters from Williamsburg, so will gentrify, as all neighborhoods do fall to this relentless trend. However, because I've lived in multi-racial areas in London for 8 years, the neighborhood as is does not freak me out. I am looking for where I may end up in real life if I move back here (hint: it won't be the Upper West Side unless a strange occurrence happens wherein (a) I win the lottery or (b) I suddenly discover I am related to someone who is about 95 years old and has a rent-controlled apartment. Any Bukoskis out there?? I could be your long-lost great niece!)
I have also received another intriguing lead that could result in a cheap place to live in Bed-Stuy, but as that is in the feelers stage, will leave out details.
So, it's all been about: how to move back to NYC today. I am feeling more and more strongly every day that this is my path. It's exciting and scary, but to be totally honest, mostly just really fucking exciting. And a relief, because I'm finally taking the actions to make something happen I've wanted to do for ages but talked myself out of over and over for various practical reasons and/or fears.
So, wish me luck. My sense of a higher power keeps telling me this: if you jump, I will catch you. I am finally beginning to listen. Though I am hoping this is not that old Jewish fable wherein the father teaches his son he will catch him when he falls, until one day the boy falls and he does not catch him. He tells him that is the lesson - someone won't always be there to catch you when you fall. I suppose I have to hope my higher power is not that guy. Yikes. I think I'll go with another interpretation of that story: the father is a human being and human beings cannot always be trusted. Yes, that is true. Anyway, with this amazing logic, you can see how I can talk myself out of even the most positive emotions and feelings.
Someday, Dear Lord, Someday, could I just be allowed to feel good for a while? Could you please help me stay off my own back? I'm just sayin'....
Lesson: tomorrow, I meditate first thing no matter what...
I love that.
Got up late, though, and therefore did not meditate before the lovely cleaning lady Leopolda showed up. My friend Julie hires her to come in twice a month, and I never know what to do in these moments, other than smile a lot and offer coffee. So, I went to a meditation meeting instead, which was good, but I still feel the fact I did not do my own meditation, like a tangible lack in my day.
But I met my plane-buddy Rochelle in Central Park - it was her birthday, and in case she's reading - again - Happy Birthday! We walked along the reservoir (see below) and chatted about how we both want to move here from London and hoping we can both work it out. This time I don't have a visa problem, but remember the dilemma well when I first got to London, so wish her well.
 |
| a very full reservoir swamping small trees on the bank |
 |
| East Side from the Central Park reservoir plus gushing geyser thing |
The day was blue sky, cool breeze and sunny, just perfect.
I then went to visit my friend Alyssa and her husband Lynn for another Hurricane-Irene-inspired dinner. Many New Yorkers, told to buy 72 hours of food in case power went out, etc., now have incredibly full refrigerators so are making these gorgeous suppers. Alyssa, too, roasted a chicken (like my friend Louise on Saturday night), made amazing vegetables and then Ivanna came along with three types of ice-cream. I did not leave hungry. We spoke of theater, art, politics and how to make theater and a living in NYC. Always a neat trick.
And I saw Bushwick for the first time. See below photo from inside Alyssa's building.
This signals: (a) smart landlord with Spanish as first and English as second language and (b) this area is not gentrified yet. But, I loved it. The view from the J train, which runs overground on the Williamsburg Bridge is fantastic, and the neighborhood - for those of you from London - has a distinct Dalston feel...as in Dalston circa 2000 not 2011, just to be clear. It is now getting the overspill of hipsters from Williamsburg, so will gentrify, as all neighborhoods do fall to this relentless trend. However, because I've lived in multi-racial areas in London for 8 years, the neighborhood as is does not freak me out. I am looking for where I may end up in real life if I move back here (hint: it won't be the Upper West Side unless a strange occurrence happens wherein (a) I win the lottery or (b) I suddenly discover I am related to someone who is about 95 years old and has a rent-controlled apartment. Any Bukoskis out there?? I could be your long-lost great niece!)
I have also received another intriguing lead that could result in a cheap place to live in Bed-Stuy, but as that is in the feelers stage, will leave out details.
So, it's all been about: how to move back to NYC today. I am feeling more and more strongly every day that this is my path. It's exciting and scary, but to be totally honest, mostly just really fucking exciting. And a relief, because I'm finally taking the actions to make something happen I've wanted to do for ages but talked myself out of over and over for various practical reasons and/or fears.
So, wish me luck. My sense of a higher power keeps telling me this: if you jump, I will catch you. I am finally beginning to listen. Though I am hoping this is not that old Jewish fable wherein the father teaches his son he will catch him when he falls, until one day the boy falls and he does not catch him. He tells him that is the lesson - someone won't always be there to catch you when you fall. I suppose I have to hope my higher power is not that guy. Yikes. I think I'll go with another interpretation of that story: the father is a human being and human beings cannot always be trusted. Yes, that is true. Anyway, with this amazing logic, you can see how I can talk myself out of even the most positive emotions and feelings.
Someday, Dear Lord, Someday, could I just be allowed to feel good for a while? Could you please help me stay off my own back? I'm just sayin'....
Lesson: tomorrow, I meditate first thing no matter what...
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