Arriving at Truth

"Yeah, the pool's open, but it'll be like swimming in a pond," Scott at the front desk of the gym said.
"How so?" I asked.
"The water's really cloudy, murky," he replied.
"But it's still open AND heated?"
"Yes."

And so I forged ahead with my Thursday swim, thinking no big deal. Well, it was; more so than I had anticipated.

Laden with scratched-up goggles and dense humidity, I began my first length only to flounder as I gulfed the deep end. The black-tile line on the bottom disappeared. I hadn't before understood how much I relied on it and other visual cues to swim straight. I slapped up again the buoyed-line separating the lanes, narrowly missed the side wall and slammed the end tile with my hand.

This isn't going to be so easy, I told myself. Even the water seemed heavier and more resistant. After a few laps, I almost gave up until I recognized the metaphor I was living. This is what life is like when the path is obstructed.

At first, it's disorienting. There are no guides and nothing is familiar. It can be defeating.

And, the energy it requires is astounding. How much more it takes to stay alert and focused. When everything is familiar and known, we glide through with ease and little appreciation, automatically.

If you stick with the fuzziness, though, you begin to detect, however faintly, the (your) guide again. In the dimness, we regain our confidence and also begin to trust. Our awareness is growing.

Eventually, we can relax into the unknown as we cast off perfection and recognize it is okay just because we are attempting it. About lap 10, I smiled (much as one can, holding their breath when the mouth is submerged and quickly releasing to take in air on the upturn) thinking about my favorite line from the movie "Best Exotic Marigold Hotel" when the young manager says: "Everything will be okay in the end, if it's not okay, it's not the end."

No one else had ventured into the wet murkiness with me, which was another reminder of how, in seeking the spiritual path, we often feel humanly alone. There is, however, also great freedom in finding our own way and rhythm. Comparisons and competition are eliminated. We get to know ourselves more intimately in this manner, which may be the point.

I could see how much of life, when we live with great ease, is taken for granted. We don't realize the crutches that lure us into autopilot and rob us of awareness of what lay beyond. When the path is unclear or missing, we lose the illusion that we are responsible for where we are, what we have and who we are. In the fog, ego takes a back seat when we can trust Spirit's guidance and forge ahead, even blindly. We also give up the ease of efficiency, which we have mistaken for control.

So I swam three-fourths of my usual regime because this swim required so much more focus, concentration and energy. I gave up the idea that I had to do what I usually do because this circumstance was unusual and teaching me many things. So when my body felt ready, I stopped, grateful for the unexpected journey. I had traveled less territory in the same amount of time, but I had been in a heightened state, alert, aware and in tune in a manner I had never been before when swimming. It carried a dreamlike quality.

I treaded water and stretched as I normally do, then wanted to float in the isolation. And, for a millisecond, I got a glimmer of true surrender. I have always known that learning to float ... to let go, but not completely, is surrender. That knowing emerged when I erased all of my boundaries and became the water.

I am the water, I thought.
I am everything.
I am one.
I am.

I found myself arriving at Truth because of the murkiness, not in spite of it.

UPDATE: Tuesday and the water is clear. I learn that, perhaps, I misplace my trust: too much outside of me, when I know seeds of the Divine reside within me. Yes, the line was easily visible on the bottom of the pool today. But, after last week's experience, I know I can trust the Inner Teacher to guide me.

• When has what seemed like an obstacle or annoyance taught me a major lesson?
• When have I felt I was living a metaphor?
• Describe the quality of that level of awareness.
• Did I find accompaniment?
• Where was Spirit in all of this?


warned that things
weren't as they usually are

I plunged ahead with
the typical ease of

superficiality, getting on
with things and unthinking

losing each layer of unawareness
as my normal compass faded,
lines blurred and I felt
lost

gaining insight, detachment
as ego took a back seat
and I experienced, if
only for a second,
deep surrender

Listen to this post:

Boundaries of the heart

Mother’s Day has prompted me to explore what I’ve learned about the responsibility in the past year and how my perspective has shifted.

I feel very motherly toward the 13 under-served neighborhood kids I’ve championed through art the past nine months. I write them a personal note between monthly sessions and phone several days ahead as a reminder. I often encounter them walking through the neighborhood, at the grocery and in their complex, which I visit several times a month.

Artsy Fartsy registration & community art day/Tad Barney photo

I’ve gotten to know them and their families. I’ve visited some of their homes and organized my neighborhood and faith communities to purchase a computer, printer and years’ worth of Internet for one very needy family. I often find myself encouraging mothers and grandmothers, reminding them of the goodness that I experience in and with their children. Heaven knows, I need reminders about my own kids. Sometimes I feel as if I parent these younger, single mothers at times. Maybe that’s because I don’t carry the burden they do.

Without exception, most of the 10 girls in the program come from single-parent families or bounce between parents. Several are fortunate to have very active grandmothers in their lives. A pair of sisters is being raised by their father. I don’t know the story, but there is no evidence of a mother; there is an involved grandmother and dedicated extended family. Interestingly, the boys live with both parents. One is the oldest of five and I see how his father really works at being responsible. I don’t think he’s ever had a role model; however the father of one of the other boys mentors him. I’ve witnessed how hard the father of sisters works to make sure his girls are involved. His youngest is the first kid I met at the complex the day I visited to plant yard signs announcing Artsy Fartsy. She and her sister, along with their father, were promptly the first in line to sign up.

So it was with a heavy heart I learned they had moved, though I know things I hear in the complex are not always the truth. As several said when interviewed about the impact Artsy Fartsy has had, “it gets us away from the drama.” Then I remembered that the father’s phone had been disconnected and he had driven the girls last time in his father’s car. All the other times they had taken the van one of the boy’s fathers drives when he’s not working Saturdays.

In desperation and because I really care about these girls, I called their school … just to confirm they had moved. The secretary, who iterated that she could not give out personal information, said the father had assured her they had not. Yet, I’d received no answer when I’d knocked at the door several times and called the second contact number. Putting on my persistent-reporter hat, I asked if she could tell me if any of the phone numbers I had were still good. No, she responded, then kindly gave me one that was, where I reached the father. Apparently he’d found work much closer to his parents’ house and was spending more time there, driving the girls back and forth.

I was so relieved.

I’ve been warned by well-intentioned others not to get too involved or feel like I have to be the social worker. I do take those concerns to heart and understand part of my growth work is in establishing boundaries.

But what, exactly, are the boundaries of the heart? Isn’t that the mother’s dilemma?

When I do understand something is not mine to do, but still feel as if I’d like to, the best remedy is prayer – to ask God to be present and working in that situation. It’s taken me a long time to recognize the wisdom and comfort in that act of faith and trust.

It’s that same action, one stemming from the heart, that stirred me, one step at a time, to prepare and eventually reach out to these children and families. Being human, I am certain I would have never said yes to Spirit had she outlined everything in total. I can, however, say yes one small piece at a time and be transformed in the process.

I believe mothering is simply the act of joining myself with other: 

myself + other = m’other = mother

• Who have been the “mothers” in my life?

• How am I a mother regardless of my gender?

• How do I join myself with other?

• How has prayer helped me ask God to mother when I can not?

• How has mothering expanded my heart?

1# Yes

Nodding

simply to help

40 first graders

with scissors

planting a seed

#2 Yes

Listening to

God’s call

to go to the

woods, alone,

on retreat

fertilizing

the soil

#3 Yes

Believing Jesus’

promise in the

center of the

labyrinth

that I would

not be given

more than

I could do

sprouting

the dream

#4 Yes

fervently

applying for

grants

watering

the seedling

#5 Yes

setting up

the studio and

launching

Artsy Fartsy

adding the

warmth of

sunshine

#6 Yes

praying

during the

many

challenges

growing my

trust and faith

 Listen to this post:

Wiggling my toes with joy

Listen to post:

What a roller-coaster week. I have been battling my fears and, just when I felt at my most scared, received wonderful news: that I have been awarded another grant for the under-served kids’ art program I am organizing.

Truthfully, on Tuesday, I was ready to hang it up because of so many obstacles. I came to my studio anyway; I just wanted to be here, in this space that God has called me to create.

I had written an e-mail to my landlord, checking in and asking for some things that had been neglected. I was expecting him to balk. He didn’t. On that note, I collected myself and went to Turtlebox Studio. I made a few calls trying to sort out some new information; someone I trust said transportation is a huge issue for this program. In my simple mind, I thought the fact the school is walkable to these kids was enough. He said I could be held accountable; another trusted source said the kids won’t come unless someone shows up to drive or escort them.

How dim I’ve been, I thought. I believed creating the space and program and offering it were enough. The thoughts spiraled out of control, triggering so many fears: that I had no idea what I was doing, that I’d be personally sued, that I would be forced to move or, when my trial period is up, the rent would be too expensive … yadda, yadda, yadda.

To distract myself, I decided to check e-mail and there it sat: the message that I am the recipient of another Quaker grant*; this one to supply and furnish my art room. Not only that, but there was a bit more available. It also said: “May the abundance of God’s love for you cause you to wiggle your toes with joy!”

I choked up and tears formed. God truly answered my heart cries and kept the promise Jesus made last winter that I would be given what I needed. It was so tangible and came at such a poignant time. There’s no way it could be other than Spirit’s handiwork.

The news helped me relax and see that part of my journey is to trust and not work myself into worry. Trust and I will receive. I heard or read somewhere that worry is a prayer for disaster. And I wrote here several posts back that, for me, trust = energy. So, I’m thinking that trust is a prayer for receiving what I need. And I just got it.

Now, I will sit back and wiggle my toes with joy!

• When have I experienced God breaking through as I am at my worst?

• How is that a game changer?

• What has that taught me about trusting?

• About relaxing into Spirit?

• About gratitude and hope?

consumed with a

mission,

bent on a

schedule

pressuring myself

to perform

and, well,

do it all

until I buckled

and almost

gave up

then a sunny

reminder that

this is God’s

work, not

just mine

and it’s

supposed to be

energyzing and

joyful

God will

provide

all I must do

is trust

*many, many thanks to Good News Associates, their generosity and vision

http://goodnewsassoc.org

Taking off my ego for a minute

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Cruising through Facebook’s newsfeed, I stumbled across the post of an accomplished acquaintance revealing that she feared showing something she was developing to someone of stature and experience because it would be lacking. Instead, he raved about it and then there was a wonderful link to the course of study. Rich, detailed and well written, it occurred to me her work is similar to mine. With a few exceptions: credentials, perhaps more polish and a venue in which she is paid for her work.

I sulked for a minute, probably feeling the same doubt she described. I am little, I thought.

Stinging a bit, I scrolled down the page and found an amusing cartoon of a guy at the doctor, an x-ray on the light table showing a rectangle between his ribs and the caption: “Good news! You’ve got a book in you, just waiting to come out.”

That, I believe, was God at play, reminding me I am doing my work, all of which is contributing to the book in me, and my friend is doing hers and there is plenty of room for both. It’s not hers or mine, one is better and one, lesser. Not just room for both, but plenty of room.

This on the eve of my first advisory-committee meeting of six gifted individuals who will help me birth my longtime dream of nurturing local, under-served kids with a free-spirited art exploration program.

Why do I have to remind myself not to measure the success or importance of work by money?

…

I had wanted to begin last night’s advisory meeting with the Quaker act of centering as we each arrived from another place than the other. But we came in shifts and that didn’t seem to fit. I was grateful to have all of this support, but in the midst of talking, I started to doubt. Doubt my direction, doubt my inspiration to host this program, doubt there will be the necessary resources. [I am still waiting to hear about two grants.] The same doubt that reared its head reading the Facebook post yesterday.

When it kicks in, it so colors my perceptions. I think what transpired was a lively discussion and a session of bringing this wonderful variety of supporters to the place where I am.

I am: for me, that’s code for the presence of God. Last night, it seemed all about being understood. Today, it looks more like a group movement toward Spirit. I must trust that this transition of taking my program into group ownership is a shift in the right direction and that I must relax my grasp.

I’m not sure I know what that feels like, but I am going to playfully experiment with relaxing my grasp.

• When have I doubted recently?

• What stirred that experience?

• How do I respond to doubt?

• What surfaces?

• What, of God, lays beneath?

so much pushing

to get it all right

spell it ALL out

so everyone knows

where I am

and then I am

reminded

to take off my ego

for a minute

and listen to

where God is

calling

Second chance

Listen to post:

This week, I am in a place I’d hoped not to be: a fibro flare-up. I have managed incredibly well since last fall and, almost, convinced myself this wouldn’t happen again.

And yet, it has. In the midst of pain, sleeplessness and new injury, I am stubbornly trying to use all of the lessons and awareness I’ve accumulated to NOT plummet into my old patterns. Patterns of closing up, numbing myself and falling into the murky abyss of disconnection and isolation. I am catching myself.

Fortunately, I understand what triggered this and I am coping by not only taking care of myself, but seeking help from others. I didn’t use to do that. I’d suck it up and suffer alone, which only made things worse.

I am trying to detach and be the observer and also bless this experience. That practice has proven extremely beneficial in the past few months, although it’s much easier to apply to little, annoying things.

Monday at the chiropractor, he gave me something new to chew on: “What if you’re not worse, but this is a step toward discarding old injury.” You mean like taking a half step backward to get two steps ahead, I asked. “Yes,” he responded, then left me to stretch on his table and take my time getting up. Tears flooded my eyes, memories, my brain and knowing into my body: he’s right. I am getting a second chance. Another shot at responding to the kind of trauma that set this whole thing off.

It is the response, I am understanding more than anything, that makes the difference.

Sixteen years ago, I had a miscarriage and, for years, my body tried to hang onto that baby, punishing itself for losing it. Fourteen years ago, an automobile accident caught me in a twist and I froze.

Last week, an unexpected medical procedure revolving around my reproductive system (sounds familiar, huh?) tapped those experiences and disease. This time, however, I am not fighting it by closing up. I am trying to surrender into it. It’s not easy and counter to what my body feels like it’s programmed to do.

More importantly, I am not letting my mind go ballistic, getting ahead of the situation and already putting one foot in the grave. I prefer to believe my body is preparing to shed a layer of old, deep pain.

Yesterday, I sat down to do some more editing on the book I have been writing and re-working for what seems like eternity. The first chapter is Pain as Teacher; so, here I am letting it be.

What is this pain, this experience teaching? To remain present, surrender into the experience, expected the unexpected, be positive and trust … not run to the conclusion that this is all bad. It may be uncomfortable, but it doesn’t mean punishment. It may actually mean healing.

This will not crush the dream I am in the process of realizing: opening an art studio for under-served kids, publishing my book, making art and offering nurture groups.

Truth be told, before I recognized what was happening, I asked God why this – pain and injury preventing me from living and dreaming ­­– was happening again. I needed to articulate that fear. I did it in the comfort of the meditation tent I’ve constructed in my new studio. Then the phone rang and one of the six people I’ve asked to serve as an advisory committee for this kids’ program instantly said yes – no hesitations. I figured it was God’s way of telling me that nothing will stop my dream. All six have agreed: no arm twisting.

Key to holding all of this, this time, is balance: knowing when it’s time to push through and also when to relax and surrender into healing. Previously, I’d totally push until I was depleted or completely succomb to shutting myself down.

I am grateful to get the opportunity to do it right this time. First, to be aware of what this is, then to surrender into it, but not let it eat me. The best way to do that is to trust.

• How do I typically react when things aren’t going well?

• What’s my programmed response been?

• How do I re-program myself?

• What is the response that is better for me?

• How do I trust God in these situations?

I’ve been cruising along

for many months

like I used to

until I hit a roadblock

and the old junk

came flooding back

like an unwelcome

tidal wave

into my body and brain

and yet,

my spirit had something

to say

“don’t go here,

it’s not your path

THIS time”

and I was actually

able to listen

and respond

with

trust

Recognizing the ruby slippers

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In some reflective journaling this morning, I came up with a new equation:
ENERGY = TRUST

Instantly, I sensed this also as TRUTH for me: pivotal, essential and wisdom pared to the core. Right now I'm just letting it sink in and experiencing a deep response outside of my brain. It's a cellular message. In my body, that's what I need to truly understand something, then it can trickle up to my brain. Doesn't work for me the other way around or, if it does, it takes years.

This message has been working its way into me for some time, but I suspect that a new healing-touch exercise I was taught and practiced this morning may have helped it manifest in an expression I can grasp.

One of my water buddies had just been to a healing-touch conference and she was anxious to connect with me and show me this effective technique for fibro and, well, anyone. It's simply a matter of reclining comfortably with feet rolling out and tapping your big-toe joints together and gently rocking your feet, legs and hips back and forth for up to five minutes. I couldn't even wait to get home to try it; I practiced in the empty sauna beginning with a minute. Instantly, I felt everything from my sacrum downward loosen.

Must've also loosened me for listening.

I began my journaling about this long waiting process of getting into my new writing, art and nurture studio. A process that began well over a year ago, but has been active since February. As I have written in Facebook posts, getting the grant money was the easy part. Going back and forth with the school, getting a clear timeframe and move-in date has been a three-month roller-coaster ride of stops and starts. These fits feed the fibro and rob my energy ... if I let it.

This morning I am recognizing that if I can trust God to let things unfold and prayerfully ask to know when to act and when to sit back and relax, I receive energy among other things.

But how counter-cultural is that? Waiting? Every fiber in this culture teaches us otherwise: to go out and get what we desire NOW. Instant gratification.

I have to remind myself of a time back in January at a retreat labyrinth when I was told I would not be asked to do any more than I would receive help with and, when I doubted, to prayerfully return to this place, this promise.

I have been too busy, e-mailing and phoning the school, insurance companies, developing, designing and writing a website and materials, planning and plotting. Almost as if I had forgotten to return when life gets ultra busy.

Prayer, really, is what helps me trust.

And, when I trust, energy is restored.

I reached this conclusion this morning after discerning that this waiting period has been a baptism, purifying and burning off all that is unnecessary and NOT me. That list included: insecurity, fear, anger, worry, regret and doubt. What's left are: drive, certainty, gratitude, awe, perseverance and creativity. Essentially, ENERGY=TRUST.

• What new equations are working in my life?
• How do I tend to receive messages?
• What helps me become receptive?
• What role does trust play in this process?
• What role does prayer play?


it's like I've had
the ruby slippers on the
whole time

and not known
their power

like I could
go home
whenever I
wanted,

returning
for that
deep, cellular
wisdom

from the
Divine spot
within

Faint outline of grand design

Listen to post:

MESS/paint and pastel on paper 

WEDNESDAY: A transparent mess, that's what I told my shamanic counselor I was. He laughed, said no way, but that he liked the phrase so much he may borrow it. It's on his table and in his care that I feel that I can show up being that mess and not pretend anything else. It's as if my skin is clear, like a sausage casing, and everything inside is visible to all who take the time to look. Kind of like the invisible man or woman kits popular when I was a kid.

Interestingly, the visible insides are a myriad of shapes and bright colors: (at least in my vision) a chaotic, joyful tangle of sorts. I have been thinking how to represent this visually for a long time and hope to when the right concept strikes.

...

FRIDAY: I am sitting in the nose-bleed section of a Barry Manilow concert certain that this is a dream and I did not consciously buy these tickets and inflict this on my family. The audience makes me feel like a teenager and Barry's gaunt appearance scares me into thinking that if this is not relevant to me, how the heck will it be relevant to my 14-year-old, who seems to be sleeping.

BURNING/pastel on paper

And then the skinny older man on the stage transforms or, maybe it is I who does. Something snaps and I see beyond the aging frame, into the heart of the entertainer. The voice grows stronger, the songs become familiar and I begin to know this person, who shares his story. Tales of growing up in the worst school in American, but being saved by joining the orchestra and of a grandfather who, weekly, walked his grandson to Times Square to ycreate a 25-cent record because he recognized the gift of music. I actually think I like this guy. Of course, I tell my teen, I wouldn't have been caught dead in college attending one of his concerts. So why did I this time?

Possibly because I got an e-mail tip on steeply discounted tickets or because I knew my girls had studied him in music, maybe it was because he's now a classic and there won't be many other opportunities or a myriad of other reasons. Doesn't really matter because there was ONE moment when God spoke very directly and deeply to me through this performance. The message was "if this skinny Jewish kid from Brooklyn can become world famous by using his gifts, then imagine what's possible in your life." Sure erases the pile of doubt I have been collecting.

...

CEASELESSLY/pastel on paper

SUNDAY: A wonderful young-adult Friend gave a powerful message [see link below] in worship filling me with all sorts of colorful images. She spoke of the faithfulness of a specific Monarch butterfly that, against, all odds, travels thousands of miles every year, crossing long stretches of water in a body that is less than aerodynamic for anything but soaring and catching a breeze. Ceaselessly, these creatures make their way to the Sierra Nevada Mountains of Mexico, crowding and causing the trees to become burning clumps of orange. She compared this faithfulness to our own spiritual journeys. What jumped out for me was how our Quaker meetinghouse is one of those trees, where we have all been drawn and our next step is to discern who we are collectively and where God is calling us. I am salivating, waiting to capture this image of orange trees, bursting with love, faith and trust.

http://www.cincinnatifriends.org/archive%20of%20messages/The%20Faith%20of%20a%20Butterfly-%20A%20Surrender%20to%20Love.m4a   by Katie Heape
...

MONDAY: So why do these three experiences call to me, what are they telling me? Maybe:
• God wants us to show our interiors to the world in all our full color and glory as messy and human as they may seem ... there's also divine design involved.
• Using our gifts transforms us and others.
• We are meant to share our giftedness and messiness in community, acknowledging our own and those in others. Our individual journeys and their lessons of faith and trust can be applied to living, giving and receiving in community.


• When have I felt like a transparent mess?
• What, if any, freedom did I experience by not hiding it?
• How has Spirit shown me the possibilities of my own gifts?
• What unlikely sources of inspiration have spoken deeply to me?
• How am I called to community, sharing my gifts and wounds?


threads, balls,
solids and transparent
shapes, brilliant, shiny
exploding inside of the
glint of unseen skin


feels like a mess,
but a deep
introspection
reveals the
potential


then one older, wiser
and more experienced
exposes humble roots, yet
fully embodies his
gifts with joy
and gratitude


and one younger, but with
sharp eyes in her heart,
shares an illustration of
faith drawn from nature,
something simply ...
miraculous


and I begin to
make out the feint
outline of
a grand design