Where the Light Leads

I really like being in a body!  Lemon bars and enchiladas; ripe figs and Honey Crisp apples; stroking the soft coats of my big gray cats, the pink and orange of winter sunrises; the snug feel of suede half chaps and galloping pony along the back roads; slow kissing and the smell of roses; music, "This American Life" and crunching through dry fallen leaves; the little birds and plump squirrels more visible in the bare trees, the feeling in my heart on Christmas morning, my daughter’s faces… When I take time to dwell in my senses – to appreciate the detail of the world around me - I feel so alive and grateful. Knowing that my range of movement will someday be restricted inspires me to dance to capacity, to fill out space and be present every second to the process – the connection between hundredths of seconds: to be inside the movement and watching it at the same time. Anything can be done with deeper presence: cooking, sex, biking to work, massaging a friend's back or listening to our kids. Lately, I am most aware of my body while dancing - celebrating how much the collage of muscles, veins, bones, organs do all in a day.

Working with the newly bereaved through Hospice Care has only increased my sense of feeling blessed, but, too, it has confronted me with questions like: Who will be with me when I die? Who will be around to help me through it? Some of these people have lost partners who’ve been with them almost 50 years. They didn’t bargain for going it alone, and it breaks my heart to watch them grasp for hope in the confusion of grief.

  

Sure, I’ve listened to Death Cab for Cutie’s song, “What Sarah Said” that ends: “So, who’s going to watch you die?” many times, but witnessing people who have just lost their "other half" face these bigger questions, I am compelled to do the same. People can’t just drop everything, and sometimes it’s the people who we least expect who come through during hard times… or even, in the end.

Some spiritual folk say that the reason spirits hang around is because death is not that big of a transition and the spirits occasionally need guidance towards the light. Not knowing where the light will lead, sometimes it’s more comforting to remain in the attic of the beautiful home they had built. "They" suggest that when a person dies we say: “Your spirit just left your body. Go look for Aunt Shoshana” (or whomever they know who has already crossed over). Otherwise the person might hang around wondering why no one is speaking to them. I've also heard it said that death is a continuation of how we live and maybe if we die with presence, we won't need anyone pointing us to the light.

I wonder what it will feel like to dance on the other side. But, for now, I really like being in this body!

photo: Eliza Karlson

Does Guilt have a Home?

photo credit: Blogos

Some say guilt is necessary, that it keeps us from doing things we shouldn’t do and makes us do things we should do.

Really? It's useless.  (Sorry guilt. I know I’m pissing you off here.) We have a conscience to serve that purpose. Conscience is like Obi Wan Kenobi, Gandalf or Glinda. Guilt is like a raging, alcoholic father who never got his needs met. With whom would you rather hang out or align yourself? The term “guilty conscience” is odd. If a conscience is what helps us determine the best choices for ourselves why would our conscience be guilty if we choose something that does not serve us or the greater good? We would have just made a mistake. We make amends, forgive and be forgiven.

I’ve heard many people talk about their relationship with guilt. Some say: “Guilt keeps me in line.” (Sounds like Mr. Sheen talking.) Or I’ve heard: “I went to counseling, and I learned I was just going to have to always live with a low level of guilt in relationship to my mother.” WHY? What part of us believes that guilt is good and essential?

It’s like when we’re born some of us are signed up for the guilt club and we don’t realize we can get out. And, if you choose to cancel the
membership, other tribe members will sneer and boo, but when you
get a good distance away you will begin to run and never look back.

photo credit: LegalSchnauzer

The inner critic (in some spiritual circles referred to as “the ego”) punishes and clings. And if you’re not holding on too, it condemns you for not caring, for thinking you are better than you are, for being “selfish.” The freer we are, the more generous and compassionate we become. The clearer we are, the better we use our valuable time. The more honest we are, the less feelings get hurt and the more people who cling learn to take responsibility for their behavior. Conscience means doing something we might not otherwise do because it serves the greater good. Guilt means doing something we might not otherwise do and then resenting it.

Part of the reason we experience guilt is because an inner judge is sitting in the seat where our self observer is supposed to sit. We make impulsive decisions and judge ourselves (instead of making a thoughtful choice to begin with). We choose to take a mental health day off from work, but a co-worker finds out and chastises us; instead of standing up for ourselves with esteem and the knowledge that we will work twice as hard upon return, we agree with the inner judge and beat ourselves up. We cower and destroy the joy of nourishing ourselves. It’s like there’s a whole Supreme Court in our heads. No wonder our culture is losing its heart.

I’m not sure when my justices moved out and took residence elsewhere, but I believe that my health is a direct result. My body, mind, soul and conscience are healthier (and happier) without guilt. Personal freedom is a gift, a choice and a step towards Heaven on Earth. I am blessed and my hope is to help others take action to free themselves from thoughts and people who bind so that they may discover and celebrate their unique voices.

Please note: Many of you have had trouble posting comments, and I hope to get this resolved as soon as possible. Thanks for your support!

Falling Off of the Pedestal: True Love Explored

The search for love is but the honest searching out of everything that interferes with love. 

A Course in Miracles (267)

Imagine eating several Almond Joy bars (substitute your favorite candy here) while riding a roller coaster in the snow. How different is “falling in love,” that giddy state where about all one can stomach is vanilla yogurt and the other person is pretty much flawless?

I have heard it said that falling in love is a form of insanity. The first time I was afflicted (and blessed) was in high school. The second time was in college, and I married him; I wouldn’t trade those 18 years for anything. The third time - almost 10 years ago - qualifies, admittedly, as insanity, because he was a lying scoundrel living a double life (I never even knew there was another woman let alone a MARRIAGE!). But never mind my perpetual naiveté and a propensity to ignore red flags (both an infinite source of fertilizer for my writing landscape). In retrospect, I understand that sometimes we’re magnetized to another in order to

Starbucks and Revelations

Standing in line at Starbucks, I got to talking to the man next to me. He told me that every morning he drives north to this particular Starbucks to buy his drink and breakfast before getting on the freeway to travel south again to Denver where he works – all because the staff is stellar – unbelievably friendly. “It’s not like other Starbucks.” It adds about 15 minutes to his commute to make this coffee run, but evidently it’s worth it. I’m not much of a coffee drinker, but this phenomenon fascinated me, and I started to go to this Starbucks just to observe the dynamics. And, it was true. Mostly female employees, they were like morning stars that must have risen hours before we arrived, shining down and lighting our way. The woman at the register asked one man how his birthday had been. She asked the next customer if he had found the folder he had misplaced. And, she complimented the third gentleman on his jacket. It was my turn. I thought maybe I was looking into the eyes of Venus. When the dark haired beauty, probably a student at the nearby University of Colorado asked how I was, it felt like if I had said I was having a hard day, she would have pulled me aside and urged me to vent. Her enthusiasm was sincere. I wanted to order more than a decaf Americano – like maybe a couple of salted caramel cake pops, some almonds, a CD and a veggie plate, but I reminded myself that coffee was all I wanted. “Okay Hon, that’ll be right up.” It felt like we were all swept back in time to a 50’s diner.

People long for connection and caring. Taking it a step farther, we also yearn to be accepted unconditionally.  A part of us heals when we tell our deepest (what we consider darkest) secrets to a friend, counselor, coach or spiritual advisor who can receive it without judgment. Accepted, we forgive; we’re a little easier on ourselves. It could be someone who loves us enough to know that whatever we did was what created the person we have become today. Or it might be a confession to a total stranger on an airplane or to a priest. My mother always says that the concept of Catholic confession was the precedent for counseling.

Too, we are thirsty for touch. Yoga instructors will tell you that the more people they can "assist"(helping them to move more deeply into a pose), the more likely those individuals

Balanced and Unstable

A fond memory, in a twisted sort of way, is the time my mother chased Winnie the Pooh at Disneyland because he wouldn’t take a picture with my younger daughter. The woman escorting him said he was late for a show, but that didn’t stop my mother from swinging her big bag at his head and yelling, “You ridiculous, ineffectual lump! My granddaughter wants a PHOTO with YOU!” I know from whom I inherited my colorful vocabulary. I can’t imagine what would have happened had my Mom actually made contact with the ducking hunk of fluff. Perhaps Disney police in the guise of Brutus would have swept poor Mama off and handcuffed her to the slate wall of Snow White’s palace. Moral of that story: Don’t mess with my mother’s children or grandchildren or any blood relative! I love that about her. My mother is passionate and expressive. There is nothing passive-aggressive about her. You know where you stand. And as a side note, we always felt safe around her. Evidently, she reserved her physical aggression for imposter Disney characters. She is equally loving and brilliant; a perfect nurturer.

 Mama with my niece and nephew

I was thinking about an irony of our culture: that if someone shows sadness or anger they are considered “unstable,” but when we repress emotions, a whole gamut of physical stress related conditions manifest, including chronic (particularly back) pain issues, fibromyalgia, depression, bursitis, arthritis, TMJ, IBT, eczema, tennis elbow, tendonitis, carpal tunnel syndrome, sexual dysfunction, Bells Palsy, rheumatoid arthritis and many other conditions as well as addiction issues.  We have been slow to believe the direct mind-body relationship. People stuff their emotions until feelings burst out inappropriately in a fit of misdirected rage, and then guilt ensues and nothing has been gained. Feelings are blamed as too risky. The key is...