Storm clouds loom to the Southeast and the Northwest of me this afternoon. It rained all morning. A hard soaking rain poured down onto the bulbs sprouting up in my yard. Runoff dove down the side of the cliff and raced toward the Brazos. Clouds to the South claim with their thunder that this storm may be repeating itself this afternoon. Yet for this moment there is a calming peace accompanied by the promise of a clear sky directly overhead.
This scene as a metaphor for life is not lost on me. To the contrary, I sit at my desk watching a female squirrel acrobatically taking sunflower seeds out of the bird feeder. She has an urgency about her - maybe it's the storm, maybe it's her knowing that I am here, that Nigel the Yorkie could come bursting out of the door at any moment to chase her; maybe she's still nursing the young squirrel standing on the sidewalk not quite knowing what to do.
It is in her urgency that I see myself, her manic addictive urgency to complete this task at whatever the cost, even at the cost of ill health or death. What I don't see in her Godlike animalness, is a thinking and rethinking about what she is doing -- whether or not she's doing the right thing, whether she has prioritized properly for the day. She systematically collects and eats, collects and eats stopping occasionally with keen awareness to check on her baby and look for intruders. Indeed, what before looked to me like urgency I now recognize in her as stalwart focus.
My question is: Does she anthropomorphize - Beatrix Potter style - when she gets home and force herself to feel a sense of relief about the day's accomplishments; or is she really just a little squirrel Buddha that recognizes the concept of accomplishment as simply another form of suffering? It is here that she laughs in my face with her squirrel cum George W. Bush snicker revealing that she doesn't bother with either of these over-thought-out ideas.
I bring all of this up because the other day in a moment of clarity - you know, when you realize that you are not being mindful and just allowing your thoughts to throw up all over you all through the day - I caught myself in a panic. I realized that I had created anxiety about my day and then acted as if checking off my todo list was going to save me and make me feel better thus bringing relief to my anxiety. That's the way the world works, right? That's what the old familiar voice was trying to tell me, "Check it off the list, then you'll feel better, then you'll be safe."
Well, I realized, I'm done with this rollercoaster - up, down, up, down, safe, not safe, relief, anxiety. I recognize my addiction to anxiety and how I create it in my daily life by setting up situations to feel angry, scared, and frustrated so that I can justify feeling relief. Anxiety has been this outlet for me for most of my life. Anxiety has been a distraction, an excuse to create confusion. It has been my kryptonite weakening my attentiveness to self-discipline, self-motivation, and commitment. It has blocked my clarity and hampered my judgment far too long.
Even though I no longer recognize anxiety as part of my identity, it still creeps in when I'm not paying attention. It is not me. It is not a part of this clear moment of cloudless blue skys. It is a part of the storm that whirls to my Southeast and Northwest.
Ms. Squirrel continues her task of pillaging all the bird seed in front of my eyes. She has taught me a simple lesson today about distractions and persistence - that with focus and awareness I can get the job, any job done even with the promise of dark clouds on the horizon.
Friday, May 14
Tuesday, April 20
Unfurling the Flag of Freedom in My Spine, Pt. 1
Scoliosis. The word entered my ears in terror and fear as a young girl, about age 6, my daughter Ruby's age. My grandmother was one of those overprotective women who's body had survived The Depression of the 1930's but who's innocence had been stripped away by lack - the fear of not having enough, and the loss of her father to spinal meningitis at the age of five.
Her early childhood trauma combined with very little familial nurturing created an adult that knew best how to operate within the realms of fear and high drama. As her only granddaughter, I was her focus. She taught me to plan for the worst so that I would be prepared for the worst, for that is how she learned to survive.
Scoliosis, she told me, was a curvature of the spine, and I would probably get it because my mother had it and her paternal grandmother had it. My grandmother did not have it because it was from her husband's side of the family, she reasoned, not hers. She had me regularly checked by a doctor and told me it was important to catch it right as the curve begins because if it is not treated properly - either by back brace or by - God forbid - surgery, I would end up all twisted over with a big hump on my back.
Surgery. The thought sent chills of terror through my body. Having rods placed on either side of my spine sounded like torture. Yet I dwelt on the thoughts, just in case they happened. I imagined differing degrees of severity and how they would effect me and my social life. Would this person still like me? Would that person make fun of me?
I thought about how, depending on it's severity, advanced stages of the disease could affect me early in life - for the rest of my life. With this information, the good Girl Scout I was wanted to be prepared so I imagined myself with a big old hump on my back, just in case it did happen. I thought how I would not be one of the ancient old ladies hunched over in church; I would be more like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, only female, coming down from my tower immortally grotesque to ogle boys that would only spit back at me.
Like Ugly Betty I persevered. Before too long it came to pass - I was wearing a back brace. Mine was the first back brace fitted at Scott & White hospital in Temple. It was clear the doctors there did not have much experience treating scoliosis. They molded a back brace cast onto my body many times before they made one that fit me properly. This took many weeks of my family driving me the 2 hours to the hospital for the fitting and hour after hour of grueling skin tear and bleeding.
Her early childhood trauma combined with very little familial nurturing created an adult that knew best how to operate within the realms of fear and high drama. As her only granddaughter, I was her focus. She taught me to plan for the worst so that I would be prepared for the worst, for that is how she learned to survive.
Scoliosis, she told me, was a curvature of the spine, and I would probably get it because my mother had it and her paternal grandmother had it. My grandmother did not have it because it was from her husband's side of the family, she reasoned, not hers. She had me regularly checked by a doctor and told me it was important to catch it right as the curve begins because if it is not treated properly - either by back brace or by - God forbid - surgery, I would end up all twisted over with a big hump on my back.
Surgery. The thought sent chills of terror through my body. Having rods placed on either side of my spine sounded like torture. Yet I dwelt on the thoughts, just in case they happened. I imagined differing degrees of severity and how they would effect me and my social life. Would this person still like me? Would that person make fun of me?
I thought about how, depending on it's severity, advanced stages of the disease could affect me early in life - for the rest of my life. With this information, the good Girl Scout I was wanted to be prepared so I imagined myself with a big old hump on my back, just in case it did happen. I thought how I would not be one of the ancient old ladies hunched over in church; I would be more like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, only female, coming down from my tower immortally grotesque to ogle boys that would only spit back at me.
Like Ugly Betty I persevered. Before too long it came to pass - I was wearing a back brace. Mine was the first back brace fitted at Scott & White hospital in Temple. It was clear the doctors there did not have much experience treating scoliosis. They molded a back brace cast onto my body many times before they made one that fit me properly. This took many weeks of my family driving me the 2 hours to the hospital for the fitting and hour after hour of grueling skin tear and bleeding.
Thursday, March 18
Imagination Revived and Revised
A few days ago Ruby asked me a question and I zipped my mouth closed. She laughed and I unzipped my mouth to laugh with her. In a few minutes she asked, "How do you do that?"
I answered that everyone had a zipper on their mouth, she just hadn't found hers yet. Then she said something like, "You're making that up. That's not real!"
"That's not real! That's not real!" I cried?
I can't believe it, she's only six! It's not already happening, is it? Has she already given up on imagination? Is she heading down the dark hall of "REALITY" in full throttle?
I told her that imagination fuels every movie that's ever been seen, every fairy tale that's ever been written, and all the advertisements that are made (well, maybe not ALL the advertisements.) Commercials are the thing that sends her Dad to Dallas every day, he uses his imagination and then gets to come be with us at the Ranch every night.
Imagination is everywhere. I explained to her that there are two kinds of people -- those that honor their imagination by creating and those discard and distrust their imagination. The distrustors must rely on the creators who tell the stories, paint the pictures, and dip into an infinity, a treasure trove of expansive ocean fronts and way out wests. The creators hold the title to their imagination real estate.
Ruby's eyes lit up and her smile sparkled. I felt the shift when she gave herself permission to play without judgment.
"Hey mom!" she said, "You want to play pretend?"
"Sure I do," I said, "you want me to help you find that zipper?"
I answered that everyone had a zipper on their mouth, she just hadn't found hers yet. Then she said something like, "You're making that up. That's not real!"
"That's not real! That's not real!" I cried?
I can't believe it, she's only six! It's not already happening, is it? Has she already given up on imagination? Is she heading down the dark hall of "REALITY" in full throttle?
I told her that imagination fuels every movie that's ever been seen, every fairy tale that's ever been written, and all the advertisements that are made (well, maybe not ALL the advertisements.) Commercials are the thing that sends her Dad to Dallas every day, he uses his imagination and then gets to come be with us at the Ranch every night.
Imagination is everywhere. I explained to her that there are two kinds of people -- those that honor their imagination by creating and those discard and distrust their imagination. The distrustors must rely on the creators who tell the stories, paint the pictures, and dip into an infinity, a treasure trove of expansive ocean fronts and way out wests. The creators hold the title to their imagination real estate.
Ruby's eyes lit up and her smile sparkled. I felt the shift when she gave herself permission to play without judgment.
"Hey mom!" she said, "You want to play pretend?"
"Sure I do," I said, "you want me to help you find that zipper?"
Thursday, March 11
Creating Space in My Brain
You're really not wanting to limit beliefs because belief is just perspective, and the more beliefs or the more perspectives or the more attitudes, the bigger the vibrational kitchen from which you can make your pie. Just get so good at directing your Energy that the belief doesn't dominate. -- Abraham-Hicks
Meditation has become a daily part of my life. It started innocently enough as my connection and participation in the beloved Lenten practice of, "giving something up." I didn't want to give up coffee, tea, sweets, or fried foods. This is not to say that those are not noble things to give up during Lent, indeed they are. The point of the practice is to connect yourself closer to God. Whatever pops up in your head, whatever your intuition tells you its time to give up -- go with that. My intuition, that voice in my head that I identify as Spirit, told me to give up the overwhelm, the confusion, to instead create space in my brain.
It began simple enough. I have a playlist with all of David Elliott's breathing meditations. Each varies in lengths from 7 minutes to 30 minutes so I have choices, options, depending on the amoutn of time I have that day to meditate. By the end of the second week I created a couple of my own playlists to add to the mix -- ones with songs that uplifted me -- songs that raise my vibration and open my heart when I listen to them.
A week into the meditation the voice told me, "this is good but you have to commit to 6 months." I couldn't help but feel like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill working with the Master. I dropped the anticipation of being done with meditation in 40 days. Indeed, there is no Girl Scout badge for me to iron on my vest saying I had completed this task.
Meditation is the practice of directing your energy, of drawing it in and learning from it, of asking it. Jesus said, "If you knock, I will answer." Meditation is my walk down the path, the way I engage with my Energy as it comes up are my prayers. The more I engage with it the more I believe. My faith -- faith in myself, that I am supported, that I am love, and that the Divine has an investment in me strengthens with every breath. The oven is warming up. The smells from the kitchen are Divine.
Meditation has become a daily part of my life. It started innocently enough as my connection and participation in the beloved Lenten practice of, "giving something up." I didn't want to give up coffee, tea, sweets, or fried foods. This is not to say that those are not noble things to give up during Lent, indeed they are. The point of the practice is to connect yourself closer to God. Whatever pops up in your head, whatever your intuition tells you its time to give up -- go with that. My intuition, that voice in my head that I identify as Spirit, told me to give up the overwhelm, the confusion, to instead create space in my brain.
It began simple enough. I have a playlist with all of David Elliott's breathing meditations. Each varies in lengths from 7 minutes to 30 minutes so I have choices, options, depending on the amoutn of time I have that day to meditate. By the end of the second week I created a couple of my own playlists to add to the mix -- ones with songs that uplifted me -- songs that raise my vibration and open my heart when I listen to them.
A week into the meditation the voice told me, "this is good but you have to commit to 6 months." I couldn't help but feel like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill working with the Master. I dropped the anticipation of being done with meditation in 40 days. Indeed, there is no Girl Scout badge for me to iron on my vest saying I had completed this task.
Meditation is the practice of directing your energy, of drawing it in and learning from it, of asking it. Jesus said, "If you knock, I will answer." Meditation is my walk down the path, the way I engage with my Energy as it comes up are my prayers. The more I engage with it the more I believe. My faith -- faith in myself, that I am supported, that I am love, and that the Divine has an investment in me strengthens with every breath. The oven is warming up. The smells from the kitchen are Divine.
Thursday, November 12
Falling
As I sit here and look out over the river, the leaves, confetti-like in their enthusiasm to jump from the trees, fall to the ground to their final sleep. Like faithful followers drinking the poison punch, leaf after leaf falls with the turning of the wind. Soon the trees will stand naked, sleeping too, in a temporary sort of daze until the warm winds come again, next year.
Winter - the "thinning of the veil," a time when nature perfects the concept of minimalism. In the winter there is nothing blatantly grabbing your attention with a myriad of colors and wings like the flowers and insects of the other months. In the winter you have to look for it, search it out. The stillness becomes much more magnified in the winter. It magnifies and stretches and yells and screams beyond our wildest imagination -- if we can hear it. We can hear it. With the passing of every age the veil grows thinner.
My grandmother carried herself with passion, determination and an acidic bitterness for life that compares to meeting a rattlesnake face to face in the mid-day heat of a Texas August afternoon. As her memory slipped away she became more complacent, happier in her daily life,if only because she could no longer remember the travails of those who trespassed against her.
The veil had thinned. As she grew closer to the end of her life, memory or no memory, worldly importances faded and she delighted more in abstract joy without the need to magnify the darknesses she perceived around her. As the veil thinned she let more light into her life. Just as the leaves jump from the trees, thus allowing more light between the branches - thinning the veil, and thinning and thinning until it is no more.
Winter - the "thinning of the veil," a time when nature perfects the concept of minimalism. In the winter there is nothing blatantly grabbing your attention with a myriad of colors and wings like the flowers and insects of the other months. In the winter you have to look for it, search it out. The stillness becomes much more magnified in the winter. It magnifies and stretches and yells and screams beyond our wildest imagination -- if we can hear it. We can hear it. With the passing of every age the veil grows thinner.
My grandmother carried herself with passion, determination and an acidic bitterness for life that compares to meeting a rattlesnake face to face in the mid-day heat of a Texas August afternoon. As her memory slipped away she became more complacent, happier in her daily life,if only because she could no longer remember the travails of those who trespassed against her.
The veil had thinned. As she grew closer to the end of her life, memory or no memory, worldly importances faded and she delighted more in abstract joy without the need to magnify the darknesses she perceived around her. As the veil thinned she let more light into her life. Just as the leaves jump from the trees, thus allowing more light between the branches - thinning the veil, and thinning and thinning until it is no more.
Wednesday, September 23
Cleanse Day #7
Eating kitcherie and drinking lots of water. Meditated today at 2:45 before picking Ruby up from school. These little things are making a huge difference. It really works! Going to try to be in bed by 9PM. I'm off.
Tuesday, September 22
Cleanse Day #6
Dr. Gregg sent me an updated version of the TLC smoothie for this time of year. He suggests one in the morning and another in the afternoon if you need an afternoon snack.
The recipe for the Late Summer Green Drink that reflects some of these Seasonal modifications is:
1-2 scoops Hemp protein powder
1 tablespoon plain kefir
1-2 cups soy or rice milk ( naturally sweetened )
1 teaspoon of Udo's choice or other balanced 3-6-9 omega oil
1 tablespoon green powder
1 teaspoon chavanprash powder or jam
1/4 cup blueberries and or 1/2 ripened banana
1 cup of pomegranate , pear or plain water
Enjoy!
jane b
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