Destination The Journey

I was at the rec center early this morning (H&Ping as my husband says…that’s humpin & pumpin, or, in his exact words, “gettin ‘er done”) and I saw ghoulishly scary, almost inappropriate horrow shots from a haunted house somewhere in Denver on the local news. And it made me think that it is kind of cool to have a holiday that celebrates the dark side.

And then visuals of the fierce dragons that you see in Chinese, Balinese, and other Asianesque cultures came to mind. As a child I thought they represented demons, monsters. But now I see clearly that they are symbolic of our dark side.

And when I look further into what our dark side means to me, it is all about the ego. And why does the ego do this, develop dysfunctional-counter-to-happiness ways? Because it is trying to cope, coming up with defense mechanisms for getting by in a world that is somehow not meeting its needs.

Which brings me back to what I spoke about yesterday. I mentioned that I have a new policy, not to act from a place of negativity or bring my negative thoughts to the vocal level. As I was lying in bed this morning pre-rec center, my husband said, “Thoughts and actions are not always integrated.” Meaning, what you are intending to put out there, how you wish to live your life, is sometimes exactly the opposite to how you find yourself acting in the moment.

Which brings me back to the dragons, the ghouls, the demons. We have these lifetimes of habit patterns that are developed, and it takes heaps of practice to undo them (and patience and determination). For example, in the moment a situation arises and this demon finds its way out of me and I am watching it attack my husband, thinking to myself that I could reign it in and simply observe the intensely negative emotion instead of acting on it, but that strong strong ego just loves the drama, and sadistically it feels good for it to have its way. Even though the me that sat on the cushion this morning is observing that wild (“high spirited”, say Dan and my Mom) energy flying around out there on the broomstick.

All this to say, have fun celebrating the dark side, the ego, and have compassion for it. In the end, all it wants is love.

Last night I drove home to find that someone was parked in my spot. This is something that actually happens with some degree of regularity. Irritation arose. I thought I might go inside and write a note and place it on their windshield, asking them to please refrain from doing so in the future.

And then I thought again. I was feeling irritated. And if I wrote that note it would be doing so out of the irritation. And that would mean that it would be more of a defensive/egoic action than anything else. And I am working really hard not to do that. I am working to have my actions arise from a more neutral if not compassionate place. If I feel negatively and speak or act from there, I am scooping out a big bowl of negative stew for the other person, and that is not the way I wish to conduct my life. So, I have a new policy. If it ‘aint coming from a place of love (or at least neutrality), I am not going to bring it to the vocal level or the level of action. My husband, I am sure, will really appreciate the new policy. Bearing in mind of course that it is all a practice, and unfortunately we don’t get to flip a switch and be these totally enlightened individuals all of a sudden.

 Dan’s Grandma died yesterday. And next to that, the parking thing, in the end, seemed fairly insignificant.

Then, Rumi:

“Whoever finds love beneath hurt and grief disappears into emptiness with a thousand new disguises.”

And Paulo Coelho shared a super sweet story on his blog yesterday. It is entitled “The Cloud and the Sand Dune”. The cloud prepares to rain on the sand dune in the desert out of love for the sand dune. The sand dune says to the cloud, but then you’ll die. The cloud says back to the sand dune:

“Love never dies. It transforms.”

Stand By Me

It was May 2002. I was engaged to a man I did indeed love, but could never marry. Something in me knew this, even if I hadn’t yet admitted it to myself. Oh how I was suffering. We sold everything and moved to Hawaii. I had the sense that I was strapped into a rollercoaster and it was going downhill, quickly. I was depressed. I was anxious. I had become a stranger to the happy, energetic soul I had been most of my life. 

Just before we moved we took a last trip to the desert, to Moab, Utah. We stayed with a friend of my ex-fiance’s. I spoke with his wife at length that evening. Under a starry desert sky the conversation turned to meditation. I shared with her the very little bit I knew, something I learned from a therapist in Boulder. I had been going to therapy to try and figure out why I was so unhappy. DUHHHH.

She then told me about her practice.  Vipassana. She told me that the courses were nonsectarian, ten days in length, were conducted in silence, and were free. FREE?????  Yes, free. They’ll house you and feed you for ten days, and not charge you anything. 

Something in me knew, immediately, that I was going to do a course. My ex and I proceeded to move to Hawaii, and my anxiety and depression moved with me, thick and deep. I had a sense that if I could just get to one of the meditation courses, I’d be okay. I knew this.

Five months later I flew to the Vipassana Center in Washington State to sit my first course. Me, my anxiety, and my depression were welcome guests. Incidentally, just before I left Hawaii for the course in Washington, I found that a ten day meditation course was being held on the island where I was living. They were charging $360.00 for the ten days. Out of principle, out of wanting to support the purity of a practice that was charging not a dime, I chose to fly to Washington. (I always cover my cost with my donation, but the fact that it is my choice to do so is big to me. No one asks you for it.) Paying for a spiritual practice doesn’t resonate with me.

At any rate, I went through ten days of blissful hell  (the hell wasn’t really blissful…it was more the break-you kind of hell) as I waded through the quagmire that my emotions, my feelings, my confusion had become. The silence was beyond golden. Without that silence it’s impossible to slow down enough to begin to see what is actually going on in there. At the end of the ten days I was happy. I was blissed out. And this practice has become a way of life for me. I need it like a diabetic needs insulin. 

Of course it took a few years and a life-altering illness to get to the point where I actually do practice the suggested number of hours daily. But the space and richness that arises out of it is worth those hours, that discipline. 

Here in Colorado we are searching for land for a center, and in the meantime, we are holding four courses a year.

There are also centers in Massachusetts, Georgia, Illinois, Texas, and California (and a second California center on its way).

Don’t take my word for it. Here is what others have to say.

You’re standing in a forest. You look up, around you. It’s dark because of the thick canopy. The underbrush is stifling. It feels hard to move.

Something in you knows, from a deep unspoken place, that there must be a clearing, space. You feel moved to find it.

There, where you sense light filtering in through the thick green forest, through the tangle of branches and brush, there seems to be space. You move towards it, something in you is driven there. You sense a path, a way out.

The path is steep, difficult, but there is one-pointedness in you that makes it impossible to turn away from it. It’s truth.

As you begin to climb it, you gain perspective and the forest no longer seems dark or daunting. The trees and underbrush are no longer obstacles. They are simply things you observe as you move through. With this perspective, this shift, you can be in the forest and experience the forest and not be suffocated by it. You realize that there is no need to react to what is in it, because you have glimpsed the big picture. You have felt its space. This path has afforded you the opportunity to see beyond the forest, for yourself.

If you forget about the path, you’ll eventually return to the place where the canopy, the underbrush, the tangle of branches and brush are daunting obstacles that can consume.

It’s like taking care of the physical body. If you don’t get up off the couch and move, the physical body suffers. Where are your priorities?

Happiness. It is a choice.

“Your profession is not what brings home your weekly paycheck.

Your profession is what you are put here on earth to do-

with such a passion and such intensity it becomes a spiritual calling.”

-Vincent VanGogh

Have you allowed for enough spaciousness in your being that this profession, this calling, has had room to take root and germinate?

Illness

Wellness

I saw this clip  by Dean Ornish on Ted about  healing and well-being. I found it very insightful and profound in the simple age-old message it presents. It really isn’t rocket science is it?

I had plenty of time over the weekend to observe the habits of my mind. When you make it a practice to observe the actions and reactions of the mental realm, it is amazing what is unearthed. I observed my mind attempting to resolve situations which were not presently before me- situations that have not even come to pass yet. It is impossible to mentally resolve situations which have not arisen, yet it seems that we spend an inordinate amount of time there, trying to work out future situations (or replaying past ones). 

What was really cool was that I was actually able to observe the tension that it created in my body. When you are mentally straining to work out a situation that is not actually before you, it is like pushing against a brick wall. No resolve can come of it, but much straining goes into it. And this mental tension gets buried in the body. You can actually feel it if you pay attention. 

Awareness is the first step. 

~

On another note, I gave myself a little pat on the back this morning. It’s Monday morning. There are alot of things that need my attention. They all seem equally important. Looking at the time, the old me would have declared, “It is getting late. You don’t have time to meditate.” 

The new me interjected however.

“Show up for yourself first. Do what you have to do to be wholly well, and then give yourself to the world.”

So I sat. For an hour. Put my tush to the cush, as we say in meditation. (thats’s tush to the cushion, in the event you aren’t familiar with the lingo). And now I am ready to give myself to the world.

A woman said to me years ago, “You must meditate.” I replied, “I don’t have time.” Her response to that was,”You don’t have time not to.” She was right. Took me about eight years to fully get it, but as another of my all-time favorites says:

“Everything is gestation and bringing forth.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

On our way

Dan and a dripping earth

Hot Sulphur Springs

The journey is the destination.

I am moved to share how I came to be here. Here writing away on this blog.

Just over 2 years ago I left for a journey to India and southeast Asia. This was a trip that had been in the works for many years. I met and fell in love with my husband before the journey was to begin, and he agreed to travel with me to India for my first month there, as a honeymoon.

Twenty-four hours after he left India to return to the U.S., my knees turned into rather large grapefruits and I was unable to walk. I checked into Breach Candy Hospital in Mumbai (thanks to Lonely Planet), where I spent two weeks. At the age of thirty-two I was forced to learn to walk again. The illness is called Reiter’s Syndrome. It happened because of my body’s reaction to a dysentery I got in India.

I spent the ensuing eight months on crutches, not knowing if I would ever function normally again. Eventually my feet were also affected. I had been a very active person-running, hiking, and yoga had been a way of life for me. I had been a cardiac nurse for ten years, which requires an immense amount of time on your feet. And I was newly married. The world as I knew it evaporated.

Well, for the most part I did eventually recover, though I am not symptom-free. I can ride a bike. I can do some hiking. I can go to yoga. I’ll never run again. And for now, every eight weeks I have to receive an IV infusion of a very powerful immunosuppressant to keep me mobile.

I am certain that the illness, in many ways, was a culmination of years of intention. (And of course genes and environment, both internal and external) For many years I had been telling the eternal, the divine, that I wished to become more tolerant, more compassionate, less judgmental. There is nothing like a life-altering-make-you-face-permanent-disability illness to bring you to your knees. Well, death of course, but I wasn’t ready to go.

In a million years I never would have chosen the experience for myself, but in the end I am eternally grateful for what has arisen in my life as a result of it. It has forced me to take my meditation practice to the next level. It has forced me to release that which doesn’t serve me. And it has provided me with the certainty that I must follow my bliss, as the adage goes. So that’s what I am doing here. Following my bliss.

Mumbai, India January 2007

Riding the Rockies, summer 2008

Good enough is the new perfect.