What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
What's in the gallery?
We dissolve stuck and rewrite patterns. We apply radical playfulness to life (when we feel like it!), embarking on internal adventures (credo of Safety First). We have a fake band called Solved By Cake. We build invisible sanctuaries, invent words and worlds, breathe awe and wonder.
We are not impressed by monsters. Except when we are. We explore the connections between internal territories and surrounding environment to learn what marvelously supportive delicious space feels like, and how to take exquisite care of ourselves. We transform things.* We glow wild.**
* For example: Desire, fear, worry, pain-and-trauma, boundaries, that problematic word which rhymes with flaweductivity.
** Fair warning: Self-fluency has been known to lead to extremely subversive behavior, including treasuring yourself unconditionally, unapologetically taking up space, experiencing outrageously improbable levels of self-acceptance, and general rejoicing in aliveness.
Respecting the Pause.
Just so you know, I am physically incapable of saying the word “pause” without making little doggy hands. Paws!
This is going to make writing this pause-centric post extra-challenging, but possibly also entertaining. If you happen to be in the room with me. Paws!
Anyway, back to the point. Selma and I interviewed fellow Shivanaut Diane Ripstein this week, purportedly about public speaking, but actually about life in general.
She was brilliant (as always) and gave loads of genius tips. Especially about the practice of pausing.
Which I am about to do now. With a dotted divider line. Like so!
Back to spaciousness again.
It’s funny, because — in my head — talking about public speaking was supposed to be an intermission (paws!) from the stuff I usually talk about.
But we ended up at so many of the same places.
Rest, mindfulness, conscious interaction, play, and spaciousness.
Pausing in the context of stopping, and reflecting, and interrupting patterns.
And now we were talking about taking that very practice into a public interaction.
So here are some of the wise things Diane said, and where they intersect with the themes I’m constantly thinking about:
The pause is a buffer.
The pause gives you time to think.
It lets you press the reset button.
It gives you breathing room.
A pause draws attention to the content, not the pauses.
So despite all the things our fuzzball monsters whisper to us about how we need to fill all that awkwardness with words…
Diane tells us pausing reads as thoughtfulness and intelligence. It seems deliberate, even when internally we’re worried about being perceived as lost or flailing.
And it signifies confidence.
I believe her.
The pause is what gives people time to absorb.
It’s the resting after doing. It’s shavasana after yoga or Shiva Nata.
It’s taking that extra moment in space and time to allow what has been said or done or received to really sink into your bones.
Pausing gives your people the opportunity to really take in everything that’s happening and the wisdom in what you’re saying.
To pause is to invoke white space.
Listening to Diane, I was contemplating how little I know about pausing.
How hard it is for me to stop. How I simultaneously crave and resist times of resting. And how many Emergency Vacations have had to happen in order for me to really, truly schedule time off.
But then she mentioned that pausing in speech is like white space on a blog.
And I got it.
In my writing practice, I’m constantly building in spaces, shortening thoughts, adding dividers.
I do know how to pause. I have been practicing the art of the pause for years. Now it’s time to learn how to translate that ability into other disciplines and other domains.
Pausing is about trust.
Trusting that the right people will keep reading, listening, following, caring. Even when we have moments of fumbling.
Trusting that we’re getting better at this ongoing experiment that is trying things.
Trusting that there is no way to fall on your face, because pausing is power.
Trusting that white space really does make it all more accessible, attractive and approachable.
Trusting that after the pause comes a step, and another step, and a pause and another pause. That the sequence will hold itself. The culture will hold itself.
Here’s what I’m taking from Diane.
This is directly from my notes, apologies to Diane if I’ve misquoted her:
“When the internal voice urges you to keep going, do the opposite.
Pauses are vital. And breath is nourishing. So breathe.
Commit to the practice of pausing.
Give each period its due.
And practice!”
And here’s how I’m practicing.
Mostly, I’ve just been doing this white space thing in my head. Slowing down my thoughts.
And then I’ve been trying to add a beat to everything. In casual conversation.
While brushing my teeth, during a stretch, getting up from a chair.
Sometimes it doesn’t work. I forget, or I feel really impatient.
But that’s not the end of the world. It’s a pause from the pausing. As long as I’m noticing it and interacting with it, I’m still in the practice.
And comment zen for today.
Okay, so my brother and I will respond to everything we hear with a thoughtful expression and then saying, “That gives me paws!” Paws!
And I have been wanting to say it for the entire post. Ohmygod.
That gives me pause.
So please join me in that because otherwise I’m giggling awkwardly all by myself over here.
Other than that, the usual. We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.
We make room for everyone else to have their stuff by being curious and compassionate, and not giving unsolicited advice. Big love to everyone.
A whispered conversation with my sore throat.
Me: Oh, honey. You’re in pain.
My throat: Yeah.
Me: What’s going on?
My throat: I don’t want to talk about it.
Me: *waits patiently*
My throat: I have things to say but I don’t want to say them.
Me: Mmmm. I have that feeling a lot.
My throat: I know. That’s why I’m so constricted and raw.
Constricted and raw.
Me: Oh, that’s really hard. I’m sorry. Tell me about this constricted and raw thing. Is it only from the pain of unsaid things or are there other things going on too?
My throat: There are other things, but I don’t want to talk about them.
Me: Okay. It sounds like it might really help to have some form of release. Is that right?
My throat: Not here! You’ll put it on the blog or you’ll write about it. No!
Me: Alright. That’s fair.
My throat: Thank you.
Me: So you’re saying any form of release would have to feel safe.
My throat: Yes.
Me: We can do that. What if we come up with a form of release that appeals to you, and then you can check anything I write and give me a yes or a no.
My throat: That could work. But I don’t have any ideas.
Wait, I don’t have any ideas?
Me: That sounds eerily familiar. That’s what I’ve been saying the past few weeks.
My throat: I know.
Me: It’s this thing about not wanting to say stuff at the Twitter bar or the Frolicsome Bar. Not being in the right headspace for writing blog posts or saying what I want to say at the Kitchen Table. But it’s not true.
My throat: What do you mean?
Me: It’s not true that we don’t have ideas. We’re shivanauts. We always have ideas. The truth is that we’re not feeling comfortable sharing or discussing the ideas that we’re currently spending time with.
My throat: You’re right. I hadn’t thought about it that way. So what do we do?
Me: Same thing we were going to do anyway.
My throat: Take it to the forest?
Me: See? You pretend you don’t have any ideas, when actually you know exactly what to do.
My throat: I was waiting for you to want to join me.
Take it to the forest.
My throat and I tramp through the wet and muddy woods, with Gus and Bobby (my uncle’s dogs) enthusiastically leading the way.
We look up into the giant moss-covered oaks and breathe in the smell of…I’m not sure what it is, but to me it feels like RESILIENCE and POWER and TIME.
We tell the trees all the things we’re so busy not saying.
We tell the trees about pain, hurt, sadness, fear, regret.
We tell the trees what our gwishes are.
And about how frustrating it is to want something, all the while knowing that you will still continue to give precedence to the thing you don’t want instead.
And then?
Me: Okay, so now I know more about all this pain, hurt, loneliness, sorrow, regret, fear, sadness. What’s the next step?
My throat: Find out what its truth is?
Me: Oh, right. What is the hidden essence of all of this pain and hard?
My throat: Its essence is silence.
Me: The good kind of silence. The kind where the not-saying is gentle and filled with ease. It isn’t about controlling pain, it’s about interacting with pain. It’s a loving kind of silence. It’s meditative. It’s shavasana.
My throat: And the distortion is when I silence myself because I’m afraid of my pain.
Me: So how do we move from the not-helpful self-silencing to the safety of not everything requires a response?
My throat: I want to tell you what I need.
What do I need?
Me: Tell me what you need.
My throat: Listen:
I need to go to the forest more often. Or the magical elevator shaft at the Playground. I need days off. Real days off. I need early bedtime and morning writing. I need you to notice when you are taking on responsibility that is not yours. I need to be appreciated and loved.
Me: That all seems reasonable.
My throat: And I want tea and lozenges and naptime.
Me: Okay. And here’s what I need. I need you to tell me when things aren’t going well in a way other than getting sick.
My throat: Will you pay attention?
I’ll try.
Me: I’ll try.
My throat: I like it when you talk to me.
Me: How are you feeling now?
My throat: A little better. Not as rough.
Me: Anything else you want to say?
My throat: If you put this up on the blog, please don’t use the things I said in the forest, and I would also like there to be a very clear comment zen thing, so that people don’t give you homeopathic remedies or tell you what they think your issues are.
Me: I think we can do that.
My throat: Thank you.
And comment zen for today.
We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.
Talking to our stuff is hard. And interacting with it in a curious, compassionate, loving way is probably the hardest.
So we practice and we give ourselves room, and we remember that there isn’t really a way to get it wrong, because it’s an ongoing experiment. And there’s time.
We let people have room for their stuff too, which is why we don’t give each other unsolicited advice. Stories and conversations and wonderings are always welcome. So much love.
Very Personal Ads #80: In the woods.
Personal ads. They’re … personal! Very.
So my itty bitty personal ads made me realize that it’s time to make a regular practice of trying to feel okay asking for stuff.
Even when the asking thing feels weird and conflicted.
Ever since I posted the first one asking my perfect house to find me, which united me with Hoppy House, I have been a fan of the madness that is personal ads.
And now it’s my weekly ritual for clarity and remembering and stuff like that. Yay, ritual!
I am off hiding in the woods, as I sometimes do, visiting my wonderful uncle Svevo.
Time moves… not so much faster as differently here, and I am finding that each personal ad for this week has more to say than usual.
There were also some monsters that showed up, and needed some negotiating. This should be an interesting week.
Anyway, VPA! Let’s do it.
Thing 1: kids furniture
Here’s what I want:
We’re redoing the toy shop at the Playground and we need some child-size furnishings.
Mostly a few low wooden tables (round or rectangular), and maybe some play kitchen equipment too.
Ways this could work:
Maybe we’ll find something second-hand on Craigslist or around Portland.
Maybe one of my PDX blog readers has just the right thing in their basement or knows of just the right place to visit.
Or something could magically turn up.
Or there are other ideas I haven’t thought of that are going to find me. I’m receptive to many possible ways this could work.
My commitment.
To be willing to be surprised.
To remind myself that there are always more options than I’m aware of.
To draw messy crayon-pictures of how I want it to look.
To talk to the room itself and find out what it thinks, and bring it little presents of stickers and love.
Thing 2: a photographer of interiors
Here’s what I want:
We’re working on putting together a special website just for the Playground.
And of course we want to be able to post pictures of how beeeyootiful it looks, and the wondrous things that happen at Rally (Rally!).
Actually, I feel a little conflicted about this because the Playground is so unlike any other place in the world. And so much of its culture and personality and the experience of being there cannot really be captured on film.
But my hope is that we might find someone whose work can give a sense of the magic and the crazy and the fabulous.
Ideally this person:
- has experience shooting interiors
- will be excited about the Playground
- is in Portland or can/will be there soon
- will not feel hurt if we end up not using their photos for the site
Ways this could work:
You guys know people. And I know people and might remember someone who could do it.
Recommendations and suggestions welcome!
My commitment.
To stop and acknowledge all the new things happening at and with the Playground, and notice where I might be feeling uncertain about these changes.
To be joyful and appreciative about all the amazing help I have received and continue to receive.
To continue to love the Playground with all my heart.
Thing 3: Stowawayship Scholarship!
Here’s what I want:
You can still apply for the last Stowawayship Scholarship for the next Rally.
It goes from the evening of Monday the 24th through Friday the 28th (a full day longer than a regular Rally).
If you’ve wished for a Book of You, but your notes are disorganized and you don’t have time and you’re not sure how to set it up or if you’ll ever actually use it… this is the best thing in the entire world.
Though can totally come and not work on that at all — as always, you can projectize any project you like.
Ways this could work:
I’m telling you about it right now.
Deadline is Toozday!
My commitment.
To trust that the Sorting Hat will do its work.
Thing 4: support for Hiro’s new wonderful thing!
Here’s what I want:
Hiro is my sister-in-silliness and one of my bestest friends in the universe.
She has a new product called How to Rule Your World.
It is about sovereignty. Hiro knows more about this and how it works than anyone I know, she is a brilliant teacher, and her work has completely changed so much of what I do and how I do it.
My gwish is that this amazing body of work will find all of its right people with ease and grace.
Ways this could work:
I’m going to tell you about it and give you the link again.
My commitment.
To support Hiro in any way I can, because I love her.
And to celebrate the birth of this new and beautiful creation. Well done!
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I did find a green cleaning person who came highly recommended. And along with that, I spent some time working on the part about being okay with doing this.
Still a bit anxious about this but progress has definitely been made.
As for stompy and colorful rainboots: thank you for all the excellent suggestions! I have procured a pair and they are stompy indeed.
And I wanted the right people for Crossing the Line, and it totally happened. Yay, Very Personal Ads!
Comment zen. Here’s what I’d love today.
- Your own personal ads, small or large. Things you’ve asked for. Or are asking for. Or would like to ask for. Or updates on last time!
Stuff I’d rather not have:
- The word “manifest”.
- To be told how I should be asking for things.
- To be judged, psychoanalyzed or given unsolicited advice.
Wishing love and good things for your Very Personal Ads! I’m so happy to have people doing this with me.
Friday Chicken #128: we would theoretically rock it here or there
Because it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.
And you get to join in if you feel like it.
So. This is by far the latest we’ve ever pooblished a chicken. But it’s still before noon, at least here on the west coast.
Anyway, this week went by in kind of a blur, but it was a fabulous blur, for a change.
Hello to all the Chickeneers of the High Seas! Let’s see what actually happened.
The hard stuff
So much tired!
Started the week a bit woozy, got massively energized by being on Rally (Rally!), which was awesome, but could have used way more sleep this week.
And now I want to go hibernate please.
Saying yes to one thing means saying no to other things.
There’s always something kind of sad about that.
A lot of what was on my mind this week had to do all the projects and people that weren’t getting my love and attention.
And even though I know from experience that it all evens out, and that working on one thing is secretly detangling the stuck of all the other ones….
I was really wanting to participate in more than I could, and then being a regretful mouse.
No time for Hoppy House.
Being out of the house all week was very disorienting.
So I’m sitting at the dining room table now (thanks to the Very Personal Ads), and feeling… out of touch.
No walking.
Usually Selma and I walk everywhere, and that didn’t happen this week and I really, really missed it.
Temperature.
Last week we had no heat at the Playground, so there was much anxiety about getting that fixed in time.
And it did get fixed (yay) so I didn’t have to stock up on heaters, blankets and hot water bottles, but it got too much fixed and we were kind of steamy.
Not knowing what I want.
Which pretty much never happens.
Trying to problem-solve things that are not my problem.
Exhausting and pointless.
Sad about Rally ending.
Nooooo!
I totally could have rallied for another few days.
The good stuff
Ohmygod Rally Rally Rally! Rally!
So much fun!
This was a Rally for people who have done at least one year of my Kitchen Table program, so it was kind of like a crazy in-person reunion.
Oh, the fun! Brain-scrambling and hammock-napping and pattern-detangling and bubble-stomping and creatively biggifying.
Plus dressing up and winding down and having very yummy snacks. I can’t really explain it, but this has really been the most astonishing week.
We did extraordinary things, and everything I learned lives inside of me now.
My people. They are amazing.
I say this every time I run a program, but that’s because it blows my mind.
Getting to spend a week with intelligent, creative, playful people in an intelligent, creative, playful environment is basically heaven for me.
I know that this business I have built brings in smart, compassionate, loving, wonderful kookiness. And I don’t know why.
But it is uncanny.
Mad projectizing powers: activate!
As always, I got ridiculous amounts of stuff done while rallying.
And negotiated with monsters and learned a bunch of Unexpected Things that resolved a bunch of challenges I didn’t even know needed attention.
I got to plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
This week was seriously fun. In fact, I cannot even remember the last time I had so much fun.
It was just pure play. Play with dance and movement, and with piles of blankets and with letting my project take me wherever it wanted to go.
That thing about being five years old… I did that this week and it was like this, and it was completely delightful.
So overjoyed I could cry.
The astonishing thing about rallying with people who have been consistently working with my techniques and teachings over the past couple years:
They use the stuff I teach! Regularly, as a matter of course. And you can see it working all the time.
It’s so beautiful.
People paired off to be negotiators for each others’ monsters. And they coached each other using all the stuff we do here.
They were so quick at destuckifying, and at identifying what the stuck was and where it was coming from, and meeting it with compassion and curiosity.
It was like watching the video montage at my Lifetime Achievement award ceremony. I could see my work in action, and in it all the reminders of why this stuff is powerful and important.
Shivanautical epiphanies all over the place.
Moments of bing bing bing all week.
We did some pretty out-there stuff (cough, level 7) and my brain may have exploded slightly.
True to form, Shiva Nata delivered. And the insights are knocking me over, but in a really good way.
Roller Derby season has started up again and I am so happy about this!
Tomorrow!
Going to watch my beloved Guns N Rollers and scream my head off.
We’re sponsoring them again this year, and maybe we’ll get some shivanauts on the track too. Would be awesome.
Ooh, also an ANNOUNCEMENT!
We have two Stowawayships (kind of like a pirate-ey scholarship) for the next Rally and we’ve never had this happen, so this is a lucky thing for someone, possibly you.
This particular Rally is extra-special, even aside from the usual rally-related specialness.*
* Swinging in the hammock, going for lunch with me and Selma, wearing costumes, being five years old, chortling, having astounding realizations, drawing with crayons, getting a present, going out for pie.
Because: it’s one full day longer than a regular Rally.
And we have a bunch of very neat exercises to help you create a Book of You (though of course you can projectize any project you like while you’re there).
Application deadline is Toozday, though I assume they’ll be gone much sooner than that. So take a look.
And … playing live at the meme beach house it’s the Fake Band of the Week!
My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”
This week’s band is a bit obscure, but that doesn’t stop them from rocking it all night long.
Apparently they got together while working at a book store.
Green Existentialists and Ham
Weirdly enough, it’s actually just one guy.
That’s it for me …
And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.
Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?
And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious day and a restful weekend-ing.
And a happy week to come. Shabbat shalom.
My force field this morning smells like freshly baked rolls.
My force field this morning smells like freshly baked rolls.
But only the people who need to come in contact with my world can find the scent. Like you. I think. Hi!
My force field is guarded by eight penguins wearing bow ties. Just kidding, they’re wearing chain mail. But it’s still super cute.
Sometimes there are twenty four of them. Today I only need eight.
My force field leaves sparkly trails and sometimes it makes a whooshing sound.
Sometimes it doubles as an invisibility cloak too.
Today my force field is filled with:
Wonder. Playfulness. Silliness. Grounding. Spaciousness. Trust. Experimentation. Curiosity. Discernment. Congruence. Sovereignty. Possibility. Sweetness.
But mainly it’s filled with the culture of me.
This jumbled thing we call culture lives everywhere I go.
I bring culture along with me inside of this circle of me-ness.
The culture of the pirate ship and the Playground and the Kitchen Table and Rally and all of it.
The culture holds me and the force field. The force field holds me and the culture.
And I wear my crown and dance my dance and stomp in my stompy boots. And take my penguins to rally.
This is my force field this morning.