Graceful Release

       The Sedona Method, taught by Hale Dwoskin, asserts that letting go of pesky patterns of thinking and emotional reactivity can be as natural and effortless as releasing your grip on a pen and dropping it to the floor. 

       After just a few days of practice with myself and others, I've found it to be an elegant and effective way to heal by communicating directly with the deeper self.  You by-pass ego, which relies on analysis, judgment and rumination, as it struggles to eliminate the very pain it causes.

       The method involves a simple process of inquiry that I've adapted somewhat for my own use – and, perhaps, yours.  Here are some instructions.

       First, invite the pattern of thinking and emotional reactivity into conscious awareness.  Then gently, very gently, ask the following three questions – fully accepting whatever answer arrives.

       1.  Can I let go of this or do I have to hang on to it?

       2.  Am I willing to release this or do I prefer to carry it?

       3.  When will I let go – now or later?

       Moving meditatively through the sequence – inquiring, listening, allowing – and repeating the sequence as often as you'd like can noticeably lighten your load.  Release may happen quickly, in one sitting, or gradually, over time, with patient and persistent practice.

       Maybe it doesn't have to be such a struggle to get free.

       I'll be off-grid for a while and will post again in mid-March.   Meanwhile … May you be happy.  May you be healthy.  May you freely enjoy the graceful lightness of being.

Brene on Love

       Love is a mystery – one I've spent my whole life pondering, one I don't expect to ever unravel.  I enjoy the pondering, and I enjoy encountering what others write about love.

       Daring greatly, Brene Brown developed a definition of love, intended not to nail down the concept, which is too big to define, but to invite a conversation about love and what it means to us.  She published this definition in her book, The Gifts of Imperfection.  I found her words worth pondering.

       "We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness, and affection.

       "Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow; a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them – we can only love others as much as we love ourselves.

       "Shame, blame, disrespect, betrayal, and the withholding of affection damage the roots from which love grows.  Love can only survive these injuries if they are acknowledged, healed, and rare."    (p. 26)

       Happy Valentine's Day!

Joy Vulnerability

       Daring Greatly, a book by Brene Brown, invites us to embrace human vulnerability as "the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy and creativity."  (p. 34).

       For her, vulnerability is not weakness, it's the human condition.  Uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure are inescapable.  We do, however, have choice about how we respond to vulnerability.  We can engage authentically and wholeheartedly with life – or not.  We can show up or shut down; we can hide or be seen; we can invest – hearts all in – or we can protect and defend.

       Midway through Daring Greatly, I was struck by this conclusion from Brene's research:  "Joy is probably the most difficult emotion to really feel."  (pp. 117-8).  We mistrust joy.  Anticipating its passing, awaiting the other shoe to drop, protecting ourselves from letdown, doubting our worthiness of such blessing – we numb our joy and resist our vulnerability to it.

       According to Brene, strategies for minimizing vulnerability to joy range along a continuum from rehearsing tragedy to perpetual disappointment.  "Some of us … scramble to the bleakest, worst-case scenario when joy rears its vulnerable head, while others never even see joy, preferring to stay in an unmoving state of perpetual disappointment … It's easier to live disappointed than it is to feel disappointed.  It feels more vulnerable to dip in and out of disappointment than to just set up camp there.  You sacrifice joy, but you suffer less pain."  (p. 121). Thus, we choose a steady diet of low-grade disappointment over the ups and downs of engaged, wholehearted living.

       Softening to joy – breathing through the vulnerability we feel in its presence, gently stretching our capacity for its fullness – is a spiritual path to wholeheartedness.  Brene recommends such "leaning into joy" and the regular practice of gratitude as antidotes to old habits of "foreboding joy."  (p. 123)

       Gratitude's the attitude.  How good can we stand it?

Ego Dilemmas

       One of my favorite quotes from Julia Cameron (author of The Artist's Way, The Vein of Gold, and other books blending spirituality and creativity) relates to the counter-productivity of ego's efforts to embellish and protect itself.  She writes:

       "It's impossible to get better and look good at the same time."

       Lately, as I've been feeling the vulnerability of new growth, similar ego dilemmas come to mind.  Here are a few:

       The more I try to impress others, the less I do impress them.

       The more I grasp, the less I have.

       The more I try to control, the more powerless I feel.

       The more I protect and defend, the less safe I feel.

       The more I strive for perfection, the more unworthy I feel.

       The year is young.  And so is ego.  Maybe this is a good time to take that youngster gently by the hand and remind him/her that we are never alone, we are always worthy of love, and everything we need is already here. 

       Less is more.

Now's Nurture

       In my personal cosmology, the essence of the universe is love.  We are enfolded in its energy.  We bathe in light and bask in love – always.

       During challenging times of late, when plate is full and shoulders sag, stories of unease and unworthiness infiltrate my inner landscape.  Disengaged from the present moment and disconnected from the wisdom of body and heart, I get lost in my head.

       One route back to reality in the now involves returning to the body through sensory awareness. 

       Another route, one I've been following lately, involves taking my cosmology to heart – consciously opening to what I believe is happening right now and remembering that, in this moment, I am bathed in light and basking in love. 

       Taking time to bathe and bask in the nurture of now – what a merciful respite from old habits of rumination, review and rehearsal.

Unconditional Love

       Unconditional Love:  When I saw this subject-heading on an email from Catia, a fellow teacher, I expected familiar-sounding words of encouragement nudging me toward higher love and deeper spirituality.  Unprepared for the delight that awaited me, I laughed out loud in recognition, as I read, and took great comfort in this affirmation of the human condition.

       According to Catia, this refreshing piece of writing was authored and shared on Facebook by Courtney A. Walsh. 

       "Dear Human:  You've got it allllll wrong.  You didn't come here to master unconditional love.  That is where you came from and where you'll return.

       "You came here to learn personal love.  Universal love.  Messy love.  Sweaty love.  Crazy love.  Broken love.  Whole love.  Infused with divinity.  Lived through the grace of stumbling. Demonstrated through the beauty of…messing up.  Often.

       "You didn't come here to be perfect.  You already are.  You came here to be gorgeously human.  Flawed and fabulous.  And then to rise again into remembering.

       "But unconditional love?  Stop telling that story.  Love, in truth, doesn't need ANY other adjectives.  It doesn't require modifiers.  It doesn't require the condition of perfection.  It only asks that you show up.  And do your best.  That you stay present and feel fully.

       "That you shine and fly and laugh and cry and hurt and heal and fall and get back up and play and work and live and die as YOU.  It's enough.  It's Plenty."

       Love, then, is not a tightrope we walk.  It's a wide and open field, in which we play – and learn.

Small Victories

       Traditionally, New Year's is a time we resolve to begin anew – a time to deepen, broaden, break old habits, establish new patterns. 

       This year, I'm re-committing to staying present with myself, with the people in my life, and with life itself.  Since I tend to lapse quickly into rehearsing the future and reviewing the past, this is rigorous work – noticing, time and time again, when I'm off in story-land and gently, time and time again, bringing myself back to the now.

       Here's a suggestion from Richard Moss, I've found quite helpful in this work:  Declare victory each time we notice that we've gone away.  Don't focus on the "failure" of the departure, celebrate the success of the awareness and the return.  Each act of mindfulness interrupts an automatic pattern and weakens it – however slightly. 

       We can encourage ourselves on the journey.  Nothing huge – a quick internal "Yes!" will do nicely.  Also, as we evaluate how we're doing, it works better to note how far we've come than to immerse in how far we've yet to go.   

       In 2013, as we attend to growth in whatever areas we choose, let's approach ourselves with mercy and our tasks with joy.  Savor small victories.

       Happy New Year!

Christmas Reflection

       It's Christmas night and I wonder about the meaning of it all: the birth, the life, the message, the gift.

       For me, the birth of Jesus signals the movement from separation consciousness to unity consciousness.  His life and teaching (e.g. "I and the Father are one") move God from out there to in here.  His realization of oneness opens us to conscious connection with all that is – every person, every critter, every tree – this planet, this galaxy, this universe.  Our eyes open to the absurdity of deliberately harming another being. 

       Christmas greetings invite peace on earth and peace in our hearts.  The season invites reverence, reminding us that the divine is here – within us and around us, everywhere we look.  

       Beneath the fiction of separation, all is love.  Beneath our human goofiness, we are love and in love.  We are the gift. 

       Let's be the gift.  Let's do Christmas every day. 

Love Breath

       Lately, I've been playing with breath and imagery in my meditation practice.  What follows is a sequence I've been practicing – which I invite you to try.  If you do, please take your time.  Linger for a while at each step of the process.  As always, feel free to skip steps or to depart from what I describe in any way that feels right for you. 

       In seated meditation, I start with an erect posture, my tongue at the roof of the mouth and a little smile on my face.  Disengaging from busy mind and the cares of the day, I focus on the sensation of breathing – the feel of air moving through nasal passages, down into the lungs and back out – noticing, for example, the temperature changes and the sensations of fullness and release, as breath flows.

       After a while, I imagine that breath is love.  As I breathe in, I fill with love and compassion for myself.  As I breathe out, I send love and compassion to all.

       Next, I focus on the heart.  I inhale love into my heart.  I exhale love to all hearts.

       Finally, I imagine breathing love in and out of every pore, so that my entire body becomes a love radiator, increasingly transparent to the flow of love.  As self-consciousness recedes, there comes a sense of melting into love's radiant spaciousness.  Separation disappears.

       Later, as I reflect on these experiences, it seems true to say that, at some point in the process, I am no longer breathing love.  Love is breathing me.

A Moment in Grace

       Sitting in the circle of group Thursday night, listening to people dear to me speak about how they allow themselves to receive, I felt my heart smile in response to the loving energy of our gathering.

       Unbidden, came a simple statement – a quiet, matter of fact declaration:  "I am a beautiful being".  There was not the tearful sense of redemption I sometimes feel when touched by life – no awe, really – just a peaceful feeling.  The egoic self was strangely silent.  I remember thinking "my heart is good", with no judgments about accomplishments or mistakes, good deeds or bad deeds.  In fact, all that stuff seemed irrelevant.

       The experience lasted maybe a couple seconds.  Then, effortlessly, my attention returned to the flow in the room.  Only later, after group was over, did I begin to appreciate the significance – and the originality – of that moment.

       Ego loves the familiar repetition of the same old thoughts.  This was not one of my usual thoughts.  This was a moment in grace, a gentle reminder for me – and now, I hope, a gentle reminder for you – of who we are.