Is our inability to cope with painful situations via our historic patterns a sign of our evolution toward wholeness?
It's a good question isn't it. I find this thought provoking, especially for women over 50. Is this just a different perspective on how I've been looking at things in my own life? Or is this a brand new level of inner awareness? What does it mean to move toward healing as oppose to moving away from it?
Pain presents a possibility to learn. It's not a liability or a punishment, but a great teacher. We can choose to lean into the pain, to experience it "head on" instead of running away from it.
In my hypno-coaching practice I invite my clients to "step up to the plate and into their pain". In most cases, the monster in the closet isn't half as scary once it is let out. It is by keeping it locked up deep inside a dark well that makes it seem very powerful and strong.
Whatever you are hiding from yourself, running away from, afraid of, will eventually manifest into your reality. Moving toward wholeness and healing may mean that the seas get very stormy and that things get messy before they are cleaned up.
When we observe a painful situation or relationship, we can choose how much we wish to participate in it, what the lessons are and how to use the information for our own journey.
The intention of facing the fear will be enough to transform it. This means having a fearless attitude toward the monster at all times. The monster doesn't just go away, it is here to engage us, to teach us and to invite us to take back our power without falling victim to it's voracious appetite .
In my personal journey, I have made some very bad and destructive choices. I have also made some really great choices. To me, the most important aspect of all these choices is that they are entirely my own - all of them. And so are the lessons that accompany these choices. These were also chosen by me, even if that choice was subconscious, I must take full responsibility.
To move forward and let the past go involves complete forgiveness. To forgive does not mean that we condone or support everything that we've done or the painful things others have done. However, it does mean that we need to own it in order to move forward.
The most important journey we will take for our personal healing is the journey inward. Unless we know who we are, how can we possibly offer what we have?
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
OUR INTERNAL STATE
Everything we do is infused with the energy with which we do it. Our real goal in any situation becomes inner peace. Our internal state of being determines what we experience in each moment of our lives. Our external experiences do not determine our internal state.
We can connect with our internal state by practicing a moment of silence. Just a short moment will do. While driving I practice "just listening" to the silence instead of music. I realize that the moment I notice the silence that I am no longer thinking. Inner silence is a "no thing", formless, nothingness. Sometimes just visiting that internal state can bring an abundance of energy and new ideas. We have all visited there, even though it may have been just a short visit.
Just having that one moment of inner stillness can sometimes propel me throughout a challenging day. True action comes from this inner space.
Next time a challenging situation arises, ask yourself: where is the inner space in me right now, can I be silent for just one moment? Then take a few breaths to catch a glimpse of this inner space.
Where is this space in you right now? What part of the body feels more sensation/alive than another?
If your mind begins to wander and tries to return to the external event, don't fight with it, or try to understand it, that doesn't work. In fact, it will pull you back in.
It is by observing it without challenging it that we can stay focused on that internal realm. We then reclaim both our inner peace and our power.
Everything we do is infused with the energy with which we do it. Our real goal in any situation becomes inner peace. Our internal state of being determines what we experience in each moment of our lives. Our external experiences do not determine our internal state.
We can connect with our internal state by practicing a moment of silence. Just a short moment will do. While driving I practice "just listening" to the silence instead of music. I realize that the moment I notice the silence that I am no longer thinking. Inner silence is a "no thing", formless, nothingness. Sometimes just visiting that internal state can bring an abundance of energy and new ideas. We have all visited there, even though it may have been just a short visit.
Just having that one moment of inner stillness can sometimes propel me throughout a challenging day. True action comes from this inner space.
Next time a challenging situation arises, ask yourself: where is the inner space in me right now, can I be silent for just one moment? Then take a few breaths to catch a glimpse of this inner space.
Where is this space in you right now? What part of the body feels more sensation/alive than another?
If your mind begins to wander and tries to return to the external event, don't fight with it, or try to understand it, that doesn't work. In fact, it will pull you back in.
It is by observing it without challenging it that we can stay focused on that internal realm. We then reclaim both our inner peace and our power.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
A few months ago the lot next door to our house got cleared. All but 4 of the trees were cut down. At the time, I was sitting in front of my computer upstairs. I could feel the vibrations of the trees as each one fell to the ground. These were the very trees that I had observed for 24 years, they grew up with my children, stood proud and tall for many a Sierra winter, this had become their fate in the name of progress.
As each tree fell, flocks of birds began flying around and around our house, like they were in a sense of great panic, and all they could do was fly in circles in a state of shock.
The next day, I observed a robin and her mate building a nest right next to my window. There seemed to be a sense of urgency. I thought perhaps their nest had been destroyed by the tree cutting.
The male was very engaged in searching for the "right" twig. He would carefully bring it to the female. She would then inspect it and, if it was acceptable weave it into the nest. She would protest when the object wasn't to her liking, these castoffs were on a small pile below the nest. "Just like a pregnant woman," I thought, everything must be in order for the birth.
After several weeks of nest building I could hear sounds, especially early in the morning. I would observe the male robin coming and going with food. I could hear the cries of the chicks as their morning meal would be delivered. I felt all of my maternal instincts re-awakening.
Each day I would wake up, hear the chicks, observe the parents' comings and goings. They had become a part of "my" family.
The days grew into weeks and soon the chicks were fully grown. One day my husband said "I think they will be taking off soon". Oh, I thought "I'm really going to miss them when they fly
away". I felt so attached to this family, like it was my own.
The next day I awoke to a strange stillness. I could feel that something had changed, there was an eerie kind of quiet, like when the kids have left for the weekend and you don't know what to really do with yourself. I felt as if my kids had left home all over again. I kept staring up at
the "empty nest" in disbelief I cried all that day and the next.
Days passed and I was expecting this mamma robin to return, just to have a last look around "gosh this really was a swell nest, great location, no cats, I'm so glad we re-located when our other nest was torn down."
There was no return trip. There was no "looking back" at what had been there only a few days ago.
A deep sense of peace and acceptance came over me, this family of robins shared my house to teach me the lesson of compete surrender to what is - without looking back, something I had not been able to do.
For years I have been "trying" to let go of any and all attachment to our house. I would always pull back -" after all, my kids grew up here, of course I'm attached, I'm not ready to let go, what if they come back and need a place to live".
This robin family taught me what it means to live fully in the moment without
any attachment to future outcomes. To accept "what is" to do what we must do, take full responsibility and move forward when nature dictates it without any sense of sadness, loss, or looking back.
Several times during the day, I find myself gazing up at the nest where there was so much activity. It is still now. I've thought about getting out our tall ladder and retrieving the nest, bringing it inside and placing it on my bookcase as a poignant reminder to let go. Perhaps I will just leave it where it is, undisturbed. The lesson was learned and now it is time to finally let go.
Somewhere out there a robin sings, her song isn't about self pity, menopause, loss of identity, or about letting go. Her song simply is. If I listen carefully I will always hear her. I now carry her song inside of me.
As each tree fell, flocks of birds began flying around and around our house, like they were in a sense of great panic, and all they could do was fly in circles in a state of shock.
The next day, I observed a robin and her mate building a nest right next to my window. There seemed to be a sense of urgency. I thought perhaps their nest had been destroyed by the tree cutting.
The male was very engaged in searching for the "right" twig. He would carefully bring it to the female. She would then inspect it and, if it was acceptable weave it into the nest. She would protest when the object wasn't to her liking, these castoffs were on a small pile below the nest. "Just like a pregnant woman," I thought, everything must be in order for the birth.
After several weeks of nest building I could hear sounds, especially early in the morning. I would observe the male robin coming and going with food. I could hear the cries of the chicks as their morning meal would be delivered. I felt all of my maternal instincts re-awakening.
Each day I would wake up, hear the chicks, observe the parents' comings and goings. They had become a part of "my" family.
The days grew into weeks and soon the chicks were fully grown. One day my husband said "I think they will be taking off soon". Oh, I thought "I'm really going to miss them when they fly
away". I felt so attached to this family, like it was my own.
The next day I awoke to a strange stillness. I could feel that something had changed, there was an eerie kind of quiet, like when the kids have left for the weekend and you don't know what to really do with yourself. I felt as if my kids had left home all over again. I kept staring up at
the "empty nest" in disbelief I cried all that day and the next.
Days passed and I was expecting this mamma robin to return, just to have a last look around "gosh this really was a swell nest, great location, no cats, I'm so glad we re-located when our other nest was torn down."
There was no return trip. There was no "looking back" at what had been there only a few days ago.
A deep sense of peace and acceptance came over me, this family of robins shared my house to teach me the lesson of compete surrender to what is - without looking back, something I had not been able to do.
For years I have been "trying" to let go of any and all attachment to our house. I would always pull back -" after all, my kids grew up here, of course I'm attached, I'm not ready to let go, what if they come back and need a place to live".
This robin family taught me what it means to live fully in the moment without
any attachment to future outcomes. To accept "what is" to do what we must do, take full responsibility and move forward when nature dictates it without any sense of sadness, loss, or looking back.
Several times during the day, I find myself gazing up at the nest where there was so much activity. It is still now. I've thought about getting out our tall ladder and retrieving the nest, bringing it inside and placing it on my bookcase as a poignant reminder to let go. Perhaps I will just leave it where it is, undisturbed. The lesson was learned and now it is time to finally let go.
Somewhere out there a robin sings, her song isn't about self pity, menopause, loss of identity, or about letting go. Her song simply is. If I listen carefully I will always hear her. I now carry her song inside of me.
Monday, July 14, 2008
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