Dance, Magic, Dance!

I've been having a hard time coming up with posts lately. I just looked at the last one and it's been over a month! Yikes! Not the way I prefer to handle things.

In pondering why this might be the case, I discovered that I kinda dropped out of my life.

Yes, I've been revamping the business and the website, and yes, it's been unexpectedly on-hold for about a month. Branding complications. Ugh!

And it's also true that I've been studying and taking classes like mad; the last two months have felt like constant mid-terms, and the feeling is going to probably last for a while. I'm devouring new knowledge that I hope to bring to the table soon. Fun, but consuming.

And yes, I've been working hard on purging my heart's basement. Clearing brush. Digging for diamonds in what feels like miles of rubble, and that has been no mean task, I assure you.

And then my husband got sick for, like, a month and with him down-for-the-count with no real energy to spare for me. Plus, it was playoffs; I had the final excuse to go on absolute check-out. No connection anywhere.

I dropped out of my life.

I told myself I had too much to do to focus on writing - to focus on much of anything besides focusing. I focused so hard I pretty much didn't know what day it was.

And here's what I'm noticing: I give myself these deadlines. I get hooked into some astrological shift I've read about and decide that EVERYTHING has to be done by June 4th or whatever because that's when I lose all this Jupiter action, etc, etc.

Um, what?

What clued me in finally, was that I was doing all this hard work and learning and experimenting and Writing Copy and Landing Pages and all the businessy-business stuff. And doing the therapy stuff and going in brand new, uncharted circles around my health. And learning new skills and trying to hone them at the same time as I was trying to market them.

And if all this is so cool, then where exactly do I show up in all of it?

I felt like the scene in Labyrinth where the trash lady is heaping all of Sarah's toys on her, reminding her of all the trappings of her fantasy world, but she is suddenly shaken out of her trance by a real urgency about the work she's been called to do - to save her baby brother from the clutches of the Goblin King.

I had forgotten all about David Bowie in the Tina Turner wig and drag-queen makeup up in the castle on the hill and had to get buried in stuffed unicorns and snow globes before I woke up and smelled the Bog of Eternal Stench...

I apologize sincerely to those of you who haven't seen the film.

Suffice it to say, I was distracted by my own brain. It happens sometimes.

Does this happen to you? When you get so wrapped up in being wrapped up that you get caught talking to yourself in fake conversations in the kitchen by a four-year-old looking for milk, when you thought the kids were still watching TV?

You forget to watch the last minute of playoffs because you're searching for just the right font for the new logo?

Spend so much time wondering what your triggers are about eating foods you're allergic to all the time that you forget to clean the catbox for, like, four days?

You get the picture, anyway. And I hope I'm not totally alone. If I am, let this be a cautionary tale...

This weekend was gorgeous. The husband was feeling much better. I snapped out of it. He mowed the lawn and then I went out with my hula-hoop while he weeded (didn't even feel guilty about that) and got scrappy. Did some stuff. Listened to my husband play some music with some friends at an outdoor party. Opened the windows!

Good grief. I've got to get over myself and start living again! It's way better than what goes on in my freaking head!

So anyway, that's where I've been. I've been here, in my mind all along.

To sign up for a Blogger account so you can leave a comment, click here.

To learn more about Darcy Molloy, visit www.namahahealingarts.com.

Rant on Getting Well

While at a recent gathering for a spiritual community, I was offered an exquisite specimen of a homemade cinnamon roll, big as my head, baked by a church elder. She handed me a plate, expectantly. I shrank.

"Oh, thank you! I can't have them," I apologized.

She glared at me. Full-on Stink Eye. "Oh. You're one of those."

"I - I'm sorry," I stammered. "I'm allergic. And...I can't eat sugar. I'm really sorry." Because it was my fault somehow that I couldn't eat her manna on a paper plate? Who was losing out here?

I've got dietary issues. Seriously.

This is not meant to be a "poor-me" story, though, so just read through for a little bit and you'll see what I'm getting at.

I'll explain to you what I've explained to countless others.

Because of some parasitic "guests" in my system I can't eat starches (except for four types of grain, soaked and sprouted), sugars of ANY kind including fruits, no rice no bread, none of that. Not even beans. And because these guests (and by this I mean single-celled organisms that have no good business in the human body) have caused leaks in my intestinal wall I can't eat gluten, soy, dairy, nuts, seeds, chocolate and probably a lot of other things.

The starches and sugars cause discomfort due to the propagation of said "guests", and all the other stuff just plain hurts. Refined oils, including canola and palm, just exacerbate whatever's going on.

This means I can't eat out, and I can't travel. Not easily. Not without a ridiculous amount of complication and drama. Not to mention depression.

Every time we go out and I sit across from someone with my glass of water watching others down nachos and fries and beet salad with gorgonzola and candied pecans, I'm almost always stuck rehashing my woes, listing everything I can't eat and then comforting my table mates while they process their own feelings of horror and guilt at eating in front of me. "It's okay," I assure them, "I'm used to it by now..."

And nothing I've done so far has come close to getting rid of them.

Now, I've been told by other professionals in my line of work whose health issues have begun to assert themselves as part of their own lives, that this is just what we all signed up for. Or that ill heath and physical pain is just the natural result of spiritual evolution. That somehow these 3D bodies weren't meant to hold all this light. "Oh, you're just a sensitive soul." I get that a lot.

Honey, there's a lot of times I'd rather be an insensitive boor and have a piece of pizza.

And what happened to the teaching of all the energy-healers in workshops and marketing materials all over the globe that every symptom that occurs in the physical body is a manifestation of some leftover crap in the energy field? Stuff we're not necessarily even aware of or immediately responsible for? So what happens to that argument when we start talking about "Oh woe is me! My vibration is just too high for this world!"

See this argument holds no water for me. How does it work, exactly? Or is it really some leftover programming from a culture that teaches us of a punitive God? Dear sister, this just isn't true!

Of course, I'm one to talk; it's how I react to the situation. Every time I fall off the wagon of meat, vegetables, and sprouted amaranth for barely a mouthful and start to have a symptom, the interior beatings begin. What did you expect, idiot? Really, I catch these things going on in my head. You're totally out of control. You just got what you deserve...

But what does dessert have to do with it? We're here, aren't we? We're here, and we're here to serve and to reflect the qualities of the divine to one another, so God can look at herself in seven billion mirrors and wink and say "Hey! Check me out!"

So why on earth would we be built to be in pain and ill health, just for trying to do what we came here to do? Doesn't make sense to me.

Sure, sometimes there are wonderful lessons to be learned from this kind of struggle. But here we also get free will. We get to choose how we learn our lessons. And we get to change our minds.

Me, I finally said whoa. This isn't my fault, no matter what pat little story I like to tell myself about how terrible I am. I want to go to hoop camp for a week, and I want to eat the vegan food they serve for that whole week and not be miserable and not hate myself and call myself foul names for not feeling good while I'm there. Is that too much to ask? Let me know, because I'm asking.

I finally threw down cash money to get some real, deep help from a practitioner who believes, like I do, that this illness is actually something that can be directly addressed and integrated into my being for my benefit. I asked for help to get this thing by the roots, look it in the eye, learn what's there to learn, and then walk away, renewed, healthy and vibrant. Whole.

Today we did some work that tells me that this is absolutely possible. I can see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I've got a ways to go, but I see that there is a very real end to it. I've seen a place where my physical being can fully reflect my divine essence clearly and beautifully in comfort and joy.

And what the other suffering healers express is true, in that the light can make things pinch a bit at first.

What I think happens is that the brighter the light, the easier it is to see all the debris and error in perception and action that linger in the field. Which can hurt, and cause things like disease and chronic pain to show up, so that we can stop resisting it, digest it, and harmonize it with our own divine light. This isn't a comfy thing sometimes, and sometimes it takes a physical commitment, like, say, asking for help, or even paying for that help just to state to ourselves that we mean business.

It's like combing out tangles in your hair. A whole lotta light is like when you yank on it from the top it's just going to turn into a knotted mess, and it's gonna hurt. That's when the symptoms get worse.

But when we get some help to gently hold space for our process, and tease the tangle out from the bottom, bit by bit, eventually we find the central knot, and the rest of the snarl can fall away. All that emotional detritus and thought goo and the suffering we SO love to coddle and nurture just gets washed away with grace and compassion.

So just know you don't have to settle for illness, chronic pain, disease or any of it. There's help to be had.

And you are a perfect child of God who deserves that help.

I will keep you posted on my progress. And I would LOVE to hear your feedback!

To sign up for a Blogger account so you can leave a comment, click here.

To learn more about Darcy Molloy, visit www.namahahealingarts.com.

Boots Off to My Sisters

I know this isn't usually a fashion column, but I love wearing my black boots.

When I'm in a sassy, no-nonsense, go-get-'em mood, I wear my black boots.

When I don't feel quite up to a challenge, but I have to show up anyway, I wear my black, knee-high boots.

When I want to make a statement, but don't think I have anything of value to say, I pick out a skirt and some leggings and the boots do the rest.

My knees can't take heels anymore, so they're flat-soled, with a buckle at the top. They zip up the middle.

They're my super-hero costume! I can walk a mile in them without a blister, they're not too tight for my fat calves, and they go with just about everything, although they say the most with a skirt. They're warmer than socks and keep the wind out. I can wear them casually and to dress up something frumpy. They're my all-out wardrobe (and attitude) lifesaver.

Today I walked into a classroom full of women, all of us prepared to talk about our scariest selves. To write about our darkest, shadowed shames and to let them be dissected, trusting strangers. We came to celebrate together.

About half of the room was wearing knee-high black boots.

I surreptitiously sized up my booted sisters to decide whether we did indeed belong to the same tribe. All writers. All women. I noticed that the teacher had on her black boots too. I knew her to be a clear, confident and gutsy writer who was well respected for going-all-the-way with her literary career. I secretly thanked my boots for gaining me admission to this club of accomplished and self assured women, and hoped I wasn't just a lot of black vinyl when the time came to share my stuff.

As we went around the room, unloading our fears, our whos and hows and whys, our tales of grief and sorrow and broken and reclaimed dreams I knew that I was not the only one who expects the Super Hero to show up even when I feel less than super. And my membership card was not revoked.

And yes, I do belong to the fancy footwear club. As do all the other women I know, boots or sneakers or crocs, who show up when they'd rather hide out. Who have the courage to take a good look at themselves just for the opportunity to grow, and learn, and maybe share something that can help another sister. Who acknowledge the unspeakable alongside the angelic in themselves and (even if for just a second) see that marriage as a work of art. Who are willing to learn to say "yes" and "no" for themselves, knowing that that is what makes the world a better place.

On further reflection, I think I wear the boots to set the bar. I know I'm bootworthy, and that's my Truth. When I wear them, costume or not, I know that somewhere in there there's the sassy, fearless, woman unafraid to express her opinions and stand firm in her convictions, even if I feel more like sweats and shapeless sweatshirts of uncertainty and self-doubt.

Today I wear my boots for you.

Peace,
Darcy
Namaha Healing Arts

The Bigger Picture

It's not the whole image. I can see the dog balancing the ball on his nose and the teenagers fighting over the magazine in the background, and the car running the stop sign. In high color I observe the flower vendor on the corner and the crab apples that have spilled from his basket and the toddler scurrying after one into the cobbled street.

I can savor each intricate detail. The broken thread in the pin-stripe on the elderly gentleman's lapel. He appears forlorn; I can see the tear collecting at the corner of his eye. I can even see the torn binding of the book he is reading, which obscures its title. As I get closer, I can make out the name on the cat's collar - "Hermione." I can almost pick out the texture of her tongue as she grooms her downy breast. I notice the broken spoke in the adult-sized tricycle as it narrowly misses the toddler in the street. I can practically smell the popcorn popping in the wagon on the paved path along the top of the bridge.

Every detail, every brush stroke.

And yet, in the back of it all lurks a menacing alleyway, incongruous to my impression of the scene. It's purple-green walls surely conceal evils secreted from this innocent urban event. Despite all the gaiety of the day lit square, my eyes are repeatedly drawn to its depths.

Upon closer inspection, I notice this grotesque emptiness blots out a great deal of the canvas, a netherworld where unimagined and unsavory elements pace, menacing and patient.

With respect to the antics of the sunlit crowd, I conjure that what is ominous in the darkness is treacherous, to be avoided at all costs, the brightly-lit scenario a safe haven from its questioning shadow.

What's down the dark alley?

As I now juxtapose the two visual impressions, the known chaos against the unformed, darkling way, I notice just how bright and lively are the images of light. As I penetrate even more closely the images become almost garish in their literality - their precision. A crumb stuck to a cheek. A skinned knee. A drop of saliva hanging from the lip of the expectant and obese hound. It all becomes a little too much. The unknown becomes almost a welcome flavor, bland, subtle, the delicacy of a lavendered salt, more scent than taste.

As I teeter on this precipice of known vs unknown I feel a battle for an unclaimed part of myself. At the pivot is the assumption of contrast, dissonance, and all moments have coalesced into this one. The conflux of utterly known, utterly described and experienced, and the pregnancy of what will be, what may be, what is not yet. The realized vs the potent.

To then unfocus my eyes, and gasping, take a further step backward, prepared to drink all in as one whole, and then, having breathed deeply, with purpose, to notice...

...My God! Not one image but a vast argument in triptych ever expanding, ever describing and ever questioning. The darkness and detail now but texture on a far greater landscape, stretching into infinity, or so I must conceive from the point in space and time where I reside.

And so how may I presume to guess what lurks in shadows, or the meanings of crumbs and crab apples? I reel and teeter and brace to topple. I remain barely balanced, then am poised, with nothing available to me but surrender to the Mystery. And I do not fall.

But I see, I breathe, and I wonder.

And finally I am borne up, soaring, to a position unprecarious, cradled.

Peace,
Darcy Molloy
Namaha Healing Arts

A Few Notes on a Quotation

This was just shared with me by an associate the other day:

"Until one is committed there is always hesitancy,
the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness,
concerning all acts of initiative and creation.
There is one elementary truth,
the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans:
The moment one definitely commits oneself,
then providence moves in too.
All sorts of things occur to help that would never otherwise have occurred.
A whole stream of events issues from the decision,
raising to one’s favor all manner of unforeseen accidents and meetings
and material assistance which no man could have dreamed would come his way.
Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it."
-Goethe

Don't you just hate it when someone says something WAY better than you could ever have said it?

To sum up: It's really scary to ACT on a whim, even though you know you've got the support of All of Heaven because once you step down that path, it's all going to fall into place in ways you couldn't possibly imagine, and THEN where will you be? So then we just don't do ANYTHING, which is kind of a mess.
Okay, well it's not exactly subtext, but you can extrapolate. Humor me, okay?

It's really easy for me to listen to guidance, to listen for definitive Guidance. But often I get caught right up with worrying about hearing it right or interpreting the signs or doing what I'm "supposed" to be doing. The truth is, we decide what we want to do, and we must ACT on a decision, for better or for worse, in order for the Universe to act upon our behalf, not the other way around. I mean, half the time Guidance is just the Higher Self brainstorming anyway. It isn't just a manual for personal satisfaction, right? I've spent plenty of time acting (or not acting) on the misconception that I just wasn't receiving the proper instructions. Actually, nothing was happening because I wasn't actually doing anything...

Recently I've realized this about my practice. I'm sitting in the orchard waiting for my basket to fill up, when there are beautiful, ripe apples, pendulous, on every tree within my view. The ladder is unfolded to one side, inviting. And yet, I've been sitting very still, expectant, waiting for them all to leap from the branches. And all this time I've wondered why my basket is empty.

This new year I've rededicated myself to building my practice, to reaching out, to act on my dreams and visions instead of just waiting for my clients to decide what it is I want to be when I grow up. And the result has been astounding. Even my darkest moment, when I had just about thrown in the towel altogether (which was, I think, Monday), has now become a banquet table of options with a fountain of creativity at it's center; it's shaped like a swan!

My lesson this week reflects directly on Herr Goethe's verse: you can dream and scheme all you want, but when Harvest Time is here, all of Nature supports the commitment to make that apple pie, whatever it takes, and that includes setting one foot on the ladder and beginning to climb.


Peace,
Darcy Molloy,
Namaha Healing Arts

What, Me Worry?

True confessions, I have a tendency toward anxiety attacks. Recently I've discovered some physical relationships with those, and am better able to control them (energy work +magnesium = okay! energy work - magnesium = CRAZY), but I've gotten into these horrible loops where my total lack of control over anything in my future would seem to present an actual, physical threat, and I would totally cease to function. I would rationalize with myself, reminding myself that nothing bad was happening in that moment, which is all I needed to concern myself with. Didn't help. Last time it was earthquakes. I was literally convinced we were all going to die at any minute and I felt absolutely lost and helpless and completely nuts. And worry is now a rabid rhinoceros and reason is not an option.

Let me backtrack a minute. As a Reiki Master I teach Dr. Mikao Usui's 5 Reiki Principles. Each of these precepts is designed to help guide the practitioner in daily life. The version I was taught is as follows:

Just for today, I will not worry.
Just for today, I will not anger.
I will honor my parents, teachers, and elders.
I will earn my living honestly.
I will show gratitude for every living thing.
(and then my brain adds, "and live by the Girl Scout law," but that's just me.)

The anger thing is sometimes an iffy one for students, but the one that seems to cause the most consternation is "Just for today, I will not worry."

Now I'm never going to be comfortable with anything that has Thou Shalt in front of it, and I highly doubt Usui took that tone with his students, either. Still, so many of my students come back to me, hangdog, admitting that they just can't do it. Or they're frustrated because if feels crazy to even try. Because, geez! There's so much that can go wrong and so much to care about and fix and fret over.

Now, I don't actually think it's crazy to try not to worry, but at the same time worry naturally tends to beget itself. If I'm worried about not worrying because I shouldn't worry, then I'm stuck in a worrying loop and then I'm worried about the loop and so on. And what good is that? My panic attacks have taken on many shapes and faces over the years, and the mind just goes wherever the fixation is and just. won't. stop. It was once pointed out to me that people call it being Out of One's Mind, when in fact you're trapped in there and the walls are moving in and R2D2 is nowhere to be found...

And here's where the loop becomes a noose. I'm now not only paralyzed with fear, I'm also berating myself for stooping to worry when I should know better, and I try to vanquish the panic through reason. For a long time I just thought if I could get at the truth about why I was freaking out I could deal with that part of it, and it would stop. I could track my fear of earthquakes to my overweening sense of responsibility, or my belief that everything that happens in the universe is somehow up to me. Then I track that back to this instance in my childhood, or even this or that past-life experience and find the root, trying desperately to conquer that false belief in order to eliminate the core issue permanently. I could track the fix like a pro.

Didn't help me in the least. The mind just said, "Uh huh. That's nice. WE'RE ALL GONNA DIIIIEEEE!!!" See, this is an irrational operation, so reason isn't really a useful tool. You can use a lipstick to water the lawn for awhile, but pretty soon you're just going to get Viva Glam all over everything and the azaleas are only getting crispier.

Experience has taught me that truly the only thing I can do at that point is to just look the monster in the eye and offer my hand for a shake. Because it's apparently not going away, and you obviously aren't functioning while trying to fight it off. Might as well make nice. I'll just give in, I'll usually go completely numb, and tell myself, "yes, we're probably all going to die at any minute and you won't know where your loved ones are when the Big One hits and you don't have enough cat carriers and it's supposed to rain for the next 6 months nonstop and you probably don't have enough water stored. Yup. All true, friend. Okay. So what?"

And the mind just spins, but I can step out of it and say, "Wow. I'm totally out of control. This is extremely uncomfortable. I'm going to take another one of these deep breaths - gasps really - and maybe have a good cry and cancel my massage because it won't do any good." I just live with it as best I can. I've quit trying to track the emotional debris that's causing the freakout, quit judging my inability to let go of the insanity and just sit back and get comfortable being uncomfortable. Okay, Freakout. Freak right out. I'll be here when you're done, humming "Everything's Alright" from Jesus Christ Superstar.

My point is, no matter how useless worry is, it's something we're probably going to go back to now and again. I don't think worry in itself is a practical or undertaking, but viewed as part of a larger whole, with conscious intent, worry can be a powerful ally in our own evolution. I firmly believe that sometimes, when one can't let it go, it's better to just acknowledge it, give it a little hug, and go back to washing the dishes, because ultimately we know it isn't serving us, but it's a part of the experience right here, right now. So long as that ego-mind isn't running the show, worry can be a good teacher. It can show us where we're at right now, and ultimately teach us compassion for ourselves as human expressions of the Ultimate Divine. Only when we can conceive of compassion for our own, perfect imperfection can we truly feel that compassion for our brothers and sisters.

See the part of Just for Today, I Will Not Worry that draws my focus is the "just for today" part. Because if I'm truly focused in the present then I'm not worrying anyway. Worry is always about What's Gonna Happen, which we can't ultimately control or even know, even if you are a psychic or an astrologer. You still don't truly know. Ever.

And to my mind, that's what Usui's talking about in principle #1. Even if you are worried, just be here. Just show up. Just for today.

Roads Taken and Not

Some of you who read this (I actually do think there are more than 5 people, despite what Blogger indicates) might have noticed the lack of circles, classes and events Namaha's been hosting lately. I've had a sparsely attended Oneness Blessing circle at my office (a line, really. Me, point A, and one other, point B) and not much else. Now, if you've just read the mid-December newsletter or checked out the Facebook page you'll notice I'm suddenly cannonballing right back into the middle of the pool at a new venue with new offerings and new prospects, and all sorts of balls to juggle.

Why the ebb and flow, you ask? Why this grand lull in the action?

Too many ideas. Too many good, great, exciting, heart-centered, life-affirming CHOICES.

Does this happen to you?

For me there's a balance of expectation and realization. I'll take out the Roadmap of My Life and point to where I expect to be by X date. It's a fantastic place. A place I know I can get to. A place that is utterly affirming of all my gifts and skills and desires. A place that will prove I've been on the right track the whole time. Yep. That's where I'm a-goin'.

More often than not, the point on the map is so far from where I am, the roads to it seem almost limitless. I can take the 26W to the 101, or I can take 30 and cross the bridge to 14 and take a more scenic route. Or, of course, I could just take the direct-not-so-pretty route and take I-5 most of the way then drop down by the river...I could start another Reiki Circle, but which night of the month, and how many days each month? Should I work it so this client can come or that one? Should I teach workshops in places I've already worked, or should I branch out and try something new? Do I want to work out of my home or keep my office? Should I scrap the whole practice and just work on the book?

Which path is the right one?

Often it feels like I have to choose exactly the right thing, or nothing will work out. If I concentrate on this then I feel like a fraud here. If I schedule that and I'm not a complete expert on the subject then will I have anything to say?

I try to think about what route I do like to take to the coast. I almost always choose the most scenic, even if it takes a bit longer. And I don't mind if I pull off the road at a viewpoint and get distracted by a herd of Elk. Or if I get lost in the small town looking for a restroom at the halfway point. I don't even mind that I've forgotten the keys to the condo and we have to harrass all the neighbors trying to get in.

So why is it any different choosing my course in life? If I've set my sites on a destination, and I know pretty surely that I'm going to get there, then the route ought to be the most fun one, right?

Here's the thing. In the Indian energy anatomy there are two currents of energy running through the body (well, according to this map there are more like 72,000, but we'll just focus on these two.), one that goes up and out, merging with everything. The current of "enlightening" that connects us to All There Is. This is the Liberating Current, and it's what transcendental meditators seek to achieve. This freedom from all things physical. Which is one way. The other comes down from the heavens into us. It is what creates the universe. It is what turns thought to things. It is the direction of creation, called the Manifesting Current. While the Liberating Current brings us freedom, the Manifesting Current brings us - you guessed it - limitation. We have to exclude in order to create. We have the imagination to create the thought, and when we feed energy to that thought we create. We choose one thing at a time to bring into being.

Sometimes I feel too good rolling around in the vast field of unlimited possibility. I get very comfortable there. I get a little cocksure and snooty with the creativity that oozes from my inspired mind and I don't want to leave it's vision of sugar plums AND chocolate cake AND ice cream AND pumkin scones...okay so I'm hungry, but you see my point.

I've had to come to terms with this process for what it is. You have to pick one thing at a time. You have to cause something for it to have an effect. This doesn't mean that there isn't room for all of it to come about, but you can't put three feet forward at once. And by "you" I mean "I."

I'd say "just listen to your heart," but my heart gets overly enthusiastic too. "Yes! Absolutely! Oh wait! No! You should do that instead. Ooooh, that would be cool! Hey, aren't you doing the first thing? Can we go over there?" My heart is like a Labrador puppy at the beach sometimes. It's ALL good.

And I have to promise myself that it IS all good.

Because next time I'm revisiting this part of the map I might be on a motorcycle or have a flying car, and the trip will be different, but I can still go back and retrace my steps. I can pick a different route if I want to go to the same place. The road doesn't necessarily vanish just because you don't take it.

Trust, faith, not taking myself too seriously.

Okay, I think I got it.

Check out the site for all the new stuff.

Just Desserts

It's not always that easy to show myself I love me.

Lately I've been in this mode of observation, whereby I notice my mind taking an easier route than what actually makes me comfortable or content. Somehow, I've also been in a state of mind to see that that just doesn't fly.

For example, I was watching TV with my family a couple of weeks ago. I've got this pesky neck thing that requires a lot of paying attention and maintenance to avoid chronic discomfort. We were maybe 20 minutes into the movie, and I had already paused it for a good 5 minutes to get the tea ready for everyone, and I'm feeling like a heel because "I always do this. Everyone's always waiting for me." I notice my neck starting to complain and I start the inner turmoil about whether to stop the show again for all my silly physical issues, like some invalid prima donna. Then suddenly this light bulb flashed: I'm an expression of God and it's my job to take care of this vehicle I'm in. It's important for me to be comfortable. It's not trivial. I am a Divine Being. And I stopped the movie and got the bloody Bucky Pillow. No one even rolled their eyes.

Later that week I was at a birthday party which included a performance. I was standing in the corner, watching with some friends next to an empty chair. One friend asked if I wanted to sit. I did; my back was starting to get tired. Instead I shook it off. Why should I get the chair when someone else might want it? A few minutes went by and the light bulb, now swaying above me as if from a low ceiling, smacked me in the head. Um, sit in the chair. Take care of yourself. It's important.

It's an act of Love, is what it is.

Okay, so maybe this sounds tiny and trivial, but I began to put this notion into practice. Just here and there, to see what happened. Every time I notice I'm making a choice between convenience or not-being-a-bother and doing what my body or my being needs I tap into that love for all Creation, myself included, and the choice becomes clear. Flossing as a form of a hug.

Now let me take this one step further. I'm someone who, for the past several years, has suffered from a number of debilitating ailments. The list of foods I can't eat is now longer than the list of okay choices. This gets old. Physically, I know what the root of this issue is now. I know what to avoid to control it, and I've got assistance in taking things to eliminate it. Somehow, though, I still am challenged when it comes to making choices that don't cause me pain.

I've been telling myself stories from the role of the victim, the role of the addict, the role of the ignorant, the fixer, the child, the loser, etc. After even rounds of pharmaceuticals, I'm still struggling. And I can't stand explaining to EVERYONE what I can't eat and why and what it does and all the helpful suggestions and the looks of "Wow, you're a freak! I'm sure glad I'm not you!" I even got a "Oh. You're one of those!" sneers from a well-meaning church elder as I refused a homemade cinnamon roll.

So why won't any of it work? Have you guessed?

And I think this is a breakthrough. I am a Divine Creation and I deserve perfect health and well-being. This doesn't just mean, "okay. so now I believe wellness is available to me so now - heal me!" It means that every time I choose sprouted sunflower seeds over puffed millet (which hurts me) I am just overwhelmed with love. I can be in love with making choices that lead to feeling good. I am allowed to feel good because I am a Divine Creator. I am a part of God, Source, All-That-Is. I AM no less Divine than any reckoning of Divinity and it is a joy to care for this physical emanation that I have been gifted with in this moment.

Sometimes the story has been that I serve best by being ill - the Wounded Healer - but this is a martyr complex of sorts, isn't it? I think I've actually believed that someone somewhere actually benefits by my incapacity. This story also perpetuates the guilt that is generated by spending so much money (you have no idea) on all the supplements and treatments that I only need because I've got no will-power, right?

Holy Cow!

Okay, so listen up. Loving yourself, REALLY loving yourself, is no crime. It does no one any good to deny yourself the things you need to be well and strong and comfortable. I mean those things that come from a place of balance and centeredness. I don't mean those things you need to be better -the things the Western media would have you believe you need: a perfect body, perfect hair, perfect teeth, a perfect iPhone, even a perfect education. I mean those things that, in serving yourself, serves the greater whole. The things that come from the YES that sings in your heart and belly if you listen. It has a language of its own. It isn't hard to learn, once you let it in.

Be still. Breathe. Can you hear it?

Look Me in the Eye and Say That!

Right now we're in the process of selling my husband's family home. We're up to our neck in renovation demands we agreed to simply to keep the peace with the buyers, even though these requests don't seem altogether fair. We were given a hefty list of fairly expensive upgrades which even included an open-ended bill for the decommissioning of the oil tank. This was given to us by our realtor via her assistant via the buyers' realtor in a game of "telephone", and when we asked the buyers to just wait a minute until the estimate came back for the tank, panic ensued; the "we're-gonna-walk" card was played.

So now we're stuck paying for a whole bunch of stuff we hadn't planned for -stuff we really don't mind, but which was more expensive than we had imagined. Which is fine, really. However, I feel like much of the panic and frustration surrounding the process could have been avoided if we were able to look the buyers directly in the eye and have a conversation. If we were human beings to one another, and could hear the tone in the other's voice there would be an opportunity for a heart-connection that just isn't available in the current paradigm.

I know I'm guilty of perpetuating a similar sense of distance in my own life. I think it's just a mode we've gotten used to working in. I know I'd much rather start a conversation via email than (gasp) call someone on the phone, even though all my questions could easily be resolved in the space of moments, rather than days as I wait for a response. A lot of my shopping is done online. When on roadtrips, sometimes I can't wait to cross the border to a state where I can pump my own gas, swiping my card at the pump, so I never have to talk to a stranger.

But it's really easy to misunderstand when we are not sharing an experience with the person we are communicating with. Instead we communicate at each other. This makes it easy to project whatever expectations we want on another person, for good or for ill. We expect someone to behave badly, so our reaction to their note is a reaction to that expectation. You just can't hear a tone of voice, or share a smile via email.

I know there are good reasons for separating people in a home-buying situation. I also know that sometimes in life it's actually beneficial to a relationship to get it all said by writing one's feelings down in one long letter, but those are unique situations. For myself, I'm making an effort to be conscious of the way I connect with people. I'm trying to make a phone call rather than sending an email, an email instead of a text. I'm stopping into the store to ask my question rather than just searching the internet incessantly for answers. Heck, I'm even going into the bank rather than just walking up to the ATM, just to make the connection. Some days even that seems like more than I can handle, but I'm working on it. Nothing bad has happened yet.

Life is relationship. Plain and simple. We're here to experience what it's like to be different from everything else in order to have a relationship with it. The air we breathe, the chair we sit on, the food we eat, the music we listen to, the different people we meet, the places we go. We are in relationship with all of it. The big part of our relationship with our brothers and sisters here is to recognize that we are each a unique part of a greater, synergistic pattern - a much greater Whole - and the more we can connect with our hearts, the more we are doing what we're here to do.

So maybe that's my challenge to you. Give this a shot this week: When you're about to send an email, pick up the phone instead. Go into a store to buy something you were going to order online. Stop into the venue to ask your question. Look someone in the eye whose gaze you'd otherwise avoid. See what happens! It might feel unsafe and scary, but they're probably more afraid of you than you are of them.

Or is that bears?

Anyway, I'd love to hear what happens!

Time and Breath

For the past few weeks I've become more and more frustrated with not being able to get anything done. I feel like it takes me half the day just to get up and through breakfast, and then if I respond to two or three emails it's time to run errands. By the time I get back from that I'm answering responses to the morning's emails, then sorting the mail. At which point it's time to make food again (a lengthy process for me) and then time to pick up a couple piles of accumulated detritus, then the husband's home. Heaven forfend I should have a client or a chiropractic appointment or a tea-date!

What happened?

Sometimes I think I've lost my focus entirely, and I'm sure that I've at least lost it partially. Other times I think I'm trying to do too much. In the last week or so I've become suspicious that that whole "time-acceleration" thing They talk about is really real and really happening.

Of course, They also say that really we're starting to lose our need for and awareness of linear time - a sort of balancing act between the measure of day-to-day time and the experience of the infinite, which is the "real" way the cosmos works.

Usually I tend agree with the latter, but that's beside the point. Whether time's speeding up or not, where does it leave us? How do we get through even one item on the to-do list that's outside of the routine if the 24-hour day is going through an inflation of 75%? I can't even get the dishes washed up after a meal. My calendar is exploding.

I've also noticed that I haven't been breathing very much or very deeply when worrying about getting it all done. Or at all. I'm holding my breath all the time. I'm saying a blessing over a meal, and waiting to breathe until I'm done! How does THAT work?

So I did an experiment, and made an effort to practice what I preach and breathe with intention. A lot. All the time.

Suddenly it's become easier to hear the inner voice that comes from my heart and belly. Which mostly says "breathe," of course. (For an involuntary process, I'm always startled by how little I seem to be doing it.) The more I follow this instruction, the more the next instruction is something productive, like, "Now! Go do the weeding! Now!" Or "writing, not marketing," or "this is a perfect time to catch a few minutes of hooping!" Or "sit down for 5 minutes and reset." It's amazing how much actually gets done when I'm breathing and listening to myself.

So I breathe and breathe and listen and somehow I've found the time to write this blog. And work on the site and the workshops. And do my exercise routine. And clean the catbox. And run some errands. And fix two meals for myself. And meditate. And answer several emails. Shoot! There's still time to work on the class outline, fold the laundry and pick up the rest of the house. If that's what comes up next, anyway. I'm listening to see what will be next, but I'm okay just breathing for now.

This is a dare. Try breathing.

The "F" Word

Forgiveness is a bitch.

I’m all about humble pie, don't get me wrong, I just tend to take on responsibility for other people's stuff, which is probably why performers loved me so much backstage in my previous profession...It was always easy to do, because there was always someone there to tell me that it wasn't my fault. I had a little bit of martyr syndrome which has been one of the quickest roads to popularity for me in years/decades past.

I've only had one experience where someone was there reassuring me that it WAS all my fault, that I couldn't make a good decision to save my life and that everyone was miserable because of it. Someone besides my own ego, I mean.

Just yesterday I asked this same former co-worker for forgiveness for a really ugly project we worked on a few years back. She was the absolute bane of my existence in every way. I was in a position of authority, running an extremely challenging tour. Having done one the previous year I knew that it would be a white-knuckle ride, but if history served I would come out a war-hero.
This turned into a battlefield of a different sort. Rachel and I (not her real name, but I can’t just call her “that one girl”) were on each other’s list from the moment we practice-loaded the truck, and it just went downhill from there. At points on the tour there was near-mutiny, back-stabbing, you name it. I think the high-point was me running the truck with all the scenery in it into the turnaround of a Kingdom Hall on the way to a performance, Rachel in the passenger seat. Can you say adrenal-fatigue?

Honestly I don’t know how I made it through. All the major decisions were mine and they kept everyone miserable for about 4 months straight. Rachel made sure everyone knew what a terrible job I was doing every step of the way. She made constant phone calls to my superiors tattling on me for everything she felt should be done a different way. (Not that they concurred. Unfortunately I think she tattled herself out of a career with that company.)I couldn’t win. I was close to exhaustive collapse, my boss and backup was on maternity leave, and it seemed the tour would never end.

The tour did end, however. My boss had her twins on the final day of the tour, which I took much pleasure in announcing at our closing dinner. At least I got to share one small taste of joy with people I really wanted to love and whom I wanted to like me.
Her twins died a week and a half later, and I was utterly convinced, though we've never spoken since, that Rachel blamed me for that, too.

Years have passed, and everyone in that artistic community knows all about that tour as a nightmare of Wagnerian proportions.

However, as I went through my yoga practice yesterday for the first time in several weeks, I sat in my pose of “supported bridge” for just a minute or two before I realized that I HAVE TO ASK RACHEL’S FORGIVENESS TODAY.

As much grief as she caused me, and as horrid as she could be, I know I caused her grief in equal measure, intentionally or not. I have never wished her ill, either now or then, and knowing that I had caused her any frustration or rage or anxiety is something my system just could not tolerate anymore.

After I had completed my practice I went down to the computer and found her on Facebook (good ol’ Facebook) and wrote her a letter, asking for her to forgive me for any grief I could possibly have caused her. I named a couple of instances. I told her that I now understand that we are 100% responsible for our own experiences, and that I had humbly forgiven her for anything I had held against her at the time. I told her I know she hated me, but that I held no negative emotion for her, only an apology. I told her that I know that everyone is always doing their best with the tools they have available at the time, and while I know I was doing my best then, I know I had done wrong by her and that I am heartily sorry for it. I may have sounded condescending, but I meant it with every fiber of my being.

I sobbed for quite a while after I had sent it. I don’t think I’d understood how much I needed this forgiveness – needed to ask anyway.

As the day wore on, more and more horrors of the tour surfaced for me. All the decisions I had made or been asked to make: My utter incapacity to please everyone at all times, the looks of disappointment and disgust when I insisted on maintaining our schedule, despite the discomfort it caused all around. The impossibilities I had been asked to resolve and the shame I felt for not being able to find satisfactory resolution.

One by one the judgments flashed before me. I could see the disaster left in my wake. I could see how ill-suited I was to manage the situation and what I fraud I was to claim that I could. I watched myself make excuses for my poor choices, my months-long illness I endured at that time, which rendered me fearful and unable to eat out while on the road. The 3-4 hours of sleep every night. The hotel reservation cancelled because my employer forgot to pay the credit card bill. I was still shouldering it all.

Through it all I could see all the poor choices I had made out of fear, or hadn’t been able to make at all, based on the same. I even felt responsible for killing the twins, as it was the one good news I believed I had shared with my touring companions, which then ended in tragedy after all.

At that point it was obvious that I didn’t really need Rachel’s forgiveness, but my own. It seemed to me that if only I could have her forgiveness then I would somehow be absolved. But really, there’s no free pass there.

Forgiving oneself is often way, way harder than asking someone else to do it.

In fact, we are all perfect in God’s eyes. We are carbon-bound versions of our Creator who do stuff and learn stuff. So acknowledging that we are the ones we need forgiveness from can only bring into focus the fact that we, not God, are the ones who judge. I am the only one who can let me down. I am the only one who can create unhealthy expectations of myself and then accuse and punish myself when I don’t meet these self-imposed criteria. God doesn’t actually have any criteria, just love and assistance. He doesn’t even judge us for judging.

I think, at this point, we may just be afraid of our own power. If we really loved ourselves, and if we really loved one-another, we’d know we are utterly Divine. We are powerful in our perfection, and that’s a whole lot of responsibility.

Right now I’m feeling fairly proud of myself for finally disembarking on this leg of my journey of self-acceptance. I’m still working on experiencing all the self-hatred I’ve been so afraid of for the past few years in order to let it go. To experience deep gratitude for the lesson, bless it, and let it go. Like anything, it goes in layers, but I feel a little bit lighter, a little bit freer, and a little more peace is creeping in.

Rachel just held up a mirror to my own self-loathing, and wouldn’t let me look away, and that isn’t an easy thing to do. My God, what an angel she is for that. What a gift.

She hasn’t written back, and I don’t expect she will. I don’t need her to anymore. I know she and I chose to learn these lessons from each-other, and I’m so very grateful for that. I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.

Note to Self

You are enough.

You are utterly magnificent.

You are the microcosm of the cosmos. Each of your cells is a microcosm of that same, boundless cosmos.

You are loved beyond measure. You are loved more than you can possibly comprehend. You are as perfect as the moment of your creation, which was the moment of the Big Bang itself. The first expression. You are still that perfect. Because you can't qualify perfect. You either are or you aren't. And you most certainly are.

Even with all the nasty thoughts and deeds. Even with the fears and obsessions and worries and no-goodness you harbor, with all the grief and pain and unresolved scenarios and the losses and cruelties you have instigated and endured, you are still absolutely, unequivocally perfect. Per. Fect.

So you try and you goof and you get hurt. So it doesn't work out the way you planned it. So your expectations weren't met. It's all part of the experiment. Let it go. It doesn't matter. You've always done the absoulte best you could with all the tools available to you. And it has been enough. You are enough.

You are worthy of love. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to love yourself, because at the bottom of it all, you're all there is to love. You're all there is. You're a Divine Being. Sure you're human. Same diff.

And it seems hard sometimes. It seems like there's a lot of work to do to get loved, to deserve, to be worthy, but that's what the human part is. It's an experiment in seeming. It's a movie. The imperfection is the illusion. You're the real deal. You're beyond worthy, baby.

You are a light in the darkness, a path in the wilderness, a guidepost for the lost. You sometimes feel lost yourself, but you're really your own North Star, and a beacon for the ship lost at sea. The lighthouse in the fog. You are strength for the masses, you are a glimmer of hope, you are part of the solution and a gift to everyone you encounter. Your effort is blinding, your compassion enfolds mountains.

You are enough.

You bring peace, love, joy, inspiration. You have brought it a thousand times over and will bring it all again. You embody the Truth. The light pours out of you as it pours into you. You are a source of blessing, a font of wisdom. You can't step out of the light for it has found you. You are IT.

You are enough.

Amen

Making it Up

Have you ever pretended you were making the whole world up? Maybe as a thought experiment as a kid? You were in command, making stoplights change, making birds fly, designing cloud patterns and spider webs like some fantastical and omnipotent Wizard. Have you ever pretended that you intended for everything in your world to happen?

And maybe, as your mom came in and told you to pick up your room before dinner, you remembered that she was a robot you programmed to say just that, and it made you giggle. It probably didn’t make her too happy, but was the idea that she could possibly get down on your case suddenly become ridiculous? Or do you remember?

I recommend, nay I dare you, to try the experiment again now, as an adult (if that's what you are).

Start by imagining that none of this is real. Everything in the world is a totally blank slate for you to create from. You can choose when people sneeze, when they cross the street. You control the weather and the traffic. You direct the behavior of your children and pets. You planned in advance what mail would be waiting for you in your mailbox.

How does it make you feel?

I recommend trying this experiment periodically. Or whenever the mood strikes you. I’ve got no idea how it’ll make you feel. I know it can sometimes feel a little bit scary, but for me it usually makes me giggle.

Here’s the secret: It’s supposed to be fun!

Why is this a secret? Well, because it’s dangerous, I expect. Can’t have everyone running around giggling all the time when there’s tragedy everywhere we turn. Where crisis and calamity and fear create true Reality, right?

I mean, undoubtedly you will observe something that doesn’t feel very comfortable. You might not feel good about making up the homeless guy on the street or the drivers swearing at traffic or the teenaged girl fighting with her boyfriend in the coffee shop. At this point I invite you to remind yourself again this is not real. I am making this up. See what that stirs. I know, it may seem callous, but just try the What If scenario, and just stick with it. Just watch it, be the observer. Who knows? You might just learn something about yourself in the process.

Ultimately, the question I would ask you is this: are laughter and joy expressions we are only allowed to experience when the sorrows of the world are resolved?

Au contraire! I posit that this irreverent and ruthless return to fits of giggles is actually a perfectly healthy and rational launching point for the end of the suffering of the world.

And I posit that truly, none of this IS real, but maybe I’ll get into that later. Maybe.

Lighten Up

Somewhere I read that these are supposed to be short and pithy. Well, I'm short and pithy, so I feel like my work is already done for me.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, the most repeated advice I get from my guidance council is "stop taking yourself so seriously," so I've decided to take them seriously and make it my life's work. This week. I make a lot of these decisions.

I know I've brought this up before, and I'm going to keep doing it. Levity lets in the light.

Once upon a time my brother was about 18 or 19 and really going through it. It was just him and my mom living in the house. He would get all bent out of shape about something and get all up in my mom's face about It like whatever It was was her fault. I was visiting, and she was just exasperated and venting about how she had no idea how to talk to him. Nothing she said would fix anything, and his diatribes were really kind of absurd.

So I said "throw stuff at him."

I was met with a slightly horrified and very baffled stare.

I rolled my eyes. "No! Not like rocks or cutlery or anything. Like socks or kleenex!"

The stare morphed into a doubtful frown.

About 2 days after I had returned home, she called me and said she had done it. He had gotten all bunched up about something and was giving her hell about it. "So I threw a napkin at him." He apparently looked at her funny and cranky and threw it back at her, which then devolved into a mother-son napkin fight in the kitchen, all genuine hostility neutralized. This hucking of lightweight objects became a code for her to tell him to get over himself and lighten up.

I'm not saying that this solved all our family problems from then on out, but it brought peace and light to a moment that would otherwise have weighed down both parties, allowing for a different vantage point. It opened up a possibility.

I don't know why I thought throwing something would be a solution, except that it was absolutely obvious to me that the situation was ridiculous and needed to look at itself in the mirror.

Because it's funny!

You know, ladies and gents, all there is in the entire cosmos is Source. Is Love. We're each unique expressions of this ever-expanding light. That's all we are. And we always will be. We are each perfect and perfectly loved in every moment. So it's okay to laugh when things seem utterly hopeless. To laugh in the face of grief and destruction and fear. These are all just thoughts that we don't have to cling to. They're just bubbles that we can pop with an argyle knee-high flung at just the right angle.

Yes, there is suffering, but that's a choice, too. I know a lot of arguing can be done around that assertion, but suffering only happens when we hang on to the balloon string and get tangled in the power lines.

Let go and let the light in!

My Flower Pot

I have a flower pot.

It's a big pot, but I think it's too big, at first. I only have one tiny seed. I pile in a mound of dirt at the bottom, but not too much. I only have one tiny seed. I plug up the hole in the bottom so the seed won't wash away.

I water the seed, drop by drop, aiming each drop right at the seed because it must get right to this one seed. Soon there is mud at the bottom.

I huddle over my seed, over the top of my giant flower pot, day and night. Willing it to grow. intending it to grow. I'm doing everything right, giving it everything it needs.

Finally, miraculously, it sprouts, but once sprouted it ceases to grow. It begins to turn yellow. Still I water it, but the water gets higher in the pot as the drain is still plugged, and the mud grows a crust of yellow fungus. I huddle closer over my pot. I pray over the sprout "please, God, make this sprout grow! Make it flourish! Aren't I doing my part? Aren't I an attentive gardener? I water my one, tiny seed every day - many times, but the water has grown mold! I have plugged up the hole so the seed can't wash away! I've stayed close over the seed, watching it, day and night! Why oh why won't it grow? Why does it whither?"

When I hear no reply, I rack my brain for anything else I can possibly do to make it grow. In my desperation I reach down and tug at the tiny, awkward shoot. Grow. This way. Grow!

The tiny shoot pulls out of its mound of brackish water and mud. A few root hairs reach feebly down from its withered stalk. I am defeated.

As I stand from my stooped position over the pot, the pain of my aching back unwinds itself. The sun is shining, warm on my face. The wind delivers blankets of dandelion fluff over the landscape as children release the seeds with puffed cheeks. Make a wish!

I bend over once again, tip over my pot, and remove the stopper from its bottom. A warm summer rain begins to fall as I right the pot, and all the mud and slime are freed from its bottom through the spout. I fill my lungs with fragrant, moist air. The rain continues to gently fall, the children squeal as the drops spatter flushed faces, the flower seeds still gusting and swerving between the droplets. With a gust of wind the trees, too, drop their seeds where birds can find them easily, but not all...

The yard around me has grown high with weeds and vines as I have focused all my attention on my vanquished seed, and determined to find something to show for myself I begin to prune and rake. My pot is so large it makes an excellent container for all the debris. The rain stops and dandelion fluff dances by once again. Content that I have at least done the chores I have begrudged since my seedling project was begun, I sigh and return inside, somewhat less disappointed than when I destroyed my seed.

As I mount the steps toward home I see my sprout resting finally on the sidewalk, then wash into a gutter, and on to an unknown destination.

For weeks I forget about my pot. I continue to enjoy my well-tended garden. New containers for clippings have been filled and emptied. Occasionally I grow wistful about my seedling, but recognizing my folly, I shake my head and smile.

One morning I am in the garden and notice my pot. The forgotten clippings and leaves left alone have mulched into a rich loam. The pot itself has been shattered by the roots of a magnificent tree growing from its former center - an oak, an ash, a yew, an elm, a forrest unto itself. A fruit-bearing tree, to be sure, as it is in full blossom. A tree which has never been seen on this earth in all her days. Its delicate branches sweep the earth and the bright dandelions she wears as a skirt, and she scoops me up and lifts me toward the sky, toward the light let in.

Help Yourself

Reading through the past couple of blog posts I've become discouraged by the direction this seems to be taking. So far the apparent agenda has been of a spiritual self-helping nature. The very stuff I can't stand to read myself. There is so much of this out there that I don't know how to even escape it. I've also started to notice myself strongly disagreeing with much of it - even stuff I used to believe wholeheartedly. I find I really want to withdraw and ignore the stuff of the 365-day inspirational calendar.

I also find myself steering away from books/newsletters/teachers/peers that preach about how to "fix" yourself. Fix your thoughts, your behaviors, your relationships, your feelings. Ideologies that teach how to be. This bothers me, and sometimes I find myself slipping into this trap with my own writing. "Here's the right way to think. See, it's great!"

I find when I write this stuff, addressed to some external group, that I'm doing my best to create a tribe of people who think like me. Who have read what I've read, believe what I believe, so that my human side can feel safe and cozy inside a group of like-minded others. If they've read my stuff, if it resonates, they're offering their support of me, I can mold a tribe who won't expose me to the elements and leave me to starve. The more I can build these walls of comforting agreement around myself, this security blanket, the safer I'll be, and what? I'll never die?

I've noticed quite a lot lately that I'm not actually all that accepting of differing world-views. I've recently become part of an intentional community that comes from all walks, all neighborhoods, all generations, and I find myself eager to share my way of thinking with them for the same reasons. I find myself with an urge to fix everyone's point-of-view, rather than hold space for it. I want to steamroll over this discomfort with helpful platitudes. Platitudes that, among a certain faction, are commonplace. The stuff of email signatures and bumper stickers throughout free-thinking metropolitan areas. Or I want to get people alone so I can impart all this wisdom and, dare I say it? Control them into thinking like me.

Seriously. This is all the dark, gooey stuff that lurks underneath my most sage advice.

Now, do I think I'm alone in this? I doubt it. I can't speak for anyone but myself, but I do know that it's human nature to want safety and comfort. That's kind of a survival thing, at least probably. I don't feel like looking at that one too closely right now.

I do know that when I gather, one-on-one with peers, especially those in the healing/psychic professions, that any stagnation, any soul-searching, inward, dark moment is met with a helpful fix. An analysis of what's really going on with me or my situation. In the past few months especially I've met with friends and noticed that if I mention I'm in a searching phase or I'm depressed or am experiencing something that's in some way uncomfortable, the instant impetus is to offer advice, readings, "fixes" for what appears to be wrong with me. However, space-holding is exactly what I'm looking for. No resolutions. I'm alright with the journey.

It's extremely difficult to hold that kind of space. It's uncomfortable. I know this discomfort. And what I find when someone is sharing this kind of squirmy information I want to offer advice and solution, rather than simply honoring that person's path and trusting that they are perfect in God's eyes, just like me. Even if they don't like me tomorrow.

I don't like the discomfort. Not one bit.

But when I am in a dark night of the soul and I'm really okay with the lights off for a while, what I seek and search for in these conversations is not so much help with feeling better, but simply holding space for the darkness. By commiserating, by sharing similar fears and concerns, with connecting with the other person in a way that says "Hey! I get where you're at because I've been there, in fact, I'm there right now!" For example. Or maybe they haven't been to the dark place, but we certainly share the uncertainty, doubt, fear or sorrow. That's what empathy is. It's where compassion finds its roots.

By meeting me where I'm at in that moment, I'm acknowledged as a part of that clan. I'm assured of my share of the food and warmth. By trying to fix someone else, it's easy for me to give the impression that the person opposite me is somehow inadequate. A sure way to close the connection between us.

So I want to be really careful about what goes up here. I don't want to preach. I've recently stepped down from the pulpit, so-to-speak, by giving up some public circles I've hosted, and now I'm exploring this new territory of what it means to not be a teacher. Not to want to fix. I want to learn to accept and connect now, and to become aware of the fears that drive me to put up words-of-wisdom like wallpaper on a window, blocking out the light. Because that's not really wisdom, is it?

I don't really know what this here blog is, actually. Sometimes I just want to vent. Sometimes I want to share an "aha" moment. Sometimes I'm working things out on virtual paper. It's just a step toward the public eye, mostly, and for the four or five of you who actually read it, maybe it's a launching-point for a different dialogue, or an argument, or an "aha" place of your own. But I like the haphazardness of it, when it gets that way.

It's not meant to be a place of self-help, though. Good Lord! Please slap me if it starts to sound like that.

I really believe that we're absolutely perfect just the way we are. There is no darkness. There is no duality, just things as they are. No good or bad, just the experience of it. And part of my experience is learning to let go of the concepts that breed that duality of thought and just let the light in.

Easier blogged than done, I suppose. But one has to start somewhere...

Taking a Break

Knock-knock
Who's there?
It's your Creator.
What do you want?
I want to answer all your prayers and pretty much make your life smoother and awesomer than you could possibly imagine.
Not now, I'm meditating...



In a recent discussion about spiritual pursuits, I was asked the question "when do we get to take a break from all of this?" Seriously.


This culture in particular is hell-bent on getting things done, crossing them off the list, producing endlessly, consuming without satiety. One would surmise that to counterpoint this flurry of desperate activity we would naturally balance ourselves with time to integrate and reflect on all of this business.

But when is there time?

Right.

The breaks we allow ourselves are often filled with either stimulants like coffee and cigarettes, or mind-numbing exercises such as On Demand television, or snacking without hunger. I remember as a young thespian, we committed to our smoking habits as the only real way to actually stop working during our union 5-minute breaks. Otherwise we could make one more update to the prop list, or reset the stage for the next run of the scene.

There’s always something else to do, of course. I’ve always got one more thing that isn’t done, that I could be doing. And if I could be doing something more productive, then isn’t it wrong not to do that thing? Isn’t it lazy, foolish, and downright willful not to keep on when the keeping’s good, to mix some perfectly good metaphors?

And yet, I think something somewhere mentioned God resting on day 6, and clearly He wasn't actually done, was he? Still had all that behind-the-scenes business of actually running this crazy skit. Still, God kicked off his cosmic sandals and floated down the Euphrates on a crocodile's back, goblet of ambrosia in hand, and just wallowed in self-satisfaction for a whole cosmic day.

So when is it okay for US to rest? The house isn’t clean, we haven’t labeled all of our vacation photos, we aren’t out of debt yet, and we’re certainly not enlightened. Why should we get to stop? Who do we think we are to stop before perfection? I mean, we've got nothing as good as a whole, thriving planet to show for ourselves. Compared to that we got a handful of sticks and some potato chip dust, right?

Try this experiment, if you like. Watch your brain as you go through your daily to-do list. The mind will promise “happiness” as a result of any activity, like your mom telling you to finish your peas so you can have ice cream. An even exchange. Do your homework and you can go to the mall. But the mind likes absolutes like: "Work harder and you’ll get out of debt so you won’t ever have to experience guilt again." "Meditate harder to attain spiritual perfection and then you can have peace and contentment."

Only thing is, it has no ability to deliver on its promises.

In fact, it will go to great lengths to contradict itself, just to keep you tied up in knots. “You know, if you stop now, you’ll never get it done, and if you don’t get it done someone will know you’re a fraud, and they’ll probably ostracize you from the tribe, and then you’ll starve to death in the wilderness. Is that what you want?” Sound like an exaggeration? Track it back to the very origin of the stress. It's absolutely there.

So you keep pounding on, but you’ve read part of this post, so it’s wise to you. “So you’re not gonna take a break, huh? So you can’t take time for yourself, huh? Well that’s about what I’d expect. You don’t really give a crap about yourself anyway. All tied up in fear, eh? And you call yourself spiritual, huh? Right! You can’t even follow the most basic of rules…” And so on, ad infinitum. You can’t win. Letting the mind steer pretty much anchors us to the belief that we suck. No matter what.

As Perfect Children of God, how does that work, then? It doesn’t, actually. Taking a break can help us climb above the chatter of the mind and take a look at Mt. Hood, or notice that the cat would really like some attention. It gets us in touch with our authentic selves, where we see what really feeds us. What things are written on the back of the list that we didn’t feel confident enough to write as an actual to-do item. Things like Take a Walk. Pick some flowers to arrange on the dining room table. Call a roommate from college. Take up unicycling. See, when we take the time to notice what our hearts are really calling for we return to our true Selves, and suddenly everything that really needs to get done takes very little effort, really. At least compared to all the freaking out about doing it.

The mind has us convinced that constant effort is what the Universe respects the most. And sometimes end does justify less-than-exciting means, but sometimes the means itself is simply taking the time to put the mind on hold. When the mind goes on lunch we get to reset, reboot, clear out the cache. We can kick back and just enjoy the moment. We get to set aside the bag of shredding and enjoy a few deep breaths (away from the paper dust, of course). We can set down the pruning shears and smell the rose. We can even sneak a look at the mind behind its back and notice that maybe it needs a little compassion. Notice all the fear and desperation it’s carrying around. All the thoughts and limiting beliefs that it consists of, and how nervous it is worrying about you not doing anything, thinking it’s literally going to die if you stop listening to it. Poor thing.

When we notice these qualities about the mind, and we can get enough distance to recognize that we’re not dying from taking a break, which is literally what the mind has us convinced of, if you track it back to its root. When we see that nothing bad is happening whatsoever, we might want to call the mind back over to the couch, offer it a cup of chamomile, and tell it that it’s gonna be okay. Tell it that it’s not going to run the show any more, but that it’s appreciated just the way it is, for all it teaches us. Promise to hear and acknowledge its opinions, but to always check its assertions against our inner truth. With our feet up on the coffee table, we can suggest a partnership of sorts. A partnership wherein the mind will react to things and show us our triggers and challenges, and the Self will say “hey! That’s neat! You’ve made an even bigger to-do list than before! I’m still gonna stare out the window for a few more minutes…”

This is called staying-in-balance. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.

Of course, this is all terribly sage advice, but what happens when we’re just done? When we couldn't care less about being in balance. We don’t want to watch the mind any more. We don’t want to follow any rules about observing the mind or showing compassion or taking breaks. We just want to work too hard and feel terrible about it, and heaven forefend, make snap judgments and wax surly and unpleasant?

Well, take a break from that, too, for Pete’s sake! Let the “spiritual” effort cease.
If it isn’t natural and authentic it isn’t going to work anyway, so give it up!

I enjoy stepping away from my spiritual protocol every so often and just reveling in the mire that is the state of being human. Sometimes I just want to let go. To swear at traffic. To take offense. To even do a little blaming. This, believe it or not, can be a form of a break. If labor law (in this country) requires two fifteen-minute breaks and an hour for lunch, then I think Spiritual law ought to require the same.

Often what I discover from this sort of break is how miserable I become when I let the mind run the show. It feels good, momentarily, to be reactive, but after a day or two, I find myself totally wound up in my own tangle of false beliefs and fears, that it's a relief to come home to my heart and take the reins from the mind once again. Like going on vacation, it might be great to stay out late and consume things you would never give yourself permission to eat and drink during your day-to-day life, but by the end of the week you're not feeling so hot, and it feels good to get back into the routine again.

And that's cool. And, I mean, at some point the scales tip. At some point along the road it doesn't even feel right to deviate from the path I've laid out for myself. I don't even want the ice cream sundae, even though I've given myself permission to eat it. I don't want to stay up til 2, just because I can. At some point along the road it feels like wasted effort to blame it on my parents, the economy, the grocery store clerk. But in the meantime, the vacation helps us to identify patterns that no longer serve. To sift and sort and come back to ourselves to trim the fat once again. The break helps us to see the forest so we can get back to pruning individual trees.



And as you come back you might notice the little guilt-trip the mind is trying to lay on you. Oh, mind, you dear little thing...

It's all good.


Once I've taken the break I actually want to do the work again. I find I don't like the mind in charge, so I work back into the heart again. When the spiritual effort comes from the place of the mind "shoulding" you, it isn't helping you "get" anywhere, anyway.

See, we're not getting anywhere any faster by skipping our rejuvenation. We can skip sleep for a few hours to get a bit more done, but we certainly can't keep it up for long, before we break down. We need that time to eliminate toxins that do not serve us, and to rebuild the tissues that need rebuilding. The same goes for our daily lives. We need to take waking rest so we can allow that which no longer serves to fall away, and to fill up with the inspiration we need to create the rest of our day.

Just as the body cannot rebuild itself without sleep, it also needs to ingest. Without the building blocks it's made of, so we cannot bring our dreams to fruition without fuel for the fire. We need to go outside, go to a museum, go hear some music, play at the beach, and so on in order to be fed. We must play in order to work. It's a cycle that is required for our well-being. If we don't do these things we burn out, we dry up and are no longer serving our divine purpose here on planet Earth. We become shadows, rustling around in fear that we'll be caught-out without everything done.

I assure you, it will NEVER be done.

Our lives are a process, a fractal. If we follow our hearts we will always be veering off the road we thought would take us to the finish line. Well guess what, sweethearts. There is no finish line. In the words of Mr. Baggins, "the Road goes ever on and on..." So we may as well enjoy a look-see as often as possible. Daily is good, but whenever you think about it is a place to begin.

In case you’ve lost the thread, my point is, there is absolutely nothing in this world that has to Get Done, effort is just effort, and Grace can only come in when we stop and let it flow.

And Grace, my friends, is All There Is.

Let it in!

A Healing Artist Explains

I chose the title "Healing Artist" for myself primarily because it makes me giggle. Every time.

In my initial defense, I offer that I am an English Lit major, a grammar snob, and something of a punster.

I am the daughter of a Master of Bad Jokes with a flair for poor taste. After I went away to college, homecomings would inevitably involve dinner around the table with all present-and-accounted-for. My Dad would pull out the stops, attempting to wittily gross-out the remainder of the family or incapacitate them through laughter-induced hyperventilation.

I was immune.

My father had unwittingly thrown down the gauntlet. He quickly learned, much to his chagrin, that I could best him in inappropriate commentary so thoroughly he would leave the table in defeat, my mother gripping her sides and whistling like a teakettle, tears running down her cheeks. Linguistically speaking, I'm trouble with a capital Trubb.

See, I find that in a language rich with nonsensical idiom, the literal is often fodder for comedy, (which enervates my recovering scientist husband no end). I mean, if my business is named Namaha Healing Arts (which can be abbreviated Namaha-HA, which also makes me giggle) then it would literally follow that I am a Healing Artist.

Does this make an acupuncturist a pointillist?

But I digress...

Once my new handle had been committed to writing though, once it was all official-looking, I realized that there was something far deeper within the epithet. I giggled again, but noticed that, if I traced this now nervous laughter, that there was something in me that feared the audacity of it. That I would dare to call myself an Artist. Confident, mysterious...dangerous. What was that all about? Why can't I be an artist? Why can't creative expression be part of my sacred service? Something inside still feels like I don't deserve the title. So we delve a little deeper.

The question I have often struggled with as an energy worker - especially with channeled energies like Reiki and Deeksha - is what makes me any different from any healer out there? If all the energies I work with are essentially Divine Intelligence, and I'm simply praying for Spirit to come in and do it's divine thing while step out of the way, then what makes me different from anyone else who does it?

Time and feedback has told me that something does. And I've learned to be okay with that. I was taught from the get-go the basic Law of Attraction, like attracts like, and all of that. You will always get the clients that vibrate to your frequency, for example. I've believed it and acted upon it, seen it in action with my practice and my students, but my human brain keeps coming back to this need to pinpoint just what the thing is that's different. And marketing folk will tell you you'd better figure that out or you're doomed.

We usually think of an artist as someone who paints or sings or dances or produces something created by the imagination, through inspiration of one kind or another. The word inspire literally means to take in spirit. Spirit goes in, art comes out, and imagination is the template for the result. Inasmuch as my job as a healer is simply to hold space for Spirit to come in and do its thing, the space I create is entirely a product of my own craft. The vessel is of my own imagining. I breathe, I imagine, I create. The container is my own Play Dough pottery, my crocheted pot-holder. The work done while I glue macaroni to construction paper is between the divine and the divine recipient (i.e. the client, student, space, etc.). The initials on the bottom of the portrait are never my own.

I believe our work here on the planet, the true call from our center, is to manifest a Divine intent by interacting and experiencing our world. As co-creators with God, we are all Divine Artists, and why should I be afraid to announce it, to claim it as my birthright in service?

That's rhetorical, thank you.

So now I'm wearing "Darcy Molloy, Healing Artist" like a merit badge in order to get used to the feel of it, to get used to saying it. And I'll probably keep giggling, at least for a while. At least until I merge with the truth behind the moniker. There's some exploring to do there, I imagine, but I know that there is some real depth to it as well as levity, and I'm just going to roll it around on the tongue for awhile to see what the palate does with it.

Tee-hee.

I am a Healing Artist.

Blog the First

Greetings, all.

So I've decided to get with the times and start a blog. I know not all of us have time to sit and read blogs all day, so I'm writing mine as more of an exercise for myself, a holding tank for all little nuggets of inspiration that cross my mind in hopes that they will not be lost, but shared. Or at least written down somewhere I can find them again if I need them.

Not that it's all wisdom, necessarily. What fun would that be?

I will try to post fairly regularly. Read at your leisure.

And if you actually discover yourself with some leisure, I'll be extremely honored if you do read it, leisure being what it is and hard to come by. Most likely you will read it as a well-deserved moment of frivolity between clients or phone calls or Facebook posts during your busy work-week.

In either case, I will try to be somewhat inspired, somewhat frivolous. Everybody wins!

Welcome to my world, friends. Thanks for stopping by.

Peace,
darcy