Original Essence

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had grateful clients say, you changed my life. I am a completely different person now, so much happier and fulfilled.

How did I do it? I did it by bringing light to their dark places, creating a safe nurturing environment and by seeing the truth of their soul, then holding their spirit with respect and beauty until they learned to do that for themselves. I freed them to stand in the best part of themselves, but never changed their essence, which is an important distinction. They are not really different people; they are simply more of who they already were.  What I do is turn up the volume on their light and bring them out of hiding.

You could not change the essence of a person if you threw cosmic fireballs at it all day long − just not going to happen. 

 As parents many of us believe that we can shape and mold our children, but we can not. We can create a supportive loving environment and teach values, but that is all. I think if we could really understand that, in our heart of hearts, that it would relieve a world of parental guilt and all the, ‘what did I do wrong’, conversations that go on inside and outside our heads. 

 For example, my husband Gib is an athlete. His greatest desire was to have an athletic son, but he didn’t get one. He got a gentle sensitive boy with the soul of an artist, who had no desire at all to go crashing around an athletic field. In the end, the son felt he didn’t measure up and that he disappointed his father, while the father wondered what he’d done wrong. 

We are all unique. We all come in with a strong powerful core and mission, but when we don’t listen to that inner voice that carries our wisdom, and we let others define our purpose for us, we become sick, depressed or unhappy. 

I have found astrological charts to be helpful, because they expose the birth blueprint of each individual. I remember finding out about a trait from my brother’s chart and being surprised.

Really, I said, he’s wired that way? I thought he was just doing that to piss me off.

The point is, that people are who they are, and we can’t do much about it, except love them as they go through their changes. That’s the challenge we all have, to strip away the layers of information and experience, until we come back to our original essence, then celebrate that essence and take it proudly and boldly into the world. We are not here to hide, but to be ourselves as fully and completely as possible, while supporting others as they do the same.

Thank You

One of my clients is a world class entertainer. She has been doing a one woman show since March, eight performances a week. It’s the first week in August and she has two more weeks to go. She’ll rest awhile then take her work to Los Angeles, New York and London.

Before she performs, she closes her eyes, reaches deep within herself and says, thank you.

What a powerful centering prayer that is.

Thank you. It is not − I want − I need, or I must have. It’s simply standing in the grace and reality of what we are and all we have become.

Thank you, acknowledges our gifts, our health, and our deep connection to something greater than ourselves.

Saying, thank you, as prayer shines our inner light on all that is right. We see that we are human, we are flawed and we are blessed, all in the same moment.

I was struck with her session because of my own years in the performing arts. I did not say, thank you, before I went on stage. I seized in fear. I sweat blood. I judged myself through the eyes and value systems of my audience.

How wise she is, this young forty year old woman, to take her power back from all that is external by simply and honestly standing in the fullness of gratitude.

I’m thinking about…

I’m thinking about what we cover up.

I’m thinking about the pain we live above.

I’m thinking about the nice face we show the world that hides the scars and wounding and devastated places underneath. 

I’m thinking about what a difficult place the world can be for the children who get hurt and don’t know how to handle the pain or know where to look for support.

I’m thinking about how those same children don’t change inside, they just have grown-up bodies and responsibilities.

I’m thinking about the people who grow up and think that money or a new thing can heal their empty place.

I’m thinking about suffering that has no definition or language. 

I’m thinking about the ways we hurt each other and how we never could if we saw what birthed each action.

I’m thinking that the world would be different if we could pull back the veil and see the little scared person who sits at the controls, like Dorothy did in the Wizard of Oz.

I’m thinking about the millions of people who sit alone in their houses every night, who want to connect,  become more or find love, but have no idea how to do it and are too afraid or defeated to try. 

I’m thinking that it’s our job to grow a rose out of all the shit that gets piled on top of us every day, and to fertilize it with our willpower.

I’m thinking we must insist our rose grow just to spite the dark side.

I’m thinking that it’s our job to pull ourselves up from the muck and scream at the universe.

Not today, you can’t take me down today.

Visit to the White House

 

Two of my clients were at the White House on the 4^th of July, summoned by the almighty Obama, when he decided to throw a backyard party and barbeque. Nate is an internationally known musician – a bass player with a band called the Foo Fighters. His partner Jessica is a screenwriter, band manager and mother to their bright big-eyed son, Noah.

 It was evening. Malia’s birthday party was going on inside. Nate was with the band headlining the night’s activities and Jess was on the side yard of the White house watching fireflies explode into light. Noah was delighted. He reached out repeatedly to catch them but always fell short. He ran, he grabbed, and he missed. He was getting discouraged.

Then a voice came from the bushes. A man dressed in black emerged with an assault weapon strapped to his chest.

Here you go little buddy, he said, a firefly caught in his grasp. Noah was delighted.

Where did you come from? Jess asked.

Oh, we’re all around, out of sight. There are a lot of people here now. It’s our job to keep everybody safe.

Jess looked around as he motioned. Men in black appeared from nowhere like a scene in a shooting arcade, acknowledged her, then melted back into the unseen. 

As she was digesting this, Bo, Obama’s dog, came out to poop. The mess was immediately cleaned up and a yellow flag inserted in the ground where the pile had landed.  She turned to her secret service buddy:

What are the flags for?

Wherever the dog poops the lawn will be cut out and replaced. The flags tell them where to put new sod. 

Barbeque was served, ice cream, beer and wine. They filled their plates, sat on poop-free replaced grass to watch the evening fireworks and felt extremely protected.

Visions

She hovered in shades of night time blue like Kuan Yin, up high and out of conscious sight. It looked like she was blowing bubbles because small specks of something were descending from that place to this.

The air is full of secrets, little hidden messages I don’t yet know, traveling down, past and through. One day soon they will land in my ear as an idea, inspiration or sudden fiery impulse. I see her and feel her, I know she is there.

Today I did a reading that was full of birds. The woman was dancing and each part of her body was a different bird. She danced, smiling and full of light. These were not ordinary birds. They sprang from the tropics in shades of radiant life. A raven off to her left showed the dark night she’d moved out of.

Her husband was a bold rooted tree, serious and solid. Elephants walked next to him, and in the shadows, I saw dolphins for diving deep. Their colors matched perfectly, like an artist painting with the same brush and pallet. She offered him gaiety and life. He offered stability and shelter, a good match.

I see the world in symbols, colors and images. I walk in twilight and mystery willing to share the unseen. What is this strange way of knowing? It’s not easy to understand for minds that paint with black and white.

These visions would seem frivolous and unimportant except for the confirmation they bring, the comfort, recognition and guidance that can heal and reveal.

I allow more of this reality into my days as I get older and have less to protect, defend or hide. For me, it simply is.

I went shopping today for a ritual knife needed to cut into other realities. I gather bones and feathers. A friend called me a witch yesterday. More labels, more useless titles that limit, repel or invite. Words can’t define experience; they box it so we can feel safe. It’s the risking, opening and allowing part that can set us free.

It’s nice to be older and more fully who I am. I no longer apologize or push into shoes that don’t fit. Now my essence speaks my name. I know who I am and I know what I do.

Flight Pattern

He walked in my door in that way people do when their life is falling apart. He married the wrong woman so they battled and tore at each other, until they turned into people they didn’t want to be. He is a fine man, she is a fine woman, but they are not fine together. 

The pretending is over now, the pain is too great. Their foundation can no longer support their lives. They are at the place of no return, because they know too much truth and can’t put the broken pieces together again. He came today with eyes full of sorrow and courage, with words full of failure and fear. 

But this breaking open, this new place is the healthiest he has been. Of course it doesn’t feel that way to him. He no longer sleeps. His mind races towards an unknown future; he can’t eat and is drinking too much wine. 

He is stepping into the void now, that crack in the universe that teaches us so much.

This is the shamanic initiation, the ultimate letting go, the final test of faith in the face of darkness. But I know this man; I know the fabric of his character and the integrity of his soul. He has to let go. He has to let himself fall so he can find his wings. 

He approaches the cliff now, knowing that it means death, the death of an old self, an outmoded consciousness and a way of life. He walks toward this change because he must. The wise man in him is saving his life, while the personality grabs and claws and rails against his fate. 

Any day now he will jump – and he will fly - and he will find himself, as he floats slowly and helplessly toward the new ground that will heal and free him to start again. I will have the pleasure of being his witness.

Lessons

 

I learned a lot from my residency as a therapist, but very little came from the books I read. It was the personal realizations that moved me to insight more than any training skills. Specifically, I learned that the judgments and criticisms of others that I was so quick to make in the privacy of my own mind were destructive and misplaced, saying more about my lack of development than anything else. 

I ran therapy groups at Clackamas County Mental Health Center with Rich Panzer, the resident psychiatrist. Our evening group was attended by a very angry, immensely overweight woman, whom I disliked immediately. She triggered me because she was the dark side of the compliant physically fit girl I had learned to be. Her manner was caustic and fiercely good at pushing people away. I secretly wished she would leave the group, and take her attitude with her. I felt she was standing in the way of real healing for others, but mostly she evidenced an uncomfortable place of judgment in myself that I had no skill to deal with. As months went by and her shell began to weaken and crack, I was able to glimpse the magnificence of the spirit within.  When she felt safe enough to tell her story, give up her secrets and release her pain, I felt shamed by my earlier thinking.

I saw the same thing repeated daily in my practice at the clinic, clients hiding their beauty and wisdom behind years of walled off pain, desperately needing to find a way out, and just as desperately determined to create a kind of safety that prevented them from doing so.

The spoken message was, please help me, my life is a mess and I can’t go on.

The unspoken message was, I’ve been hurt so much that I can’t let you close enough to know me.  I have to constantly guard from danger.

It took time to understand how to separate people’s defenses from their deeper essence, but I count it as one of the most valuable lessons of my life.

Debbie Ford wrote a book called, “The Dark Side of the Light Chasers,” which helps us understand how we project what we can not accept in ourselves onto others. If you haven’t read it and feel ready to look at your own shadow side, I’d give it a try.

The Fast Track

 I used to do acid once a year, when it was pure and I was open. It felt like kissing the face of God. It elevated me to such a fine place that I was truly one with everything. I never thought of it as a drug. I never approached it that way. For me, it was a point of communion. I took it seriously.

I remember walking in the evening rain in Cambridge. I was barefoot. The rain washed against my face like a lover’s touch. My feet splashed through puddles with the exuberant joy of a ten year old. I had never felt so alive, so present, or so much in the company of all that was divine.

My life had edges around it, but acid removed those.  I  wore my insides on the outside. I was cradled and safe, and led into new awareness’s that beckoned like rainbow colored bubbles, each one their own universe and surprise.

Acid was pure then. I stopped using it when it became laced with less friendly substances. I also stopped because I read that it was the fast track to the face of God, but the visit would be short.  If I really wanted to stay, maybe even set up shop or live there, then I had to learn to meditate. I had to earn my residency.

I have never duplicated those moments, but I remember them tenderly as a place of perspective, enlightenment and grace.

I never tried heroin. My life hung by such a gossamer thread, that I knew it would take me permanently out of this reality, if I opened the door, even a little.

I had a client a few years ago, who was a gifted violinist with the symphony. I tried to help him, to love him, and to hold him here, but heroin held his other hand, and pulled with more weight than I could manage. His death was a sad waste of genius.

Recession

A client gave me a box of chocolates. I am not supposed to eat chocolate but who can resist? I am not supposed to eat anything that is really wonderful anymore, but I do. In fact my mouth is full of chocolate. I’m on my third piece. I’ll leave the fourth one, the last one, because there is no chewy center. No surprise in the middle. There is only a small rectangular piece of milk chocolate with a logo stamped on it. Oops, too late! I picked it up to examine the design and bite into the corner to prove it was solid. What could I do then, put it down? Nah, just stuff it in next to the rest of them. Now there is an empty box. Soon I will start to itch, and my throat will close a little. People who call will ask if I have a cold because I’ll be sniffling. I get such incredibly low marks for discipline.

I did the cards this morning. They said to be careful of over-indulgence. Don’t try to fill the empty space with food. Ride out your feelings, notice and allow them. I obviously am not listening to guidance today.

I have done everything I know to avoid writing. I have baked a quiche and watered the plants. I have framed a picture and done laundry. The sound of the heater fills the room as I study the tea that spilled in the saucer of my cup.

My thoughts are scattered. Life is strange. We all think we have some control and some say in things, but I wonder. Sometimes life is just life and we’re in it, being stable and happy, or being tossed like a ship at sea. My clients are suffering from the recession, their survival fears are strong. They are being stripped of material security and what savings they had to keep poverty at bay. I worry about them. They are asked to cope differently and be creative in finding solutions. Astrology has thrown us a curve as well. The difficult placement of Venus is great for the arts now, but will highlight weak points in relationship to the point of separation. Ouch.

I talk with my husband about the recession. What would you do if we had lots of money, he asks. What difference would it make? I spin a few fantasies of home and generosity, while he does the same, but as I look around I know that we have everything we need. Our lives are bountiful, the simplicity of our existence full and over-flowing.

I am busy being strong for others now. Sometimes I feel too strong, sometimes I feel too weak. Sometimes I feel like taking long walks to clear my heart. I search for perspective in the distance. I wish life was not so hard. I wish things could flow with more grace and ease, and that there were not so many broken bodies lining the landscape, and filling my dreams. I wonder if there is enough chocolate in the world to deal with all of this. I would be surprised.

The Critic

He grew up under the critical and unforgiving eye of his father, his boyhood magic extinguished by the chill of unyielding expectation. The tender qualities of wonder, joy and spontaneity went into hiding. They dug little foxholes to survive. The good soldier dutifully learned the qualities modeled as he stepped without choice on to the battlefield of his father’s world. He learned the art of finding fault, furrowing his forehead, and inverting the corners of his mouth. In fact, he became so good at being like his father that he forgot about his own essence. He forgot that he had hidden his magic in places so remote, that they had become lost.

Eventually he came to understand and even appreciate his father’s legacy, as he too found power in diminishing others. It made his lost parts feel bigger and better than those around him. He built a life of self-importance, accepted his loneliness as normal, and learned to function above his fragmented inner-life.

The boy in the man took him toward a career in theater, not so secretly hoping that his qualities of joy, laughter and wonder could be released, allowing him to integrate his spirit. It didn’t work. The cold water splashed on his young heart had solidified. He could not expel his father’s words, You are not good enough, and never will be.  There is no room for errors, mistakes or forgiveness.  Be perfect going in or don’t go at all.

As an adult, the boy who learned to judge himself without mercy, turned his razor-sharp vision toward others. Well-educated, lonely and brittle, he made a career of being a critic, and was paid handsomely to inform the public of flaws and weaknesses in those with freer spirits than his own.  He remains a man who is terrified of engaging the fullness of his heart, while demeaning the risk-taking of those with more courage.