Adventures of a Modern Jedi

Neutrality - the Unsung Superpower

2014-04-17T14:14:00.001+01:00

It is human nature to get angry. We find ourselves filling with frustration and before we know it the sparks are flying. A little irritation can easily become a conflagration, but we have more power than we think to keep the fire from starting. How? By cultivating neutrality.

Neutrality, as I'm describing it, is the decision to take a mental step to one side and just observe what's happening. It's akin to taking the car out of gear and putting it into neutral while taking a split second to decide what action to take.

I remember well the first time I was able to do this consciously. I was scrutinising the contents of the refrigerator when my son, who was about two-years-old at the time, toddled up to me in tears of frustration. My normal response in this situation was to get as frustrated (and then angry) as he was because I felt unable to decipher what he needed or wanted. It was an all-too typical scenario: frustrated/tired/angry child mirrored by a frustrated/tired/angry mom.

But this time, for no particular reason, something was different. I looked down at my boy and knew that I could either be irritated by his neediness or compassionate. I knelt down on the floor so that we were eye to eye and opened my arms to him. He fell in, sobbing. I was soon in tears myself as I realised how easily I could have gotten angry with him for “interrupting” my task of figuring out what to have for dinner. We had a cuddle until we both felt better and then he went off to play while I prepared to cook.

Experiencing the power of staying neutral was thrilling – like discovering a super power I didn't know I had. It was a seismic shift from my normal reactiveness, and from that day forward I began to connect more and more regularly with this “neutral space." I often feel as if I'm “standing beside myself” observing the action and waiting to see what will happen. I can't always do it, particularly if I'm in a foul mood myself, but, like exercising a muscle, the ability gets stronger with repetition.

My son is now 11, and when he is angry or frustrated and directing it at me (especially while doing his homework!) I am usually able to hold my centre and let him feel what he's feeling until it passes. No fighting; no retaliation. Even if it means taking a few insults on the chin, he always apologises once he comes back to his senses, and our bond is stronger than ever.

The next time you feel the heat rising in you, try taking a moment to let it wash over you while holding your centre. It may help to imagine you are like sea kelp anchored to the ocean floor: emotions are waves; the waves gently sway you but do not have the strength to uproot you. If you can do it even once, the vicious cycle of anger/reaction can be broken. It may not beat flying, but it's a pretty cool superpower to cultivate.

Patience: An Inconvenient Virtue

2013-01-29T17:54:00.000+00:00

January is brutal. The only reminders of the jollity of Christmas are half a stale fruit cake and the orange cream chocolates that no one likes. The hours of daylight (never mind actual sun) are without the benefit of fairy lights to brighten things up. Our bank accounts are running on fumes. Our tolerance for family has worn paper thin. And the new season of Homeland doesn’t start until September! It’s no wonder so many people get depressed this time of year. Even I, with my normally buoyant disposition, start feeling a bit blue and bored.

And so it was that I found myself robotically skimming a newspaper the other day when a story about international food policy grabbed my attention. (Not normally a scintillating topic, but hey, this is January.) I actually read the entire piece. What I took away from it was not the call for greater animal welfare or a move toward more sustainable farming. No. What I took away was a reminder to be patient. Particularly this time of year.

Did you realize that an association between tobacco and cancer was discovered 200 years ago, yet the US Surgeon General only identified smoking as a public health issue in 1964? And that the suffrage movement was active for 75 years before women got the right to vote in America?

The trouble is we’ve got a collective case of ADD. We don’t want to be patient. In fact we’d like to see patience struck off the list of virtues! We want instant access and overnight success. We want movies on demand (my son nearly had a heart attack when we boarded a trans-Atlantic flight after Christmas and discovered there was NO in-seat entertainment), lightning-quick broadband in our homes, and short lines at the grocery store. We want instant messaging (does anyone actually use voice mail any more?) and 24-hour shopping. We want our politicians to get things done NOW regardless of who or what they must ride roughshod over, and for goodness sake can we please have a fast forward button for January and February?!

Nope. We can not. And thank God. For the gift of these dreary winter months is that they remind us that a period of quiet and dark and contraction is akin to drawing back the bow before you shoot an arrow - it is essential if you want the arrow to fly. (As Joan Chittister said, "Darkness deserves gratitude. It is the alleluia point at which we learn to understand that all growth does not take place in the sunlight.") No matter how strong the will or how much we stamp our feet we can’t speed the pace of the earth 'round the sun any more than we can look at a flower and shout, “Bloom!” So why not just go with it? By allowing ourselves to slow down, re-group and yes, get bored, we pave the way for greater vitality, more creativity and renewed focus and energy for the things we decide are really, really important. Like international food policy, for example.

January is nearly over, but we must face at least four more dreary weeks before we sense a shift in the seasons. Wallow in it. Daydream. Eat comfort food. Or fast. Take more baths and less showers. Learn to knit or play the guitar. Enjoy wrapping up in your winter coat, because you know what? Spring will arrive. It always does. Be patient.

The Devil Didn't Make Me Do It

2012-10-19T15:15:00.000+01:00

The other day my son begged me to have the banisters in our house made taller because he’s afraid he's going to hurl himself into the void one day. I chuckled at his request, and at the memory of some of my own “dark side” thoughts, for I too have entertained elaborate and violent fantasies over the years, including the urge to turn into oncoming traffic, ski off a cliff and, yes, jump from a great height.

Weird? Moi? Actually, no. A quick survey of friends (and Google) confirmed that this is completely normal. (Which is what I assured my son.) But what surprised me it is that it is also still “normal” to blame the biggest baddie of them all – Satan – for anything dark and shady that creeps into one's mind. Yes, the belief that “the Devil made me do it” is still very much alive and well. And it isn’t just the religious or superstitious that condemn the shadowy thoughts we humans are prone to; there are many well meaning “positive thinkers” out there who would also like to get rid of all negativity, thoughts included.

Why, when nature so clearly models a perfect balance of light/dark, growth/decline, activity/rest, are we humans still trying to step outside the natural order of things? Getting rid of or suppressing half of our natural thoughts and emotions is as silly as trying to keep clouds out of the sky…and just as impossible. A wise person recognizes that perfection, therefore, is the inclusion of EVERYTHING, not the omission of the parts we deem “negative.”

Let me use another example from nature. Additive Color Theory tells us that black is the absence of color - for where there is no light, everything in black. White, on the other hand, is pure light – a combination of all colors of the spectrum. You can’t see the colors in pure sunlight until that light is refracted either through water droplets or a prism, making a rainbow. Now imagine your soul as pure light being refracted through the prism of being human, and it starts to make sense. Our many moods, emotions and thoughts, good and bad, are part of the intense and beautiful human rainbow.

Back to the fear of throwing oneself off of high places. It turns out this urge, or High Place Phenomenon (or HPP) to be exact, is neither the devil nor, as Freud believed, an unconscious death wish. The current thinking is that, “Individuals who report experiencing the phenomenon are not necessarily suicidal (or weird or crazy); rather, the experience of HPP may reflect their sensitivity to internal cues and actually affirm their will to live.” (Journal of Affective Disorders, Nov 2011, Jennifer L. Hames, Jessica D. Ribeiro, April R. Smith, Thomas E. Joiner)

What an intriguing bit of reverse psychology. And if it’s true in this instance, I wonder what other “negative” impulses are misunderstood? Rather than fearing or condemning your dark side, try observing it, dispassionately, knowing that it can't be controlled anymore than the clouds can. “Give evil nothing to oppose,” says the Tao Te Ching, “and it will disappear by itself.” In my experience, the same is true of dark thoughts.

Rainbows? Or black and white? I know what I prefer.

My Gypsy Shadow

2012-09-26T14:12:00.000+01:00

The gypsy woman is there every Saturday at the gates to the farmer’s market, one hand on her belly, the other holding her magazines. “Big Issue?” she asks, as I walk briskly past. “No thanks.” I mumble, hurrying from her – uncomfortable. Week after week, her pregnancy is growing. (It must be great for business, I tell myself.) Most people smile politely even if they do not buy her magazine. But not me - I feel mean in her presence.

My feelings confuse me. I am not a ‘hard’ person; I usually feel compassion for someone begging for a living, and often buy copies of the Big Issue from more dubious sellers than her. And on principle, I always give money to buskers. (If they are bold enough to perform in public, then I reckon I owe them a pound.)

The gypsy woman’s boldness is something altogether different. She is young, with colourful shirts and rough shawl, sad, pleading black eyes and wild hair – a caricature of what a gypsy should look like. (Such an actress, I think.) But I am buying neither the magazine nor the “helpless me” act. This girl is clever. How dare she capitalise on the moral sophistication of the good people of SW London doing their part for local, sustainable agriculture! This blend of middle class families, urban hippies and conscientious foodies can hardly justify paying £2 for an organic almond croissant but not have some spare change for a magazine, can they?

What is wrong with me? Why do I hate this woman?

The irony is, as a counsellor by profession and a “wisdom seeker” by nature, my “thing” is the pursuit of understanding of the human shadow. I adhere to the philosophy that any strong reaction to another person – good or bad – it is merely a cast-off, unloved or denied part of me being reflected in the mirror of “other” and demanding some attention. The magic of this type of self-reflection (pardon the pun) is that it encourages love for the whole self, ‘warts and all.’ But clearly I do not love my inner gypsy…yet.

So what are the qualities in her that I am rejecting in myself?

I decide she is as foreign as the parrots that have taken over Richmond Park and equally as exotic and unnatural - their bright green feathers and deafening squawks make it impossible for them to blend in. And what about me? I am foreign all right - wilfully maintaining my American accent and cultural roots…but exotic and unnatural? Depends on who you ask, I suppose, but I don’t feel a strong response to this idea so it must not be the root of my distaste.

What else? Well she might as well be holding a sign that says, “I am a helpless victim!” But me? Internally I am screaming, “NO WAY…I am NOT a helpless victim!” My emotional reaction means I’m on to something. I keep pulling at this thread and decide that, in this context, a “helpless victim” is someone who feels powerless over the circumstances of their life; someone who feels they have no choices. I acknowledge how much I HATE that mentality when I encounter it. Bingo.

I focus on the “helpless victim” part of me. This is not a pleasant task. I realise that although I am not at the mercy of strangers, I am not in charge of my financial life either - my dependence is altogether more stealth. The truth is, I have nothing of my own that I have earned with my own labour since I first came to London 14 years ago. In fact, I am beholden to my ex-husband for my entire livelihood. I may even sell my home because I can’t imagine finding a way to pay the mortgage on my own. What’s more, I have passively accepted that I am “trapped” in the UK because I cannot take my son away from his father. This is uncomfortable to admit, but yes, part of me is indeed a “helpless victim.”

It’s interesting that this is being brought to my attention now, as lately I have taken steps to become more proactively self-sufficient. So, it seems, has the gypsy woman – she may be wily for posting herself in front of a farmer’s market, but she is also smart to do so. And she’s not doing ‘nothing,’ she’s selling magazines – an appropriate choice for a pregnant foreigner with few job prospects and presumably no wealthy husband like I had. She’s not just a helpless victim after all, but also a resourceful survivor. And so am I.

My hateful feelings begin to ebb as another piece of the intricate self-puzzle slots into place. Next week I will buy a croissant… and perhaps a magazine as well.

A Fruitful Metaphor

2012-09-20T12:58:00.001+01:00

Yesterday, as I lay in savasana at the end of a yoga class, it dawned on me that yoga is an apt metaphor for life. Through yoga practise I explore the outer edges of my strength, flexibility and stamina. I learn to flow rather than fight. I learn that it is counterproductive to be in competition with anyone but myself. I learn that there are appropriate times to be active, to work hard, to use my muscle; and times to surrender, to give in to gravity and to rest. I learn that some days I have more to give than others. And it’s all good.

I am certainly not the first to make this connection, and perhaps that is why yoga is so wildly popular. But it got me thinking further that almost ANYTHING can become a metaphor for the human experience.

This is a fractal world, where patterns repeat endlessly from the microscopic to the galactic. Ever looked at a soap bubble and wondered at its resemblance to our own planet as seen from space? (“As above; so below,” noted Hermes.) We live in a hall of mirrors where everything is a reflection of something else and, ultimately, reflects the seer herself.

Take fruit, for instance.

If you thought there was a chasm separating the life of man from that of an apple, you’d be wrong. First of all, an apple tree needs just the right amount of sun, water and nutrients, hot and cold seasons, cross pollination and judicious pruning to produce the best quality apples – sort of like families. And like people, there are many varieties: big and sweet; small and tart; crisp and soft, red, green, or a combination of colors; organic or “conventional” (a term that always makes me snort…shouldn’t organic be considered “conventional?”) and, of course, some that are beautiful, some that are misshapen, and even some that have worms.

The metaphor continues once an apple has been plucked (or fallen) from the tree. Like leaving home, there are many paths for an apple roll down. Some don’t fall far from the branch and become fertiliser or food for the birds and bugs. Some have more exotic destinations, like a perfect “Pink Lady” inhabiting a fancy gift basket. While some, like the average “Granny Smith,” might get sliced up for a lunch box or made into pie. And, over time, no matter how delicately handled, even the celebrated “Honey Crisp” will start to shrivel, wrinkle and, well, you know.

William Blake urged mankind:

”To see a world in a grain of sand,

and a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.”

I urge you to see your life reflected in that "Golden Delicious" you are about to bite into: A fruitful metaphor indeed.

Happiness is...?

2012-07-08T14:23:00.000+01:00

Having, as I do, a ‘ready, fire, aim’ personality, I unwisely offered to review a book for this blog without reading it first. Natalie Fee’s ‘The Everyday Alchemist’s Happiness Handbook’ is written in short, sharp little chapters (a bit like this blog...oh dear) and is liberally peppered with the irritating English word ‘whilst’ (I recoil at that word) whilst (see!) offering tips and techniques for cultivating more happiness. But a deal’s a deal, and as I read her book and pondered what I’d like to say, I was inspired to deepen my own understanding and experience of this much heralded pinnacle of pursuit: happiness.

The quirk of living in a duality, as we do, is that we can’t have one thing without also inviting its opposite any more than we can separate the poles of a magnet. (Positive and negative are inherently inseparable.) Dr. Demartini, a favourite philosopher and teacher of mine says that, “We attract the opposite of what we seek as a way of breaking our addiction to the thing we seek.” A bit of a tongue twister, that, but in a nutshell he means that making happiness a goal will only invite unhappiness.

Can this be true? And if so, what’s the alternative?

I believe we have an inner duality that matches the outer one. Thus there are two possible ways to experience life. The first is from the “I” or ego perspective. This “lower” part of us thrives on drama and the roller coaster of emotions. It is the part of us where our personality resides, which is a rather fixed and habitual animal containing our basic traits such as optimist or pessimist, light-hearted or serious. (Just try challenging someone’s pessimism and you’ll discover that ‘for them who believe, no proof is necessary; and for them who don’t, no proof is possible.’) The second, and perhaps more elevated way to move through life is from the “I am” perspective. Accessing this “higher” part of ourselves allows us to experience life from a slightly detached, observer position. From here we do not get swept into the dramas of ‘good’ or ‘bad’ or the distortion of our personality, but rather accept everything we encounter and feel as part of a complex whole. This ‘meta-position’ is, in my view, a much worthier goal than mere happiness.

In ‘The Seekers Guide’ Elizabeth Lesser says, “We have such romantic expectations of “happily ever after” that we miss joy when she comes calling. Joy is actually a more complex emotion than sorrow. I hesitate to talk about it for fear that I will betray its complexities and make others feel as though they are missing the party. A joyful soul often lives in a state of what I call enchanted melancholy. This kind of happiness contains within it many shades of feelings: joy and grief, passion and sobriety, love and longing, innocence and wisdom. It holds the paradoxical nature of existence in a warm and wide embrace. More than anything, it is a sense of wonder.” (1999, p 230)

Turns out, by the time I got to the last section of Natalie Fee’s book I discovered that this was what she was getting at all along, (making our differences are more stylistic than anything else.) And although I can’t say her book was exactly my cup of tea, it did open the door to a deeper exploration of happiness and may lead you to do the same.

A sense of wonder is the new happiness. Now that’s a goal worth having.

Let's Get Naked

2012-05-01T17:35:00.000+01:00

Recently I attended a “Naked Voice” retreat in beautiful south Wales. Despite the provocative title, it was a fully clothed event.

The Naked Voice practice, as created by Chloe Goodchild, is not about being a ‘good’ singer. Its purpose is to move you from a grounding of deep, non-judgemental listening, to using the voice – spoken or sung – as the mouthpiece of the authentic self. In Chloe's words:

“The Naked Voice is your original voice, fully-embodied, naturally-expressed, and free of self-consciousness. It is your authentic sound, as unique as your DNA or fingerprint...This program provides the vibrational building blocks to allow your true voice to come forth and be heard, perhaps for the first time since infancy...Uncovering your naked voice is about overcoming fear, awakening compassion, instilling peace of mind, and ultimately accessing who you truly are.”

I can sum up my experience in three words: Terrifying, liberating, transformational. If it this sounds like your cup of tea then definitely check it out for yourself (click here.) But as challenged and changed as I indeed was, what really grabbed me was the concept of “psychological nudity,” for it begs the question, what causes us to “cover up” our authentic selves in the first place?

Well one thing led to another, as it does, until I found myself in the Garden of Eden. We all know the tale of the innocent and quite nude couple named Adam and Eve - the first man and woman that God created. They lived in naked bliss until Eve was tempted by the Devil to break the rules and taste the apple from the Tree of Knowledge (a.k.a. forbidden fruit.) The punishment for doing so was severe: They were kicked out of the garden and made to wear fig leaves.

Of course one can take this story literally (excellent for condemning all women for their connection to the “original sin”), but I think its true power is revealed when considered thus: Adam and Eve were not actual people, but metaphorical representatives of our unfettered, unadulterated nature – the perfect balance of yin (Eve) and yang (Adam). And perhaps being “in paradise” is akin to being like children, uncomplicated by “knowledge,” and who view the world through fresh, innocent eyes.

Just watch a toddler. They express themselves fluidly and without self-consciousness – from joy to rage and everything in between. Singing is not a problem for them, and they will happily run around in the buff because it feels so nice. But then, inevitably, mom and dad tell them they must put their clothes on (and for God’s sake, don’t touch yourself “there!”) because it’s indecent. They must not be too noisy (bad), too quiet (weird), too happy (unrealistic), too sad (indulgent), too angry (embarrassing) or too honest (ungrateful). In other words, they learn to tame their natural impulses and feel SHAME, which, in my estimation, is just another form of fig leaf. And that, my friends, is what getting expelled from paradise is all about.

For many of us, much of our adult life is devoted to getting back to the garden - to reclaim what was lost and reunite our inner Adam and Eve. Thankfully, there are many, many different maps for the journey - the Naked Voice is just one.

Maybe this story is just the encouragement you need to begin stripping off? I dare you. And trust me, you need only feel the sun on your bare skin (or sing your name to a large group of strangers!) to know, instinctively, that being naked is what life is all about.

Miracle Number Three

2012-02-23T15:40:00.000+00:00

It is said that events happen in ‘threes.’ Apparently even miracles adhere to this formula, for I am aware of a trio of them surrounding my mother’s death.

The first miracle I wrote about in the post ‘Everyday Magic.’ (The story’s too long to re-tell so click here to have a look.) Now you know - the “friend” I wrote about who was struggling with cancer was actually my mom. I kept her identity hidden because she wished it that way. She feared the judgment of others and felt embarrassed by her cancer diagnosis. Her secret was a real challenge for me, but with respect to our differences I had to accept that she valued privacy more than she wanted support.

Mom passed away at the end of October (2011), but two weeks before she died the second miracle happened – word got out. Suddenly the very friends whose judgment she feared turned up in droves to be with her. Her room was filled not only with flowers, but with laughter, singing, and love. Yet despite this miraculous turn of events, she refused to discuss the possibility of dying, even up to the bitter end. Thus there was much left unsaid between us. In fact, I might never have known what her illness was all about if the third miracle had not occurred.

Soon after her passing I got busy helping my dad de-clutter the house. While clearing out an old bookcase I discovered years worth of old New Age Journal magazines. Mom and I had shared a love of all things alternative, and that magazine was one of our favorites before it went out of print. So, for sentimental reasons, I rescued a few from the recycling bin and tucked them into my suitcase.

One morning, a couple of weeks later, I was back at home and struggling to come to terms with her passing. As I sat down to a cup of tea the stack of magazines caught my eye. I picked up the first one and opened it at random. The article I’d turned to was called, When a Mother Dies by Andrea Cagan. I froze – amazed by the coincidence but also a bit scared about what I might read. It was the true story of a woman dying from an abdominal cancer (just like mom) whose husband tells the author, “Control…it was always about control.” That was my mom to a “T.” The hair stood up on my arms. I kept reading and choked up as the author described how, at the end of her life, the dying woman “…had been demonstrating how to receive as she accepted all that her family, her friends, and even I, a complete stranger, were offering to her. She took all of it. I imagine how hard it must have been for her at first, and yet how beautiful it must have finally become, to be able to fully receive.” That did it. Out came the tears. I felt certain that mom was telling me about her own death, and I was so relieved that she indeed “got it” before she died – she allowed people to love her.

The author concluded that we can all “…choose to do this now, and not wait until [we] have no more choices and no more time.” I believe that that was mom’s real message. Drop the judgment. Drop the control. Let love in.

I can’t imagine what it took for mom to orchestrate getting that one magazine (out of hundreds) into my hands and open to the right page, but I’m so grateful for miracle number three. Thank you, mom. I’ll do my best to live by that advice.

To Snooze or not to Snooze: That is the Question

2012-02-10T16:57:00.000+00:00

I can’t go one more minute without writing this. Unwashed dishes in the sink be damned. Messy desk "that needs to be clean before I can be creative” be damned. And above all, my fear that this is not a neatly folded idea that I am about to present be damned! Sometimes you just know that you can’t hit the snooze button again. No. Today I am awake.

This morning I was writing my “morning pages” - three pages of long-hand, free flowing words which are meant to be the equivalent of sweeping the crumbs from the nooks and crannies of the psyche each day - when I came across this quote in the margins of my journal:

“As frightening and abusive as life with a crazy-maker is,

we find it far less threatening than the challenge of a creative life of our own.”

That sucker hit me between the eyes. Ouch.

My personal definition of crazy-makers is this: Any person or situation which has enabled me to NOT live up to my green and juicy potential, but which I have instead put up with (no…FED) for the sake of an easier, albeit disempowered, and sanitised life.

This type of realisation is not for the faint hearted. Why on earth have I done this? The answer, as ever, is found in the shadow. Befriending one’s shadow - the original “dark side” - is a seemingly endless process, but a worthy one. For with each shamed, neglected and split-off piece of me (as embodied by the crazy-makers) that I bring back into the light of awareness, I become just a little bit more of whom I was born to be - I wake up to my own potential wholeness.

One of my most poignant wake up calls was back in 2004 when my kids were small and my marriage was faltering. Although it was convenient for me to blame my unhappiness on my big-living, hard-drinking, husband, part of me knew that this was a cop out. I knew I was complicit in our charade, but how?

I found out during my first taste of “shadow work” during a introductory course at Re-Vision, the Centre for Integrative Psychosynthesis, where I eventually trained to be a counsellor. We were led through a guided meditation where we visited a cabin in the woods of our imagination. Once there we were instructed to answer a knock at the door and discover a part of our shadow that wanted to be known. Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to Dionysus – the god of wine, ritual madness and ecstasy – the “biggest-living, hardest-drinking” archetype of them all! I told myself that I was NOTHING like my husband, but there was no denying that here he was, Dionysus himself, coming out of MY psyche.

I left that course resolved to make friends with Dionysus (an ongoing process even still), and to find out what other parts of my shadow were being mirrored by the crazy-makers in my life. (If I have a religion, that’s it.) Not the dishes, not the desk, and not anyone “out there” can be blamed for my skating through life. I am the one who hits the snooze button. But the very good news is this: life endlessly re-sets the alarm, and it is our choice to ignore it or get up...each and every day.

Are you awake?

Learning to Go with the Flow

2011-07-22T22:26:00.000+01:00

Ever notice how water running down hill flows and winds effortlessly around obstacles? It’s helpful to remember this natural law, for in life, as with water, the most direct route to a goal is rarely a straight line. And as tempting as it is to label things “good” and “bad,” they are all just bends in the river.

Here’s a great example.

I had one goal this past Christmas: to fly to Seattle on Boxing Day with my son to join my big extended family for their holiday gathering. (Oh, and I also wanted an upgrade.) Being super organized – as I am – I was patting myself on the back for accomplishing all the usual travel prep plus making fresh turkey stock (boiled, cooled, strained and in the freezer) before our ride to the airport arrived. (GOOD!) Unfortunately, it was a pat too soon, as I forgot one crucial thing - passports. (BAD!)

I was too stunned to react when I realized my mistake, but things quickly went from bad to worse as I reached for my phone and noticed a flashing picture of an empty battery. Now my brain began to race….I thought I had charged the phone overnight, but apparently I had plugged it into a dead outlet! No phone meant no phone numbers to call those who might be able to help out. (BAD!)

Realising that the only thing panic would accomplish was grey hairs, I decided to consciously test one of my favourite pieces of philosophy: Events have no meaning except for the meaning we give them. I reminded myself that perhaps everything was actually in perfect order, and if so, then forgetting the passports was not a tragedy. With this in mind I mentally sifted through a few scenarios and decided that the best option was to call my neighbours (who keep a spare key) to ask them to locate the passports (on my desk where I’d left them!) and put them in a fast taxi to Terminal 5.

Meanwhile, my son was freaking out and the agent for the airline was sceptical that she could get us anywhere near Seattle on a different flight if our passports didn’t turn up soon as there were blizzards raging all over the country and many flights were being cancelled. (BAD!) I reminded him (and myself) that we were in the hands of fate and all we could do was “keep calm and carry on,” as they are fond of saying in the UK. I also mumbled a few favourite affirmations such as, “all of life comes to me with ease and joy and glory,” and, “how does it get better than this?” (Well doesn’t it?!)

It was a nail-biting hour as we waited and paced and eyed the clock, but in the end, my superhero neighbours did find the passports (GOOD!) but could not find a taxi (BAD!), so they pulled their Boxing Day roast out of the oven and drove like the wind to deliver them to us (VERY GOOD!) They virtually threw the travel wallet at us as they passed by, then we sprinted to the check-in desk.

Of course the flight was already closed (BAD), but I begged the woman at the desk to “Just see what else is possible.” She tapped away on her computer and shook her head. “They’re not letting me check you in,” she sighed (BAD). But just then her phone rang. “Uh huh,” she said, “Yes, two passengers…I know but they forgot their passports. Okay, thanks.” She looked at me and said, “Well this is your lucky day – the flight’s delayed and they’re letting you check in. They NEVER do that!” (GOOD!) My son and I jumped for joy and ran through Fast Track security (thank you very much) and had a leisurely hour at the gate before the flight finally boarded. When they called our row we were so happy and relieved that it wouldn’t have mattered if we were at the back of the bus, but guess what? Upgrade! (GOOD!)

We made it to the family party (only a couple of hours late) and enjoyed a really nice holiday. But the most valuable part of the trip was learning that staying neutral in the face of adversity is the most powerful thing one can do.

The moral of this story is pretty simple: keep your sights on your goals, and don’t let the twists and turns of life derail you. For when you truly learn to go with the flow, you just might get an upgrade when you least expect it!

Give Less, Receive More

2011-03-30T15:38:00.000+01:00

I just had a birthday, and while planning a small party with my closest women friends I very nearly wrote “NO GIFTS!” on the invitation. Luckily I paused long enough to ask myself, “why no gifts?” Do I enjoy giving gifts to my friends? Yes I do. Would I feel slightly disappointed if they told me not to bring a gift? Definitely. So what part of me was contemplating saying “NO GIFTS” and why?

This got me thinking on the subject of giving and receiving. Forgive me for assuming that this is more of a women’s issue, but why is it so common for many women to be able give, give, give, and yet be so wishy-washy when it comes to receiving? Think about it. How many times have you flicked away a compliment with a self-effacing retort? Or refused help when it was offered because you really didn’t want to bother or inconvenience the other person?

Women, we’ve got a problem. The root of this issue is much deeper than I can dig up in a few hundred words, but when I think about being offered help, two images emerge: First, my inner child raises her chin and asserts, “I can do it myself!” And second, she feels embarrassed at being the center of attention as the recipient of a gift or help, even though, paradoxically, this is also what she craves. Could it be that we have unconsciously martyred ourselves on the altar of Self Reliance, thinking that this is what true equality means (it does not), and have hardened ourselves to our innate feminine receptivity?

I came across some material on love and relationships (an interest of mine, being a newly single woman) by intuitive Jennifer Hoffman (http://urielheals.com/) and these two questions really struck me: “Are you going to be the healer or are you willing to be with someone who does not need your healing? Are you open to receiving the love that you are so prepared to give to someone?” Ouch! Tough questions. And it’s not nearly as easy to say “yes” to them as one might think. When I cast my eye around for single men I am no doubt still drawn to the fixer-uppers. Why?

We’ve all been wounded in a thousand ways and have learned to refuse “gifts” all the time by closing our hearts. Then we battle like hell to compensate for being “incomplete” by being self-less, giving, helpful wonder women…doing everything in our power to make others feel our love. The irony is we must risk being vulnerable and open to receiving if we are to reclaim our wholeness. Give less, receive more, as it were.

When my birthday rolled around and my friends gathered, I was indeed showered with some beautiful gifts. But more than the things themselves, I was really moved by how each item reflected the giver’s sense of who I am. By opening my heart to receiving I felt known, and loved, and truly connected to my friends. And that, it goes without saying, was the best present of all.

Everyday Magic

2011-03-11T17:01:00.000+00:00

The other night I was telling as story about something inexplicable that had happened when my friend piped up and said, “weird stuff always happens to you!” I laughed and heartily agreed with her. It’s true! Apparently I was able to navigate growing up with my wide-eyed inner child still very much in tact. As such, I am prone to magical happenings. Perhaps, as someone else once suggested, I am a “powerful manifestor.” Or maybe crazy things happen to everyone but go unnoticed. Whatever the case, here’s the story.

Someone very dear to me has cancer, and I recently spend several weeks in Seattle helping to take care of her. Part of being sick is accepting that everyone has an opinion about what you should do. Amongst the flood of suggestions was one that she consult with Dr. Michael Lam - a Los Angeles-based physician who uses natural healing methods in synergy with allopathic oncology. However, too many cooks in the kitchen tend to ruin the soup, so she settled instead for a local clinic that also uses an integrative approach.

Meanwhile, back in London, another friend was having an interesting experience. She had purchased several copies of a book written by a psychic she knew, including one for me. One evening she picked one up, opened it at random, and was surprised and confused to find that it was a book about healing cancer naturally – she thought it was going to be the author’s life story! It didn’t take her long to work out that the wrong book was in the right cover – a mistake by the publisher. In a panic she phoned the psychic author and asked, ”Is this a sign? Do I have cancer?” She was assured that she did not, but was told that obviously there was a reason that she received the wrong book. “Hold onto it,” she was told, “and you will know whom it is for.”

The next day she learned that I was in America with my friend. “Ah ha!” She thought, “This was Tricia’s copy all along!” She phoned me, told me the story, and promised to send the book tout suite.

Several days later it arrived. I was full of anticipation as I ripped open the package. The paper cover was indeed for a psychic’s memoir, but when I got to the title page I broke out in goose bumps as I read the words, Beating Cancer with Natural Medicine by Michael Lam, M.D.

I was, and still am, amazed! What do you suppose the odds are that a psychic in Great Britain would have her book mixed up with one written by the very same doctor in California that had been recommended, and that it should just happened to make it’s way to me in such a round-a-bout way? A million to one?

That, to me, is the definition of magic.

As adults it’s easy to turn cynical and dismiss such occurrences as mere coincidences. But where’s the fun in that? The flip side of cold logic is the stuff that makes life juicy – the miraculous, the unexplainable, the magical.

Mind-boggling things happen everyday in a thousand ways, but unless we view life through the eyes of our inner, magical child it's easy to miss the wonders that abound. May this tale remind you to peek at the world through his or her eyes from time to time. I’d love hear what you see.

* * * *

Want to welcome more magic into your life? Check out Ursula James' new book The Source: a manual of everyday magic.

Love 55: Life's Perfect Score

2011-02-18T15:27:00.000+00:00

I like to think that life (for want of a better term) is constantly communicating with “them who have ears to hear and eyes to see” through coincidences large and small. Once you get used to this way of thinking, it’s amazing what you start to notice. For example, you might have read my piece about the number 44 (See: May the 4’s be with you Nov ’09) and learned that for a long time I seemed to be surrounded by multiples of the number 4. I decided these 4’s were a sign from the powers that be that I was on the right path in life. But all things change and it seems my numbers have as well.

Last summer it dawned on me that I was seeing fewer and fewer 44’s and more and more 55’s. It started out on license plates – suddenly there were 55’s everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I’m not joking: If the car in front had a 55, there was a good chance that so did the car behind; looking up I’d notice that the car waiting to turn also had a 55, as did the bus that just passed; and driving down the block to my house I’d count four or five 55’s on my street. Sometimes the frequency of 55’s was downright disconcerting. (I have witnesses!)

I honestly had no idea what theses numbers could possibly mean until one day the thought popped into my head – it’s not 55, it’s 50/50. Five plus five equals one – a whole, complete one! This was a thrilling revelation because it fit with the philosophical point of view that I was fascinated with that all things are part of an imperceptible yet perfect whole… it’s only our distorted perception that labels things and events “good” and “bad.” (See: Master Ugway and the Broken Leg of Life Jan ’10)

So, as I interpreted it, 55’s everywhere were reminding me that duality is an illusion and all is perfect. Fantastic! That’s when the universe threw in another coincidence to cement this lesson – the letter L. Now I was seeing licence plates with 55 and an L – everywhere! What could it mean? L for Listen? L for Learn? Then it hit me: L for LOVE. As Dr. Demartini (a modern day philosopher and teacher whom I greatly admire) says, “Between positively and negatively charged particles is a center point of LIGHT; and between positively and negatively charged emotions is a center point of LOVE.

So that’s what all the fuss was about! Love it ALL – the 50/50 – for it is ALL love. My quest to embody this philosophy in my own life has been met each day with affirmations from the universe in the form of L55. What’s beautiful about this little communication is that it seems to be just for me – a personal conversation between me God. (And can you imagine what it takes behind the scenes to coordinate all these L55’s? It’s simply Amazing.)

Now that I’ve “cracked the code” I wonder what little coincidences will catch my attention next? Who knows? It will be hard to top L55 in my book, but you can be sure that I’ve already got my ears and eyes wide open.

(PS...I typed this on Word and, coincidentally, the finished document has 550 words.)

What you can't meet in yourself: The Dark and the Light

2010-12-20T13:01:00.000+00:00

One of my favorite 'therapy speak' expressions it this: What you can't meet in yourself comes to meet you. I've been pondering this lately as a series of interesting people and situations have been showing up to shake my hand.

First, there’s the matter of a guy I recently had a date with - my first since being single again. We had a nice time chatting over a beer and seemed to connect well. Then? Nothing but text messages - no invitation to meet again in the flesh. I was confused but figured it must mean one of two things: Either this is how dating is done in 2010 and I’m not playing the game right (let’s face it, the last time I was single I didn’t even have a cell phone!), or perhaps it was a reflection of my own reluctance and capacity to form an intimate relationship right now. Most likely it’s a little of both.

The next bit is pretty embarrassing to talk about but - gulp - here goes. You may recall that I’ve always been a bit of a “good girl” – easily shockable and quick to blush - so imagine my surprise when the aforementioned texting all turned a bit, well…sexy. I knew that the man in question had an undeniable fascination with the “dark side” that included an appetite for classic guy stuff like war and superheroes, but the naughty messages caught me completely off guard. It was perplexing that it could go from texting to sexting without even a first kiss, but I tried my best to check my judgement. This took the possibility of flirting and fantasy to a level I didn’t even know existed (except on paid chat lines) and revealed that I was far more game and able to meet him half way then I would ever have imagined.

Nothing came of our flirtation, but it left me with a much wider and accepting view of human sexuality. Hey, if it doesn’t hurt anyone and you’re both consenting, who am I to judge what you get up to in the privacy of your bedroom (or mobile phone)? An eye opener, to be sure, and yet I think I’ll hold out for in-the-flesh intimacy.

The next how-do-you-do arrived in the form of music. Not just any music, but live, acoustic music performed by impossibly talented young musicians. I had forgotten how much I love live performance and surprised even myself when one artist (who I wouldn’t have looked twice at on the street) stepped up to the mike and let out a voice so pure and raw that I started to cry. His talent sprang straight from his heart without a hint of self-consciousness and it was utterly moving.

The place was teeming with an under-30 crowd but rather than feeling out of place I felt, for the first time in a long time, at home. I recalled the odd combined sensation of nerves and bravery from when I too used to get on stage either with the jazz choir in high school or later with a rock band and bass guitar. I never felt more true to my authentic self as when I was making music, and yet I was never able to offer myself as completely as what I witnessed that night. Perhaps that is what touched me so deeply - the pain of acknowledging my own terror of being so exposed and vulnerable, while longing for it at the same time.

The array of talent that night nudged the shy, sleeping musician in me and beckoned it from the shadows. I haven’t got a clue what form it might take, but it will be braver than before.

Another month or two wiser, I’ve learned to love just a little bit more of my shadow from both sides of the dark and light camp. I've also learned that confidence is a muscle that shrivels without exercise. Thankfully, it's never too late to start doing a few pushups! With every epiphany that life serves up I feel another piece of the puzzle-that-is-me fall into place. And thankfully I am learning to meet it all, palm extended, heart open.

What's in a Legacy: Lessons from my Grandma

2010-11-29T14:07:00.000+00:00

A friend once expressed concern about her young daughter: Was she attending the right school? Was she making appropriate friends? Were her extra-curricular activities the sort that would nurture her greatness? “After all,” said she, “our children are our legacy.”

Her comment got me thinking - are our children our legacy? Do we need to fret about the type of people they may become? Are we judged by their accomplishments (or misdeeds)? And when we’re gone will we be remembered for our progeny or for our selves? Personally, I believe the only legacy we leave behind is the one we create for ourselves, about ourselves.

I don’t wish to dishearten those of you who are hoping to ride triumphantly into the sunset on the coat tails of your very successful and wonderful kids, but it does seem an awful burden to hand to one’s offspring – “Make something of yourself or I’ll be nothing!” And what about those folks who don’t become parents?

You need only attend a funeral to know what I mean. Take my 92 year-old Grandma who passed away at the beginning of November. She was mother to five children (including my mom), and while this is a wonderful accomplishment, it’s definitely not what she will be remembered for. As was said so eloquently at her funeral:

She crossed continents like states and conquered all before her.

As she conquered me.

I loved her innate vibrance, her enthusiasm, her kindness in its simplicity.

You knew she meant it.

It was a rare charisma of wisdom and equilibrium.

And she rocked.

I too will remember her for all of the above, plus her bottomless appetite for seafood, her great love of hunting for stylish bargains at the thrift shops (charity shops to you Brits) and the evenings we spent playing Scrabble or going to the local casino to try our luck at the penny slots. Her legacy is her own -100%.

So what is our responsibility to our kids? I like the very achievable guidance of DW Winnicott – just be a “good-enough mother”(or parent as it were). It’s all about loving the child for who he or she is and not attempting to mould them into anything other than their best, natural selves. Give them choices and options, but let them choose - then get out of the way. Simple.

That was one of my Grandma’s best qualities in fact. She could spot the good in anyone and “forgive their trespasses” with seeming ease. She knew that we sometimes make bad choices and she allowed them knowing we often learn far more from our mistakes than our triumphs.

At present I am exactly half my Grandma’s age and counting on many more years to work on my own legacy. Who knows what it will be? What I do know is this: The only important thing I will leave behind is the way in which I share myself with the world - be it for good or for ill. (Kids, you’re off the hook.) Whether one makes an impact within a family, a community, a country or the whole world, it’s the only legacy that counts. And thankfully, it’s quite enough.

Excuse me but your yang stepped on my yin...

2010-10-20T21:03:00.001+01:00

Do you know your yin from your yang?

By definition, yin is receptive, passive female energy, while yang is active, expanding male energy. The symbol depicts two interconnecting swirls representing the interdependence of these energies, with the dots at the center of each swirl showing that each is inherent in the other. This deceptively simple little symbol is nothing less than a reminder of how seemingly contrary energies are actually mutually-arising and continuously transforming. In other words, how the entire universe works.

The ancient Chinese packed a lot of knowledge into one little symbol, but from our vantage point as men and women in the modern world, what exactly does the concept of yin and yang mean to us in practical terms?

Personally, I have at times been held sway by two erroneous beliefs: first, that women should be more yin and men should be more yang - separate but equal(ish); and second, that the only way for a woman to express yin and yang is to raise the kids, be the hostess-with-the-mostess and have a full- time job. However, an eye opening little book that found it's way into my hands recently, has changed all of that.

In Collection, Shirley Gehrke Luthman (whom I can find no information about other than she was a therapist in 70's and 80's) makes the important point that feminine (intuitive, feeling, perception, images, fantasies) and masculine (aggressive, action-oriented, verbal, intellectual behavioral expression) energies are androgynous and belong to neither sex. Her ideas can be condensed to the yin/yang principles of intuition and assertion:

You must put your feminine, intuitive power in control and use your masculine, yang force [assertion] to support and express it. The internal distortion of this principle - the split between yin and yang - is the basis for all problems, power struggles, and distances between men and women.

Duh, it's all about inner balance. (Thank goodness. Now I can retire the idea that females should be one way and males another, and let myself off the hook about not being a super mom/career wonder woman hybrid.) But can it really be that simple? Well yes, and no. Yes, because I believe she's right, and no because it's damned hard to put into practice. Simply learning to recognize (never mind act upon) one's feelings can be a life's work. And, she says, "it is not enough just to acknowledge your feelings and begin the act upon them. The intuitive must be in charge, and the male energy must back it up instantly, without question or doubt."

According to Luthman, our relationships with the opposite sex are merely a reflection of the internal struggle between the yin and the yang. So how do your relationships look? Balanced? Is there an easy flow between intuition and assertion? Or have you, like me, found a few places where your yang trips over your yin and visa versa?

Having spent years mistrusting my intuition, it is no easy task to simply begin asserting myself based upon its counsel. Like any under-used muscle it's going to take some consistent working out to build up my yin/yang balance. As I happen to be single right now, I'm intrigued by the idea of being able to gauge my inner progress by the type of men I attract and am attracted to. (Watch this space!) Meanwhile, give some consideration to your own inner yin and yang, and for a very thought-provoking read, get the book.

* * *

Shirley Gehrke Luthman's Collection was published in 1980 by Mehetabel & Company and is available from used booksellers such as Amazon.com. Enjoy the entire book or skip straight to chapter six for her discussion of yin and yang.

To drift or not to drift...that is the question.

2010-10-06T13:47:00.000+01:00

I once wrote a really corny song called "Follow your Bliss." The lyrics went like this:

Good at everything; great at nothing.

I can't be like you, eyes set on one thing.

Life's more interesting when you let the current carry you.

I suppose that I could learn to swim against the tide,

It's not that I'm lazy,

It's just more fun floating.

Well guess what? Turns out I am lazy! And while "floating" has indeed afforded me a very interesting life, my aversion to five-year plans has finally caught up with me. I have discovered that if I really want to "follow my bliss," I need to at least have a vague idea of where I want to end up.

Every seminar, workshop and book that I've ever attended or read on the subject of living an fulfilling life has stressed the importance of having a vision - a target to aim for. Over the years I have made various half-hearted attempts to define my goals, but nothing has ever "stuck" with much energy or enthusiasm.

In her book The Right Questions: Ten Essential Questions to Guide You to an Extraordinary Life, Debbie Ford likens a life without a vision to planning a road trip without a map. She says, "If that was your strategy, you might never arrive at your destination. With a map, if you made a wrong turn along the way, you wouldn't stop and spend five years beating yourself up. You would pull over, look at your map, and get back on track." She goes on, "Without vision it's easy to fall prey to the heat of the moment and the whims of your habitual behaviors."

So I pondered my lack of 'a master plan' and discovered that rather than having a plan of my own, I've had an "underlying commitment" (another of Debbie's terms) to finding 'a man with a plan.' (It's true, and I am as shocked by this as you probably are.) I've always considered myself a strong woman who can take care of herself, but the evidence is incontrovertible: Husband number one - a brain surgeon; Husband number two - a race-car driving property developer. I have played at being self-sufficient (I have even been quite defensive about it!) but in reality I have made choices under the influence of an old wound - an unconscious fear that I am not worthy of success in my own right. In reality there is nothing wrong with marrying successful, powerful people, but if it is covering up one's own unacknowledged desire for power and success, at the very least it can lead to resentment on both sides or, as in my case, two divorces.

I am by no means alone here. Question number three in Ford's book asks, "Am I standing in my power or am I trying to please another?" I see this every day amongst my friends and family. There is still an imbalance of power between the sexes, with too many women deciding that 'pleasing another' is their responsibility. We set ourselves up to be martyrs, telling ourselves that "it's okay to abandon [ourselves] as long as we are making someone else happy." (Be it the kids, the husband, the dog...) I decided this long, long ago, believing (albeit unconsciously) that I'd be "too much" for people if I were to really shine.

So where does all this new insight leave me? Well, I am pleased to say that I am working on a vision statement in earnest. I've also decided that while my little song does have some truth to it - there is wisdom in allowing ourselves to drift along with the current - there's nothing wrong with keeping one hand on the rudder at the same time.

Face to Face with the Force

2010-09-27T12:53:00.000+01:00

What started as a coffee morning - the usual gaggle of moms catching up over hot drinks and chit chat - turned into a surprise encounter with something I thought I knew quite a bit about - "The Force."

One mom had brought along an exotic stranger - a MAN, from California no less, who was a Transformational Breath practitioner. After not much pleading, he agreed to give us an impromptu class. "Excellent," I thought, "A new weird experience to add to my collection."

The basic instruction was to breathe in from the lower belly for three counts and then let it out fast in one count - no pausing in between breaths. After about 15 minutes of breathing this way, he explained, the conscious mind would essentially shut off, leaving the door open for the powerful unconscious to come in and take over, allowing the body to release whatever old traumas or dramas it had been holding onto for safe keeping. If we were really lucky we might even slip into the flow of the source-of-all itself and experience the type of bliss that yogis sit on mountaintops for years trying to attain. So far, so simple. Ready, steady, go.

Cushions, blankets and pillow were gathered, and within minutes we were warming up to the beat of some energetic quasi-eastern trance/dance music, bouncing up and down and punching the air to "grab" handfuls of breath. (I love these women - not afraid to dance like wild banshees first thing in the morning.) As soon as the song ended we dove for our cushions to get into the breathing technique as quickly as possible.

My hands, arms and legs went numb and tingly within the first 10 minutes, and the breathing felt forced and unnatural. (He did say we might experience all of this, along with a few other common side effects such as muscle cramping, chills, etc.) But, sure enough, after about 15 minutes things got interesting. I was breathing almost automatically now, and was noticing with detachment as first my right hand, then my left, began to curl into what I can only describe as a claw wrapped around a steel ball. (I'm not making this up!) Next my calves seized up, followed by my lips. At about this time we were encouraged to release sound on the out breath - any kind of vocal release that felt appropriate - a tone, a note, a sigh, a cry. This felt great, and the music was loud enough to mask my tendency towards self-consciousness.

But soon my detachment turned toward distress as I realized I was completely frozen solid and it was getting painful. Thankfully the teacher arrived when the student was ready, and he very gently helped to open my fingers and assured me it was safe to release whatever it was I was holding onto so fiercely, both literally and figuratively. With that a most unexpected wail welled up from deep in my belly and came out of my being as an uncontrollable howl. I sobbed loudly and wholeheartedly.

As the pain and the sobs began to wane, my body deeply relaxed. My awareness, however, was alert and observing. I felt a wave-like sensation as my breathing took on a much slower, gentler rhythm, and it seemed as if I was lying in the bottom of a warm river, the water flowing over me in undulating ribbons of gentle energy. I noticed that I was hardly breathing now, and I had a strong desire to stay in the pause between breaths forever. It was pure peace, pure calm, pure love. I imagine this is what the poet Rabindranath Tagore was describing when he wrote, The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day, runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

As the session came to an end I reluctantly began to wiggle my fingers and toes and bring myself back to the room. Everyone had had a profound experience in varying degrees, and all looked radiant.

Later that night I went to the theater and felt oddly removed yet alert. At one point I noticed that I was completely still - no fidgeting, which is my usual modus operandi. Three days on and I still feel slightly dazed and strangely calm, the chronic tension in my jaw and shoulders more or less gone.

The yogis have known of the transformational power of breath for thousands of years, and in my experience this particular breathing technique is aptly named. "The Stream of Life," "The Force," "God" - call it what you will. Once you have experienced it so viscerally you truly will be transformed., and "the Force will be with you, always."

It's not Helpful to be Helpful

2010-09-03T11:56:00.000+01:00

One day I'm going to do it. I'm going to make a t-shirt that says, "I'm not here to help" and I'm going to wear it when I see counselling clients on their first appointment. Why would I do that? Because it's true. Being a therapist may include many things, but being helpful isn't one of them. In fact, I've come to learn that being helpful is actually unhelpful.

I recently read a story about a Russian billionaire who spent millions helping impoverished local in his native Georgia. He discovered that paying their electricity bills merely led to them leaving the lights on all the time!

What's going on here?

Being helpful, particularly where money is concerned, is disempowering. It tends to foster dependence rather than raise people up in the world. As the old saying goes, "Give a man a fish and you feed him for one day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime."

The same might be said of the listening arts of counselling and psychotherapy. While I aim to empathize, encourage, challenge, reflect and notice my clients, the minute I try to be helpful I have an agenda - that something is wrong with them the way they are, or that I don't believe that they can help themselves. Further, it sends a subtle message that, "I know what's best for you," and can insidiously undermine their belief that they can learn to be effective in their own lives.

Being helpful can also prolong people's suffering by preventing them from facing the consequences of their own actions or inaction. The desire to protect people from their problems is an easy trap to fall into, particularly where children and vulnerable people are concerned. But I can clearly see in my own life that I gained far more when I learned to do things for myself, even when it meant, "learning the hard way." After all, it is the struggle to emerge from the chrysalis that forces fluid into a butterfly's wings and enables it to fly. "Help" it by assisting it out of its cocoon and it dies.

Does this mean we abandon all charity and humanitarian causes? Of course not. Compassionate action will always have a place in the world. But the manner in which assistance is administered makes all the difference. A hand up and a hand out are two entirely different things.

Today, with perfect timing, I received the following inspirational e-mail from Neale Donald Walsch, author of the Conversations with God books:

On this day of your life, dear friend, I believe God wants you to know...
...that nobody needs your help.

I know, I know...this is a difficult one. But it is true.
Yet this does not mean no one wants your help, or that no one
could use your help. It simply means the thought that another
Aspect of Divinity [person] is powerless without you is inaccurate.

I love it when the universe drops such neat little crumbs to show me that I'm on the right path. Neale and me, we're singing from the same hymnal. Can you spot us in the choir? He's the one with the beard, and I'm the one in the t-shirt that reads, "I'm not here to help." (And a green light sabre, of course.)

Late Night Ah Ha - A Short Story

2010-08-10T19:42:00.000+01:00

It is after midnight and I'm lying in bed listening to the party going on downstairs. My husband is giving loud and enthusiastic advice to someone playing a racecar video game. There is laughter. Everyone is a bit drunk and, as we are in the middle of nowhere, not concerned about noise.

I lay still for a few minutes - not sure if I am annoyed at having been woken, or annoyed that I went to bed early. (That's me, the sensible one who gets the kids to bed at a reasonable hour and usually joins them.) A while ago I might have stomped down the stairs and asked the crowd to keep it down, but, for some reason, not tonight.

Instead, I remember a funny conversation I once had with a gal who was lamenting the fact that a party-animal friend had quit drinking. While she knew it was good for his health, she selfishly missed having him as the life of the party. I can relate. I once thought I knew what was best for my husband. I wanted to magically change him into the watered down version of himself that I thought would be best. But lying here right now, I am gifted with a moment of clarity. I recognize how he brightens a room with his infectious antics and injects life into even the most awkward of social situations. He is perfect as he is.

It's easy to fall into judgment and loose sight of how everything fits into the grand scheme of things. To glimpse this perfection, even for a moment, makes my heart swell.

There is an ancient Hawaiian practice called Ho'Oponopono that encourages one to take responsibility for their judgments by repeating the simple mantra, “I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you.” Lying awake I can't think of a better way to acknowledge this new awareness and to apologize for my arrogance, while at the same time forgiving myself.

I offer up a silent prayer to the man whom I have judged so harshly for his wild ways. I smile as I hear him sloppily coach the game player through a chicane. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you. The party is far from over, but I am happy in my bed, enjoying my little "ah ha" moment. I tuck an arm around my little boy who is sleeping next to me and go back to sleep.

The Tangled Web of Purpose

2010-06-09T14:23:00.000+01:00

The other day I had a conversation with a young counseling client about his life purpose. It was interesting to discover that his (and my own) perception about purpose was entirely based upon about what we are to do in life, i.e., go to school, build a career, buy a home, have a family, etc. But what if our purpose is a bit more complicated and tangled than that?

As I listened it dawned on me that perhaps part of this young man's purpose is also to be my client, helping me to learn and hone my counseling craft. Likewise part of my purpose is to be his counselor, to help him learn to move through his life with more ease. Thus his purpose and mine are intertwined.

Imagine that life is an enormous jigsaw puzzle with each person representing a single piece of unique shape and size. No matter how insignificant one feels their piece is, the space left by even the smallest missing chunk leaves a glaring hole in the picture.

It's terribly simple yet complicated at the same time. One morning my purpose might be to smile at the depressed lady at the grocery store to remind her that all is not lost, while hers might be to awaken my compassion. Later my kids' purpose might be to push the boundaries of my tolerance so that I lose my temper and illustrate for them that everyone has their limits. A lovingly cooked dinner has no purpose without hungry mouths to eat it, and likewise a brilliant performance needs to see itself reflected back in appreciative eyes to feel purposeful.

We do not exist in a vacuum - it is not possible for my purpose and yours to be mutually exclusive. Carl Jung said, "As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being. " And it seems to me we can only achieve that with the help of another.

Living a life of purpose is our natural state. Once we recognize this we can let go of the illusion that purpose = achievement. If you have goal to achieve great things then good for you, but don't discount the importance of your more mundane interactions with others - healers need patients, teachers need students, and politicians need voters.

Today my purpose included writing this short blog. If your purpose has been to read it, then I am honored and awed by our interconnection. Have a wonderful, purposeful day.

Compassion with a Capital 'C'

2010-05-21T15:15:00.001+01:00

Compassion is something I thought I knew quite a lot about. I give lots of second, third and fourth chances, I almost never hold a grudge, I mutter a prayer when my cats bring me dead mice, I ALWAYS give money to buskers (street musicians for you non-Brits) and I USUALLY buy The Big Issue from homeless guys. This is fairly generic stuff, as is getting a lump in the throat when watching TV charity appeals for the latest tragedy on the globe (be it a tsunami, earthquake, or famine), or welling up at the plight of abused animals, neglected orphans and casualties of war. In most cases you can do your bit without leaving your sofa or really getting involved - that's compassion with a small 'c.' But what I'm interested in is compassion with a capital 'C." Let me explain.

Recently I was complaining to a trusted advisor about the unthinking behavior of a loved-one. I expected to receive some sympathy or commiseration, but instead they asked, "Can you feel compassion for the wounded part of them that drives them to behave like that?" I had never considered this before. Generally speaking I see the distasteful behavior of those around me as character flaws at best (including my own) or stupidity and meanness at worst (got to hold my own hand up here as well.) Did I feel compassion? No, I most certainly did not.

But over time, that question began to work its magic - my inner landscape shifting to accommodate it. I spent an evening with someone who couldn't stop drinking and I wondered what old hurts might be so bad that they needed to be numbed with alcohol? I saw a woman shouting at her kid in the grocery store and wondered about the inner pain that might be fueling her rawness. I pondered the defensiveness of a friend - what makes her so vulnerable yet rigid? I felt my heart ache for the kinds of on-the-ground, up-close-and-personal types of old wounds that fuel my own short fuse, my judgment, my fear.

True compassion with a capital 'C' will change not only the way you regard your own pain, but also that of the alcoholic in your life, the belligerent neighbor, the hooded youths hanging out on the corner, or the undependable friend. And it also means being willing to be honest with them - to trust that they can handle the truth and consequences of their behavior. Big 'C' compassion might be tough love in one case, or just a knowing hug in another. You can't do that with a victim of a natural disaster.

This is foreign territory for me, but I'm beginning to get my bearings. It is a landscape you are familiar with? I invite you to explore this space for yourself - let your heart be your compass. For as the Buddha said, "In separateness lies the world's great misery, but in compassion lies the world's true strength."

Dr. Demartini - Jedi Master?

2010-05-12T20:01:00.000+01:00

The person who has most influenced my thinking these past few years has got to be Dr. John F. Demartini. You might say he is my own personal Yoda. The good Doctor teaches that all of nature, including human nature, is composed of equal pairs of opposites - night/day, birth/death, war/peace, kind/mean, happy/sad, etc. And like the polarities of a magnet, you can't have one without the other - they cannot be separated for each is inherent in the other. Take, for example, the issue of war and peace. They are indivisible, for if you are "for" peace and "against" war, aren't you at war with war? What's more, these pairs of opposites are ALWAYS in balance, it's just our lopsided perception that says otherwise.

Dr. Demartini developed his ideas from studying physics, among other things, where principles such as The Law of Conservation of Charge Parity state that positive and negative can neither be created nor destroyed - only changed in form. These principles underlie all physical events, and ultimately, he hypothesized, human perceptions and actions.

I took to Dr. Demartini's teachings like a duck to water because it engaged that part of me that knows this instinctively - that nothing is out of balance, ever. He says that if we go through life looking for more support than challenge, more praise than criticism, more good than bad, we will always attract the opposite of what we seek as nature strives to keep the equilibrium. (We could have an entire discussion just about depression and its role in balancing perceptions in a culture that holds"positive thinking" as the gold standard.) This is classic duality, with a twist. The twist being that there is no battle of good and evil being waged, only an endless dance of opposites.

From our tiny human perspective it is easy to get angry when we don't get our own way - when we focus on one half of the duality and ignore, or can't see, the big picture. It's like the ancient Sufi story about the blind men and the elephant - because each man felt just one part of the elephant, they were all wrongly convinced that they knew what it was - a snake, a tree, a rope, a spear.

Ultimately it's our choice if we want to stick with our 'blind men' version of events, or choose to accept that there might be more than meets the eye to any given situation, and thus not go into judgment about how things are (or aren't). The beautiful thing is that if you dare to glimpse the perfection - the center point between the opposites - you feel nothing but gratitude for this rather miraculous truth. In Dr. Demartini's own words:

Between positively and negatively charged

particles is a center point of light.

Between positively and negatively charged

emotions is the center point of love.

Dr. Demartini opened my eyes to a whole new way of seeing. He showed me that when you stop fighting with the world and with yourself, it is possible to move through life with grace, power and purpose. And if that's not the way of the Jedi, I don't know what is.

What's all the fuss about 2012?

2010-05-01T16:33:00.001+01:00

More often than not I am met with blank stares when I make comments such as, “let’s just wait until 2012!” Hollywood disaster movies, the London Olympics and Obama's re-election aside, I’m amazed that so many people have not heard about 2012. Perhaps you are one? Read on.

The Mayans, clever clogs that they were, devised a very accurate and complex calendar that simultaneously keeps track of several time cycles, including the moon (28 days), sun (365 days) and the ‘sacred’ cycle of 260 days (human gestation period). A full trip around the Mayan calendar (otherwise known as The Long Count) is equal to 13 periods of 144,000 days each. And since most scholars agree that the beginning of this Long Count was August 11, 3114 B.C.E., the thirteenth and final cycle will come to a close on precisely December 21, 2012. THAT is what all the fuss is about.

What will happen on that day is open to speculation. And, as with most things, we can view the cup as half full or half empty. In other words, it’s either the end, or the beginning.

The end?

Although there isn’t much evidence left from the Mayan civilization to suggest that they themselves thought the world would end in 2012, there are many doomsday types who have jumped on the Armageddon bandwagon. This cheery theory says that when the cycle ends, time will cease and the world will end in any number of ways, none of them very pleasant. (Makes me think of the “would you rather be boiled or fried” conversations we had as kids.) Will the earth be wiped out by a giant meteor or asteroid? Will the sun flare up and cause the planet to explode like a huge kernel of microwave popcorn? Will the there be a “pole shift” where disturbances in the earth’s magnetic field cause the planet to literally tilt, thus triggering catastrophic earth quakes, volcanoes, storms and floods? Pick your poison, unless you happen to believe in The Rapture – the resurrection of all Christians that will be triggered by the return of Jesus Christ. (They'll be floating safely back to heaven.)

The Beginning?

The other viewpoint is that whatever shift occurs, it will be of the inner variety (i.e. human consciousness) rather than the physical kind. Many religious and esoteric traditions point to a time of peace and prosperity where humanity overcomes its own worst enemy – itself. Whether viewed as a general rise in human awareness (from duality to oneness perhaps), an evolutionary leap, or a burgeoning awareness of higher dimensions, this camp seems to be betting on change for the better. The general consensus is that this ‘new age’ will be ushered in with some help from either extra-terrestrials (as portend by crop circles and increased UFO activity), heavenly intervention (angels, ascended masters, the Virgin Mary, etc.,) or by the bombardment of earth by new and powerful energies/vibrations emanating from the centre of the universe itself.

All is not sunshine and roses however, as increased vibration rates could prove fatal to those who are either unprepared or who cling to old ways - every rose has its thorns. (Although some might secretly delight in the idea that those who are lower on the totem pole, so to speak, won't be around to ruin the party!) Personally, I wonder if the rise in extreme-isms of all sorts, as we are witnessing now, is an unconscious reaction to change? Whatever the source or the outcome, resistance is futile. Come what may, I think we’re in for a wild ride into 2012 and, hopefully (gulp), beyond.

* * *

Want to learn more? For an in-depth look at the Mayan Calendar click here.
For some weird and wonderful "spiritual" 2012 theories (Cell regeneration and the reversal of ageing? Bring it on!) click here.
For some fascinating and more science-based views click here.
For a bit of entertainment watch this.

When Labels are a Good Thing

2010-04-20T22:28:00.000+01:00

I’m a dabbler, a jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none. It keeps life interesting, having no fixed vocation, but sometimes I envy people with specific expertise. Am I avoiding depth by not cultivating one interest? Or am I just mercurial by nature? There’s always that moment of anxiety when someone asks, “what do you do?” For while I can do many things, some of them quite well, (and yes, I know that we are human beings, not human doings) there is a part of me that desperately wants a label.

“Nice to meet you. My name is Tricia and I’m a _____!”

I trained as a counsellor but I only work as a volunteer, so can I say it's my profession? I have played bass guitar in rock bands, but I can’t read music and have never earned a cent doing it, so can I call myself a musician? And I write this blog, but does that make me a writer? Or am I just a housewife with a few hobbies? How does one cross the bridge from doing something to being something? And is it even necessary?

To adopt a label could be both scary and liberating. If I dare to plant my flag in the fertile soil of “writer” (the leader of the pack at the moment) then what expectations will be heaped upon me? If I never publish one word other than what I write here can I still call myself a writer? Or must I justify my claim by cultivating some kind of success? That’s the scary part. The liberating part might be that by declaring myself a writer I ‘own my power’ and commit fully my talent and intention. (Oh God, that’s scary too!)

In 'A Return To Love' (1992) Marianne Williamson wrote, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

It seems that in our culture if we get paid to do something, we are that something. Without the money we are simply enthusiasts and dare not “claim our brilliance” as Marianne puts it. It may feel incredibly risky to declare a title for ourselves, but I sense that the loss of not doing so is far greater. I don’t want to play small anymore. Self-deprecation is over-rated!

Some people might think I’m a second-rate regurgitater of other people’s ideas - and they might be right. But then again, like a fingerprint, there is no one else on the whole planet who can do anything exactly like me – not write a sentence, play a bass line, talk to a client or load the dishwasher just so.

What do you do that you have not had the courage to claim as your own? Whatever it is, it's nice to meet you. My name is Tricia and I’m a writer.