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2011 Annual Review: Humility, Gratitude and WOW

Friday, February 3rd, 2012
WOW because sometimes there are just no words in the English language to explain the feeling of gob smacking awesomeness when a light that you have been working your arse off to find suddenly comes ON.

I have always found this process to be incredibly powerful. Each year I marvel at just how far I have come. Either I am moving fast on my interiors or I had a lot of catching up to do…or both. The opportunity to pause, gather, reflect, and vision is very nourishing at a soul level. You will see that this particular annual review is deeply personal and quite revealing.  As someone who works closely with people, I made a decision a long time ago to be sure that anyone I work with knows, without question, that I am very human, that I have my own insecurities, my own egoic fantasies and mythologies, and I am working as fast and hard as I can on my own journey to self mastery and personal power. One of my most favourite quotes is from the Course in Miracles, “In my vulnerability I become invulnerable.” Or…when I have nothing to hide…I am not able to be attacked.

This report is the equivalent of 7 pages of a word document. Not tooooo bad!!!

While I have written a review of the year for many years now, the inspiration to write this as a PDF for download came from Jonathan Fields. His report was a wonderful read. I recommend you read that too.

Make yourself a coffee or tea…., grab some chocolate (Lindt dark Chilli is the best!!)…and enjoy.

Click here to download and read And if you do find that you simply must respond, please do. In the comments below, or to me personally.
I would be grateful if you feel this would be something others would like to read to share it around.
In gratitude,
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Year review – endurance running and swimming

Monday, January 9th, 2012

200 meters to go Gold Coast Marathon 2011

In 2011 I ran at least 3,380 kms in total. (I have run over 50,000 kms in the last 16 years.)

Swam  approximately 572 kms

I ran my 8th Gold Coast Marathon on very limited training (maximum run distance was 18 kms..for non-marathon runners, you usually train up to 37 kms in one run) and came in with a 3 hours 48 min marathon. I negative split my last 10 kms. (This means I ran the last 10 kms faster than the first 10 kms. Pretty good for a marathon. Very few people do this.) My Personal Best marathon time was in 2000 and was 3 hours 39. So to only go 9 mins slower on no training (my PB was also on limited training) is a good indication of how much I could do it I really put my head down, which I am not planning to. I want to run for enjoyment, and not for times. This time qualified me for any event as an age grouper (in my age group of course) on the planet. Boston, Comrades, 6 Foot Track. Since I have done 6 Foot and Boston, Comrades was it. June 3rd 2012 will see me at the start of this. I have wanted to run this event for many years, so I am excited to be part of the world’s largest and most enduring ultra marathon.

 

Swimming

Since I finally conquered the 200 fly in one continuous swim last year for my 50th, I have decided this year to focus on my 200 IM (individual medley) This means working on my back stroke and breast stroke. The goal is a 3 min 15. I have swum a 3 min 33, so we have about 18 secs to drop. I am also determined to get my tumble turns really sharp. The ‘slap the wall’ type turns that the elite guys do. Have gone back to the beginners book on this, unlearning to get this right. Give me another month.

 

Events

Mt Glorious 33kms in early February. The hottest event I have ever run in. Bloody hard, but made easier by running with 2 girlfriends and making a day of it. Suffered from heat stroke and leeches, all then followed with a beer chaser or two at the local pub.

Gold Coast Marathon 8th one down, 2 to go to get my 10th Tshirt.

Lamington Classic- 21 kms day one, 21 kms day two.

I don’t compete in swimming, only with myself. Although one of my swim squad members is hoping to race me in the 200 IM.

 

Lessons learned

*The Gold Coast marathon was another lesson in relaxation and letting go of all expectations and simply running within myself. I have always done better when I do this. I registered two days before the marathon. I had a lose race plan. Run at 5.30 pace. See how I felt at the 32 kms mark. In the end I couldn’t run this slowly. So ran between 5.15 and 5.20 pace. My average over the 42 was 5.20. It felt very comfortable.

As you age, the number of times that you show up for an event and feel good becomes more haphazard. I felt great, and I think because I had very mild expectations (to come in just under 4 hours, even by 2 secs) I was absolutely thrilled with this event.

*6 Foot track this year I made a few BIG mistakes. Also silly mistakes, as I know better. Last year I was relaxed, no expectations, and did not know anything about the course. I ran a very good time. This year I had my expectations up, and wanted to nail the very tricky downhill start and not get caught in the slow lane. Which I did well. But on the morning of the event, I had severe diarrhea (common) and did not replace my fluids with the right salts etc. And it was warmer than last year. So…too much pressure on me, not relaxed enough and the major mistake of not getting my fluids right before we started. This was a silly mistake for an experienced distance runner. By the 20 km mark I was getting serious cramping in my entire body, and I knew my systems where shutting down. I wisely chose to pull out. Only the second event in my 16 year history of running that I have ever quit.

*I have also started to drink a proper sports replacement drink after every session in summer. I get my blood tested for hormones and salt every 3-4 months and have been working with a wonderful GP who is a specialist in female hormones during menopause. She has also been working on my sodium, potassium, magnesium. Its a fine balance. I have to tune in constantly, as well as get the tests. Actually, the blood tests usually only confirm what I already know. The area of sports medicine for an endurance female running during menopause is a poorly researched area. I am my own study.

 

*I have really embraced the truth that my running/swimming is as powerful as any form of mediation practice. I train every single day, with rare exception, and the discipline is no longer an issue. It is automatic. My lifestyle. I love it. It is my stress release, my anger therapy, my social time, my time in nature, out doors, and on weekends, coffee time. That running in the forest is where a part of my spirit comes alive. There is a me that is a nature sprite. Fleet footed, especially on the downhills, moving with the wind, the trees, the birds, all one song. An experience beyond words. Or running by the ocean, something magnificent happens. That vast body of water called the Pacific is my spiritual, emotional, physical reservoir. I simply cannot live and thrive away from the ocean.

 

*I have also learned that racing, whether it be swimming or running, completely destabilizes me. Short run races, anything less than a marathon, so 5, 10, 15, 21 k, and my competitive self comes out. This is an unbalanced unhealthy part of me. It has an addictive element. As well as an obsessive aspect. I can beat that time, that person, run faster, do better. It is like a dark Alice falling down the rabbit hole. I get caught in the addiction, and my centre of gravity goes out the window. Knowing myself so well, I simply don’t do it anymore. Far better for me to play games with my own times in the pool, and stick to marathons plus. Here the dynamic changes, and it becomes about endurance and survival. Plus in my age group there are less candidates to get caught up in the whole ‘race to win’ game. I watch many people get caught in the trap of addiction to winning, or racing to be better than someone else. Once in this deceptive snare, people make decisions that are unbalanced. They will not listen to their bodies, they will push until they truly break down. They will train themselves into the ground. They will spend hours plotting, planning, crafting strategies. Racing and winning is the drug of choice, and while it might look healthier than alcohol, or drug addiction, it actually is still a serious addiction.

 

*Why do I choose goals like getting my tumble turns sharp, or the times down on my 200 IM?  It gives me something to focus on. It has me go back to learning, adjusting, fine tuning, mastery. Learning is fun. I like the feeling of achievement when I stick it. Swimming is such a technical sport. When you become familiar with a stroke, then you can begin the very fine tuning work that at first is not possible to discern. For example, I can now really distinguish the ‘catch’ part of my stroke through all phases in freestyle, and am beginning to be able to do this in backstroke. That kind of listening ability/tunability only becomes available after the more substantial aspects of the stroke are deeply natural. (see my three part series on tunability)

 

This is not unlike any form of personal development, and I see my sport as critical in my personal development. When our big noisy, clunky aspects of self are clearly seen then we can work on the ever finer levels of refinement.

 

*Finally, in our society today, since the end of WWII, we have lost our education in endurance. Few people in the middle and upper class know about endurance. Distance running is one of my schools of endurance. It teaches me to endure when my soft, indulged self wants to quit. I have never reached for a pain killer (or any other kind of medication) the moment I feel discomfort. Not because I am some sort of hero. But because I was taught from a young age to endure. (In distinction to suffer. Endure was to recognise the pain and hold your centre within it. To learn to respect it, mentally shift focus away from it, and to do the other things that would resolve the pain, like take a nap or see a health professional.)

Part of the reason our world is currently in a deep breakdown is because we have no endurance. We are soft, over entitled, over indulged creatures, seeking instant gratification and the avoidance of age, at all costs. Our children are protected from the outside, from dirt, people, any form of risk, to the extreme. Oversensitised, they get all sorts of allergies. The metaphor does not escape me. This is a big topic, one I won’t dwell on too long here…I think you get my point.

 

For 2012

Running…Comrades marathon (87km) South Africa, June 3rd. The plan is to be fit enough to run it and enjoy the experience.

Running..Gold Coast Marathon, July 1st. Just to finish, get the Tshirt.

Swimming..200 IM on 3.15

 

What are your physical goals for 2012?

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You Unique Pattern Integrity

Monday, December 5th, 2011

What is the gap between what you are capable of doing, and what you are doing? What is the fullest expression of your pattern integrity? If we used a scale to measure this, with 10 being fully expressing our pattern integrity, and zero  not expressing it at all, where are you on the scale? The gap describes all of our latent potential. It is the difference between who we really are, and what gets in the way of that.

Let’s begin by describing your pattern integrity. The unique voice that you have. Your own song line that can only be heard in a certain way. If you are visual, describe your pattern integrity in words, and pictures. Give him or her a name. Hold this name as deeply private, not to be shared except with a few very of your closest confidants.

As I mentioned in last weeks blog, my pattern integrity is very tall, very light, very joyous, and very beautiful. She is radiant and loving. If she danced, it would be a waltz. Or classical ballet. The music she would dance to would be the sound of the ocean, a piano, violin, and harp, with the sound of the wind thrown in for good measure. Or a song that called forth beauty and grace. She has great kindness in her, compassion to last lifetimes, and wisdom to know how to be in all situations with dignity. She is also fierce in her love. There is a trustworthiness that is deeper than any ocean. When I think of her everything about me softens, all the hard edges go away. Anxiety disappears, trust is restored, peace is present.

Every day I begin my day with a meditation that invites my connection with her to be present. I feel her through me. She is me. She is the equivalent to the ‘David’ that was already present in the marble block that Michelangelo carved. His job as the artist was to focus on the presence of the unseen but felt ‘David’, trusting that if he removed all of the excess marble, the magnificence of David would be revealed.

I start my day with the invitation and invocation of calling her to be fully me…or me to be fully expressed as her, which is truth.

When she is present I am at a 10 in my expression. For the rest of the day, the task is to notice the gap between her presence and what I am allowing myself to express, which is often far from her presence.

If I happen to catch myself getting wonky, being in fear, anger, frustration, blame, victim….I can call on her to be present. I can breath into her. I call her by name. Or by visual imagery, or by feeling her. This of course takes commitment and practice. I have been ignoring her for decades, so to remember to catch myself when I am far away from her takes conscious choice.

If I am feeling very off centre, or confused, or seeking clear sighted guidance, then I can evoke her presence. Ideally I do this by finding a quiet space, and feeling her presence. I then ask her a direct question, the more specific the better. My personal preference is to write the question down, so I can craft the question to be clear, precise, and directed. Then I write the answer that comes to me, without any form of editing. To not edit is very important. Our ego likes to edit, or argue, or disagree. Once I have written down the answer, if I really want I can invite my ego in for the counter argument. I have learned that the more I trust the answer from her, the more my life moves in harmony with who I really am. The ego has its own agenda, and usually that is based on playing in the lower levels of a 2 or a 3 on our scale of 10.

Every person has their own pattern integrity, their own all knowing, all powerful, all wise self. This is available to us all of the time. We see this present in the eyes of a newly born baby. The question is, do we have the willingness and commitment to turn down all the other noise in our life so we can tune into that aspect of self? Most of the time we do not. We stay in the noise.

In Part 3 of this series, we will look at the pattern integrity present in all relationships, animate and inanimate, and how to tune into these. While this all may sound very ‘new agey’ and woo woo, this work is deeply embedded in physics and science. The quantum field, entanglement, morphic resonance…these are other ways to express what we are describing. Anyone who has worked with teams knows that a team has its own unique pattern integrity. Include one more person, or have one person leave, and the pattern integrity of that team changes. We will discuss how to leverage the pattern integrity of teams, relationships, and systems, so that the unique DNA expression is given an opportunity to flourish, or, if needs be, to be adapted.

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Running trails, high frequency tuneable sets, a body singing

Tuesday, October 25th, 2011

How to explain to non runners the feeling of running when you hit the high note? A natural high, the body, nature, beauty, freedom, and low level flying.

This passed weekend I participated, for the second year in a row, in The Lamington Classic. This event, now 42 years old, is one of the oldest, if not the oldest trail runs in Australia.

Starting in the beautiful Green Mountains of South East Queensland, O’Reillys resort, day one is a half marathon across very technical (as in tree roots, rocks, mud, switchbacks, undergrowth, overhanging vines) trail, the first part of the Great Walk (a 50 km walk from O’Reillys to Springbrook), to arrive at Binna Burra on the Beechmont Ridge. Day 2, is the return run, this time slightly complicated by more uphills, and some already tired, sore legs. And the occasional hang over from too much cheer post race Saturday.

For 17 years I have been a dedicated runner. Rare are the days that I struggle to get out of bed to run. And in summer in Queensland, with the birds awake before 4 am, and full light by 4.30, getting out of bed to the dawning day is the best way to celebrate life.

The most amazing thing about running, as about most sports, is that you are constantly learning. While I certainly qualify for mastery in running at many levels, its beauty is that it can humble you in an instant. Reduce you to a shadow of your usual confident running self. In a heart beat. It can also surprise the heck out of you, and out of nowhere comes the place where you breath heaven.

Few people who do not run understand the reasons why we runners get so much joy from the experience. Pounding the pavement…day in and out. Year in and out. For everyone the reason why is different, but the themes are close.

Multiple reasons for me…the joy of movement, the opportunity to stay fit and in shape, the ability to eat chocolate cake without guilt, the camaraderie from running with others, the constant and ever increasing atunement to the body, to its conversation with you, the ability to see the world and run; that my body feels like singing when we run together (my body and I, when we really run in partnership), stress and anger release, time in nature, outdoors…all of these reasons and more.

I was explaining to a client that the precessional effects I have gained from running have far exceeded the cost of my commitment. Specifically, I get to tune into my body at a high frequency every day. To be clear, not all runners do this. Many don’t. They are the ones that get injured, fall apart, push too hard, break down. The addiction they have to running exceeds their common sense. Or, to be blunt, they simply don’t listen to their body, because it is speaking to them, as it is to all of us, every minute of every hour of every day.

Any masterful athlete knows that their body is an exquisite instrument, irreplicable… to be honoured, respected and above all, listened to. Our bodies speak constantly. But do we listen? And if so, do we act? Once again we find the battle-field of the ego and the voice of wisdom and truth. Most pay homage to the ego. Humility comes when we honour the wisdom of our bodies truth.

This, as well as our energetic system…informing us constantly…it really is quite amazing. The wisdom that resides in our cells, in our atoms, in our energy field. So strange that we even doubt it! Like a high definition tunable radio set, we can pick up signals of ever finer frequency. The older amongst us learn how to do this, as an art, because we had our systems numbed out when we were children, or were born without the skills. Many children today however, are born with all of their channels wide open. And simply no resources on how to block, protect, discern, and manage the signals. And rarely a parent or health care professional who would even consider that we have gone through a physical and energetic metamorphous that has increased our signal receptor ability to off-the-charts. Our children’s systems cannot cope, and they often get drugged, numbed or locked down. Autism, depression…on the rise…no mistaking the change in the humans ability to receive signals at ever higher frequencies.

As a runner, I have learned, am still learning, to tune in at a level most people don’t. This not only helps me stay fit, it allows me to tune into emotional energies. The field, whether it be Rupert Sheldrake’s morphogenetic field, or the akashic field, or the quantum field. Same field. Acute attention required. The signals are all there, all the time, just like radio signals are always present…they just need the tunable set.

Come Saturday, Day 1 of the Lamington Classic. Relaxed, running with two girl friends, plan to run together. I am by far the most experienced trail runner. I lead. First 7 kms is gradual uphill, so just a steady grind. Then it gets very technical, and downhill. My body has not been feeling sparky the last few weeks when I have run. Like that box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get…so best just to show up and have a go. Not today. I am flying down those trails. I am in love with love, and trails and running and mud, and being deep in a jungle. For a little while I wait for the girls to catch up. But at some point I just go for it. It is too much fun, there is too much rhythm going on. I feel as free as a bird, and happy as a pig in mud. My physical and energetic body showed up today. Yeh baby! And I am in my element. Downhills, trails, technical. Requiring 100% pure focused attention. A single lapse and you are gone. No time to see the view, the trees, or anything but the path in front. This is where it becomes you, your body, your breath, your foot strike, and nothing else…nothing, not a thought, not a thing…no room. I am not good at sitting meditation, but I sure can run. Woohooo…this is life…this is it..right there…hurtling down hills of mud and rocks in the deep jungle.

At some point with about 5 kms to go I get a bit wobbly…low blood sugar…should have had some fuel on board. Have to take it extra carefully. It is the brain that falters before the body, blood sugar to the brain and lapses in concentration. By the time low blood sugar hits the body it is well advanced.

Last few kms and I trip and mildly sprain my ankle. My formula for this, learned over years of running, is to keep running. Have to slow up a bit, but definitely don’t stop. Years of doing this and I never suffer even mild swelling afterwards, when I finally stop. How remarkable is the body?

Home…wonderful feeling…crossing the line…then turn around and go back to meet the girls as they come in.

The afternoon spent with way too much merriment, and then the sleep of someone who has run hard. The kind of sleep people would pay good money for. The sleep of fresh air, outdoors and hard physical exercise.

The next day, just Fiona and I, as Donna went home late in the day of day 1. We grind the hills, pretty much all up hill until the last 7 kms. Then open it up. Yiiipppyyy. Home straight, downhill, the joy of low level flying through the forest. Full focus required, as body is well and truly tired by now. Muscles sore, energy system starting to lag..

Ah the joy. Pushing just a little into the red zone. Not too much. But enough to know you have done a great job.

Cross the line…and we are done.

A hot shower, followed by scones and jam and cream, and a session feeding the magnificent Rosella’s, before we hit the road for home. Birds on my head, my shoulder, my arms, loving their beauty, and that I can be privileged to be so close to such magnificent creatures.

Every ingredient to make a wonderful weekend. Good friends, great running, beautiful country, lots of laughs, excellent sleep, wildlife, mud, nature, beauty, and the joy of downhill trail running.

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On Integrity

Tuesday, September 27th, 2011

Integrity…I would have thought that to live in integrity was not that hard a gig. Seems I am wrong. Seems that integrity is the toughest gig in town. Not only that, but that it is rare. It demands of you your best. And more. It demands of you that you say no to a lot of yummy things, and yes to some of the really hard stuff. It comes at a price. Most people don’t pay.

What is integrity? To me it means wholeness. Completeness. I first ‘got’ integrity when I was working with building Bucky Fuller’s models. Take a bunch of toothpicks, and some jelly babies, and build a square. Notice when you do that the square cannot stay upright on its own. It collapses. Yet we have built our maths and architecture around  squares. Now build a triangle. Something feels good about a triangle. But it has no dimensionality. So add one extra point and create a tetrahedron. Bingo…now you have a thing that holds its shape. It has complete integrity. It has an inside and an outside, which means that it is a system. Actually, it is the minimum system in Universe.

A complex system, like a human being, has integrity when it is holding its shape. When it is doing what it was designed to do. When it is complete. Given the changing state of the larger ecosystem in which we find ourselves, to do this requires extreme attention. It means that our intention matches our words, matches our actions, matches the effects our words and actions have. The signal is clear, from source to delivery to destination. There is no dissonance, no misalignment, no fracturing, no distortion. Yep, I did say this integrity thing was hard.

It has to start with source. The source of our signal. What is that? Most of the time we get distracted with the signal itself. Like an amazing light show, the brightness takes our attention away from the source. We have become signal responding creatures, rarely focusing on source. We take a pain killer for a headache, eat too much to hide our guilt or shame, react to things without taking the time to focus on what is really going on. Jump to conclusions, make assumptions. Accumulate yuk because we do not speak up sooner. Or get distracted by the bright shiny object before we really know about from where the bright shiny object came.

How many times have you had the experience of getting riled up, jumped to conclusions, only to find that you were missing a significant piece of the information, and that when you had that information, the view changed so significantly that your reaction was ill conceived? Hmm..let me name 30% of the waste in human productivity spent in this type of conversation. Let me name my own getting trapped in this way too many times. It is a nauseating place to be, and yet for some dark reason, us humans find it attractive. That smelly, icky gossipy place. It always does harm. Subtly or overtly. This is why the conversation for understanding is so important.

How does it feel to be on the receiving end of another person’s neglect of going to the source of your actions? Of jumping to conclusions, making assumptions, blaming or shaming without having the relevant whole? Or of being completely negated and discarded after weeks, months, or years of attention, focus and applied energy being put into something that deeply mattered to you because the other party did not take the time to go to source, to see the whole, to honour your history, your effort, your dedication?

Bucky said that the necessary ingredient of synergy is to start first with the whole. With the Universe. That until we have the complete picture, we have only a partial and therefore incomplete view. Our legal system is supposed to be built around this…innocent until proven guilty. But do we live by this?

Have you ever felt devalued? Discarded as a human of value? I have. Many times. It feels horrible. The question is…how many times have I done this to others? And this is a question I am sitting in now. As someone who has built my brand around integrity, I have known that the price of so doing would be high. That this conscious choice would open me to be held to account at a level most uncomfortable. That I would have to demand of myself the kind of personal reflection rigor that few stomach. That I would have to stand in the heat of others who see me in my shadow. And own it all. All. Yep…this stuff is hard.

So I circle back…..what is the source of your signal? What is the intent you project in the world? And what comes back at you that indicates the truth of the projection? Is it aligned? Where is the dissonance? For this is our feedback. Like it or not.

Do your words really match your intention? Do your actions? Or do you say one thing and do another? How do you cheat on yourself and your own integrity?

And are you really game enough to surround yourself with people who will hold you to your highest expression of integrity, your most magnificent wholeness? These are your true support team. The ones who will not step over anything ever, but will bravely and respectfully point out when you have strayed from your own wholeness. Ideally they will do this from a place of deep care for you. Sometimes they will not. Sometimes it will be the total stranger who will shock you from your own treachery. Hard medicine, but a gift none the less.

Integrity is a tough gig. The toughest. Which is why it is so important.

To declare my current focus in living in integrity, my commitment is to work at going to source before I get into reaction, make judgements or jump to conclusions. To have the whole view rather than work from the partial. I am up to being held to account around this….if you notice me stray.

What is yours? Want to play…?

 

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On the question of personal power and surrogacy

Wednesday, August 24th, 2011

In the award winning but chilling movie, No Country for Old Men, there is a scene between the psychopath Anton and a woman called Carla Jean, an innocent bystander. If you have not seen the movie, Anton Chigurh kills people with complete disassociation from humanity. It is his chilling absence of emotion that makes his character so compelling and repulsive. The results are not good for Carla Jean.

Carla Jean Moss: You don’t have to do this.
Anton Chigurh: [smiles] People always say the same thing. 
Carla Jean Moss: What do they say? 
Anton Chigurh: They say, “You don’t have to do this.” 
Carla Jean Moss: You don’t. 
Anton Chigurh: Okay.  [Chigurh flips a coin and covers it with his hand] 
Anton Chigurh: This is the best I can do. Call it. 
Carla Jean Moss: I knowed you was crazy when I saw you sitting there. I knowed exactly what was in store for me.
Anton Chigurh: Call it. 
Carla Jean Moss: No. I ain’t gonna call it. 
Anton Chigurh: Call it. 
Carla Jean Moss: The coin don’t have no say. It’s just you.

What Carla Jean refused to do was to surrogate her power to a coin, or more specifically, to a coin toss. She handed the power right back to Anton, the place where it always rested. The risk she took of course was that it may cost her her life. Literally. But she knew, at some primal level, that to surrogate to the coin, she was in violation of the last remnant of dignity she had left. Her own power. I am not sure I would have had the courage, or the fortitude, to do as she did. Indeed, until recently, I may not have had the wisdom to see how specifically I was handing my power of life and  death to a coin, and not the man behind the toss, who by holding the gun, was the one choosing whether to kill or not.

How many times do we surrogate to a coin, or the government, or to a person we believe has more power than us? The tragedy is that we do with every single day, every single time we handle a coin, or a note, or participate in our system of government. Or when we say to ourselves that someone has more power, more authority, than I.

In my own life I have had to look with exquisite and painful detail at where I have handed my power away. I am quite sure I am not done with this inquiry, as it as deep an inquiry as is to accept full responsibility for my world without any blame.

Today while I was the recipient of an amazing energetic coaching session from the very gifted Emily Gendron, I saw in a beautiful inner visual montage, the light of me, of my source, and how I have diminished that light around some people. Similarly, how I, at times, think my light shines brighter than others. Righteousness. Such a nasty way of being. How good I have been at righteousness. It makes me shudder. I pray for forgiveness from all the people I have inflicted with my righteousness.

In this inner montage, I saw the lights of all beings, shining equally bright. Dancing and interacting with each other. We need the dance, because on our own, while our light shines with equal brightness, but we are incomplete. An orchestra is not made from a single note.

How many times have I given my authority away to another? How many times have I enslaved myself? I listen to people who have signed an agreement to be bullied every day at work. It’s called a paycheck. But they still have the power to choose. No matter how smart and charismatic the ‘authority’, no matter his or her personal power, no matter how big the paycheck. Being bullied, being verbally and emotionally abused, is a choice, that we, the recipient makes. We can choose to walk. The price may be high, rarely as high as Carla Jeans. But at what price is dignity? At what price is being our own source?

Even more scary is to consider, over the course of my life, how many times I may have been the ‘authority.’ The ‘great’ righteous one. Less and less, methinks, but worth really considering.

I have had a pattern of surrogating my power to highly charismatic, highly intelligent men. Of being blinded by the glamour. Spell cast by magicians. Seduced by the offer of something I feel is lacking in me…knowledge, skill, money, fame, success and the illusions of all of this. While I have allowed myself to fall under the spell, I then give away almost every part of myself. My money, my energy, my spirit…trading it all for the possibility of some bejeweled state. The prostitute in full flight. (To be clear, I have not traded my body. I am speaking of the prostitute as an archetype, selling your soul for money.) Oh me, oh my! How weak is my sense of self? How little do I think of my own light? It is time for this pattern to be done in my life.

Fortunately, I have always awoken from the spell in enough time to pull out of the death spiral. And in so doing, break the illusion. But not before considerable damage has been done.

We are all on paths to hold true to our own inner power. Not power over, but the source of our gifts, our spirit, our light. It does not mean that we are perfect, far from it. It means that we can show up in our perfect imperfections and be whole. We all have our seducers, people, and things to which we  surrogate our soul. Like the horcruxes in Harry Potter, we split our soul into parts, leaving it in places, or with people we think have more than we have. And so we walk around the world, fragments of our self, mistakenly thinking that in so doing we will be stronger.

And like Harry Potter, or Carla Jean, to fully heal requires the willingness to clearly choose self respect and dignity, and to stand empowered in the certainty of our own light even in the face of the death of all that is an illusion. I aspire to the courage of these two fictional characters.

Where do you surrogate your power?

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Reconciling the sacred mother archetype

Sunday, August 14th, 2011

 

I never had anything to do with children. I don’t believe I had even held a baby until I held my new born daughter. I have always preferred animals. But my destiny was to become a mother. It so happened that I was married when I fell pregnant while on oral contraceptives. I had been suffering from nausea for about a week when finally I went to the doctor and he said pee in the bottle. Which I did, not believing even then that the test could be positive. It turned blue before my eyes and I burst into tears. Not tears of joy, but of shock.

I never had a picture of me as a mother. It didn’t live in my worldview. Never. Not even for a nanosecond. So the shock was pretty deep.

Yet here I was pregnant. Because there was a possibility the pregnancy was ectopic, I was rushed off that same day for a scan. Nope. Normal pregnancy. Loud and clear. I am not anti abortion, but termination was not an option for me. We talked about it, but as an abstraction, not a seriously considered conversation.

My daughter from the outset taught me that she was in charge of her destiny. She remained in the breech position for the entire time. Her head in the upper right part of my stomach. I tried everything to get her to turn, from standing on my head, to acupuncture. I was attached to a natural birth. I even sacked my obstetrician because he was inclined at 12 weeks, to schedule me for a caesarian. Out of laziness and not for any medical reasons apparent at that time. I found a great obstetrician who was an older country doctor. Thank goodness, because he was happy to consider a trial of labor.

Two weeks before due, and on a very hot and humid Saturday in February, it all started. On her schedule of course. My waters broke, and early labor commenced. The doctor and I decided that the risk of a natural birth with my size and a breech baby was too high, so at 4 minutes to 10 on the 16th February 1991, my daughter was born by C section. She was tiny. Just 5 lbs. And delicate. And present. I am sure I am not the only parent that has looked into their new born child’s eyes and seen the wisdom of ages starting back at them. All knowing, all present, all peaceful. Truly a humbling experience.

We discovered that the reason she had remained breech and in the same position was because my uterus was heart shaped. Literally. It had a septum or panel dividing it into two lobes. My vessel for holding a child in utero was in the shape of a heart. There is a metaphor here worth holding close.

We spent 3 days naming her, because the names we had originally chosen were not who she was. I had all of these strong warrior woman names, and she was the essence of feminine beauty. The naming was very important. There was an alchemy to it that I know more about now than I did then. I did know that the name we chose for her was right. Natalie Newby. No middle name. I was even happy for her to have her fathers name, because it resonated with her spirit. This has proved deeply accurate, as Natalie shares the Maori blood of her father, and just about everything else of his as well, except his height. (He is 6’3, and I am 5’1).

Just as I did not expect to be a mother, I did not expect to spend all but the first two years as a single mum. I don’t recommend it. Its hard work, especially when you are also the main income earner. But it was worth it.

Here is the mystery. The real mystery. I knew, intuitively, how to be a mother. Not instinctively, but from a deep and profound well of knowing. I have observed since that many women do not have direct access to this knowing. But I did. It was effortless.

From the moment she was born I got that she was her own spirit. She had been teaching me from the day she made her presence known. She had her own song, her own expression. It was not mine. Nor was it right for me to try to mold her in my image. The opposite actually. I knew intuitively that my job was one of the most sacred roles in Universe. To be a steward for a child. To hold a space where a child is able to grow into everything that is already encoded within them. To purify the space, to keep my grubby little fingers off.

Family and friends watched me be a mother with incredulous amazement. I too was surprised to the core. I found the tuning in to her needs as easy as breathing. That is not to say I was perfect. Hmm..no…that would not be me. There was a day I remember where I was so close to loosing it, where I looked into the abyss of what is possible when a sleep deprived, angry mother is at her wits end. So close to doing something terrible. Only by the grace of something did I return to sanity and pull back from that very dark abyss.

Now, 20 years later, I have a beautiful young woman for a daughter. We are great friends. We have an amazing close and rich relationship. I knew as the years unfolded that my role  was to change. That finally it would be about me providing a space where she could come to me and speak about anything at all…without fear of shame or humiliation. Anything. At all.

I would be a lesser person without my daughter. In ways I cannot begin to articulate. She opened my heart, and kept it open. I would be an empty shell.

I still do not have any sort of attraction to babies in prams. Nope…none at all. Not interested. I am not interested in being a grandmother, although that is likely to happen. So I have, for a very long time, denied the side of me that is a mother. It has been as if it was an element of me that lived over there. Outside of me. Alien.

For the last 7 months, since January of 2011, I have been working with people to bring to life their deeply held impulse. You know, when you get a hit that cannot be ignored, that you need to do something? The impulse usually drops into us out of the blue. And it is pure.

Then we take it and make it something else. We start to mold it in our image, or in the image that the world says we are supposed to mold it. The form then takes over. It may even take over to reach a place where the impulse and the form do not even look alike. One day we wake up and go…how the hell did I get here? This is nothing like what I felt when I had that original impulse. Both the expression of the impulse and I are miserable.

My role has been to support people to get back to the integrity of the original impulse. To let go of form. I find this easy to do. The form emerges naturally if you let it. And there is a flow and ease to the process that is deeply organic.

Last week, while I was swimming laps, it suddenly occurred to me that this is the archetype of the mother. This is it. This is was I do naturally. This was a big aah moment.

I have the ability to tune into the source code of the impulse, or what is needing to be unique expressed and honoured, and to hold the integrity of that. To stop our ego’s from getting their grubby little fingers all over the purity of the impulse as most of us do.

This is the sacred mother archetype. Or one expression of her. I can do this in my sleep.

Oh my god, I am mother. I always have been. A sacred mother. The chalice, or crucible. The keeper of the integrity of the source code. This is part of me. Who would have thought? I hear Gods laughing. Finally she gets it. Took 20 years, but finally.

What a privilege. For we have some real work to do, those of us who embody the sacred mother. There are many precious babies (literally and metaphorically) that are being incubated and needing the stewarding of a sacred mother. Being keepers of the integrity of the source code impulse is a very significant role. I am deeply honoured to be gifted with this task, as I join with other sacred mothers (male and female) from around the world being called to steward the new. For indeed we have much to do. For too long have we been drinking the kool-aid of seduction, manipulation and surrogacy. It is time to honour integrity of source. And for that, we need the sacred mother to hold the crucible of the impulse with heart, allowing it to manifest uncontaminated.

 

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On a Sunday morning run

Monday, July 11th, 2011

It was freezing. Well freezing for us from the Sunshine state of Queensland. About 6 C (42F). Our homes are built for the heat, so in winter they are often cold, and we do not use heating. Getting out of bed in winter on a cold dark Sunday is hard. But I knew it would be worth it. I couldn’t not get up. I had a hot date with a cold beautiful day.

By the time I got to Surfers Paradise beach, just 7 minutes drive from home, the really deep reds of dawn were gone and the light was stronger. On days like this, when the air is crisp, the sky is cloudless…there is something about the quality of light that is so much sharper than in summer, when a haziness creates blurred visual boundaries. Everything is sharp, and almost hard from the quality of light. Its the difference between a Picasso and a Monet.

There was a guy in a truck who pulled up just after me, with a coffee and a guitar. I wondered how many times he started his Sundays like this. Alone with his guitar on an almost deserted beach as the sun crested the horizon? I didn’t hear him play. I looked for him when I came back from my run, but couldn’t see him. His truck was still there.

I ran north, up through Narrow Neck, and then Main Beach and onto the trails that go to the top of the spit. It is only about a 6 k run to the very end of the spit from down-town Surfers Paradise, but when you are in the grasses and trees of the spit trails, you could be anywhere in the world. It is part of the reason I love living here. From the artifice of Surfers Paradise to the beauty of the spit, all in the same hour of running.

There was a man and his dog, the man of his bike, the dog on a lead. The dog was towing the man for quite a while. Further up, the man set the dog free to run, and sniff, and run, just as the dog liked. I suspect this is a daily ritual. There was a joy coming from the dog that was palpable.

As I run through the tree’s with the rising sun on my right, I experience my own lazer light show. Full light, then dark, again and again, from tree to tree. I am mostly blinded. I think to myself, I get the disco lights but at dawn, on a run, in a forest. How lucky am I.

At the turn around point I stopped and went to the beach so I could simply breath it all in.  A few people where doing yoga in the dawn sun. There were several walkers. It was too cold and too early for the army of walkers who would arrive in the next 30 or so minutes.

I am thinking to myself..how do I capture these thoughts? For this is no ordinary day, in an ordinary Universe. These are no ordinary moments. These people, who I do not know, are no ordinary people. Somehow, all of us, in our own way, have managed to find a door into heaven. And together, but alone, we have shared the most beautiful of beauties. The dawn of a midwinters day, by the beach, on a day that will never come again. These random strangers, each having made the choice to get up from a warm bed in the dark, are part of me. The immensity of all of this, the beauty, the collision of experiences, breaks open my heart.

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Gold Coast Marathon 2011

Monday, July 4th, 2011

I have lost count, but counting is not that important. I am heading to 20 marathons in total, which has included New York (twice), Boston, Chicago, Honolulu, Big Sur, Sydney (pre Olympic, and on the actual Olympic Marathon Course), a marathon at the back of the New Zealand Ironman, and 8 or 9 local Gold Coast marathons. Still to do, Paris, Berlin, London, Comrades (90 k, the biggest ultra Marathon in the world), Great Wall.

I am not a fast runner. I could have been if I had of wanted to do the really hard work to break through to a different level. I chose instead to enjoy my running and not push too hard. Life and work has been where I have focused breaking barriers, running was the equivalent to most people’s couch and TV after a hard day. Instead of couch and TV, I chose very early mornings, daily training, and early to bed. Almost no TV.

My best marathon was the Sydney pre Olympic marathon. I had not done the training, I had decided instead to enjoy the experience. Running across the Sydney Harbour bridge, which was closed to traffic, through Centennial park, and then finally, into the Olympic Stadium, the big screen, my name being called, the crowd cheering. And a PB. Wow! It was an incredible day. I was so relaxed, which seems to be my formula for success.

I entered the Gold Coast Marathon 2011, which was held on July 3rd, on Friday, July 1st. I have done this before, when I ran Honolulu. I just happened to be in town, and thought I might as well. Again no training.

To put this in proper perspective, I have been continuously running for 16 plus years now. And many of my events have been endurance. Marathons or ultra’s. So I have years of running in my legs, and quite a lot of experience. The learning is continuous to this day, and ongoing.

I have not been very motivated with my running this year. Motivated enough to continue to get up at 4.10 am for a 5 am run start 4 times a week. But not motivated to do speed work, tempo work, or long runs over 18 k (11.18 miles). No injuries, body feeling good. No races to train for. Not the big Kokoda Challenge this year (96k, 60 miles), after fours years of participation. The retired runner who runs.

But I like the Gold Coast marathon. Its my local. Its a great event. Over the weekend 25,000 people participate in everything from a junior dash to a 5 k, 10 k, half marathon and marathon. I know the course. I know the people along the way. I know some of the runners.

More than this though, I like the opportunity to get into motion, over several hours, and disappear inside to the simplicity of mind, body and running, and the conversation between self and the immediate now.

I decided earlier in the week, registered on the last day, and did no preparation at all. Except eat something on Sunday morning and drink a sports drink prior to the event. All week I ran as usual, swam on my non running days.

The plan was to enjoy it, finish, and maybe, if I was lucky, to scrape in under 4 hours. This, on a maximum of 60 kms (37 miles) a week, of total training and no run over 18 kms, was a very acceptable time for someone in the second half century of life. I had my headset, money, some gels, a hat, phone (for audio) and my garmin for pace. (a watch to monitor speed, calories, time, etc)

In the first few kilometers, the hardest thing is to not get caught in the adrenaline rush and go out too fast. Slow down, slow down. I had planned to hold about 5.30/km pace, but that was too slow. My body seemed to slot right into the ‘just right’ pace of 5.15 to 5.20. One of my skills, which is a strange skill, is to intuitively know how fast a pace I can run and for how long. It is one of the reasons I have been so good at ultra endurance events. I can pretty much hold the same pace for as long as the run is. 96 km, 42 kms, 70km? 5.15 felt about right. I could hold this for 42 kms. How does my body know this? I have no idea, but I have learnt that when I trust it, and let go of my ego, it is spot on. Hmm…what if it were really true that our bodies do not lie..only our ego bamboozles the messages …we want to hear something else, but below the surface of the ego screaming for attention is the truth. Always.

The hard work in the first 15 kms is to keep the pace in check and not go faster. You pay for it later. Yep…big time. I have paid that price more than once.

One of the great things about the Gold Coast Marathon course is that you get to see the elite runners coming back at about the 12 km mark (18 km for the elites). Even better if you know some of them. You get to see them, yell out, cheer. And if you are quick enough, you also get to see some of the sub 3 hour runners in their last few kilometers.

Went through the half way mark still feeling strong. Had to stop and go to the toilet, which is usual for me, and a bit of a bugger, as you do lose up to 2 minutes. Started consuming gels from the half way. I take them in the version of soft jellies, and hold them in my mouth for a slow release. The only problem with this is your mouth feels like sugar soaked yuk (highly technical term) when you finish, and the cloying stickiness is very nasty. In my alter ego as an athlete, I can spit with the best of them. (And do pretty much anything else that ultradistance athletes do…you have to be there…kind of like an inside joke. I occasionally think about this when I am in my corporate mode, the extreme paradox of my archetypes)

It was hot and in full sun for about 5 kms, between 21 and 26 which was no fun. Happy for the hat, and sunscreen. I did not have my timing chip in the right place on my shoe and it was hurting. Should I stop and retie it? This was a question that occupied my thinking for quite a lot of time, off and on. In the end decided to ‘suck it up princess’ and ignore it. Funny how that works, I can’t remember feeling it for the last 7 k. Maybe because of this, and because I was running slightly differently on that foot, the same foot was cramping. Again, I chose to ignore it, but did make sure that I downed a full cup of sports drink at the next aid station to try to get those electrolytes in. I am someone who sweats, and I lose a lot of salt. My arms were completely crusted in salt when I finished, as would have been my face except for the amount of water I threw over it.

At the 30.5 km mark we run past the finish line. If people pull out, this is where they do it. The temptation to stop is great for many. Must confess I didn’t even think about it. It was great to see one of my training buddies running into the last section before the turn into the finish, his goal to run under 3 hours well and truly achieved. He looked shattered, but I knew that pain would be forgotten in an instant when he crossed the finish line. And this was the guy who two years ago regularly said…’you marathon runners are all crazy.’ I guess hanging out with so many marathon runners has a way of getting under your skin.

There was a tough section somewhere in the last 10 k. I think it must have been around the 32 to 37. When I ran my marathon debut, back in 1995, I was given some very good advise. A marathon doesn’t start until 37 kms. (23 miles). You can be feeling fantastic at 30, and somewhere between 30 and 37 a hole can develop in the bucket. If you are feeling Ok at 37, then even if a hole does develop, there is only 5 k to go, and anyone can do that. I knew with 10 km to go that as long as I didn’t dip under the 6 min kilometer pace I would come in under 4 hours. I also knew that I had a fair bit of wriggle room. There were a few sections where I was getting into the 5.40 to 5.45 range, but not for long.

I was concerned I needed to go to the toilet again (I am prone to runners diarrhea), but I was determined to not give into that. My foot cramping was playing up a bit in the final stages, but again, run it through. Hit the 40 k mark, where the day before on an easy jog I had taken a photo for my Facebook page…with the caption, when I reach this point it will be a heavenly sign. 2 kms to go. Now is the time to dig, and increase my pace. I am not sure I have ever been able to do that at the end of a marathon. I have always gone out too hard, and died too early. Not today. Dig, and dig I did. Back to 5.15 pace.

41 km, one and a bit to go. The crowds screaming. There was a women in front of me in a red top. Pass her. (At this stage the brain function is reduced to lizard. Not much coherent thinking going on..just…lady in red top, pass her. We had been playing cat and mouse for about 5 k. I try not to focus on anyone else until the very last section, run my own race, not get caught up in anyone else’s.) Into the finish straight, which is still about 400m. Lined with crowds of people. Open up, go hard. Catch the big guy with the bald head. Looks like a truck driver. Oh god, I think I put my foot on the throttle a little too soon, stay with it, don’t let up. Keep going, just around the corner. Go hard. There is the finish. Nothing else exists. Cross, throw arms in air, smile…stop…wobble…wobble. Get support, yes I am OK. Bit wobbly, but OK.

 

Yay…3 hours 48 mins. One of my best runs in years. Only 9 minutes off my PB. Qualifies me for Boston, Comrades, and 6 Foot Track. 8th fastest in my age category, 272 female to finish, 1,448 out of 4,549 to finish. Gotta be happy with that.

Happy, I am delighted. Thrilled, over the moon. I’ll lose 2 toenails, but that always happens, otherwise, feel remarkably well. No muscle soreness. Walking quite normally. My average pace, even with toilet stop, was 5 mins 21 per kilometer.

After a shower, a feast of Max Brenner (chocolate dessert, guilt free) with my daughter, a beer and some veggie chips (for the salt, not my usual diet), it was time to hit the couch.

Today, no pain, no soreness, remarkable. My usual morning swim squad indicated muscle fatigue, which was expected. A swim post run is great to roll over muscles, work out the kinks.

Tomorrow, back to running.

People think running a marathon is a big deal. Almost anyone can do it. They can walk it, wheel chair it…blind runners can be guided to do it. Like anything in life, it starts with the decision, and continues with the action that backs the commitment. There will be obstacles, sometimes big ones. This year I was lucky, I had few. Have had had big ones, stress fractures, nausea, vomiting, heat stress, have run through them all and finished, sometimes slowly. The point of a marathon is to finish. You start with that. How fast you do it becomes secondary. Many people confuse the finish time with just finishing. They are so attached to a time that they quit if they are not on target.

A marathon teaches humility. And respect. It is a metaphor of a life journey experienced in a few hours. A marathon demands truth, it will challenge you to face the soft underbelly of your spirit. It is quite beautiful.

Give it a go…why not?

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Resurrecting the language of the sacred

Monday, June 13th, 2011

When I was a little girl I used to go to Sunday school. I don’t remember much about it, except that we would dress up for this occasion. At the time we lived in the West Coast of Tasmania, where it was very cold and very wet. Religion was never discussed in our family. Sunday school was more of a thing that you did because it was the thing to do.

When we moved to North Queensland, Sunday school was left behind. However, when I went to a Protestant boarding school aged 11, Church going was compulsory. Dressed from head to toe in white, with gloves and hat, two by two we would parade to Church each Sunday. Truly a sight to behold. I remember thinking many times that there was so much hypocrisy evident in this religious thing. Pray on Sunday but spend the rest of the week acting out something completely different. At least this is what the elders who where responsible for our care, seemed to do.

But post boarding school, other than the occasional wedding and funeral, Church and religion were not on the family menu.

Australia is, in general, a very non religious country. What I mean by that is that we keep our religion quiet. Our evangelicals are evangelical only to people who seek evangelicalism. There is a clear understanding that our spiritual world is private and that we have infinite choice around that. We are certainly not God fearing. Heck, our birthright is convicts, people looking for a fair go, and rejects, not people seeking religious freedom. I find it fascinating that the USA, were people did go to seek religious freedom, is one of the most unfree places on earth when it comes to religion. Unless you are a particular brand of Christian. But I digress from the topic.

Somewhere along the winding pathway of political correctness, we threw the baby out with the bathwater. Just like this unspoken drift from Sunday school to nothing, in our sensitivity to be egalitarian, we stopped using sacred words. Words like reverence, sacrosanct, piety, sin, soul, spirit, evil, hell (although it is OK to use heaven, which is weird, but understandable…given that we only ever want to focus on the positive, because anything negative is bad, wrong, and won’t comply with the ‘law of attraction’ and get you the goody bag of money fortune and fame you are craving)

We talk about energy, but not about grace.

We have sterilized our language just as we have sterilized our children and our homes, terrified of the lurking pathogens that are actually a vital part of our ecosystem. The superbug is only super because nature has a beautiful way of restoring balance to the ecosystem. Our immune systems need regular practice at immunity.

Sacred words invite the sacred into our hearts and homes. I have always loved the inscription that was on the door of Carl Jung’s home.

Vocatus atque non vocateus, Deus aderit. Invoked or not invoked, God is present.

Or to put it another way, from a soldier in World War 1. I have never seen an atheist in a fox hole.

As Caroline Myss quotes, “Religion is just a costume party”, but inviting the sacred, in what ever form that is, into our hearts and homes, invites a connection to a larger something that has at its core, ‘we are all one.’

We have all been in hell. Its that place where we lose connection with the sacred, with the self. Where you are under the spell of an addiction, or anger, or rage, or a pattern of behaviour that has been playing in your life for decades. It is the place where you are completely broken, and there is no were further down to go.

Evil is something I have had little experience with, fortunately. But we all know it exists and thrives today, as it has forever.

Sin, well consider that first time, when you were a child, that you lied, or stole, or hurt someone on purpose. You remember that time? You knew it was wrong. The question is, did you keep up the behaviour until it became normal, so that now you no longer see it as a sin? Have you normalised lies to yourself, or to others? Before you skip over that question, ask it again? Have you normalised lying to yourself? We all do, and when we do, we violate the sacred that is us.

Reverence..I love this word. I love how it sounds when you say it. I love what it means. I even wrote the article, Reverence as a Business Practice, at the time the only article on this subject I could find on google. (Imagine that??) Just imagine if we brought reverence back into our lives as a practice. Reverence for self, for family, for our work, for our environment?

Sacrosanct…well some things, and ideas, and actions and places should be held as sacrosanct. Non negotiable. Let’s start with our deepest values and their expression in our lives in all domains.

Finally, we have grace. A miracle is when the laws of the universe, such as gravity, are bent for one person, or one situation. A miracle occurs in the field of grace.
We have all experienced grace. It is the gift that comes from a stranger at exactly the right time. It is the beautiful sunrise, the smell of a rose. It is what is present when my whole body shakes when truth is revealed. It present when an artist or master is creating their art. Grace is also present when we die, when tragedy occurs, when the flood waters rise, and the winds tear down lives. Grace is poetry, and dance, music and love. Grace is the ever present thread.

The language of the sacred connects us to a deeper story. It is the song we have been longing for. Let us take off our sterilisation masks, let us get our hands in the dirt, with the bugs and microbes, this glorious ecosystem of light and dark. Let us speak of reverence, and evil, and sin and grace, as well as of bodhisattva’s, and the Tao.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn’t make any sense.
-Rumi

I want to marinate in the richness of the sacred. Want to join me? Please share your thoughts.

 

(This article was inspired by the work of Caroline Myss.)

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