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Communication and Communion

Mon, 26 Mar 2012 13:04:50 -0700

One of the first issues people bring up in any discussion about community is the importance of good communication. The potential for interactions between and among people to end in conflict is so prevalent in our minds that we’ve even created preventive methods (“non-violent communication,” for example).

Both words have their roots in the Latin, “communis,” meaning, “shared by all or many.” But what is it that is shared? Must we have shared opinions, shared values, shared assumptions? A shared sense of what is true? We may form a community with such an underlying expectation, but if we are committed to each other because we share ideas in common, that commitment is likely to be flimsy.

Ideas -- thoughts -- are based on our past experience; on what we’ve heard from others; on our cultural patterns. We assume our thoughts are true because they come to us that way. We hear our thoughts as the voice of truth. As soon as you get two people together for any length of time, however, it becomes clear that each of us hears our own “truth,” which makes the veracity of any one person’s beliefs questionable.

David Bohm, a physicist who became deeply concerned about human relations through his life, suggests that by the very act of suspending our own versions of “the truth,” we begin to share what is really important: meaning.

If we have a community committed to shared meaning, we go beyond what is right and wrong; what is good or bad; what we should do or should not do. These dualities are limiting in relationships. When our purpose is shared meaning, what arises goes deeper than mental agreement; deeper than persuasion, negotiation, and affirmation.

Think of a time when you and a friend or partner disagreed about something. What did it feel like? Often, when someone counters our point, we feel a surge of heat through the belly. Anger flares. Do we ever stop to consider why that is?

In the name of self-protection, our egos are constantly searching for definitive ways of being. We want to be certain that this particular course of action is going to lead us in a direction that will keep us safe. The ego is like a sentinel, constantly scanning the landscape for potential harm, defined based on past experience, cultural norms, and the urgings of those we trust. For example, if I’m walking down a dark alley at night and I hear footsteps walking quickly behind me, my fear kicks in. Similarly, if I’m pontificating on some point and I hear a contradiction, a similar feeling overtakes me. I feel threatened.

We can all imagine what could happen if I choose to act on my feeling, but what if I stop the process right here? What if I take that surge of feeling as a signal that I have discovered a belief that I’d like to examine? That changes the game. My default reaction is to take some kind of action based on my feeling (lash out, run away, team up with others who believe the same way I do, etc.). That’s the norm: thought-feeling-action.

When I choose to use feeling as a cue for introspection, I have taken the first step toward creating meaning for myself. I no longer accept my thoughts unquestioned. I thank them for the information they are offering and turn my attention to the feeling.

Arnold Mindell (Sitting in the Fire) says that acknowledging the feeling space is necessary for finding shared meaning in conflict. To do this within ourselves, we notice the physical surge of energy, then mentally go to that place and offer it love and compassion. (I like to envision the emotion as a child, because it’s easy for me to offer love and compassion to a little one.) We let the feeling “tell us” all about its terror or outrage or sadness, and we listen with an open heart. We are with the emotion, not in the emotion. What happens? The feeling dissipates. We see beneath the cycle of thought-feeling-action. We begin to understand that our thoughts are not truth but signals pointing to places we need to pay attention.

When a group of people commits to this process -- the process of going beneath thought -- and shares what they’re learning with one another, they begin to share meaning; to commune at a new level of authenticity. It no longer matters who’s right or wrong, it matters how we support one another as we grow wiser and more whole.

Bohm calls this suspension of assumptions, opinions, and belief, dialogue. How many of our conversations are true dialogues? Where do we engage instead in negotiation or persuasion? When we notice the difference, we can begin to feel what true communion might mean.

A New Way of Seeing

Fri, 18 Nov 2011 06:50:31 -0800

On Wednesday, November 16th, at 11pm, Rick LaMartina left his body for good. You'll see his photo on the "Staff" page of this website, as we had begun a partnership facilitating the Wheel of Initiation and had several other joint projects in the works. Rick's career was photography, and if you peruse his work here (or simply look at the photos on this site), you'll see that he had a real talent for seeing the essence of the natural world.

Over the past few years, perhaps guided by a subconscious understanding that his time was limited, Rick turned his skilled eye on the people in his community, not with his camera; with his heart. His long walks in the woods, kneeling to take in the curious shape of a clump of mushrooms, or stroking the bark of the old elm on the hill didn't stop, but more and more, he added time into his day for the human side of nature. A member of an intentional community for fifteen years, he began attending the meetings of a new community's formation group, offering (only when asked) his insights on what makes communities succeed. He began reserving time each afternoon to visit someone he'd like to get to know better, offering reflections to them about their best qualities. He stopped by his wife's workplace to say hello more often. And he even invited people on his nature walks. Sometimes.

These seem like small gestures. And that's the point. Rick changed things. Those walks in the woods spawned a series of philosophical musings, shared with dozens of acquaintances, which in turn spawned movements in the region toward conservation efforts. Sitting with the forming community helped them understand that the search for the ideal property is far less important to a group's success than heart connections and time spent having fun together. The spontaneous visits to his wife sparked her already generous heart, and all who saw her benefited from her radiant smile, her supportive gestures, her confidence in love.

And dozens of people who might otherwise have continued languishing in the "I'm not good enough" space, the "people don't understand me" space, the "why me" space, or the "whatever" space were told gently but firmly that they must take their place in the world. And they are doing it, because they know he spoke the truth when he said, "You are important. You are unique. You have a responsibility to share your gifts. The world needs you."

One of his skills was asking questions. From Parker Palmer, he learned to ask questions that lead a person to find the desires of the soul. He'd have no agenda other than to help the friend discover his own answers, her own soul needs. No leading questions, no assuming he knew the "right" answer, no assumptions. But also no dodging the bullet, no stone left unturned.

Another skill was humor. His teasing is famous around here, and meeting his brothers and sisters who came to usher him out of this world, I see that the LaMartinas are all blessed with this gift. His teasing exposed us without hurting us. He reminded us that we can't take things too seriously, because it's fun, joy, and laughter that makes life worth living, even if it's serious business.

It didn't take moving mountains to make a monumental difference in the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands, of people. It took decisions, moment by moment. He made the choice to train his mind through meditation, so he could use it for his soul's purposes, rather than his ego's. He made the choice to take that daily walk, in the rain or snow or sunshine, because being in the natural world grounded him and connected his mind with his soul. He chose to make his relationships his priority, scheduling time into his day for face-to-face communication.

Mostly, he chose to challenge his own assumptions.

"I'm not a dancing kind of person."

"Ritual makes me uncomfortable."

"I need a lot of alone time."

"I need to know more before I share any wisdom with others."

He came to a different persective on each of these beliefs over the last few years. He danced into people's hearts, found meaning in ritual, became an extraverted introvert, and offered people the wisdom of their own hearts.

This is something we can all do. It takes some effort. It takes attention to the question, "Am I living my purpose right now?" It takes a willingness to feel hurt and embarrassment. It takes a sense of humor about the whole constucted universe. But these are within our reach.

Rick's vision wasn't clouded by the fog of the ego. He was clear. He was "on purpose." And he took the chance to find the authentic heart of whomever was willing to meet him in that space. I can think of no better legacy.

Rick's vision will continue, here at the Calliope Center, where people are invited to lovingly seek wholeness. While he won't be here in body, his spirit is in the space -- in the palo santo wood we use for ritual; in the music we dance to; in the photos of the region that line the walls (and the visions we see through the windows); and on the meditation cushions. The spirit of seeing in a new way is what we offer here. Rick has graduated.

Noticing

Fri, 07 Oct 2011 08:06:10 -0700

Embrace who you really are. Follow your soul's path. Be all you can be. Release your inhibitions.

Great ideas, all. But how?

In order to truly transform ourselves, we must become consummate internal observers. When we are able to recognize our ego's voice for what it is -- a past-oriented, reactive "protector," we are better able to discern when we are thinking/feeling/acting from our ego perspective or from our essence.

(Of course, as I've discussed in previous posts, the ego is not a true protector, as it favors safety and the status quo over growth, development, and change. We can certainly deal with the ego compassionately, even gratefully, but we needn't operate under its edicts.)

Becoming a consummate observer isn't easy, though. The ego is full of rationalizations (e.g., "Well, I am only angry at him because he did what I expressly asked him not to do,"); justifications ("It's my duty, really, to set my children on the straight and narrow,"); tricks ("I'll meditate, but it's probably better to go ahead and take a shower first, and maybe a load of laundry..."); and beliefs ("If I'm uncomfortable in this group, something must be wrong with them/me,"). Our ego knows us pretty well and can obscure its motives behind whatever it knows will appeal to our sensibilities: justice, love, efficiency, beauty, rational thinking, safety, desire, power, peace and quiet. It's got our number.

Our egos can only fool us if we don't know better, or if we're willing to ignore what we know. Setting aside the latter task for the time being, the first step is "knowing better." This is where tools and teachings come in. While our intellect can be a tool of the ego, it can also be a tool for Essence. If we stay curious, we can actually have fun discovering how the ego tries to thwart us.

One tool that no seeker should be without is meditation. This is our direct way of knowing and seeing. We sit in the seat of the observer and watch how our ego works, as we commune with our essence. There is no substitute. It's our window to the inner workings of ourselves. But it's not the only tool.

I teach the Enneagram because it can be extremely helpful in seeing how we (all Nine Types of us) fool ourselves; how we keep ourselves separate from our true nature. (I am always amused by -- and compassionate with -- those who say they aren't interested in typologies because they put people in boxes. That's the ego's way of avoiding being found out: a way to keep that person in his box!) With the Enneagram, we see the many ways our ego gets hooked, and even the messages the ego tries to get us to believe, so that when we hear that voice in our head, we can recognize it as the ego, turn to it with compassion, and then tune in to our essence.

Of course, the Enneagram isn't the only tool. I'm currently studying Jung's typology, which adds additional, related information. And there are other such systems.

Another way I've recently discovered to expose my ego's covert operations is cross-cultural studies. The book, American Cultural Patterns: A Cross-Cultural Perspective, for example, uncovers the cultural habits and norms that we may think are "human characteristics," but are actually thoughts and actions that reveal our biases and even our orientations. For example, the English language has a highly developed future tense, as compared to Trukese or the Hopi language: both cultures that are much more present-oriented than we more risk-averse Americans. There is also more emphasis on value judgment in English, as opposed to, say, Portuguese or Chinese. And while Japan and Taiwan have three different forms of "you," based on the status of the person being addressed, English has only one, symbolically emphasizing the value of egalitarianism (Stewart and Bennett, 1991).

We can translate such cross-cultural observation and similarly examine our personal linguistic habits to discover our underlying beliefs. And we needn't stop with language. What about non-verbal behaviors? Formal and informal activity choices? Social relationships? Perceptions of the world -- both natural and man-made? Our ego would like to tell us, "This is just the way things are," but as our minds open, we discover that there are many, many ways to "be," and we can choose from a place other than a fear of change or consequence.

The important thing about observing is to maintain an air of curiosity, not of judgment. Being gentle with yourself is key to achieving the state of "being-ness" and peace that all the slogans encourage. Rigor is required in the noticing, not in the evaluating. Keep it up, and you'll find it's fun: like a treasure hunt! And the more you find and address compassionately, the more your essence will shine through.

Enjoy.

The Time Between

Wed, 30 Mar 2011 07:18:00 -0700

I returned late last night from the Enneagram workshop in upstate New York and woke this morning to find that I have not missed the coming of Spring here in Wisconsin. The few brave, early arriving birds sit quite visibly in the brown, leafless branches of the trees. Everywhere you look, it's brown in all its shades. Not as joy-inspiring as the coming stage of green, but a necessary phase, nonetheless. As I look out the window of the Calliope Center now, I see a deer seeking tender shoots in the grass by the labyrinth. This is not the hart of myth, urgently beckoning the knight into the woods to find adventure. Just a hungry deer looking rather lazily for nourishment.

I've been through a winter of my own recently. No external trauma, but a deep season of recognizing some of my own patters of behavior and thought that have brought me and others grief over the years. I don't hesitate to feel grateful for this time of darkness and depth: after all, it's through these times we find our true nature. But I'll admit it feels better to be on the other side of it (assuming I am).

And now, I'm feeling much like the landscape here -- in transition. I'm not ready to bloom again quite yet; not ready to rush back out and take my new place in the world. I need a plateau on which to take a rest before I begin once again to climb. My self-preservation instinct can come front-and-center now, taking on the role of the nursemaid who tends to the hero after an especially fierce battle.

Just as there is much going on under the brown grass and in the still trees, despite appearances, my time of rejuvenation will include a lot of activity. I'll be digesting the bounty of information I just received at the Enneagram training and putting all the pieces together to create my own multi-faceted trainings. There are books to read to prepare for the next cycle of the Wheel of Initiation, writing workshops to create, and gardens to tend. But mostly, I'll be breathing, noticing my belly, heart, and mind centers, and generally being present; being gentle.

For the Type One, plateaus can be difficult. I definitely find it so. So many social connections to be made; important work to be done! But everyone knows that taking care of oneself is extremely important when one endeavors to serve others. So, if I seem a little on the "brown" side for the next month or so, know that Spring is in my heart and the daffodils are coming. I just need to graze for a little while.

Writing Your Story

Mon, 05 Jul 2010 09:49:00 -0700

In the Wheel of Initiation course, participants are in the midst of writing and presenting their stories to the group. This is a sacred ritual, with significant ramifications for personal growth. Why is that, though? What is it about telling one's story that makes such an impact?

Dan P. McAdams, author of The Stories We Live By, tells us it's because our life story is our identity; the process of writing and telling our story is actually a major step in creating our identity. Our story tells us what our life is about, what provides us with meaning and purpose. To know someone well, you must know their story.

What we've noticed in our group is that our stories reveal to us the Essence of who we are. As we write our stories, and as we listen to others' stories, we notice patterns and themes. Often, an archetype is revealed: a warrior, an angel, a wise court jester. Telling our story allows that Essence to surface above the various ego-selves we have created to win approval and love. When this tender part of us emerges, it is like a turtle discarding its shell. We, and those witnesses the emersion, are in awe of the power and beauty of revelation.

Writing your story is also an opportunity to identify the agreements we live by. We might be creating self-fulfilling prophecies with beliefs like, "Everybody leaves me," or "I am not good enough." Seeing how these beliefs and agreements impact our lives, we can decide to change them. Bringing the shadow to the light is an important part of storytelling.

If you have not yet written your story, perhaps these summer months are offering you the warmth and space you need to begin. Start wherever it feels natural to you. Some people begin by telling some of their parents' stories. Others begin in the womb, or at the moment of birth. Try to release any need for accuracy as you tell your story. It's the myth of it that's really important.

Sometimes, it's useful to begin with an early conflict. In any story, conflict -- either inner or external -- is used to further the plot and explicate character. In our personal myths, conflict shows us where our values lie and what we are willing to fight for. It can also show us where our Essence and our ego diverge. Once you write about your conflict, you may want to allow some healing to happen. Allow your Essence to make contact with the wounded part of you -- the part that was challenged, perhaps, or humiliated, or betrayed. Allow the wounded part to express any feelings, while your Essence simply listens compassionately and lovingly, offering that part deep, nourishing breaths as it emotes. This simple act is surprisingly freeing. You can follow this up by creating a personal shield -- an affirmation that your Essence is eternal and unwounded.

Another useful (and very enjoyable) exercise is to actually write your story as a mythic journey. Describe the hero or heroine -- you -- as you would find in a book about a fictional character. Have this character go through the stages of the mythic journey:

Call to Action

Refusal of the Call

Meeting with the Mentor

Crossing the First Threshold

Meeting Tests, Allies, and Enemies

Approach to the Inmost Cave

The Ordeal

The Reward

The Road Back

The Resurrection

Returning with the Elixir

(These steps are fully explained in Christopher Vogler's The Writer's Journey, but you don't need to read the book to use this structure: it's a familiar one in our culture!)

You can write this using parts of yourself as the various characters (our shadow selves make excellent allies and enemies, for example), or you can write about your external journey. What is the elixir you've returned with? Identifying that is finding your soul's gift to the world -- no small thing!

If you want to start simply, use one or more of the following writing prompts. Write for fifteen to twenty minutes on each one, without letting your pen stop writing. If you get stuck, simply repeat the prompt words until something new comes.

I remember...

I regret...

I am grateful for...

I take with me...

I release...

Any of these prompts can bring up memories from which to begin writing your stories. Write about one incident or start from the beginning and write until you reach the present, but write! The treasure in your stories is waiting for you.

A Moment of Stillness

Sun, 04 Apr 2010 16:00:00 -0700

We hear a lot about how beneficial meditation can be for us. Researchers have linked meditation with radically lower rates of heart disease, tumors, and infectious diseases,[1] and there is new evidence indicating that meditation could be of significant benefit in combating attention deficit disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, anxiety disorder, major depression, and even Alzheimer disease[2].

But what is it that we're actually doing when we meditate? Why quiet the mind? From the perspective of those who use the Enneagram for self-exploration, meditation is a way of acknowledging and observing the busy ego-driven self with the quieter Essential self. When we take the time to consistently notice what's going on in our minds, we begin to realize that this endless thinking that we identify with is actually -- not us! This revelation leads us to the question, "Who, then, am I?" and that is a question with real possibilities.

In their book, Personality Types, Enneagram theory pioneers Don Riso and Russ Hudson explain,

"We must be willing and able to go beyond ego to reach out to something more, to experience the parts of ourselves that have nothing to do with the agendas of our personalities. At the same time, we must also be willing to experience the limitation and pain that our ego's habits are causing us."[3]

The ego is born when we are very young as a protective mechanism for what we call "Essence," which is the true nature of the Self. The Enneagram describes nine Types of Essence qualities. Everyone is born as one of these nine Types and interprets the world they are born into according to the perspective of that Type. But as we begin to interact in the world and recognize that there are times we must manipulate our environment to get our needs met, our ego self develops to make that happen. The ego attempts to protect the Essence self, but at the same time suppresses it. There is a longing for the Essence qualities, so the ego tries to recreate those qualities through manipulation of the environment. We therefore try to be good, or loving, or successful, or unique, or knowledgeable, or loyal, or joyful, or strong, or peaceful, but we don't get it quite right as long as the ego is in charge.

In fact, the reason the ego cannot reproduce the qualities of our Essence is because the ego is based in fear. And as stress increases, fear increases, which creates strong desires and avoidances.

Of course, the only real way to Essence is through presence. That's where meditation comes in. Ridding oneself of cravings and aversions is actually eliminating the ego's defense mechanisms to reveal Essence, which knows no fear.

There are many different types of meditation, all of which can offer the benefit of quieting the mind. Some types focus on the physical aspects of breath or body sensation to continually bring one back to the present moment. Other practices focus on a repeated word, or mantra, to focus the mind. Still others encourage focusing on a holy idea or person to purify the mind. All of these practices can also provide a calming effect to the ego part of ourselves, allowing our Essence to emerge.

So yes, go ahead and meditate because it can reduce your blood pressure or lower your risk of cancer. But each time you sit, acknowledge that you are also helping the ego understand that you're doing just fine so that it can relax its tight grip on your Essential Self. The more you practice, the more you will be revealed. And in the end, it won't just be about avoiding disease. Meditation will have become your liberator.

[1] D. Orme-Johnson, Pschosomatic Medicine 49 (1987): 493-507.

[2] Charles Q. Choi, Live Science (September 2, 2008); http://www.anandapaloalto.org/joy/BenefitsOfMeditation.html

[3] Don Richard Riso and Russ Hudson, Personality Types (1996); 460-61.

O, To Love a Weed

Wed, 10 Mar 2010 07:47:00 -0800

One of the things we do a little differently here at The Calliope Center is the landscaping. Or, in some spots, lack thereof. In an area as environmentally conscious as Southwest Wisconsin, on a piece of land ostensibly for recreational use (now that we've officially become The Calliope Center), we have opened ourselves up to all kinds of differing points of view. And you know what? We agree that there's validity to every one of these arguments. I'll summarize them for you:

Anyone who owns land should be using it to grow food. The more acreage you have, the more people you can be feeding. Whether you grow crops or livestock, if you're fortunate enough to own acreage, you have a responsibility to use it to feed people.
Any responsible landowner in this area will refrain from disturbing the soil and its ecosystems in any way. We need to give the soil a rest and let topsoil rebuild in order to counteract the devastating effects of decades of farming.
People who own land in this area should be restoring it to its original state: doing regular, controlled "burns," weeding out invasive species, and carefully replanting native grasses and wildflowers.
When someone drives up to a place that's holding a workshop or seminar, he or she expects it to be neatly manicured. Weeds and general wildness are off-putting. People feel a lack of care there.
No one should mow their lawns or acreage because the wildlife make their homes there. Many rare species of birds and butterflies are losing their habitats to mono-crops, and there are fewer and fewer wild spaces where the plant diversity offers the creatures sufficient food and shelter.

We've searched our hearts on these issues and discussed them, in a sense, with the land itself. We've tried every one of these approaches, to a certain extent, at one time or another, but we seem to have settled on a bit of a mixture.

Here's what we do at The Calliope Center...

We use no pesticides or herbicides on our land.
We grow hazelnuts. A few acres of our ridgetop are devoted to hybrid hazelnut bushes that (we hope) will eventually produce enough nuts for us to eat, store, and sell. We have close to 700 bushes surviving, after a few drought years early on, and though few are producing nuts yet, we give them the space they need to grow. After the first season, we have chosen not to water the plants, but the ones that have survived are growing nicely now.
We mow an area around our house, as well as a few paths and the labyrinth. We like to have places to walk around the property. We feel that the benefit to humans of getting out in nature, which the paths promote, are on par with the benefit of wild space for animals. After all, the more humans are connected to nature, the more they will work to preserve wild spaces.
We maintain a few gardens around the house, for both beauty and nourishment. While not all our land is devoted to food or beauty, we do appreciate both! So we culivate what we can reasonably manage ourselves.
We leave most of our land unmanicured. To some, it is untidy or even unsightly, but to us, these fields are beautiful teachers. We've learned so much about plant succession: how the less "desirable" species of plants may take over initially, but over time concede space to allow for more diversity. We do see some invasive species rushing in, but we also see native plants taking hold. And it's obvious how appreciative the wildlife is of this approach. For now, we just watch and appreciate what comes, whether that be an outcropping of daisies or an acre of thistles. Each seems to have its place here.

Everyone needs to find his or her own balance with these things. We have neighbors who have recreated a beautiful prairie landscape through their diligence and dedication. Other neighbors run a Community-Supported Agriculture share program, filling beautiful baskets each week. These endeavors are inspiring and admirable, and we applaud their efforts!

In our case, we are interested in seeing what comes. I admit I sometimes feel the urge to go pull "weeds" in the fields, and sometimes I cannot resist mowing down an outcropping of the invasive wild parsnip. But my particular lessons seem to lie in the realm of Letting Things Be. My ego has, for years, tried to get rid of the weeds inside my own being. But as it turns out, the saying is true: "Weeds are just plants for which we haven't yet found a use."

So, if you plan a visit to our Center, please come prepared to see some burdock with its elephant-ear leaves, and some white thistle seed floating past your nose, along with some fluttery, butterfly-laden flower gardens, lots and lots of trees, and some homegrown nourishment.

And be prepared to feel loved and accepted for exactly who you are, too.

New Calliope Center Website

Fri, 01 Jan 2010 14:39:00 -0800

Beginnings are rarely just that. We see marriage as a beginning, but these days, it's usually preceded by a relationship, and the wedding simply marks a new stage in that relationship. So it is with the Calliope Center. While there will be a great deal more organization to what we do here, it has been a gathering place since it was built as our home, almost eight years ago. Women's groups, men's groups, singing parties, transition ceremonies, and lots of earnest conversation have already been a part of this space, blessing it for those who will be coming in the future. And yet, there is something special about this declaration; this dedication to a specific journey. Hope flutters around beginnings. Breath. Spaciousness. Anticipation.

As I think about beginning, I cannot help but think about my teachers. Julie Tallard Johnson, whose authenticity and faith in "the process" are simply inspiring, has given me so much, not the least of which was a good metaphorical kick in the pants when I balked at doing this work. My meditation teacher, S.N. Goenka, whom I have met only through the miracles of technology, gave me my most useful tool for living, without which this idea and the spirit behind it would have undoubtedly remained buried. Seth Alt has been an endlessly patient web designer, and Geri Shonka a nurturing graphic artist, both teaching me to see the world a little differently. There are so many other people who come to mind, from my family to my women's groups, to my walking buddies, but I suppose I am not accepting an Academy Award. They know who they are, and I hope they know how much I appreciate their encouragement.

There is some hesitation in many of us when it comes to offering of ourselves. Is what I have to give good enough? What, after all, do I know? I am not enlightened. I have made some whopper mistakes. I can still get hooked; I have issues; and sometimes I lose the battle with resistance. Who am I to facilitate workshops? Well, what I can offer is a willingness to share my experience openly and to keep bringing myself back to the path. Just as in my meditation practice, when my mind wanders, I gently bring it back to the breath, so when I wander from my path, will I bring myself gently back to it. And in this work, I will commit to encouraging others to do so as well, with great love and compassion for themselves.

Last night, I watched a vole scamper across newly fallen snow. I wondered if he was doing it just for the pleasure of making new footprints. I decided to join him and took my dog for a late-night walk. We made a new meandering path up to the hazelnut field and stood in the freezing air silently looking at the stars. I went to bed feeling curiously satisfied.

The path we make together under the guidance of our muse, Calliope, may also be meandering, but I bet we'll experience some of the same awe and satisfaction from taking that journey into the dark and cold and finding the surprising glory of the universe there awaiting us.

Thanks for joining me.

Parts and Presence

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 18:05:00 -0700

"The truth may make you free, but there's an even chance it will first scare the daylights out of you." -Gregg LeVoy

There's so much to learn about authenticity, isn't there?

My son recently left home to attend Scattergood Friends School, which is a Quaker boarding school in Iowa. He is our only child, and if you'd have asked me on his first day of grade school at what age I'd expect him to leave home, I'm sure I would have said "Thirty, at the earliest." He was reluctant to leave home for play dates at that age, never spent the night away, and wanted Mom and Dad on every field trip.

Now, at fifteen, he feels ready. Ready not just to leave home (*sob!*), but ready to take on the challenges of an intense academic program, an immersion into constant socialization with peers, and to negotiate relationships with adults with no intermediaries. I bless him on his journey, and when I reflect on where he's been so far, I stand in awe of his courage and resolve all along the way. He seems to know what he needs and know how to make that happen.

That's about him.

As for me, I've been dealing with layer after layer of "self:" parts I haven't heard from in many years. Of course, there's the Mother self, who is experiencing the predictable "empty nest" grief, mixed with pride that she's raised such a brave guy. But there's a lot more in there, too. There's the victim part that feels bereft and abandoned; the adventurer part that feels excited about my new freedom and all I might get to do now that mothering isn't my primary focus; the anxious part that feels like my life's purpose has suddenly exited, stage left; the sensitive part that feels rejected ("Why would you want to go away to school when you could be around ME all day?!"); the suspicious part that is afraid I won't do anything productive now that I have more freedom; the lazy part that is relieved not to have to attend so stridently to others' needs; and the wise part who knows this is simply another cycle and all is truly well.

Those parts and more have revealed themselves to me one by one over the course of the summer, preparing for him to go, and especially since he we dropped him off in late August.

My teacher, Julie Tallard Johnson, says that everything in our lives is fodder for our writing, if we are writers, or for the expression of whatever it is we have announced we want to do. I admit, I haven't necessarily welcomed the appearance of every one of those "parts," but I am grateful now to have met them and gotten to know them. Many have been buried for decades. (The "abandoned" feeling, for example, dates back to the 1970s!) It took a dramatic life change to bring it to the surface again.

And how useful that is in my quest to being more authentic! These layers resisted being discovered. Even though they were close to the surface, I was able to keep them under wraps until I did some pretty intense work to see myself more clearly. I'd let my meditation practice lapse as the date for him to leave approached, and my yoga practice dropped off too. I just couldn't seem to find a lot of time to write or journal, either. Huh. Coincidence?

I claim to be someone who relentlessly seeks the truth about myself, but even with that quest practically tattooed on my forehead, I was able to start skimming the surface of things; to avoid the hard questions and the ugly truths.

(Now that I've seen those parts up close, I wouldn't call them ugly. But when they're hidden, my ego self wants to keep them under wraps because they could be seen as imperfections, and that's just not acceptable to my poor ego!)

So, my ego self was in charge and therefore the ugliness started jamming up behind the dam. Naturally, at a certain point, the dam burst. It was overwhelming at first. Didn't have to be. Had I been continually practicing yoga, meditating, writing, and having authentic conversations about it with trusted friends, I wouldn't have experienced the roller coaster ride so intensely. But, of course, the fact that I did it this way is good information for me, too. As Julie says, it's all fodder.

My ego tells me that I cannot feel or think certain things because if I do, I will not be accepted in the world. My best self doesn't believe this, but my ego really, really does. And it wants to protect me from that rejection. It thinks my Higher Self is a bit of a New Age Ninny who loves everyone and is naïve as can be and is therefore in no condition to protect us.

Of course, the ego is right about my Higher Self loving everyone. That comes from a deep knowing that we all are one. And the Higher Self doesn't worry about protection because it knows there's nothing to be protected from. All is well. Yes, even if the body is slain, even if the world seems cold, or the ego feels all alone. It knows the truth.

So, my challenge has been to look at all these various parts of myself through the eyes of my Higher Self. They're not prescriptions for social suicide, nor ridiculous forays into fantasy. Each part has a reason for being there. Each part has a valid point to make. And each part sees only a small part of a very large picture.

Once I resumed my mediation practice, began taking a yoga class, and making time for daily writing again, the larger picture began to become clear to me again. Why? Because I was present with myself. Instead of trying to escape my reality through endless analysis or worry, I relaxed into it and simply felt what was there to feel.

Remind me of this next fall, when my son heads off to school again. Presence, presence, presence...