Tag: self esteem

Lullabies and doggies

It’s been a strange and hard few days. I just got to the house yesterday, this incredible, beautiful house in the hills of San Rafael, California. It is not my house. It is a housesitting gig I happened upon a year ago, seven minutes from where I live. This is the fourth time where I get to bask in the relaxation and peace of what it must be like to be rich, or how rich is defined to me. If I was rich, I’d have a house like this. It has a lot of light and is surrounded by trees and hiking trails and the brilliant silence of the sound symphony that is nature.

A couple years ago, in the midst of the break up of a long term love relationship, struggling with inner turmoil while also being guided out and into a whole new world of myself, my first housesitting gig was presented to me. That was a different house; in the hills of Mill Valley, California, in an even more exquisite setting. I only live 15 minutes away from there, but I may as well have been in a different, albeit ideal, country. I had stepped into a parallel life. The view there, from the kitchen, and from the bedroom, was the very vision I’d had in my then recent dreams. I’d been imagining that exact view, it just kept coming to me, before I even knew a break up was underway. Then, in the depths of pain and fear of extricating myself out of a partnership with someone I loved, while also knowing it had to end, came the invitation from an acquaintance. A perfectly materialized replica of what I’d been seeing leading up to the pain. It was a gift out of nowhere, a haven of escape, and a glimpse of what was waiting for me on the other side of that necessary darkness. On the other side of doubt. And the best part, the house had two beings of Pure Love for me to have the privilege to care for; in the bodies of doggies.

And yet, these places are not mine. I am a borrower of someone else’s wonderful life. Of course, that is a fallacy. I know nothing of the inner worlds of the people who live in them and don’t presume that they are any happier than anyone else. But now that I am here in this latest house, that is the feeling I’m reminded of. I’m being forced to see, and ponder, what I don’t have. Depending on my mood, my occasional vulnerability to old ways of thinking, that ridiculously destructive mindset can lead down a path where, this time, I refuse to go. That is one perspective. That is the perspective of lack. Lack is what lives in all of us, if we allow it to wake itself, as the beast of illusion. “I don’t have that, I can’t be that, I’m not worthy of being or having or doing” this, that or the other.

And there is also the Light. It knows that being here now, in this house, with this lone beautiful dog Lulu as my guide, is the most glorious gift that my soul could have conjured up. And Light always and only knows gratitude. I am so thankful for my hard, panting, isolated, shot through with miracles life, I could cry. And do, fairly regularly. Lulu knows who she is, and she reminds me that I Am That too. This house and this dog, yet another signal that whatever shifts that are happening in me, however uncomfortable and discombobulating the cauldron is right now, they are exactly perfect, pushing me into something that I am being prepared for.

I had been struggling with feelings of not knowing what to do next and how to handle all the newness, and the people I’ve been “connecting” with, in an online group of creatives. I’m going to LA later this week for a “transformational” workshop. I’ve been called to do this and I will be meeting many of these new people. But more to the point, all the excitement of getting in touch with and drawing out who I am and what I want, has inevitably caused a thrashing side-to-side mind. From wall to wall it runs, from the enormity of what it could all mean. This has been happening almost every day now for a week, a back and forth, up and down, tidal crashing of both seeing the horizon from the top of the wave, to feeling the impact of the steep and violent hit to the bottom of the shore.

So last night, after another day of chaotic shape-shifting between the old me and the new me, in meditation, I felt the presence. I heard the voice. It was above me. Then it was behind me. Then it was in me. It simply began, and kept reciting, The Lullaby of God, “I Love You.” I let it penetrate me. It merged with Little Me. It became me. As I made my dinner, it was there. And then, as it does, it began to fade. The Little Me thoughts of doubt and fear, a familiar default setting, gradually began drowning the lullaby out. And yet, the schizophrenia of space was also there. I was aware of the space, split second glimpses into all the infinite aspects of me. The space was a nudging “see, we’re all listening, we can hear it too”. Though I was still falling back into the suffering of being inside my thoughts, there was also the awareness that I was outside them. Little Me was in pain. “I was feeling so much better just then, why am I feeling off again now? Why do I do this to myself? Why do I have to keep falling back?”

But the space that contained all of me was there too, noticing those thoughts and, simply continuing the lullaby. It was speaking myself to Rest, soothing the child to sleep. If we can cause our suffering, but we can also cause our awakening, how incredibly powerful must we all be?

As I look over at the innocence and beauty that is Lulu, I am reminded that every single thought and feeling with the slightest “offness”, any kind of negativity, is pain. Underneath pain, lies fear, disguised as doubt, disguised as Separate. And it’s incessant wail is crying out for love. There is a space between all of that. It is always there and, for the most part, we don’t know it. It gets wider, it gets narrower, but it is always there. It holds the antidote to the closed window of fear, and right now it is singing the lullaby of You into eternity. Don’t just listen for it, hear it. Take it in. Be it.

 

21 Days, Day 4 – everyone else

Facebook, the good and the evil. I shared yesterday’s post on a private facebook group, of like-minded creatives and meditators and, of course, got caught up in checking how many likes and comments I was getting. Look, I’m falling for it again! Noticing how I was being affected, though not even acknowledging it to myself at first, but very soon I did.  “See, this is the illusion”.

It’s not even so bad that I was getting caught up in wanting and needing validation and approval from strangers, I let that go, I’m getting better! It’s just the overall slow moving, rising wave of confusion that sets in the more I check updates, scroll down my newsfeed, click on videos, google that person, send a friend request, scroll through their page, and wait a minute, where was I? I went from (post meditation) having a serene, solid knowing of who I am, and that there is one easy answer right in front of me, I write it down, it flows from there, to…Maybe I should do that? Maybe just try to get as many youtube subscribers as possible, just make daily videos of me talking, yeah this writing thing and wanting to blog daily and create a show is a waste of time, who cares, nobody goes to the theater anymore. Wait I could put a video of it on youtube. Who cares, nobody wants to actually read two pages of text anymore, much less sit still and watch someone talk on stage for 20 minutes. Wait, what do you think a TED Talk is? Who cares, mine won’t be all that profound if I’m just talking about my….wait, what do you think adding characters and dancing and great storytelling and music is? That’s a dynamic, life changing performance is what that is. Who cares, I’m not Don Reed, that’s not me, I can’t do what he…holy hell. Look what I just did?

No more. “Everyone else” is a destroyer. I love so many of these people whose posts I read in that private group. We’re all wanting and trying to do the same thing really, express ourselves. But I’m watching THEM express themselves! I’ve been doing that my whole life. Sure, I’m “expressing myself” on there too, but even that is within a narrow frame of what I really want to be doing. I can now admit that I’ve been trying to fit myself in to what I think the world would like. Ah, I’ve been trying to fit in. And I see their daily videos and sometimes think, “ok, I should do that, I guess that’s how you get a following”.

But wait a minute! Is that what I want to do? NO. I want to do this. So I remember again, the word I come back to when the temptation to indulge in checking my phone and watching-everyone-else chaos, mind chaos, food chaos, outside world chaos, reaches it’s tipping point – refrain. Meditate, write, dance and refrain.

It’s coming, lock your doors…The Forgetting!

I love Aziz Ansari’s show on Netflix, ‘Master of None’. In the last episode of the first season, he’s a struggling actor and is at the premiere of a bad scary movie he has a small part in. He’s invited his friends, is very excited, and before they walk into the theater he plays a game with them, a gotcha joke. “Wait, you guys, I’m not feeling well…I think ‘The Sickening’!.. is happening!” It’s adorable. And that moment is the comedic version of what happens to me, at work.

I’ve had a respite this week, my own little vacation. I purposely didn’t make any plans involving anyone else, I didn’t go out of town. Right now, not filling my precious time off with more stuff to do and people to be with was what I needed most. I decided I would call this my retreat, my sabbatical. I’d make my priorities just meditating, writing, exercising, eating mostly fruits and vegetables, in that order, and refraining from facebooking, netflixing and eating or thinking too much. I used my time wisely, today is my last day off and I’ve made huge strides. I even took huge, scary action. I’m more in touch with myself than I’ve ever been. I’m remembering more consistently who I am. Gosh, this is the life!

And yet tomorrow, I start back up with the jobs. I shall begin the day in the same way as I have been; meditating, writing and exercising. But then. Then, for the next eight hours or so and random days in the next week, month…I have to go do something and be something I don’t want to do or be. Knowing this, I have anxiety about what will happen to me. Because what often does is this: by the end of the day, I’ve experienced a dread, then a fog, then, uh oh, I don’t feel so well…The Forgetting!…is happening!

How long can I hold on to these feelings of inspiration and joy? Don’t let go! I’m losing my grip! A final plea I’m not even aware of says quick, lock your doors, don’t allow these menial tasks, that tone in a co-worker’s voice, the crappy staff food lying around, the gossip, my body’s aches, my tiredness, into this sanctuary! Suddenly it’s the zombie apocalypse and I’m back in my old identity, having completely forgotten. What? Forgotten my power, who I really am, my innate knowing that all this is an illusion. I don’t have to let this job, and the fact that my ego thinks I shouldn’t be doing this, affect me. That is a choice. I am unlimited and this job is just part of the path to what I know is on it’s way. It’s my training ground, my spiritual bootcamp if you will.

In my current, expanded and relaxed state, I know that. But the more time that goes by in the day, on the job, I start to identify with what I’m doing, the role I’m playing. And soon The Forgetting starts to weave it’s spell. The space that was allowing in all the inspired ideas and new ways I was thinking about myself starts to get smaller and smaller. The thoughts that were reminding me of who I really am, and that even this job can be fun because I know it’s temporary, can no longer even occur to me.

They are outside my limited personality that’s getting caught up in chiming in with co-workers, telling old stories, and complaining about one thing or another. Those thoughts, “that are lovely and of good report” (-Neville Goddard) are beyond this narrow perspective, just outside the barrier that The Forgetting has enclosed me in, knocking patiently. But I can’t hear them. And then, I’m back to the person who’s putting herself down because she can’t believe she’s still doing this for a living.

The endless slippery slope of what that one destructive thought creates, lands me in a state of confusion, exhaustion and numbness by the end of the night. Now The Forgetting has settled in and I go to sleep in the itching discomfort of something being very wrong. This truly is a horror movie. The horror of thinking those illusions are real is playing to the sold out crowd of insecure, doubting and fearful personalities in my brain.

But here’s the rub. Life will always be presenting unwanted circumstances. And when we do get what we want, something else comes up that we don’t want. And we want something else again. This is the human experience, and we chose it. We wanted to play a game, the ultimate game, on ourselves. The only way to keep expanding was to forget who we really are, and be presented with contrast. We can’t see the light without the dark. Thus, we would then do, then finally be, whatever it would take to remember. With each new peek of who we really are, we are now even more than we were before. And when we’ve learned all there is to know here, we’ll move on to the next planet, vibration, frequency, whatever you want to call it. And we’ll begin a whole new adventure. If we always knew that we were God, the Universe would no longer be infinite, it would keep banging it’s head against the wall and start to shrink! And the Universe would be all, “say what, God? I can’t even be called The Universe anymore? Now I’m Mini Me Universe?! This is so boring!”.

So back to Groundhog Day. I wake up, shower, make my tea, put my headphones in, listen to my favorite music or talks that remind me, meditate, and start the entire process of Remembering all over again. Then, not always, but often by the evening, The Forgetting starts sneaking under the door of my consciousness. But after all, only our minds can make a hell of heaven, and a heaven of hell.

So, tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow! I shall create a game out of this too, and a new determination. How long can The Remembering last? Can I Remember all the way through to when my head hits the pillow? What if I really could? What vistas, what worlds await me. Tomorrow is Day #1. Let’s find out!

 

Alien babies

I’m noticing there is a dread of this moment. On second thought, of course, it is all the moments before this, before I start. All day there were things that popped into my head, and then the inner judge, who is interestingly getting kinder, says “that’s an idea, yes you want to talk about that, good”. But then, if I make a note of that idea, and I have to leave the balm of expressing it to go do the stuff of the day, like work and errands, and I don’t immediately go with it by writing more than just one sentence, there is a feeling of anxiety that I’m trying to put a name to right now.

One part is that it will leave, which is a very common occurrence. The more time that goes by before I can sit and throw it in the mixer, jumble it around in my mind on the page and sweep it into actual words, with each passing hour that I haven’t gotten it out, I feel more nervous, irritable and tired. I then want to escape from that feeling, so then will turn to a distraction. Then I notice that all that time that’s gone by being aware that I’m not getting whatever it is out,  I could have actually sat down to do it.

But there were things I had to do! There are only so many hours in the day and I gotta pay the bills. And so, I’m going to punish myself for doing what I have to do because I’m not doing what I want to do, and even though that’s crazy, that’s actually where the downward spiral of resistance to doing it begins. I’m realizing I’m mad at myself, something I wasn’t even conscious of until now that’s actually saying to me I’m wrong or bad for not getting it out and expressing it, so I must not be worthy of it. Oh and the other ingredient in the self-beratement canon, it’s my fault. But it’s not a voice even, more like a net enshrouding me in shame; I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing. And I’m not even aware of this at the time. I’m just feeling off about myself in some way. I’m in doubt. That doubt is what prevents the antidote, just sitting and writing. Because now it’s turned into another thing I have to do, something difficult, something I don’t want to do anymore.

But this right here, talking it out to myself in the moment, this flow of Source is my friend. And I’d been thinking of it more like the movie ‘Alien’, this terrorizing monster that’s been in me and the process of getting it out, so I can be ok again, is going to be torture. I’ve turned the idea of this, right here, into my enemy. But look, there is an energy that’s causing my mind and fingers to move in harmony along the keyboard. Yet it’s not even linked to my body or my mind. It’s the something else I can’t exactly define.

It has transmuted from this alien baby gnarling to be born and destroy it’s host in the process, into this gentle breeze that’s whispering “you’re doing it, look at you, I’m here anytime you’re ready, no pressure, no big deal”. Then when I listen to it, like just now, it turns into a waterfall. Now it’s the river below, and will continue on downstream, pushed along by the breeze, until it becomes a waterfall again. No alien babies anywhere in sight.

Questions to stop asking

There are so many things I want to talk about, and of course the clincher is what to say right now. I get hung up on, what is the most pressing to work on? What do I want to do here? What’s the point again? When I think I’ve decided, then this road sign in my subconsious immediately shows up to say, “Stop! Uncharted territory, go back to safety”.

I think I’ve narrowed down that road sign’s real voice – “who is going to read this?!” And more to the point, who is going to read this whose opinion of this I care about? Certain people have been popping into my head and when they do, there’s a tinge of anxiety. “Oh god, if they knew this then…” Well, then, what? They would think differently of me, look down on me, know my weaknesses, and therefore, be more capable of hurting me? Is that what it is? Ok, then what? How could they hurt me?

Aha, I think I’ve reached the end. The part of me, the real me, the I, that is all knowing, all powerful and all love, that part knows they can’t hurt me. But the little personality me struggles with the question of “they could hurt me…in some way! I don’t even know how, but they just could!”

Well, isn’t it better to at least see that the little me can’t even see how they could hurt me? Yes, that’s already a step up. I can’t even think of what it is exactly they could do, probably because I’ve only just started to go public with myself. I realize that the more I do this, the more risks I take, the more fear I conquer, the more challenges and new fears to overcome will of course continue to show up, and in bigger forms than before.

But strangely, I’m not caring, and more importantly, not even thinking of any one terrible thing that could happen if I speak my truth. So instead of trying to come up with something, I’m going to move on, up and out, of putting any of my precious attention on that crap. Crap is actually a benign word for it, Insidious Evil is more like it.

So, whoever that person is, who, if I knew they saw this I’d feel humiliated and victimized, whoever they are doesn’t even exist.  They are living their own lives within their own minds and whatever I think they’re thinking is not even true. ‘They’ are simply a feeling of something “out there” that’s going to get me, somehow, some way. And nothing ever is. I am forever.

Therefore, here it is, last night was a struggle. After the last post, though there was some relief to be writing, I ate what I didn’t want to eat out of some vague anxiety that I couldn’t put my finger on, I sabotaged my good feelings, and it doesn’t even matter. The work is this – stop trying to figure out why I do things that hurt me. Just notice the pain of not knowing how to be the idealized person I want to be. That pain is just the little me continuing to fight for survival. I acknowledge her, I forgive her, I love her and I continue, with the other me, the I Already AM by my side who knows everything is always working out exactly as it must.

(artist unknown)