Tag: inspiration

Lost and Found

A few weeks ago I had a nightmare. In it, I was that person I’ve been running away from my whole life. You know the one. The person you don’t want to be, the one you dread lives inside you, the one you don’t want anyone else to see. The one, in our worst moments, we’re terrified we might end up becoming. The “failure” who looks back and sees a pile of regrets. That is the person, the nightmare, that I was living in this dream.

I was in some drab, dark house with vague people around me and a long hallway. The feeling was that I was a “loser”. (To me there’s really no such thing, but nightmares take no prisoners.) I had zero self esteem, hated my job, myself and my life. (If ever there was a time to be confronted with our worst fears, a Pandemic fits the bill).

Someone asked me to foster a litter of newborn kittens, just for a few weeks, then they would come back for them. All I had to do was take care of them until then. I said yes and put them in a room at the end of the hall.

In the next moment, it was three weeks later and suddenly I realized “oh my God, the kittens!”. I had completely forgotten about them the entire time, as soon as I’d shut the door. In that moment was the most heartwrenching pain and realization, they had all starved to death, and now I had to go see what I’d done. I ran down the hallway crying and screaming “Nooooo! I’m so sorry!” I opened the door, horrified at what I would find. There were large pillows and sheets and blankets everywhere. I didn’t see any of them and started frantically throwing the pillows off and looking under the blankets.

And one by one, they each crawled out from under, toward me, alive! Tiny little malnourished meowing things, but oh Holy Glorious Day they were alive! I swooped each of them up, smothering them with kisses, “oh god my dear little one I am so sorry, thank you for living for me”. Then I woke up, crying tears of joy and relief. Relief that they survived, that I didn’t cause their deaths, and of course that it was all just a terrible nightmare. I wasn’t that person after all, who was so ashamed and guilty. Thank you thank you thank you. I had another chance.

We’ve been battling our worst case scenarious throughout this Age of Quarantine, in a limbo between worlds. The time has come and we can feel it, something huge is being birthed. It is now upon us. Yet Quarantine is our holding pattern, between the old self and the new.

In real life, there has been a stray kitty showing up on occasion around my block. I hadn’t seen it, but about six months ago my housemate had been woken up every night for a week with scratching at her window. She caught a glimpse of what she thought could be a kitten, as it was small, and it would run away each time she’d open the window. We had to get the landlord to install little animal resistant rubber spikes to the roof tiles near her window. After that, the kitty did not return. When I mentioned it to my neighbor, she said it sounded like the same cat that she occasionally sees on her back porch. It would run whenever she got near it.

I secretly hoped I might come across it myself sometime and try to rescue it too. Well, a few weeks after that nightmare, I was in my living room about to do my exercises. I’d resolved to have this daily practice during the lockdown, my dancer training, my yoga, my rituals, and had brought my computer to the dining room table for the videos I use for inspiration. When I opened the computer, I was facing the front window to the lawn and trees out front. And when I looked out, I saw a cat in a tree! I instantly went out to it, doubting it would come down, could this be that same cat I’d hoped to see?

I walked towards the tree, I called up to it, “hello there sweetie” and it meowed back at me. Then, lo and behold it came running down the tree and right over to my feet. A scrawny, and quite exotic looking little thing. It reminded me of a lynx, it was gray and black, with white chest and paws just like my own cat, and a white streak on it’s forehead. I picked it up and it did not struggle but instead just let me hold it. I thought, “ok, you’re coming in with me”. I had a feeling it was a she.

She jumped up on the kitchen counter and looked around, but when my housemate’s cat suddenly screeched and lunged at her, she ran into the pantry closet and hid in the corner behind some grocery bags. She had turned her back to me, facing the wall, and hissed and growled at me when I got close. “I’m sorry, I know you trusted me, and now you think I’ve betrayed you”. I put my housemate’s cat upstairs in his room, put water and food down next to kitty and closed the door to let her relax. I texted my housemate a picture, “oh yes, that’s the cat!” she said. I then put ads on Nextdoor and Craigslist and asked a bunch of neighbors if they were missing a cat. No, I waited overnight, nothing.

I’d gone back several times to check on her and she later stopped growling and let me pet her. I felt bonded to her already and was starting to feel a sadness that I couldn’t keep her. If my housemate’s cat wasn’t here, my own cat is a gentle soul, I likely would have. The next day I took her to the Humane Society, who’d assured me they’d check for a chip, and if nobody claimed her she’d be put up for adoption. They said they wouldn’t euthanize.

I put her in my cat crate and we got in the car. As we drove, I talked to her and sang to her “it’s all going to be okay”. When I parked, before going in, sitting in the car, I let her out of the crate and took her in my arms. She held on and nuzzled into my neck and shoulder, while straightening up and looking out with bright eyes at the big wide world; comforted yet dying to explore it.

I took her in and put her on the counter. They scanned for a chip, there was none. I filled out the intake form and asked if they could let me know what sex it was. They’d take her inside and the vet would check. “And do you think she’s a kitten?” I asked. “No, she’s fully grown, she’s just small”. I then said goodbye to her, and let her go, into a protected world of tameness. Now she was safe, but I’d taken something sacred away from her. They came back to say, “she’s a girl”.

The next day, I saw they’d posted a picture of her on the website, under ‘lost and found’. There she was, being taken good care of by loving humans. I’ve looked at her photo a lot since then, wanting to absorb her fierce, adventurous, mysterious energy into me.

My lucky number, the number I constantly see in moments of significance, and my birthday number, is 22. When I got back to the car that day and looked at the receipt of her intake form, on the top right corner there it was. She was number 22.

I rescued her from the wild. But did I? Is that what she wanted? I’ll never know, and part of me wants to take her back and set her free. She rescued me, from a fear I no longer need. Thank you sweet, beautiful creature, for showing up just in time. For leading me into the new wild, the new frontier, with grace, innocence and strength. Your spirit lives in me now. I will need it. And I promise, I will use it.

Suspended Stars

Reach up and pull yourself down into your body. Let it explore the dull ache, grab hold of it and ask, “what are you”? Feel the stiffness of that clay of pain, mix it up, immerse yourself, swim around, and mold it into something new. Like a lover, it’s only wanting your touch. And it swoons when you ask questions. “What are you covering up and keeping quiet with the fake smile, the extra bite of food, the extra drink, too much Netflix, too many selfies? What are you saying no to? And what are you ignoring?”

Another endless scroll through your life won’t find that scratch to your elusive itch. There will be moments, if you’re one of the lucky ones (you are), but never a whole day. Why is that so unfair? It’s not. It’s exactly right, it’s exactly you. You wrote this script in the sky. Then plopped yourself into your Mama’s belly, to bathe in amnesia. You can’t know the end of the story because there isn’t any. You can only know what you came here to remember; the tragic, hilarious truth.

The doors have been open the whole time. You can get out whenever you want. The prison you think is your limitation, your unworthiness, your inherent flaw, doesn’t exist. You designed this maze called your life, glorious drama and brilliant comedy that it is, because it’s too boring to know the Truth all the time. You had to forget, for the thrill of remembering what’s now projecting onto the screen. You see yourself, shimmering with faith and dimming with doubt. You’re the writer, director, producer, Star. Suspending nirvana so you can dance in flesh. Unraveling you, only to discover, you’re God too. And Shakespeare, and Dr Seuss, laughing at the book signing, “look at all those silly angels in line, waiting for autographs when they can just sign their own books”.

(photo by Adam White)

October 17th

29 years ago I was alone in an elevator in San Francisco and the ‘Quake of ’89’ hit. Of course terrified, the lights went out, it didn’t occur to me it was an earthquake. I just assumed the elevator was malfunctioning and I would soon plummet to my death. I survived. And here I am, 29 years later, not knowing I’m experiencing a similar earthquake within, but only realizing once I was out of the darkness. Today I woke up, out of a meditation but also out of a dulled life. Yesterday started out ok, but I was tired, I was in pain, and as the work day became a grueling 11 hour night, I was also succumbing to my darkest tendencies. Doubting, exhausted in my confusion of how to change my life and my patterns, I began overeating. This took me back down to the gnawing shame of self-hatred I hadn’t visited in a long time. And after just a week before, feeling on top of the world. So I collapsed from the high and last night came home to defeat.

I saw a photo today of the Bay Bridge on the day of the earthquake, where a portion of the top deck had fallen onto the bottom, taking with it a life that plunged into the water. I remember seeing that clip on the news back then, and the screams of the people in the cars behind who witnessed the horror. We thought it was the end of the world. I’d even had a premonition in a dream the week before of this very thing. And now it was real. But then it wasn’t, for me. There was death and destruction but I was still here and my life continued. There was another dying last night. And a rebirth today. 29 years later, it is still so hard, I am still the same person but I’ve lived so many lives since then. I am so much better, and weathered and worn, and fresh and new at the same time. Today the top deck of the first half of my life collapsed. That outer layer of artifice and desperation, of suspension, and waiting for things to change, buckled under the weight of my dreams. My dreams are too big to hope. My dreams deserve all my belief. My trust is the Bay I’m diving into.

Self-sabotage, really?

So I haven’t written all day. At the start of the day I’d thought “ooh I’ll have the whole afternoon to write”. But because I didn’t go to sleep until almost 1am last night, that meant, since sleep is also top priority, especially after the accident, I had to sleep until almost 9am. Then laundry, clean a bit, food prep, made some obligatory calls, time got away from me again. Having to go to class at 4pm was also #1 priority, my body needs it’s favorite exercise to get back to itself. So I didn’t even get my one hour meditation in, another at top of the list, just half an hour. I’m noticing while writing this, that’s a lot of  #1 priorities!

But here I am, it’s almost 7pm, went to class, then shopping for mom, now sitting, about to meditate for another half hour. (In case you’re wondering “what the hell, an hour of meditation a day?!” That is part of a 90 Day Commitment I made to myself since September 10th, 2017, during a life changing weekend in LA. I will be continuing to talk about it here. More later!)

I noticed anxiety about the dread of this. Ah shit I haven’t written today, gotta do my three pages. Three pages typed though? Ugh. Three pages in my journal is easier, can’t I do that? The pages are smaller and my writing takes up more space, ok? No, get in the habit of typing, silly. When I noticed that I was having anxiety, I pinpointed what was underneath it – the fear of how I would judge myself and feel about myself if I yet again didn’t do it, and instead made dinner and just wanted to “relax” by getting sucked into Youtube or netflix or facebook.

So of course I define doing that instead of writing as my self-sabotage again. But even that, that I label it as self-sabotage, right now I’m thinking….interesting. Because wait a minute, I was in a traumatizing car accident day before yesterday, isn’t it ok if I’m all of a sudden exhausted from the emotional and spiritual upheaval of that? Or is that yet again my excusing myself, my self-sabotage? But then, if it is an excuse and self sabotage, then, what? What that means, what that does, is it further cements my criticism and judgement of myself. What I’m really thinking in those moments of “oh you can’t not do your daily three pages because of your 90 day commitment, every one else is sticking to theirs, so I must be lame and lazy and not as worthy of being happy or successful. If I’m just going with how I feel then I will always be stuck and living a life I don’t want to live and I will never be the person I want to be! So goddammit I’m going to force myself to do this thing, despite the fact that my body is telling me “you don’t have to, you shouldn’t, I don’t want you to force yourself to do anything. I want you to do what feels right to do”. Well, resting and relaxing feels right, but if I do that and don’t do the all important writing then I won’t be able to relax because I’ll be berating myself while I’m “relaxing”, for not doing it!

But wait again. What if I just didn’t do the writing, that thing I’m supposed to do, that in my mind is what’s going to change my life? What if, here’s the key, I didn’t berate myself for not doing it, at all. Not in one tiny way. Meaning, I didn’t even have the thought of “it’s ok, you will do it tomorrow, you deserve to rest and not worry about it”. Even saying that to myself implies that when I do do it, then I will be back to being worthy and on my way to my great life. But this day, when I’m not doing it, is just me in limbo and I won’t be making any progress towards my “goals”.

No, wait a minute again! Who says that by not doing the thing I think I’m supposed to be doing that I’m not making progress, and that my dream life isn’t still on it’s way to me, regardless?! Why do I have to “work” so hard to make sure I do the things that will make it happen? Just thinking that implies the other key that lies under all of this – that thought is me not loving myself, which of course is what brings in a loss of faith and trust. I have defined my not writing three pages a day, every day, as meaning that my dream life can’t happen unless I do all the right things, first by sticking to what I said I was going to do. But if I keep believing that, I’m the jailer of my own prison. And even more to the point, why do I still have to keep believing that my “dream life” is out there somewhere, in the distance, and isn’t right here, right damn now?!

So instead, I’m turning this on it’s head. I refuse to believe anymore that I have to stick with and force myself to do things that in the moment I’m not wanting to do. What if, unlike in the past, the not wanting to do it is actually coming from even more of an inner knowing, and is actually NOT coming from resistance to being the person I want to be, because of feeling unworthy. What if, sometimes, not wanting to do something or keep a commitment is actually not about me sabotaging myself but is actually my higher wisdom saying “try something new, do what you DO want to do and….drum roll, don’t beat yourself up about it”.

This thought has only occurred to me because I’ve been making subtle strides in loving myself in the middle of those thoughts of self beratement, which is the self-sabotage itself. The increased meditation has brought on new experiences outwardly, that weekend in LA, the panic that I lost my journal (I didn’t), the car crash, which are mirroring a deep shifting. Inwardly, the frozen tectonic plates of my former beliefs are starting to move, they are restless, they are adjusting to fit a new landscape of new feelings, that come from new awareness. And this awareness is showing me, maybe that belief that if I don’t do this or that then I can’t have my idealized fabulous life and can’t be my idealized self, has had it’s day. That belief is now drowning in the choppy waters created by these moving icebergs. New beliefs that have been slowly rooting in me, sleeping, waiting to hear my call, are now ready to break off and have their own experiments in the other lakes and seas of my soul.

One of them is this; I am all wise and all knowing and however I feel is exactly right at all times, there is no longer such a thing as self-sabotage. That belief has lost it’s breath and is now headed to the bottom of the ocean of my former identity. This new piece of ice broke free before it’s mother sank, to create another adjustment within me, a looking around, swimming it’s way through the rising tides of new thoughts. And the first one it’s being swept along by is saying that the time has come, this ocean is expanding. By letting myself be whoever I am right now, and loving who that is, no memory of what self-sabotage even means, is the dawning of a new continent within the planet of my ever-exploring self.

 

21 Days, Day 3 – uh oh

“Oops, I did it again!” It’s astonishing really, how many times we make a decision, a declaration, such as, “this time I’m doing it, goddammit, as God is my witness, I’ll never (fill in the blank) again!” And then, uh oh, we do. “I’ll only be (fill in the blank) from now on!” And then, uh oh, we aren’t. I decided on Sunday, day before yesterday, again. I made a promise to myself.

And then yesterday, on Day 2, I got a bug, I felt a little sick. I woke up all puffy and achey. But because I’d made my declaration to myself, I ignored that I was actually feeling sick. “Nah, just temporary, you’re not sick, you just feel off, this is your battle, your challenge, push through it!”. And I went to class, my daily workout. This was just one little part of my declaration, my Grand Plan to be the person I dream of being, now. Then, though 95% of the time I feel great after moving my body in the way my former Dancer self used to, and it makes me stronger and more determined in my new decisions and declarations, this time, hmm, I still didn’t feel so good. Dammit! Why can’t I just keep going with my awesome self and go to my favorite cafe and write all day, on this precious day off, like I was planning to! Why am I sabotaging myself, again?

But that right there, assuming I’m sabotaging myself, that’s the pattern. I’m feeling great and then boom, some type of doubt or fear comes up. It’s either in the form of something on the outside happening that I have to stop everything and deal with, which then seemingly takes me off my path. Or more often than not, something on the inside happens. Like I feel sick, which translates to weak, which translates to “see, you can’t keep up that power, that strength you thought you had, this new life, new person you want to be, it’s just too hard, there’s too many things to overcome, I’ve spent too many years doing this over and over, I really don’t know if I can change in the fundamental, earth shattering way I will need to in order to change my life”.

All this comes from a belief that I’m sabotaging myself; which, on the one hand, on a surface level, on the level that my Little Me mind can recognize, I am. My Little Me mind has grown up and is at the stage where at least it can see my patterns of letting myself down. From a psychological perspective, it’s a pattern of believing I sabotage myself, of knowing that this is a pattern we all engage in, in one form or another. Sure, I can leave it at that, understand it, and try again.

But underneath that, is this. My soul, the Spirit that is me, the God that is me, is also whispering to Little Me, and they are having an ongoing conversation. Right now, the God that is me is speaking louder, thank heavens. “No, what you think is your sabotaging pattern is just Me speaking to you. You need not force yourself to do or be anything, you need not have to make it happen, you need not have to change, you need only to see that you already are worthy of all of it, perfect now, and I am giving you what Little Me sees as an obstacle, what Little Me sees as your sabotaging pattern. I take you beneath, to the underworld of doubt and fear, so you can see it for what it is, only that. They are just feelings, feelings that are part of what you chose to experience by coming to Earth. And when you feel it, you then come bounding out and up into your world with more clarity on the next right thing to do, with more strength and power than you actually had before I took you down there, more knowing that you are really Me.

I was, am and will be, giving you these moments, these gifts, every day until you reach the next dimension (the glorious secret I am keeping from you, the best surprise ever!), to have you feel everything there is to feel in this dimension. The more you feel, the more you experience the depths of doubt and fear and the heights of joy and love, the more you know that it is always changing. So, the less you fear the doubt and fear, and the less you attach to the love and joy. You see that you are creating all of it, to simply show you more. You see that doubt and fear and love and joy are equal in their ability to help you expand, which is the only reason you came here. The more you see this, the more love you can have for your doubt and fear, and for your human self. You can then say hello to the doubt and fear and know they are just your friends. They aren’t there to hurt you, they love you. And you learn to love them too. You wouldn’t be able to love them if you weren’t already Love, the more free you become, the more you see that you and I are One.”

So my lesson given to me today by my Creator, by the Creator that is me, is that no, getting sick and not working out, breaking my cleanse slightly last night by eating to push down the doubt and fear, feeling regret and shame this morning because of it, feeling I’ve fallen back yet again, is not my “sabotaging pattern” at all. It is meant for me, it is my gift to myself, because look, had I not gone on yet another dive into the underworld, whether in a few seconds or a few days or weeks, I wouldn’t have seen this truth. And I wouldn’t have written these very words.