Living our dreams, not our doubts

The flow of grace has returned to my life. I am sure of myself and my work thanks to a series of affirmations and, of course, Spirit.

These past weeks really have begun to follow a pattern, the same one we've been exploring in the Turtlebox spiritual-nurture group. Last post I discussed the dark night of the soul, which was also the topic of Thursday's Turtlebox and  my most-attended session. I had provided a warning that this was a difficult topic and, still, they came. 

That was an affirmation I sorely needed as I had been struggling with some doubt in my own dark night.

Fallen/pastel on paper

Last Sunday, I experienced a very deep and powerful worship, though I had no vocal ministry, which is rare. I was almost so deep, I couldn't move. Our minister noticed, saying I didn't seem my usual self and suggested we talk. Automatically and surprisingly, I agreed. When I mentioned the dark night, she got all giddy and excused herself to return with a passage from a book on the dark night she had copied for some reason: me, she now believed. Then the talk turned to my ministry and how the Meeting has been puzzled that I haven't finished applying for funding. That when they created the fund, they all had me in mind: a person with many gifts and not in a regular job. She reiterated the Quaker notion of releasing one for ministry by financially helping with living expenses.

I had not been ready for this step because of my doubts, but now see that I am. Another affirmation.

In reading an e-mail from a Quaker friend who plans to volunteer this week with Artsy Fartsy, she said the nominating committing had just met and discussed my "sold vocal ministry." I thanked her on both counts and said I was grateful for the vote of confidence as I struggle with doubt.

A third affirmation.

After posting the last blog on dark night, a wonderful Quaker/writer/friend said it was one he'd read again because it applied so well to his current experience. Then he thanked me for sharing my explorations. I expressed my gratitude, mentioning that I often feel like Bridget Jones who says, at one point, that she doesn't need another person to tell her she's messed up because she feels that way most of the time.

A fourth affirmation.

Unexpectedly, my husband brought a letter to me to the studio. When I ripped it open – it was from a grant funder to whom I'd applied – a check for the total amount of my request spilled out. "Thank you for your commitment to the children in your community," it concluded.

Yet another VERY concrete affirmation.

The doubt really has dissipated along with the dark night. One of the wise women who has been attending Tutlebox said a spiritual director told her a long time ago that God is in your dreams and desires, not the doubt.

I believe that again.

And as we talked about Thursday at Turtlebox, the dark night strips us of ego and things of the world, so we may lose ourselves more fully in Spirit's flow of love, which I am feeling so powerfully and gratefully again.

I am living my dreams, not my doubts.

• When I have felt connected to Spirit, then separated?
• How did I experience that darkness and separation?
• What kept me going?
• If reconnection happened, what was that like?
• Where are my current dreams taking me?

A classic case:

months of near ecstasy
and energy

close encounters,
amazing experiences,
vivid dreams,
visions and images
collecting

best I've been
in years

so open, I
ask for
change

and BAM
it comes crashing
in, loosening
so much
old stuff ...
crud that was
still hanging
like a tether
to the old me

the one trapped
by ego 

and I stewed there
awhile

until I began
to understand
just where I
was – a
spiritual
sorting house

soon it was
time to emerge
and fly

because the
baggage is gone
and my heart
is deepened,
but lighter

Listen to this post:

Balancing act

Ma Joad, I was thinking as I slid into a yogic forward fold, noticing my grounded wide feet, spread toes and heels sunk into the mat. You know, the mother and driving force in Grapes of Wrath.

I had not thought of her since high school, when I wrote an essay for an exam, choosing her as the topic of my response. I don’t remember the question, just how her solidness struck me as the pillar of the family as I described her physique as a metaphor for her place and influence on the Joad clan. Promptly after, as we all discussed the test, much to my horror, I discovered no one else elected to answer the question citing the Grapes of Wrath. I must’ve screwed up, I stewed until a few weeks later as I gingerly opened the scoring envelope, squinting and steeling myself for bad news. All for nought: I captured the highest grade. I need to remind myself of that time and its lesson of not doubting myself – especially when I take the road less traveled. I had felt really good about my answer until I compared. That’s what typically gets me in trouble.

As we transitioned from the cascading bend into Warrior III, lifting one leg and spreading our arms, I felt balanced, graceful and the feminine foundation for my daughters, 121/2 and 151/2. I am their Ma Joad, even the days I struggle. I want to be perfect for them, there in every way conceivable, but, alas, I can not. So I do my best, which isn’t so swift some days, but pretty on-target others.

I’m trying to get my act together much as I can. That seems like a life’s work . Five weeks of physical relapse has taken me back to high school and doubting myself, but not totally. Something tells me on a deeper level that I am not in the place I was in high school or even last time I experienced a flare-up. I think I’m a bit higher up the mountain with a little more or, at least, different perspective. Both my pastoral counselor and chiropractor insist I’ve opened an old wound and am shedding or healing.

Right now, yoga hurts more, it’s hard to get up at 6 to swim laps when sleep comes as a luxury, yet I persevere no doubt thanks to divine grace more than any of my own. And another old nemesis has come to haunt me: the flirtation of money.

I believe it’s also haunting my youngest. She can’t manage to hang onto it and craves more. I tend to save it and disassociate from it. We’ve always been mirrors for each other. I think the learning now is for me to worry less about it and for her to see it’s not that important. Perhaps my dislike of it has forced her in the other direction. We both need balance. Seems I must find mine first as an example.

As we tackle our hurtles, I have decided we need to meditate every evening before bed TOGETHER. She needs it. I need it. We need each other. And, when two or three are gathered, you know what transpires.

If Ma Joad held her family together, then I can try likewise, reinforced by allowing space for Spirit in my life and my daughters’.

• When have I felt like the pillar of the family?

• When have I felt unbalanced?

• How does doubt topple that balance?

• What throws me off?

• What helps me rebalance toward Spirit?

firm and functional,

maybe not pretty

flat and strong,

they carry

me through

thick and thin

health and illness

isolation and oneness

they keep my

balance

and I am

grateful

Listen to this post:

Taking off my ego for a minute

Listen to post:

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

Protective cover of self love

I'm thinking it's time to remove the chink(s) from the armor. You know, the one that started as a nick when I was very young, then grew until it went right through me. The pieces missing from the protective cover of self love.

That visual image occurred to me as I was assessing how much damage I sustained after an agent's recent rejection of my book, saying I needed a "unique and special" message. She may as well have said "you're worthless," me ego tells me if I let it. It tells me a lot of things I know aren't true, yet it's so powerful and persistent, I sometimes fall into it's trap.

I had thought egos built us up better than we are, causing us to excel at the expense of being compassionate and caring. But mine (Just where is the ego factory anyway ... where we are endowed with these parts of ourselves? I'd like to trade mine in or return it as defective.) feeds on self doubt and has particularly fortified itself against me with fibromyalgia and my staying home with children, then attempting to build a career again.

It almost fooled me this time. The voice of ego, which took on the agent's, had a familiar echo ... a little too familiar and close to home. It sounded very much like the Sunday School teacher who told me my heart was black with sin at age three. The black-heart thing was the first time I ever even questioned who or what I was. The first time I felt less than. I also recall not believing it, even if I couldn't verbalize that thought then. Yet each time I received a similar message, I let it compound with the original.

Why do we do that? Is it because we are trusting? Naive? Don't want to buck authority?

For me, it has probably been all of those with the net result forming self doubt. I can't recall the last time I felt really sure about something. Well, yes, I can. And it's been about my book. The one I feel God has taken me by the hand and led, pulled and cajoled me through the last 12 years, even when I didn't recognize what was forming. The almost-unconscioualy moving ahead is part of the package. Had I realized, I would not have cooperated. One step at a time, however, I can manage ... even though I am continually whining for clarity. If I truly had it, it would scare me into immobility. Often I am immobilized anyway; or so it seems.

I am working to restore that chink, wondering if, perhaps, it's a phantom injury: one not really there, but "faked" by ego to hold me back. The best way to proceed, I believe, is by beginning to listen more deeply within myself and to those who love me and seeing ego for what it is and when it's whispering to me.

I am rebuilding that protective cover and will be more selective in what I choose to let in.

• What tends to make me doubt myself?
• What's the pattern of that been in my life?
• When/how have I recognized it as something destructive?
• What spiritual practice might overshadow those doubts?
• When I can truly be with Spirit, what happens to the doubt then?


it starts so very small
that it's easy to dismiss


until we're silently under barrage
and miss the pileup


falling into the habit
of assuming we screwed up


and that becomes a heavy weight to bear


one only undone with recognition


like shining the light into a deep, dark hole


to uncover something shiny and worthwhile buried
underneath

Stepping on my soul

Why do I often assume I have made the mistake?

Yesterday, I was devastated to learn that a New York literary agent who had been back and forth with me for a few days, forcing me to exhaust myself [yes, of my own volition] by revising my book proposal, felt my work was too similar to other things out there and one, in particular.

I was shocked, disappointed and blamed myself for having missed that title in my competitive research, which was pretty exhaustive. I AM a die-hard reporter, after all.

I thanked her for her time -- while gritting my teeth and wiping teary eyes -- and said I would look at the similar book and possibly make revisions.

Today, I took that look and also noticed the 2001 publication date. No wonder I missed the book; I was searching "recent" titles. It was eery, however, how similarly our chapters were titled. And our book titles both begin with Finding the ... I think I'll change mine, no problem. I had already traded it in after an editor's suggestion late last fall. Finding was her word; answering had been mine.

I was gracious, no burning bridges here, but also wanted to know what I could do differently ... as if I had made a mistake. She bluntly said to write something "special and unique."

OUCH. How can the deepest story of my soul be stepped on like that? That really is the conundrum of putting this work out before people that don't know me or care to. Especially those outside a spiritual environment. I had forgotten how ruthless the real world can be. What a wonderful lesson, however, in the generosity from my virtual and Facebook friends! The encouragement and support have overshadowed the devastation.

Today is better than yesterday. At least I don't want to burn my book now. Tomorrow will be brighter yet.

It does remind me of the fall session I had with an editor. At the time she said my writing was strong, the art great, but I needed to focus more. I took that hard as well, put the book away a few weeks, then dusted it off as I was ready to hear what she had said and made revisions that only strengthened the work. I am hopeful the same will happen this time.

I understand it all as a process. One of growth, not necessarily MY mistakes.


• Why do I/we so easily assume the blame personally?
• Or even assume blame?
• How can I work in the secular world with a spiritual mentality that does not crush me?
• Why should that outside accolade/affirmation matter?
• What if I lived my life for myself or something bigger and not the cultural nod?



it was beautiful,
sang
and was me


it emanated from Spirit


and I was pleased


til the other world
said otherwise


and made me
question
myself,
my beliefs,
my soul


for a second,
when I realized how ridiculous that is

Surgery of surrender

Sunday on my drive to Meeting (church), this phrase ran through my head seemingly out of nowhere:

Cut it loose

It's still with me and I wondered if it was something I was meant to say in worship, but it didn't feel like it then.

Tuesday and Wednesday, I hosted an overnight guest, a very good friend from my School of the Spirit days. That's when I spent two years commuting to Philadelphia while participating in a Quaker program of spiritual-nurture ministry. A chunk of that time was spent in an assigned small group charged with developing deep community. Mine was totally dysfunctional for a variety of reasons and a VERY difficult period in my life. However, I learned that sometimes the nurture is not where you expect, but it IS there. This overnight visitor was one of the people who nurtured me outside of that group. She and several others kept me going when the small community was draining, even damaging, at times. I have reached a place where I am grateful to that group and carry each person fondly. There were great lessons from that trying experience. I have cut the resentment loose.

My traveling friend, as she often does, challenged me with a workshop she'd just led on discipleship. I asked her what that meant and she said letting God direct your life. Surrender, I thought. I keep hearing the same thing from my mother, who says it's easier to put that into practice as we age and gain a different perspective.

Isn't that the same as cutting it loose, I  ruminate.

Here's what I think I am being called to cut loose:
– Any expectation (mine or others') about publishing my book and just charging ahead.
– Attempts to convince others this IS my ministry. I KNOW it is and that's enough.
– Comparisons to anything else I or others may make. This book is uniquely MY message and one Spirit drives me to share.
– Worry PERIOD.
– Self doubt.
– Things and people that are not energyzing.
– Anything that's not creative or joyful.
– Feeling obligated to say yes.
– My need to control.
– My need to feel in charge.
– Being anything other than who I am.
– Ego.

Wow, that lists calls for an awfully large knife and I know of only one place that's available: surrender. I pray I can tolerate losing the burdens I heap on myself in this surgery.


• What am I called to cut loose in my life?
• What do I need for that?
 • How can I be prayerful and ask others to support me?
• What will my life look like after that emptying?
• What can that free me for?




I carry
so much


it bears
down
on me


sucking
the
joy


robbing
my
energy


all
because
I have
invested
so much


in
a persona,
a label,
a mask

that is
no longer
mine
to wear

I ache
to discover
the freedom
of  what lies
beneath

ELEMENTAL

Stripped naked
no thing to hide
light and shadow
only the mighty Universe
and me
feeling very little,
but awed at being
a part of some thing
so big, so significant
wonder
gratitude
doubt
about my existence
my place
my small space
in the grand
scheme of something
great,
including mere me

Doubt is my biggest shadow ...

Umm... day 2, will this be a daily practice? Like Julie Powell cooking 365 days of Julia Child. Just not sure yet, but feel some commitment to regularity.

I find it interesting that I am reading Bridget Jonses’ Diaries and Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle – wildly divergent, yet both based on a regular progression of documentation. One fiction and one fact. One revolving round single life in late 1990s London and the other on growing one’s own food for a year. Yin and Yang, perhaps? But something about continuity and accountability appeals to me. Also something about “putting it out there," [maybe that’s why Bridget Jones appeals to me] a message I am repeatedly receiving from a higher authority, yet also from deep within.

I have privately kept journals, in the Quaker tradition without realizing it, all through my 40s and often find it a source of comfort, problem solving and creativity. It’s a place I can turn when it seems no one else understands or wants to hear “it” again ... the “it” du jour. Sometimes I journal religiously, others, not so much.

It seems mildly amusing that as a journalist for so much of my career, I never once considered keeping a journal ... “Just the facts, Mam,” I thought. Older and, hopefully, wiser. I find what’s behind the facts much more interesting and worthy of exploration.

I have two kinds of journals: one for words and another, for images, which often convey for me so much more than words can. I plan to post some of those images here.

Yesterday was quite exhilarating launching this blog (with so much forethought: a couple of hours ... really it’s been a whisper for awhile) and seeing it gain “followers.” Also humbling and gratitude producing. I hope the novelty doesn’t wear off. I joined facebook last year at this time all excited about “finding” old and new friends, then being less enthusiastic when it seemed kind of shallow. I desire a facebook with more substance ... not sure that’s possible given that its name so clearly states the intent. Or my bigger fear: that I have nothing worthwhile to say.

Doubt is my biggest shadow and I am learning to recognize, even honor it ... like the really long shadows of the trees today on the snow in the crisp sunshine.
• What are my shadows?
• How can I more fully integrate them?
• How can I honor them?
• Do I cast them on others, projecting what’s really just mine?
• Can I own them?
I am learning to trust the dark
and see it as not merely
the absence of light,
but the presence
the presence of all
the presence of all color

– Cathy
www.turtleboxstories.com is a place I have created for gathering and sharing the deepest stories of our hearts; please visit and/or share if you’re so inclined