Waiting-to-totally-surrender purgatory

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A January-7 deadline approaches and I noodle notes here and there: on my studio chalkboard, a scrap of paper, my laptop. Can’t find the focused time I need right now to hunker down and write the grant and that seems all right.

Underneath, there’s a sense that things will fall into place as and when they should. There’s time for the busyness, it tells me, later. Right now, I need to sit with the larger question than meeting a deadline. Can I do the projects that align with the funding? Will I have the personal energy, the volunteers and enthusiasm of others? This is clearly not a solitary endeavor, even though it seems so in this moment.

I’m wary of completely giving myself away to projects that will obviously companion and deepen Artsy Fartsy*. I stand at an all-too-familiar crossroads. I have given myself away countless times before. Is this one of those times or is it really where God is leading me? Could my surrender be to let go of the pretense of a livelihood and live my passion sans a paycheck? I struggle here. Earning my own way is so intrinsic to who I have been.

More simply, deeply and profoundly for me is that taking care of myself, independently, is all I’ve known. It’s a locked pattern, trapped in my psyche. Perhaps mistakenly, I’ve thought my task was to ask for help, human help.

I had a wide opening Wednesday during my monthly shamanic-counseling session. Insight into where, why and how I have been wounded. It’s almost too much to discuss yet. Generally, I was hurt and left alone to tend to the wound, then never given the opportunity to talk about it. Alone, alone, alone. That’s where I always seem to be.

Until I remember I’m not. This sucking up that I do whenever there is something that I [think I] have to do myself, which is most of the time, is so wrongfully inherent. I’ve been surrendering to God half-assed. Saying yes, but still feeling responsible and trying to control aspects. Surrendering some aspects is not surrender.

So how do I let this rip, I mean really rip? Like the way I felt a layer melt off Wednesday through breath work. I feel apart right now, like I’m living somewhere in between. Some kind of waiting-to-totally-surrender purgatory because I don’t know the next step.

I keep getting the message to pursue my passion and the paycheck will follow. Not sure what that means, but, I believe, it includes carefully discerning what is mine to do and what is not … not just doing because I have or can.

So through the holidays, the celebration of Jesus’ being in the world and anticipation of the clean slate of a new year, I will wait and see what settles and where I can surrender fully.

• How have I only half surrendered?

• What will it take for me to fully surrender?

• What’s holding me back?

• What patterns must I break?

• What is my prayer right now?

go it alone,

always

it has

seemed

 I crave

the solitude

don’t want

to be crowded

or smothered

and then,

I wonder

why I’m

always the one

to get things

done

I forget

that I can

surrender

to God

my prayer:

please, teach

me how

*an arts-exploration for at-risk kids I offer in my studio and for which I have received a Clarence and Lilly Pickett Endowment, a Good News Associates grant and one from the Clermont County Mental health and Recovery Board

http://pickettendowment.quaker.org/

http://http://goodnewsassoc.org/

http://http://www.ccmhrb.org/

Second chance

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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

Stopping the story spinning

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I know I'm a gifted storyteller; after all, I trained and worked as a journalist. For years, I spun the most positive stories for businesses. I began journaling 12 years ago, exploring my inner stories. Now, I'm finishing a book about my spiritual journey and how its individual movements are universal. I'm constantly listening for and composing stories.

And the internal stories have taken on their own life, projecting truths, realities, emotions and suffering that do not exist. My ego spins them, causing separation between me and others, me and God. The reel loops and loops, casting me as the victim.

A good example of this exploded into my life last Sunday. For the first time, I sat in Quaker worship and could not worship. I have never had that experience. Sure, it has taken most of the hour to settle, or my thoughts would sail in and out, but I always centered at some point. Not so Sunday. My chest was pounding, much like it does when I have ministry to share, but it didn't feel like worship. And it wouldn't die down. There was something grasping my heart that I had to let go. At the end of worship, in the time set aside for joys and prayer concerns, I stood, almost against my will, and in a weak voice asked for prayer for "forgiveness issues" with which I was struggling. I could hardly get the words out before the tears formed, muffling my voice even more. I sat down, quivering, yet managing to hold the other spoken joys and prayer requests in the silence. That, I could do.

As soon as the service was over, a handful of caring souls were at my side, softly rubbing my back, praying, asking what I needed, silently hugging me and sending their loving energy to me. I believe the entire room was.

I don't want to analyze what happened, just accept it with the awareness that seeing a dear F/friend (code for Quaker Friend and personal friend) really opened me and my heart. His presence allowed my soul to pick the scab off my heart and let the wound air. Publicly would not have been my preference, but, apparently, it was Spirit's.

Sight of him, with whom I feel intrinsically connected, reminded me of my communal concern for a number of members who have left the congregation hurting, seemingly disappearing without much pause. That has been my interest for a long time. One, I sometimes have felt led to personally remedy. I had not realized, though, that it had become mine personally – that I experienced a painful episode here. I felt unheard and have been dealing with that hurt, finally stuffing it down. I believed it was gone ... til Sunday.

Vocalizing that concern, being heard and loved, no matter what, in this community lifted a heavy burden. As I remarked at what a mess I was, a kind voice instantly responded: "We love you just the way you are here." My mind, body and spirit needed to hear that. It echoed my all-time favorite movie line from "Bridget Jones's Diary," which I had just watched, when straight-laced Darcy tells let-it-all-out Bridget: "I like you just as you are."

Yesterday, I had a pivotal phone conversation with one of my Quaker mentors who said the reason I had not received feedback after the painful episode was because no one wanted to contribute to my stress.

I had never considered that, only that they did not value me, my gifts or my work, they were not happy with what I had offered, they only wanted all I had to give ... you name it, the lies about the situation have all played out in my head. In the silence, I construed so many negative and harmful story possibilities.

A recent horoscope, which I read about twice a year, said what the silence offers me is good for me, even when it's nothing. Instead, I have woven that silence into something it was not.

My desire is to learn to accept, even revel in, what is offered me now and do so without all of the story spinning. Eckhart Tolle writes in "Stillness Speaks" that deleting the stories will simplify life. I want that, though I will use my gift to deeply listen to others' stories.

• What stories do I tell myself?
• How can I see the untruth in them?
• When have they caused suffering to me or another?
• How has that erupted or called out to me?
• What practices help me to diminish that tendency?

I'm so good at the spin,
I don't even know I'm
doing it


today, I'm paying
attention


I caught myself
thinking the woman
who cut me off in the parking lot
only wanted to get somewhere faster,
not caring about safety – hers or mine


then, I remembered:
I have no idea of her intention


maybe she was rushing to meet a school bus,
take groceries to an elderly mother or
just not paying attention


I began to realize the ridiculousness
of the spinning, how much
energy it sucks


then, I let out a big
belly laugh and, God,
it felt good

Praying to the porcelain God

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With the flush of a toilet, I had a flash of insight. No kidding. People in my house don't like to flush the toilet, neither do those who frequent the women's changing room at my local pool. Tell me what that's about.

It gets old cleaning up other people's, well, shit LITERALLY. When I said this out loud to myself, it hit something big, really, really big. All of my life I have been cleaning up for others, worrying myself about what I can do to make things better, how I can accommodate even strangers so that I am out of their way.

Last summer, when I took a half dozen Alexander Technique lessons from a very gifted teacher, she told me to "stop holding the door and moving out of the way for people. It takes too much of your energy," which she knew I didn't have. The technique is about moving fluidly, efficiently without extra effort or pain.

Yesterday I was taxi-driver galore, carting kids to lessons, the pool and home from friend's houses. Seems to be the pattern this summer. No wonder I'm not getting much work accomplished. I'm so wiped out that I don't have anything left for anyone, including my ill friend (who IS better) and myself. A couple of weeks ago when I needed a week just to rebound, someone wondered why I could not visit the hospital all week. The answer is: "because I couldn't." I know my energy robbers and parking in what seems like another state, walking as far as humanly possible across the hospital's suburban acreage, then from the very front of the building to the extreme back just to visit was taxing. And it's not that I'm out of shape; I swim a half mile daily ... just to have the energy I require. Then there's the sterile environment with florescent lights that used to trigger migraines, now they just make me cower, which is an improvement. All before I even get to my friend. I am used up with little to give her. But I force a smile, say a prayer and have enough for her.

I found four hours yesterday (after I swam at 5:30 a.m.) to work at a nearby Starbuck's, was deep in thought and transitioning as I packed up and some invisible guy materialized to ask me what I was writing and tell me his deep desire to write. My good-girl persona would not brush him off, but my sense of self preservation knew this could be an entanglement, so I was honest and said I had to go pick up my kids. Funny, my friend said he was flirting. I was so engrossed I didn't even get that. The only pickup on my mind was of my kids.

This string of messages about doing for myself first seems to be knitting itself together into a very loud and clear call. I am ready to listen and respond appropriately.

• What unhealthy patterns have I created?
• How can I extricate myself?
• How can those of us with the "helper" mentality disengage from the harmful aspects of this persona?
• How can we do so with no guilt?
• What might my prayer be for greater balance in my life in this regard?


lined up
blue doors swung open


and I know
whichever I choose
will require something of
me to clean up after the last person


how can I temper my anger,
channeling it to fuel, not foul me?

Locked in my own monastery

www.turtleboxstories.com

Financial alchemy.

The title of the session listed in an e-mail the day before startled me. I would have never – in a millions years – put those two concepts together. Dirty money and mystical transformation? There was no way to make a reservation, so I just showed up. Early. Early enough to meet the presenter alone and make a deep connection ... over turtles, a symbol that adopted me a long time ago, no less.

Jenefer noticed I was wearing one and said they represent an old soul. I told her I was attracted to them after collecting stories of people's experiences of the Divine and believing a mere paper was not the proper container for something so precious. The idea of a "turtlebox" [ www.turtleboxstories.com ] jumped into my heart and head. Later a friend informed me they symbolize the meeting of heaven (the domed shell) and earth (the belly) – the perfect place, besides my heart, for these sacred stories.

"So you just asked people to talk about those experiences?" Jenefer asked almost in disbelief. "Yeah," I responded, "although it was within a spiritual context." I have not thought about them in such a long time, but it was such an amazing venture – to actually sit with others while they explained their dance with Spirit. I told Jenefer I'd like to be able to walk into a room of strangers and ask the same question. She said she desires to get to the deep stuff quickly, too. No small talk for us. We went right to turtles.

Another person joined us and we had a cozy group. My heart almost leapt out when Jenefer explained there is a bridge between spirituality and money. "What the heck?" I could hear myself thinking. "How's that?"

First off, she asked me to take my wallet out of my purse. I played along. She said it was "pretty." I hadn't the nerve to confess that I had only recently purchased it, the first that wasn't a gift or strictly utilitarian. The purpose of the exercise was to show that money should be respected and honored. That, yes, it was a tool, but not an evil one as I had described my love-hate experience with it. She said to carry more cash than you think you should and you will feel its abundance. I balked when she said how much she carried as well as what she paid for her favorite purse years ago. The day before, Lily, my youngest, had been watching Let's Make a Deal, and I detest game shows [especially game shows centered around money], but she convinced me to watch. I could not understand the pregnant woman obsessed with the $500 purse she was offered. She wouldn't trade it for anything. "Just think what all you could do with $500," I thought.

At financial alchemy, however, I gave it another thought. I would never let myself spend that kind of money because ... well, I assumed I was not worth it. Yep, Jenefer said our views of money are extremely tied to our self worth. I am beginning to see how right she is.

We had two pages of "messages" to read through and hone in on those that spoke to us. I resonated with most all of the spiritual messages, but a couple others stuck out:
1) I want to change the frequency, or the vibration that I may be sending out to the world and the universe.
2) I want to move beyond my survival needs, into my spiritual yearnings.
3) I want to be free of the judgment that I throw toward people who have a lot.

Number one scared me because of its truth. I know my spiritual and creative vibrations reflect the true me, but others, especially those money-related, do not. I have been living in scarcity mode, fearing there will not be enough. "Fear," Jenefer says, "is a faith issue, not financial." I agree.

Number two is the bridge she spoke of earlier. It is a tool I must understand and can employ in a positive spirit. Somehow I have imprinted in my mind and body that living a pure spiritual life involves deprivation, sacrifice and suffering. I've gotten good at those. Think it's time for me to step on that damn bridge and cross it.

Number three I did not initially understand. I know I am an extremely tolerant person when it comes to the have-nots. But the haves have little place in my world. "Envy and jealousy," Jenefer says, "are your GPS. You can't see it [in others] unless you have it [yourself]." Compassionate me jealous? No way. Maybe yes way. I had read my feelings more as disdain, not realizing they tie into that notion of deprivation and suffering.

The Universe, Jenefer said, wants us to thrive AND prosper. What a radically freeing and delicious notion!

I have been restricting myself, fighting money, when I need to open to its abundance. Quoting from Secrets of the Millionaire Mind, Jenefer said one quality of the rich is they know how to receive, not just give.

Fighting myself, now that seems to be a common thread. I had a dream recently about being pursued by thugs and an awful one in particular. I was running to a high spot away from the urban area and its violence when a stray and powerful tornado touched down in the city and destroyed everything, bringing stunning silence. The message I received was to replace violence with silence ... maybe abundance as well. Thanks to Jenefer, I can see that piece now and continue working on completing the puzzle of my wholeness.

• How do I feel about money?
• Can I give AND receive?
• Are there inherited attitudes or patterns I can or should shed?
• How can I incorporate the practice of gratitude and abundance into the way I interact with money?
• Can I tell myself I AM worth it?


I have locked myself
up in my own monastery


thriving in some areas,
depriving myself in others


thinking this is what
purity means


when, in truth,
I need to just be myself
fully, wholly and with
abandon


... and some extra
cash in my wallet

...
Jenefer Annenberg is a life-empowered catalyst and can be reached at jenefer@radiant-esence.com

Holding me back from myself

Yesterday morning as I was unloading the dishwasher while my girls were setting up the snack they volunteered to bring to our Quaker meeting, the metaphor of me working in the kitchen during worship was too powerful to ignore. But it's also painful to consider what action the meaning may spark.

I am so spiritually wiped out that I can barely feel God. Enough that I asked my spiritual friend of several years for a large dose of help this morning. She lovingly and caringly doled out what I so desperately needed: a practiced ear, a big heart, a knowingness and affirmation I have not often received and, as a result, need.

I seem such a far place from mid January when I spent a week alone writing in the woods and snow at another generous friend's condo. I was full of energy and joy, working on my work and sailing toward some imagined (though I suspect Divinely-inspired) bliss. Two events have intervened to take me somewhere else. Situations that fall into my pattern of giving myself away in exchange for something less than I am worth. I was prayerful on both counts and felt as I was doing what Spirit asked. I don't doubt that now, but am smarting from the dark hole into which I've fallen. I've been here before, but this time I seem to have tools I didn't earlier: awareness, a light to shine in the dark and the wisdom of a real friend.

I am supposed to be here, hard as the road was.  I have some excavating of old wounds to face instead of letting them scab over and grow deeper. I opened those wounds last week, journaling them. Today I exposed them, some for the very first time, to another human. And this time, I received the response I have so often missed.

I am becoming increasingly aware, however, that to move toward wholeness, I have to make a major change: unearthing myself from a previous source of nurture and growth. It seems I am only seen there for the light, bright parts of myself that I can give and not the dull, dirty parts that need attention. But for my spirit to shine, I MUST wade into the muck and reclaim those hidden pieces ... with or without my faith community. In not encouraging and nurturing the journey into darkness, I am suffocated and called to venture on accompanied or unaccompanied. This journey can not be stalled, neglected or delayed. My soul is at stake.

And I won't be alone.

• When have I been called away from something that no longer fits?
• How has a previous journey or awareness eased the transition?
• How do we recognize that finding our True Selves is a constant evolution and may mean leaving ideas, concepts and people behind.
• How do I nurture myself through those times?
• How can I be sure not to miss any new doors or openings?


the patterns from childhood
are so strong that it takes
something bigger than I to
shake them loose


that shaking can be brutal,
uncomfortable and tear
me from things and places
I hold dear


and yet, they are
holding me back
from
myself

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