This is another post for my fellow princess-and-the-pea folks. I'm told that sensitivity is a gift, that it's what allows me to do what I do. But, you know, I have to ask, at what price? Is it worth the guard and the shields, the extra care with EVERYTHING (food, fragrances, cosmetics, household goods, organics), not to mention the cost (monetary, mental, and physical).
I don't know, but I'll be honest--I wish my buffer, my range, were a bit larger. I wish one indulgence didn't result in days of recovery. I wish I had a little more resilience against the electronic and chemical nature of our modern world. I wish I didn't have to worry so much about what a new innovation will mean for my system. I wish I didn't have to find and keep so many practitioners and experts and appointments on speed dial.
Here's what I've forgotten: to trust my mind to stillness. Instead, I've been fighting like mad under the tempting assumption that to let the mind still would mean that there's nothing to stop the avalanche of dread, worry, anxiety, and worst-case-scenarios from coming toppling down from where they've been shoved and shoved again.
But that, doves, is the crux of the illness--this belief that it takes all of our brute strength to ward off the messy onslaught of our minds. And the ridiculously unfair and cruel thing about worry, about anxiety is that the more we struggle, the more it manifests. Think of it this way: a glass of water on your desk, when left alone, will not rush up and topple the glass, soaking everything in its path. Of course not--that's not the nature of water. It takes a force--the wind, the moon, the tides, gravity--to inspire movement, gentle or violent.
We are our own act of god--we provide our own force by struggling to hold everything back. But her...
If we can rise above our daily fears, the small things that nab us with sticky fingers and for whose minor marring of our day we contort ourselves all out of shape, then we will have the clear head and clear sight necessary to sink effortlessly into endless beauty and infinite potential.
If we can believe that everything--even the discomforts, hard as it is--is arranged for our highest good, our deepest presence, then surely finding art, seeing beauty everywhere we can, cannot be too daunting a task or too much to ask.
I don't think, even if given the choice, that I would want all the answers. With easy access to answers, where is the curiosity? Where is the drive to discover? It's in that discovery that we stumble over the delightful surprise of our own creativity. Without mystery, there is no need for us to approach this life dynamically, in full color, and hell-bent on becoming our own singular expression of life.
Finding abundance isn't so much about redefining values, although that's certainly part of it, but cultivating a different way of seeing the world. We can welcome and celebrate abundance in one area while we work and wait for it to arrive in another. In fact, that seems like a good strategy to me--a way of moving through the world that makes it seem more welcoming, less threatening.
And while we mustn't escape those responsibilities we've set for ourselves in this life, walking through a friendlier world makes the task of living one more filled with joy than saddled with burden.
We don't need to know how to keep up. We don't even, really, have to learn. All we need, when we feel overwhelmed, is to step outside and look up. Just look up and watch the tops of the trees against the sky and know that they've made their very quiet way there for many more years than this day's, this week's, this year's particular struggle. Just stand and watch and wait. It can happen in an instant or it can creep in over a matter of moments, but peace will arrive.
And if that peace is temporary? Well. We have our feet and we have the view. The trees, bless them, aren't going anywhere.
One of my ongoing mantras this year has been 'find ease.' I've written it everywhere, left myself notes, and have tried to spend as much unstructured time outdoors as possible.
But still, I think I need to face the fact that I will never be an easy person. I will, apparently, always be what I am in the Chinese Zodiac--the element metal. Unbending and rigid. (Sigh). So it makes me wonder--despite making all the adjustments to our self-nurturing as possible, will some aspect of our nature always win out?
The obvious answer is yes--after all, we are forced to work within the boundaries of bone structure, height, ancestry, genetics. Some aspects of our birth are out of our control. So the question becomes, do we exhaust ourselves to an early grave trying to be something we simply cannot be, or do we learn to work with what we have? Do we learn to say, yes, this is how I was wired. It used to shame me, but here I am: quiet and rebellious, bookish and solitary, only truly at ease in my own co...