Thursday, June 25, 2009
Unexpected Spontaneous Sweetness
When I live spontaneously I open to being touched by unexpected sweetness! On my way back to Sausalito after teaching tai chi in Berkeley today, I made a spur of the moment decision to take myself out to lunch. I turned off the freeway and headed up the hill to a favorite restaurant of mine. Just as I parked, my daughter called and I asked her to join me. She hopped in her car and came over. After lunch we decided to take a walk at the Berkeley Marina and then go to a movie. She is on vacation and I was very happy to spend the day with her in spite of work I had planned on doing. As we were walking, we noticed a woman looking at a small bird sitting still on the path. She was on the phone calling the wildlife protection services. She told us she had to leave but she was expecting someone to come and rescue the little bird. Ali and I told her we would sit with the bird and wait. We sat down along side the little creature who seemed fine, but was not moving much, which is unusual for a wild bird. Within a minute or so, as we sat there talking to it, it hopped over to me and nestled in under my crossed leg. I was so touched by the sweetness of this little bird's trust, I was filled with inner joy. Within another few moments the little bird attempted to fly off. It landed about 100 feet away in another slightly vulnerable looking spot. Ali and I went ran over and again sat down nearby enjoying the unusual behavior of this bird. It seemed to understand as we spoke soothing words to it and started chirping back at us. Then it raised up again on it's two little legs, hopped over onto my hand and sat confidently looking around. Again after a few moments, it attempted another flight. This time it flew several hundred feet into the parking lot of a hotel. This will never do, we thought. Although it could fly, it wasn't flying very far and seemed to be slightly tilted to one side. We figured something might be wrong with a wing. This time we picked it up into our hands. I got to experience something I've been saying to my tai chi students for years, describing how to make a fist in the tai chi punches. "Make a fist as if there were a small bird in your hand. You don't want to hurt the bird, and you don't want it to fly away." We took our little friend and put it in a box with a towel. We left it tucked away in this opened box protected from the wind, near the spot we found it. We were hoping it's mom and dad would come and feed it while we took our walk. When we came back it was still in the box and seemed a bit weaker. When I came back later that evening to check, the little bird had flown in spirit and left it's body. I felt so blessed to have come across this little bundle of love who awakened such delight in me. I'm so grateful for the afternoon of unexpected, spontaneous sweetness. As sad as I was to see it was no longer alive, something in me knew it was all as it should be.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
My Daddy
My dad was 83 and had been in the care home for three weeks when he said to me, sitting next to his bed, “I don’t think you want to see this.” “See what,” I asked? See you die?” I knew that’s what he meant. “Yeah, I don’t know if you can handle it. I don‘t want to see you cry,” he said. “Oh daddy, I would feel so blessed if I could be with you at that moment, I promise I won‘t cry!” I said. “Well, ok then, if I have anything to do about it, I’ll wait until you are here,” he assured me. We looked at each other and smiled as he squeezed my hand.
I love my daddy. I’ve been a daddy’s girl since the day I was born. According to my mom, I knew when his truck had rounded the corner of our street when I was a small baby. “All of a sudden, you’d stop crying and just listen. Somehow you felt him just minutes away.” As soon as I started walking, every morning at dawn, I’d crawl out of bed and head for their room. “I’d feel your dad’s arm lift the covers and then I’d hear the pitter-patter of your little feet coming down the hall. You’d always get in bed on his side,” she’d add.
It was true he was my beloved daddy! Around the age of 25, I started worrying about him dying. I feared he would die before I learned everything I wanted to learn from him. He was a unique man, an eccentric fellow. My mother divorced him when I was 10 and he lived alone from that time on, until he died 40 years later. He said he didn’t want to remarry because a new wife might not want him to spend as much time with his kids and grandkids as he wanted to. Everyday he came to visit me. During the week he would come at 5:15 pm on the dot, and at 8 o’clock sharp on Saturday and Sunday mornings. He always brought donuts on Sunday. He’d honk his horn and I’d come flying out of the house to sit in his car and visit for an hour or so. After I went away to college, when I’d come home for the holidays, my mom and my step dad would invite him to all our holiday dinners. He would entertain us all with his interesting way of talking and story telling. He had a style all his own. He could tell a joke and have us all bent over in pain, laughing so hard. He definitely had his own unique way of thinking. He loved to talk about how unhealthy it is to see a doctor. He used to tell me not to listen too closely in school because I’d have to unlearn a lot of what they were teaching me.
He was an original and authentic man with some quirky habits befitting such an unusual character. He was a hoarder. His house was off-limits to all but family members. Others would have an uncomfortable time trying to maneuver through his stuff. There was literally a tight path from the front door to the couch and another to his bed and one more to the bathroom. If you wanted to go anywhere else in the house you had to climb over piles to get there.
He loved his grandchildren. He drove them to school every morning and picked them up after school. I lived several hours away, when my daughter was born. He would tape record himself singing songs, a cappella, like “Froggy Went A’Courtin,” and “My Blue Heaven.” He’d mail them to my daughter so she could listen to them at bedtime. He said he liked to sing her to sleep. He loved children and had a very tender heart. He could be very exasperating, too. He loved to be on the other side of a political argument and he delighted in tormenting my sister and her husband with his opposing politics. He was as liberal as they come. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and a goat-tee during the Vietnam War years. He spewed anti-war rhetoric everywhere and anywhere it would cause a ruckus.
He loved me unconditionally. I could always feel his love. He asked for nothing, told me I never had to demonstrate my love because he could feel it whether he heard from me or not. I remember him telling me from the time I was in my early twenties, “Your old daddy is gonna die sometime and I want you to get used to it. I don’t want you crying over me.” It seemed he was as worried about me crying as I was about him dying. Our relationship became very honest as I grew older and I could tell him things I thought I needed to say. Such as how I felt the way he had treated my brother was not as good as I thought he should. And how his spell of drinking, staying drunk for four years after he and my mom divorced, had been hard to deal with. And how he had been in denial of some aspects of his personality. But all in all, he knew I loved him unconditionally too, so these were just things I felt I had to say for some reason and he didn‘t seem to mind much.
Sometime around 79 years of age, he fell and broke his hip. He went to the hospital and they told him it wasn’t broken and to walk on it. He tried that for a month and when he could stand it no longer he returned for another ex-ray to find that what was a previous hairline fracture had become a full-on break. They operated and put pins in his hip. Although he tried to get back into the swing of things, he never seemed to recover from this trauma. He became much more quiet and sedentary. He watched television and movies part of the day but he mostly liked to just lie in bed and think because as he said, “the chickens had come home to roost.” He told me that all the “bad” things he had ever done to anyone were coming up for him to take a look at.
One day he called to tell me he had been in for a check-up and the doctor had told him he had lung cancer and probably only two more years to live. “We better make the best of it,” he said. He wouldn’t go in for a biopsy so we were never sure if he really ever had lung cancer. He never had any symptoms of lung cancer, but he did have something that was bringing him down. His intestines had stopped working and his hip hurt really badly. As a result, he was reluctant to eat. About three years after the diagnosis, I took him to see my acupuncturist. She told me he didn’t have much time left and should not be living alone anymore. We were hesitant to tell him, and the following day he told my sister and I that he didn’t want to live alone anymore. My sister arranged for a move into a local care home as her house was in the middle of a complete remodel and I lived two hours away. He was fearful at first. He raised all kinds of hell then he calmed down and began his journey. He stopped eating completely and just drank a small amount of water. Occasionally, he would request a tapioca pudding from my mom like she used to make when they were married. Everyone was bringing in tapioca pudding but he would only eat the one’s she made. She was remarried again and hadn’t seen him in a few years, but she obliged and made the pudding. Six weeks had passed since he had moved into the care home. I made bi-weekly trips to visit and phone calls. One night after I had returned home from teaching my evening tai chi class, I found eight messages on my phone machine. The first was my sister saying “get up here quick, he is going”. The second one was my uncle. The third was my brother. Each one sounded a bit more urgent. My heart pounding, I listened to one after the other, waiting to hear what I feared. The eighth one and he, was still alive. I called his room and told my sister, “I’m coming right now. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” He was unconscious at this point, heavily drugged with morphine and his breathing had begun what is called the death rattle. Steve and I hopped in the car and drove as if we were the only ones on the road. It was 9:30 pm. I kept alternating my thinking, “Hold on dad, I’m coming” and “Go ahead and die if you need to.” I felt so selfish wanting him to wait and yet I wanted him to wait so badly. We arrived at the care home, I ran in the building and down the hall to his room. My heart pounding, I rounded the corner into his room and there he was, ALIVE! He made a gasping sound and my brother and sister cried out “He knows you are here!” Suddenly, the strangest of things happened, I filled with ecstatic joy. I went up to his bedside and put my face near his. The smell emanating from him was the most beautiful scent. I was swimming in love. I looked at his body, which was once, a six feet, three inches, two hundred pound man and was now literally skin and bones. I saw only beauty. I felt as if we were merging into one. I whispered, “You can go now daddy.” He took one more gasp and his breathing stopped. My hand was on the top of his head. I felt a spark of electricity come out of the top of his head. What was once in this wilted body was now permeating the room. I was in ecstasy. I had never felt this bliss before. What he had taught me while in this form was tremendous, yet paled in comparison to what he was showing me now. We are, in our essence, only love. There is no death. I had merged and yet was still in my form. I lifted up my head and found my brother clapping my hands. “Oh daddy, you did it,” I said. I looked at my sister who was beaming, Steve was beaming, and I was ecstatic. Steve had moved toward his head and seemed to be soaking up the vibes. “I’m so proud of you!” My brother said as he stroked his forehead. Right then, I heard a man in a nearby room moaning and I found myself walking down the hall into his room. As I walked in his room, he looked at me as if I was an angel and stopped crying. “Do you need something?” I asked him. “I’m fine,” he replied. “My dad just died,” I told him, with a beaming smile on my face. “Oh, well, you better go take care of that.” He said. “OK,” I answered, “are you going to be alright?” I asked. “Oh, yes, I’m fine.” He said as he gazed at me in wonder. Part of me could hardly believe what was occurring and another part felt it was all divinely orchestrated.
My sister and I went to the nurse and told him of our father’s passing. We went back into the room and sat with our dad a while and waited for the Neptune Society to come and take his body. Oddly, there was nothing sad about this. His death seemed to be teaching us that there is no death. There is just the dropping of the body, a freedom. He had said he was ready to die, that he had had a good life and was eager to leave his body. I felt that he never left us he just took off that “tight shoe.” He is here whenever I think of him, permeating me with love.
I kept my word, I didn’t cry. I beam with bliss and gratitude that through his dying, he taught me the truth about life.
I love my daddy.
I love my daddy. I’ve been a daddy’s girl since the day I was born. According to my mom, I knew when his truck had rounded the corner of our street when I was a small baby. “All of a sudden, you’d stop crying and just listen. Somehow you felt him just minutes away.” As soon as I started walking, every morning at dawn, I’d crawl out of bed and head for their room. “I’d feel your dad’s arm lift the covers and then I’d hear the pitter-patter of your little feet coming down the hall. You’d always get in bed on his side,” she’d add.
It was true he was my beloved daddy! Around the age of 25, I started worrying about him dying. I feared he would die before I learned everything I wanted to learn from him. He was a unique man, an eccentric fellow. My mother divorced him when I was 10 and he lived alone from that time on, until he died 40 years later. He said he didn’t want to remarry because a new wife might not want him to spend as much time with his kids and grandkids as he wanted to. Everyday he came to visit me. During the week he would come at 5:15 pm on the dot, and at 8 o’clock sharp on Saturday and Sunday mornings. He always brought donuts on Sunday. He’d honk his horn and I’d come flying out of the house to sit in his car and visit for an hour or so. After I went away to college, when I’d come home for the holidays, my mom and my step dad would invite him to all our holiday dinners. He would entertain us all with his interesting way of talking and story telling. He had a style all his own. He could tell a joke and have us all bent over in pain, laughing so hard. He definitely had his own unique way of thinking. He loved to talk about how unhealthy it is to see a doctor. He used to tell me not to listen too closely in school because I’d have to unlearn a lot of what they were teaching me.
He was an original and authentic man with some quirky habits befitting such an unusual character. He was a hoarder. His house was off-limits to all but family members. Others would have an uncomfortable time trying to maneuver through his stuff. There was literally a tight path from the front door to the couch and another to his bed and one more to the bathroom. If you wanted to go anywhere else in the house you had to climb over piles to get there.
He loved his grandchildren. He drove them to school every morning and picked them up after school. I lived several hours away, when my daughter was born. He would tape record himself singing songs, a cappella, like “Froggy Went A’Courtin,” and “My Blue Heaven.” He’d mail them to my daughter so she could listen to them at bedtime. He said he liked to sing her to sleep. He loved children and had a very tender heart. He could be very exasperating, too. He loved to be on the other side of a political argument and he delighted in tormenting my sister and her husband with his opposing politics. He was as liberal as they come. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and a goat-tee during the Vietnam War years. He spewed anti-war rhetoric everywhere and anywhere it would cause a ruckus.
He loved me unconditionally. I could always feel his love. He asked for nothing, told me I never had to demonstrate my love because he could feel it whether he heard from me or not. I remember him telling me from the time I was in my early twenties, “Your old daddy is gonna die sometime and I want you to get used to it. I don’t want you crying over me.” It seemed he was as worried about me crying as I was about him dying. Our relationship became very honest as I grew older and I could tell him things I thought I needed to say. Such as how I felt the way he had treated my brother was not as good as I thought he should. And how his spell of drinking, staying drunk for four years after he and my mom divorced, had been hard to deal with. And how he had been in denial of some aspects of his personality. But all in all, he knew I loved him unconditionally too, so these were just things I felt I had to say for some reason and he didn‘t seem to mind much.
Sometime around 79 years of age, he fell and broke his hip. He went to the hospital and they told him it wasn’t broken and to walk on it. He tried that for a month and when he could stand it no longer he returned for another ex-ray to find that what was a previous hairline fracture had become a full-on break. They operated and put pins in his hip. Although he tried to get back into the swing of things, he never seemed to recover from this trauma. He became much more quiet and sedentary. He watched television and movies part of the day but he mostly liked to just lie in bed and think because as he said, “the chickens had come home to roost.” He told me that all the “bad” things he had ever done to anyone were coming up for him to take a look at.
One day he called to tell me he had been in for a check-up and the doctor had told him he had lung cancer and probably only two more years to live. “We better make the best of it,” he said. He wouldn’t go in for a biopsy so we were never sure if he really ever had lung cancer. He never had any symptoms of lung cancer, but he did have something that was bringing him down. His intestines had stopped working and his hip hurt really badly. As a result, he was reluctant to eat. About three years after the diagnosis, I took him to see my acupuncturist. She told me he didn’t have much time left and should not be living alone anymore. We were hesitant to tell him, and the following day he told my sister and I that he didn’t want to live alone anymore. My sister arranged for a move into a local care home as her house was in the middle of a complete remodel and I lived two hours away. He was fearful at first. He raised all kinds of hell then he calmed down and began his journey. He stopped eating completely and just drank a small amount of water. Occasionally, he would request a tapioca pudding from my mom like she used to make when they were married. Everyone was bringing in tapioca pudding but he would only eat the one’s she made. She was remarried again and hadn’t seen him in a few years, but she obliged and made the pudding. Six weeks had passed since he had moved into the care home. I made bi-weekly trips to visit and phone calls. One night after I had returned home from teaching my evening tai chi class, I found eight messages on my phone machine. The first was my sister saying “get up here quick, he is going”. The second one was my uncle. The third was my brother. Each one sounded a bit more urgent. My heart pounding, I listened to one after the other, waiting to hear what I feared. The eighth one and he, was still alive. I called his room and told my sister, “I’m coming right now. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” He was unconscious at this point, heavily drugged with morphine and his breathing had begun what is called the death rattle. Steve and I hopped in the car and drove as if we were the only ones on the road. It was 9:30 pm. I kept alternating my thinking, “Hold on dad, I’m coming” and “Go ahead and die if you need to.” I felt so selfish wanting him to wait and yet I wanted him to wait so badly. We arrived at the care home, I ran in the building and down the hall to his room. My heart pounding, I rounded the corner into his room and there he was, ALIVE! He made a gasping sound and my brother and sister cried out “He knows you are here!” Suddenly, the strangest of things happened, I filled with ecstatic joy. I went up to his bedside and put my face near his. The smell emanating from him was the most beautiful scent. I was swimming in love. I looked at his body, which was once, a six feet, three inches, two hundred pound man and was now literally skin and bones. I saw only beauty. I felt as if we were merging into one. I whispered, “You can go now daddy.” He took one more gasp and his breathing stopped. My hand was on the top of his head. I felt a spark of electricity come out of the top of his head. What was once in this wilted body was now permeating the room. I was in ecstasy. I had never felt this bliss before. What he had taught me while in this form was tremendous, yet paled in comparison to what he was showing me now. We are, in our essence, only love. There is no death. I had merged and yet was still in my form. I lifted up my head and found my brother clapping my hands. “Oh daddy, you did it,” I said. I looked at my sister who was beaming, Steve was beaming, and I was ecstatic. Steve had moved toward his head and seemed to be soaking up the vibes. “I’m so proud of you!” My brother said as he stroked his forehead. Right then, I heard a man in a nearby room moaning and I found myself walking down the hall into his room. As I walked in his room, he looked at me as if I was an angel and stopped crying. “Do you need something?” I asked him. “I’m fine,” he replied. “My dad just died,” I told him, with a beaming smile on my face. “Oh, well, you better go take care of that.” He said. “OK,” I answered, “are you going to be alright?” I asked. “Oh, yes, I’m fine.” He said as he gazed at me in wonder. Part of me could hardly believe what was occurring and another part felt it was all divinely orchestrated.
My sister and I went to the nurse and told him of our father’s passing. We went back into the room and sat with our dad a while and waited for the Neptune Society to come and take his body. Oddly, there was nothing sad about this. His death seemed to be teaching us that there is no death. There is just the dropping of the body, a freedom. He had said he was ready to die, that he had had a good life and was eager to leave his body. I felt that he never left us he just took off that “tight shoe.” He is here whenever I think of him, permeating me with love.
I kept my word, I didn’t cry. I beam with bliss and gratitude that through his dying, he taught me the truth about life.
I love my daddy.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Yin and Yang Consciousness
A study of history reveals that in the past 3,000 years, we have records of over 5,000 wars on this planet Earth. War seems to be a popular past time. When we look into our own lives and notice how often we are at odds with co-workers, loved ones, or fellow drivers on the road, and then even closer into the internal battles going on in our own heads, we can see the inevitable and insidious nature of war.
Revolution, the overthrowing of one paradigm for a new, if it’s at the same level of consciousness is not effective in creating change. Why haven’t we noticed? Einstein said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. As much as we talk of our desire for world peace or even peace of mind, it continues to elude us. It seems it is time we individually wake up out of our insanity and start a collective evolution, rather than a revolution.
No matter what is going on in the world, no matter how completely it seems as if it shouldn’t be, no matter how much we want to protest and change it, the only real change we can truly affect is within ourselves, individually. This is not to say we shouldn’t try to change the outside world. It would be naïve to think we could ever stop trying. To do so consciously though, acknowledging that there is no possible way we can see the complete and true nature of any situation, would manifest a radically different action. To realize the degree to which we are projecting our own filters of our conditioning onto the matter would result in less harm, greater effectiveness, and a quantum leap into a higher level of consciousness.
We don't really make change to a higher level when we are fighting something. It is a Universal Law that like attracts like. If we see something manifesting, which causes a reaction in us, we must be vibrating on a similar level or we wouldn't be in reaction to it. If we are operating at a higher level of consciousness, we naturally know how to respond harmlessly with wisdom and grace. If we attempt to change something before changing our own energetic level, we just make changes of a lateral nature. For instance, if we see children fighting, we step in maturely and handle the situation. We don't jump in and start fighting with them to stop them. Well, some of us may resort to slapping them around, which may stop them temporarily, but I doubt it does much for changing their behavior on a more permanent basis. I'll use a different example. If we see someone on the street having a psychotic spell, yelling obscenities at us, we most likely have compassion and respond from that place of compassion. However, if we are having a psychotic episode as well, we may take offense to what they are saying and attack back defensively.
We only see a tiny fraction of what's going on in front of our eyes at any given moment. To think we see the whole "truth" of a situation is to be in deep delusion. It is our grace when we see something we want to change. This is our catalyst for personal growth. We can know what we need to change about ourselves by seeing what we think needs changing outwardly, with which we are in reaction. The outer world is truly our mirror. We must first change our own understanding and level of consciousness and then see what needs to be done on the outside. When we change ourselves, it affects everything in the outer world as well. If everyone on the planet took care of their own happiness and peace of mind, we would all be happy. There are, of course, those of us who can't for one reason or another take care of ourselves, the psychotic mentioned earlier would be an example. This is where the call to serve comes in. But only from a place of higher understanding.
If we each take responsibility for the quality of energy we are personally radiating, especially when we are in judgment and opposition, acknowledge our own projections onto others whom we are judging, and heal ourselves first, what a difference it can make! This brings to mind the metaphor of putting our own oxygen masks on first in the event of cabin depressurization on an airplane. We are then able to freely breathe while assisting others. If we don’t put ours on first, we are of little help to anyone including ourselves.
We can also change the quality of our energetic radiance by focusing on what we WANT rather than on what we DON'T want. What we focus on expands and so focusing on solutions puts us on the track for effective change into a new paradigm rather than fighting from the same level of consciousness, which created the situation in the first place. This is a most important and effective step forward in creating a world of peace. Have you ever noticed how good it feels to think of what you want and what a downer it is to stay focused, ruminating on what you don't like? This is our challenge, to stay aware of our thinking and ask ourselves if we are radiating warlike energy or peaceful energy. How often do we get what we want by complaining and radiating negative energy?
The yin/yang theory is a great tool, if you want to find a path toward inner peace. In the yin/yang, (also called Tai Chi symbol) we can see expressed visually the dynamic in which war occurs. Whatever is happening is occurring in this play of opposites. We can view it from a yin side or the yang side. We can see it as right or wrong, as good or bad, as beautiful or ugly, the list goes on to infinity. Which side we view it from determines how we feel about what we are seeing. If what we are seeing is in alignment with our beliefs and conditioning, we like it, if not, we don't. If however, we view it from the mid-line of the circle or more expansively from the outer rim of the circle viewing the whole, we see everything as just this play. Each side is dependent and gives rise to the other and each exists within the other. Nothing is good or bad, it’s our point of view that makes it so for each of us individually.
If we all could take a moment now and then to go within and ask what a particular dislike, or even better, an extreme aversion is pointing to in ourselves, we may be wonderfully surprised. I say wonderfully because this is a very empowering technique. I say surprised because seldom do we realize that what we dislike in another is a disowned part of ourselves. What we cannot accept in ourselves, we cannot accept and love in another. The answer to peace and happiness lies in the degree to which we love and accept ourselves. When we stop projecting all of our self-hatred onto others and begin the process of healing into self-acceptance, the end of war becomes a real possibility.
Revolution, the overthrowing of one paradigm for a new, if it’s at the same level of consciousness is not effective in creating change. Why haven’t we noticed? Einstein said the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results. As much as we talk of our desire for world peace or even peace of mind, it continues to elude us. It seems it is time we individually wake up out of our insanity and start a collective evolution, rather than a revolution.
No matter what is going on in the world, no matter how completely it seems as if it shouldn’t be, no matter how much we want to protest and change it, the only real change we can truly affect is within ourselves, individually. This is not to say we shouldn’t try to change the outside world. It would be naïve to think we could ever stop trying. To do so consciously though, acknowledging that there is no possible way we can see the complete and true nature of any situation, would manifest a radically different action. To realize the degree to which we are projecting our own filters of our conditioning onto the matter would result in less harm, greater effectiveness, and a quantum leap into a higher level of consciousness.
We don't really make change to a higher level when we are fighting something. It is a Universal Law that like attracts like. If we see something manifesting, which causes a reaction in us, we must be vibrating on a similar level or we wouldn't be in reaction to it. If we are operating at a higher level of consciousness, we naturally know how to respond harmlessly with wisdom and grace. If we attempt to change something before changing our own energetic level, we just make changes of a lateral nature. For instance, if we see children fighting, we step in maturely and handle the situation. We don't jump in and start fighting with them to stop them. Well, some of us may resort to slapping them around, which may stop them temporarily, but I doubt it does much for changing their behavior on a more permanent basis. I'll use a different example. If we see someone on the street having a psychotic spell, yelling obscenities at us, we most likely have compassion and respond from that place of compassion. However, if we are having a psychotic episode as well, we may take offense to what they are saying and attack back defensively.
We only see a tiny fraction of what's going on in front of our eyes at any given moment. To think we see the whole "truth" of a situation is to be in deep delusion. It is our grace when we see something we want to change. This is our catalyst for personal growth. We can know what we need to change about ourselves by seeing what we think needs changing outwardly, with which we are in reaction. The outer world is truly our mirror. We must first change our own understanding and level of consciousness and then see what needs to be done on the outside. When we change ourselves, it affects everything in the outer world as well. If everyone on the planet took care of their own happiness and peace of mind, we would all be happy. There are, of course, those of us who can't for one reason or another take care of ourselves, the psychotic mentioned earlier would be an example. This is where the call to serve comes in. But only from a place of higher understanding.
If we each take responsibility for the quality of energy we are personally radiating, especially when we are in judgment and opposition, acknowledge our own projections onto others whom we are judging, and heal ourselves first, what a difference it can make! This brings to mind the metaphor of putting our own oxygen masks on first in the event of cabin depressurization on an airplane. We are then able to freely breathe while assisting others. If we don’t put ours on first, we are of little help to anyone including ourselves.
We can also change the quality of our energetic radiance by focusing on what we WANT rather than on what we DON'T want. What we focus on expands and so focusing on solutions puts us on the track for effective change into a new paradigm rather than fighting from the same level of consciousness, which created the situation in the first place. This is a most important and effective step forward in creating a world of peace. Have you ever noticed how good it feels to think of what you want and what a downer it is to stay focused, ruminating on what you don't like? This is our challenge, to stay aware of our thinking and ask ourselves if we are radiating warlike energy or peaceful energy. How often do we get what we want by complaining and radiating negative energy?
The yin/yang theory is a great tool, if you want to find a path toward inner peace. In the yin/yang, (also called Tai Chi symbol) we can see expressed visually the dynamic in which war occurs. Whatever is happening is occurring in this play of opposites. We can view it from a yin side or the yang side. We can see it as right or wrong, as good or bad, as beautiful or ugly, the list goes on to infinity. Which side we view it from determines how we feel about what we are seeing. If what we are seeing is in alignment with our beliefs and conditioning, we like it, if not, we don't. If however, we view it from the mid-line of the circle or more expansively from the outer rim of the circle viewing the whole, we see everything as just this play. Each side is dependent and gives rise to the other and each exists within the other. Nothing is good or bad, it’s our point of view that makes it so for each of us individually.
If we all could take a moment now and then to go within and ask what a particular dislike, or even better, an extreme aversion is pointing to in ourselves, we may be wonderfully surprised. I say wonderfully because this is a very empowering technique. I say surprised because seldom do we realize that what we dislike in another is a disowned part of ourselves. What we cannot accept in ourselves, we cannot accept and love in another. The answer to peace and happiness lies in the degree to which we love and accept ourselves. When we stop projecting all of our self-hatred onto others and begin the process of healing into self-acceptance, the end of war becomes a real possibility.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Is It True?
Our experience of life is created by our perception of what’s happening moment by moment. This perception is a result of our basic nature and our conditioning, which is the sum total of all our interactions with people and events from birth onward. As these interactions occur, they become imprinted in our subconscious mind so quickly that we are not consciously aware of the effect. We then respond to life through the filter of these imprints and this creates our particular spin on things. We take this spin to be reality or the truth!
With enough dissatisfaction in life we may be inspired to take a look within. When we do take a closer look at how our beliefs and attitudes are affecting our daily lives, we often come to realize that our interpretations are not only inaccurate, they don’t even serve us. It becomes obvious that an adjustment might be a good idea. But, how do we make this adjustment?
Questioning the validity of a belief is the beginning. Asking ourselves, Is it true? When we answer that question honestly, there is rarely a time when we can answer truthfully yes it is true. There is nothing we can know beyond a shadow of a doubt.
We begin with the beliefs that aren’t serving us. I have been putting my beliefs to the inquiry for over a decade now and haven’t come up with a single thought or belief that stands the test of this inquiry: is it true? If “there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so,” as Shakespeare says, then, why not just let go of the beliefs that feel bad. Over.
With enough dissatisfaction in life we may be inspired to take a look within. When we do take a closer look at how our beliefs and attitudes are affecting our daily lives, we often come to realize that our interpretations are not only inaccurate, they don’t even serve us. It becomes obvious that an adjustment might be a good idea. But, how do we make this adjustment?
Questioning the validity of a belief is the beginning. Asking ourselves, Is it true? When we answer that question honestly, there is rarely a time when we can answer truthfully yes it is true. There is nothing we can know beyond a shadow of a doubt.
We begin with the beliefs that aren’t serving us. I have been putting my beliefs to the inquiry for over a decade now and haven’t come up with a single thought or belief that stands the test of this inquiry: is it true? If “there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so,” as Shakespeare says, then, why not just let go of the beliefs that feel bad. Over.
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