crying strong...

*

"More than happiness love wants growth, a widening and deepening of awareness...whatever prevents (that may cause) pain... love does not shrink from pain."  Jack Kornfield

Yesterday, counting out important pills the doctor had instructed me was necessary for my health, I discovered a two week shortage. I called the pharmacist in N.S. feeling they could be mailed or sent by FedEx. Yet I was not sure. So in my happy, seemingly no problem life (in the moment, at least) I started to tell her my dilemma. Emotion blocked my voice. She asked, "Are you crying?" When I could speak I told her yes but I had no idea why, other than I felt helpless. Then feeling embarrassed, I apologized. What I did know was the tears had nothing to do with pills or the pharmacist. I had experienced unreasonable stress.

Growing up in my generation I learned tears were shameful and revealed one as weak and a mess. One thing, it was hard on the self-value to be a mess and they seemed only to get me in more trouble. Besides, anyone that cried very long, past a few minutes, would be "cracking up". So for the next numerous decades hardly a tear pass my eyelid.

Then I attended Elizabeth's Kubler-Ross's** workshop on "Death and Dying". The first few minutes she told us to look at the back wall -- Kleenex boxes were from floor to ceiling. She informed us those boxes will be gone when the week is over. My response was, "What is she talking about? And what have I got myself into?" One young woman who had four small children recently learned she only had a few months to live. I had four small children! However, the majority of the seventy participants were not dying but they had their pain -- childhood and adult wounds. These long buried hurts surfaced. Men and women cried. I thought, "Humpty Dumpty is falling off the wall and how is she going to put these people back together."

A surprising thing happened. Tears helped them identify their sources of pain, stress, fear and other emotions. By the end of the week, the Kleenex boxes were gone. The healing that happened was truly "other worldly." And no one was more shocked than myself. I had learned tears and healing are partners. They are flags, sign-post to places in us that are not free and need some loving tenderness.  Rather than "fall apart" I now knew the paradox. Tears heal. We aren't a mess (just feel like it). I won't "crack up" and if I want to cry for a week I will. One of my daughters when younger was crying for some, now forgotten reason. Her brothers had teased her. I watched. Instead of backing down, she advanced stating, "I'll cry if I want because I am crying strong."

An age old belief had been shattered. Tears are our friends. They point the way to inner growth-work, healing and freedom. Growing and learning do not stop but just begin when we leave grade school. Life offers everyone the opportunity and choice to expand our often cramped, wonderful selves, inviting one to clean out darken corners which hunger for light and healing.

Back to the present  -- the pills. What to do? I know from experience to follow the emotion. What did I feel? Nothing much at first except helplessness. I continued the pursuit. Hmm, definitely self-pity -- a much maligned virtue and healing treasure. Does not this hurting need our own compassion and understanding in order to heal? I called someone who was following her own trail of crumbs through a dark wood. We talked. She asked some questions. Describing the situation and hitting some sore spots, the old wound got identified and cleaned. I hung up with more understanding but did I have a greater freedom?

How many Tucson pharmacists will I have to ask the "pill-question" to before I can do it without stress? I ventured forth and wobbled on the first try. By the third, I had the freedom I sought. An ancient friend of mine once told me, "The opportunity to do our personal pain-work leads to the most honored human state, consciousness of Presence."

* Image source: Vyozovskaya - fotolia.com
** referred to in a former writing

I want "that feeling..."

"The feeling is the prayer."  A Tibetan Monk *

I love the feeling of well-being, of that great expansiveness when I dive into the velvet ocean of my natural self, my authentic self.  The feeling of love, of glow, of the magenta sunset on my evening walk or when I stepped out into the eerie light of the rainbow over the mesquite tree several weeks ago. I want "that feeling."

Yet, I wake into an ordinary day. My mind flits through it's activities: breakfast, meditation, walk, library and possibly a visit with a neighbor. There seems to be two of me. One "me" feels ordinary, not down, not up, just ordinary.  The other "me" breathes a different air of beauty, joyful purpose, and such a fun aliveness. I want "that feeling." I wait. I don't have it.

Yet, I do not have to meditate in a isolated mountain hut as I know presence/love has many faces waiting for me in any moment. I also know I too often run interference. In order to stay resonating, I have to listen with my ear to the ground for those hoof beats coming down the track. Feelings have frequency. Love, beauty and presence have a vibration as does carelessness. Too much snacking, "too much" whatever can knock me out of "that feeling." "Goofing off" my daily well-being disciplines, leaking consciousness is like playing a beautiful song off key and it's rarely any fun.

Yet in spite of my misses the great beating heart is never deterred. The soul-sun always outshines the cloud no matter what we do or do not do. So (at the end of the day or in the middle) I might ask, "Where did I have "that feeling"? How do I need to position myself to catch this vibration? What helps me love easier?" Every religion points to it as does every tree, every beloved, every Jesus, every Buddha, every Lao-tzu; as does the flower pot on the window sill and the golden finch looking in on me right now from the mesquite tree. That's the feeling and it is the prayer.

photo source: taken off my deck
* Book by Gregg Braden, Secrets of the Lost Mode of Prayer: The Hidden Power of Beauty, Blessings, Wisdom and Hurt 

It takes a village...

                                 

 "It takes a village to raise a child." This ancient African proverb teaches an eternal truth. It does take a village, family, friends, neighbors, and children to nurture each of us. Islands, we are not.

These words "It takes a village..." have been coming to me this past week. My cousin and her partner left yesterday and this morning I took my youngest daughter to the airport. They each went the extra, caring mile.

Wintering in Tucson, I have lived in this mobile home for ten years. Each year I plan for unexpected repairs. I discovered a good "Mr. Fix It" by the name of Lance. Being independent by nature and having divorced "free help", I resolved never to ask for the latter.  Then, if I can't do it myself after trying five times, I "call Lance."

This year, arriving here at four in the morning, I noticed, when opening my door that it caught on the deck.  I pictured myself arriving next year not able to get in. With no car, no food and neighbors in dreamland, I would be sleeping under the stars. Then the next day, I also noticed little piles of dust in front of my deck steps. Thus, I comfort myself -- after my visitors leave, I will "call Lance."

When my daughter arrives, she notices the deck needs painting -- then notes the "spongy" bottom step. In two minutes she has the hammer, yanking it up. "No, you are not doing that on your vacation.”  A half hour later, at her insistence, the clerk at Home Depot, looks at the step and states, "Ms. you have termites." This is the desert.  How is that possible? We return home with the paint.

A day later my cousin and her partner arrive from Canada. He sees the missing bottom step. An hour later he is on his knees taking up two other steps -- definitely termites.

Then I ask him if I have a door problem.  Now, he is under my mobile home, jacking it up to give it enough room to let the door swing freely.

Meanwhile, my cousin is on the computer showing me how to put my documents, writings, and pictures into the cloud. And my neighbor, seeing, the new steps, brings me over a geranium for decoration.  Later, I was told another neighbor had brought over an electric saw to help get the job done.

My village also cared through the internet this past week. A friend "lends an ear" on Skype and several readers emailed their response to the latest writing, proving I am not posting into a vacuum. My six-year-old grandson comes alive on the iPhone and so do I as he excitedly exclaims, "Grandma, the snow is over your car and I am standing on the top step." Then he proceeds with a most enthusiastic and delightful description of a six-year-old's experience of snow. Quite unlike the adult descriptions, I have heard recently.

What strikes me in it all is -- I did not ask for help. In fact, there was no stopping my village even though, my answer was always, "No, I'll call Lance and do it later." Now I am sitting out here surveying my "estate" from my newly painted deck. Those termites are sprayed to death, my steps are solid; there'll be no sleeping under the stars next winter and my writings are saved in the cloud.

I feel gratitude’s warm glow. I know what this week's writing is going to be -- an eternal truth. Does it not take a village of people caring to nurture us, grow us and ignite our aliveness? This interaction reaches out far more than one might guess. Another light goes on in the universe and God winks again.

People caring -- it does take a village.

finger of the mind...

“You are asked to believe in the invisible, in something beyond all known experience. We ask you to keep the finger of the mind on this awareness of presence. Every time you press that finger on a given inner spot the wishes of your heart will be filled...” paraphrase from the book, Letters of the Scattered Brotherhood

I used to press my physical finger on the back of my grandmother's hand tracing an intricate map of blue lines and wrinkles, which my being four, she called her "stand up roads." I still can feel the love and fascination I felt at the end of my fingers as she sat next to me, a patient and caring presence making my world right and good.

The quote above from an anonymous author says the Divine asks us to "believe in the invisible" which seems a juxtaposition to our visible, material reality. Yet in-turn, I ask the Divine to be as real and tangible as the feeling of rightness, lightness, love and the fresh breeze of presence when pressing my physical finger on my grandmother's well-worn hand. But alas how does that happen.Where is this "given spot", this interior finger I can stretch out in my inner landscape? What inner place allows me, when touched, to experience a "heaven" in small things like the aliveness of early morning light playing on my bed covers as it creeps toward my chin.

Several decades ago, when I came home from Arizona in the spring, I wanted to feel a Love and Intelligence which was independent of what people gave me. I wanted to touch an inner spot that would allow me, even in the traffic of the day to stay alive, to experience this velvet, personal/impersonal love that surrounded me. I did not want to merely exist, going from one thing to another, mindlessly. Busyness, habits, patterns and ordinariness attached to me like iron filings to a magnet.

To find a spot to touch, I needed to create a meeting place inside and outside my skin and return to the same place every day. Living in a three story house, the stairs figured dominantly in my day. In the stairway hung a painting and a plant. I made a deal with myself. "When I start up or down these stairs, passing these two objects, whether I feel like it or not, I will try to press the "the finger of my mind" to a remembered fun or love experience and hope like rubbing two sticks together a flame will ignite."

However, I unhappily discovered, this path was not instant, it had to be worn, built, focused on and attended to. And in spite of my resolve, those stairs remained relatively spirit-less for too long. Some mornings, heading for the coffee pot, I whipped past plant and painting, mindlessly. Other times, these objects did prod me to fling out my thought-finger and eventually I began to be feel a glow somewhere behind my rib-cage.

Finally, I wrote in my journal: "Two or three steps down the stairs I started laughing. With one foot in the air (descending), a love washed over me as rich as velvet and tangible as the physical encounter with my grandmother's hand. A flood of gratitude sat me down on the step. To the seemingly invisible, I could only say, "thank you, thank you."

Now, several decades later, having learned I am more than my emotions, my thoughts, my personality, my identity, I sense the Divine waiting like a lover for me to wake into my minutes and my hours. This love and intelligence has accepted my "deal" to be as real and as tangible as a physical touch which, indeed, fulfills the wishes of our hearts.

image resource: fotolia.com

Lightly child, lightly...

"Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly...even though you're feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days... (and) there are quicksands all about...That's why you must walk so lightly." Aldous Huxley

I have loved these words of Huxley's. Yet, it was just not "presto" learning to "lightly let things happen and lightly cope...," especially in the situations that thwarted or wounded me. I had to grow considerably before discovering a level of living where grace rides gently, leaving me the freedom to follow such wisdom.

Initially, I thought "darkly" only resulted from what happened outside me. Then I learned that was not true. As the cartoon character Pogo observed, "Ah, I have found the enemy. It's me." And it was. Only to discover later, I have the power and choice to do something about me. Starting to hunt those shadow parts, I found their gems of understanding and compassion made a fun friend for myself. My moments were beginning to flow, ebb and dance on a river of taking things lightly.

However, like Huxley, I was, at times, "so preposterously serious in those days." Even little mistakes, too often, were weighted as if they were "crimes against humanity." They certainly did not encourage a "light and merry" anything. Yet, stepping back, I began to notice that some mistakes resulted from naivety, inexperience and lack of development. Some mistakes were simply
"bad calls" which I delightfully learned did not make me a bad person. Identifying these gremlins proved to be solid-gold learners. The universe loves giving out second and third chances. And I love taking them.

However, one cannot force their growth. I'd love to be wonderful and fully enlightened. Yet, trying to arrive before I have arrived is like wanting my emotional or spiritual plant to produce a flower before it's time. Maybe my developmental-stage is first to create a beautiful "leaf".  Accepting where I am
 is comforting and confirming. Then, a wonderful, sacred and growing self comes out to play and I am on my way, again.

Lastly, Tagore like Huxley knew to "feel lightly even though (they were) feeling deeply." The great Indian poet lost his beloved wife, child and dearest friend in a shockingly short period of time. His life changed. Going to the mountains by himself, he wrote poetry from a larger horizon, a more exquisite energy source which each of us is and can access. Thus, spreading my emotional and spiritual "wings on the sails of light and shattering into gold my every clouded thought," no matter how darkly the world seems, I continue to say, " Lighten up, Augusta, lighten up."

photo source: nancy10 - fotolia.com

there are more things in heaven and earth...

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Shakespeare

In the last few weeks several readers have asked, "How do I get in touch with my spiritual guide?* A challenging question for those of us who see material objects with human eyes.

However, there is another way of seeing, feeling with the body, with the mind. An inner seeing, an inner sensibility that swings us out beyond our five or six senses. After all, a dog can hear more frequencies than we humans, a bird of prey can spot a meal three kilometers away. Here at the University of Arizona in Tucson mediums, Tibetan monks and yogis come from all over the world to participate in researching our abilities "to think outside the box" --  to see "outside the box" of conventional wisdom.

Early on, I began to identify that a deeper knowing than my own was operative in my life. In difficult situations, some solutions were smarter than I could "think up." I recognized intuition and instincts served me well but what were they?  I had no idea about guides, yet, began to recognize "larger hands at play." Surely, this caring-compassion that got me through specific difficulties, couldn't be mere coincidence. Thus, I began to say "thank you" to whatever particular part of "God" seemed to be working on my behalf.

Starting to identify the "information" as somewhat separate, experiencing its dependability and caring,  I began to relate to it personally. This energy gradually grew more into a felt form -- very like in a dream when a stranger appears, yet you recognize the energy to be someone you know. Asking questions out of need or curiosity, a thought might emerge that felt a little different, had more weight than another and was indeed smarter than my local self.

Thus, it was natural to begin thinking of this help as a guide. So I asked for a name. A word came to me; I have no idea why, as I had never heard it before and wasn't even sure it was a word. Nevertheless, a name furthered my awareness.  In hindsight, the value of identifying this experience as personal allowed it to work more powerfully in my days. This added presence was life-enhancing and healing.

Years ago, no book could be found on the subject of spiritual guides. Now, go to any book store and there are whole sections devoted to the subject. However, I never lose sight of what we well know, divine guidance is infinite and needs no name, no image in order to permeate our lives.  As "very best friends" do not come highly numbered, neither in my experience do spiritual guides. Yet, in our walk each emits love, healing and Presence.

Note:
For the readers who asked the above question, the following suggestions help me focus.
- Intention: I generally have a need, a curiosity, a question or want more information about a situation.
- I pick a place, a spot that has resonance and meaning for me, be it the kitchen table, outdoors, looking at the stars or on my bed.
- Then settling myself by breathing softly, I ask my question and wait to see if anything comes -- an image, word-thought or feeling. If nothing happens, I might take a guess what the guide could look like in order to stimulate my inner-seeing.
- Then, like a friendship, allow it time to grow.

Photo source: painted between 1850-1899 by Jose Ferraz de Almeida Junior commons.wikimedia.com
*If the word "guide" does not line up with your meaning system, change it. Maybe "helper" or "angel" or some other term will feel more personal.

beautiful and wild forces...

"There are beautiful and wild forces within us." * 

I was brought up as a luke-warm, "had to go to church" Christian. Prayer for me was not much more then words and "Jesus" was a question mark. Saying prayers too often happened without feeling or meaning. After all where did they go -- these words thrown into a fog. Their destination was too invisible, too not there and too not here. Then adulthood came along and turned one inside-out and upside-down in all the human stuff: growing, marrying, parenting, divorcing, and aging. In other words, enjoying and suffering this experiential loop called living.

What I didn't know as a child or as a young adult is that something deeper inside me was being nourished, cultivated, in spite of my inattention -- a heart beat, a hum was emerging which I eventually recognize as Presence, mine and Other. I discovered the feeling of beloveding is the feeling of these "beautiful and wild forces" of which St Frances spoke. This deeper sense of awareness was like gradually falling in love with an aliveness that was intimate, personal, impersonal, faceless and powerful.  And it really does live in my cells and in my chest.

What is this divine force, heart-energy and intelligence I can access, turn too and feel a part of ? I sit here at the desk and wonder why I, the desk and the water in the lake just don't fall off into space. There is certainly nothing seemingly holding us here. This force, in  labeling it "gravity" makes us forget the invisible power that resides in such a little word. Thus, I lose the wonder, the awesomeness that I am actually hanging upside down in space with no nails in my shoes. Why doesn't the whole thing give way? What invisible, caring, compassion keeps it all from falling into space?

What divine intelligence is at work? Everyone I know has ten fingers, a nose and a chin. Imagine. How did that happen? And the exact number! This is the beautiful and wild force within -- a power and relationship available in each of us. It's language, we call prayer.

Praying comes in as many forms as minutes do in a day. Sometimes it's words, sometimes it's the space between the words. In the last writing prayer came in the form of a table grace. This morning, being busy, I will try to bring my non-feeling "in from the cold". This will necessitate getting up from the computer, moving over to the rocker and saying, I am here** on the in-breath and wait on the out-breath for my mind to touch my heart.  Surprisingly, after breathing a few times, my busyness begins to thaw. I start feeling connected. Later, I may be lured out on the deck as those infinite number of frosty, ice-crystals also wait on the rail to ignite my amazement which is a swift road to gratitude, the root and route of prayer.

These beautiful and wild forces speak the language of the heart that unites us all.  I need this understanding, compassion and healing. I take my vitamins daily to keep my body healthy. Maybe praying is like taking my spiritual vitamins daily to keep my Being healthy.

Image source: fotolia.com
* Saint Frances
** Thich Nhat Hanh