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.
Very Personal Ads #57: turning Not-Doing into an extreme sport
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 Sunday ritual for clarity and remembering and stuff like that. Yay, ritual!
Let us doooo eeeet.
And let us say WAH. Because somehow I feel better whenever I say WAH.
Thing 1: more of this beautiful thing please!
Here’s what I want:
My writing has been such a place of comfort this past week. ELATION!
Now I am on my week of teaching-recovery-just-for-me time in New Mexico and I would love to remain in this state of flow … or to progress to the next state of whatever-it-is that is also pleasurable and good for my writing ….
Not sure how to phrase this one. Hmmm.
May the muses or the shining ones (or the magical properties of green chiles) keep smiling upon me. Something like that.
Ways this could work:
Who knows?
I’ve been trying to examine and analyze the components of what made this past week so outstanding.
Included in this are so many elements and components that came together to make the container for the writing retreat. Among them:
- being away from home and the familiar
- daily Shiva Nata with dedicated time and space for it
- daily Old Turkish Lady yoga with dedicated time and space for it
- daily teaching, which is always good for my brain and my heart
- designated writing time during which thirty other women in this sisterhood of writers were also scribbling away
- labyrinthing my stucknesses (taking them into the labyrinth and untangling-walking them out)
- hand-writing my pre-writing invocation before beginning
- deciding what questions to ask before sitting down to write
- only writing things that have to do with Very Interior Design — in this case, learning about my relationship to my stuff and not working on my actual writing project as a way to sneakily write the project.
It is impossible to know right now which of these — if any — are the vital ones. So I’m going to need lots of experimentation, and some luck.
My commitment.
To notice how I feel. What supports me and what doesn’t.
To pay attention whenever I make use of one or more of these components, and to take notes on what works and what doesn’t.
To ask my gentleman friend to help me with maintaining uninterrupted time for just writing. Well, to make a distinction that is clear to both of us about when I am writing and when I am doing work-related things and it is okay to approach.
Thing 2: Rally!
Here’s what I want:
Last week I had an ask about the Rally, and while I got lots of good thinking done related to it, I still haven’t done anything with it.
I’d like to find out what needs to happen in order for us to rally together. And maybe even take some steps.
Ways this could work:
Writing it love letters.
Interviewing myself about it.
Lots of Dance of Shiva. Outdoors, when possible.
My commitment.
To stay receptive and curious.
To not beat myself up over the fact that there has only been internal, not external movement on this yet.
Or: if I do feel frustrated with myself, to give that reaction the legitimacy to exist, even if I’d rather not be in it.
To be as playful and silly and ridiculous as possible in my approach to figuring out what this Rally thing needs.
Thing 3: rest
Here’s what I want:
Lots and lots of rest.
Body rest. Mental rest.
Turning not-doing into an extreme sport. Extreme not doing!
Ways this could work:
Napping.
Not napping, but closing my eyes.
Getting bath salts and hiding in the tub. Slow slow slow yoga.
Booking some sort of frou-frou spa body treatment where they slather goo all over you and then let you just stay there while the goo does its gooey good-for-you thing.
Yes, there will be much goo-slathering.
I could possibly go to see a film with my gentleman friend, if we can find something HSP-friendly.
Walking without purpose.
Breathing clean mountain air. I’m sure there are other things too, and I can’t think of any more. If you have loving deshouldified suggestions, I am happy to receive them in the comments.
My commitment.
To get over my phone phobia stuff long enough to book the slathering of goo. Gah. Why do not more places let you book online?
To find out more about this rest-thing and my relationship to it.
(Actually, I’ve already been writing to it and about it all week, so we are much better friends than we used to be, but to keep that up).
To remember.
Thing 4: Good things for Chris.
Here’s what I want:
Y’all probably know Chris Anthony aka @etherjammer, as he is a regular here and a commenter mouse and a delightful human being. Speaking of delight:
Delight is a big part of his thing and his message — specifically appreciating it, and planting seeds of it in your business to help your Right People fall madly in love with you.
He is doing a Delightineering thing! I don’t know anything about it yet, but I invited him to leave a description of it as part of his Very Personal Ad today.
My wish: may his new project receive the loving attention it deserves and may he feel safe and comfortable letting it be seen.
Ways this could work:
Actually, I’m kind of hoping that this will help. Other ways are good too.
My commitment.
To wish all sorts of good things for him, as I’m sure you will too.
Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.
Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.
I wanted to remember that my writing retreat isn’t for the writing. It’s for learning about my relationship to the writing.
That ended up being my focus for the week. I was always in it. And it worked nisim v’niflaot (miracles and wonders!), so I’m feeling extremely relieved and happy about that. What a perfect ask.
I wanted help maintaining my space while teaching, and that was also a huge focus of my week and my teaching (encouraging my lovely students to mess around with creative and kooky ways to maintain their space and feel comfortable there).
The funny thing is that I do not even slightly remember asking this last week, but that really ended up being the theme. So very glad that I did ask. Yay.
And I wanted something to happen with the Rally and it totally hasn’t, but I’m actually fine with that. And I sense that I know what direction I want to take with it. We’ll see. I’ll let you know next week.
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!
What I’d rather not have:
- The word “manifest”.
- Shoulds. As in, “You should be doing it like this” or “That’s not the right way to ask for things — instead it should be like x, y and z”
- To be judged, psychoanalyzed or given advices.
Wishing love and good things for your Very Personal Ads! So glad for everyone doing this with me
Friday Chicken #104: the record
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.
Yeah, you kind of have to say the title out loud.
And then finish the sentence.
Like this: one hundred, and for the record I shouldn’t have to explain myself.
Or: one hundred, and for the record this is actually a perfectly cromulent title for a Friday Chicken. Yes.
The hard stuff
The harsh corners.
My bed at Mabel Dodge Luhan house (in the most fabulous room ever) had a … footboard? Is that what it’s called?
At the foot of the bed there were large carved wooden protuberances, at any rate.
Harsh bed frame corners!
And I have giant purple swollen bruises from (repeatedly) walking into the harsh corners.
Even after I macguyvered a ridiculous solution involving many blankets, it was still kind of … ridiculous.
Ow. OW.
Getting SUGARED.
Ugh. Disaster. Awful and annoying and miserable.
(Background: I quit sugar ten years ago and am incredibly sensitive to it.)
So first, the reaction itself:
Extreme agitation. Pounding heart. I get so hyper and so uncomfortable and so disconnected from myself.
My knees knock together, I can’t stop touching things, I speak way too fast and way too much and I can’t focus on anything. It sucks.
Then, the coming down:
Tears. A long, agonizing, sleepless night.
And also the frustration with myself for not asking.
I always ask. I even asked about the not-suspicious-sounding bleu cheese sauce (yes, it had agave syrup in it and yes I avoided it like the plague).
But I thought I could have curry with my rice. One bite said otherwise. Oh, regret.
And then more sleeplessness.
Somehow that rough night of being hyper and discombobulated set off a kind of chain reaction.
Because I couldn’t sleep the next night either.
Everything is harder without rest. And rest became one of the big themes of the week, in all sorts of interesting and challenging ways.
Something I really needed got all wet.
So I put it on the roof to bake dry in the sun. But then in the afternoon the skies opened and it got soaked again.
Problematic.
Slipping into an old and familiar pattern I thought was long done with.
Painful yearning for something you know is bad for you, you know you don’t want, you know you can’t have.
It comes with its own particular flavor and imprint: part pain and part delight.
So addictive. So soothing and distressing at the same time.
A week without my gentleman friend.
Sadmouse me.
Oh, and this is the sweetest thing. He said:
I am the Captain of Loose Ends when we are apart.
Aw.
The good stuff
Slightly further along in my quest to achieve oneness with green chiles.
Progress!
Seriously, I love New Mexico so much I can hardly stand it.
The number of minutes between me getting off the plane in Albuquerque and me putting green chile sauce in my mouth was … not very many. Possibly two.
Jubilation!
And Selma and I went to our favorite place for green chile stew. Twice. Probably also going again this afternoon.
My room.
Aside from the bed (and the harsh corners!), this was the most incredible thing.
The giant veranda, with the view of trees and mountains. Hours and delicious hours spent writing outside (I’m writing out there right now!)
Watching the rain. Smelling the rain.
The claw foot bathtub in the tiny room, with windows that D. H. Lawrence painted and thick wood beams across the ceiling. Heaven.
Oh, and access to the roof.
Dancing on the rooftop.
Doing Shiva Nata up there.
Bare feet on the roof, trees above me, mountains in the distance. Birds overhead and at eye level.
I have no words to describe how magical this was.
Teaching.
Oh, this lovely group of people at Jen’s Writer’s Retreat.
With daily Shiva Nata blowing my mind and everyone else’s.
Transcendent.
There is no other way to describe it.
Spontaneous joyful singing. Love, contentment, gratitude, wonder.
And of course Selma and I had great fun teaching Old Turkish Lady yoga and various destuckification practices.
Kindness.
So many people on Twitter were so lovely to me when I was strung out on speed oh right, sugar.
They kept me company and made me laugh.
Especially Kirsty, who wrote a very long and very wonderful story to help me fall asleep. Thank you!
WRITING!
I got shocking amounts of writing done this week.
Brilliant, kooky, unexpected, hilarious, sad, powerful, surprising, new things.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Yay.
So pleased with the Very Personal Ad I wrote Sunday, that set the tone and the feel for all of my writing this week.
Being queen.
Lots of work this week on being powerful and sovereign and gracious, having strong, flexible, loving boundaries.
It turns out I am finally getting better at this.
Great things I read this week.
About the Bechdel Test (Alison!).
And Jolie’s sweet and marvelous post about what not to do: NO KISSING!
It’s about composition, but it’s about a lot of things.
And … playing live at the meme beach house!
Yes, that’s a Stuism too.
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?
The Harsh Corners.
Yes. YES. It’s 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.
A smart thing, a happy thing, a ridiculous thing and a word.
Okay. It’s getting to be slightly absurd the way I have been disclaimerizing all my posts this week.
So this one? Also not really a post. Whatever that means.
More of a … oh, let’s call it a summing up.
This week of teaching at Jen Louden’s life-changingly great Laughing Crying Writer’s Retreat in Taos has been so full of fantastic.
And there are all these bits and pieces I want to talk about with you! Will try to throw as much as possible into the Chicken tomorrow.
But maybe just a couple things for now. A smart thing, a happy thing, a ridiculous thing and a word.
A smart thing!
Remember in the Very Personal Ad Sunday when I decided to not work on the book but instead on my relationship to the book?
So. This turned out to accidentally be the most genius thing in the entire world.
So much freedom, so much permission, so much playful silliness! And no struggling, because there was always stuff I wanted to write about:
What I know about hanging out with Writer Me. Getting Metaphor Mouse to rewrite some problem concepts. Interacting with my monsters and my various stuckified patterns related to being someone who writes.
The results were huge. Not only did I destuckify like mad, I was able to thoroughly document everything I do when I work on my own stuff.
As I untangled my own patterns, a ton of the techniques that I use with my clients and in workshops got … written down. Which is what would have happened had I actually worked on the book, only it would have been way more tortured and agonizing.
So the choice to process the process instead of doing the process made room for all sorts of brilliant things to happen.
Sneakified mouse = me! Oh boy!
Also, the shivanautical moments of bing are coming so fast and with such intensity that it’s really all I can do document them before the next flood begins. So much for my fear of not knowing what I want to say.
A happy thing!
I spent a lot of time this week trying to discover (or remember) the word that describes the flavor of happy that I have been experiencing.
The word for that … teary welling-up. When you’re so ___________ to be alive and be here and be now that you could kiss every pebble and gaze adoringly at your own fingers and how wonderful they are.
It has gratitude in it, yes, but that’s not really the whole of it.
Bliss is close, but bliss has sadly gone in the direction of “I followed my bliss and became a therapist” or whatever, so it’s lost that essence.
That thing! That tingling, joyful thrum of anticipation and wonder.
I’ve decided to call it ELATION.
That is the closest. And it has been a very long time since I’ve felt this sensation for more than odd moments. Significant chunks of this week have been spent in a state of ELATION.
Grounded and centered and conscious. Not giddy. Not high. Not buzzing. Just a deep, rich I AM HERE AND I LOVE YOU, MOUNTAINS that I have not felt in so long.
Obviously a lot of this is from all the Shiva Nata and the hot buttered epiphanies and the Old Turkish Lady yoga and the writing writing writing writing. And some of it comes from the green chiles.
But this …. ELATION. Oh, it is a beautiful and hard-to-explain place to visit.
A ridiculous thing!
I couldn’t get much cell reception this week (and the writing was tugging at my hand), so I didn’t get to talk to my gentleman friend. We mostly communicated by Direct Message on Twitter in the form of a ridiculous game that made itself up for our amusement.
I don’t know if this could possibly be funny to anyone other than me (it’s based on his knowledge of my bordering-on-phobic dislike of the word “caulk”). But it ended up being a useful Retreat Survival Tactic.
My Gentleman Friend: So I won’t mention the upcoming caulking project.
Me: Ew. Gross. What’s WRONG with you? I baulk at your caulk.
MGF: Well, don’t just sit there and saulk! #jonas
Me: Don’t forget to deal with those celery staulks.
Also those seagull waves in your hair are just a bit flaukish. #80s
MGF: Now you’re just maulking me. In a sort of insincerely maudlin way! #mawkish
Me: Also, you’re INCREDIBLE. Like the Haulk. #hawkish
MGF: Wagnerian, even. #rideoftheVaulkeries
Me: You might have to take a short Waulkeries off a long pier if you keep that up. But if you paint, wear your Smaulkeries! #butnotdungarees
Me: Or are you thinking of the Thirteen Claulkeries #thurber
MGF: You’re close – I was actually thinking of the children’s rhyme. Hickery Dickery Daulkeries.
Me: And please no references to New Kids on the Blaulkeries. #shazam
MGF: In that case, how about references to Columbo, a disputed island near Argentina & a British holiday involving flames & fireworks? #shazoom
Me: Yooooooooouuuuuu! I should claulk you. Or maybe blaulk you — on Twitter.
MGF: I’m just going to waulk away, veeeery slowly now. Or perhaps we should taulk it over?
Me: Yes, you’d better give up completely. Laulk staulk and barrel!
MGF: Laulk. Now THAT is gross.
Me: You’re hilarious. But not really one to taulk. By the way … knaulk knaulk! …
MGF: Who’s there? (he asks trepidatiously)
Me: Doctor.
PAUSE.
PAUSE.
MGF: Ach Du scheisse! #doctorhulu
Me: No. You’re wrong. It’s Doctor Spaulk.
MGF: Ha! Hmm. I was always more of a Mr. Spaulk guy, myself. #ears
Me: What a craulk.
MGF: #craulkodiletears
Me: Well, chaulk it up to experience.
MGF: Don’t raulk the boat, I always say. #seewhatyouvedone
Me: Don’t knaulk it til you try it, I always say. Though I ALSO always say: avoid electric shaulk.
Anyway, it just deteriorated (or should I say: ran amaulk?) from there so I’ll stop. Yes.
The best word ever!
Yay.
The word is WACKOPANTS, courtesy of the lovely Christina, who lives it. I will now be saying this all the time.
Mainly because I over-identify with it, being a huge wackopants myself.
That’s it for now.
Tomorrow we will chicken it up and there will be more.
In the meantime, I wish you a day that includes elements of ridiculousness, contemplation, and at least a couple of thoroughly wackopants moments — maybe even some that lead you to a bing or a thrum or that elusive thing that I’m calling elation.
Waving to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers, everyone who reads. Back to “normal” posting (uh, talking to walls and mindfully biggifying) soon!
On PTSD.
Yesterday morning I had a moment.
The simplest trigger: at a cafe, an old framed portrait on a white wall that reminded me of something from then.
And I was off. Cycles of panic, terror, helplessness, pain, fear.
And then I came back. Doing the things that help me be here.
So yes, I’ve had a fairly messed up life in some ways. I’ve had hard things happen to me. And I’ve lived in difficult places, difficult situations.
But everyone has hard. Everyone has pain.
I don’t know whether you also get knocked out of your space the way I get knocked out of mine. But I am documenting some of what I do in these moment of hard, with the hope that some of this is helpful.
Being in my body. Or: being with my body.
In this case, walking outside in crisp air for forty minutes was the exact right thing.
Sometimes I can’t do that.
But anything that helps me reconnect to my body in a way that feels safe and grounded is good.
Rubbing feet. Drawing words on my arms. Kissing the palm of my hand. Touching the ground. Acupressure points. Any yoga pose that uses a wall.
Talking to me-from-then.
And creating safety.
I tell me-from-then the following things:
- Things are different now.
- She is allowed to be scared. Whatever she’s feeling is completely legitimate.
- Her work is done. She does not need to take care of anything ever again. It is her turn to be taken care of now.
- She has protection. I am here now. I am a pirate queen. I have skills, resources, allies and superpowers that we didn’t have then.
- Everything is going to be taken care of for her and she doesn’t have to do anything except experience safety.
Then we create the safest, most perfect space for her.
We put locks on the doors and assign these badass lions to guard the entrances. The lions are beautiful, graceful, powerful, devoted to her.
We fill her safe space with whatever she wants — books, music, cushions, an enormous punching bag, borekas. Whatever she wants in there, we make sure she has it.
And then I ask her to listen in from her safe space while I do the separation exercise and the alignment exercise.*
* See the next two bits — these are exercises I came up with several years ago that have been helpful in all kinds of situations.
The separation exercise.
I list ten things that are different about now.
They can be related to whatever was going on then, but they don’t have to. The point is just to create space. Distance and space.
- I own and run a successful business. And it’s a pirate ship! With an (imaginary) island!
- I have a home.
- It used to be that I didn’t know how many options were available to me at any given moment. It was easier to end up in situations that couldn’t be gotten out of, because I couldn’t see any of the exit points along the way.
- Now I know about things like deguiltifying, compassion, being my own true friend.
- I have a lot more experience with mindfulness, alertness, paying attention to cues.
- I know about sovereignty, and so I approach every situation differently. I assume that my space gets to be mine.
- I’ve had X more years to practice things (everything from standing up for myself to believing I have a right to).
- I speak German.
- I work at a Playground.
The alignment exercise.
Ten things that me-from-right-now has in common with me-from-then.
We’re on the same team, so she needs to know that she can trust me. How are we the same? Where is the continuity?
- We both love to walk.
- And to nap.
- And to read.
- We talk to trees (and now they talk back too).
- We are both writers (except that I don’t hide it anymore).
- We like to dance.
- We get annoyed when people tell us what to do.
- We care about words.
- We collect funny names.
The naming exercise.
This is where you name everything you see to remind you that you are here.
Poppy seeds. Bagel crumbs. Empty glass. Pink soap. I am here. Cracked sidewalk. Tall fence. Blue backpack. Worn clogs. I am here. Pirate flag. Flowered tablecloth. Old lamp. Cross-eyed cat. I am here.
It helps.
Remembering to access external support in addition to internal support.
Getting out of isolation is really helpful for me.
I need someone who isn’t going to ask questions or make me talk about it, but who is up for going for a walk with me, or sitting with me while I process stuff with myself.
Generally I try to figure out who these helper mice are when I’m not having a moment, because once I’m panicking, I can’t really think straight.
Always! Asking what’s needed.
In this case it was:
trust, safety, sovereignty, reassurance, perspective
And then giving it to myself in some form.
If that’s what I need, how do I get it?
I give myself a dose of trust by writing it on my heart with a finger. By writing a request for it as a Very Personal Ad.
A dose of safety by locking myself in my office and meditating.
A dose of sovereignty by mentally reconfiguring my force field and by putting on my tiara.
A dose of reassurance through listening to one of the Emergency Calming Technique recordings.
Bringing in the new pattern.
I dance the awe-full wrathful dance of anger. I dance the patterns without knowing what they are. I flail and fall and make mistakes.
Mainly, though … I try things.
All the time. And every time I try things, I take notes.
What’s this like? How does it feel? What’s missing? Is there a way to make this more useful, more accessible, more fun?
And then whatever you learn goes in the Book of You for next time.
You never have to use techniques that you don’t like. And you never have to stick with something that isn’t a good fit. It’s your video game. Your practice. Taking care of yourself is the most individual thing there is.
And probably the most important.
Comment zen.
The one thing we definitely all have in common is that we all know pain.
Beyond that: People vary. Pain varies. Experience varies.
We tread gently with pain. We do what we can to meet people (ourselves too) where they (we) are. Sometimes this is hard and annoying. That’s why it’s a process.
We let people have their own experience, which means: we can talk about what works for us, but we don’t give anyone else advice unless they specifically ask for it.
Wishing you all kinds of love and support and whatever helps right now.
Making space.
Disclaimer!
This post is … not really a post.
And it’s very much not the sort of thing I would normally put here. It’s a bit messy. A bit complex. A lot more yoga-ey than anything I might say if it were just us.
(Translation: Jon, don’t read this one.)
But it’s here. Because there is usefulness in this.
I’m teaching all week at Jennifer Louden’s Writer’s Retreat. What follows is a (very) loose transcript of what I said at the beginning of our Shiva Nata class yesterday.
Making space.
Creating space is one of the things we do when we are on retreat.
We create the space for the experience itself, by choosing it. And through everything we do to set the container.
We create spaces during the experience of retreat — through rituals, transitions, entry points and exit points.
We create space in our bodies, through moving, stretching, breathing.
We create space in ourselves for wacky, beautiful, transformational things to happen.
We create space in our hearts, to breathe. To come back to ourselves.
We create space when we interact with ourselves.
Every time we acknowledge our pain, engage our monsters in conversation, ask questions about what we want and need … space is created.
Every time we consciously choose to do that with genuine curiosity and compassion, standing in our own power … we make space for wholeness.
Wholeness.
We intentionally create separations. We open up gaps and spaces.
In our breath. Inside of our patterns. Between ourselves and the familiar stories we tell and retell about our experience.
We create these spaces in order to get closer to ourselves. To be in wholeness.
Look at all the beautiful space we create in our writing:
The physical space for writing to happen. The time. The energy container (that’s the force field exercise we’ve been practicing all week).
The emotional space that gets bigger and bigger each time we talk to the parts of ourselves who criticize us out of a desire to keep us safe.
Mental space. Spiritual space. Internal and external space.
And all this space is what allows us to get closer to ourselves.
To get closer to that voice.
To get closer to what we have to say.
Space and spaciousness.
It is space and spaciousness that bring us to closeness and intimacy.
It is separations that — paradoxically, maybe — bring us to wholeness.
Separations are arbitrary constructs, yes. They serve a purpose though. Because each time we consciously step back to interact with part of ourselves (say, when we talk to walls), we become more intimate with our internal landscape.
We become more whole.
Separation and coming together.
In the Jewish tradition, this idea of separation is a hugely important concept.
On the surface, this seems … a bit odd, since, like with most religious and spiritual traditions, you’d expect the focus to be where it usually is: wholeness and unity and connection.
But the idea (or one of the ideas) is more like this:
When we mark out these spaces in life, we bring elements of ritual and specialness and holiness into each thing being separated.
We separate so that we can see the beauty of that particular space, and that is what brings us deeper into wholeness.
Spaces and the Dance of Shiva.
In our retreat, we create spaces.
Spaces and spaciousness that allow us to get closer to our writing, closer to our voice, and closer to ourselves.
And we use Shiva Nata in order to intentionally create spaces in our patterns, openings and passages, spaciousness in our consciousness.
We open up these gaps in our patterns because it gives us the power to move the pieces around. To deconstruct and rebuild.
To find the spaces that are waiting for us, and to bring in more of ourselves.
But we don’t actually create these spaces.
We just find them.
Because they’re already there.
We contain all of this space already.
The passages are there. And then we use Shiva Nata — body poetry, liquid math — to take apart the patterns. Taking apart. Rebuilding. Deconstructing. Reconstructing.
Making space for these spaces to reveal themselves.
That’s it.
I mean, that’s not even slightly it.
And anyway, there is always more. Because then we danced to the Sexy Robot song. And we used words and numbers and patterns to do astonishing things.
And it was freaking transcendent.
And then we wrote and had epiphanies and I went out and ate green chile stew, and all in all it was one crazy, beautiful day.
So we are not done. Never done. Just experimenting.
And comment zen for today.
Being this … sincere … is hard on me. It’s especially hard for Pirate Me. Let’s tread gently.
You can offer me a hot mulled beverage. That would be nice.