Listening to Your Life

Don’t do what you sincerely don’t want to do. Never confuse movement with action. ~Ernest Hemingway

Listening is a magnetic and strange thing, a creative force…. When we are listened to, it creates us, makes us unfold and expand. Ideas actually begin to grow within us and come to life. ~ Brenda Ueland



Happy New Year! I hope that your holidays were punctuated with moments of rest and joy. For me, rather than descend with a bang, 2014 seemed to slide in through hump day easily and gently. This time of year feels like a new beginning and a certain impetus  toward "self-improvement" is activated for many people. Gym memberships are reinstated, new healthy eating plans installed, and various other well intentioned resolutions are vowed. We make big plans for ourselves when a new year begins! 

For more than a decade my mom and I have participated in a ritual at the end of the year where we take an entire day together for what we call "Divine" planning. We light candles, pray, and set our intention to offer gratitude for the year that has passed and then open to receive our guidance for the new year. Together and separately we choose from our angel cards, write in our journals, make collages, and offer each other support in discerning an overall theme for the coming year. It has become an incredibly rich and special experience that we look forward to celebrating together. I find myself preparing a couple of weeks prior by going through my journals from the last year and noting all that transpired according to my intentions as well as honoring what did not take root. As I reviewed the past year I was in awe at how much had taken place within me. I felt myself fill with appreciation and wonder at the deep shifts that have occurred. Put simply: I feel more like myself. And when I thought about my intentions for the new year, I had the overwhelming feeling that I just want more of that--I long to simply invite more of my essence to occupy my everyday life. No big lifestyle changes, no "spiritual" agendas, no reaching for something to somehow improve my life. I just want to allow more of myself to emerge.

Parker Palmer wrote a book called Let Your Life Speak and it has become one of my top ten favorite books. The title comes from an old Quaker saying that eventually taught Palmer how to cultivate a more respectful approach to vocational life. He writes: "Before you tell your life what you intend to do with it, listen for what it intends to do to you. Before you tell your life what truths and values you have decided to live up to, let your life tell you what truths you embody, what values you represent." Read that again. This is a very different way to approach our lives than what we have been taught. I have come to understand it as a distinctly creative process in which our ego must undergo a profound transformation. In learning to listen to our lives, we refine our ability to let go of unnecessary drains of energy and practice living in the not-yetness of our potential. We confront the alive edge between our limitations and our longings and seek to reconcile the two. We cultivate a new relationship to "doing" that is based on moving from an inner alignment to our values, visions, and deeper knowing. Our action emerges from a ground of "being" that is connected to our Self. This, I believe, is how lasting change occurs.

In yoga there is a distinction made between movement and action. When we change positions--as in extending the arms or legs in some way, that is considered movement. But an action gets something done. For example, once in Warrior II pose I might say: press down evenly through both legs and feet, lift your ribcage away from your pelvis, from the center of your chest extend out through the bones of the arms and hands. . . . Actions bring the pose alive and bring a greater sense of awareness into the shape of the pose. It is an important way to integrate mind and body. It is how yoga can be experienced as a "meditation in motion." I have begun to consider how this distinction between movement and action can take place in my life "off the mat." How am I mistaking movement and action in my own life? What actions am I being called toward at this time? Is there something that needs to change *outwardly and/or what needs to be done *inwardly? Learning to listen in this way requires a shift in our very relationship with life--from one of willful control to artful action. When I am listening to my life I feel in the flow, part of something bigger, and responsive to to whatever arises as signs guiding my actions. A refined sensitivity develops and both feeling and knowledge pave the way forward. When I'm listening to my life I'm practicing openness and a softening of my barriers to what I believe I "know" unequivocally. I feel most in touch with my creativity--listening leads me to find where I am called and creates the conditions for me to move toward my longings. Even dead-ends, mistakes or failures provide an opportunity to hear, see, or distinguish more clearly our path. As Palmer relates, "a way closing" is often how life moves us away from what is not truly suited to our soul and toward what the life that is meant for us. It isn't always through open doors that revelation comes, but through the closures that permit us no further entry. 

Listening connects. It serves as a bridge between the Soul and self. It is the link between understanding and discovery of our truest desires and back into the center of our lives where we can creatively choose to express and communicate what we have heard. True listening changes us and the world of which we are a part. Actor Alan Alda articulates this beautifully:

The difference between listening and pretending to listen, I have discovered is enormous. One is fluid, the other is rigid. One is alive, the other is stuffed. Eventually, I found a radical way of thinking about listening. Real listening is a willingness to let the other person change you. When I'm willing to let them change me, something happens between us that is more interesting than a pair of dueling monologues. Like so much of what I learned in the theater, this turned out to be how life works, too. 

So what if we began this year spending some quiet time practicing listening to our precious life and ask to know what it would like for us? Let's consider what actions are necessary to create an inner alignment to our values and longings. I have recognized that true listening leads to deep feeling. And the willingness to feel--any/every shade or temperature--leads to a more direct and unfiltered experience of life. From this direct experience I am able to meet life more fully and I am free to accept or refuse to take its hands and let it lead me in the wild and wondrous dance. 

May your own unique calling be revealed as you journey through the days of this year!

The Space Between

Take my hand 

'Cause we're walking out of here 

Oh, right out of here 

Love is all we need here 

The Space Between 

What's wrong and right 

Is where you'll find me hiding, waiting for you 

The Space Between 

Your heart and mine 

Is the space we'll fill with time 

The Space Between...

~Dave Matthews Band

Whether we are aware of it or not, we spend most of our days acting as though we know so much. We live according to schedules, plans and goals; moving from one thing to another with a great deal of certainty in our activity. This provides a kind of homeostasis of security and shields us from the looming spaces of uncertainty. But what would it mean to stop; to feel the space between one known and another? What is it to linger in not knowing?

In the last few days while contemplating this month’s theme, I noticed how my mind jumped from one interesting topic to another and quickly began to sketch out the rough edges of a post. But as I let each idea go and continued to live with the unknown, I found myself confronting both fear and freedom. The illusion of certainty is that we believe that we are in control of our lives and the unfolding of its events. When I stop and look back over the course of a day, I can see how I move with this sense of knowing exactly what needs to be done next and I do it. Weeks and years follow this pattern. Of course there isn’t anything wrong with planning and goal setting and doing what needs to be done. However, the freedom that many of us long for, lies in our capacity to open to the mystery that lies within and beyond the limits of our knowing.

During a class that I am currently taking, we are being asked to contemplate and act upon the directive to “go where you haven’t gone.” What is it to venture into completely new corners of myself and the world? How do I even relate to going where I have never gone? If I haven’t been there, then how do I even know where to go or how to get there! It truly means that I am called to let go of all of the habitual ways that I have been conditioned to think and act and begin to carve out entirely new pathways. It pushes me into the groundlessness of not-knowing. I am learning to risk letting go of the very ways that I have relied on being “grounded” in a certain reality that keeps me safe and comfortable--one where I am always clinging to “I know.” 

Rumi says, Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there. The freedom that exists when we are willing to let go of always needing to know, carries us into the heart of mystery. I am beginning to see that this is where creativity lives--in the boundless, vast sea of the unknown. Through our willingness to step into this space and surrender to its prayer for us, we are gifted with a direct experience of who we are and what is possible for us. 

The month of December feels like an in between space to me. This year will soon be over and a new one will begin. For this month intend to spend some time in this place of not-knowing. Without too much force of will, allow the question- What does it mean for me to go where I haven’t gone- to rest in the "space between" with you.  

The heart quality that can serve as a pole star to return to throughout the month is compassion. Be gentle with yourself as you walk your path and encounter new levels of fear or resistance. Take your time and linger with all that is yet to be known. Practice carrying the feeling of “I don’t know” into your work, relationships and personal life and continue to hold the door open for what is seeking to be made through your life. 

Dying To Live

If you live in the dark a long time and the sun comes out, you do not cross into it whistling. There's an initial uprush of relief at first, then-for me, anyway- a profound dislocation. My old assumptions about how the world works are buried, yet my new ones aren't yet operational.There's been a death of sorts, but without a few days in hell, no resurrection is possible.” 

~Mary Karr, Lit: A Memoir

“The death of a dream can in fact serve as the vehicle that endows it with new form, with reinvigorated substance, a fresh flow of ideas, and splendidly revitalized color. In short, the power of a certain kind of dream is such that death need not indicate finality at all but rather signify a metaphysical and metaphorical leap forward.” 
~Aberjhani, The River of Winged Dreams

Almost everyone's favorite part of a yoga class comes at the very end of the practice with savasana or final relaxation. Savasana is also known as "corpse pose." Lying on the back, arms and legs outstretched, we spend several minutes in stillness as a way of integrating the practice that just transpired. Although it is often conceived as a pose that happens after a movement based practice of hatha yoga, it is actually an very important part of the entire practice. As the name suggests, it symbolizes a letting go of our tight grip on the body, mind and emotions. Although the body grows increasingly relaxed, it isn't necessarily a time to check out or fall asleep, but to rest into a deeper level of awareness and recognition of a wider field of presence that exists. It is the death of our clinging to the ego as the basis of reality and opening to a life beyond our conditioned experience. In this way I see it not just as a time for integration, but also disintegration. Practicing like this we can begin to experience and appreciate the natural cycles of life--within which, death plays a part. 

We don't necessarily like to talk or think about it because we all carry a certain amount of fear around dying or losing someone/something that we love. However, the paradox that exists is that we can't live unless something dies. The mystery of death lives within us. My seven year old son has begun to ask a lot of questions about death and dying and the more we discuss it, the more clearly I see that it is a way for us to understand how to really live. That involves cultivating a practice of letting go as well as facing both our fears and our longings. The Sufis have a wonderful saying: Die before you die. That is, each day allow yourself to feel your mortality and contemplate losing life (loved ones, possessions, job security, etc) and let go a little at a time so that when the time comes for the "final" death you will know how to surrender. We get stuck in thinking of death as a finality or end rather than as a transition into something else. Like my son at the same age, I can recall lying awake in bed and thinking about dying and wondering where "I" would go once I left this body; this earth. Although I could not articulate it, I had a sense that I was far more than my body or even the one thinking the thoughts. I have spent my entire life seeking to know that "self" that I was able to sense at such a young age. All of the spiritual and mystical traditions speak of death as a passageway and although forms change something eternal which is neither created nor destroyed remains.

Mindfulness teacher and Vietnamese monk, Thich Nhat Hanh teaches several meditation techniques including eating, walking, breathing, and smiling in order to develop the skill of present moment awareness. Like many Buddhist practitioners, he also practices a meditation where one sits-witnessing a dead corpse. This may strike you as intensely morbid, but it is such a direct way of remembering our impermanence and recognizing the transient and fleeting nature of reality. Ultimately we share the same fate. Perhaps we don't have to make regular trips to the morgue in order to practice this type of mindfulness, but there is value in contemplating life and death in other ways. 

Another possibility comes to us through mythology or teaching stories that speak to what it is to be fully human. They serve as roadmaps to the shared human experience and can help guide us with their timeless wisdom to navigate current day challenges. Stories of death and rebirth occur across cultures. One such story that I recently read is The Myth of Inanna. Inanna is the Goddess of Love and Queen of Heaven. An abridged version of the story goes like this: it begins with the words: "From the Great Above she opened her ear to the Great Below." Inanna was called to make a decent to the underworld where her older sister and Queen of the Underworld, Ereshkigal, lived. Ereshkigal's husband died and she was going to witness his funeral rites. Before she departed, Inanna gathered together seven things that she refers to as "me" to take as protection--things like a crown and many jewels. She instructs her faithful servant on exactly what to do if she doesn't make it back from the underworld in three days. Inanna descends and has to pass through seven gates and at each gate is asked to relinquish each of her protective identities. After meeting her dark sister, Inanna is killed and then her body must be rescued from the underworld by two creatures that were fashioned from the dirt of her father's fingernail. Her corpse is released but in order to pass out of the underworld a sacrifice is required. She must provide another body in her her place. Her husband, king of heaven, who appeared not to miss her, was chosen and the myth continues. . . . 

Like dreams, all of the characters in a myth can be seen as counterparts of our own psyche. For many of us, like Inanna, our understanding of ourselves and the world is limited by our roles, identities and experience. In modern times many of us are called to this descent process through depression, illness, loss, divorce, addiction, or even a more general sense of dissatisfaction. St. John of the Cross named the experience "the dark night of the soul." We are called to let go of our rigid identification with ourselves and the world; to strip away the masks that offer a false sense of safety and protection. Ereshkigal is really just the repressed or neglected part of Inanna. If wholeness or true integration is to take place within the psyche, then similarly our own dark counterpart must be encountered and the passageway between conscious and unconscious (upper and lower worlds) must remain open. 

These aren't the kind of thoughts that will evoke the superficial kind of happiness that many are seeking and content with, but they will provide that wider perspective that fosters the kind of awakening that may enable us to decipher what is most important in this moment, day or life. Death and destruction are necessary in terms of the life of relationships, work, the body, and creativity. Just as we are moving toward winter--the darkest, coldest time of year where nature affirms this death principle, it is a reminder of our own process of transition and change. It is a good time for us to ask ourselves--What in my life needs to die so that I may live more fully? What can we let go of now in order to create the space for something new? This could be excess material belongings, deleterious thoughts or beliefs, particular relationships, or addictions that anesthetize us--anything that keeps us from facing the parts of ourselves that we most fear losing. Another way of thinking about this is to answer the question: What are you willing to give up in order to have what you really want? We must be willing to give up certain things in order to gain others. Loss of any kind may involve pain or grief that we fear feeling. But suffering is also one of the greatest teachers of compassion and gratitude. 

This month we will be celebrating Thanksgiving and entering into the holiday season, a time that can be bittersweet for many. I propose a simple practice of opening ourselves to the remembrance of the fleeting nature of reality by approaching our days this month with greater compassion and gratitude for each moment--as it arises, lives for a time, and dissolves. Make gratitude a priority each day and let the people you love know that they are special to you and why. Practice letting go a little each day and by all means, if you don't have time for a full yoga practice, take 10-20 minutes for savasana a couple of times a week. 

Here is a link with a very basic description of savasana: http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/482

And this is an interesting article that offers a slightly deeper explanation of corpse pose: 
http://www.iyengar-yoga.com/articles/savasana/

Whoever Brought Me Here, Will Have To Take Me Home

All day I think about it, then at night I say it. 
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? 
I have no idea. 
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I'll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I'm like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn't come here of my own accord, and I can't leave that way.
Whoever brought me here, will have to take me home.

This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside of saying it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

~Rumi

Trust the Process: Creativity and Spirituality

Spirituality is the art of transfiguration. We should not force ourselves to change by hammering our lives into any predetermined shape. We do not need to operate according to the idea of a predetermined programme or plan for our lives. Rather, we need to practise a new art of attention to our inner rhythm of our days and lives. This attention brings a new awareness of our own human and divine presence. . . . The intellect identifies the goal of the programme, and the will accordingly forces the life into that shape. This way of approaching the sacredness of one’s own presence is externalistic and violent. It brings you falsely outside your own self and you can spend years lost in the wilderness of your own mechanical, spiritual programmes. You can perish in a famine of your own making.

If you work with a different rhythm, you will come easily and naturally home to your self. Your soul knows the geography of your destiny. Your soul alone has a map of your future, therefore you can trust this indirect, oblique side of your self. If you do, it will take you where you need to go, but more importantly it will teach you a kindness of rhythm in your journey. There are no general principles for this art of being. Yet the signature of this unique journey is inscribed deeply in each soul. If you attend to your self and seek to come into your own presence, you will find exactly the right rhythm for your life. The senses are generous pathways which can bring you home.  
~John O’Donohue Anam Ćara

I cannot distinguish between creativity and spirituality. When you're practicing creativity you become a grounded individual, and that communicates the universal."  ~Juila Cameron

Lately my children are taking up one of the simple joys that I experienced as a child growing up in Florida. They love to run around outside and try to catch salamanders. Because they are everywhere, it is easy to see them running across the driveway, up a wall or just sitting in the sun. They aren't as easy to catch though! I can recall the expectant and relentless pursuit to get one for myself and occasionally, if I moved slowly and quietly enough, I could grab one by the tail. For a moment my youthful desire and hard work met in celebratory triumph at my capture. But only for a moment, until the little critter ran off leaving me just its tail wiggling between my fingers. This fleeting feeling of total acquisition followed by just a remnant fragment, is a bit what it is like to talk about the creative process. 

For the past year I have been deeply involved in the creative process thorough my study and experiential learning of Transpersonal Psychology. While it is difficult for me to write about the exact nature of the process itself, I am able to share a bit of my experience with the creative process and what it has meant to me. Without naming it as such, this past summer I began to explore creativity as my spiritual practice. In addition to my writing practice, I began to explore different mediums of expression and started to familiarize myself with the work of other artists as well. I discovered which artists I loved and what styles spoke to my soul. As I involved myself in my own art making, I became aware that intention and feeling are important keys to creativity. Rather than concerning myself with a specific "product," I have been enjoying the freedom to play and get messy again! I have allowed myself plenty of space to explore, wander, dream and imagine in a realm beyond right and wrong. My connection to the natural world has deepened, as I am taking more time to interact more consciously with my surroundings. My relationships are slowly becoming more harmonious as I am learning new ways to communicate and express myself. I have also been working with my dreams more deeply, using the nocturnal images of the subconscious as unique artifacts that can be plunged for greater understanding. Overall, the process continues to deliver me to more profound levels of integration and wholeness. 

One of the images that comes to mind when I think of the process is that of a labyrinth. Unlike a maze with confusing patterns that present as a problem to be solved (activating the left brain thinking/ analyzing mind), a labyrinth is "unicursal" which means that the way in is the way out. The configuration utilizes the right brain--intuitive, creative, imaginary capacity. With nothing to "figure out" we are first presented with the choice of whether to enter or not. The same is true with the decision to embark on a spiritual path which places us into a cosmological framework that becomes a way for us to explore our own consciousness. The circuitous path to the center point and back out again, is a classic metaphor for both creativity and spirituality. It is through entering into the creative process; committing to making the journey, that we are transformed. 

This entering and walking a path of consciousness demands nothing short of all of us--as Rumi says: "Half-heartedness doesn't reach into the mystery." Creativity pulls us toward the mystery and closer to our essential being. But first it will confound us. Being able to withstand long periods of ambiguity and confusion are required, as is negotiating a balance between surrender and will; discerning when to act and when to be still. Creativity is an inquiry. We begin a dialogue with the yet-to-be-known parts of ourselves and cultivate the conditions for a more authentic connection to our own souls. Soul loss is a common pathology today. The divide between our instinctual nature and our more "civilized" self has grown wide. This is mirrored in our disconnection from the rhythms of the natural world as they relate to our own cycles of death, renewal, and creativity. Not so long ago when a person that was a part of tribal community came to a shaman for healing, the first thing the medicine man or woman would ask is: "When did you stop singing? When did you stop dancing? And when did you stop being comfortable with silence?" I believe that there is great wisdom in us beginning our inquiry there as well. 

The creative process as a spiritual pursuit takes the raw matter that is "us"--our biology and psychology and brings forth something entirely new. Popular methods for "self improvement" can be a trap that reinforce a belief that what we are seeking can be attained outside of us. The belief and subsequent behavior is rooted in our insecurity and unworthiness. As I see it, this is not about trying to update or restore that which is dilapidated or barely functioning within us, but rather, to intend to be a wholly new creation. That is, we must learn to place greater trust in our natural capacity for wholeness. We have to learn some discipline of quieting the mind with all of its reactive, involuntary, defensive functions in order to begin to attune to what is deeper. One of my teachers refers to it as "the work beneath the work." On one level we are going about our regular work or creative pursuits and all of a sudden we may glimpse that force or energy that has been working on us--we catch the whole lizard! We recognize that in conjunction with our intentional effort, something else is occurring beyond our limited understanding or willfulness. When these two levels of awareness meet--the 'personal' and the 'transpersonal' as I'll refer to them here--"transfiguration" occurs. "Art is the pouring through of the transpersonal to the personal" as Jungian analyst Marion Woodman describes this process. We become vessels for Spirit to pour through. The immanent and the transcendent meet for a moment in time through us. Our "work," as Joseph Campbell would say it, is to become "transparent to the transcendent." And before we know it, that moment of sublime union has left and there we are holding just piece of it. But that little piece is enough for us to live on, sometimes for years. 

One of the foundational qualities that must be in place for this kind of journey is TRUST. We must trust ourselves deeply. We must cultivate greater levels of faith in our own understanding of God. We must make a practice of learning how to communicate with and really listen for where we are called. This dialogue can take place through the creative process, and we can use our explorations as a way of strengthening our trust. So with this intention, this month's theme is focused on trust and the creative exploration that you are invited to try is twofold. First begin to journal with the questions above--when, in your life, did you stop singing, dancing, and being comfortable with silence? Let the inquiry serve as your guide into learning to trust the process. Second, take some time to connect to the natural world by slowing down and really seeing your surroundings. Take your inquiry into nature and ask it to show you what you need to learn. Just simply be open to receiving anything that arises. Take a slow walk. Sit near a tree or lake or favorite spot outdoors and let it "speak" to you. Getting closer to the earth--literally getting low to the ground--allows us to practice humility--which comes from the word "humus" or earth.  This also serves as an embodied practice, grounding the experience into our physiology. Commit to giving yourself even just a few minutes a day to re-visit this dialogue and be open to letting your heart guide you. Writer Natalie Goldberg speaks about writing as one of her spiritual practices and she says: "I trusted in what I loved. . . . Trust in what you love, continue to do it, and it will take you where you need to go."

Trust the process. Don't be afraid of your path. It knows the way.

Courageous Living

As you go the way way of life you will see a great chasm. Jump. It's not as wide as you think.

 ~Native American Proverb

The most dangerous strategy is to jump a chasm in two leaps. ~Benjamin Disraeli

It's hard to believe that summer vacation is already over and a new school year has begun!  As my kids are returning to school, so am I, for my second year of graduate study. I spent the entire last year in deep introspection and self-reflection focused primarily on personal growth and healing. I feel like the gears are shifting and I am being slowly called back into the world; to use my creativity as a bridge from inner to outer realms. In many ways, like most introverts, I am much more comfortable with a more contemplative life of solitude, but I also have a desire to share what has been given to me. Inspired by my feeling that it is, in many ways, time for me to leap, this month I have chosen to focus on the quality of Courage. The great poet and writer Maya Angelou speaks of courage as the most important virtue from which all others are derived. With this as our platform, we can venture into the dark and luminous corners of ourselves and the often complex and confusing world around us with a sense of curiosity and strength. The linguistic origins of the word come from French--Coeur--or heart. This points us in the direction of where we can centralize ourselves more specifically in the body/mind landscape in order to practice living more authentically. Courage becomes an exploration of what it means for us to live wholeheartedly and often from a much more tender, vulnerable place than we are comfortable with. 

More and more I have come to recognize courage in my own life as a letting go; surrendering my ego's machinations, plans, defenses and goals in order to make space for my deeper longings to come to the surface. The choice to live with courage is one in which I can practice trusting my heart more than my head. From that place of faith, I willingly take the step forward when I am not certain if the ground will hold me. I recently had an experience of this very act when I was in California on retreat for school. All summer I had been vacillating between two areas of specialization for my second year of graduate studies. The choices were between Life Coaching and Creativity and Innovation. The first choice seemed like the most sensible choice and would offer a clear cut way for me to move forward professionally. I have done some coaching work for my personal life and experienced the great benefit of setting intentions and getting the support to move in that direction. The second choice appealed to me in a more visceral way. My entire being was drawn to the creative process and I spent the entire summer reading about creativity and healing. Many of the books I read came from the booklist for the creativity specialization! And over the summer I challenged myself to make something everyday--one thing only--some days I experimented with paint, others with collage or poetry. I arranged food differently and began to dance more than my typical yoga practice. I felt myself coming alive in a way that was deeply healing. I gave myself permission to explore and feel the freedom of just putting myself into the process without a concern for any specific product. But still, I made the "practical" choice to go forward with coaching and left for California with that in mind. During my time in retreat I quickly began to notice that I was feeling misplaced in the coaching group and the doubt became undeniable. I sought the help of a mentor and with her guidance, I was able to see and accept the truth of where I belonged. I changed my mind and followed my heart. Once I was situated in the soul-satisfying place amongst the other creatives, I felt a sense of relief--a deep peace. Why didn't I just choose earlier what I felt was best? Because I was scared! I wasn't able to see a clear end goal. The voices of shame and doubt surfaced: "you're not an artist..." "you'll wind up depressed and broke...," etc. But I have learned that if your dreams don't scare you, they aren't big enough. Ultimately my desire to trust my inherent capacity for creativity, a quality that  runs deep inside of me, allowed be to make the courageous choice.  

Poet David Whyte speaks of Courage this way:

Courage is the measure of our heartfelt participation with life, with another, with a community, a work, a future. To be courageous, is not necessarily to go anywhere or do anything except to make conscious those things we already feel deeply and then to live through the unending vulnerabilities of those consequences. To be courageous is to seat our feelings deeply in the body and in the world: to live up to and into the necessities of relationships that often already exist, with things we find we already care deeply about: with a person, a future, a possibility in society, or with an unknown that begs us on and always has begged us on. Whether we stay or whether we go--to be courageous is to stay close to the way we are made. 

To be courageous is to stay close to the way we are made. I have repeated this line to myself several times and have begun to use it as a barometer for choice making in my everyday life: will "x" bring me closer or further from my heart; my truth? I am feeling a significant re-calibration of my self as I move forward into the mystery with a sense of curiosity and wonder as well as some trepidation and fear. I am grateful to have the support of allies making this journey alongside me and some expert guides to help light the way. 

Here's a little taste from my own writing practice on what courage means to me--this, in itself, feels a bit raw and vulnerable for me to share-- but here goes:

Courage is stopping. Courage is slowing down long enough to ask yourself if the life you're living is really the one you want. It is the willingness to try a million different things that aren't "it" in order to find what is. Courage is seeing what is without the filters of judgement or blame or denial or drama. Courage is deep listening, quiet focus, fierce gratitude. Courage involves a lot of not knowing; of trusting the mystery more than your history. It is white and black and red and orange. Courage keeps a feather and a stone in each pocket. Courage knows when to start and not lift her head until the damn project is done.... Courage is saying yes to making something--anything--in order to participate in the exchange....Courage is giving up the idea that the future will somehow be better than today. Courage is moving ahead with nothing in mind; singing a song whose refrain says: "no guarantees, no guarantees." Courage is dismantling what has taken years to construct, sometimes one brick at a time and carrying each to the trash heap. It's discovering how much pain swells beneath our skin. It's recognizing how much joy is possible when we reach empty handed toward love again. Courage is following the thread of my soul, heart pounding, o-shit realization that what I've been prepared for feels impossible. Courage is feeling the impossibility and still choosing to give it a whirl. Courage is even thinking that the impossible may be possible. Courage is living in that space--it's the leap...

Over the course of the next month you are invited to spend some time reflecting on what courage means for you at this point in your life. I suggest a journal exercise like the one I shared that begins with "Courage is...." Just begin to write freely, keeping the pen moving. When you get stuck, write it again: "Courage is..." and keep going. You can set a timer for 10-30 minutes to help you stay with it. And begin to recognize what in your life scares you, where you feel most vulnerable, and what holds a tinge of excitement for you. What chasm in your life are you being summoned toward? Is there something that you need to first let go of in order to move forward? What kind of support do you require? I recommend sharing this process with someone you trust as a way of stepping beyond your comfort zone and creating an opportunity to connect more authentically to yourself and another. Although the image of courage that I am presenting here looks like wide leaps, what resonates for you may be more like several small steps made over an extended period of time or crawling your way out of a difficult situation. 

Wishing you, wherever you are on your journey, the courage and compassion to know the extraordinary joy of how it is you have been made...

Something's Moving

Nothing happens until something moves. ~Albert Einstein

I have been carrying those words of Einstein with me over the last month or so, thinking about their significance in my life. Conscious movement is a regular practice in my daily life and even if I don't feel like it, I step onto my yoga mat for even 10-15 minutes, lace up my running shoes and head out the door, or open my journal and begin to move my pen across the page. These vital practices never fail to reconnect me to what's essential. By staying close to my body and breath I gain greater access to my heart. While in motion I am better able to let my analytic mind assume a more submissive role which makes way for deeper wisdom to surface. I can honestly say that I never come away from one of my practices without some kind of insight or understanding that was previously unavailable. It is as if, through the movement, a way opens before me and I am able to step ahead. Interestingly, movement meditations (walking, eating, driving, yoga, writing, etc.) specifically activate our creative potential and through them we place ourselves directly into the creative process and the conditions are cultivated for the emergence of new things to come into being. How often have you been involved in some kind of repetitive activity and had a flash of understanding? It happens all the time for me. 

I think it is important to distinguish conscious movement from the more common distracted movement that many of us experience each day. Disembodiment and dissociation have become regular states of operation for so many people that are rushing from one thing to another with little awareness of the process. One simple way to shift this is to simply pause regularly and ask: Where am I? Notice the surroundings; take in the sounds, sights and feeling tones. And then ask yourself Where am I going? This question always begs a deeper answer than whatever task lies ahead. It helps to put into perspective a broader vision for our lives. It points us in the direction of our most significant priorities and helps us in taking the very next step with more awareness.  

Any practice that helps us connect with our physical body can serve as a starting place to develop our consciousness. I have begun to ask myself in the morning--how do I want to move through this day? Some days I need the quick, small steps that pave the way to efficiency and mobilize my intentions to get things done. Other days I need to saunter. To slow down and feel each step stretch across the various thresholds through which I pass. Most days, a balance is called for. I believe that so much of illness results from stagnation or lack of optimal energy flow in the system. In my experience with clinical depression, this overwhelming feeling of being stuck--unable to move--was the pervasive symptom. Until I had the necessary support, I couldn't seem to find the energy to move out of this stuck place. But as I see it now, my healing came from my ability to move through the inertia, the pain, the sadness and create something entirely different. In working with a yoga client recently, this understanding became clear for her. She has struggled with numerous health issues for most of her life, exploring a multitude of ways to address the symptoms so that she can live more comfortably. She has an established prayer practice and is very connected to her faith. We began working together to develop a suitable yoga practice and in one particular session an insight came to her about a specific way to proceed in her healing journey. She made the connection that she had been praying, asking for guidance and help, but it was through her action that understanding was given. It was as if Spirit were telling her--"move and I will open the doors!" This was also a vital lesson for me, serving as a reminder that we don't always have to know the full scope of where we are going before we choose to move. Most of the time I feel like I can only see a few steps ahead, but that is always enough to move forward. And this, I believe, is what it means to live creatively--the ability to put ourselves into motion and trust that we will be met with grace or, at the very least, something to which we can creatively respond that will pave the way for innovative discovery. 

Very often when I am involved in my movement practice, the line between moving and being moved becomes more permeable and I feel myself distinctly part of something much bigger. Awe inspired, I feel both minuscule and vast at the same time. This is one of my most favorite feelings. 

At the end of his life Einstein was asked what he knew for sure. His reply: 

Something's moving. 

Indeed. Can you feel it?

Surfacing

About a month ago I completed my first year of graduate school in Transpersonal Psychology and it has taken me several weeks to feel like even beginning to discuss the experience.

The best analogy I can use at this time comes from my love of Scuba diving. I have always had a natural propensity for wanting to travel deep! And in Scuba, when you have been in the depths of the ocean for some time there is the possibility of experiencing nitrogen narcosis, also known as "rapture of the deep." It is defined as a "a reversible alteration in consciousness" that can cause you to feel very relaxed (or possibly stressed) due to dissolved nitrogen in the blood under elevated pressure. The best way to proceed is by slowing ascending to the surface and making a stop along the way in order to allow the body to readjust. 

This is precisely where I feel like I have been in the last few weeks, taking my time to digest and integrate all that I have learned in the last 10 months of study. The program is designed in such a way that the first year is dedicated to the personal journey of self transformation and all of the coursework is aimed toward this end. The balance between studying various theoretical models of consciousness and participating actively in practical application exercises created the conditions for some amazing growth. The best word that I can use to describe my own process is integration. I have spent years studying various spiritual traditions and the healing arts have provided a path for me that feels close to my soul calling. Despite those things, I have always felt a certain chasm between my inner world and outer life. This experience of fragmentation is precisely what led me to this program and my original intention was to learn how to create a bridge between my soul longings and the physical world. The greatest healing came in the form of making a descent into my own depths; and in the investigation and confrontation of the dark shadows and creatively working with my dreams in order to begin to converse with my unconscious. As I allowed myself to move more freely between conscious and unconscious; thus creating greater awareness of the totality of myself, I began to notice the bridge being constructed. This is the nature of the dialogue that I have been having with myself for months now and the work I have done has, without a doubt, helped me fulfill my goal of integration. 

As I move forward into my second year, I will be specializing in transformational life coaching with the hope of accompanying others on their unique journey to discovering and actualizing their own soul longings. I have become quite clear that the healing process is a creative process. Similar to the hero journey (which I discussed in a previous post), the stages of the creative process: preparation, incubation, illumination, evaluation and implementation provide a valuable template for personal growth and spiritual development. Rather than focusing on pathology or disease as the starting point, I agree with the humanistic and transpersonal approaches that look, first, at how much health or wholeness is available within a person and begin the process from there. Creativity, communication, and consciousness hold important keys in the transformative process and will, ultimately, provide the greatest source of healing. I plan on exploring, in much greater depth (there it is again!), this vital role that creativity plays in our personal healing. Much of my offering will be an extension of my own effort to continue to integrate the various aspects of myself and to further define and refine my work in the world. I delight in being immersed in my own creative process and trust that it will continue to lead me to my bliss!