8.27.15 Number one; number one

Sometimes in my practice I would ask older clients , who I knew very well, what they liked least about growing older . The reply was always the same . They felt like they lost one friend after another to endless , albeit understandable ,diatribes , about health problems . 

Now, this problem was #1, when friends dying was further down the list , so hard was it to have one friend after another slowly begin to talk of nothing else but what hurt ( pain really does suck) and what no longer worked ( really hard , again) and all the surprises and disappointments everyone just repeated over and over. , so friends never asked how you were today or talked about anything else. They began then to miss their friends, as if they were gone from them already .

I really sat up and took notice. Took mental notes . 

Wondering how we can be aware of this enough to support each other surmounting disappointment and pain and surprises enough to still be present and connect with each other and empathize and laugh and share the day.

8.27.15 He's finally home; the dark forever sky

He 's finally home and achey and tired, and I feed him more lentil soup and steamed Kale once again and biscuits right out of the oven and beautiful well water . And get him to bed, put herbal things on him and in him , then work work down his back, I see in my mind the spinal nerve connections to the autonomic nervous system as I align the spine and release the points and tonify the systems. And I smear him with my oil and release down sacrum and kidneys and back of legs , as his poor tired self makes happy noises. I knead the tight Achilles and nail those kidney points and elongate the bladder meridian and tender the kidneys into filling with good things. I release the sore feet and knead the tight shoulders and soften the neck and then lie down beside him , as the soft loft of the comforter almost secrets him, and he pulls me to him, some sadness and much love and a little laughter, as I pull him tight and tell him he's doing just beautifully , because he is ; and because I do not lie. And then I pull open the window a bit for fresh night air as the Shepherd guards him in his sleep , and I leave to stand outside. And I wish wish every living being could be cared for with love, and never walk difficult paths , ever alone . And then I let myself go - to the night and the dark forever sky.

 

8.27.15 The very best way we have to stop stumbling along the path out of a mess

Sometimes, day after day, it's so hard to see the way out of some stuck difficult struggling messy place where we feel like, if this continues, is going to come to no good. And we know it but nothing that we know or think or decide or try to figure out changes a thing. We simply can't see a way out of it.

We keep going around in circles, feeling badly, feeling weak, sometimes shameful, sometimes telling ourselves stories, about how something is wrong with us. Which just compounds things. It really is not true. Because we have challenges, but there's nothing wrong with us. 

That crap Is always someone else's voice, that we internalized. Swallowed it in a tough time, and we come to see it as our own. 

And it comes up, smooth and sneaky and malevolent, starting to accuse us of things, blaming, when the going gets tough.

When those old sneaky useless self accusations start coming up, we know things have gotten stirred up. We know to stand right up, at that moment, even if we can't figure anything else out, and say to ourselves "This is not me. These ideas. This self debasement. And I refuse to stand here and listen to this one more second.", If we don't have strength for one other thing, at least we do that. Whenever that crap begins again, like an old recording, we stand up and point at it and yell to ourselves "There it is! Forget it. None of that!"

In the meantime, we're going round and round and we don't see a way out. So often ,we make that mistake of trying to "think it out". When really? There is no thinking that's going to reveal anything. Clarify anything.

But sometimes, by hook or by crook, it comes to us. The real deal. And you remember what the real deal is, right? It's that simple arduous painstaking horribly difficult taking care of ourselves. 

Compassionately. It starts with one act, like struggling to provide ourselves with a good meal, on time. To get that food down our gullet. No matter whether we want to just forget about the meal, or eat some piece of crap. Instead? We rebel. We insist on making something good for ourselves, even boring. We sit down , while in our minds eye , we embrace our selves, as if a distressed child. And then we ear. Just eat the good-for-you meal.

And no matter how hopeless everything seems. No matter how horribly out of control any bad habits might be. No matter how undone the laundry is, how much pain there is, how many dirty dishes there are, no matter what mess our budget is in, no matter how hopeless figuring any of it out seems, we talk to ourselves. 

We say to ourselves "Now is not the time to think about these things. Now is the time to go outside, and stand, gazing at the almost full moon, coming up in the night sky. Watching the filigree of the pale clouds against the darkness. Feeling the cool end of summer air, on our skin. Inhaling deeply over and over again."

And so we do. We go outside for a little bit, or open a window and lean out. And we make our universe so much bigger than the room we were in , filling our lungs and brain and whole self with oxygen, with the bigger perspective.

And then we go in, and we brush our teeth carefully. We wash our face and hands, do the best we can with our bed, get everything settled, and find something nice and quiet to look at. An old book of simple places in the world. A magazine from somewhere with quiet calm things in it. A boring soothing book. 

To unwind ourselves, much like you ask a child to tell you the worst and best of their day. You ask for the worst first, so the best can be a happy ending. And then you read them a story, so that the whole self is imagining them selves off in this other situation. And everything that concerns them this day, whatever made them sad or was confusing or frustrating , is placed carefully on the shelf. Until the morning time.
We do something a little bit boring and simple, while the whole body, and the glands in our heads behind our eyes, adjust to the darkness, to the words or the pictures on the page, and everybody gets the message, that it is time to unwind and calm down, to stop focusing, and going to bed.

It's so funny that it's so difficult to remember : that the very best way we have to stop stumbling along the path out of a mess is to take care of ourselves. 
Without a plan. ( I love plans !) Without big ideas. ( I love big ideas!) No problem-solving or researching. Just taking step after step, take care of ourselves. Slowly and calmly and deliberately and thoughtfully. 

Feeding ourselves well while helping ourselves prepare ourselves for the demands of the day . Helping ourselves settle down well to get a good sleep. We keep doing all those things, and everything begins to settle.

Frantic and frustrating and shameful and sucky stuff begins to settle, and after a few days, we stop feeling like we're just going round and round and not being able to "think" up a solution.

You don't really have to call it mindfulness if you don't want to. Such a popular go-to phrase these days. You can just call it commonsense. Taking care of yourself. 
But when we settle ourselves, when we care for ourselves that way, everything slows down. The silt in the pond sinks to the bottom. And suddenly, the water is clear ; we can see all across the way. And it's then that we began to realize that all we need to do is settle ourselves, and start walking .

8.27.15 Of course, he's wonderful and sweet and thoughtful, and he's totally freaking out everybody along the way.

When I was a kid, one of my favorite books was 'Mr. Bear Goes To Boston. Sometimes, I went to Boston. In those days, you had to have your little double-breasted coat, and your white gloves, those tiny useless white ankle socks, and your patent leather maryjane's. Unbelievable. But at least all that dumb crisp came with food and shelter , more than other kids get.

I loved this book. You see, there's a bear that lives in the Maine woods, and he wakes up one day and he decides he wants to go to Boston.

Of course, in those days, every protagonist was a male. Something I never even thought about until I was 18.

Anyway, Mr. Bear goes and finds his Boston bag, a particular sort of leather traveling back with a handle, and then he goes down to the train station, gets a ticket, and goes on the train to Boston.

Of course, he's wonderful and sweet and thoughtful, and he's totally freaking out everybody along the way. Without ever realizing what they're afraid of. Certainly not thinking it's him.

He goes along the Paul Revere Trail and climbs the North Church tower, looking out over the city. As a child, I was so fascinated by the fact that he was not scary, that everyone who encountered him was scared to death. And that he didn't realize what they were afraid of, when really, they were afraid of him.

I remember sitting and reading this book over and over again, and trying to understand how somebody not scary could appear scary. How people could be so afraid of you without you having any idea of it at all. All sorts of confusing things seemed possible, if these things could be. And how all he really wanted was just to go take a trip to Boston.
So much complexity. So many mysteries.

But, he had a really good time. Sightseeing in Boston. He slept in the Boston Public Garden, with the swan boats. On the little island, that if you're a kid and you go to the public garden, you can see.

When he went to sleep, he put on the long white nightshirt, and brushed his bear teeth, and put a night cap on his head, and then curled upend fell asleep.

The next morning when he woke, there were catchers with tiny nets, standing near him, wondering what to do. He kind of freaked out, himself. He though that really everyone was terribly impolite. He stuffed all his belongings back into his Boston bag, and hightailed it back to Maine.

Seems like we still have all the same old problems now. With a few sweet creatures and humans , living here and there, in between .

8.27.15 Reflections of genes, circumstance and choice

     In our culture we unconsciously learn that our bodies are machines and if a 'part' malfunctions , it is betraying us. 

     Interesting , huh? 

     So we get angry at our body. At cells that quietly become more and more distressed that they have no choice but to malfunction . 

     We get angry and 'hate' heart disease and cancer.

      Now , it makes absolute sense to get angry at getting sick. 

     But our bodies. ? Suffering , struggling long before they begin to limp . 

     So the imperative becomes for us ,as a culture , to become familiar with common safe ways of living, of supporting health problems ,so they don't progress. 

     Because we want to live healthy lives that feel good, we want to learn that our bodies have a state of health that is simply a reflection of the genes we inherited, the circumstances we find ourselves in, the emotional interpretations our bodies endure, and the choices we make each day.