Have you ever met a problem detector; someone who can see everything that is potentially wrong in any situation? This wee girl learned to be this way as she grew up during the war that devastated her country, her neighborhood, her family, and her life as a teenager. She felt like a huge, disorganized cloud of fury and chaos, not able to breathe while averting panic with every step.
Her job was to stay uber-attentive, trying to sense, see, and hear what might be happening next. Outside, inside, anywhere, everywhere, she was figuring out how to be okay with chaos in her family and her country, but the pressure was insurmountable. She was full of ideas about how and what to do, but sharing was pointless. She swallowed her words and became a handful for her parents who had essentially given up in the face of terror and uncertainty. This girl became a highly educated woman who fled her country through marriage. She became very successful, and professional, raising her child with perfection. But her second husband and his son were chaotic, troublesome, and desperate. She recognized these feelings as if she had grown up drinking a measly broth of them every single day, and she hated it. She had so many ideas on how to fix her husband and stepsons relational dilemma. She spied on them from the next room over in their upscale home preparing to fix them with her expertise. She was prepared. Ready. Precise. But they would not listen to her. The innocent arrogance that she had developed growing up shaped her sense of self so thoroughly that she could not, would not, let go, and it threatened her marriage and peace. She had it all and her problem detector protector part was still vigilant. She lost sleep, was giving up, and more, began to disrespect her beloved husband. The desperateness in her saw the desperateness in him. That is the rule of thumb: What I don’t like in you, I don’t like in myself, and what I like in you, is what I like in myself. Whoa – a mirror! The desperate feelings of her youth crawled out of the depths of her deep, deep belly and sat right in her chest. Feelings of loss, being panic stricken, not belonging, and especially, loneliness. These feelings were as big as the fancy living room she sat in, filling her heart and home with agony. But now she could at least feel, sense, and see them herself. She felt them for her teenage part since she masterfully hid them beneath her problem detection systems. She breathed easier, releasing years of denial that softened the way she saw her husband at war with his son, and herself at war with her husband and her original family too. She felt a soft empathy rising and a sense of belonging that reminded her that she has always known that angels were listening to her deepest desires. She sensed their grace now opening the channels of her heart, inviting her to relax into the life of her dreams. Have you ever met a problem detector; someone who can see everything that is potentially wrong in any situation? This wee girl learned to be this way as she grew up during the war that devastated her country, her neighborhood, her family, and her life as a teenager. She felt like a huge, disorganized cloud of fury and chaos, not able to breathe while averting panic with every step.
Her job was to stay uber-attentive, trying to sense, see, and hear what might be happening next. Outside, inside, anywhere, everywhere, she was figuring out how to be okay with chaos in her family and her country, but the pressure was insurmountable. She was full of ideas about how and what to do, but sharing was pointless. She swallowed her words and became a handful for her parents who had essentially given up in the face of terror and uncertainty. This girl became a highly educated woman who fled her country through marriage. She became very successful, and professional, raising her child with perfection. But her second husband and his son were chaotic, troublesome, and desperate. She recognized these feelings as if she had grown up drinking a measly broth of them every single day, and she hated it. She had so many ideas on how to fix her husband and stepsons relational dilemma. She spied on them from the next room over in their upscale home preparing to fix them with her expertise. She was prepared. Ready. Precise. But they would not listen to her. The innocent arrogance that she had developed growing up shaped her sense of self so thoroughly that she could not, would not, let go, and it threatened her marriage and peace. She had it all and her problem detector protector part was still vigilant. She lost sleep, was giving up, and more, began to disrespect her beloved husband. The desperateness in her saw the desperateness in him. That is the rule of thumb: What I don’t like in you, I don’t like in myself, and what I like in you, is what I like in myself. Whoa – a mirror! The desperate feelings of her youth crawled out of the depths of her deep, deep belly and sat right in her chest. Feelings of loss, being panic stricken, not belonging, and especially, loneliness. These feelings were as big as the fancy living room she sat in, filling her heart and home with agony. But now she could at least feel, sense, and see them herself. She felt them for her teenage part since she masterfully hid them beneath her problem detection systems. She breathed easier, releasing years of denial that softened the way she saw her husband at war with his son, and herself at war with her husband and her original family too. She felt a soft empathy rising and a sense of belonging that reminded her that she has always known that angels were listening to her deepest desires. She sensed their grace now opening the channels of her heart, inviting her to relax into the life of her dreams. Within the family atmosphere of emotional breadcrumbs, shame is often hidden in plain view, unclaimed and unrecognized.
It disguises as self-sabotage and disgust through projection onto others, often coupled with hate, rage, or fear. Or it needs perfectionism, control, or pleasing as its savior. Only the child in this bubble of unclaimed shame does feel its anguish and will valiantly claim it as personally his. From the unconscious perspective of the child, if they own the shame, they can at least try to fix it. This shame ultimately takes the form of a core inadequacy belief that demands: I am shameful, unworthy, wrong, bad, unlovable, or broken. But this shame was never the childs to begin with! And taking it on never works anyway. Ever. Instead, the child grows up feeling responsible for fixing their parents health or well-being. The adult child grows to feel that they know better than their parents. And they embark on a lifetime of self-improvement seeking peace or resolve. And we often get caught in a viscous cycle where we shame the parts that feel shame. We reject the parts that feel rejected. We feel anger toward the part of ourselves that is angry! All to keep the feeling at a safe distance. It is energetically inefficient to pile affirmations on top of this state. It must be felt and allowed, with the space of the silent, conscious, awake, aware Self, preferably with another nervous system. In this way we can give shame its place in the evolving consciousness of not only our family, but humanity at large. Working with Mother and Father Wounds can bring peace to generations. The blue, blue butterfly really loved ‘cozy’: Bread making, nest making, decorations, and scents that feel like safety and home. In her young youth she looked about and innocently equated being married as her only way to create this dream, perhaps to a capable, male monarch. This way she could play her warm, fuzzy part and make and admire art all around the world! This, she knew, would feed her Soul.
The butterfly had two blue babies and time with her mate, succumbing to his temper, losing herself, while he was in control. She felt trapped in second place, merged in subservience, tolerant of his endless charades and winged patrol. But her second place was not to her monarch; it was in denial of her full adult butterfly self. The child butterfly who wanted a fantasy of dreams had led her life in full flight long enough, and the burdens were now too great. For one day, through her blue butterfly anger she saw that it was easier to be mad at him than herself! She saw her projection and turned inward sensing the anger as a call for a great need. The need for a greater perspective! The need to move beyond her tenaciously persistent and younger dream. Not angry at her male monarch but welcoming of innocent fantasy for a sacred sort of safety. In Blue’s story it is helpful to know that when she was a little one, her Daddy monarch could not show up for her nomad family. She and her Mama lived a life of poverty and wishful thinking, wanting to be higher on the social ladder, cultured and smart. They created a way out from, and a denial of, the nagging lack of warmth or luxury. Her best friends’ parents were married, and they went on big trips together, coming home to share their memories and mementos. How blue longed for a depth of beauty in life. So much that she would absolutely be willing to trade in independence and authenticity for a taste of such richness. She did not leave her mate for as the Monarch experienced blue’s shift, shift so did he! He no longer felt responsible for his wife’s younger parts subservience, and he could relax too, appreciating her soulful love of art. He loved that she could fly with their two blue, blue babies all the way to Italy to admire classical art and architecture. He loved that they would fly back home too and share their adventures with him. The Work: Merging is real in the dance of subservience and dominance, one lending itself to the other in equal doses. This can be played out in extremes in the complex realm of sex, communities, governments, and our own living room. Below the fight for independence and authenticity are layers of unconscious, complex agreements made and kept so to maintain safety and belonging often coupled with a deep need for appreciation. This too plays out in the larger world in ways that render disbelief. In this work, rather than keeping the unconscious agreement fighting in defense, demanding honor, celebration, or appreciation we boldly meet each layer with open curiosity allowing a deeper rest and release. And we may need to visit these layers a hundred times or more. And it would be completely worth it. I have seen this prideful form of demanding in couples for example, where honor is lost in waves of resentment, easier to be angry at the partner than to face our own conditioning. However, in knowing this, do I choose to take a personal interest in releasing layers of unconscious beliefs so I may vibrate with an uncomplicated, pure sense of honor and power? Or do I remain loyal to a mishandled range of contempt or rage? I say, do it for ‘you’ first because that means doing it for all. A real bad ass in the ‘not safe to relax’ department. Get going now, and do not stop. I will protect you from the grip of insecurity in your throat, in your chest. Do not see me, allow me, judge me, or appreciate me because I have an agenda. A hidden agenda. I get you places, big places in the world. Top notch, high paying places that give you safety, right? That is my job.
Only now you don’t feel safe. That cannot be. The maverick, strong, independent thinker, becomes impatient, tense, sleepless and alert. What hides behind the ever-mighty Maverick? Those sneaky beliefs that smack of never enough. Too this and not enough that. Tongue tied and small. Muted. Silenced. Threatened. The holy rule is ‘never speak of this.’ NEVER SPEAK OF THIS. The maverick knows that this is no game. She protects the one who lives in a crisis of honor, shamed by those who do shameful things, impure by those who carry the stench of disgust. Confused and in deep need of security, free of vigilance, especially when she needs to speak. Because that is the job that the Maverick earned her. Speaking is not only her job, but her nemesis. Sharing passion while betraying the holy rule is such a double bind. Frozen breath. Collapsed body. Foggy mind. There is only one way out. She felt the little one protected by the Maverick hiding in plain sight and gleam- beamed her with loving eyes and saw. Allowed her without an agenda. Compassioned her without judgement and most of all, appreciated her just as she is. She relaxed. For a moment. It is a start, and it was enough. And damn, the Maverick spoke and put the silencer in jail. The Irish Viking Bear Clan left unwillingly for the new world. They were already renowned for their barbarism, looting, trading, and their uncanny ability to write poetry before they landed abroad. They took little with them save their frustration that marked their status and fame.
Once they landed by boat they did not travel far by paw, remaining near the shore and finding refuge in the swamps and wetlands. The whole clan came together, which meant there were many mouths to feed. Now, the Viking warrior bear has many strengths such as toughness, courage, heightened intuitive abilities, discipline, determination, skill, and invincibility. These attributes were so needed to survive in their new home range. But their shadow side weaknesses include brutality, ruthlessness, fear of impotence, arrogance, and mostly, dominance. In the Bear Clan the warrior had become the villain using their skill for personal gain, without a thought for morality, ethics, or the good of the whole group. They loved to get their way, maintaining control, and responding to each other as if they were a threat. This devastated the baby bear Viking who grew up with extreme violence and soul crushing manipulation. Learning to normalize her bear clans’ ways, she too became a mama bear with three male cubs to raise. All three babies carried the old traits in their blood fortified by their papa bears ways which led to increased chaos and inexcusable behavior. The mama bear was blindsided by the juxtaposition of the villain in her and the need to give care and nurture. She found herself saying things to make her big, male cubs feel guilty using her care taking to control or smother her sons. The guilt was unbearable. Literally. She felt broken, hopelessly funneling her ancestry through her words and actions, a victim of the shadow side from the lineages of her own mama and papa. The mama bear began to give up. You could see it in her eyes. Absolute helplessness and hatred for the shadow in her family, she hid in her silence, aggressively lashing out at her sons in the most innocent of moments. And this would only position her sons more perfectly as villains too. And she knew it. Now, I am a mama bear too. I came from the next range over and one day dared to enter her territory. Mama bear to mama bear I asked her to call her entire clan to a meeting. They agreed, with a lot of sotto voce grumbling. She stood next to me as I requested, in front of all the bears and we looked them in the eye, warrior to warrior. We honored their virtues for skill and care, letting them know that we see their pitfalls too. We know because we carry them. We looked kindly upon them in their ways and asked for permission to live life differently, an Irish blessing for a new way in a new world. Every bear looked at us with incredulous eyes. How dare we leave their world of violence and cruelty. Nonetheless we waited and finally one clan member, a great grandmother, slowly stepped forward on all fours. She bowed her head to us and muttered, “Do it for me. Do it for us. Do what we could not and look forward with my blessing.” My friend the mama bear fell to all fours and walked up to her grandmother, forehead to forehead and cried. They stayed in this auspicious position long enough for mama bear to receive a true transmission of love and care. Grandmother and mama bear stood up on hind legs facing their clan. Grandmother walked back to her big family and left mama to see. Really see that her clan had lost meaning fighting battles unwisely. That they had lost compassion and generosity, harming each other in the wake of their selfishness. And, somehow, she loved them, recognizing their hidden strengths and disguised care. Her heart ached knowing that she might have to leave her sons with their clans shadowed ways as she made her way out of the family code into a different way of being in this new, new world. I promised her that doing what she needed to do came first and the rest we leave to mystery and faith, her sons securely in her heart. She agreed, emboldened by the blessing she received and ready to proclaim, “I am new, I am, a warrior and a lover!” The cater who waited enabled all her guests. She tirelessly waited for them to show up, time and time again, even if they would make a reservation, reschedule, reschedule again, and ultimately cancel. Frankly, this went on for decades and she continuously catered to their scattered inconsistencies. This fortified the waiter, evolving a poise of niceness and uber flexibility.
Secure in her perky roles, she hid the grief she might have felt for those who never showed. And commensurate to each and every time her guests did not show up was to equal degree the distance from her heart. Waiting became a skill and a virtue. During all this time, however, there was one potential guest that she consistently neglected. A guest who was always ready to make a reservation and to show up. But the cater saved her tables for guests who could not, so this guest was forgotten and denied. Now the cater/waiter could only mildly complain about her would-be guests. She saw nothing wrong with her waiting and the need to ‘do’ for others. Afterall, complaining gave her more to focus on and fix and her whole demeanor had adapted perfectly for this job. “My guests are so unreliable” she quipped. “What is wrong with them! I will just stay available for that magical moment when they finally keep their word.” And of course, they never did. Then, on one gloomy day, alone in her empty restaurant, the cater/waiter thought about the one guest that had never been received. Typically, when he called, she would share “I am busy. Busy waiting. Sorry, no tables.” Well, that guest waited too, and for a very long time. Patiently waited for her readiness to receive his presence and his commitment to really, really show up. But what a shock that would be because now the cater/waiter would be resolved of enabling and forced to receive and engage. Ready to try, the next time he called, the wavering waiter said with courage, “I have the perfect table for you, yes, right at 4:00. See you then!” And she received her very first guest, an elderly man. One who waited a lifetime to be included in some pitifully minimal way that could not measure up to the care he felt all those years. But he took what he could get with love. I am your body, and I am functionally designed to provide several magical foundations for physical, emotional, and spiritual support. Perhaps the most revered is my pelvic bowl or the chalice, a physical design I proudly feature for your global support.
When my deep belly and pelvic space is free and open, I feel your deeper breath and your free mind open to its silence so that a sense of timeless Being resides once again, just like when you were a child. This brings me tensionless joy! My hara, the lowest locus of consciousness that I possess, is the dimension through which the emptiness of Being is known as Itself. The awake, pristine unqualified Being beyond and through which any experiential content from the sensory organs and mind are felt. Through my chalice you can experience the empty cosmos and likewise experience the full content of your personal story; the infinite holding the finite. I am of the stars bowing to your Soul and I promise that you can be spiritually grounded no matter where you live, the forest or the 27th floor of a building in a big city. It is Source energy descending from the top floor of the crown to the bottom floor of the pelvis. A vertical down descent that transforms all experiences from the personal to the collective to the universal! Alas, my pelvic area has been a challenging one. I have been constantly adjusting from years of crossed legs, tense muscles, held breath, surgeries, and foreign invasions. I am trying to restore harmony and health, but I need help. I am not only carrying tension, but ancestral dis-ease and unfelt emotions. I would ask you, please, please give me your attention to release tension from these layers of history so that I can feel, move, breathe, and celebrate. For I am the vehicle of a forlorn intimacy that is longing to share sacred security and flow. The northern hemisphere has the history of the Norse and islands of volcanic rock. These people and their feathered friends have thrived together for thousands of years, their ways mingled in blood and bones, water, and Earth. The sweet little bird would return to her beginnings if she could, but it is too late. There is not enough time, would take too much physical effort, and there remain too few connections after all the years that have passed.
She is very comfortable in her present nest yet knows that she cannot make the same daily flights through jigs and jogs for the rest of her life. She has not migrated for 23 years and feels the ancient call to find warmer weather and different food sources even though she is leaving her family. Now this feels justified as the details of such a move puts her offspring in good favor, something she has taken great care to secure. And there is no doubt in her mind that moving South to Vieques will provide the rebirth she needs while reasons to move away feel woven in just as deeply. There are sad, irreparable dynamics that have left a sore spot in her heart. Leaving an atmosphere of polarized loyalties for a unified feeling of connection sounds so heartwarming. She already knows that life will be harder on the new island of rock, but simpler, quieter, and full of new friends and sunshine in her last years to enjoy. Little birds of her sort never actually retire, they just move. It is that rajasic, fired by momentum inspiration that propels change with no regrets. She is accustomed to generating ideas and movement, just not so recently of this size and measure, so she takes her time. Every item in her nest must be evaluated for its meaning and purpose. In the end, she decides to leave everything behind, save her two travel outfits and a suitcase of books. This makes the move even more of a quest for it is truly a new beginning. She flew once to this island and has already made feathered friends. All kinds of birds, some who make art, float atop the warm ocean waters, and others who watch the sunset go down every evening before early bed. From afar she already feels welcomed, occasionally shadowing the sadness she feels for the end of her long nesting cycle. She remembers all the birds before her, migrating, adapting, and courageously risk taking to meet the calling for one last adventure. |
AuthorWords are beautiful - they give shape to experience in a playful and meaningful way!! Archives
April 2024
Categories |