Seeds

I want to become

Who I’m meant to be

But the seed knows not the flower

So I must be open

To new understandings

To all possible notions

And even what I can’t imagine

Without hesitation

Uncertainty

Or distrust

I want to become

All I’m meant to be

But the seed knows not the flower

So I must be willing

To let go of everything

Every truth I think I know

Everything I think I own

Illusions of scarcity

Security

And control

I want to become

The ultimate me

But the seed knows not the flower

So I must be ready

To break free of this tiny shell

To push through life’s heavy burdens

Trusting that beyond their darkness

A life-giving light

With everything I need
Awaits

Life in a Box

Opening the boxes in my mind... one at a time.
Coaxing pieces of my original essence into oneness, once again.

This isn't solely the journey of a dissociated mind. I've come to understand that we are all searching for those lost pieces of our past, and that the oneness I seek is not just that of my physical mind, or even of this lifetime.

We are all connected.
We are all guided by that connection.
When we forget - when we think we are separate - this is what causes every aspect of our pain and longing. It is that illusion of separateness that causes pain, and the pain that keeps us locked in the distractions of this world, and the distractions that keep us from knowing that we are never really separate at all.

The door is open.

Summer-Blue

Small and new to the world, she looked up and found that the sky was summer-blue. The brilliance of it took her breath away. 

Such a vibrant, living sky! 

She stared at it with wonder, knowing this was where she was meant to be. All day she played in the azure glow.

And then it was night and the sky grew cold and black. 

She went inside and closed the door against the longing, mourning the summer-blue.

A little bigger and a little less new, she opened the door. She took just one step beyond the door, but nowhere was the summer-blue. A vast storm covered the world, horizon to horizon.

Gray and swirling.

Anger rumbling.

A flash of terror!

She slammed the door.

But she remembered the summer-blue.

In dreams and reverie, the warm memory of the azure glow ached inside her.  She pushed it aside, aside, aside and then, one day, she opened the door again. She wasn't so brave as to step outside, but even from the doorway she saw no summer-blue. Instead, the sky was dressed in white, attended by a frigid wind. Snow swirled and blew so hard she could barely close the door to its frantic appeal.

This time she shuttered the windows, closing herself more securely in her safe little room. She painted the ceiling blue. This is the sky, she told herself. Here, it will never change. I will always be safe.

She closed her eyes and waited for the warmth of that still-remembered glow. When it didn't come, she became one with the ache and told herself there was nothing beyond the door.

She became an adult within the shuttered windows and a closed door. Even as the seasons passed, she was safe. Even as her inner sky yellowed and pealed around the edges, she was safe. Even as the longing grew, she was safe.

And desperately miserable.

And wondered why?

Wasn't her inner sky every bit as good as that distant memory?
Didn't she have everything she required to survive?

Wasn't this room with its perfectly shuttered windows and impenetrable door exactly what she needed?

“Outside isn’t safe,” she told herself. “I have blue right here. Right here in my safe little room.”

She scowled at the dull and lifeless ceiling and then at her own reflection growing 

Anger

Longing

Despair

And it filled her up and her misery grew and finally she said, “Fine!" She flung the door wide and stepped through her fear, through her gritted teeth, through her resolve. She walked through the cold and through the darkness and through the constant barrage of her own misleading mind and then she saw it.
Had it been there all along?
The sky was summer-blue. And she remembered 

Light

Warmth

Life

And fear.
Fear was the illusion that kept her safe and she was so afraid to see. Too afraid to know know the summer-blue. For knowing it was to risk a return of the cold and the dark and the painful wind.

She returned to her safe little room and closed the door, falling deep into her delusion of safety in the one place where nothing would ever truly be safe... in her own private and unidentified hell. 

Taking a Bite Out of Life

  

My life is an orange – not a tiny tangerine or a misshapen clementine with its peal practically sloughing off on its own. Oh no, mine is one of those large and thick-skinned varieties.

For most of my life, I turned this orange over in my hand, studying its nearly impenetrable peel with a sense of hopelessness. I studied the bumpy surface, searching for any accessible point of entry. At the age of forty-seven, I finally stuck my thumbnail in and pried the first little bit away. It took me over four years, but a few months ago, the last bit of peel fell away. Finally, its ripeness sat naked on my palm. I reveled in the sight and smell of it, as it rocked heavy and full, in my hand.

The juicy taste still awaits me, but before I can pull a bit off and pop it into my mouth, I see that there are yet the veiny, white remains of the past still clinging to each section. While they are much thinner and less bitter than the coarse skin I’ve already removed, I know I will enjoy the sweetness of the fruit much more without the sinewy chords getting caught in my teeth.

And so I continue. 

I haven’t known what to make of the last several months. It’s been a time unlike any other in my life. Most noticeable is the sense of calm I’ve felt most of the time. Next, is how easily and quickly I seem to be able to return to my peaceful state, even when I’ve been spinning out pretty crazily. After that, what stands out to me is how little need I’ve had to share my creativity with anyone.

This last part concerns me.                 

Since I was a very small child, I’ve felt driven to create. I first played piano when I was three, started lessons at Northwestern University at four, and composed my first music when I was less than eight years old. After the traumatic and sudden departure of my piano teacher, when I was twelve, I never played again... but this did not squelch my need to create. I turned my attention to other things which had often been equally interesting to me. 

Throughout my later childhood and teens, I spent every spare moment drawing, painting, and writing stories and poetry. I shared my creations with anyone who would give me even a cursory glance. My head was constantly overflowing with visions and concepts I needed to express. Images would appear in my mind, representing whatever was going on in my life at that time, and after creating them to the best of my ability, I felt compelled to share them with others. It has been THE driving force in my life, and has always been equated with the words “life’s purpose” in my head.

Then, a few months ago, everything just stopped. I woke up one morning and had no desire to draw or write anything. 

The next day was the same, and the next week… 

Finally I said something to the therapist who I've relied on for so much over the last four years. I tried to explain what was going on, but it wasn't as clear in my mind as it is now. What I said was, "I'm not doing anything," because that’s how it felt. 

When we talked about it, I realized I was actually doing a lot of things… just not anything creative. She suggested that I’ve been pushing very hard for a very long time, and maybe this was just a much-needed break. 

I went with that for a while, but as the weeks passed concern hung in my head like cobwebs.

Is this who I’m going to be, from now on…? And if so, who am I, now?

I’ve always created… it’s who I am… who will I be if this is not me, anymore? 

To prove I could still do it, I forced myself to write something every day. I tried to commit to posting here, daily, but failed at that in short order. What once was a passion had become a chore. More and more, I was wasting time on facebook or other websites, distracting myself in anyway I could from something I obviously did not want to do.

But why?

I can still write. I still have things to say. The images and concepts I’ve always found in my mind are still there, waiting to be given a place in the real world. Yesterday, I created one of those images, just to prove I could still do it. The image I posted here, yesterday, has been in my mind for some time, and I've taken great pleasure from it. I thought sharing it would bring me the same joy it always has, but in reality it didn't feel any more real than it did when it was only in my mind.

What I just realized, last night, is that there is something else I’ve not been sharing. For four years, I shared almost all of my journals with my therapist. Day and night, the thoughts in my head would spew forth onto pages and pages of journals and blogs and posts on other websites. Since there was never any guarantee that anyone would respond or even notice the words I put out into the world, I would also send it to my therapist, so she could—

So she could what? She was possibly the first person I ever met who was willing to look at all of it, read through everything I sent her, and who also seemed to understand everything I said. But, why did I feel that every thought in my head had to be shared? 

The reason seems to be that nothing I thought or felt or knew felt valid until I shared it with someone else. Not one experience felt real until someone else knew of it, and the reason for that is that I did not feel I had any value. I didn't feel real or valid so I needed to be validated by others. My sense-of-self came only from outside of me, and not from within.

 

 *****

One Soul - Two Ways of Being

My oldest child – a married daughter of twenty-three – recently said of my new-found spiritual acceptance, “People start looking for God when they get older because they’re afraid of death.”

I smiled. I told her, as I’ve said many times, “I’ve been where you are, but you have yet to be where I am.”

She returned my smile – and it is my smile, from the slight down-turn at the corners of her mouth to the one front tooth that is not entirely straight – and she waited for me to go on. This patience for me to explain things, even when she doesn’t agree with me, is one of the things I most love about her.

I told her that it wasn’t fear of death, and informed her that I intended to be around for a good long time, yet. I thought for a moment, and she let me. Then I said:

When we are children, we’re learning how to be in the body we’re given, and how to live in this world. As adolescents, we focus very much on our relationships with our peers. This leads to the years when we have to get everything in order for our adult lives – finishing education, choosing a career, marriage, children, etc.
At a certain point, we have established our place in the world. For better or worse, we are pretty well set on the path we’ve created. It isn’t fear that brought me to this opening; it’s a sense of peace with where my life is, now.

I believe it was necessary to move completely into ego - into the personification of my spirit – in order to have and raise children, maintain strong relationships, and push forward in educating this physical mind in the things that seem important here, on Earth. If I had always been aware of the Great Connection, the Oneness of the Universe, I might never have fully invested in this life. I feel very strongly that there is a reason for us to be here, learning what we learn and evolving as we do. I believe it’s important and necessary. I don’t need to know why.

I’m glad I had a chance to have this discussion with my daughter, and I hope that one day, when she’s had all the children she’s going to have and has fashioned the life she is putting together, she will remember this and smile. For now, it’s her turn to be firmly established in this world. I hugged her, embracing the connection I still have to the here-and-now of existence, and at the same time I intentionally kept one foot firmly in the place I sense, just beyond this physical room.

Writing Exercise Submissions: A Future Free of Fear

The writing exercise I posted on Sunday came from Day Three of the Twenty-one Day Consciousness Cleanse. I've been working through this book for about a week, now.

When I was telling someone about the book, recently, she asked , jokingly, if it was like the Twenty-one Day Colon Cleanse.

I replied, “Yes, but without the diarrhea.”

Actually, it wouldn’t be hard to compare the two concepts. In both instances, the idea is to clean out the old in order to more easily absorb what’s coming in. Debbie Ford describes the purpose of the consciousness cleanse as emptying the vessel we bring to God. Spirit can only fill the space we bring. If we only have a thimble-sized gap to fill, that’s all the God we get. Purging the resentments and unresolved conflicts and emotions inside us is the way to create that space.

All of the old emotions and experiences we have refused to acknowledge and work through are debris which fill up the container we each carry with us. By looking at our feelings – identifying them, allowing them, and then turning them over to our higher power to hold for us – we not only gain the wisdom and lessons of each experience, we also make more room for God and connection in our lives.

The writing exercise was:

Write a short story about your life free from the toxicity of your past. Allow yourself to dream an easy, carefree future filled with fun and frolic. Be creative as you describe you walk, your sense of well-being, and your deep gratitude for life. Give yourself the gift of dreaming a new future.

I received one submission, this week, from Gail at “Know Your Its”

Here is Gail’s entry:

As I look back over my life I can honestly say that each experience is part of the fabric of my design. For years I tried to deny parts of my tapestry, going to great lengths to rid myself of myself. Over time I came to realize that each square of my life's tapestry has purpose, meaning, and value despite its, at times, harsh, very harsh truth. I no longer see any of my past as toxic because to do so would mean I am toxic and I am not. In order to love ALL of myself I had to accept my past as part of me, not all of me, but part. Blended with so many other life-giving experiences. Today, I can honestly say I have arrived. I am at a time in my life where I am preserving all of my world as it is - I have no great goals or projects to complete. That is not to say that I am not open to learning new things and experiencing more of life, but rather I am content in my place,my space, my world which includes all of my past, all of me. I have surrendered to my truth, embraced my past, and I am in charge now, not it. There is nothing to run from or hide from or deny - and no desire to separate myself from myself. I am whole. Amen.

Thank you Gail! I can see the hope and peace of your future. I know you are already finding it, in the present. I especially love the line "trying to rid myself of myself". That's a great way to describe the impossible task we set out for ourselves when we deny our experiences and emotions.

Here is what I wrote:

My past is a gift. Every experience I’ve had has made me who I am, right now, and I feel like a gift: to the world; to God; to those I love; and to myself.

I’m a gift waiting to be opened by those people I’ve yet to know – and they are gifts to me. Knowing this, I can walk confidently into new relationships, waiting to see what we bring to each other. Every relationship will bring me something. Those that bring love enrich my spirit. Those that bring conflict teach me about myself and the nature of all things. Those that bring me both are the greatest teachers of all.

I’ve expressed, acknowledged and walked through all of the old experiences and feelings. I’ve surrendered to them and then surrendered them to God. In so doing, I’ve gained the wisdom I was meant to gain and now I have room for so much more to come my way. Because I no longer judge fear as cowardly, tears as childish or anger as wrong, I can feel each emotion as it comes up. Because there is nothing left inside to be triggered, I am not overwhelmed by my feelings and pass through them easily, confident that I will come out the other side with more understanding and new growth. Because I allow myself to know sadness, fear and anger I can easily find the other side of each of these emotions – Joy, peace, and gratitude.

There is so much room inside me, that I am open to each experience in a new way. I am present to the moment, taking in the sights and smells and other physical sensations right along with the feelings they bring with them. The more connected I am to life experiences, the more connected I feel to who I really am. My true nature - the spiritual being inside this body – is consistently awake and connected to the great power of the universe.

*****

Christmas Mourning

Painful growth... as I go through the past a piece at a time, I'm coming to finally release the last of my denial and see my mother's part in all of it. It's hard. She has always been the "good" parent. Yet, where was she when I needed her most?

I twisted my ankle Saturday night. When I mentioned this to my mother - a fall down the deck stairs and a sprained ankle - what do you suppose her response was?

She told me of her dinner plans with my brother.
That's it.
And the thing is, while I felt hurt, dismissed, unheard... I wasn't surprised. It was the catalyst for the grief I'm entering into.

I know - I've always known on some level - that her concern is really only with herself. Even her constant support of my father is selfish in that it is fed by her fear of abandonment.

When given a choice between my father and me, well... there's never been a choice. No matter what he was doing, she stood by as if the world was a perfect place and never said a word.

It is what she has not done that cuts the deepest, and her lack of compassion this weekend was the straw that broke the back of a camel called denial.


Christmas Mourning


The child wants
The child needs
And so the child must believe

Anticipated fancy’s flight
Pledges of a daybreak bright
Hope, a beacon in the night
That never sees the morning light

Hurt and fear and sorrow fade
Promises divert the pain
Longed-for wishes softly prayed
This time let it be okay

The child wants
The child needs
And so the child lives the dream

Words of comfort, Mother’s touch
Doesn’t really hurt so much
Her back is turned, her smile a bluff
It’s what she doesn’t do that’s rough

Keep dreaming child, suckling malaise
While mother seems to proffer grace
With offerings prepared in haste
To keep the world’s eyes from your face

The child wants
The child needs
Watch closely and you’ll see her bleed

Cold as wintry blizzard drifts
Are Christmas morning’s promised gifts
And foiled and failed family trips
Bring about another shift

Mother’s eyes are vacant holes
As empty as the child’s soul
As the fractured walls explode
What does she have; what can she hold?

The child wants
The child needs
The child is grown and she is me

The pretty ribbon’s ripped and cut
The wrapping paper's torn apart
The open box, my fissured heart
At hope's end I must learn to start

Like storefront gifts on Christmas morn
Disguised, empty, and timeworn
True concern and care, stillborn
So sad there’s nothing there to mourn

Step Zero

A funny thing happened during my session with my therapist on Monday.

It was good to see her and talk about everything that's been going on for the last two weeks. Even though she was on vacation, she was keeping up with my ceremony posts, which really made me feel good. It also made it so much easier for me because she knew all that I'd been through and what I was feeling up until the time I left the retreat.

I'm still processing and still gaining perspective. Several people have asked me, "How are you now, since you did the ceremony?"

I didn't want to answer right away. There is often that high that comes right after an experience like that... I wanted to wait until the high wore off and real life set in so I could give an accurate account.

Anyway, while I was at my session on Monday, she pulled out some things she had printed for me to look at as she does from time to time. I imagine she does this for all her clients.

One of the pages she handed me she said came from her files but she couldn't remember where it came from.
I remembered. It came from me!

Before I started this blog, before I had my current sponsor, in CoDA, I had another sponsor for a short time. The first time I was trying to do Step One, I was having a really hard time. Honestly, before she handed me this page, I'd forgotten what a tough time it had been. I believe I have told people that step one was not difficult because I always knew my life was out of control.

Although I was quite aware that my life was unmanageable,I did actually have a great deal of difficulty getting through the first step.

The page my therapist handed back to me that day was something I wrote as I was trying to find my way through that difficulty.

How to Begin to Love Yourself (aka step zero)

In step one of Codependents Anonymous, it states:
“We admitted we were powerless over others – that our lives had become unmanageable.”

I've read and reread this many times. Each time I thought to myself, yes, my life is obviously unmanageable. Then I would move on to thinking about all the ways my life was unmanageable and begin to beat myself up about it. The more I thought about it, the more fault I found in myself.

It’s taken me several months to realize that this is the problem I’ve had with this step from the beginning. Thinking about it made me feel bad because it inevitably brought on a long session of self-abuse as I blamed myself for every negative aspect of my life. Today, it occurred to me that this is not the purpose of this step.

So, I’ve decided on a step zero—a preliminary step that, for me, will be helpful to get me to step one. This step will be stated as follows:
Realize that you are perfect in your imperfection.

I've heard the expression "Perfectly Imperfect" in meetings. I suppose I didn't really understand it, until now.

Why do we kick ourselves when we’re down? Is it human nature or something we learned along the way?
It seems likely that if you judge yourself harshly, you may do the same to others.

If you always use your turn signal before a turn, and condemn yourself for the occasional time when you forget, you are likely to be very angry when someone turns in front of you without signaling.

If you work at being punctual, and beat yourself up when you are running late, it’s likely you will be annoyed when someone keeps you waiting.

However, while you are quick to jump on yourself for each little misstep, it’s likely that you don’t make a scene each time someone else commits a small personal foul. You may not say anything to others that behave in ways you find objectionable in yourself.

This doesn’t necessarily mean you are forgiving and generous with others. More likely, you are making marks on the infinite tally sheet in your mind, building resentment as you go. This puts an unnecessary strain on all of your relationships.

So how can you stop ruthlessly criticizing yourself, and alleviate the strain you put on others?

For me, I find it helps if I think of myself as one of my children. If my child did what I've done, how would I react? Would I call them stupid? Would I want them to feel awful about it? Would I punish them for every mix-up or blunder? No! I would give them a hug and encourage them to try again. When I look at my children, even their mistakes can make me smile because I accept them and love them exactly as they are in this moment.

This kind of unconditional love is precious. Whomever you deem worthy of it will reap great rewards, some of which they will carry with them throughout their lives. It’s a gift you’ve always had to give, but may have been too stingy with.

If you can learn to look at yourself the way you would a loved child, you may see yourself as someone who feels sorrow and joy; makes mistakes big and small; incurs little triumphs and great accomplishments; knows the burden of fear which is sometimes tempered by courage; and has a mind that is striving to understand the world and a heart that can give even you unconditional love.

When I told my therapist that this was something I'd written and sent to her, (I later went back and found the document - I wrote it in February of 2009 - and the email I sent her with it attached, mostly to convince myself), she said, "It seems you've been on a quest for self-love and unconditional love for a long time."

She's right. When I was writing this, it was the beginning of a path that has brought me to a much better place. So often, we have these little glimpses of truth. It may seem, at times, that we work so hard and the continue to fall backwards, again and again.

I don't see this in that way, at all. I believe it took a long time for this message - that it was good and right to love myself unconditionally - to get from my brain to my heart and soul. It doesn't happen in an instant.

But it can happen.