Integration.

An interesting week. Stories coming to me. So many stories from different people, different avenues. Insomnia struck this week. I ended up on this crazy schedule of going to be between 2am and 4am and waking up between 10am and 12pm. Just not convenient. I can still do everything I do and I was still fairly productive but the sleep just isn’t the same. A few of the nights, I went to bed at 2 and then just lied awake for hours before falling asleep. I don’t feel particularly anxious or anything . Just awake. Like there isn’t enough time to do everything I want to do. Then came the judgment this week. The self judgment. For not exercising enough this week. For not meditating. La di da. This morning I woke and meditated for 15 mns while the coffee was brewing. My thoughts were just racing all over the place. I couldn’t quiet down for a good 10 mns. Then suddenly this thought came into my mind : “I am so angry at white men. I am so angry at this civilization.” Wow. Didn’t even know that was there. No wonder I had been totally irritable for the past few days. It makes sense these emotions really after I heard all these stories of men doing awful awful things. As soon as it hit me, I thought “I don’t have to carry it all. I don’t have to carry all the pain of these stories. I don’t have to carry all the anger.” I went deeper into the anger and felt it. Then it turned into sadness and tears. I jut let the tears be there and then I picked a card from the osho tarot that I have on my altar. INTEGRATION.

The card said “The politics are not outside of you. The politics are inside you.” Wow. And then it went on to say that the bridge between our dual sides is very fragile and very small. If it is broken when we are small ( or even later as adults, it can be broken too) , then we begin to live a life of duality and we are always trying to find that bridge, to rebuild it. The bridge that links the dual sides and makes us whole and integrated. I let that sink in. I really got it. I really got how I am always hanging with one foot on that bridge and trying to balance on it . But it is so thin that I end up falling a lot. So I must continue to strengthen that bridge. For me, there are two things that I know help strengthen that bridge : being in my body ( ie  exercising, dancing etc) and meditation.

It occurred to me last night that if I don’t do these two things, my life feels totally different. The key is not to beat myself up when I don’t do it, but I also want to start looking at these things as important and essential , rather than time taking selfish tasks. It’s such a balance. Lokoing at these things like joyful things to do for me, rather than punishing things I have to do in order to feel whole. They can just be things I love doing and things I value and care about so much that I do them. But the stigma in this culture linked to exercise is so huge that it can be hard to remember that we can do it just because it feels good to us.  I used to do it because I wanted to lose 10 pounds. The only time I ever lost 10 pounds in my life was this past year when I didn’t focus on losing them, and when I just did what I wanted to do and pursued what made me happy. The only time I lost weight was when I worked on the things that were weighing me down mentally and emotionally. I know so many women who, like me, have worked so hard, exercised , exercised and exercised, deprived themselves from food they loved and gained weight from doing it ! It all has to be integrated and it there is resentment or guilt or shame inside of doing these things, it never works. Or if we do it for other people. To please our fathers, our boyfriends, our brothers. To prove the abusers that we are worthy. All these reasons for taking care of ourselves don’t lead to any positive results. They just reinforce our guilt, shame and self hatred.

For me , meditation has been the only thing that helped me slowly release the judgment of myself and other people. Everytime you sit, you can feel the emotions and release them. There was a time period , when I first started meditation when all I did everytime I sat was cry. It was like it was never going to end. But I had a lot of things that I had never allowed myself to feel throughout my life and they needed to come out at some point. Then, meditation became the place where I cried and it sort of defeated the purpose because instead of being where I was at, I began to have fear that I was going to cry during it.

I had to reclaim that space and know that it was going to be whatever it was. Sometimes tears, sometimes numbness, and once in a while, joy. But the beauty of meditation is that the point was to go to the cushion without an agenda. To just sit and like my teacher says “observe, relax and allow.”

Observe , relax and allow has proven to be one of the most helpful things I have ever heard from anyone. You can do it in any circumstance. No matter what happens, you can stop yourself from just reacting by remembering to observe, relax and allow. That’s what we do with the breath and we can do that with everything.

This does not mean be passive in your life. It is a statement that I continuously rediscover and I encourage these of you who read this to just take it on in your life and see what it does for you in your life. It’s easy to think we know what it mean. But just check it out and you’ll see it will evolve and grow over time. It will mean something different as your whole being takes on that state of observation, relaxation and allowance.

These are three states that these who have been hurt and abused in any way shape or form are very unfamiliar with. These are states that are very scary because they are about as far from vigilance as one can go. One thing I saw is that I can have these states in my body, heart and mind. I can be curious (observe), relax in the moment ( rather than tense against it) and allow whatever is there ( acceptance).  Accepting does no mean condoning just like forgiving does not mean forgetting. These terms are very often confused. I didn’t see any of this until I really began to sit with myself. Another thing that really helped me was massage. During massage, I would apply the observe, relax and allow and suddenly my body came into its own wisdom. Without me doing anything.

For the last week or so I can’t stop hearing in my head Angela’s voice saying “it is amazing how things are connected.”

I am not sure what it’s telling me, but one thing I do know, is that as much as I never wanted certain things to happen to me, I would never trade my life and experience for anyone else’s.

I am not sure if that is integration , but it sure feels like I am getting closer to it.

 

There are two types of creators in the world. One type of creator works with objects – a poet, a painter, they work with objects, they create things. The other type of creator, the mystic, creates himself. He doesn’t work with objects, he works with the subject; he works on himself, his own being. And he is the real creator, the real poet, because he makes himself into a masterpiece.

You are carrying a masterpiece hidden within you, but you are standing in the way. Just move aside, then the masterpiece will be revealed. Everyone is a masterpiece, because God never gives birth to anything less than that. Everyone carries that masterpiece hidden for many lives, not knowing who they are and just trying on the surface to become someone.

Drop the idea of becoming someone, because you are already a masterpiece. You cannot be improved. You have only to come to it, to know it, to realize it. God himself has created you; you cannot be improved.

Osho Ah, This! Chapter 1

Tags: healing, thoughts, meditation, life

Elephants.

Last night I had a dream that I was travelling on a highway on an elephant’s back.

We were the only elephant on the highway. Everything else was cars and everything else about the highway was normal.

There was an elephant guide in front and there were four of us in the back.

Everybody was asleep except me looking at the road. Then suddenly the guide fell asleep too and I noticed that we were suddenly going the wrong way on the highway.

All the cars were swerving and honking to avoid us and the elephant was stumping along. The guide wouldn’t wake up and I couldn’t reach the reigns from where I was ( not that I had any idea how to use the reigns to guide the elephant!).

Somehow, I managed to get the elephant to “pull over” and the guide and everyone else woke up and couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Everyone was congratulating me and saying how lucky they were that I was the only one who had not fallen asleep and that I noticed we were going the wrong way on the highway.

I couldn’t understand why I was a hero for being awake but I was grateful to be alive.

Write and you shall receive.

 You should see the mountains out of our windows this morning. They are spectacular. Still so much snow and a bright blue sky. I am going to miss this apartment if we indeed do move to the Golden Gate Bridge city. Wow. I can’t believe it might actually be happening. It is kind of crazy. That I could potentially go to grad school to become a healer.

I will get my interview dates soon and J and I will get tickets. He is going to fly down with me wich is soooo sweet and will definitely cut down with my anxiety level. Also it will be fun to explore the city that we might move to together.

It’s been a rough last couple of days. Lots of self judgment. Bad sleep. Waking up in the middle of the night with sentences from the Angela Shelton script echoing in my head. Thinking about the events. Unable to believe that they are happening and that I actually created the opportunities to make them happen. This is definitely a huge step in my healing.

As J was saying the other day, he has seen me go from healing and telling my story privately to telling and healing with inner circles to telling and healing in public. It is huge. I can feel that I am reaching an edge but I am not sure what that edge is. It’s almost as if on the other side of this, there is a big blank slate and I don’t know what will go on it. It’s as if there was no reason to go on once I am past that huge step of sharing publicly. But of course there is so much on that other side. I am just scared because it is so much unknown. It involves thriving and taking more action. Having more joy. More expression. Being a woman. Feeling like one. It is so foreign from the experience I have had for most of my life when I was encased in silence, fear and zero positive beliefs about myself.

Lately when the demons surface, they don’t stay as long but they come on stronger. It’s frightening.

Lots of crying. Yesterday, sitting on my yoga mat , before yoga, I just lost it. I felt I didn’t really know why. Part of me was thinking how mediocre I am at everything I do. It is not true and I can see that now that I have had a bit of space and a good 24 hours of rest and rejuvenation time. But when the feelings of low come lately, it is so difficult to remind myself of the gentleness and care. The sabotage comes on strong. Thankfully, I am able to pull myself out of it a lot faster. Because I see it happening. I see what I am doing to myself when it happens and I am usually able to break the cycle by doing something in spite of what the voices say.

If I can drag myself to the gym or the mat or if I can take the time to take a bath, do some writing or cook myself a healthy meal, usually that kicks me back into my positive self. It is odd how that works.

On the blank slate there is : grad school. A new city. Joy. Scooter riding. Dharma punx meditation retreats. Trips to Los Angeles. A cute cute house that I share with J. A bunny perhaps even. There are teachers and mentors who nurture and challenge me all at once. There are dinner parties with friends. There are day trips with J. Long long love making sessions. There is a small boy or a girl who is my child. And J’s. There are wedding anniversaries. Birthday cake in bed. Trips to France. Trips to Maine. Trips to India. There are communities where I make a difference. There is art. Art. Art. Art that I want to make. My memoirs. My solo show. My plays. Naplwrimo. Voice over work. poems. Slam poems. Sharing. Intimacy. Spontaneity. There is fish and chips and trips to Moma. Trips to New York city. Meeting the dalai lama. There are dreams that wrap me in soft embrace of comfort and remind me that I still have a lot of life to live and that 36 is not too late. That it is never too late. To live and love. To help. To smile. To reach out. To be vulnerable. To listen. To meditate. To create a dance piece. To write a song. It is never too late to begin again and again. To pick up a Natalie Goldberg book. Or morning pages. To go on artist dates. To share one’s truth. Always. With compassion, courage and forgiveness.

This is war.

There is no need looking for a good place to begin because there isn’t one. Yawn. Suddenly everything is much darker then it was an hour ago. And why ? is it just the sky or is it also that my soul fears this writing. And why ? instantly my breath accelerates. There is nothing dangerous about these words or these pages so why ? ability to be in the I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. Have that be okay. Have whatever comes out be okay. I stop. I stop myself. I interrupt the flow by trying to think about the next thing. The best thing. The most perfect exact words. And lists. Lists of things I wish for. Lists of thing I will do . I know the answers aren’t there. I know action is the only place where this action. And stressed is desserts spelled backwards. Said Rob Brezsny.

Have I lost all desire to share in writing ? Often when I am not at the desk, I can feel the warmth, the glow, the desire inside for putting down words, for the dialogue that will come out and surprise me. The questions I will ask that I didn’t even know I had. Morning always seems so promising and as the day goes by, my expectations get higher and my will fades. I cannot fall into that. It doesn’t have to be that way. Judging these pages before I am even done with them. There is the problem. And yet I feel this warmth inside, this satisfaction that comes with just the putting down of words and thoughts. The allowing of fingers. The tapping of keys. I feel like I repeat myself so much. Same themes. Same structure. Judging. Judging. Judging. You know what it’s like. Who am I talking to. I don’t know. The you. The universal you. The universal you as opposed to the universal we. We is me ,myself and I. And now I am speaking without really thinking and the song is annoying, but I’d rather listen to it then skip it.

I just stopped again. What happens when I stop. I stop and all seems to go still. My intellect almost stops functioning and most likely I stop breathing. Hence the yawning. Some days are going to be like this. Some days are going to be just work. and as long as I commit to the idea that in order to do I have to feel, nothing will get done. So I must do , regardless of feeling and yet still allow myself to feel. Even the numb. I shun the numb because numb is a place where I have lived for a long time. Only to feel when I loved or lusted. Only to feel when I was doing things disconnected from the body. split. I was split for a long time. In two. Entities. A young one. And an old one. A scared one and a courageous one. Always this search for wholeness. Always this desire to be one. Perhaps it is always the journey. Perhaps the journey is always to wholeness. I feel you yawning. I feel you trying to get air. And I will not stop. I honor the fact that you cannot breathe. That you could not breathe. That you could not let yourself feel and live inside your body. I honor it and also I release you from your pain. I release you from the pressure to be good. The pressure to do it perfectly. The pressure to be a certain way in order to be loved. The pressure to get certain things done in order to feel worthy. None of it means anything. It is all ego. It is all the wounded self continuing to believe in its healing instead of accepting the wound. One must accept what is. the wound is there. The wound will not go away. It is possible to heal the self that believes it is wounded. But the wound itself will always be there. Acceptance. Of it. Acceptance that all of it is a part of me. A part of the wholeness that is me. I seem to loop and loop and loop back around. I want out of this same loop, these same thoughts, this same fears. And there is the mistake : to want out. There is the rub. Because to want out of something is to reject what is. what is right now. Why do I want out ? I want out because I want new thoughts, new ways . this means I am judging the self. I am judging what I am thinking. I am hearing it as all the same things, instead of listening for what is new. Inside of me. What is striving. What is alive and well. So much of it. why do I persist in finding despair where there is none. Comfort . the comfort of misery. Not knowing what do you with complete access to everything. Not knowing what to want. Where to start. What to ask for. How to move my body. next to yours. How to sit and touch you for hours without fearing, without having to catch my breath. Looking in your eyes and breathing fully. Touching you and breathing fully. Your fingers on my face. Breathing fully. Tears are so close right now and why. Why is there pain in speaking about the things that feel good. In honoring the things that feel good. Good isn’t bad. And yet that is the rule I made a long time ago. That anything pleasurable surely is bad. That anything I want is harmful. That anything I say could be dangerous. This isn’t me. This is me as the child. The child with limited access and the child I cannot hold and comfort in reality. Though spiritually I can journey back and be with what is. I can go back and reinvent the thoughts . I can go back and allow myself to feel what was not felt. Not to dwell. But to honor. To give myself that. To reclaim these actions and words. No.  No. No. Words that I have needed to say. And Yes. Yes. Yes. For there is value in that. For yes isn’t wrong. And it was not wrong at the time to say yes, or rather to say nothing, which means yes and to feel no with the whole core of my body and soul. And yes was also pulling strong. Yes was what I wasn’t saying for I was ashamed and knew it was wrong. This I . This I. It is me. And when I begin to write and lose myself in the words, the fear comes over me. That I will write the wrong things. That I will not be able to discern who I can talk to and what words are too much. Or not enough. That I won’t be able to judge anymore. That I will just be. Move. Talk. Dance. Make love. Play. Work. Walk. Drive. Fly. Teach. Mentor. Help. Without constantly monitoring to make sure that I am not hurting anyone. Including myself.

This week’s affirmation is : My choices are safe and sound for myself and others. My choices were always safe and sound. I am sane, caring and nurturing to myself and others.

One day, the words will just be words. They won’t be made of ashes.

Take Me Home.

This is when the risk is big. When things are feeling better and easier. The temptation to not do these is huge. Sabotage ? Maybe. Or just laziness. Wanting to get to the projects. But here I am so yay. Not expecting for things to get very deep this morning. Not that they have to. Just noticing that in the last couple of days I’ve hit some big things in these pages and of course the desire to continue hitting big things is there. But acceptance is what it’s all about. Acceptance of the shitty first drafts. Have been rereading pretty much all of my books on writing. From writing down the bones to bird by bird and the fabulous a continuous mistake. Read all the passages on writer’s block etc etc.

I feel like these pages keep turning into journaling. And I am wanting to stay away from that. But controlling them just makes me stuck. Control is the big issue here. Wanting certain results. Not wanting to write about certain things. Hence stifling the whole thing. I’ve been posting excerpts to my public journal and though I am not sure who reads (if anyone) , it certainly is affecting me. Then I make myself remember that if anyone reads, it is of their own volition and sticking to my original goals of stream is the important thing. Or else I will stop posting these publicly if the goal starts to be “be interesting for the audience”.

I feel like I have nothing to say this morning. I keep thinking about the weekend to come… the projects, the to do list… the holidays… oh and yes, that play that I am supposed to be writing and haven’t started on. I keep wanting to read other people’s words. Trying to imprint them on my mind as if I could magically channel them onto my own pages. Keep getting stopped. Must keep the stream going. Only page 1. ack . today is hard. I might just right nothing for three pages and I better be okay with that. See the ego chastising the writer self? It becomes so obvious in these.

Why don’t I talk about the weather then… surely we can all do that. The rain has stopped. Yesterday was non stop and it was pitch black at 4:59 to be exact. Today the mountains are showing and they are already wearing their white winter coats. Lived here 14 years and never really got into the snow sports. Which I love and would love I am sure. Don’t have equipment. Don’t have appropriate clothing. It’s expensive all that. Sliding on snow sounds like a fun thing to do though. I’d like to get away to a cabin near snow this winter at some point. I love snow. I didn’t grow up around it so it has a real magical quality for me. I feel like a little kid around it. Even when it snows in the city, I get so excited. Everyone complains that it’s going to get all slushy, but I don’t care. Perhaps it’s because I don’t own a car and don’t have to drive in it. I also love it because of the disruption in everyone’s lives. I think it’s good. I think people don’t like to be reminded that the earth was here first. That the elements are stronger than us , no matter how much we try to control them. People hate having their routines disturbed, not being able to go to work. Me, I just love the excuse to cozy up on the couch with hot chocolate and a good book and glance outside once in a while at the white puffs coming down. One of my favorite memories of snow in this city goes back to a few years ago when I was in college. The school closed in the early afternoon and everyone went home. I changed my shoes, put on a good coat, hat, gloves and scarf and ventured into the completely shut down city. I walked from the hill to downtown and it was the most surreal experience. Downtown at 6pm when the place is usually so busy and loud. Completely quiet. No buses. Very few cars. Only a few pedestrians and most of the shops closing due to the snow. The snow was falling and the sky was so low, it was as if the city had taken off, detached itself from the earth and landed on a very large cloud. All the sounds muted. I walked, cozy, feeling my cheeks flushing and the flow of blood warming my body from the inside. Only the tush tush of my feet, leaving behind me the trail of all the places I had gone. Crossing other trails where others had gone. In the snow, everything that moves leaves a trace. It is such a perfect thing that when everything becomes white and muted, we are able to be seen by our tracks. A testament to our animal nature. Which, ironically, makes me feel very much like a human. I walked and passerby’s waved and smiled. Something they never do on a normal day. Which is when we actually need it more than any other day. I walked in silence. To the calming rhythm of the hah-hah of my breath. Sticking out of my hat, a few locks of hair, like tiny caramel Popsicles. The snow kept coming down and as the city filled up with the white whipped stuff, I felt my heart swell up. I could have walked forever. Admiring every familiar place, gradually dressing up. All in white. For the occasion. The steps from the market to the waterfront, the piers… the library… in a brand new scintillating coat. It was as if the entire place had become aware of its own existence. Inanimate objects suddenly taking a life of their own. Street lights awakening to a renewed purpose. Roofs. Finally having a reason for their flatness. The bus drivers… not having to feel bad for being stuck. Smoking by the side of the road, with a half smile of gratitude… welcoming the respite that nature had offered. This might be their only Christmas gift. Better to appreciate it. What can you do ? Might as well enjoy it !

Then… out of the white… there it was : my front door. How long had it been ? Which way had I taken back ? I could feel the muscles in my legs, the pumping of the blood in my chest. My eyes, opened. Even wider than usual. The itchiness on my forehead. Where the wool hat was sitting. I looked back. Two small footsteps. Taking me home.