Author: bondjanet

RISE ABOVE

“Look at your life sometime from a cosmic view: here is this whole cosmos and there, somewhere, are you. What do these things really matter? Your needs for exaggeration and self-importance are insignificant. You have to learn to step away from yourself and see that, because where will you be if every grain of sand becomes a big issue? And really the events of daily life are only insignificant grains of sand.”
(Swami Sivananda Radha, Time to be Holy)

Early the other morning we went boating with some friends to look for dolphins and manta rays, and do some snorkeling. I had woken up with a bee in my bonnet (really, that’s such an evocative metaphor!) that kept me from registering the exotic scenery, or truly engaging with present company. At one point I gazed off into the distance where I picked out the gauzy shape of Mauna Kea, with its modest crown of observatories, looming behind the darker and more distinct pu’u of Uluweuweu. Suddenly the thought occurred to me to “just rise above”, as does this misty mountain peak, and seek that third person omniscient perspective that Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche describes in Meditation in Action. (At the moment I can’t find the exact quote!)

Trungpa urges the student to objectively observe situations and relationships from a higher perspective (as from the press gallery at a hockey game). From this higher, more detached vantage point one is asked to witness one’s own behavior, and that of the other person or persons, without attachment to any particular opinion or idea. It could be considered playing your own devil’s advocate. Or perhaps a divine advocate — one who can do such mental gymnastics as to truly see and understand another person’s POV, while not necessarily condoning or agreeing. I have often read that, if someone’s behavior triggers an emotional reaction in me, it might be that I too have that shadow aspect in me. Is it possible, when I think someone else is being unreasonable, in fact, a real jerk, that I am seeing a reflection of some unconscious part of myself? If I then ask myself what I would have the other person know or do, can I then apply that information to my own behavior?

It sometimes takes a very little shift on my part to effect a positive change in a relationship. Giving others the benefit of the doubt can change the dynamics between us even if I don’t understand what it is that irritates me or stirs a negative reaction. In Time to be Holy Swami Radha advises:

“There really isn’t anything or anyone absolutely bad or negative, and nobody benefits from your effort to understand that, except you. It helps to remember that each one of us is not an island, and that we have our seasons, and our ups and downs. Life is not just a straight line. It’s a wave. Sometimes you are on top of the wave, sometimes you have to go to the bottom, and then you have to make sure you have enough momentum to come up again on the other side.”

That momentum comes from the effort I make to rise above my own petty irritations and narrow perceptions. My attempts to increase my self-awareness, my compassion and my capacity to forgive benefit nobody more than myself.

As one of my fellow paddlers said, “we’re all in this canoe together, and we must learn to paddle as part of a team.”

Kahuna Nui Hale Kealohalani Makua – “Love all you see, including yourself.” — Hale Makua

HEALING

“The world we are living in needs healing — the healing qualities of positivity, silence, relaxation, care, compassion and cooperation. We hear daily reports in the news of people in pain, hunger and poverty, of killings, sickness and death. When negativity and greed tip the balance, the world becomes an unhealthy place to live, lacking the physical and spiritual resources to care for people. We often feel helpless and separate from the rest of humanity. But remember that we are not separate beings. We can cultivate our emotions, use our intuition and forgive. We need to consciously access the will to bring healing forces into the world in which we live and into ourselves”. (Swami Radhananda: forward to the yoga of healing Timless Books, 2016)

As with probably every literate person in the western world, I have been deeply disturbed and saddened by the news coming out of the Middle East. Much as I prefer a “head in the sand” approach, (what with all this Hawaiian sand to be had), I know that that is not a viable response to what is happening globally, and — most especially — locally. So I look to the yoga of healing authored by my teacher, Swami Sivananda Radha, for more constructive ideas:

“The power in healing is that even though we are in a painful situation, we don’t flinch. We incorporate, we embrace. As we live through these experiences we note the pain, our reactions and our resolve to be clear, to learn and do our best in the situation. Whatever we can do to heal keeps the learning positive and supportive. In doing so, we will gain a sense of victory and an understanding of what life is really about”.

An understanding of what life is really about is my motivation for blogging and, in general, for leading an examined life. The practices offered in the yoga of healing provide a structure upon which to build such a life, one that combines action and reflection with a view, as Gandhi would say, to being the change I wish to see in the world today.

Self-observation is perhaps the cornerstone to building what Swami Radha calls one’s cathedral of consciousness. As with any sacred refuge, one does not want the surrounding gardens to be choked with weeds and debris. But that is often what figuratively blocks our access to inner, healing energies. If I am to recruit my own healing energies, I am challenged to confront the inner filters and distortions that overshadow my powers of observation, my ability to see what is actually happening, and then address whatever seeds of negativity I may have sown in the world. Swami Radha would call that clearing karma.

In order to clear karma I keep a daily journal to track my footprints and review where I have succeeded, where I have erred, and candidly assess what to keep, what to change, and with what to do away.

Swami Radha advises:

“Record the events of the day — what has happened, what has not happened, but also what you had wanted to happen. What are the actions [including watching/reading too much news] that have led to becoming upset or emotional? Can you recognize the roots and cut them off, thereby changing your attitude and allowing for new insights and a new approach? Such a discipline will develop in you an ability to concentrate and to renounce the intruding forces of self-importance and all the other ego manifestations that divide giving and receiving, birth and death, light and dark.”

The above is very à propós my efforts to improve our kitchen/dining/living hale — aka the heart and soul of our cottage —while having to contend with those invasive palm roots. They were exposed at a time when I had other more subtle (but equally invasive) issues to deal with in my personal life. I had to dig deep enough to see how unconscious thoughts and mechanical habits, plus the ever-baneful power of self-suggestion were conspiring to threaten my relationships and weaken mind and body. In so doing, I unearthed a powerful source of energy and inspiration to, among other things, share the tools and teachings that have helped me navigate my earthly journey.

I cannot concur more strongly with Swami Radha, or encourage you more sincerely, to make your inner garden the place you begin to respond to the world’s problems. It is a landscape rich with possibilities for expanding your awareness and increasing the effectiveness of whatever your endeavors. As Radhananda writes:

“We need to consciously access the will to bring healing forces into the world in which we live and into ourselves.”

Consistent self observation, in the context of a spiritual study and practice, is a highly effective route to doing just that: becoming the leaders and healers we all have the potential to be.

Now back to unpacking. Chop wood, carry boxes.

ROOTS

“This path of using life to evolve spiritually is truly the highest path.” (Michael Singer Untethered Soul)

Since the middle of summer the royal We have been renovating our cottage in Hawaii. As with all such undertakings, challenges have arisen that we had not anticipated, one of which was an accumulation of palm tree roots that were pushing up the walkway and even threatening the foundation of the building (called a hale in Hawaiian). After the trunk was cut in sections and removed, several days were spent severing the thin, stick-like lateral roots that had spread in all directions. As the excavator dug deeper, it revealed a mind-boggling network of roots wrapped bristle brush-like around the base of the stubbornly resisting stump. Quite the undertaking.

If ever I needed a literal image of what Singer meant by old, ingrained thought patterns clogging up the “ground” of the psyche, this was it. He describes it thus:

"You take a set of thoughts in the mind and you hold onto them. You make a highly complex relational structure out of them, and then present that package as who you are. But it is not who you are. It is just the thoughts you have pulled around yourself in an attempt to define yourself.”…and…”If you dare to look, you will see that you live your entire life based on the model you built around yourself.” 

According to Singer, we cling to this arbitrary construction, this self-created identity as if our lives depend on it. And as far as the ego is concerned, we do.

When circumstances agree with my ego’s model of what is acceptable or desirable, I believe my life is running smoothly. When events conspire to upset this carefully curated self-concept, I resist them, with vigour. Why? They’re just arbitrary ideas of how I think things should, could or ought to be. These concepts are unnecessarily limiting. Worse still, to whatever extent things don’t go as I want or need in order to preserve my self-image, I experience pain and suffering. Singer offers this advice:

“You must look inside yourself and determine that from now on pain is not a problem. It is just a thing in the universe. Somebody can say something to you that can cause your heart to react and catch fire, but then it passes. It’s a temporary experience. Most people can hardly imagine what it would be like to be at peace with inner disturbance. But if you do not learn to be comfortable with it, you will devote your life to avoiding it. If you feel insecurity, it’s just a feeling. You can handle a feeling. If you feel embarrassed, it’s just a feeling. It’s just a part of creation. If you feel jealousy and your heart burns, just look at it objectively, like you would a mild bruise. It’s a thing in the universe that is passing through your system. Laugh at it, have fun with it, but don’t be afraid of it. It cannot touch you unless you touch it.”

Of course in theory I am keen to have everyday irritations pass through me, and presumably lots do. But, as Singer is at pains (pardon the pun) to point out, some of these irritations do not pass so easily, because they are connected — like those tenacious lateral roots — to past traumas that I’ve barricaded in my body, so as not to feel their full impact. Now they lay in wait for something to hit the spot where I’ve hidden them, and the result is far more painful than if I’d been able to let them pass immediately after they happened.

The other day one such reaction pointed me to Singer’s theory about buried, volatile energies. Somebody made a comment that “set my heart on fire”, and my ego went on a rampage looking for ways to defend/assuage this achy-breaky feeling. Singer offers this explanation:

"It is because deep inside there is pain that you have not processed. Your attempt to avoid this pain has created layer upon layer of sensitivities that are all linked to the hidden pain.”

Hence a seemingly innocuous comment penetrated the layers I had built around some ancient emotional injury, and my gut reaction was to stop the buried feelings from emerging at all cost. But, given Singer’s guidance, I saw the incident as an opportunity to evolve. Daring to look more deeply into these disturbed energies, I was able to see their roots in childhood experiences of censure or rejection. As an adult I have other ways of dealing with fresh or ancient disturbance, such as patience, tolerance, acceptance, forgiveness and compassion. Any and all of these are better than a lifetime of clinging to old emotional baggage under the illusion that it will protect me from pain.

Instead of fighting back when my model was attacked, I quietly waited for the fire to burn itself out, which it did much faster than I could have imagined. In its place came a sense of freedom, of release from that egoic palm tree in my psyche.

Happy Halloween!

CAN I? WILL I?

“Finally, exasperated, I asked her if after 107 years she had any advice for younger people. She looked up at me, eyes flashing. “Yes,” she shot back. “Life is short. Don’t run so fast you miss it.” (Dan Buttner, The Blue Zones Quotes)

At 73, I’m in the throes of making minor lifestyle adjustments that I’m hoping will yield major results. I say minor because I’m aware of a tendency to set major goals for myself, only to start too fast and lose momentum half way through. The more ambitious the goal, the lower the likelihood that I’ll see it through. What can derail me is the sheer, intimidating mass of the undertaking. So, now to break it down into simple, chewable bites. And recruit the help I need to do so.

It’s the same when facing any daunting task, as was cleaning out a basement full of storage in order to move homes a couple of years ago. So as not to get derailed in our move to the condo, I recruited the services of a friend and lifestyle manager, the lovely Louise, to help me work through things one small task at a time. With each small accomplishment a momentum began building. Increment by increment we tackled the whole basement, and other rooms besides, all the while having a good time. At one point, mired in piles of old photos, Louise sensed me freezing up and gently asked: “What’s happening for you right now?” What was happening was my being drawn down a rabbit hole of old memories, overwhelmed at the speed with which so many decades had passed. And not a little overcome with a sense of urgency, in my eighth decade, to make the best of the time I had left.

Perhaps this is what resonated when I later encountered Dan Buttner’s Blue Zones series on Netflix, and the words of the 107 year old crone: “Life is short. Don’t run so fast you miss it.”

Robert Kane, another Blue Zones advocate, offers this advice:

“Rather than exercising for the sake of exercising, try to make changes to your lifestyle. Ride a bicycle instead of driving. Walk to the store instead of driving. Use the stairs instead of the elevator. Build that into your lifestyle. The chances are that you will sustain that behavior for a much longer time. And the name of the game here is sustaining. These things that we try — usually after some cataclysmic event has occurred, and we now want to ward off what seems to be the more perceptible threat of dying — don’t hold up over the long haul. We find all sorts of reasons not to do it.”

This advice is counterintuitive to the inner script I’ve been following — or should I say running to — for many years. That script was about ticking boxes and chalking up achievements as if rehearsing for the role of Super-Human Being. In the process, as the saying goes, my mind was writing chèques that my body couldn’t cash. Most recently, my hip is paying the price for that over-ambition. Even as I was told to pace my PRP recovery slowly, to resume my physical activity by small, incremental steps, I perversely tried to prove I could get back to my prior fitness routines as soon as possible.

Too much, too soon. And my orthopedist was not at all pleased.

While exhorting others to become more introspective, it took an embarrassing exchange with my orthopedist for me to understand the “why” of leading an examined life. I had been focusing on a tiny subset of life, my fitness/self-image, under the illusion that to constantly “best” myself is to justify my existence. Not so. Rather than constantly searching for a sense of purpose, or asking what to do with the time I have left, all I really need do is apply in daily life what I’ve gleaned from decades of transpersonal studies and training. Be my own laboratory and take small, reproducable steps in the desired direction.

This brings us to my proclaimed “minor lifestyle adjustment”. My goal is to pace myself as I incorporate the things I’m learning from the Blue Zones folk about well-rounded diets, exercise, and lifestyle. Rather than letting the fear of mortality drive me to ever greater achievements, ever more “enriching” experiences, my new goal is be fully engaged in daily life, establish healthful longevity habits, and sustain them for as long as possible.

Can I? Will I? Stay tuned…

EXPECTATIONS 

Me (to the stranger standing next to me at the breakfast buffet): “So how’s your day going?” 

His reply: “It’s going fine. But then, I set a fairly low bar.” 

This seemingly innocuous comment made by a fellow hotel guest has nonetheless had quite a lasting effect. It often comes to mind when I find myself stewing about an outcome that didn’t quite go as desired. When that happens, I am compelled to ask myself why I think the events of daily life must conform to my particular “bar” in order for me to be satisfied, or happy? Upon reflection, it occurs to me that learning to manage expectations is one of the more daunting “growth tasks” one encounters when aspiring to lead an examined life. 

So much of my conditioning, and indeed what I continue to see in magazines, films and on social media, biases me against accepting the harsher aspects of reality, the things that don’t fit my script. It also goes against what Michael Singer says about happiness: 

 ​“The real question is whether you want to be happy regardless of what happens. The purpose of your life is to enjoy and learn from your experiences. You were not put on Earth to suffer. You’re not helping anybody by being miserable. Regardless of your philosophical beliefs, the fact remains that you were born and you are going to die. During the time in between, you get to choose whether or not you want to enjoy the experience. Events don’t determine whether or not you’re going to be happy. They’re just events. You determine whether or not you’re going to be happy. You can be happy just to be alive. You can be happy having all these things happen to you, and then be happy to die. If you can live this way, your heart will be so open and your Spirit will be so free, that you will soar up to the heavens.” 

Singer claims that making the decision to stay happy, to stay open and embrace all of life’s experiences — good, bad or indifferent — with an open heart, is actually a very high spiritual calling. So, ever the sceptic, I’ve been experimenting with that calling. I’ve been learning to more easily let go of my personal opinions and subjective ideas of how things could, should, or ought to be, and instead let others’ suggestions or preferences take priority. (Or at least listen to them for five minutes.) In the short time that I’ve been practicing this new habit, the results have been surprisingly gratifying. 

An example might be choosing to relinquish my role of hosting Thanksgiving weekend at our cabin in Whistler. This is a tradition we have observed since building what was meant to be our primary residence in 1993. (Our then teenaged children rebelled and we instead rented in the city for the next couple of decades!) 

The decision taken to spend the holiday in the city confronted me with the changing dynamics of our growing-up family. Being ever the mother hen, (or mama bear, depending on the “threat”) I like nothing better that having our various and assorted family members breaking bread together. There were so many reasons why this year had to be different. Not least of which was the fact that there were to be twenty-four of us in number. Gone are the days of stacking kids in every available nook and cranny. Some of the grandkids are now tweenies or teens, and all of them value their privacy! 

An additional wrinkle to celebrating at the cabin was the recovery time I needed for my hip to heal. This ruled out climbing the multiple steps it would take just to get to said cabin, along with whatever hiking, biking (or dancing, you never know..) I might have wanted to do while up there. It also ruled out standing in the kitchen all day, orchestrating dinner for two dozen loved ones. 

As you’ve read in a previous blog, the inactivity imposed for my hip recovery was highly frustrating. Not just because I missed my fitness routines, but also, I realized in retrospect, because I suffered from a lack of control. Simply put, my expectation of how Thanksgiving should be did not conform to the reality. The only way I was going to enjoy the holiday — versus pining for the past — was to embrace and make the best of the new situation. With an open heart and mind. This I did, with more ease and equanimity that I thought possible for a control freak like me. In the end, my daughter took on the cast of thousands on the Friday, and I was able to produce “Thanksgiving Lite”, on Sunday, when half of our number went elsewhere. 

It wasn’t quite Singer’s “soaring up to the heavens”, but for each cherished belief that I was able to relinquish, there was an equal degree of freedom from stale-dated, “just because” routines that no longer served everybody. It ushered in a renewed sense of collaboration that took into account the various agendas of our (mildly outspoken) family members. 

And I didn’t even have to lower the bar!

SLOW WALKING

“He who hesitates is lost.” (Joseph Addison)

Interestingly, I learned via the internet that the above meme is actually an adaptation of a line from Addison’s 1712 play “Cato: a Tragedy”, in which Marcia, the daughter of Roman Senator Cato the Younger exclaims “The woman who deliberates is lost”. The internet then adds: “Success comes from action; those who delay may not succeed.”

Other common expressions reinforce this notion: “the early bird gets the worm”; “first come first served”; and my mom’s old favorite: “do something, even if it’s wrong!”

Well, this week’s slogan has been about doing the opposite of these snappy suggestions. In sum, it’s, “do nothing, even if its crazy-making”. By doctor’s orders I’ve been told to sit and rest my recently PRP-injected hip. Platelet rich plasma injection is a new-to-me medical procedure that I’m not qualified to elaborate on, except to say it has shown positive results in patients with physical issues similar to mine, aka a gimpy hip.

But that’s not what this blog is about. It’s about doing next to nothing. And living to tell the tale.

As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I’ve swum an average of a kilometer a day since the beginning of May. I calculated that, prior to my hiatus, I’d swum in excess of 147,000 meters. (In kilometers it’s not quite so impressive.) I couldn’t have told you, prior to this week of inactivity, just how important this habit has been to my physical health and mental stability. Combined with a decades-long mantra practice, these two daily routines have been central to the “me” you see. A me who aims for congruence in whatever I think and feel, say and do. No subterfuge. So if you’d asked me this morning how I was doing, and I’d replied “fine”, I’d have been lying. The reality that much of my well-being is predicated on keeping to certain wellness routines is sobering.

Yes, like mantra, swimming is good for mind and body. Especially cold water immersion. There’s all sorts of literature on it. Just ask anyone in the hot tub. Or the ocean, if you can talk and swim, though I don’t recommend it. But what does one do when such outlets are not on offer? My remedy was to dive back into the kitchen, much as I did during the closed-in chapters of COVID. I’m still trying to lose those last few pounds.

That’s what I thought the swimming was about. Peeling off unwanted blubber. But it was about so much more than that. As my hip issue gradually took away biking, hiking, pickleball and walking options, swimming became my lifeline. It was a daily wakeup call of the “dose-of-cold-water” kind. It meant having something on my dance card every day. Sometimes twice in the hot summer months. It meant hot-tub-talks and chai tea breaks filled with informative tidbits: what layers to wear as the water temperature drops, what concoction to put in the thermos to warm one’s core. Our WhatsApp chats vary from the sublime to the ridiculous, but always there is something going on, some way to belong.

So what have I really been missing in a week away from my swim routine? With some deliberation (no offense, Marcia), I dialed it down to this: I thrive on a combination of camaraderie, of shared interests and a sense belonging. These are all transferable qualities. Taking swimming out of the equation meant learning to connect in other ways. Cooking Thanksgiving dinner for twelve on a moment’s notice. (Also a master stroke of delegation.) Going to a hockey tournament in Coquitlam. (My team won!) Slow-walking my way to the local coffee shop and chatting with other patrons. Getting out a 1000 piece puzzle and my Whistler Pique crosswords that have languished in a drawer. I even cleaned out the dryer vents!

Having exhausted the latter options, I finally emailed a plea to my orthopedist, claiming that my sanity depended on my getting back in the water. I wish I was exaggerating. When she called (imagine, a specialist who phones!) to give me the green light, I was ecstatic. But also aware that I could lose my mobility, or be quarantined or isolated again, and grateful for this takeaway:

Always find ways to engage with life, with others of like-or-unlike mind; cultivate community, connection and belonging. Just. Do. Something. Even if it’s wrong!

OPPOSABLE THUMBS

"In my years of coaching people in their inevitable transitions, I’ve observed that as many as 1-in-3 people experience a “mirror crisis.” They don’t like what they see in the mirror. Not just their aging body, but, their aging life. They feel an expectations gap – “This isn’t what I was expecting.” “If only I was more of this.” “If only I was less of that.” The gap is often triggered by deaths, illnesses, moves, retirement, and more. Or, it can be the experience of simply feeling the energy-draining drudgery of more of the same old conversations and routines. It can also be the normal, yet panicky feeling of facing the ticking clock of mortality.” Richard Leider 

The other day I briefly injured the tendon between my thumb and my index finger on my left, dominant hand. For the time that I nursed this tender digit, I was made aware of other simple things that I have taken for granted as much as opposable thumbs. I easily listed off half a dozen items in my mental gratitude journal, ranging from my own health and wellness to an appreciation of my home, city, country, and the people who share these advantages with me. The injury also happened while I was reading Michael Singer’s chapter on contemplating death. Taking me beyond counting my blessings, Singer emphasizes the lessons I am meant to be learning at this time of my life:

“No person or situation could teach you as much as death has to teach you. While someone could tell you that you are not your body, death shows you. While someone could remind you of the insignificance of the things that you cling to, death takes them all away in a second. While people can teach you that men and women of all races are equal and that there is no difference between the rich and the poor, death instantly makes us all the same.”

The above commentary puts so many things in perspective. Not only does it spotlight how superficial many of my concerns can be, but also arms me with new coping strategies. When something or someone is irritating me, it’s very effective to ask myself: “Would this still matter to me if I knew this person or this thing would be gone tomorrow? What if I wasn’t going to wake up tomorrow? Or next week? Or next year?”

The latter approach came in handy this week. Asked to help babysit some of our grandchildren for a few days, I experienced moments of that “energy draining drudgery” that Leider writes about. (Also moments of thinking “I’m WAAAAY too old for this!) There’s definitely wisdom in having children when you’re young, but there’s also wisdom in being, as a retiree, immersed in a busy young family’s life. This week I had time to observe and appreciate each different stage from toddler to teen to young adult to late life-pitch-parenting. Seeing myself as the senior citizen on this trajectory had me gravitating to Richard Leider’s advice on the late life, or mirror, crisis:

“A late-life crisis is different than a mid-life crisis where we take stock of “Is this all there is?” It’s a deeper existential questioning about “time.” It’s the reality that time is our most precious currency and there’s little of it left. How much time do I have and what do I want to do more of and less of in my lifetime?”

This question crossed my mind when the grandkids put “Free Guy” on the TV, after having voted down my suggestion of “Fly Away Home”, a wholesome, PG rated Canadian film (about Canada geese!) Deciding I definitely didn’t have time to watch Ryan Reynolds fight monsters in his superpower-sunglasses, I “flew away home” to watch a documentary on the Tour de France (equally absurd in some respects, but, as an aspiring road biker I greatly admire their efforts).

As with “owning” the choice of going home versus watching a senseless movie, leading an examined life encourages me to consistently face the accumulation of choices, great and small, that have led to where I am today. To face myself honestly and compassionately, acknowledging my own regrets and wrong turns and celebrating my victories with grace and equanimity. Accepting who I am and what I’ve done, versus blaming others for any unsatisfactory outcomes.

As Leider writes: “Getting comfortable with our physical and psychological reflection allows us to accept ourselves exactly as we are.”

If one cannot accept what one sees in the mirror, it may be time to dive deeper into the existential questions that not only acknowledge our mortality but actively engage us in planning for that twilight time of life. Not to do so risks incurring great expense for younger-next-year interventions, but also misses out on one of the most important aspects of our existence. Our inner, soul journey. Our evolution of consciousness. If we begin at mid-life by asking “Is this all there is?”, then we must continue to learn, as Singer would have us do, to live from the deepest part of [our] being:

“You have to be willing to look at what it would be like if death was staring you in the face. Then you have to come to peace within yourself so that it doesn’t make any difference whether it is or not.”

That’s deep enough for today.

Now to make popcorn and watch Vingegaard race Pogačar over hundreds of kilometers and up ludicrously steep climbs for the honour of donning a skimpy yellow jersey. For which opposable thumbs are a must. Awesome!

BREATHE. RELAX. BE.

“Courage is more exhilarating than fear and in the long run it is easier. We do not have to become heroes overnight. Just one step at a time, meeting each thing that comes up, seeing it is not as dreadful as it appeared, discovering we have the strength to stare it down.” Eleanor Roosevelt

I started this blog trying to source who said “Resist that which resists in you”, thinking it was Eleanor Roosevelt, but found the above quote instead. Roosevelt succinctly summed up what I’ve been focusing on this week — self-transcendance — or the act of overcoming fear with bravery, and overriding my biased inner narrative with presence and clarity. Self-transcendence, if well-understood, can make a tremendous difference to one’s psycho-spiritual health and development.

According to Transpersonal anthropologist Hillevi Ruumet, one of the greatest obstacles to personal growth is the residue of past experiences which, at the time, “were too obscure for us to see or more painful or distasteful than we could bear.” Instead, we buried these experiences deep in our subconscious, and now our psyche will fight tooth and nail to keep these unwelcome feelings from surfacing.

Little do we know, as adults, how much these buried energies have impacted the whole of our lives. St. Paul called it “seeing through a glass darkly”. To see “through a glass” — a mirror — “darkly” is to have an obscure or imperfect vision of reality. When we do not know what is clouding our sense perceptions, we cannot possibly make an informed choice, or take effective action in response to what’s actually happening.

To keep past trauma from entering present consciousness we are, like as not, playing a game of pin the tail on the donkey, taking ever more futile stabs in the dark as our relationships with family, friends and society in general fail to engender the peace, harmony and ease of wellbeing that we seek.

Worse still, we seldom realize what we’re contributing to the problem. We put so much unconscious effort into blocking past pain that we are ill-equipped to perceive and deal with actual reality.

In other circumstances, such self-deception would be a recipe for disaster. Would you drive down the highway at night without headlights? Or leave a toddler in control of your vehicle? No, you would not. Better to confront the shadows that lurk in the psyche and stare down these feared and fearful memories.

Once you decide you want to take control of your psyche, daily life provides ample opportunity to see what’s been operating behind the scenes. Your inner emotional “ammo-dumps” will be hit again and again by present circumstances, and you will need all the courage and humility you can muster to ride out these inner upheavals.

Singer offers this advice: “Let your spiritual path become the willingness to let whatever happens make it through you, rather than carrying it into the next moment. That doesn’t mean you don’t deal with what happens. You’re welcome to deal with it, but first let the energy make it through you. If you don’t, you will not actually be dealing with the current event, you will be dealing with your own blocked energies from the past. You will not be coming from a place of clarity, but from a place of inner resistance and tension.”

You’ll know when your “stuff” has been hit when you feel this tension and resistance manifesting physiologically and/or psychologically. Supposing you were once painfully bitten by a dog as a toddler. Now, even as a rational adult, when Lassie trots up, tail wagging, you perceive only the threat of history repeating itself. Monitoring the body you might experience an elevated heart rate, shortness of breath or heat in your face and neck. Psychologically you may hear a voice screaming: “Run! Hide! Fight!” All of which will only compound your plight.

As counterintuitive as it may seem, the only way out of this predicament is to do nothing. Do nothing in the sense of not reacting to the energies that percolate up from the unconscious. Not believing the story your inner narrator is telling. Not trying to avoid or suppress feelings, images or impressions that were tucked out of sight, out of mind, since you were a child.

Instead, you can steady body and mind by concentrating on the breath. Focus on inhaling to a count of three or four, and exhaling to a count of six or longer. Let the agitated energies flow out with your breath, following this self-suggestion: “With every inhalation, awareness increases; with every exhalation, relaxation deepens”. You will gradually experience a release of the pentup energy that you have unwittingly been harboring for a lifetime. From this fresh, unbiased perspective you can see Lassie’s visit for what it is, and return his greeting with warmth and friendliness. An encounter with a different dog might call for a different response, but the response will come from a clear perception of the present moment, not driven by a host of shadows.

Next time your stuff gets hit, see how brave you can be. Stare unflinchingly at the mirror of your unfinished inner business. Not only is it not as dreadful as it seems, but you will gradually experience what it’s like to be free of your maniacal inner roommate.

Aum Namah Sivayah

DARE TO SHARE

“It went “Zip” when it moved
And “Bop” when it stopped
And “Whirrr” when it stood still
I never knew just what it was and I guess I never will.”

(Tom Paxton “The Marvelous Toy”)

I know I’m procrastinating when I’m digging through the contents of obscure boxes and bags that, while benefitting from the clearer space left in their wake, are tasks that could easily have waited for a rainy day. If ever. But a part of me will apparently do anything to avoid mentioning a malaise that has hovered at the back, and sometimes the forefront, of my psyche for too many days. Compounding this resistance is the hardwired conviction that one doesn’t share their dirty laundry, or admit to any such weakness.

Having alternately blamed it on the moon phase, hormone replacements, hip issues, heart and blood pressure meds, diet, allergies, people problems or various and sundry conundrums, I’m coming to the conclusion that sometimes, for no explicable reason, I just feel out of sorts, impatient, anxious, blue, or other fill-in-blank moods. Do you?

What does one do to move through these unwelcome and sometimes deeply uncomfortable feelings? Though I have access to more mental health resources than many, I confess to not having any quick-fix remedies when such a mood besets me. One thing my studies have taught is that my answers are sometimes hiding in plain sight. Such as in the name of the song that came to mind as I admitted to myself that I don’t always know what’s causing my malaise, and sometimes never will.

A “marvelous toy” brings to mind the childlike wonder and awe of things that are unexplained and yet enthralling. Is it not marvelous that the human psyche has so many shades and complexities? We have a universe inside our minds. Indeed, much of what goes on in the psyche is inaccessible even to the one who possesses it. There’s a host of conditioning, ideas, opinions, impressions, egos and personalities that have an often unconscious influence on what we think and feel, say and do.

What could be “marvelous” about all this “not knowing”? I remember when we were at loose ends in Toronto during the recession in the 80’s. At one point in the autumn of 1987, my husband and I had no jobs, nowhere to live, and four young children to feed and shelter. A concerned friend said to me at the height of this uncertainty: “It must be very difficult not knowing what comes next.” to which I replied, “Given what I know now, the only thing worse that not knowing is knowing.” As convoluted as that sounds, there are times when one just has to get comfortable with uncertainty, insecurity, ambiguity and a host of other vulnerable feelings. Why might this be so? Because sometimes — most of the time —there’s just no alternative. And there’s purpose in this dirth of ways to escape.

In her article “Six Kinds of Loneliness”, Pëma Chödron observes: “In the middle way, there is no reference point. The mind with no reference point does not resolve itself, does not fixate or grasp. How could we possibly have no reference point? To have no reference point would be to change a deep-seated habitual response to the world: wanting to make it work out one way or the other. If I can’t go left or right, I will die! When we don’t go left or right, we feel like we are in a detox center. We’re alone, cold turkey with all the edginess that we’ve been trying to avoid by going left or right. That edginess can feel pretty heavy.”

Indeed it can.

The reality is, to quote Forrest Gump, “Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re gonna get.” Given this unpredictability, it seems that the challenge is not one of imposing order and guarantees on a capricious world, (good luck with that) but rather we’re called upon to cultivate what Chödrön calls the middle way:

“The middle way is wide open, but it’s tough going, because it goes against the grain of an ancient neurotic pattern that we all share. When we feel lonely, when we feel hopeless, what we want to do is move to the right or the left. We don’t want to sit and feel what we feel. We don’t want to go through the detox. Yet the middle way encourages us to do just that. It encourages us to awaken the bravery that exists in everyone without exception, including you and me.”

Chödrön exercises this bravery, and cultivates this equanimity through meditation. By which she means learning to sit with our edginess, resisting our impulse to avoid or anesthetize ourselves from what could be seen, in a gentler light, as growth opportunities. Growth in the sense of mastering one’s emotional impulses and knee jerk reactions. Remaining quiet and still as we patiently make friends with our jumpiness and dread.

She concludes this teaching with advice that I subscribe to, as of this writing:

“When you wake up in the morning and out of nowhere comes the heartache of alienation and loneliness, could you use that as a golden opportunity? Rather than persecuting yourself or feeling that something terribly wrong is happening, right there in the moment of sadness and longing, could you relax and touch the limitless space of the human heart? The next time you get a chance, experiment with this.”

I can. I am. And it works!

IF THE SHOE FITS…

“To live is to write one’s credo, every day, in every act. I pray for a world that offers us each the gift of reflective space, the Sabbath quiet, to recollect the fragments of our days and acts. In those recollections we may see a little of how our lives effect others and then imagine, in the days ahead, how we might do small and specific acts that create a world we believe every person has a right to deserve.” (Arthur Frank)

I confess to having difficulty choosing a theme for this week’s blog. Perhaps having had a month-long hiatus was like the vacation from which one has trouble returning to work. In back-to-school days we were often asked to write an essay on what we did during summer vacation. One September, in grade two I believe, I wrote about my parents’ unwittingly leaving me behind in the mountains during an outing in which they turned us four children loose to look for the large pine cones out of which which my mother wanted to make Christmas decorations.

We were told to listen for three honks of the car horn and — once heard — return to the parking spot. I didn’t hear anything, so eventually wandered back to the designated spot, only to find the car gone. They’d somehow managed to leave without me! Woe was me!

I shortly encountered other hikers, two couples about my parents’ ages, who gently enquired as to what I was doing out there all by myself. To my garbled tale of being left behind, they quietly debated taking me to the police station in Banff — where I staunchly refused to go — when my dad roared up in our family Oldsmobile, flush with embarrassment, angst and apologies.

Now from this great distance I can do something I’ve been practicing recently, which is to put myself in the other person’s shoes. Imagine a harried day towards the end of summer vacation, two parents trying to keep their six, eight, ten and twelve year-old children occupied. And show them a different slice of life. (We have ten grandchildren. I get it.) And something else I get, at this remove, is a sense of how my parents must have felt upon discovering that I wasn’t in their vehicle. As later recounted, my brother asked me a question from the front seat of the car and, getting no response, turned around to discover I wasn’t in the back seat with my two other siblings. One thing I’m glad of is not being there to witness my parents great shock and chagrin (after all, it’s ME they were missing) as they careened back down the highway to find me. One might wonder why an eight year old was left unattended in a National Park forest, but those were simpler times, and bears, cougars, lynx and the like were perhaps deemed less of a threat. Not to mention the immensity of the forest itself!

That this is what my mind conjures up, at this great remove, I now can’t imagine my parents being any less, and probably a good deal more terrified than I was at the time. No doubt, my own anxieties were assuaged by an imminent ice cream cone or such like, while my parents might’ve needed something stronger to settle their nerves. In retrospect, this begs the question of both how to put oneself in another’s shoes, and once there, how best to manoeuvre. Being fond of looking up words in the dictionary, I arrive at this definition of manoeuvre:

“a movement or series of moves requiring skill and care.”

Leading an examined life helps me do just that. It means taking the time to observe and reflect on my actions, and particularly my reactions to the people and events around me. And try to see things from their POV. Through a process of trial and error, with the aid of courses and readings, tracking my footprints, emotions and feelings, I begin to see patterns and ways I can grow and change. As Arthur Frank was quoted in an essay on what it means to be human:

“He talks about credos or aphorisms and calls them statements not of principle but of process. This process, he says, is one of perpetual reflection on how we live our lives, with the purpose of understanding how our choices have made us who we are, and the end of choosing more wisely, informed by a vision of who we might become.”

The option of becoming a better version of myself, tempered with a healthy dose of self-acceptance, is what animates my journey through life.

That and a sixteen ounce chai latte with steamed oat milk and cinnamon. Extra hot.