We arrived with everything we needed to be whole. Does that blow your mind? It does mine. Does it stagger you how easily we've forgotten that? Here's what I think: whoever and whatever came together to bring us into this world packed our little cosmic suitcases thoroughly and with great care. Is it their (her, his) fault that we shoved those cases under the bed, forgetting to unpack, forgetting, even, that they existed in the first place?
Well, the good news is that they're still there. The better news is that they've survived this journey intact. They aren't locked--they never were. We have had access to our own divinity, our own strength, our own resources all along. We can cut back on all this endless striving--we have already arrived.
Here's the insight that arrived last night: we are so buffeted by energy from every corner--whether electromagnetic, radio- or microwave, other people's energy and expectations or a change in wind or weather. It's no wonder we're so dry and tinder-ready--we are blown around, sapped of our own ojas, left to wither in a sun that can no longer feed us.
In other words, we have not sunk into the sweet, deep earth around us. We learn, in energy medicine, in Reiki, and in meditation to ground ourselves--more often than not, we're taught to imagine a tether from tailbone to earth. For me, this was always hard to conceptualize--a thin cord not up to the task of keeping this frenetic and flighty soul held in space. But then I happened upon a meditation by Wendy De Rosa where she invoked, not a cord, but a tree trunk enveloping waist, hips, legs, and feet. It was a revelation.
That enveloped, whole-body anchor is the first step toward self-healing.
Let's try a little experiment, shall we? Here's my challenge to myself (and join, if you'd like): for today, I will wholeheartedly believe in trust. I will wholeheartedly believe that everything is unfolding for my higher good and that the answers will arrive (have been arriving) when I need them and in a form that I will understand.
You see, I have this distinct inkling that I've been swatting away the answers patiently lobbed to me, so sunk have I been in my own defeat, in my own fear, in my own self-pity, that I have mistaken them for one more thing I had no space, no strength to take on.
But if I drop all this other junk--all this fear, all this worry--then surely there's space and breath for something as light and strong as trust?
(Thank you to my dear friend, Will C. who sent me this: "Worry is carrying tomorrow's fear with today's strength." Love, love to you.)
In the past year, my hair has been thinning and it seems, every day, I lose more and more of it. I hadn't planned to put that in the blog, but it's been bleeding into the Satyas for quite awhile now, and since everything else is worked out in this space, I might as well add this, too. It's a horrible thing, for those of you who have been here. I have no idea why it's happening and, despite my best efforts, despite numerous consultations with experts--holistic and allopathic alike--I can't find an answer. The most hopeful one I had was from my dermatologist--"Most likely, within five years, it will be back to normal, and it won't get worse from here."
But won't it? It feels like it's getting worse every day. It bleeds into my sleep, into my meals, into my working and waking lives, into my joys, and it feeds and feeds and feeds my sorrows and my ever-expanding, seemingly endless capacity for anxiety. (And yes, I see the irony--anxiety and stress have a direct relation to hair loss; it's...
Yesterday I had a dangerous thought: maybe things aren't as dire as we make them out to be. I'm not talking head-in-the-sand-current-events sort of avoidance, but deep in this sweet body-brain-spirit knowing. We know our minds take us hostage--indeed, we're good and brainwashed by the critical captors who long took over the broadcast of our inner monologue. Sometimes we can shake them off, but they always drag us (only somewhat unwillingly) back into that stuffy, windowless room.
So why do we believe everything they say? It's the cult of the critical, the catastrophic, and we've laced ourselves tightly into the fold--so much so that to extricate ourselves has become painful--ripping off the bandaid to the thousandth power painful. But if we know that--if we know we're more or less willing captives of catastrophic thinking, can we begin to believe, even just for a moment or two, that everything we hear in our brains isn't necessarily true?
The bitch of it is, there is no control. Not really. There are disruptions far beyond our foresight that no amount of catastrophic thinking and worrying and anticipating can, well, anticipate. So why do we do it? In this moment, are we in the worst-case-scenario? Most likely, no. And if we're honest--how often has that worst-case-etc. come about? Once? Maybe? Twice?
In all the experiences of all of our days, that's not much to get worked up about.
And yet, we do.
The cure for this madness is simple and portable (and therefore completely forgettable for most of us)--the breath. Just this inbreath. Then, just this outbreath. The mind wanders, gently call it back. This inbreath. This outbreath. This not-worst-case-scenario moment. This ease.
Sometimes you really do have to forget in order to move on. And maybe that's not true, or doesn't have to be true, for the more settled of us, the grounded--those, for example, who knew who they were, their place in this world, from youth and who have always had the gift of clear sight.
But I wonder, is a willful putting aside, a willful forgetting, a path to peace in the now? Because, I'm telling you, I've done the introspection; I've done the hard looking, the examining, the regretting, the replanning. I've admitted my role in this variety of struggles and I'm no farther along than if I'd just tumbled along in ignorance (speculation, true, but still).
So, for those of us stuck in the spiral, I wonder if we're capable of blank-slating it; I wonder if we could pretend--for a time--that the troublesome whatever/whenever hadn't happened? I wonder if that kind of role play would launch us beyond this part of the experience into the next? Maybe some serious distance--a sort of virtual...
It's our default mechanisms that remind us that we haven't given up, that we still expect wonders, that we still run on the glorious assumption of daily encounters with joy. If we find ourselves dreaming of the future without resenting the present, then we can be reassured that we are still creatures of hope and faith--this is our proof.
My ethereal self (or whatever name you've put to your own divinity) knows with quite terrifying certainty that she has more control over the unseen than the earth body could ever admit to. But the earth body is so frightened and so heavy, that I wonder why the ethereal hasn't yet cut ties and floated away from this anchor.
Or perhaps that's the earth body perspective. Perhaps this is the boat we drift in and she--the ethereal--is the sail, the compass, and the stars themselves. Perhaps one cannot make this crossing without the other. And perhaps she loves us just as fiercely as we fear drowning.
I don't think it's that we forget, but that we've never believed that we are enough. We are exactly what this moment needs and we have everything needed for this moment. We don't believe it because, most of the time, it feels as though we're fighting--circumstances, authority, ourselves. It's unfortunate, really, that we were born into a tribe with such keen memories of, and inclinations for, war.
We were raised on the idea that we'd always have to fight for what we wanted, for what was right, for what we deserved, for what has been or will be taken from us. We were born into existing scarcity, real or imagined or taught. We were burdened with social, emotional, intellectual, and/or actual debt from our first breath.
Or so we believe. That's the story we were told, and we swallowed that puppy whole--nursed on it and grew (crookedly) on it. Well, let me tell you, I'm tired of it. I'm tired of the story. I'm tired of feeling defeated at every turn. I'm tired of never feeling as thou...