After viewing Gay Hendricks’ videos about upper limit problems, I now clearly see how pattern/habit works.
I think of how my children would dig out grooves in the soil on our northern property so that the melting snow and downfall of rain could run in the gully established for it. They would take turns running their stick tools repeatedly in the soil. When a rain would come, they would go out and unblock the areas where rocks, tree needles and clumps of dirt would try to dam up the flow.
Habit is both my friend and my prison. As I mindlessly attended to the preparation of my rental rooms for airbnb, I watched myself. I am such a voyer of my life. I had no difficulty emptying the dishwasher, putting the laundry in, making the beds, cleaning the bathroom. Even picking up the small broken leaf fragments from the floor is ingrained.
But the larger things, the higher limit things are resisting me. There is a block. There is a big, fat ole rock that has rolled into the groove of wanting my book published.
First I do that which is programmed in my data base because I see it as successful. Perception is completion.
After five years of running a bnb, the habits are in charge. But the larger dream, the dream of having Walking the Streets of Blood are a challenge.
I laugh at myself for not wanting to seek out yet more rejection from publishers. As I hang sheets on the line I think of Stephen King who came home from his menial, unfulfilling job and was able to sit down and put in another work day of writing. He sent his work out repeatedly to be rejected.
As I work in the even, open and flowing groove of habit, I am mentoring myself. I am talking to myself about the possibilities.
The conscious mind can be a life coach. The pre-frontal cortex can be the loving parent. The higher mind can be a cheerleader.
And the ability to calm down my frustration with myself for not being what I can see myself called to be is very like what my children did. They did not go out and swear at the blocks in the designed flow of energy. They simply removed the blocks. And soon there were little rivers moving down the hillside according to their design.
Thank you to Stephen King, and two children for reminding me of that lesson today.