Change or Die!

I am having one of those moments when I am either seeing polar opposites or am seeing in polar opposites.

I am so mindful of the deep, urgent and massive desire that exists for an acceleration in the evolution of consciousness of the masses.  The outcomes we are co-creating as a global collective are moving rapidly down a track that will kill us all.  Gaia will be fine… always has been and always will be.  And perhaps I am at the point where that small voice inside me says: change or die.

The kind of change I”m talking about isn’t at the level of my behaviours or strategies for moving through my world.  They are at the level that one might imagine when consciousness is reconsidering itself and its own creations and tiring of the perpetual collapse of one of its designs.  Perhaps we are tiring of the game of being who we have always been…. determing that if there is nothing else, the game may well be done.

I am mindful, on this day, of the Great Adventure of the Evolution of Consciousness and how it wanders through the terrain of the spiritual…or, as I like to refer to it, the White Light and Forgiveness Trail, taken by so many and leading only to one more dead-end in the road.  It is devoid of the process of acquired information coalescing over time into the creation of that which is greater than the sum of its parts.

And then there is the Use Your Head and Forget the Rest Trail…. taken by so many and leading to a different dead-end, that of losing our sense of play and delight in ourselves and our willingness to go out yet one more day and play again!  Along this trail, there is no room for play….nor is there room to know and yet know that in that knowing, there is so much more to be discovered!  It is not an answer that brings closure, it is another step that makes the next one accessible.

Perhaps the least travelled yet most potent of all, is the I AM the Godforce That I Seek Trail… the one that makes it clear that no other is going to rescue us, fix us or fix our world.  Together, we made this mess.  And only together, can we clean it up!

No Big Eye in the Sky is going to look down on us or, better yet, swoop down from on high and lift us out of the misery of our own creation!  And yet, we wait.  We continue to pray – and allow our generations’ old habits continue to run our lives under the label of ‘reality’.  We continue to look to the heavens – and make the same poor-now-becoming-deadly choices that we made last week, last month, last year… last lifetime!  We continue to lament the misery of our world, seeking to find someone – anyone! – to pin it on that we might comfort ourselves in our own resolve to do nothing different… or differently.

I am no scientist.  I have not spent a lifetime studying climate, carbon emissions and the dangerous (to the planet and all of us!) outcomes of this ancient dance.  And I am also no fool.

I can read.  The internet has given me access to articles, submissions, reports, etc.  that do not require a genius IQ to comprehend.

I can see.  I look out my window and I know intimately the changes in my own small corner of the world.  I follow the changes happening in places I love; and I recognize that we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto!  I will never forget the moment when, after more than 5 trips to Alaska, I found myself weeping at the impossible-not-to-see changes that were rapidly making their way through this stunning beauty.

I trust my instincts.  I know – in that deep and intuitive way – that we are already  well down a path of the destruction of life as we have known it.  I know that death will come in numbers and in waves for which we have no precedent in our ability to comprehend and engage.  And I also know that in that, I am not alone.

And through all of this, the greatest paradox is:  it is as simple as a choice.

During a recent shared meal with my 22-year-old son, I heard him say:  ”You know, Mom, when you were 22, you could look ahead 20 years and know that you’re world would be pretty much the same as it was at that time.  I can’t say that.  I can’t look ahead 5 years and have any sense at all what it will be like.  Between wars and conflicts, melting ice, rising sea levels, bigger storms, drought… and all the things that I don’t even know about, yet!… I know my planet is no longer predictable.”

My son is right.  And how sad it is for me to have to say that.

I choose to make my voice heard!  I hope you’ll choose a way for you to do that, for yourself.

Breathing is good….

Women, Breast Cancer, Food and Men

The entangled threads of my own thoughts tug at notions of women and leadership; women and breast cancer; the need women seem to have to apologize when not agreeing or when finding something lacking; food and its stranglehold on women and their bodies; and last, but most definitely not least, women and men. Were these neatly laid out in some pattern or framework, it would be much easier for me to collect my thoughts, one leading nicely to the next, formed in reason and supported by an obvious logic…..but such is not the case.

It is so much easier inside myself when that neat, logical pathway is there. I can feel confident and comfortable in the tidiness that logic seems to bring to a natural organization of information. However, what moves inside me does not feel like it will lead to answers. It feels much more like pieces of questions that, if asked, will somehow peel away to reveal the much larger, far more important question that is the underpinning of the chaos in my own mind – and THAT will bring some kind of relief by allowing a ‘truth’ to become identifiable so that I can say ‘Ah, yes! There it is! That’s what it’s about!”

Yet, while I ponder how best to proceed, it all just sits there like a large meal taking far too long to digest.

And so it begins with women.

Women. We are an interesting specimen, indeed. We know we are more…we know we want more…and yet we seem so unwilling to just take! We want, but even more we want to be invited to take. Permission given by other than self, that we may be our Self.  Strange notion, indeed!

Add to that the need to include everybody. The need to make sure that others are ok with our desire/need/want to take…even when permission is granted…unable to be/have more than anyone else without ensuring that we have at least, invited and tended to.

Women and men. Our apparent need to find ways to ensure that we do not imply (how dare we!) that we must move forward on our own. That at this time in the world, the vast majority of men will not engage differently because they cannot engage differently! In this moment, far more than not have been taken hostage by their own history and their genetics and over time, they have created eyes that can no longer see. Even though women can see, it is as if we feel the need to apologize for that and be sure to hold tight to the arm of men and insist – despite evidence to the contrary – that so can they.

Breast cancer. It’s not going away. Not only is it not going away, it’s spreading around the world. Glancing through recent observations on screen and in print , it’s clear that there is much more to say about it. However, MY body tells me that there is an urgent need to pay attention. I don’t need anyone else to tell me that.

Women and their bodies. Food. Body. Connected and yet, one not really having much to do with the other. Body shape. Body size. Body mass – or lack thereof. Food as salve. Food as punishment. Food as temporary memory loss. Food as distraction. Food as a way of purging ourselves of the truth of our own lives. Food as the cork in the bottle of our own outpouring of rage. Just how much of it has nothing to do with staying alive…staying well….and has so much more to do with acting out what we dare not engage directly?

And how are they all connected? Because I know they are…

I know that women and our (un)willingness to lead has something to do with men.

I know that women and our need to apologize when we see what they do not, has something to do with men.

I know that women and breast cancer has something to do with men.

I know that women and food and our bodies has something to do with men.

Does that mean it’s about men? It can be – and much more, it’s about women. About how we abandon ourselves. How we pull in and make ourselves small. How we hold our breath so that we cannot be found. How we make ourselves crazy by knowing we are so much more and yet can’t seem to bring ourselves up to our full measure in the event that we tower over another. How we shuffle along, stooped with head down, as we carry on our backs the myths of the obligations and responsibilities that have long defined our purpose in the culture, crippling ourselves in the process and exhausting ourselves on the journey when we have barely begun.

Although it feels like a paradox, here’s what I believe: men don’t need me to take care of them or tend to them or make excuses for them. What men need from me is for me to be real; to claim what I see and engage; to move in the direction and with the speed that is who I am and not be less in my misguided need to coddle them. They don’t need it! They are very much up to reclaiming their own lost territory of Self! And when I do make myself less from my desire to be ‘caring’ and ‘compassionate’ and ‘considerate’, I sabotage it all by losing momentum and focus, and getting stuck in the morass of ‘what is’ when all that ‘could be’ fades into my habits of being. Perhaps we need to redefine caring, compassionate and considerate so that we can give without being consumed.

Women are dying. And men are dying, too. In body and in spirit. Losing interest in living the lives that we have because we cannot give ourselves permission to create the lives that we want.

If women do not break free from the very habits of culture that have taught them to be grateful for their bondage, there is no hope for the men, either. Women MUST make this journey alone and in the company of each other. I walk my path alone – no one can walk it for me – and when I look right and left, I see other women walking their path, alone.

On this trek, there is neither time nor place to carry another. It is up to women to find a new place to stand and take on the shaping and the creating. We must leave base camp and head up the mountain, becoming willing to make the climb on our own, facing its treacherous terrain and inclement weather. Are we up to it?

This is not an easy thing to do since we know that men have been making this climb for generations. “They know so much more about it! They have maps and signposts and tools! Maybe we can bring them with us so that we don’t get lost!” And in doing so, we will only go where they have already gone – and that will not serve any of us.

I have sons. I have a life partner. I have a brother. I have a father. I love them all – and I am responsible for none of them. My sons are their own unique presence and will shape their lives as they see fit. So will my partner and my brother and my father. Regardless of what I think they can be or should be, they define their lives. And the lives they define, I take no responsibility for. It is THIS approach that keeps us all vibrant and strong – and not necessarily in agreement! Individuals choosing to be in a collective, rather than a collective that demands surrender to its lowest common denominator.

The men in my life – the ones I live with and the ones that I have worked with – know that I do not look to them to save me, or carry me or fix it for me or guide me. What they do know is that I am both willing and able to stand alone; and I am also both willing and able to stand beside them and with them as they engage their own journey. I am formidable and do not apologize for it.

Sometimes, it is not about being equal. It is not about more or less. It is about emerging into the unique expression of who I am without self-imposed limitations. After all, if there are no ‘others’ handicapping my creations, my outcomes are truly my own. Lost to me is the possibility of making someone else responsible for what I create and in that,  I am left to face myself.

Urgency vs Panic

A few days ago, I had the opportunity to spend time with some women who are new to me, in my life.  I have become accustomed to spending time with people who know me well through abundant personal contact.  I sometimes forget that what I intend to say and what others hear, don’t always match.  Such was my discovery during this recent conversation.

As we shared our lives, one thought that came into my awareness was my mindfulness of increasing speed in the passage of time; and in the acceleration of interacting, living organic systems – be they the individual or the planet.  I was reminded of having read of the Schumaan Resonance or pulse of the Earth (like a heartbeat) … and how since 1980, this resonance has slowly been rising from 7.83 cycles per second to its current 12 cycles per second!    Not only do I ‘know’ this acceleration reflected in the words on a page in the scientific community, I ‘know’ this as a profound truth in the very tissue of my being.

As we were approaching the end of our evening exploration, I shared with this small group of women my deep and vast sense of urgency.  It caught me off guard when one of the women present spoke to that notion of what I was calling ‘urgency’ with the words of ‘panic’ and ‘terror’. It was a great opportunity for me to stop… take a breath… and revisit:  just what do I mean by urgency?

Certainly, not that!  Despite what I hold to be the great potential of massive change, having a significant impact on my (and your!) world and all of us who walk through it, I have no sense of panic or terror – and I do have a great sense of urgency.

Urgency!  To get on with it; to engage the moment, fully and with 100% of my attention present.  Urgency, to stay mindful and present; connected to my own internal truth as the external truths of myriad others hold the potential to penetrate and take the lead on the deeply personal journey of my life.

Urgency!  To live… engage!… and express fully all that moves inside me.  Being both willing and able to notice that on the holodeck of my experience, nothing presents that is not intended to awaken me to the ‘more’ that I already am – and may not yet have noticed.  Choosing to follow-through and trust the impulse as it moves through my body, rather than second-guessing and seeking outside of myself some nod of approval or agreement… the permission from others that being myself is indeed, acceptable.

Urgency!  To take the breath that presents in the moment and not try to pass it by for the next.  To breathe and relax and let go… into the unknown of my safe and expansive Universe, that I might better know more of ME to be its living expression.

Urgency!  To say what’s on my mind, in the moment that it moves… and not seek to wait for the ‘right’ time or the ‘optimal’ time or the ‘best’ time… but to know that the passage of time is the unfolding of my life; choosing to live fully right here/right now, rather than wait for the next invitation to do so.

In the urgency of my being, there is no good/bad, right/wrong, there is only the power of potential and the grace of opportunity, leaving me to determine how much or how little of each, I might embrace.

For me, urgency is a measure of the intensity of my great desire to LIVE!  It recognizes that life is all about living – not thinking about living; and it reminds me that the only moment that I can know, for sure, will be mine is THIS one.  What do I intend to do with it?  Who do I intend to allow myself to become, from it?  If not now, then when?

I am so grateful for that brief yet profoundly moving moment with another whose Great Adventures has intertwined with my own.  I now know mySelf more than I did in that moment; and I am even more wiling to accelerate this path… with urgency.

Breathing is good….

 

 

 

Losing Faith in Organized Religion

Once again, allegations of institutionalized child abuse perpetrated by the clergy of the Catholic Church fill the news. This time, Europe is awakening to what we for all too long have not wanted to see or hear or know as a truth in our own experiences:  we are a species that cannibalizes our young.

I’ve written about this in many other times and spaces.  It is never far from my awareness because of the nature of the work I do.  My life is filled with competent, resourceful and successful adults who still carry the scars – and sometimes, festering wounds – from times long-ago that rest  just below the surface of their enviable lives.

For more than 25 years, I’ve been working with adults whose lives have been deeply, deeply scarred by their experiences of being children.  Far beyond the notion of being prey to some dark and faceless presence that leaps out of the bushes and steals them away, children’s greatest harm is far too often at the hands of those supposedly charged with their greatest of care: parents, babysitters, teachers, pediatricians, school principals, doctors, choir masters, police officers, social workers, family friends, cousins,  aunts and uncles, sports coaches, siblings, therapists… and on and on the list goes.

Men and women, wearing the mantle of our sacred trust (see the list above) have become ‘untouchable’; sit beyond the reach of our willingness and ability to question their behaviours, their motives and their intentions.  Those dressed in the ‘titles’ of their professions live beyond the boundaries of our reproach; sit, unattainably, beyond the reach of the truth of our own experience.  Where did we learn that because someone has a title (doctor, priest, parent, etc) or a degree (knowledge and accompanying credentials ), their righteous rhetoric trumps the truth of our own experience?

In my time of working with others, I have heard stories that have filled me with a sense of rage and outrage; have left me weeping with my clients; have caused me to wonder at our capacity, as a species, for betrayal and brutality; and have laid out clearly, for me, why our world is in massive, pervasive and intensive decline.  We do indeed, reap what we sow.

And we do indeed, cannibalize our young – if not in body then in mind and spirit.  Indirectly, we let them know by our discomfort and agitation that we do not want to hear what they want to tell us.  Directly, we teach them to be silent and compliant in the face of  heinous violation in order to preserve the veneer of our intact lives.  We tell them no one will care… that speaking will bring the pain of retaliation in body (physical assault and worse) and mind (they will be abandoned, left unloved and disconnected from those they rely on for their very existence).

We strip them of their innocence… their capacity to know intimately and trust unquestioningly the innate genius of who they are… and expect the empty carcass to perform according to external standards we impose.  And impose them, we must, for they have lost their ability to determine them, for themselves.  For this, there is a price.  Innocence lost creates fear and confusion.  Innocence taken produces rage!  Our culture reflects this in its diseases of mind and body; and in our inability to trust – ourselves and/or each other.

Communities are struggling with allegations of organized efforts by pedophiles to take the innocence of our children… and their lives.   Whether these lives are taken physically or emotionally, victims are left to struggle for the rest of their lives with their own dark ghosts and agonizing inner conflict.  What might have been a life lived with potential becomes a life lived in the thick and sticky residue of rage mixed with betrayal and self-loathing.

Over these years of working with so many, I have come to one simple conclusion:  we don’t want to know.  We don’t want to see and hear what our children are telling us.  We don’t want to know the truth that awakens in us – having struggled for so long to make it go away! – when the vibration of the truth of our children causes all to begin to move and sway.  We don’t want to deal with what moves inside of us when we are confronted with the greatest of all challenges – that of having to face that there is no one who will take care of ‘it’ or ‘us’; that it is entirely up to us; and that ours are the voices that must find their sound in an undeniable chorus of “STOP!”

I stopped being a fan of organized religion (of any flavour) by the time I was 17.  Perhaps it was the hypocrisy of pontification by the priest, his boozy breath warming the back of my neck as  he inched himself as close as he dared without arousing suspicion, as well.   Perhaps it was the way the nuns bowed and stepped back, as if being second-class citizens were somehow ‘holy’ and meaningful and a great role model for the young women in their care.  Perhaps it was hearing all the other stories around me… stories like those that now fill the airwaves and newspapers… too many and too frequent to be brushed off with a flip of the hand and dismissed through use of shame and humiliation should you dare to speak.  It is so easy to marginalize a truth that does not match the one we want to hear.

As great as my revulsion is for what is occurring (and has been occurring for generations!) throughout the Catholic Church, their situation is not unique.  A greater and far more damaging and terrifying truth lives in the realization that for far too many,  our own homes are equally if not more dangerous than what has become institutionalized in our communities.

There is no greater sacred trust than that of parenting.  And there is no greater violation than that trust, betrayed.  Where does one hide from that?  Where do we run?

Over the years of working with the amazing people whose paths have crossed my own, I have been astounded at the number of ‘fully functioning’ adults who harbor deep and debilitating secrets; who carry the burden of the great shame that does not belong to them; and who have learned to separate their ‘being’ from their capacity for ‘doing’, that they might find a way to navigate a life long ago taken by those charged to protect.

When working with others, I sometimes have this image that comes to mind.. the image of a large, gleaming and beautiful pond… sunlight dancing off its surface… surrounded by the greenest of grass and abundant life streaming through birdsong and colorful vegetation.  And then, in an instant, it is as if the lid is lifted and what lies beneath the surface is a massive, seething cesspool… dark and filled with the stench of rot and puss and decay.  In that, there is nothing that sustains life.  And in that moment, any remaining illusion I might want to have about the myth of the intact family cannot hold its ground in the face of simple truth, openly told.

In this moment, I am clear:  the greatest of myths of intact families is that of organized religion.  The greatest illusion that we seek to continuously perpetuate is that of sanctity and holiness and sacredness… that of having righteousness and the hand of some god as our great permission to cause others to submit to some will, against the truth of their own experience.  In my world, organized religion is the last bastion of external referencing and one whose time has come to be brought into the light of day to be scrutinized and examined for what it is:  fallible, and often broken, people seeking to be seen to be other than what they are.   Mindless and intergenerational compliance will not change our lives or our world.  Mindful, unique choice – guided by the internal cues of the truth of our own experience – will!

No one is coming.  No one is going to protect us.  As sad and as terrifying as that may be, it really is up to us.  What we need to remember is that we are no longer 3; that ‘mom and dad’ – or their current representation of authority – are themselves often damaged and imperfect; and that the only permission I require to stand tall in the truth of my own experience, is my own.

Breathing is good….

Half measures = Whole Life ?

I woke up this morning to this thought:  half measures will never get me a whole life.

Half a marathon will never get me across the finish line.

Half a recipe will never get me a pan of brownies.

Half way will never get me to Hawaii!

Half of my attention will never get me a whole understanding.

How many times in my life have I longed for… strived for!… struggled and strained for… only to tire, lose interest, be overwhelmed, etc… and stop.  In was in the stopping that I lost myself, sliding effortlessly back to where I had been.  At best, I may have gained some incremental change – nowhere near what it would take for me to have a whole life!

Sometimes, it was in realizing that if I continued, I’d get where I said I wanted to go.  Yikes!  How terrifying is that!  Particularly when getting there would mean others would not… or that all I had been in the past would not fit easily into who I was about to become.  It was never the fear of my own evolution but of its perceived consequences that allowed me to ‘fail’ myself.  For each of these, I had wonderful stories about how it was the ‘right’ thing for me to do for someone else.  It was not right for me.

Half now and half later won’t cut it, either.  By the time I get around to the second half, the first half is no longer what it was… and will never be a match for the next.  Life has a way of moving on.  Nothing stands still, waiting for me to make up my mind and choose mySelf.

In my lifetime of working with others – and particularly in the last few years, working with women – I am mindful of how many have longed for ‘transformation’ in their lives; and how few have been willing to do what it takes to get there.  My response to that has always been a simple one:

If you say that what you want is X; and to get X, you have to do A, B and C, doing only A and B won’t get you there.  It’s not good/bad, right/wrong – it’s just a fact!  If you’re not willing to do A, B and C, then you have to get honest with yourself and either do what it takes to get A, B and C; or redefine X.

Not rocket science and yet, how difficult is this for so many of us!

Personally?  I’m taking inventory of my half measures, knowing full well that they’re getting me the outcomes that I have.  Do I like them?  Do I want them?  Is this how the godforce that I AM chooses to live today?  If so, great!  If not, it’s time to revisit X.

Sometimes, what we say we want and what we really want don’t match.  Sometimes, telling ourselves the truth that lies deep within is, indeed, our greatest – and most terrifying! – Great Adventure!  And yet without this, to continue the charade will only leave us pointing longingly at X and investing our lives in telling our stories about why we can only embrace A and B.  And for sure, we’ll display it to ourselves in ways that will make us the protectors of others rather than own that deeper inner truth that is, inevitably, always about us.

In that waking moment, today, that simple and great truth surfaced for a reason.

Half measures will never get me a whole life.  A and B will never get me X.

Time to revisit my math.

Breathing is good…

When does virtue become a vice?

I am so mindful of reactions to and language around those moments when women are perceived to be less than ‘patient’ and ‘understanding’ and ‘caring’. What exactly does that mean?

In a recent chat with a friend and colleague, the thought that kept coming into my awareness was about ‘patience is a virtue’… leading me to wonder: when does a virtue become a vice?

Personally? I think some of these saintly, woman-ly values have become the very ties that have bound women for decades – and caused us to put duct tape over our own mouths.

Much of the conversation that recently took place with a small gathering of women, talking… circled these ideas in ways that were open, clear, honest and direct – in a context of RIG – and very directly challenged the underpinnings of what is ‘good’ and ‘kind’ and ‘just’ and ‘desirable’. I was reminded of when I was growing up and the degree to which those moments of my own unwillingness to roll over and play dead; my insistence that my own voice also be heard; my determination to stay present to what was meaningful for me was termed ‘stubborn’ and ‘pushy’… and the degree to which so much of this was associated with my being ‘difficult’ or ‘uncooperative’; being ‘butch’ or ‘unfeminine’; being ‘selfish’ and ‘not a team player’.

What better way to silence me than to ensure I ultimately choose to silence myself rather than live as a social outcast or one so unattractive/undesirable and offensive to others.

I believe I can be open, clear, honest and direct; I can be present and fully engaged in a meaningful way for myself, in ways that are expressed in a context of RIG. AND, having said that, my voice will be definite! It will be strong and clear and most audible! It will have edges when the requirement is to carve out a life worth living.  And it will reflect the godforce that I AM in every breath.

I invite and expect nothing less from you.

Perhaps we are far too long overdue for an overhaul of the terms that have come to be associated with ‘virtuous’ and ‘desirable’ in the evolution of women.  We may well awaken to a recognition that what we once worked so hard to achieve are, in fact, the evidence of the very ties that bind.

Breathing is good….

Bullying

I read Tanya’s posting and had to move away from it.  As I ‘heard’ the small voice of her son, torrents of memories flooded back into my awareness of a time, not-so-long-ago, when her voice would have been my own.  Although the difference would have been in my son being the one in the schoolyard being harassed/bullied/harmed, both would have been victims.

I took my time.  Had a shower… stared at my face in the mirror, noticing how empty were the eyes that stared back at me… wandered slowly through the house locating purse, laptop, boots, etc… determining that my ride to the office would give me breathing space.

Still very fresh – more than 10 years later – were the memories of countless trips to the school to see the principal… or this teacher.. or that teacher… because yet one more time, my son had been ganged-up on, in the schoolyard.  Perhaps my strongest memory is of that time when he was 9 and in  private school (thinking, foolishly, that somehow this would be better!); making my first trip to a new principal’s office… seeking resolution on a situation where a 15YO had isolated my son at a yard entrance and threatened to beat him up if he ever used that entrance again.  The principal’s approach was one of ‘leave them alone and they’ll work it out’.  I think not!  A 15YO and a 9YO would not be working this out, at all.  Particularly when I discovered that the older child had been expelled from several other schools due to violence.

Her approach was “Boys will be boys… and we just need to let them work things out”.  Just goes to prove that a PhD doesn’t make you smart.

So, we had a chat.  I spent years having chats with people who – in my opinion/experience/etc. – could not/would not see what was under their nose.  Was it their vision?  Or was it the perceptual filters of their own histories that made it impossible for them to see?

As I read Tanya’s words, I was keenly aware of a few things.  I was grateful my sons are now in their 20′s and have acquired skills to manage their lives, differently.  During those many and varied, very trying times, I would sit by myself in my office and weep at my sense of helplessness in making their lives different.  I would cry for my sons, for the other sons, and for the misery in their small lives.

I felt such compassion and deep respect for Tanya, knowing only too well what she was moving through and knowing, sadly, that it would not be the last time.

I felt rage… knowing that one child needing to assault another – for any reason! – was an acquired skill!  One that came from witnessing or experiencing the same in their own lives.  One fueled by fear and/or shame and/or the boundless determination NEVER to be the victim in their own lives.

As much as I do not know the answer, I do know what the answer is NOT.  Resolution does not lie in looking the other way in the schoolyard.  It does not lie in philosophies of ‘boys will be boys’ and we need to let them work it out!  It does not lie in pretending it’s not happening, or changing the subject, or teaching our children to lie or hide.

Like any other mother – whether her son is the bully or the bullied – I want my children to be able to love who they are.  Self-loathing is a recipe for a disastrous life; a life of pain inflicted on self and/or other.  For me, I believed that what I could do was teach my sons – by example and not philosophy – that as much as I could not control the world ‘out there’, I could control my responses to it.  I could say ‘no’.  I could make requests… and keep making them until I got what I wanted!  I could create alternatives to what was being offered.  And when they were very young, I knew that I could choose to stand with them when they made the choice to stand alone.

My sons were taught that because someone is older and taller it does not make them smarter or right.  They were taught “Trust yourself.  Think for yourself.  If someone – a teacher, a coach, a daycare worker, etc. – wants you to do something that feels wrong for you to do, say ‘No thank you.”  If they persist, say “No thank you – and please call my mother.”  And then, it was up to me to show up and run interference in a way that honored me, honored him and respected the people around me.  It wasn’t always easy, it wasn’t always fun AND it was always necessary.

Perhaps in those moments it was not about the immediate outcome because there were lots of times when it sucked!  Perhaps it was about the next breath… how they would choose to take it, or not… and who they would give themselves permission to become.

I think I’ve rambled enough, now.  I need a good cry.

Tanya, you are not alone.

Breathing is good…..

My emerging future…

“Eleven different climate zones generate everything from lush rain forests to arid deserts, black sand beaches to snow-capped mountaintops. The Big Island is Hawaii’s biggest playground.”

I now better understand what so pulls me to the Big Island of Hawaii.  In many ways, I ‘feel’ just like that!

Over my lifetime, some have delighted in but most have been annoyed by my ability to be authentically one thing in one moment and equally authentically something very different, in the next!  Does that make me insincere?  Inconsistent?  Dishonest?

There have been times when I have felt great sadness in what I perceived to be such a ‘negative’ experience of me, by another.  In every breath, being authentically myself has meant being equally volcanic, snow-capped, rain-forested, arid desert, rocky beach and powder soft.  Like the Big Island itself, I am all those and not completely any one thing.

When I am on the Big Island, I feel home!  I feel free to be any and all things – from one breath to the next.  I track for the flow inside myself… for that mercurial state… that takes me from volcanic to oceanic; from rain forest to desert; from scorching heat to snow-capped.  And through it all, all of it is true.

How strange it is to me that we feel the need to collapse one truth in order to hold to another truth.  Is it that multiple truths cannot exist at the same time or is it that we have lost our ability to feel whole in the presence of such complexity?  Have we become so small that we are no longer ‘large enough’ inside, where we live, to be able to make room for multiple truths to co-exist?  As I write this, I am mindful that the Big Island is just that… BIG!  It is larger than all of the other islands, combined.

My life is changing.  Who I have been, who I have become and who I have yet to discover  mySelf to be are all different, all true and all equally authentic.  I have never sought any of it – I have always simply been found by it.

My work is changing.  It’s depth and breadth, it’s range and scope, and it’s intention and manifestation are finding voices of their own.  I still feel and have now felt for some time, the ‘hand in the middle of my back’ to say all that I have to say – to put on CD and video what I know is important to share – and then, to find my silence.  What does that mean?  I have no idea and yet I know it ‘feels’ right.  It feels like rain-forest and  arid desert sharing the same space – and it makes perfect sense to me.

It is interesting to me to watch/experience myself as I know with great certainty where I am going and yet, at the same time, have not a clue of my destination!  I only know that the path I am on will take me there.

In the midst of my own turmoil (easily imagined if I consider rain-forest and desert sharing space!), there is great calm.  In the face of uncertainty, I am definite.

In my movement lies the secret to reaching my destination.  To instead, sit still and think about it; to study it and seek answers about it; and to be unwilling to move without having all the details, will not take me where I need/want to go.

Movement is a sign of life!

In breath, there is movement.

Breathing is good…

Not knowing IS the way

There are moments (like this one) when I realize that I have not chosen an easy path. Even as I write those words, I know I have not chosen (as if it could have been anything else!) but have simply unfolded in the direction that has now become my life.

Something inside presses me to make sense of this for the benefit of others and yet, I decline to follow that thought and trust my body. It needs no further explanation.

It is not a simple task to redefine our state of being. So ingrained – and mindless! – have we become about what we are, the mere thought that we are otherwise is impossible to entertain. Our brains… our minds… our nervous systems spark for a nano-second with the potential and then quickly snuff out any impulse that is counter to what eons of ‘spin’ have left us living: we are not god.

Yet, I know differently. I know that I, like you and every other, is the I AM that we seek. I have not a single doubt, every cell in my body in full and complete alignment with that inner truth. And in so many ways, I stand alone.

For decades, I have sought to find the ‘right’ combination of words; the ‘right’ metaphor; the ‘right’ phrase/story/utterance that could be relied on to ‘pop’ us out of this intergenerational, collective, mind-numbing coma of habituation that we are living. The only thing I can think of that we hate more than being different is someone else who is different. The pressure to conform and homogenize is palpable!

I have lost track of all the books I’ve read, the courses I’ve taken, the things I’ve listened to. I can’t even begin to estimate the thousands of hours of my life that have unfolded in conversations about who and what we are; about ‘self’ and its expression; about connection to the seen and the unseen. My journey began 40 years ago with the last 18 years of my life committed, full time and without interruption, to the exploration and discovery of consciousness, self and the meaning of life. When I read those words, I wonder: how much more?

Perhaps what has brought the greatest degree of frustration, sadness, grief and sometimes hopelessness and despair is to watch many brilliant minds lay out amazing and compelling evidence of a much larger self to be discovered and lived, only to also watch the conclusion become: well, that was fun – now let’s get back to being ourselves! In the blink of an eye, the new and powerful slides off the concrete veneer of our desperate commitment to needing to ‘know’ what we are.

We tinker at the edges of improving our humanity when nothing less than completely redefining our humanity will make a dent in a world in rapid decline. We appease ourselves by what we believe to be the the good effort at incremental change when what we really need is the not-so-good upheaval attached to letting go of all that we have held holy, in our search for the sacred. They are not connected.

The upheaval I refer to is of a kind that might well rear its head were we to be visited by alien visitors and discover that they were the ‘source’ of our creation; that we are indeed a ‘seeded’ population whose origins are in the experimental intentions of another expression of life – and one far more advanced and powerful than our own. Would these then become our latest god? Our creators, our rescuers, our punishers? What would happen to our notions of the existence of god… any god!… to which we have devoted our lives? Who then, would we pray to… seek salvation from… and ask for forgiveness?

That is the type of shift I am mindful of. No tinkering at the edges! When we know what we now know from quantum biology, how can we – even for a nano-second – NOT KNOW that we are the Signal (the source, the creators) streaming through the device of the physical body?

Yes, the body is intelligent as each cell is intelligent; and yes, the body is organic and alive as each cell is organic and alive – and I am NOT my body. I AM is not of the physical but of the energetic; and is always in flow whether through body here or elsewhere. Relative to a physical world, we are indeed immortal. Relative to a far more vast and intelligent universe, we simply are.

So, in this moment, I take another breath and allow myself to let go of all that is not there; of all that is not seen and heard and claimed. In this next breath, I let go of my sometimes great need or desire to be the godforce seeking to engage with other godforces and simply own that the I AM that I am is no longer alone. In this next breath, I turn and walk in the direction of all those other godforces willing to play and trust the innate intelligence of so many who are not.

How do I make sense of that which has no truth in logic?  How do I find words for the unspeakable?  How do I point to that which does not exist in form?  Perhaps none of these matters more than my willingness to just continue to engage!

There will always be another breath… and then another… and another…

Pandemic

It’s been lingering in the background for some time.  In the last few days, its vibration has amped up significantly as Mexico and other countries ‘brace for impact’ of what many have long intended and been waiting for.  

It would be easy to tell a long story about this; to spend time and typing and ‘pages’ in proffering a perspective that would encompass the allopathic medical model, the great adventure of pharmaceuticals, the drama of description and prescription… and as tempting as that might be for one who loves to write and delights in the music of words, I am clear that it is not necessary.  

I learned long ago that without hospitable ground; without an internal state that is conducive to the extended stay of a guest, dis-ease cannot take hold in the body.  The body is the last frontier for the delivery of the message and when we are paying attention to the messages along the way, the need to express directly through tissue is not required. 

Fear creates hospitable ground.  Rage, resentment, vengeance, hatred… all these create hospitable ground.  Secrets kept.  Lies told.  Betrayals perpetrated or avenged.  Grief long held and long silenced.  Distrust – of self and other.  

I have but one Rx to suggest in the anticipation of what is to come:  to engage in open, clear, honest and direct expression – with self and other.  Beyond that, anything else is irrelevant.

Breathing is good….