Category Archives: mindfulness training

Easy Peasy

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As I was making my bed with the elephant imprinted sheets raising its trunk in the air to bring in prosperity, I was thinking about effort. Struggle, work, denial, sweat, striving, stress were all presented to me in my family as a sign of virtue. To work hard and to occasionally suffer greatly meant that you were a valuable person.

My entire family indulged in workaholism. My parents each had two jobs. My mother went to night school to become a hospital administrator. I came home each day after school and cleaned, did laundry, waxed floors. My social outings restricted to the library to “work” on school assignments. I took double loads at university, worked several jobs and danced in the campus Orchesis Modern Dance troupe.

I slid the sheets on the corners of my bed and thought about how ridiculous it is to require of people that they suffer from work enough to prove that they hold value. World glass gymnast, skateboarders, Olympic athletes, professional surfers do not look like they are out of control, exhausted and awkward.

beauty in the mundane


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Their performance is an easy, graceful flow. We see how completely they trust their own bodies as we watch their performances.

So what I have come to realize as I make the beds, prepare the house for the next guests seven days a week, is the effortlessness of it. I move easily, efficiently with skill. I do not take in deep suffering breaths and talk to myself about the challenge of hosting 887 people since January. I just stay NOW. I just enjoy the sunshine when I go out to sweep the deck or carry the garbage to the alley.

Acceptance of things as they are opens us up to a high performance life. We are trusting that the calm, expansive place of flow will bring greater skills to us. We will learn over time. We will get better at that which we practice. Anyone who is good at what he or she does knows how to loosen up and allow the skill to build with repetition. On the crest of the wave, there is a place of balance.

The Joy of Grief

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Stored grief, trapped grief, neglected and locked up in the basement or attic grief can be ignored. We are encouraged in our culture to imprison it immediately and never look upon its face again.

Stored grief becomes baseline anxiety. It haunts our system like a poltergeist. We may jump at sounds, flinch at a massage therapists touch, see personal attacks in the words or looks of another individual. Stored grief makes us frightened children. We are telling ourselves that we are not big enough, strong enough, mature enough, powerful enough to look at this grief with clear vision. Our culture tells us that we are not whole enough to experience the entirety of emotions.

Only some emotions are allowed in. But grief is already housed in us. We have suffered a plethora of grief stories by the time we are adults. It is a Netflix, Crave vastness of stories of loss, abandonment, physical pain. And we in our human condition are newborn soft. Our bodies are fragile. Our minds are untrained and nervous. Our yearnings are childish. We are walking the earth without armour plating.

And so IT happens. The loss shears away some part of our lives we thought was eternal. The abandonment occurs again and again. The insults to our spirits occur on a daily basis. The more that we are enduring, the more that we are obscuring.

Life strikes us

The only way that we can free ourselves of the fragility of our state is to understand it fully. The body will tell us when we are wounded. The breath will tell us when we are experiencing fear. In that moment, if we are to be adults, we must feel what is happening to us physically. We must stop and see the sadness that has just been triggered within us.

Thich Nhat Han says, “We must hold our grief like a baby.”
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To sit with the grief, the sadness, the wounding, the pain and hold it in our arms takes an adult spirit. To see that life costs us in so many ways and when the next loss appears, it is our duty to ourselves to hold it in our arms. And so we cry. And so we weep. We release the grief so that it will not haunt us every single day. We are unafraid to say that we are merely human. We are unafraid to say that right now, this day or this week, I am processing grief. It is different than clinging to grief so that we can get attention.

We can grow ourselves.

It is different than dragging grief behind us in the childish grip like a teddy bear.

We recognize the pain of being human when it arises so that we may release it. Only when we are no longer haunted by the locked up ghosts can we let the light and the joy in.

Let us shift the culture so that we allow others to feel both grief and, through releasing it, the joy that comes next. Anger is being worn like a cutting edge fashion statement at the current time.

And anger is neither here nor there.

Throw open your windows to all of life. Get rid of the ghosts.

What is Truth?

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I am run over by the stories in my mind like a person standing in a raging crowd which is pushing through to some scarcity prize..So many versions of my life clustering the aisle of truth.

But when I check this blog, I see actually. I wrote only one entry in July and it has been a full month to the day since I last posted.

Where did the time go? What was I doing? Why did my intentions dissolve like the smoke from my incense burning in front of my Buddha statue. My mind has constructed a narrative which I see converges in three directions easily running along the ground in different dimensions.

What have I done? I sit asking myself. Every day I have prepared my airbnb for new guests. I have worked out three to four times I week. I have walked building onto my habit of walking until one week I hit 66 Kilometers of travel on my feet.

But. But. I excuse myself with the heat. My productivity falls when the temperature crosses the border line of 30 celsius. I say to myself… you are old Mother Williams… yes that poem by Lewis Carroll.

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head –
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”

“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son,
“I feared it might injure the brain;
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Why, I do it again and again.”

So I have no brain or mindfulness when I excuse myself from my dreams. I placate myself that it is enough what I do because… and then I wander into the garden of blooming rationalizations and pluck a multifarious bouquet.

People plaster the sides of my reality with their “fun” billboards. At least, you should have fun. The call to tomfoolery is like a jingle played repeatedly on TV. I am instructed to adhere to the behavior of others… the hot sand, the stasis of seeking, the grouping to make trivializing conversation. None of that has ever held joy for me. I have always know I am an outlier, an alien being.

I stand on my head again and again and keep returning to the pervasive sense that I have played small; that I have taken the easy route; that I have somehow starved my future self of the glory that should be.

I have worked a seven day week since April and the business unfolds in front of me until the last week in October. The two hour retreats from the heat under the fan watching netflix is “wasted” time, I natter into my skull. “What are you doing?” I crow caw to myself.

And then I skip out to the garden and pluck the blossom excuses to put in water in a single vase. Oh they are beautiful those mix of mitigations.

So I know that I can trust myself so far. I can trust myself to do a teensy bit more than I did. I can trust myself to take slightly greater risks than I have. I can trust myself to stick my neck out a considered inch or two more.

Is that enough? I have no way of knowing the truth because I have stood on my head so long. At least, I know that much. I seek meaning. Fuck Fun.

Other People’s Victories

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When we compare ourselves to others we all lose. I am not as tall as she or he. They are not as short as I am. My skin is not as light, not as dark, not as tight, not as loose, not as radiant. We both come out behind.

No two people or things can ever reasonably be compared to one another. One stick is straighter and another branches. So which stick is the freak? Which broken off branch is not reaching its full potential as a manifestation of limb fractured upon the ground?

A comparison is always to designate the failure, the lesser than, the go home now, the “you are fired” mentality.

The mind that seeks to compare is the mind already set up to find fault. Is one of my ears bigger or smaller or higher on my head or lower than the other? Which ear is more perfectly an ear?

all in the brain

The ultimate ridiculous waste of intellectual calories is puzzling.

What is it we hope to achieve by comparing ourselves to others? What is the ultimate goal? Should we be thrown back into the waters before birth like some under limit fish?

To measure ourselves in terms of others is only in service of the puppet masters. The corporate holders of the psyche strings want us to feel that we are malformed, not special, lacking in some undiscovered attribute. It is when we are in that mindset that we buy a new oven or refrigerator in an attempt to catch up with others.

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My neighbour might have had a breakthrough in how to use the remote. Suddenly it clicked how to click the new device. She pushed through her frustration with technology and has begun to challenge her limits. It is as meaningful as if she had climbed a rock wall.

My friend might have set up a payment plan to pay off $25 dollars a month on the debt and it took every ounce of determination to get out of the mindset of rewarding pain by running up more debt. He has literally created a new future for himself. It is as transformative as if he had purchased a designer suit.

Some person sitting alone in front of the computer may have been in a frustration state so severe that that person wanted to scream and run away into the hills. But that person stayed in front of the blue screen light and learned how to use the new software. It was as frightening and courageous as if the person had gone sky diving, for them.

We can never know how much of a victory others are achieving in their daily lives if we are only using the status ruler. It tells us nothing. It tells us nothing about our own lives or about others.

As I sat at an intersection the other day I suddenly got the blinding clarity of understanding as car after car turned left into the lane next to me by travelling through an intersection. I thought of how each of those drivers had learned a skill, and decided to follow the rules of the society. Each was determined to keep his or her focus inside his or her own car and make that turn without danger to others. And I was flooded with love for the decisions each had made to make that turn. No one was racing to see who was first, who was the most deserving to make that corner first. It was an agreement to just keep the attention inside his or her own particular vehicle. And it was beautiful.

What if we could do that with out thoughts? Stay inside your own life, stay in your own lane and be focused on what major tiny achievements you are able to learn. Congratulate yourself and acknowledge how you pushed through a block of a challenge.

It makes us all so much more grounded and at peace. It makes us so much more likely to be at home in our own lives. It makes the world safer for all of us.

Christmas Choices

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We are told in books such as Switch: How to Change when Change is Hard that self discipline is a muscle. At the happy holiday season, the expectations are like vultures circling overhead. I saw people at Home Depot the other day entranced by the display.

This year new lights are shelved. New delights are displayed. Whatever you have done previously, is not enough. This year the lights are all white, or have 10 possible selections for sequencing. It is a brilliant, sparkling display of exactly what drives the population.

The fear of being out of step stems from ancient DNA encoding. If we were shunned; if we were denied food, shelter, companionship the only possible future awaiting us was to walk deep into the forest and await the inevitable manifestation of our particular death. The houses of the medieval village were no longer sanctuaries. The forgiveness of the church was no longer available. At the best, all we could hope for would be a quick death. At the worst, our souls would be damned to eternal hell fire and a very physical torture.

And so we are desperate to “fit in” to the rhythm of our society. People discard the old round Christmas lights and get the newly designed ones that signal importance and status. Shining out into the cold darkness of winter, is the message that this household is important. This household knows how to fit into the village. We have status.

As I was walking between the people with their carts filled with the newly designed badges of belonging, my rebellious in dwelling imp got out of control. I stopped and said,” Do you know Canadians have the highest credit card debt of any society on earth. We are #1.”

We are the love we seek

Some husbands turned and looked at their wide eyed, pupil dilated wives who had been pointing out what “new” items to put in the cart. There were looks exchanged.

And then I laughed. “It always feels good to be #1.”

What we learn from behaviour studies is that when we put too much pressure on ourselves to please others; when we require of ourselves that we go out to ten events in two weeks; when we take on heavy duty responsiblities that are out side our normative behaviour we become like a weight lifter that has lifted to fail.
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It is when it becomes too much that we turn to sugar, alcohol, screen addition, the quick fix of the credit card. Christmas is specifically designed like a no exit room to keep us in thrall to choices that do not serve us.

We become too exhausted to do anything more than make choices that are already made for us.

A woman at Michaels’ was buying a giant wooden sign that said Ho, Ho, Ho with glittery letters. And once again my pugnacious persona started laughing. It was a long line of people grasping at happiness with their baskets full of decoration.

I said, “What a good sign. After Christmas you can turn it around and it will read, “Oh, Oh, Oh to reflect your feeling when you read your credit card bill.”

Surprisingly enough all ten people in line laughed,  Maybe there is hope for us. Maybe we are always understanding even in the throws of addiction that we are in the throws of addiction.

And I am just glad, I don’t get sent to the principal’s office when my imp shows up.

My best practice now is to think, “If I were totally adult and sane right now… what would I choose?” It is something to consider. Merry Mindful Christmas.

 

We are only Human after all

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The stint of long distance stamina cross country marathon working pumping my limbs toward my goal of paying down my $110,000 reverse dowry (paying for my freedom from marriage) has been a great success. I have buckled down, buckled in, sucked it up, muscled up, stayed the course and bent my back into my airbnb business. As one of the top ten airbnb places in Kelowna, I have been so very grateful for the guests who have stayed with me. Their reviews, their company, their sweet thank yous have filled my life with light.

almost done

I have in a six year period gone from $110,000 in debt from the single check that I had to write in order to buy myself free down to a paltry $6,000 currently. However, the seven days a week of work for 8 months straight , of cleaning, of laundry, of restricting my movements so that I could be available to my guests, of living abstemiously ; of putting as much back into the business and the debt as my adolescent screaming on the inside could manage, has been demanding. There were openings of respite. I have gone on trips; purchased the odd new to me pieces of clothing and allowed frivolous expenditures like flowers for my garden that were not absolutely “necessary.” The unrelenting focus on paying down the debt and keeping my reviews at the Super Host status level has been a success.

Since October 20th I worked seven days a week from February 1st without a day off. And then I remembered  last year in October when I was shaky all over from the daily effort to bend my will, to put on the harness of discipline daily when I said out loud, “I need a break.” And then I fell down the stairs and fractured my wrist.

This year, I said to myself, this year you will stop before you are on your last torn shred of nerve. And so I blocked out all of November. I felt rebellious. I felt naughty. I felt outrageously irresponsible. How could I do that when I had debt left? How could I just ruthlessly cross off the chance to make thousands of dollars before my debt was disappeared.

I see a counsellor once a month and use her as my life coach. I check in with her to articulate what behaviours I am instilling in myself and what areas of wounding still drive my life. She worked with me for three continuous months gently suggestion that I could “let up on myself” before I saw a row of zeros on the debt counter.  I finally said, “I will be free at $10,000 stilll owing.”

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Today, I sit with $6,000 left on my debt in the month of November. I created this space of time off when I wildly crossed out all the days on  November’s calendar. And with a few days impetuously blanked out in October,  now I am living into 6 continuous days off. It comes home to me exactly how used up I am. I have no urge to travel, to start a new project, to explore the world, or myself.

The focus has been on meditation, sleep, teaching myself how to be a social being in the outside world again. I work out 5 days a week building muscle mass and I wait. I wait for the feeling that some magical glowing pathway will shine up into the gray befogged landscape of the present. I wait for the sense of joy and curiosity to return. I am no longer an indentured slave. I am no longer straining to put down the burden I have incurred by making an unenlightened choice of a mate. I have been buying off my own freedom. But I am tired.

What I find strange is that I had no idea exactly how pervasively exhausting and engaging this last six years has been. Having a purpose and a carefully defined struggle is a wonderful anesthetic. There are few decisions to be made. There are fewer possibilities  of going wrong. The harness is restrictive and comforting.

restrictions

And now, I cool my heels while my body recovers. I abide while I gain confidence that I am ready to deal with the outside world and finally walk toward my bigger dreams. My focus is on opening myself up to possibilities. So many of my delusions around deserving, around the heart hardening concept of toil, the crazily distorted mirrors which have reflected back who I think I am  are about to shift into the sheer joy of taking chances. It is right there in front of me and I am patient with not being quite able to see quite yet.

Autumn: What is happening?

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Autumn is a high wire act. The peak performance summer with its heat, 600 forest fires and 4 new guests every day into my home is one end of the wire. The other end is deep winter with its muted sounds, its sentinel plants poking up through the snow, its folding in on itself like a blanket around a reluctant person. In between, there are days that bring motivation. The gray coolness will be cut open with a sun knife and the clouds parted. The heat from the sky available in certain spot light areas.

As people turn up their furnaces, change blankets on the beds, structure new types of exercise into their lives the focus is on preparation.

How fitting it is that in the USA preparation for November 6th is also under way. The tribal disparities in belief systems have never been more virulent. Each side is now in a viral anger against the other. The background orchestral anxiety music is now playing so loudly it is causing a visceral reaction. Something is happening…. but it is impossible to see what it is.

We wait for winter hoping it will not present itself according to the predictions of the Farmer’s Almanac… a fierce and memorable assault. We wait for the election results in the USA with breath held. We wait to see if the disaffection with politicians and governments will fuel the rise of the hard cold presence of the conservatives here in Canada.
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Around the world there is a sense that we are only just maintaining our balance in a confusing time.

The work is to know we, each of us, walk alone together. Only the individual can stay in compassion and thereby show others a way of extending kindness. Only the individual can remain committed to healthy practices and thus show others it is possible to disengage from the self destructive distractions presented to us. Trusting our bodies is central. Trusting our in born values is more important than ever. Staying in a “self re-set” state is what past traumatic situations can teach us. The road of history is strewn with the psyches of those who trembled in fear. But those who know how to trust, know we are simply walking between two structures. Autumn turns to winter. Civilizations self destruct. Failing system fail. And now we take a breath. And now we find our balance. We hold onto the balance pole of love and stay focused.

Each passage from one structure of shared reality to another is giving us lessons. We are here to learn. It is a journey. Keep your balance.

Learning my boundaries: country of self

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I am constantly bumping into my limitations. There were days on end when the heat and smoke and working seven days a week were teaching me my capacity. How long can you go in a state of optimistic, accepting calm, woman? Hey. Let us find out.

When I stepped on a mass of dry twigs and three (so far that is the number that shot out of the resultant infection in my foot) shards were embedded; when my right eye stopped seeing clearly; when I found it difficult to breathe, I slid into a deep down knowing that the world was a crap lined cave of granite imprisonment. I forced myself to do the hours of work to prepare for guests every day but I settled for a grim existence.

stressors teach us

It makes me think of the experiences of my ancestors. The city is a fortress but it is surrounded by the invading hoards that have cordoned it off. No relief is in site. So for generations (on both familial trees) stoicism and indifferent detachment from one’s own suffering was the key to survival. I shift into “lock down” mode. I shift into disassociating mode.

Evidence of this arises frequently. After, I couldn’t see… I allowed three days to elapse before I got to the opthamologist.  Because the thought that something was happening to my vision was terrifying me, a person who is highly visually acute; an artist; a gardener, I buried it deep. Because my foot had an infection and stepping on it was painful, I just sat more. It was two weeks later that I showed it to my daughter and she suggested I actually soak it in epsom salts to encourage it to eject the intruding darts of lavender formed into weapons.

It was only when I sat with my counselor and explained some of the symptoms I was experiencing in my body that I heard her say, “Do you think you could be disassociation?”
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When the number and type of stressors I am experiencing ramps up, I go into lock down. I tell myself that the way out is to simply work harder on meditation and not see the events as negative. And then all hell breaks out. The bottom gear in my humanity is always blaming myself for my humanity.

no air

I have soaked my foot until all three pointy stick weapons were released by my body. I have begun to eat more salt to make sure my heart pumps blood to my eyes. I have once again made an effort to reach out to others to connect and not shut myself into my tower of protection.

And as I hang the laundry, once again, on the line I think about how my intention to build habits needs to be reinstalled… like failing software. Shut down the entire system. Then reboot and reinstall.

It is not like a war. The ground I am conquering is not myself. I am not a foreign country that needs harrowing and rebuilding. I am a garden. And weeding frequently, with love and conscious attention is working. Softly on the ground. Softly, softly on the ground.

Where Am I, I?

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Since May time has been a bullet train to some outside force decided destination. I have the business to run. And being so much further up the mountain, I have the wisdom to know when the heat of summer arises I need to “cool my jets”.

The thirty minutes break in the afternoon laying under the strange Tardis looking free standing air conditioner is the only thing between me and the type of dementia that would send me clawing off all of my clothing and running into the street yelling, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

Lately the unsolved technological problems have begun to be like a strange purple itchy erruption on my skin. There are so many spots of it and no matter how assiduously I ignore it, it is distracting and irritating.

So I put on my big girl panties, or my old lady drawers or some such metaphor meaning I covered up vulnerable areas carefully, and went after the problems.

I got my new cell phone to connect to my house wifi with the help of only two tech wizards. One referred me to the next one.

Now emboldened, I contacted a second IPower tech. The first one told me to do several things that simply flummoxed me.

I kindly told him, “I have reached my level of optimum frustration. I don’t understand anything you are saying. I am going to go away now.”

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(Notice how I snuck in my Red Bubble store in that paragraph).

So I was like a warrior with two heads in a pile and was ready to kill another enemy freaking frustration. I got the Ipower tech on the line and learned how to empty my cache and cookies. I felt renewed.

At that point my Paypal went down and I don’t even know how I managed to get CPR on that system to get it back on its feet.

Craving more power… I contacted a local video school to ask for a student to solve my WTF is happening when I load my photo booth video clipped to the wonderful intro a friend made for me. The two connected in IMovie.0.0.9 just smush the video blog and it looks like Cybil Shepherd’s scenes in Moonlighting. There is vaseline on the lense.

The sense that there are times of growth and times of maintenance is strong. Learning to attend to new challenges is not something I embrace. My strength is in the super self-discipline of doing what must be done. So, really, when I define myself by what I do or can do, it is erroneous.

I just never know. Very much. At all.

Attachment attitude: What is it?

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As I work in a daily, rhythmic manner running the airbnb I notice the thought arising: too much. It is interesting to see how jaded my attitude is to work. It has been my saviour as I worked 70 hour weeks most of my life as a teacher.

Our family embraced labour as an anaesthetic. Gabor Mate explained in his recent on line class that those who have been abused have “itchy” limbs. They seek to move in order to dispelling the trapped energy.

pink pinwheel catches the wind

I spent year after year watching myself and assessing my relationship with work. Scarcity mind set created an adrenaline fuelled kind of desperation. If life is too difficult, then everything is too difficult. This next “thing” is a struggle.

“And let me prove it to you,” my ego said. “Keep moving. Keep in the struggle. You cannot remove the dancing shoes, Princess.”

I no longer feel as if I am falling through uninhabited universes one after the other alone when I am not doing the cortisol/adrenaline dance. The sense of yawning emptiness that will melt my very existence no longer horrifies me. I know how to see it and release it.

intentional sanctuary

The secret is in checking my body. These are the signs that I am not abusing action:

1. I feel as if there is enough time for everything
2. I am not competing in my head with my past, with others, with some societal projection of success.
3. I feel at home in my body. I feel the ground beneath my feet, the space around me upholding me, the in flow of new energy in a smooth and untroubling manner.

I have shifted from making a copious to do list, the kind that takes up two sheets in my journal, to just touching intention in the same gentle way I touch a new blooming rose. I feel its texture. I breathe in its smell. I see the beauty of it.

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close up beauty

And then at the end of the day, when I was coming off of work addiction I structured a transition.  I had to write a list of what I had done without the rigidity of me trying to survive anything, or block out anything.

What most surprised me is that I would create as many intentions while moving through the day, as I did when I sat and forced myself to task. What surprised me is I was elated to see that I could trust myself.

Digging my heels into a donkey was my old way of working. But I came to see I was not a stubborn mule. I was a race horse filled with joy to just be kicking up my heels. There did not need to be a whip, or a jerking on the reigns.

I wanted to move and explore and learn. And I have found a way to do that that is more organic and less fear drive.

So when I feel a tightness in my chest from working 7 days a week, when I feel the old violin sawing irritation music, I remind myself to sink into the senses.

As I make the beds after hanging the candy colored sheets wave on the line, I select which brilliant pillow cover to place against another. Everything is art. Everything is creating. Everything is play. And I am spreading love energy in my house, thinking of the guests that will sleep peacefully.

the beauty

Can I know where I am headed by being frightened of it? I am beginning to see how the anxiety has handicapped me, now I am calm and trusting. Where ever I am, I am supported. Where ever I am, regenerating energy surrounds me.

And if I am beyond my limits after making beds for 153 people in four months, there is always a Netflix Brooklyn 99 binge retreat available.

I know how to take care of myself, finally. And it took over 70 years of learning to get here. But it is pretty “Toit”.