Last night was an usual twisting of thoughts, legs, pillows, memories, plans, analysis, grief, excitement all intertwined. I was tossing here and there and wrapping myself up in a cocoon of threads of themes.

I reset myself. I lay one hand over my heart and another on my abdomen and I slowly breathed to bring me back home.

It is my ritual. The body is home, this breath is where I rest. As I breathe out I feel along my spine for the grasping mind tension of yearning. These are obstructions, I tell myself.

Then I replay Rag and Bone man’s music in my head. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3wKzyIN1yk

“Maybe I’m foolish, maybe I’m blind.” I sing to myself. And I forgive myself for not being able to drop the drama. “I’m only human after all.”

The voice/ego searches the flat plane of the past day from my high night time perch. My eyes sweep from morning to night to see what assaults/insults have activated old wounds. I know it is not now. My mind understands that it is old scripts that are ruling me now. My terror for survival as a child resurfaces. The yawning black fear of abandonment has me pinned down and will not allow me to escape into sleep.

So much went on last night. Surfacing of grief. And the agitation dances in me as I stand on the threshold of taking bigger chances in my life.

I want to scream out, “Leave me the fuck alone! Stop pressuring me to grow. Stop tricking me into being more open and speaking out the truth that causes other’s eyes to sting.”

The distractions of smallness. The withdrawal into normal, compliant hiding in plain sight is just not available any more. I cannot stand myself. I cannot go back to what was and stay quiet. I cannot step forward into the exploding risk that calls me of being full on power. So I cling to the threshold between levels just vibrating with memories, shadow entities and the unseen bridge of stone I am called to jump blindly onto.

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A guest said there was “scum” under some bottles of shampoo in the shower and I was devastated. I made excuses… people have been in the house steadily for two months and trying to get into any one space is like waiting for the jump rope to turn exactly to the right moment. I missed my pain clinic injection appointment that takes two months to set up because I was talking about the stress of dealing with criticism. So I did not get there on time.

Then I went to a writer’s group and I was already fermenting with two “failures” in my vat body persona. The moderator talked about how important it is to attend conferences. That very morning I had signed up for the Penticton Conference much like you would drag a four year old to a play date who doesn’t like noisy places. I have forced myself to pay and sign up. But HE is urging me to do more of it.

So my sleep was slow in coming and I was at work releasing the octopus arms of fear and tension that would wake me up during the night. Breathe. Chant. Recognize. Allow.

I am on the verge again. And like all other times I have been on the edge of something bigger, I absolutely hate it. But what was, the old small metal toy windup movements no longer satisfy me. It is the way I move in the world. Boredom, safety, predictability become intolerable strait jackets. And what I am yearning for is causing agitating and upsetting.

Last night, I was wrestling with the grief of the transition and the excitement of knowing there is nothing I can do. I am on the move.

Yep… it is getting to me. The people that post semi-automatic weapons are really not semi-automatic weapons. Those who stand firmly on a flat earth. The birthers, the racists who don’t know they are racists, the entitled city council that decides which people should be allowed on the streets and try to fine away human pain and evidence of trauma.

For the last two or three days I have been like the violin that only has one string left. It is the really, really high sound nobody wants to hear. It is my last nerve. I don’t feel shaken up in my body… nope. I am too grounded for that.

My body is a lovely friend and its energy is steady eddy. It is that safe warm home.

It is more like the “afraiding” around the edges. It feels like hamsters are committing suicide on my computer screen. Big, plump bodies of vibrating ignorance and anxiety colliding with my internet interface.

We are vibrating like puppets whose strings are being pulled too fast by the masters and slapping one another in the face. Wrestle dancing about the truth and “ultimate reality”. Some are unaware of the string pulled jerks and others are yelling, “You have a puppet master. I don’t have a puppet master.”

As the splatting of fear and spewing out of anxiety continues, occasionally some one is far enough back; someone is observant enough to have a sense of humour. I am so thankful for when that appears. It is a joke, people. The whole thing is a joke.

And running into someone else’s feed with your teeth bared doesn’t change the hamster suicide, puppet pulled manipulated dance.

All we can do is step back far enough.

The first level is to view other’s behavior as a reaction to us. They love us. They hate us. They agree with us so therefore they are safe. They disagree with us so therefore they are a threat.
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The second level is to view the cultural layer. People who have no knowledge of past civic and political history do not understand that this same script, scenario has played out previously. And so we can say… this happened before. It is a recycling of an old societal story.

The third level is to view it as a game. There are avatars; people see themselves as this character or as that character. They have aligned with a created nation concept and play out the conflict. There is a “them” and an “us” and we owe allegiance to some cadre construct.

The fourth level is to view self. What is most interesting about this level is that it entails all of the lower levels.  The everything is about me energy is still there but can be pushed aside once it is recognized. The everything always happens this way in history story can be seen and stepped over. The level of the gang mentality; the clinging to belonging which chains us to one another and to the concept of being correct (so we don’t die) can also be by passed.

And what we are left with is the ability to see all of the calls to drama, anxiety, reactivity. And what we are left with is the responsibility to decide how to react, to respond, to advocate based on our own understanding of who “I” am.

You know those 3D glasses you put on in a movie; well stepping back allows us to see 4D, 5D and know it is a CGI creation.

So knowing I am hearing the annoying plucking of my own ego last unbroken string allows me to forgive myself for falling for it. The drama is just a story.

I am going out to chip paint off of my front step now.

This time of year my soil addiction begins. I hide the fact that I am purchasing so many bags and spending an undisclosed (to me) amount of available funds. I make a run to a hardware store or a nursery and take out my interact card for a mere three or five bags. I pick them up with my damaged hands with wrists that no longer function and hug them tightly to my chest. Each one I release into the trunk of my car until they are badly stacked and then I head home.

I struggle them out onto the lawn. The placement is important because I will not willingly be moving them again. It is painful and difficult.

The ritual of slicing open the soil bag is established and careful… four horizontal slits and two along the top and the bottom. Then I shake out the dark contrast to the green stems of the appearing plants. The neon green pops against the black ground. Immediately the pallet of colors enlivens the incipient garden: seafoam, sage, pickle, pistachio, crocodile, parakeet, mint, moss, army, hunter, jungle, kelly, emerald all show themselves bravely.

The beginnings of blossom are suddenly visible. The tiny baby finger tip of a bud comes into focus on plants all over the yard. The neatly edged touching of lawn and flower bed is delineated.
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I stand back and observe how the addition of contrast and fresh surface creates an entirely different construct. This is a garden with purpose and planning. This is a front yard to promises to hold a fashion show of bulbs and roses. People stop at the fence and look expectantly. It is like a poster for a coming attraction. Something magnificent will come to life here. The stage is being prepared.

And people pause to watch each new step leading to the extravaganza. Soon, the black oil proclaims, soon the spectacle begins.

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When I awoke, I held in my mouth the dry feeling of dun colored words. The usual pattern of joyful enthusiasm was lattice over shadowed by the decades of self punishing discipline and the commiserate depression of a child refugee in a world gone wrong. The barefoot tiny person standing in the rubble of bombed out generations stood observing me before I was fully awake this morning.

The sun is shining outside of the attic space of my thoughts and I know how to fly blind. I negotiate with myself how to take off into this day.

Most of my self soul retrieval has been by dead reckoning. I experience the confusion and mist wrapped gray thoughts and trust that somehow, within myself I know the way out.

And finding that relationship with the horizon, with the sky and the earth has most to do with recollecting the many times I literally did not know which way was up. I have felt my way. The instruments of my practice, the gauges of my teachers have righted me repeatedly.

Thinking of the necessity of feeling and knowing all of it, allows me to soften to myself. I am that broken child, unprotected and unseen. I am the pilot experienced in navigating internal and exterior weather. I am the student humbled by each new lesson. I am the teacher who keeps myself alert to the gifts of failure and the delights of new formations of the self. And before me is the landscape of this one particular day.
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Learning

Outside my window the sun is weakly touching the boundaries of my kingdom.

I woke up with a dry mouth full of bitterness and old stories. The gift of the work is that I knew immediately the taste and the method to clear it.

I know that I can watch and learn.

Being human is always a dynamic process. Accepting what is now releases shadow bitterness. I trust with each step that I am learning. All of my experiences are in service. And the day can shift to hold me gently as I hold my own woundedness gently. I will get off the ground and find my way to fly. I have got this.

There are yearnings of the heart for that which did not; could not and will never happen. The sun sets at dusk, time for the curtain to go down or the house lights to blacked for the opening of some recycling drama.

Silence is not silence in the city but just a quieting of the beast to now only the sound of breath. The night takes in light outlined movement erasing certainty. The night takes light into itself and holds it to move a sigh like air over the internalizing lives.

perspective

It is all shoes on in the morning, step, march, move through something making purposeful paths to some outside definition of a goal, or some pale tattooed dream markings of a desire on our maps. We think we are in control. We check our costumes in the mirror.
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But as the split opens between the seasons of the day, of what presents as one, we feel the breath of the beast of yearning. And there is gaping sadness, this cavern of falling away. A soreness awakening for those things we are not even sure we have felt, or failed to feel, or desired to feel.

shadow truth

Resting in the space between this and that, we are not. Undone Self dissolves all elemental structures. The darkened house. The anticipation palpable. The utter blankness as we sit with empty hands waiting to see what we are playing at. We languish together in rows of  collective obscurity.

Wow. Talk about shifting energy. I feel like I woke up, stepped out of bed and was eight inches taller. Goals are easier to reach. I can see to the back of the dark mind cupboard more easily. “Oh there it is?” I say to myself. There is that wish, hope, dream, long hidden desire, container of passion sprinkle for my daily consumption. It was there all the time but I had forgotten about it; or I had hidden it from myself: or I had stuffed it too far into the unseen regions.

I have entered two writing competition and found writing the non-fiction narratives of things I have experienced to be relatively easy now. All those years of therapy, shamanic retreats, ho’oponopono practice, the chanting to release have paid off. I can not only look at a scenario of weird trauma but I can write about it in a kind of flat, unexpectedly humous manner. I call it the dead pan gutting. I can handle it now, with words. I no longer dissociate when I talk or write about events.

And the fact that I can now see the comic aspect, the absurdity of the “short stories” I have lived through is actually quite delightful.

I have had yearnings in my life. Belonging in a group of creative, non-competitive, authentic people has always seemed to me to be impossible. I think it was some of the scarring on my perception of reality. On some level, because I had never experienced an open flow, I couldn’t believe in it.

“Just believe,” says Peter Pan.

Easy for you to say, buddy. But I could never get off of the ground. Or if I did I didn’t believe it was happening so just fell to earth again.

How do you know if you’re at the HIGHEST LEVEL you will ever be within the company! That’s pretty much https://unica-web.com/ENGLISH/2015/GA2015-minutes-1.html order cialis the comp-plan in a nutshell. Even though it would not have an excess cialis generic price check out address consumption of such medicinal treatments since it would not be useful. Have a habit to eat healthy foods including vegetables and fruits and also consume supplements for health. vardenafil online australia It also contains viagra levitra Polyphenols, a chemical substance produced by the body. Being in the Vagina Monologue play was healing. The 24 women around me were not only physically beautiful but loving, compassionate, inclusive and authentic. I could feel my spirit being healed by the experience. I could feel myself lifting off.

I volunteered for the NDP because my entire adult life I have believed in inclusion, social justice and the concept that all people, just by being born, deserve love, connection and protection. Working for Shelly Cook was so satisfying. Here was a woman who was authentic and honest. The people around her were delightful, open, ready to see the best in their co-volunteers. And I could feel my spirit being healed by the experience.

The board of the Living Positive Centre needed a member in order to keep operating. As I sat at the table, I was warmed by the other people. They were there to save lives. They were there to help street people, the disenfranchised, the drowning in the cold waters of a commercial/competitive society. And they were bright and educated.

It was as if I were finally going back and getting some of the trauma of being uncared for in my childhood healed. The experiences of being bullied and terrified in school were being healed. They made me a more compassionate person because I really do understand.

There are just certain times in life when you work blindly, hoping against hope. But you keep going.

The desire to be recognized for my writing skill, my quick mind, my political acumen and to be in a group that not only accepted me, but loved me seemed too far out of my reach.

There are just certain times in life when you feel your spirit blossom and the struggle fall away.

“Just believe,” I tell myself. And you will finally fly. Lift off.

February has been a time of opening up to the world. Since I broke my wrist in October, I have lead an insular life. My airbnb has had guests coming intermittently but the house has been, for the main part, quietly expansive around me. The occasions that called me out of doors to do an archeological dig for my car and the venturing out to view a movie have been undependable opportunities for visiting the world beyond my air lock doors.

I have had visits to the physio for a while and visits to my counsellor for a while but then there was stillness.

That is, until February pulled me into the world. I volunteered a few times to help Shelly Cook in her run for the NDP. Her intelligence, honesty and commitment to social justice impressed me.

I auditioned for and got a part in the Vagina Monologues. For the first time since 1983 I am memorizing lines and preparing to do a performance of a scripted work. The high level of anxiety almost drove me to withdraw from the play at first.
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But I know that the tightly woven structure I have build around me must be destroyed. The risks, the breaks in pattern, the optimism of undertaking something that I have no certainty of doing to perfection is exactly what I need right now.

The days are full of challenges and unexpected events. It has been seven years since I lived in such a dynamic manner. There are times when I even go to a new coffee shop; drive across the bridge on the lake; dream of travel to Iceland or Costa Rico. I am getting the urge to expand. And all the while, I have no idea where that feeling will lead me.

It is very like coming out of years of monastic living. February feels like the first few steps of a big adventure.It is terrifyingly wonderful.

I like to stand on the surface of the island of now and plant an adjectival flag into the soil. I shall declare you …… fill in the blank.

Last night the weather was violent. Rain and furious ice chunks flying through the air were striking my bedroom window. It was “bad”.

The gift of angels

People were posting on Facebook that it was “horrible”. The dreadful snow that had fallen the last two days became icy and slick. This morning was a gray locked in kind of day where the sky is frowning so that its cloud filled forehead was lowered below the mountains ringing the valley.

But the snow was beautiful. When the while fluff is lining the limbs of the trees so the black contrast delineates the shape of each branch, I feel as if I am in some handicrafted miniature village or on a 1930’s movie set (without the fake asbestos doubling as snow).

And the violence of the storm was exciting. There was such sheer energy at work that I opened the door and stood in it just to feel my pulse increase.

The sky has pushed back the gray and some dripping water color blue is starting to fill the gaps. Sun is shining along the branches of the trees where yesterday it was white. And the grass is now revealed with crocus plants pushing up from the soil of the garden bed.

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“Did I do well?” we ask.

As I was reading a post from a woman who is growing and stepping away from past chaotic experiences, I see that she is in a poignant place. She is not yet but no longer.

It is a time and place that leaves her unable to assess who she is. And my Buddhist teachers would say, “Congratulations.” When we no longer know who we are; when we no longer judge the events around us; when we simply breathe, make intentions and watch ourselves everything opens up.

The death of labeling; the death of catogorizing; the death of having to construct an emotional reaction to each now means that all is possible. It also, for me, has meant I can connect with the knowledge that my view is so limited that I have no idea at all the importance of any given experience. What I do know is that it is not to be found under a planted flag of “good” or “bad” and remaining standing still emotionally.

Life is an adventure and what seems good may become better or worse. What seems terror filled may be growth in disguise. What seems to be important may be, in the end, just another small lesson. Ending something is not the end. Beginning something is not the beginning.

Our lives are a single flow of lessons and there is no head teacher to judge our “progress”. I simply watch my own growth and see how submitting to the process has brought me greater peace and confidence that nothing is ever lost. And in that trusting place, I am able to be more loving because my anxiety is softening.

Every instance is new and fleeting. There is no need to call it by a name. We are here to learn.