Sure, I am 72 but I am still a child. My entire life looks better when I have the Hershey Kisses silver wrapped pleasure laid out before me on my weekly path.

I am having a visit from my son, his wife and the amazingly wry toddler girl they have created. So because of that anticipated pleasure, the frosting cold on my windows and gnawing numbness at my feet does not bother me. The neighbour who parks his gigantic pulsing truck in my parking space does not bother me. My mind is living in the future place of experiences not yet arrived.

Like setting out with a basket, I look for the easter egg delights that are to come. A Netflix special, a dinner with friends, the three books that I have purchased and envision myself reading with a cup of Orange Spice tea at my elbow all await me.
How simple it is to simply learn that I need these scheduled surprises; these orchestrated moments of the music of the senses; these rewards scrawled on my giant calendar.

 
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golden walk in park

For me, Christmas is not about buying things, not about running around to see what I might be missing. But I am learning that shutting down does nothing to make my spirit bright.

The muffin at the coffee shop on Sunday morning makes me entirely happy. I can hear myself say to me, “This is nice. This is really nice.”

There are the big victories and then there are the victories that simply coming from learning what makes life brighter. I am a child who wants sparklers, sitting by the lake, a good tasting beverage and a foot swinging conversation. But first I have to plan and map them in my future. It is a plan. X marks the spot where the treasure is hidden.

At this time of year I experience hauntings. I liken it to seeing something out of the corner of my eye, a flitting heel of an entity memory that I can bring into clear focus with some effort.

I have to stop and grab at it and pull it into my field of mental vision.

On a T.V. show, I see a flower dress and the memory of my mother sewing a similar dress for me and for my doll returns for the first time since my childhood.

While washing my hands I think of a friend with Rapunzel hair who makes Christmas tree ornaments and remember her saying she did not want to date. But she did have sex occasionally with a man who liked her.

As I clean out the sink, I think of the day she said he was helping her put up the tree and she was suddenly hit by the realization that she loved him.

I wipe down the counters and wonder how that relationship feels from the inside now after so many years together.

Lately, the whispering memories around me have enclosed me in a dark place. I am flat. I go through motions like a quickly sketched animation figure not fully detailed out as yet. I haven’t know what day it is, nor did I care.

My numbing out to Netflix ends most of my days until I slap the computer shut and fall asleep curled around it, my nightly companion.

Last night, I watched you tube videos from spiritual teachers emphasizing that we each create our singular reality. Next we find a consortium of individuals we draw to us who like witches in the same coven chant around the kettle illusion. We throw in our own sentences, our facts, our memories, what we believe are proofs and we circle together imbuing the cosmology contained in the iron pot with its power over our minds, our bodies, our certainties. The spell we cast is on ourselves.

Last night, I fell asleep within the speakers’ words that we manifest exactly what and who we are.

The concept that I am the cause of my depression does nothing to lift my head. Anyone who has the condition knows that the words provide yet another cudgel to beat oneself about the head. Not only are we walking in the valley of despair but it is entirely our own fault.

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A person with depression is thus like Scrooge. The curse comes from the past and also is happening in the present. In addition, there seems to be no future other than the one that individual is projection outward.

With depression there is a wrestling with guilt and a crying out that if I could do something, I would. So the blame becomes burdensome. There comes to be shame for not being strong enough to like some beefy super hero just burst out of the encapsuling cage.

I listened to the teachers and I snapped shut the computer and fell asleep next to my distraction, entertainment, life partner.

And like the Christmas Carol Dickensian tale, I was visited. I felt something, someone, some thoughts lingering around me. I slept for nine hours straight and woke up with an abiding sense that I had been infused with new stories.

I knew that I would write ten blogs in ten days. I knew that I would do my fifth edit on my book, Walking the Streets of Blood, about my experience of the Paris Attacks.

Anyone who is familiar with the cycles of depression knows that the victories are subtle. The amount of time, the severity of the dark thoughts, the ability to take action despite a bitter taste in the mouth can be assessed to understand that it is getting better.

freedom

My meditation practice, I liken to self surgery. As I sit, I can gently remove the narrative habit and bring myself home to breath. I can check myself for electrical, neurological storm sites. I can touch the inside of the shape of my body and find areas where anger or grief is hiding.

And last night, as I slept, the words of great teachers were working in my subconscious reminding me that my energy is strong, my heart is compassionate, I am here on purpose to teach. I am here to lift others up because I have had the experiences of the winding road of fear, abuse, victim hood, and repetition of error. The wounding and the failures are the journey. When I opened my eyes, I was wrapped in calm.

I went to the window and saw the sun climbing the hills to shine light everywhere. And I begin again.

Buddha dharma Magazine jumped into my hands recently at chapters and spoke to me. I have been cycling through depression and having one of my predictable down times. But because I am so driven to dispel the tension with trivial things, there is a struggle that could provide a narrative plot for an animation feature film when I can no longer force myself to chase dust, or line up the red cups together.

Gay Hendricks talks in The Big Leap about using time to stay in the genius zone. He asks how much of your day, of your energy is expended in petty, easy for you, repetitive tasks. When I am in a down cycle those mind numbing uninspired actions seem as likely as the actions of a super hero.

When I picked up Pema Khondro Rinpoche’s article, I was at a stage where I was in a Netflix addiction cycle while eyeing the waving dust webs on the ceiling at times. My meals of rice crackers and sauerkraut probably did nothing to awaken my body. But Meh!

Pem Khandro tells the reader in You’re Ready Enough that where you are now is where you begin. The purpose of life is to take action, to live in a manner that benefits others.

During this down period this time, I have devoted myself to sharing information about Standing Rock. It has taken me out of my self and helped me to focus on others who need protection. I have felt the call to act as a guardian to those who fight for the earth by my reposting information on social media.

Pem Khandro tells us that, “When we act from the depths of being, the action themselves arise organically from our ultimate nature. Imbued with presence, we can show up and help our world.”

We are reminded that when we transcend a “mind poison” we become available for a greater purpose.

The mind poison that infects me at times is the mind of scarcity and the mind of comparison.

“He was published. She stood on a stage and got an award. Why am I making no progress”, my ego mind torments me.

In the Dzogchen teachings it is revealed, “that each of us possesses the same beginningless buddhanature. It is hidden from us by the mind-set that clings so tightly to self-concepts.”
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Every day I return to meditation practice to ask the question,” Who am I today?”

My body has a message. My emotions have a message. My ego has a thousand nattering messages. And behind it all the spirit keeps gently bringing the self back to release.

Today, I released grief I did not know was there. I did not ask why. I did not ask how. I did not ask when. I quietly said, “I release grief.”

The struggle is always there while we live. “Am I believing I am worthy to be of service to others? Am I believing my actions help to relieve the suffering of others? Am I believing that this “self” is all that I am?”

There is never a map. There is never a clear sense of knowing where the journey is leading. But sometimes one can stop and look back and feel satisfied.

Even in that time of illusion and conflict, I stayed with intention.

Pema Khandro reminds us:….”(if) we aim as high as our sights allow, then the aspiration itself will be fulfilling. We will find contentment in the clarity and energy of our enlightened intention itself.”

So the answer to Gay Hendricks is “Yes” we can devote 90% of our lives to our genius self because the genius lies in the intention to become more truly who we are. The intention is to go beyond the definitions of self, of “me now”. The resistance is a part of the journey. The ego is the partner on the journey. But we are willing to do our best just as we are now. We set out each day, each hour, each breath.

Pema Khandro ends with:

Our world needs us now. Other beings need our best efforts. The purpose of our life it to wake up, show up and heed the call.

Can you hear it?

On an overcast day which was neither here nor there, not yet Winter but was sending all the signals to shut down, retreat, go inward, deal with IT, I went to Chapters and picked up a Buddha dharma magazine.

Within a few minutes the sounds around me muted and then disappeared. My focus on myself as “lost”, “disappointing”, “lacking something” became blurred.

I was in the messages that I was experiencing. The mind fog lifted and I could see sign posts.

Geoffrey Shugen Arnold’s article “In Accordance with All Time,” reminded me what I had dropped on the floor, lost track of, been distracted away from.

When I was 17 I stumbled upon Henri Bergson in the Old Main Library in Bellingham. I was alone in the vast reading room with the summer light coming in and I felt myself opening to the shift in recognition of time. There are certain reading experiences that are more like a download. And Henri Bergson’s concept of duration gave me the distinct feeling of coming home. Time is a construct.

In Arnold’s article that I now held in my hands I read, “Time seems by nature to be dualistic, a witnessed measure of something passing. What is time without a witness?”

Arnold reminds us that:

Our presence wherever we are is fully and utterly in accord with past causes. We didn’t just suddenly get here by ourselves. We should reflect on the multitudes of past actions, just in this one brief flicker of a lifetime, that brought us to this moment. …. We are each the recipient of innumerable currents of life – through the lives of others- streaming into and influencing our own lives.

As I sat in Chapters I thought of the energy field rivers that had flowed into my life… my genetic heritage; the stories of my ancestors; the influences of past mentors; the large stranger woman who held my cut, bleeding leg together and helped me limp home; the teacher that saw my pain and let me hang out in her classroom instead of being beaten on the school ground; the writers and intellectuals that had spoken to me and “changed” my mind. And I thought of those who I cannot even recall who have fed into my stream from past lives, past associations, unremembered exchanges.
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The author asks us to have faith. To understand that past influences are not always perceived gives us optimism. He asks: “Is there another way of holding something that we do not know yet to be true.” If we are not capable of being cognizant of the past, how can be project with surety the future.

Knowing that we are not infallible in our understand, in our perception, in our manner of connecting to what we want to call truth, opens up the possibilities. It is in this open space that faith lives.

I thought of the Buddhist begging bowl. I thought of the practice of having an empty bowl sitting in the entry way of the house.

We are empty vessels open to receiving. Staying with the question: “Who am I now?” allows for growth, a bigger understanding, and greater gifts coming in.

To know I do not know what formed me, who formed me, where I stand in the flux of time allows faith to be my focus. Not the kind of ten commandment faith. A more complex sense that I am both in time and changing time; that I was both formed and am formless.

As I sat in Chapters, I felt a burst of joy. The room lit up around me. Who ever I am.

I felt 17 again.

During meditation today this phrase came to me. I have always felt the necessity to have a safety net; a backup plan; savings; a good job; maybe a night job or secondary job; a schedule; a short term goal; a long term goal; a plan for renovating; cleaning, improving my house list underway; a new course to take; a stack of books to teach me something; a financial plan; a focus on lowering my debt; a carefully consider future purchases plan.

And yet, I never had time for friends, frivolity, following fascinations.

The three major earth quake, flattening, rubble times in my life have found me alone, gutted financially, and sitting dazed curled up on the floor.

It is not my nature to choose the big decision unless I am forced to. My parents talked about hard work, savings, always took second jobs, and bought everything on sale.

That was the surface reality. It was most like a magic kingdom in which the spell was cast to make us appear a certain way to the outside world.

In our enclave of chaos the reality was very different. Alcohol, drugs, infidelity, violence, and cupboards full of secrets were the truth.

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Time and time again, I chose the same type of man to share my life with and the resultant spinning out into the chaos was the result.

As I sat meditation today, the phrase Working without a Net came to me. It showed itself to be the ultimate manipulation. There is always a net. There is always love waiting to catch us gently from the tree top and hold our baby selves warmly.

What if I released the fear based belief that I did fail; I can fail; I am failing now in ways I cannot see?

What if I understood absolutely that I am held by light, protected and that all of my toddler type mistakes were just me learning? Can I be in love with myself enough to know that I am always loved?

Because I have never, ever, not once worked without a net.

It is neither winter, nor Summer. The leaves during this week have gone from yellow to orange to red over night. I look out my bedroom window and the trailing vines that cover the fence between my neighbour’s garden and mine is shockingly more vibrant every day.

It is interesting that what my eyes expect, does not happen. All summer I have seen the green leaves of the Maple Tree stretching to tease the window glass. And now they are trying out differing colors or letting go altogether.

I find I am kind of lurching toward goals. Today I purchased paint for a wall in the livingroom and all of the supplies I need for the project. I slung bags of soil into my car in order to prepare a bed for the new tulip bulbs. The book I intended to finish reading was by my side this morning and I learned a few things, shut it and sat meditation.

Art projects wait in a pile on my desk.

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One of my desired feelings from Danielle LePort’s The Desire Map work book was to feel connected: to others, to myself, to the earth. And I have been unusually social lately. I went to a movie with a friend and a few days later spent time walking in the rain and talking about mindfulness practice. I visited my son and his daughter. Tonight I viewed another movie with my neighbour and I have another “social date” coming up this weekend.

Is this moving me forward? Well, the issue is that I am working toward goals in order to elicit feelings of contentment. I am learning to just allow myself to cycle through productive periods and through growth periods. When I look back at the last few years, there is not one project or goal that my mind had landed on that I have not finished.

I can trust myself.

The year cycles from apparent stasis to rapid change. I cycle through methods of dealing with life. At times, I attack and strip away all but that which I am focused on. And then, predictably, I hibernate, re-dream, grow in ways I had not planned or expected. I surprise myself.

I do not look forward to snow on the branches or back to the exquisitely colored Zinnias popping open one after another. I just appreciate the deep, peaceful sleep I am experiencing. The quiet fills all corners of my house with its white, expanding presence. The preparations have been made. The segments of the new structures are gathered. I am just here, in the stillness of transition.