When your body has a mind of its own

Here's another view of my friends' farm in Vermont, taken when we visited last September.  I'm looking forward to the peacefulness of this place -- especially at the moment, as I'm dealing with my usual pre-flight jitters.

It always makes me wonder: how strong can my faith be, if I get so anxious before traveling?  I've walked, I've meditated, and still I can feel my shoulders curling up around my ears, and my stomach clenching unnecessarily.  What's that about?

I'm thinking it has something to do with the traveling we did when the kids were little; when there were so many extra things to carry and keep track of, and back when my back was still pretty weak and it would take me days to recuperate from all the extra lifting and those uncomfortable plane seats -- it's as if my body was imprinted on negativity, and I can't seem to retrain it. 

We talked a lot about that in class yesterday -- about the messages the body sends that have very little to do with what we're saying, or think we're feeling.  We had a guest instructor who suggested we spend time watching television with the volume off, to get more practiced at reading other people's body language -- he even said, with a bit of a laugh, that he rarely listens to what people say these days, as their bodies speak much more clearly.

And then we got to practice, doing role play of various situations we might encounter, and then giving each other feedback on the body language we observed: which was fascinating, and very educational.  We agreed, also, that by shifting patterns in our bodies we could shift feelings and attitudes.  So perhaps I can conquer my jitters by straightening up, breathing deeply, and visualizing the relaxation that awaits me only a day's travel away.

Hmm.  Guess I'll keep working on it...

Country roads take me home to the place I belong...

Today was my last day of class, and it was absolutely wonderful.  I'd love to tell you more, but I suspect I'll have to wait until tomorrow: tonight I need to get busy packing for Vermont.

And just in case you don't hear from me (though I suspect you will) over the next few days, it'll be because I'm here, walking down this, my favorite country road in Vermont (though there will still be leaves on the trees.)

Can't wait!

It is what it is

Tomorrow I'll be in class all day, and then Tuesday morning my daughter and I will fly off to Vermont for a week.  Some part of me is eagerly looking forward to a week away -- especially since we'll be staying with some very dear friends -- but another part of me is feeling a bit overwhelmed by all that has to happen between now and the time we leave.

But then, I always get a bit anxious before a trip.  It's not that I'm afraid of flying, it's more the complexity of the departure -- the rushing, and the logistics... I'm usually fine once I'm on the plane. 

But there's some other part of me this year that's watching me gear up for this and feeling very critical: why are you so worried? it says.  Your life is so much easier than the lives of so many of your friends right now; you should just be rejoicing in your good fortune!

Shoulds.  We all have them, we all hear them, and they are often terribly overwhelming.  I asked one of my classmates yesterday -- who in a coaching session had sailed to an island of shoulds -- how she could use her creative powers to cope with all those shoulds.  "I think I'd just burn the whole island to the ground," she said. And then she added, "But then I'd probably just create more shoulds."

And that's the kicker, of course: wherever they come from, we are often the ones who allow our shoulds to continue populating -- and it's hard to know which ones to keep and which ones just need to be burned out.  So what ARE the shoulds, anyway?  I think they are the voices inside that keep expecting us to be good at everything; to be perfect, in fact.  And of course Jack Kornfield has something to say about that this morning in A Path With Heart:

"We fragment our life and divide ourselves from it when we hold on to ideals of perfection.  In ancient China, the Third Zen patriarch taught that "True enlightenment and wholeness arise when we are without anxiety about nonperfection."  The body is not perfect, the mind is not perfect, our feelings and relationships will certainly not be perfect.  Yet to be without anxiety about nonperfection, to understand that, as Elizabeth Kubler-Ross puts it, "I'm not okay, you're not okay, and that's okay," brings wholeness and true joy, an ability to enter all the compartments of our life, to feel every feeling, to live in our body, and to know a true freedom. ...The purity that we long for is not found in perfecting the world.  True purity is found in the heart that can touch all things, enfold all things, and include all things in its compassion."

So as some part of me anxiously watches another part of me gear up for the trip, and yet another part of me sneers at the anxious part, I will just try to hold them all lightly in a loving embrace, and expand that embrace to include all my friends who are struggling today.  Sometimes life is just difficult, and sometimes some part of us is just determined to make it seem difficult.  But really, well -- it just is what it is, and you just have to let it flow.

Teaching tolerance

Today was a school day, so I'm getting to this a bit late.  But we studied cultural assumptions in class today, and it was a terrific eye-opener.

My guess is that if we spent as much time teaching our children to communicate with people who are different from them as we spend making weapons and armor (in both the actual and metaphorical senses of the word) this world would be a very different place -- and much more pleasant to live in.

We might even be a much more advanced civilization: think how many cures for disease, hunger and homelessness we might have found if we weren't spending all our money building defenses against imagined dangers from misunderstood cultures.

Sigh.

I hope our children do a better job of teaching their children tolerance, openness, and consideration than we did teaching them.

The wisdom of the heart

I am happy to report that I managed to find some peace on my walk this morning -- thanks largely, I think, to Jack Kornfield and my continued reading in A Path With Heart.    So I thought I'd share a few of the key passages here with you, in case you might be struggling a bit, too:

"Whatever extraordinary wisdom or compassion you learn in meditation is already there within you.  It is here already.  You don't have to create it or imitate it, but listen for it and discover it within you....All problems take on a new meaning... when we can picture or feel what strength and wisdom, what compassion and clarity feel like in the midst of our very greatest difficulties."

"The wisdom of the heart is here, just now, at any moment.  It has always been here, and it is never too late to find it.  The wholeness and freedom we seek is our own true nature, who we really are."

"When we respect the natural cycles of life, we find that each of life's stages has a spiritual dimension.  Each stage contributes wisdom and experience that we will draw upon in our spiritual growth....The great cycles of our life wash over us, presenting us with challenges and difficult rites of passage much bigger than our ideas of where we were going... When we bring to them attention and respect, each of those tasks has a spiritual lesson in them... As these inner cycles open, our spiritual task is to include eah of them in our awareness, bringing to each the love, wisdom, and forgiveness that have been needed all along."

Somehow I found all this reassuring, and something led me, as I walked this morning, to think and ponder on what I love in this life; what people, objects, and activities fill my heart with a sense of joy and purpose.  And then I just did some tonglen, breathing in the pain of all the people around me who have suffered losses these last few weeks, and breathing out the joy and love I can find deep within.  I finished my walk full of energy and hope, and was even able to find a sense of peace.

I'm hoping my words and image -- combined with Jack's words -- can bring some of that peace to you today.

When life gets overwhelming

As I'm sure I've mentioned here, this has been a rough couple of weeks; we've been touched by several deaths and some fairly serious illnesses.  This morning I learned of another loss, and I am deeply saddened.

My dear friend Gillian, the artist who taught me everything I know about pastels and about the importance of light and dark contrast in composition (see her lovely work here) was married to an extraordinary man, Colin Bull, a renowned arctic explorer and author (see his books here) and a delightful raconteur.

My husband and I have spent many wonderful evenings with the two of them in recent years, eating at each other's houses or going to a local Indian restaurant: our husbands would swap stories about ice climbing, university life, politics and expeditions while their wives compared notes on the challenges of creating and selling art and raising children -- and living with delightful raconteurs!  As I'm sure you are aware, couple friends are rare and precious, and Colin and Gillian were definitely in that category.

Another artist friend dropped me a note this morning to say that Colin passed away suddenly on Tuesday while on a cruise to Alaska with Gillian.  I can only begin to imagine how traumatic this has been for her:  I'm aching for her, and also wishing our summer hadn't gotten so complicated -- we've been meaning to invite them over for dinner for several months now, and somehow we just hadn't gotten around to it.

The phone just rang as I was typing this, and now I've learned that my coaching partner, Renee, who postponed our coaching session last night because she wasn't feeling well, has had a heart attack.  She's okay, and recovering, but still...

Let's just say I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed this morning. I don't have any nice answers for all this sadness; I know I just need to sit with it and hold it in my heart.  I thank God for my children, all of whom are home right now: they've had significant losses this year as well, and so we comfort one another, and remember those who struggle, and those whom we have loved.

That time of year

This is one of my favorite poems, and somehow this image makes me think of it.  I dedicate it to all those whose losses have occupied my mind these last two weeks:

That Time Of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold
by William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
 
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
 
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
 
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.