Moving ego off the stage

Perspective is EVERYTHING and God gives us a dose of it every once in awhile to humble us and call our attention to what really matters.

The past two weeks have embroiled me in working to save our neighborhood school. It's been an incredible journey and one in which I could see Spirit at work. That hit a snag Sunday when I opened my studio to discuss possibilities and one loud group took center stage announcing that the only way to go is to support the efforts of two children to tear the building down and create a park. They aim to raise $1 million. The park idea is lovely, but I don't believe the expensive tear-down is. At least, I desire to explore ALL of the options first. The park group believes, second hand, that they have been exhausted. But I know artists imagine things in a completely different and transformative way. My shamanic counselor has taught me a solution is never either/or (save or tear down), but a "whole rainbow of color choices."


After a three-hour meeting Sunday, I returned home exhausted and with anxiety about all that we had just accomplished. That lingered through the wee hours, even though I kept telling myself to let God handle it. I was buoyed yesterday by two conversations with out-of-the-box thinkers with a genuine concern for the community.

One of those was late in the day and I arrived home late and ready to unwind. I barely had my boots off when I heard a gusty knock at the door ... one that demanded to be answered. I complied and lit up to see two of my Artsy Fartsy girls ... two who have stuck with me three years. They had been shopping out in the cold for four hours -- one only dressed in a sweatshirt -- and wanted to warm up and ask for a ride home. I gave one a clean pair of dry socks and we sat in the living room chatting about their after-Valentine's Day bargains. One got a text that it was time to be home. As I led them through the kitchen, they were enticed by the smell of the cooking meatloaf. I wished it had been ready then and I could have fed them. Instead, I ferried them back to one of the stores where they had forgotten a package. "If he doesn't give it back to me, something's gonna go down," one crowed. "How about I go in with you, just in case." "Good idea," she agreed. "Now, don't embarrass me or I'll act like I don't know you," I teased.

We successfully retrieved her bag and I drove them to warm homes. Their visit and the ease of our relationship dispelled any coldness in me from the weather and the fate of the building. The art I make in the building is about the kids, not where we do it. I told them the project and its tear-down were rejected and they were excited. "Where will have Artsy Fartsy if not there?" they both chimed in. "We have lots of temporary offers, but I am not worried about it. We'll figure it out."

I slept incredibly well and even braved the extreme cold to do laps in an 84° pool. I sailed into the studio for a full day of writing when the phone rang. My mom had tripped last night, broken her hip and they were in a hospital awaiting surgery.

OMG. Could a building or any petty conflicts about it come before her?

People, God says pretty clearly, come first. Even before my Do-Gooder reflex and how I hope things could be in my community.

I needed the reminder – thank you, Wise One.

• How do I let myself get carried away?

• When do I need to be jolted out of my ego-centered world?
• How does God give me perspective?
• What spiritual practice can also grant me the larger view?
• What is my prayer for the wisdom of perspective?


Dear One,

Whom I love with
all of my heart

Who knows me
better than I can
ever pretend

Please continue
to guide me
even when I resist

When ego is
front and center

Remind me
what matters
most

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What Spirit requires

I’ve never been a Bible thumper, not even much of a reader, but Mathew 7:7-8 keeps leaping out at me:

"Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened."

From everywhere.  Weekend before last, it cropped up in a retreat, then bled into the next day’s worship, as we were discerning a congregational calling. Today it was the basis for a daily Thomas Keating meditation and I have yet to spend the time in lectio divina (slow, sacred reading) with it I would like.

Before then, my prayerful partner and Quaker friend, Linda, cited that passage years ago. I’d known it, but coming from her heart and lips it became unrote and grew new meaning. I don’t even remember the circumstance, just that it was vividly important.

Almost ten years ago– can it really have been that long ago? – I followed a calling to Philadelphia to attend the two-year School of the Spirit for spiritual-nurture ministry. We met a week at a time, four times a year. The first session was held at Pendle Hill, a renowned Quaker retreat and study community. Leaving a toddler and first-grader behind, I flew off to uncharted territory, meeting two women with whom I would be close on the shuttle to Pendle Hill from the airport. We arrived and were welcomed into a small, old, quirky building and asked to choose a room. Jan, one of the women, said she wanted the one she always took and Marty chose a cozy twin room on the second floor. I selected the “family” room because there was space to do yoga, a sunny porch and it kept the family I had left behind closer. That first night I fell in and out of sleep, anxious, excited and uncertain. My door had no lock, I remembered as I heard newcomers climb to their room on the stairs located at the other side. I dreamt that I was asked to stay awake all night and guard the door and wondered why I had received the unlocked room. Somehow, in the midst of the tumultuous night and the lengthy dream, Jesus let me know it was a sign that my heart was unlocked. That I had knocked and the door to my heart had been opened.

At a reunion retreat several years later, I was assigned the smallest room and, again, Jesus whispered the reason: “because it’s closest to the worship space.”

I’ve got the knocking, door opening and seeking parts down. Guess I’m currently working on the “Ask, and it will be given you.” One of my lessons is to learn to ask and receive. I find it excruciatingly difficult to ask for things for myself; others, no problem. Our Quaker minister (we consider everyone a minister, she happens to be paid and calls herself a public Friend) kindly pointed out that I can’t seem to ask for myself even when people want to give. “You are depriving them of being able to give.” That hit home. As I was preparing a retreat on naming gifts last fall, I came across the idea that a gift is not a gift unless it is received.

I have no trouble giving; it’s my nature and I have identified it (helper) as my enneagram type. I do understand that too much of my identity is wrapped up in that mask, so asking is BIG for me; big as in hard to do and big as in deeply necessary.

Our minister has encouraged me to seek funding from my Quaker Meeting for my non-profit arts exploration for at-risk kids. I did screw up the courage to ask for a summer salary, which they generously supplied.

And, I can’t tell you how many times God has answered my prayers, even just today. Fear is what interferes with my ability to humanly seek help. Fear that I will be rejected, judged and viewed as less than because I can’t take care of everything myself. Ego has had me trapped, but Spirit frees me and tells me otherwise.

• What message(s) have been swirling in my heart?

• How do they stretch me?

• How have I possibly resisted as a result?

• What happens when I have asked, searched and knocked?

• What is Spirit trying to free me of?

I can give

until I bleed,

then rebound

and give

some more

it’s who

I have always

been

how I have

built my

identity

and yet

I am so

reluctant

to ask and

receive

for fear

it shows

my vulnerability,

which is what

Spirit requires

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Pain as teacher

Reactions when I suggest that pain can be a teacher have surprised me. They range from shrugs, topic-switching and a general politeness in tucking this subject away. Except by those who know.

So it was delightful that a small group to which I belong actually asked for more information. Experiencing pain became one of our discussion points that evening. We begin our sessions by catching each other up on our lives since last month, often connecting it to the archetypal astrology we are here to study. Almost magically, whatever has collectively been on our hearts has woven its way into our sage instructor's lesson, before we even knew. One soul shared her frustration at major obstacles, yet retained a calm detachment. Another currently feels overwhelmed by life. One actually has opening pain in her chest. The other three of us were not currently in those places, but we have been. We heard each other's pain. Better yet, those in pain seem to be letting it in and learning its lessons.

This group's honesty and integrity provides great comfort and confidence with regard to a new workshop, Pain as Spiritual Teacher,  I am so excited about hosting with a longtime friend and very trusted healer. When I proposed it several months ago, she didn't flinch. "Of course I'll do it with you; what took you so long to ask?" she replied to my request. What makes this so authentic, I believe, is that we have both struggled for years with chronic pain. We're combining my spiritual nurture and creativity with her yoga therapy and counseling background. 

Pain has been the subject of some of my writing, here, and in other venues. I'd like to share portions new to this blog. They are personal and MY journey, so I don't expect them to speak to everyone. Sharing these experience can empower healing and awareness in others, which is why I feel called to do so:

Truthfully, pain has been a catalyst in my life: an agent of change, bridging one stage to another. The one before fibro and the one after. The one before awakening and the one awakened. The one fighting myself and the one learning to surrender. The one mesmerized by cultural mandates and the one living from my heart. The false self and the real self. The me-centered life and the God-centered life. Striving for unattainable perfection and embracing my flawedness. Pretending to be strong and showing my weakness. Wearing masks and shedding them.

When pain came calling at my door, I had no choice but to let it in. It preyed on every weakness, wore me down and I gave it utter control. I succumbed to its charms and let it define me. My ego was a mess. I believe it gave into what it thought was stronger. It told me I was nothing and, along with the pain, took charge.

I see now it was not acting in my best interest, but its own. 

Too long I had listened to the world’s warped idea that we are immune to pain and … if you experienced it you are weak, unworthy or not one of the annointed.  I bought the cultural promise of ease, health and wealth. So, when pain struck, I was defenseless. 

For all intents and purposes, my projected self curled up and died, my ego going through the motions and pretending. I was a pretty good actress. Besides, who really wants to recognize another’s pain? Means you’d have to own yours first.

Fighting it or letting it rule me were not the answers I was seeking. Befriending it was. Looking at it as having a message changed my perspective, helped me open to that wisdom and surrender the situation to God instead of (mis)managing it myself. 

Oh, but I fought the work of exposing my wounds. They were piled so heavily, imbedding my core self even more deeply. Creativity rescued me by expressing, exposing and accepting my wounds in a manner I could comprehend, even embrace.

I gained a new awareness, though I walked one step at a time. I was not ready for more. I write this now with the perspective and insight of distance.

God gave me the courage to shine the flashlight of Truth into the most locked parts of myself: the places sealed off since childhood that the pain tapped. A willing, but tepid traveler, I was astonished to witness that the inaccessible parts were not ugly and dangerous, just trapped inner children given no light, nurture or encouragement to mature. With exposure, they blossomed and were able to tell me what they needed. Some of them I have parented into adulthood. Others till need tending and room to grow. 

As God and I chiseled away at these layers, I could loosen my grip on the false self, which had been a response to injury. That injury had become my inner jury and judge. I let it tell myself I was less-than and unworthy. 

As God helped me excavate, I began to see myself again as the unharmed pure one I knew so well in childhood, untainted by wounds. This innocent had been surrounded, crowded and choked out by all of the injured still nursing their wounds and in paralysis: a state of shock, incapable of moving or growth. Until God released them, me.

I experience pain, but, with God’s grace and wisdom, don’t let it define, freeze or trap me. I now know to look for its message: to what am I not paying attention that I should. 

Inevitably, there’s a sacred lesson, for pain is teacher.

• What is my reaction to pain?
• What is my experience of pain?
• How does that idea that it has lessons to teach resonate in me? 
• What might those lessons be?
• How can sharing my experience possibly open others?

Pain as Spiritual Teacher will be offered at two Cincinnati locations in March and April. The first in a series, we are planning three others. For more information, please visit: https://www.facebook.com/events/1424900054406234/

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