The Soul is the fierce and relentless Fire that illuminates your being. The forces of the world are the howling winds that try to put it out. The challenge put forth to the Human Spirit is to channel the power of each through the expression of ones Calling.
I feel like a traveler who never left home but has been everywhere and back again. I'm writing from the same old spot in the same old room with the same old hands on a slightly newer keyboard. My hair is less brown and my eye sight is less clear but otherwise I seem like the same old me.
But not.
As I flip through mental post cards - the images and scribbled notes that chronicle my journey - I see the twinklings that were clues to the larger constellation that I've become. "Wondering Soul", "Soul Search Retreats", and "Soul Sabbatical". Each of these endeavors - starting a blog, creating a small business, and quitting a "perfectly good job" to go off the grid for a month - were all impulsive, and sometimes irrational decisions. They rose up suddenly, manifesting as fierce and relentless urges that refused to take no for an answer. Some of those urges I accepted quite easily before logic could exercise its veto power. But some I agonized over for weeks before I finally surrendered. I learned that my Soul had something to say and we had someplace important to go and I had no idea where that was, but she did, and we were going.
It's hard to know where to begin to tell this tale - to explain to you what has happened to me - like one might share her life story with a new lover. To speak merely of the timeline and the measurable facts would be like reciting my resume and my accumulated transcripts. Lifeless and dull.
I think it is our concern with the howling winds of the small life that distract us from the roaring joy of the Big Life. The small life is the grocery store life and the insurance plans life and the "when am I going to win the lottery" life. The small life is filled with the yipping and complaining of task after task fighting for your attention. Most of those tasks mean nothing, in the end. But the Big Life is, in short, the seeking out and bring forth of ones unique calling in the world. It is the becoming of "that which we are and have always been" in a visible, practical way - without apology and without doubt. The constellation coming together, finally, and illuminating what was once an inky black sky.
That's what I've been up to.
I'll say right up front that I don't have answers as to how you might go about uncovering your own true gifts to the world. No one-size-fits-all road map exists that I ever found. But I can share the ways that I gathered clues that led me to mine. For every Soul on this planet at this time, there are infinite ways for each of us to express our gifts. It's truly about following bread crumbs that only you can see. For me, the hardest thing to overcome was the idea that I needed someone else to be able to see them, and value them, before I could accept what I saw as real. Doubting intuition and denying internal truth is the biggest boulder in the river of Life.
The most profound leg of my journey began in December of 2014 when I quit that perfectly good job and went into a spiritual seclusion that I called my Soul Sabbatical. I took an oath of sorts - made a promise - that I would devote the next year of my life to listening to and following the yearnings of my Soul. Before that time I had hardly given my Soul a second thought. I knew I had one, at least I believed I did, but I had no idea how it worked or what it did or the value it added in the whole scheme of life. I didn't know what I had signed on for, but I did it because I was despairingly tired of doing things "my way" and falling on my face over and over and over.
I was afraid, in case you're wondering. Petrified actually. I questioned my sanity daily. Some part of me was smart enough to keep most of it to myself. There were very few people in my inner circle who knew I was "out of work", and not all of them knew the depth of the reason why. Having what could be categorized as a mystical experience doesn't go over that well with the mainstream public. The means through which I was receiving guidance were beyond my own understanding, and therefore very hard to articulate, but what I was receiving was so loving and reassuring and made so much sense, I allowed it to come in. I made space and time for it, and I listened. Words flowed out across page after page of my journals. Volumes. Then the unexplained coincidences and random conversations that were synchronous with what I was writing began to catch my attention and I could see they were no accident. Wondrous and terrifying.
I was being cracked open and remolded at the same time.
Seriously uncomfortable.
One of my closest friends described how she saw me then as "pixelated" and I did indeed feel as if my molecular structure was being rearranged with each passing day. Shadows rose up like long forgotten banshees from the dark dungeons within me where they'd been banished. I had to hear them out, listen to their wailings and memories of woundings until they felt whole again and could fly away at last.
I never knew there could be so many fragments. And as they came up, I was astonished that I'd been able to walk around my whole life while carrying the weight of them. The gift they brought me as they broke out to tell their stories was that of compassion. I know now that ALL of US, without exception, carry around wounded bits of ourselves that suffer in silence within. We are influenced by them but are also blind to them. This is the nature of human suffering, unknown.
This is a howling wind.
Up until now, I hadn't felt nudged to share this story quite yet. It's not the lack of willingness that has kept me from it. I've been writing it down all along. But a few nights ago in two separate conversations, I was given the message that it's time.
Who am I to ignore a double nudge?
Rhymes with double fudge...
Amen to that.
I suspect there will be more installments in the coming days. Rarely do real nudges fizzle out quickly...but some do. I can't know. If there is any advice I can offer on anyone's journey it is to learn to be okay with the "not knowing" because it is a land where you can find peace - as nonsensical as that may seem.
So for now, I send you love and courage. Hope to chat again soon.
WS
Photo credit:
http://www.npr.org/multimedia/2009/05/hubble/custom/elmegreen.jpg
"Life daily opens her fickle hand to present you with a flower or to slap you." - C.J. Gall from The Hour and the Day
I read this quote yesterday in the essay by C.J. Gall featured in this month's edition of The Sun (subscriptions are worth every cent). She is talking about transitions, particularly the one when parent and child begin their disconnection from one another, and how in retrospect it always seems to be captured in a moment quite unexpected. I experienced one of those yesterday. But that is not the subject of this post.
If you've read any of my previous entries you'll notice that "work" is a common subject for me. I feel pretty strongly that what you "do" in the world is an expression of who you are and the farther the duties of the job from the real mission and purpose set forth by your soul, the more distress you experience while performing those duties. The workplace is also fertile with opportunities to recognize one's shadow side. You can shine there...and you can get crushed by your own darkness.
We know this about human relationships because we are lifted and crushed by them all the time. As we age, we come to expect a barrage of uncomfortable enlightenments when we enter into the entanglements of love. But, at work?
Work, to me, is my personal relationship with the outer world. It is the material aspect of my experience. All other things are internal: emotions, thoughts, passions, spiritual connections. But work is the most outward. It is what flows out of our hands and feet. It is what we throw our weight into. We dig, we hammer, we type. We DO all sorts of things.
Work is also where the creepy part of my "doing" nature bursts out - specifically debilitating perfectionism ("anything worth doing is worth OVERdoing") and stubborn unwillingness to let anything fall off the plate...ever. Generally, employers love this about me. I love this about me until I find myself buried and non-functional. And what happens when I get to THAT place? I want to run like hell. When I get to that place I can't see the forest for the items on the to-do list.
Now, the Universe, out of its infinite wisdom and sometimes mean sense of humor, does so love to send us remedial lessons when we just don't seem to be getting it. Trust me on this...I am not getting it. I am obsessive about earning the "highest marks" possible (I just graduated with a perfect 4.0 GPA, thank you very much) and I really dig swooping in to a goobered up situation and making it observably and undeniably better. Apparently so much so that I am unconsciously and magnetically drawn to goobered up situations.
I recently took a new position at the small liberal arts college where I work. Ooh...a promotion. Look at me, look at me. I was very excited about it because the possibilities to make "meaningful contributions" (secret code word for 'good grades') seemed to be endless. And I could see all kinds of areas for improvement (more 'good grades'). The true magnitude of the job started to set in after about 3 weeks. I'm now 8 weeks in and ready - again - to run for the hills.
Silly me.
I keep getting hit by the same bus - splattered over and over again across this familiar windshield - but I still haven't learned to stay out of the street.
It came to me this morning that I am trying to be the whole hive. I'm trying to gather all the pollen from all the flowers in all the meadows as far as my eyes can see. And then I'm trying to carry that oversized load back to my office to make honey out of it. Not just any honey. No sir. The finest, sweetest honey there ever was - this side of Fairbanks Avenue.
I'm chagrined by the arrogance of that.
Here's the thing. I'm one damn bee. I'm not even the queen bee. I'm one little worker bee who can only visit one flower at a time. I don't have to be the best bee. I don't have to collect the most or the best quality pollen. I can go to the boss bee and say "hey, there's a lot of flowers out there that I'm not going to get to...just thought you ought to know" then let it go. I don't have to see the entire field as my personal responsibility. It's not. I can only do what I can do and if I let it kill me or run me off, I'm not helping anyone really.
It's ok to get a "B" in the class.
Gotta buzz....
Wondering Soul
Say what you have to say, not what you ought. Any truth is better than make-believe. ~Henry David Thoreau
I met with a colleague - a friend - yesterday. He is a teacher of writing and, as all teachers of writing are, he is a writer himself. The class I took with him was "Informal Essay", a genre with which I am particularly enamored, being one to thoroughly enjoy a bit of a wander through the woods of whatever subject nibbles at me. Our meeting was about an upcoming writers' retreat that I'm producing and Matt is one of my facilitators.
As writers often do, we got off-task (business matters can be so...tedious) and were chatting about some of the essays we read in class. One was "The Pain Scale" by Eula Biss. It got me to thinking about levels, and how we seem so determined to measure and compare things, even the immeasurable. How does one measure things like pain - mental and physical? How do we measure sadness or anger or even joy?
And then there's truth, and the expression of it - honesty.
I understand this is a big topic. Philosophers have struggled, and joyfully played with this concept ever since there were philosophers. I suppose I am an amateur philosopher myself so why not take a stab at it. To me there are only two kinds of truth - mine and yours. There is no such thing as "the" truth because that would mean truth is objective, rather than subjective, which it clearly is not. There is a big difference between "truth" and "fact", and it is best not to confuse them.
When one is "expressing" truth, this would be called honesty. It is the action word. Logic would have it that honesty can only be the expression of one's own truth. How could you express the truth of another when you aren't them?
This brings me to a phrase that, when I hear it, makes me want to go all Darth Vader on the person whose mouth it launched out of - "I have to be brutally honest..." which generally precedes a judgment or criticism...not of self...but of another. It is a form of attack wrapped in the disguise of a "kindness", you know, for your own good. Yeah...right.
I've noticed that people who are truly kind and wish to serve the good of others never use the word "brutally". "Brutally" has given the word "honesty" a bad name. When someone says "I have to be honest" (even without the "brutally" part) most people who hear it go on the defensive. We're well trained. We know a potential attack when we see one.
It has come to my attention lately that I have been in the habit of avoiding honesty. This is not to say I am dishonest by any stretch of the imagination. I have the opposite of a poker face. You can read me like a billboard. What I mean is, I will la-la-la avoid the conversation. I will dance around the subject. I will hide. All because I don't want any part of the "brutally" business. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Period.
This does not serve me.
I'm not the only one. Lots and lots of nice people do the same thing. We don't want to cause any discomfort so we just don't go there. Ambiguity is much safer than expressing an uncomfortable truth.
But not really. We all say we would rather know someone's truth than to have to guess and analyze and worry and fret. I believe we all would, even if it stings a little...or a lot. But we sure don't want to be the deliverer of anything that might hurt.
Guess what? No news is not necessarily good news. Holding in our truth is like holding in a hungry mouse. Eventually it will eat holes in us. And for those in relationship with us, not knowing, but wondering, erodes trust like a river through a canyon.
Say what you need to say.
How do we move up the honesty scale? How do we leave behind the "brutal" version and the "unspoken" version to a version that is helpful not harmful?
To be deeply honest.
To be deeply honest is to go within first, then as soon as one is clear and true to self, express that truth with kindness from a place of "I" not "you". To be deeply honest also means to say it when it needs to be said, promptly. To postpone or delay is a slip-and-slide back to the place of the unspoken. It is back in the land of harm.
I'm not sure yet how to get good at this. I think it takes practice which means trying and failing, which also means that it may not be gentle and kind at first. But I am committed to doing it anyway and making amends when I mess up. I will be deeply honest about my intentions and my failings, which is practice in itself.
Anything is better than being left dangling and bewildered by the absence of truth.
Be willing to hear it. Truth...or consequences.
Love is the greatest truth there is. Truth shared is the greatest love there is.
True that,
WS
Fear of losing what we have sometimes robs us of the measure of courage we need to try magnificent half-baked ideas. This is when the Universe steps in and "takes" what we believe is our security or comfort and leaves us standing empty handed.
The empty handed are the wild and crazy dreamers. What do we have to lose?
Every time it rains it rains pennies from Heaven.
Lose the umbrellas and grab a bucket.
Jingle, jingle,
WS
"I take rejection as someone blowing a bugle in my ear to wake me up and get going, rather than retreat."
Sylvester Stallone
Yesterday morning on my way to work I suddenly felt an immense sense of gratitude. My mind had been wandering - skippity-doo-dahing through the mental inventory of all the exciting changes I've been experiencing of late. Despite some valid points to the contrary, I recently took the leap and started a new business. It is an opportunity to play at something I love while generating revenue, and the work can be conducted during weekend and evening hours so that I may continue with my "day job".
And speaking of my day job, not all that long ago I was pretty well freaked out and wild-eyed over the stress level in my work. Today, I hop out of bed happy to go join my team as we collectively contribute to the education of a bunch of college folks. We don't do the actual educating, but higher-ed takes a village and we are diligently manning the billing huts. Ooga-shaka.
It also wasn't long ago when a sizable percentage of my neurons were working the Rubik's cube of sorting out my rapidly dwindling resources and fending off the posion darts of a "family" legal battle. I was crying a lot, and cursing in my head. I felt trapped in ever constricting circumstances that felt like a python wrapped around my chest. The more I fought, the harder it was to breathe. It dragged on and on and all I really wanted was peace, but peace doesn't win legal battles and almost everyone around me was encouraging me to swing harder and get bigger (and more expensive) bullies to stand on my side. Let me share something with you. "Fighting" for "peace" is an oxymoron. It does bad things to your soul and it bruises the hearts of the hapless peaceful people who are hanging around trying to be close and supportive. No good can come of a bad fight.
But I didn't know that then. I thought I was "doing what I had to do."
Back in September someone who mattered to me, who I cared for deeply, stepped away from me. I hadn't realized the magnitude of the "vortex of negativity" that had sucked me up like Dorothy's Kansas tornado. This man was one of the kindest, most compassionate people I had ever met. And before I even knew what hit me, he had, metaphorically, run screaming from the building. He never said straight up that it was my life that ran him off...but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that.
When it happened, it was like a mule kick to my head. I was so lost and scared and tangled in the mess that my life had become that I didn't see what it was turning me into. Right then, I started the process of change. Granted, it is not easy to slow a runaway locomotive so it didn't happen overnight. The first step was hearing the phrase that was to become my mantra in the months ahead. I asked myself over and over during the course of my days, "In this moment, how do I promote peace?" Every time I felt myself being less-than-peaceful, I stopped and examined where it was coming from and why. I started studying ancient wisdom and the words of modern sages. I meditated and prayed and wrote and cried and laughed and tried to be patient with myself.
What I didn't expect was that many things would get worse before they got better. There were more rejections in almost every facet of my life. Things that should really not be "that hard" were hard. I had days (weeks) where I felt myself slipping into despair. One day, I sought out the help of trusted friends because I needed them to help me decide if I was still sane or not-so-much.
Welcome to Rock Bottom Junction.
The view from the ground looking skyward is pretty cool once you stop hyperventilating.
Since then, everything has changed. I know that sounds cliche but it is true. That mule kick jostled my focus from what was happening "out there" to what is happening "in here" and when "in here" clicks into alignment with who I really am, all of a sudden, life is bright again. Remarkable.
I miss that man. I wish I could tell him how grateful I am. He listened to his own inner wisdom and saw that what was happening with me wasn't good for either of us. I can't imagine a better example to live by. In the "history of my life" his presence and the catalyst of his retreat may well be my own "shot heard round the world."
Thank you, Kacey.
These days, I laugh a lot. Smile too. The bruises on my heart are healing nicely and I've dropped a lot of baggage. Still have a few carry on bags that I'm sorting through but those too will fall away in time.
The best thing that has come from this is my renewed sense of awe. It is like being a 4-year old kid again lazily plucking petals from a daisy and watching the clouds go by for no other reason than it feels good to do so.
Rejection rocks!
Much love,
WS
Today, be mindful of what you don't know. It is a time in the world where many are experiencing circumstances for which they were never prepared. So many are overwhelmed and discouraged, but somehow manage to continue to walk around upright. Maybe they are making mistakes at work. Maybe they accidentally cut you off in traffic. Maybe they were short on the phone or didn't reply promptly to your email.
Maybe they are distracted wondering how they can keep a roof over their heads and take care of their children. Maybe they are doing the very best they can to keep going.
Kindness is never wasted. Compassion and patience are great gifts, particularly when offered to those who may not seem to deserve them by their actions or attitude. Love the cranky as much as the cheerful. They may need it more than you could know.
Many thanks,
WS
"We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn."
Walden by Henry David Thoreau
It seems that years, like chapters in books, come forward with a theme - a thesis statement, if you will - and when reflecting upon the events with the clarity of hindsight one can see that the learning has been imparted with the precision of a well thought out syllabus. One year the theme was "Be Bold." This was a time of busting out of cardboard boxes that felt like fortresses. There were all kinds of magnificent ideas and inspired leaping, "kowabunga style," into some marvelous new circumstances.
The next was "Marinate." Let me say without hesitation that marinating is not fun. First you get pounded with a spikey meat mallet to mangle your structure and soften you up so you can be filled (involuntarily) with experiences that change your flavor and texture. Once you've been marinated, you are not at all like you once were.
As I look back over those very different stages, it reminded me of planting. Be bold meant "select your seeds". It asked the question, "what do you hope to harvest one day?" What was growing in our gardens at that time wasn't really sustaining us and it was time to consider a new crop. There is a sense of rising hope and optimism at a time of planting.
Then the seeds are plunged into the darkness of the dirt. First, they are disoriented. "How did I get here?" they wonder. After awhile they feel abandoned and forsaken. Poor little seeds. They have no idea what is happening. All they know is darkness and loneliness in their holes. They don't know what they did to deserve this isolation. I imagine they might even be a little pissed off at whoever put them there.
But if they are ever to sprout, to fulfill their true and hidden purpose, they have to have faith that light exists beyond their cold, dark hole. They have to keep reaching for it even thought they can't see it. They have to sense the warming of the earth around them, and they have to keep stretching, stretching, stretching, until finally a part of them pops through the surface.
There it is.
Thank goodness.
Last night my friend and I were talking about our spots in the dirt. Each of us for very different reasons are weary of the darkness and the cold. But, we also know that there is warmth and light out there and we are reaching with all of our strength to get to it. We know it's worth it. This year, we declared is "undefined", in other words, without the restriction of definition.
Good day, sunshine.
WS
First, I must give credit to the maker of the beautiful dulcimer pictured above. You can find this one and more at http://gibsondulcimers.com/index.htm It's lovely, isn't it? Yesterday I wrote about listening. I was in a rush because at the time I should have been out the door to work but, darn it, when words start knocking in your head and want to get out, you have to drop everything and put them somewhere. In my haste, I found I left out more than I put in. This is why I wanted to revisit the topic today.
When I speak of listening, I'm referring to something far deeper than popping an audio book into the CD player of your car, taking in the recorded words and understanding the story while on a long, tedious road trip. When I speak of listening, I'm talking about the giving of one's full attention with caring intent. And the word "giving" is key here.
Can you remember back in elementary school having a teacher or two scold you to "pay attention!"? Attention was being demanded of you like a tax, and just like paying your taxes, there were consequences and penalties if you didn't give it up without a fight.
As we grew older there were more and more and more demands for our attention, and at some point we all started defending and hoarding it like a treasure...which it is. But it is easy to become miserly and start to behave as if everyone and everything that asks for our attention is somehow a thief in disguise.
But, you know what? We need to share our treasure in order to truly enjoy it. How fun is it at Christmas time to drop a $50 bill in the Salvation Army bell ringer's bucket? Never done that? Try it...it feels amazing. And how great is it when you have a little extra funds left over to go buy yourself something frivolous that you've been wanting for months? Yes, paying your monthly bills, meeting your regular obligations - you've got to do that to get by in the world. But the more disposable income you have, the better you can feel about sharing it.
It is the same with your attention. I bet that if I asked you to tell me about someone who you were very close with when you were a child, you would tell me about someone who would always stop what they were doing when you came in the room. They would be happy to see you and interested in hearing whatever it was you had to say. They would marvel at your drawings and ask you what you wanted to be when you grew up. They would look at your face and somehow they would always know if you needed a hug. How would they know? Because they listened. Not just to your words, but to your movements, and your posture, and your energy. They made the effort to know who you were because they were present. They gave you the gift of their attention, and with that gift you flourished.
That's what I'm talking about.
So now we're all grown up. We shouldn't need that kind of attention anymore, right?
Note here - "should" is a VERY BAD WORD. Whether it is "should" or "should not", doesn't matter, if you catch yourself using that word in any context, towards yourself or others, immediately apologize to whomever was the recipient of the s-bomb. Yes, I am suggesting that you apologize to yourself...always a good practice.
Anyway...I digress...we absolutely DO need and deserve that kind of attention no matter what age. Somehow we've let society convince us that we should (there's that word again...) be self sufficient and meet all of our own needs. We don't want to be "needy" or do things to "get attention". This is considered childish or selfish.
Wrong-o.
We feel most loved by those who are generous with their attention. We know instinctively what a valuable commodity that is, and in turn, we feel valued.
Isn't that what we all need?
Well...work is calling to me again. Time to step away from the keyboard and get on with the day. We're all busy, but think about it as you go through the motions of your day. What would it mean to have a person like that in your life? What would it mean to be that person for another?
Ho, Ho, Ho! Christmas all over again...
Love,
WS
The only gift any of us need to give or receive is listening - listening FULLY, with no distractions, no opinions, no judgments, no actions. If all of us truly knew how to do that, and receive that, nothing else would matter all that much.
Just a thought...
WS
"It's a force that appears negative, but actually shows you how to realize your Personal Legend. It prepares your spirit and your will, because there is one great truth on this planet: whoever you are, or whatever it is that you do, when you really want something, it's because that desire originated in the soul of the universe. It's your mission on earth."
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
Nesting is an instinctive behavior; the primal preparation for something to be born. It is as if there had been a seed planted, by some unseen force, and the result of that wonderous creation is about to make itself known.
Fear not.
And get ready.
I feel my invisible spirit scurrying about: taking inventory, clearing the clutter, making space.
"If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now, it's just a spring clean for the May queen..."
Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin
Perhaps all of this is a response to weariness - brilliantly and subliminally designed to fend off the creeping mildew of despair. Regardless of why it is happening, I appreciate the illumination flooding through, washing clean the dirt and debris of 'making do' and 'sucking it up' and keeping a damnably 'stiff upper lip'.
Today I am starting spring cleaning in the fresh first days of winter. As I open dusty cardboard boxes, retrieved from the deep corners of my closets, to explore their forgotten contents, I will also visit with the sleepy memories who, rubbing their eyes, have been disturbed by my light. There are reasons some things have remained in those boxes, carted from place to place, unopened. Sometimes souvenirs serve as tiny caskets to keep the dead safely tucked away from the eyes of the grieving. This week I will be exhuming some of what I lacked the strength and courage to face before now.
"Me? I say my prayers then I light myself on fire and I walk out on the wire once again."
Goodnight Elisabeth - Counting Crows
I am driven like a full moon tide to start this year a little lighter. Denying the darkness by hiding it in the dust only adds to the weight of it. The dead deserve to have their grieving, and the living deserve to step away from the graveyards to play in gardens, unencumbered by the past.
I think I'm going to run up to Walmart to get me a shredder. Not as good as a chain saw, but it'll have to do. I've got plenty of Hefty bags, Pledge, Windex, and Kleenex. Soon I'll be good as new.
Maybe better.
Little blue robin's eggs are beginning to stir. I can almost hear the faint scratching of life beneath the shells.
Peep, peep, peep...
WS
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