On Presence

What is it I strive to be if not honest and present in mind, body and emotion?  It is not that I must act on my thoughts and desires.  I must only acknowledge that they exist. So too, I needn’t share all of my inner experiences, these are intimate parts of me, intimate details that I want to be judicious in sharing.  After all,  what is the most precious gift I have to give, if not myself? So then, I ought take care with whom I share the gift of myself.  Vetting is a wise action when considering placing something valuable into another's care. 

How then, do I go about the process of vetting? How do I determine what is and is not appropriate to share and when?  Do I determine this based on your behavior, on what it communicates to me is appropriate?  Certainly not!  Yet this I have done as though I were a mere image of you! It is I who must determine, with the guidance of my higher power, what is and is not appropriate to share of myself.  I must not share for the mere purpose of holding your interest or out of fear that should I not, you will turn your attention elsewhere.  

I cannot rely on myself however to remain pure in action and intent.  I must rely on my higher power and awareness practice to hold my ego in check, to keep me from falling into my old beguiling ways, to replace these with new responses and to keep the end goal at the forefront of my mind no matter what my heart and body desire.   What are they but impetuous children, always wanting and craving, who no sooner obtain the desired object then become wanting for something more.  

Lastly, what of communication?  We for the sake of ease, fall into the trap of text messaging as what seems to be the main source of communication these days.  Are we not using this format as a shield, as a way to keep others at arms length, as a way to obscure what we really mean or feel?  Without the nuances of body language, tone and intensity of voice we do ourselves a disservice when we communicate in this forum.  I want to experience and be experienced in the fullness of presence, not just as text on a screen.  I want to bring to you my practice of presence.  Will you bring me yours?

On Coincidence

Coincidence - I don't believe in this as a principal. We may mis-ascribe the meaning to seemingly random events, to happenstance, but I find meaning in everything that occurs in my life, even when at the time, I cannot imagine what meaning there could possibly be in particularly hurtful events.

By being open to the possibility that there is something to be learned, some meaning inherent, I never fail to see it in time. It requires trust in a power greater than myself. Often, in the most painful of circumstances I have said to God, "I cannot imagine what good can come from this hurtful experience. I can't fathom its purpose but I know you have a only good planned for me. So I trust that this is somehow for my benefit though I can't see it right now. I trust you and supplicate myself before you."

It is never long after I do this that I obtain an answer. I find the meaning and indeed, the reward exceeds the suffering. In this I am never disappointed. My higher power never disappoints, abandons or inflicts harm for harm's sake.

On Attention

I am learning to focus on what I have rather than what I have not, the relationships available to me for nurturing rather than those that are not. It is a practice, to see what is in abundance rather than to focus on what is withering away. If I place my attention on what is withering, so too will be the fate of what is currently growing.

On Global Conflict

Having given up cable television last year, I rarely watch the news but CNN happened to be closed captioned on the screen in front of the chest press at the YMCA yesterday.  In the two minutes that I sat there, this is what I gathered: Iran is acting badly and Obama made a threat.  The media was analyzing with fervor whether or not Obama would follow through on his threat.

I found this humorous.  What I saw was the alcoholic/codependent dynamic on a global scale.  I heard the words of my sponsor - Say what you mean.  Do what you say.  It's ironically simple.  I saw the media scuttling around in a dramatic buzz like ants with a disrupted mound, like family members dealing with an alcoholic crisis of chaos and I felt - amazingly sane.

Time

Time. Wide open. Empty. Ready to fill with possibilities, so much so that I am paralyzed. This is why I sit here on my brand new computer which I was forced to purchase when my old one died a few weeks ago. I've barely used it because my son is on it constantly. I have to say...Niiice!

Who knew that in five years computers had gotten so much faster and had so much more drive space?! Now I have to start saving for the next one that I will undoubtably have to purchase five years down the road, kinda like the replacement car which I have not begun saving for yet.

Did I buy or give a car to my seventeen year old daughter? Heck no. Is there college savings? Some, but it didn't come from my pocketbook. Am I saving up for the wedding she will someday have? That's a laugh. Welcome to the world of most people, Laine. God knows, it is not how I grew up. Everything was given to me. I practically had someone walking behind me sweeping up my tracks. So it surprises me, of all the high expectations that I have held myself to all of these years, why was it so easy for me to let go of the idea that parents should provide these things for their children?

Just as I was about to walk away and end this with the question, "What do you think?" the answer came to me. I was able to let this go because as an adult, I've resented it. I've resented that my parents didn't allow me to grow up, to pay my own way for some things, to mature into an independent adult. I began at 37 what I should have begun at 15. So when my daughter leaves for work on a bike or a bus I take no pleasure in that, but neither do I feel any guilt. I lose no sleep over what she is going to do after high school or how she is going to pay for it. I have complete confidence that she will find her way. She may have little money and no education, but she will be far better equipped to deal with life than I was. Nope. No guilt.

On how I start my day

I wake and look into the mirror. I see circles under my eyes and think, you have not been giving yourself enough rest. I see flaky skin and think, you have not been drinking enough water. I see eyebrow hairs growing in and think, you need to take care of that and I recall that I've been telling myself this for several days now.

Today I awaken to the fact that these are not the words of love, but hate. I wonder, if this is my inner landscape, then what must I project outwards and onto others and if I do not treat myself with loving kindness how can I expect to attract others who will? Then I think how much better it would be to place my effort into this endeavor, to love myself, then it is to place my effort into seeking it from impermanent external sources as I have always done.

I go back to bed and imagine starting my day over, peering into the mirror and saying, "Good morning. I love you."

On Happiness

Who knew that happiness was quiet? It is not exuberant exhilaration. It is a placid lake. It is sitting still. It is warmth in my belly.

Happiness is accessible. It is within. It is without. It is expansive. It reaches out.

Happiness is knowing with certainty that no one is disconnected, separate, or alone and that there is absolutely nothing that we must do.

Performance Art Witnessing

Thank you to my friend, Emily, and her performance last night at A Family Affair. Before she began speaking we sat silently observing a film,  a film of a person being mummified in toilet paper.  In those seconds before Emily spoke a feeling came over me, an urge, the need write, just as she had done when she had witnessed the original mummification. But the moment wasn't about me.  It was about her witnessing experience so I listened and was moved as much by her experience as by my own.  What follows is what I experienced in 30 seconds of witnessing.

Free me of these bandages,  this bondage of self which encumbers and prohibits me. I am screaming to break free.  There is no one to hear me,  no one to witness me.

There is no one with scissors to cut me loose. It is I who must free myself like a butterfly from a cacoon.  It is in the struggle to break free that the muscles are developed to fly.  I must do it on my own.  No one can do it for me and I must do it because I have the desire to see the light of day,  to spread my wings and fly.   Daily I do what I can to chip away at that which binds me.  Today is the day,  the day I break free and fly. 

On a hike

I decided to do things differently this weekend.  I chose to focus on myself by going for a hike and in doing so I was going to war with myself.   You see there is a part of me that is all about change but there is an impudent child in me as well, a child who wants to maintain the status quo.  The result is an intra-psychic battle.

As I began the ascent to Lake Valhalla, I observed my thoughts, “Ugh.  This is hard today.  Maybe I should have stayed home.  Maybe Ben would have eventually wanted to go swimming or do something other than sitting in front a screen all day.  Perhaps I am a bad mother for leaving him at home.”  I listened but pushed on. 

Soon enough my heart had reached a steady cardio rhythm.  I found my stride and the status quo’s voice of negativity disappeared.  The noise distractions and interruptions of daily life had been shed like a child’s coat after returning home from school.  I was in flow, a moving meditation.   My body, mind and spirit were synchronized and at ease with the surrounding environment.  I experienced mental clarity and receptivity, the reason I hike.    

I remained in flow for some time until the voices of other hikers calling after their dog, Oscar, crept into my awareness.  We became traveling companions until at last our destination, Lake Valhalla, was reached.  I, seeking the solemnity of solitude to eat and to reflect and to write, took a separate path.

Alas, solemnity was not to be.  Though there were no humans in close range, there were the black flies.  I moved.  I swatted.  I swung my extra shirt like a horse swishing his tail.  I stood in the water.  I stood out of the water.  I ate. I didn’t eat.  Finally I took a new approach.  I sat on a log, closed my eyes and calmed my agitation.  I listened to the sound of insect wings whirring past my ears, some growing louder, others softer.  I felt the tickle as they alighted on my skin.  I observed myself.  I did not react.  I was willing.  Then one bit me.  That was it! 

I came to see that a seated reflection was not the purpose of this trip.  I was meant to move and so I did.  I moved to begin the return journey.   I had plans for that evening to get home to, plans I was looking forward to.  I allowed the thoughts of what was to come carry me down the trail and back to my car.  I moved swiftly over Stephen’s Pass, past the Iron Goat Trail and the town of Skykomish.  I checked my GPS for the estimated time of arrival at home.  “That couldn’t be right,” I told myself.  I sought another source of information and as I did, the traffic came to a halt.  I single line of brake lights stretched out in front of me and disappeared around a bend.  My heart sank and the voice of the status quo perked up with delight.  “I knew you shouldn’t have come out here on a Sunday!” it berated.  It called me stupid and what were you thinking, you should have known better.  I took a deep breath and this is what came to me - acceptance.  

The day had been an opportunity to accept life today as it was, with all of its imperfections, unrealized expectations, annoyances and changes of plans.  It was an opportunity to accept my powerlessness to change any of the circumstances of the day and an opportunity to accept myself, impudent child and all.  It was an opportunity to practice patience and to extend compassion to myself.  What I got to experience was love.

On Worthiness

I am discovering more and more how unworthy I believe I am of love. I see it in the way I sweeten the package (of myself) to make it more attractive.  It is sneaky,  in the same way as the disease of alcoholism and I am convinced that the codependent is suffering from the exact same disease where self deception and self-hate run the show like the wizard of Oz behind the curtain.

Recently I got to see how when I am attracted to someone I will default into flirtatious mode with innuendo.  I do this because I believe that on my own I am not interesting enough to attract someone or that if they knew who I really was,  they would turn away. 

I got to see how I use sexuality to try to trick someone into loving me.  It's only a matter of time before the sex fizzles though and you find little of substance or compatibility lying beneath it. 

I got to see how I will glob onto any characteristic the other has found attractive and use that to try to bring them closer, to  be ready to spend time with me now,  and not make me have to wait some undefined quantity of time.

I got to see my fear as just that and I get to give to my needy little person what she had sought from others through relationship. 

I am getting to feel her calming, being more at ease.  She is feeling the freedom to skip down the street, abandoning her post on the couch where she had sat turned facing the back looking out the window waiting with vigilance for the return of someone who once left without a word.

Today no one is leaving without a word.   Today someone has simply asked for some time, time she can use to build sand castles.

On pain

During my morning meditation, I kept getting this cramp in the arch of my right foot, a painful cramp which pulled my foot downward in a pointed position. I tried flexing my foot to release the tension and the pain. This provided only moderate relief. I placed pressure to the area where the muscle was contracting with my thumbs.  This too provided only moderate relief.

Then a thought came. It was the same suggestion that my tattoo artist had given me.  "Don't fight it. Go into the pain."  So I did.  I relaxed into it. I accepted it. I observed it. I felt the pain's warmth spreading outward,  moving from a central point upward and downward along the length of the muscle. Soon enough the contraction let up and so did the pain.

I saw this as a metaphor for emotional pain. To what length do we go to relieve emotional discomfort?  We deny it. We avoid looking at it. We avoid feeling it. We try to convince ourselves why we shouldn't feel the way we do. It was a reminder to me that to love and accept myself, I must honor my feelings, my pain, my disappointment, by observing them without judgement, by not trying to change them or fix them or squash them into a box. I honor myself by letting them be what they are. With quiet awareness I give them the space to be what they are, no more and no less and in doing so I am giving them the freedom to pass as they will naturally on their own. 

Emotions are like molecules of gas. By trying to contain them, forcing them into a box to hide away like an unwrapped Christmas present , they become combustible. But when allowed the freedom of space, they will disperse naturally into the ether.

Today I will observe my feelings as they arise and give them the space they need to float away.

On Youthful Friendships

I had the pleasure of kayaking with a new activity buddy yesterday. We rented boats from NWOC on Lake Union. We were soon making our way across the boating lanes, scouting a spot to practice our wet exits. We gave way to the local cruise lines in their various sizes and degrees of luxury, rowed past sailboats anchored off shore and maneuvered around the many paddleboarders.

Finally I spotted calm waters and a hidden bay tucked behind a set of James Bond style house boats with attached personal high-speed watercraft. A teenage boy and girl sat facing one another submerged to their waists a few feet from the shore. I couldn't help but feel that we were breaking up a moment, but I figured that was probably not a bad thing.

After some hemming and hawing about not liking the idea of plunging myself into the feathery plant life that lay below,  I finally rolled my boat upside down.  Disoriented in that position, I managed to exit the cockpit and bob to the surface unaware of the plants around me. After another go of it, it was my partner's turn. I stood by as she situated herself in her boat. "Geesh," she said looking at me. A potent aroma of now legalized marijuana filled my nostrils. I turned my head. Through the wire grated sides of the house boat ramp I saw a cloud of smoke. A set a paddleboards, like lawn furniture, sat clustered beneath it on the water offering support to their riders.  I imagined someone paddling up to them, nodding his head and grinning as he said, "waS'UUUUUP?!"

On Loss

In June the weather became warm enough to open my bedroom windows and to leave them open for sleep. Every morning at 5 a.m. I was awoken by the sound of the birds. They seemed so loud. Some mornings I'd get up and with frustration close the window. Other mornings I'd pull a pillow over my head. After a while I simply grew accustomed to lying in bed for 30 minutes listening to their sounds before drifting back to sleep.

Now it is August. The temperature is warm and the days, though not as long as they were in June, are still long enough but there is something about the daylight that has changed. It is not as brilliant. The Sun no longer passes directly overhead and the landscaping along the back of the house, which just a week ago received full Sun in the late afternoon, now remains in shadow.

Restless,  I turned the other day to look at the clock next to my bed. It was 5am. I wondered where the birds had gone. Before drifting back to sleep my ears focused.  I heard them. The birds had not gone away. I had just stopped hearing them.  A touch of sadness crept in. I missed being awoken by the birds! They were a reminder to me that the good days of summer were beginning and filled me with anticipation of the activities that lay ahead, the hikes I would make, the boats I would row, the tomatoes I would grow.  The birds reminded me that one day soon I would don my bathing suit and sandals again, take my lunch break outside and absorb the warmth of the sun.

That I am no longer awoken by the birds is a sign that the end of summer is approaching. Though it has been fully satisfying, I feel a wave of nostalgia for summer's past. My children are no longer little and the time is past when I could take them to the pool daily. I have come to a period of my life in which I am truly happy but as the summer begins to fade, I feel the loss of all those years while my children were little during which I was incapable of happiness. I wasn't able to experience the joy that I now can at watching them grow. I am sad both for what I could not experience and also for I could not provide.  It is then that I take comfort in knowing that if it weren't for the loss,  I would never have experienced the gratitude for the joy I have found.