Tag Archives: suffering

Feeling So Groovy it Sucks :)

26 Oct

This writing feels didactic and I question why am I putting into words a philosophy of one? I don’t know. Maybe just a sticker on a map. Maybe a look in the mirror. For some reason, this morning, I’m covering myself in a humble patchwork quilt of pieces of practice\al philosophy gathered from one set of feet, one pair of eyes, marching through the time of a life in a body.

It’s okay – I’ll let it flow, for no good reason and then move on to the next thing…

Starting here: No matter how much circumstances seem contrary to okay, life is ultimately okay.

Okayness is true as seen from the small still point inside of me that is never not there.

This still point is within,  a radiant, patient sun inside the solar system of me around which everything in the show revolves. Remembering this point, learning to dwell from this point, gives me the stability of moving within the world with more spaciousness even in the moments that seem chaotic or in crisis. This space accepts me “back” to this point, no matter how long I’ve forgotten that I am dwelling here; thank goodness, it’s always accessible and open for business. We are always here, actually, but there is some aspect of taking on this life that allows us to forget. Mysterious this! 

Life is a ride, “a” not “THE” ride. Here, a clue in the articles – each one of us on a ride, the whole (of me and of us) ride is beyond my comprehension.

It used to seem like a long ride, but it is ever more clear that this ride is not very long at all.

The body has a mind of its own. It is best to recognize this and communicate with it (through it) by learning to dwell in the body’s awareness as much as possible. Wordless wisdom comes through the body suit – profound messages, information, and access to God (our spacious still point again) is through the body, not from somewhere else. Though it may feel like indigestion, a muscle cramp, dread in a seizing stomach, the body has a language all its own. I’ve been learning to inhabit this body garment and finally listen after so many years to the wordless words of a billion cells in symphony to make this ride of me.

I’ve been told I am loved, and I have enormous confirmations of this; however, some dynamic of this ride allows me to forget this, to feel so alone, and so vulnerable to harm, to hurt, to hopelessness.

The shifting of perspective – that’s it – changes what I think is happening. BUT hearing this idea might not help. This life is a 3d riddle, an optical illusion, a Escher painting lived.

What is real is difficult to determine, perhaps impossible to determine, with reason alone. Real is known within – when within is not obstructed by false thoughts which make real difficult to perceive. 

Breath centers.

Center knows truth because it is truth itself – our flame that can’t go out.

Until there is not breath, there is still  a chance one can clear obstruction to truth.

Other people and life circumstance (including leaky roofs, ahmmm) are a reflection of where I am and how I am perceiving. From the center point, I exist from a space from where, in interactions, I have a room that gives perspective in real time. I can see from this spot the deeper thread and zoomed out view at once more clearly  which gives me pause in micro-time before I move with words or action which provides more skill and ease and compassion. When I am not moving from this space, I can observe my tendency to rush or soothe or dismiss or avoid, as well, so all motion in the world is teaching at all times.

This is just some truth from this one spot along the way. Marking the map with “I am Here, Now” this morning, as it rains and shines and the temperature falls and rises – ever instructing our skin.  Blessings for us all, sisters and brothers.  Which version fits today?

spooky parent

22 Mar

world overlook

A few weeks ago:

My heart hurt – viscerally – i felt tight and achy deep in the chest

and it wasn’t my own pain.

I felt around my world, trying to find the source.  I knew, but I couldn’t help wondering how I could feel the pain of another so personally within.

It seems the journey of a parent is the experience of heart ache, in joy and sorrow.  The physical connection is ridiculous.

I think the cells of my two daughters and my cells mingling in the womb still have action at a distance all these years later – what a spooky happening!

Their cells mingle among my own and go off in alarm patterns in their times of stress or hurt or worry or in life crushing/life growing experiences and in big, joyful times, too.   Each intensity of theirs sends signals to the hormone fire stations in my body, who then rush out with the fight or flight chemicals in me.

How come I am tumbling through 16-year-old emotions instead of holding a steady opening?

How come I feel elation, walking through the aisles of the florescent lit grocery?

Sometimes the phone will chirp, and I find out the answer.  Or I may have to wait until the teary face or bounding joy comes bursting through the door, later.

I found myself typing words out, without a care for structure or meaning, just to take the edge off of my achiness, to sooth the hurt of my inability to change outcome or to walk through with them or even for them.  Each girl has all the tools she needs to deal with rejection, depression, re-creation, but it physically hurts in the process – me.  Detachment flies right out the window, of late.

I was overwhelmed again for just living this life, even as the sky hinted of a spring to come.  Two cardinals outside sang and flashed bright red in the bare winter tree for  me as I ran out in pj’s to take the girl downtown so she could teach little ones hebrew, releasing a song in my heart once again.

These girls and I will learn together about carving out the experiences we wish to have.  We will learn and relearn about finding our passions, our energy, our focus, our innate ability to create our thoughts and watch our thoughts turn into our flow.  We learn to find joy in the smallest of things, again.

My heart may take to aching again.  My hands are tied in this.  I allowed the souls of others to grow in my body and nothing I can do will stop the little cells from circulating in my system as these beings walk on through their own time tunnels.

I want to grab their hands and force timeline jumps – to sunny and cloudless skies – but they both get to choose for themselves.  I will walk my path forever entangled with the gift of these overlapping trajectories.

Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists. (not mine)

19 Jan

Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists. (A Course in Miracles)

These lines could come in any form, any teaching, but the truth of them can set us free. More than the golden rule, this shift in perception is an end of suffering.

While Eden and I watched Divergent this weekend, I was struck with how the protagonist was able to maneuver throughout the film by recognizing that the deadly challenges were not real, and in the moment of that realization, all possibilities opened up and she survived.   While she was having these realizations in simulated environments that felt real, I was thinking how this is true for what we think of as real life.  If nothing real can be threatened, then life’s scary spots, themselves,  are not real in the way we think they are –  what is occurring is not perceived in the right way –

Sometimes in traversing our lives, we feel like unmanned sea craft in stormy and treacherous water, but as we learn to separate from the unreal, the ride gets a bit more interesting and fun.  We can still see the unreal, but the threat is no longer there.  We begin to see the shiny lighthouse beacon beneath a foggy coat of confusion.  Those we meet now can often see that we see them and they stand close to bask in spacious place we share under the umbrella understanding of no threat, ever.  This place feels like, for lack of a better word, love.   Love hands us space,  gives us green lights and printed pamphlets; love parks our cars; love soothes confusion. Love promises all of what we can see, rightly now.  Love helps us move out past the threat of harm.

We can know, for sure, that if we are feeling threatened, then we are dwelling in the unreal world of thoughts.  I may be run-over by a runaway bus tomorrow crossing the street, but still, from this perspective, I was not threatened.  I was just run over by a bus, and the larger picture is even clearer to me, now. 🙂  I may take umbrage to a comment that feels as if it belittles me in some way, but this concern for myself is a fantasy, always.  I may lament the aging of this body, the greying hairs, the stiffing joints, the puffy morning eyes, but through the lens of no threat, ever, I can enjoy the process of living in a changing reality that serves to me the experience of nothing staying the same forever – no stream ever stepped in twice.   Life seems to me to begin here, where losing is winning, and winning is just being.

 

 

the ultimate flypaper for human travelers

8 Nov

dreamsofflying     When the oh no arises heavy and dark finding us exposed in a fake olly olly oxen free moment, we long to go hands up into the capture, but mind can’t quite quiet. Under the quilt we settle, side eyeing the stuckness.   First, got trapped toe, then butt got stuck, and now whole right side, fetal position in a dollop of goo. Oh no is wanting to be seen. WE see you; now go away. Not so fast, stuck says. We conjure up a conversation. We bargain away life chips. Silence. We curl up in the lap. We cry. We sooth ourselves by moaning. Oh No has come to teach on its own time. It must be a doozy of a good lesson! Are you feeling game for crawling down the barrel of a cannon facing the deeply poisoned sea? Just you wait for the boom and kersplash. Any minute now, stillness doesn’t say. red rover red rover send jesus right over and buddha and laoTse and Luck for good measure. Huddle up for this self-talk in lieu of wisdom: it could be worse it could always be worse up and atom or is it adam? out to the rice fields out to the marshlands with you and your totem comforts a heart on the sleeve and a mouth reluctant for explanation will get you bruising. tromp on some dirt out of your damn stuck spot – the sun is longing for your skin.

27 minutes

18 Jun

 

I had a knee-jerk response to what I perceived as strangeness with the robe and waterfall, and wasn’t sure I wanted to post, but this teaching did overlap with some dynamics that were unfolding in my little corner.

After I posted and received a few comments,I became uncomfortable.  I debated about removing the video, but the comments section became full of interesting takes on teachers and words and individual paths…The energy there made me leave this teaching up.  In a 27 minute video, there are many words spoken; some of these words resonate, some now seem discordant to me in a new day and new light.

The part that resonates with me is the concept of sitting deeply within for that is what had been on my small fractal menu lately, a pointing to a  field beyond wanting.  It seems there does come a point when all attainment begins to be seen as nice but still ephemeral in its relation to the core flow.  Attainment and loss are naturally arising in life.  Beyond this cycle, there seems to be an awareness that the self sits with the self in rain and snow, and in tears and ache, and in sun and breeze, and in welling up and lazy stillness, and in booming pain and gentle ease.  The perception of anything is allowed to play through while the self remains, no matter what, come what may.

In light of this sitting with anything that arises, sorrow or joy – I sit with the moment of posting this video and the moment of moving on.  I sit with ones who will listen and respond to me with open hearts without judgement.  I sit with myself when I am full of ideas and when I can empty myself out of these ideas.  It is saturday morning, the 21st, solstice, and a particularly clear and simple bird song is coming through my window with the morning light – that sun light that will illuminate my corner of the world for a longest day of the year.  Love to you who venture here.

out of it

3 Apr

 

It is alright,

good even,

to step away.

Ask.

Again and again, if need be.

Why am I here?

Why be here in a world

which I cannot be of

but merely in.

Just to watch?

There is no going back from here.

Forward, or nothing ~

But why?

Do not call the hot line.

They fear such forthright seeing.

They wish for you to keep the question

at bay.

But you and I, we can ask,

and sit

and listen.

There is poetry in the answer given;

be open for anything,

animal, song, wind,  road sign,

to carry the message back to you.

Yesterday, the mystery

served up Chrissie Hynde.

When you know it isn’t your little story

but you can’t quite get out for the stratosphere view –

when you are in a tub of goo –

ask.

You are love but it can be hard to remember.

Lately I’ve been asking, stilling and then

arrives a song from 1984 🙂 on the breeze.

 

 

 

“Show Me”

Show me the meaning of the word
Show me the meaning of the word
‘Cause I’ve heard so much about it
They say you can’t live without it
Welcome to the human race
With it’s wars, disease and brutality
You with your innocence and grace
Restore some pride and dignity
To a world in decline
Welcome to a special place
In a heart of stone that’s cold and grey
You with your angel face
Keep the despair at bay
Send it away, and
Show me the meaning of the word
Show me the meaning of the word
‘Cause I’ve heard so much about it
I don’t want to live without it
I don’t want to live without it
Oh, I want love, I want love, I want loveWelcome here from outer space
The milky way still in your eyes
You found yourself a hopeless case
One seeking perfection on earth
That’s some kind of rebirth, so
Show me the meaning of the word
Show me the meaning of the word
‘Cause I’ve heard so much about it
Don’t make me live without it
Don’t make me live without it
Oh, love, I want love, I want love, I want love

it is a shame

22 Feb

in a heap

The sidewalk opens up,

you wouldn’t believe,

in the most pedestrian of moments;

a swirling confusion

with a gravity all its own

pulls on me as I am

trying to be a human,

forcing myself out of the bedroom,

imagining as if all of this is real.

When I buy into

this body, I am

winking and nudging

unwilling partners – and blushing

from the effort.

My rush for acceptance has me

shuffling off to buffalo

into the orchestra pit,

landing on the violin player

who is Asian,

and svelte,

and oh, so condescending.

Get off, I imagine.

I can’t hide enough

to feel any better –

(the reel still plays within),

but what else are we

to do when

longing stirs

– stuff it down?

That makes me hungry

for dark, espresso cake.

Should I seek a dark corner to nurse

the shame it brings to try?

Am I to step up and play it all out?

I am naked in the park –

a soft and sad animal,

toenails unpainted,

goose pimply and white fleshed –

walk by me with mild

disgust, you.

Yet years of trying to move with

the padded safety gear of

saying scripted words,

doing rote and right motions,

hiding silly mind twists behind a polite smile –

all this does me in

as well –

that is a

calloused clawing crawl

into every night’s dark pit.

I am tired of this divide

I am tired of desire and

splatting falls.

I yearn to be the perfect package

of gleaming rightness.

Who feels the sting of not being that?

Who longs and loathes?

Who stares for hours

into space,

trying to see

the finish line?

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