A Shift

It was not the weekend I had expected it to be. Great emotion was released.

It came at a time when I was required to practice and send healing to someone else. I was required to give.

The deep inadequacy and unworthiness rooted in my core burst forward. Tears and anger and fear and doubt, they sprung forth from behind my hiding eyes.

I could not participate in the practice exercises for the remainder of the day and, while I wanted to leave, I remained, sitting alone in focused meditation on the presence of my Higher Awareness.

I have not experienced such internal discomfort ever.

By the end of the day, however, my anger at the person who had drawn this out of me had subsided. The dark whole had been flooded instead with gratitude for the space that had been opened.

My cleverly disguised saboteur had been identified – and she still stands close by waiting to sneak in where she sees distraction.

But I see her now. She and I, we can do this dance for as long as she needs but, in the end, the tireless presence of Love will seep into every dark spot and light the way.

I am where I am meant to be and I am not going anywhere.

I am being led in a very specific direction right now and though the obstacles are unlike any other, they are not greater than my knowing that this path I blaze now is  The One.


Breaking the Pain Barrier

My husband is angry that I left him.

I told him that I understand his anger and that’s he’s probably thinking, “Fuck her! She left me, it’s her fault. Why should I have to do anything (quit drinking, get help, etc.)?”

A sly yet agreeing smile turned up the corners of his mouth. I suggested that he should say it out loud, that it might feel good for him. He wouldn’t do it though. His reason being that he has too much respect for me.


I wanted to scream and get nasty. Respect? Does the word respect come into play at all when ignoring your wife’s tears and pleas for 20 years? I bit my tongue though because I know that anger begets anger and that it serves no purpose for me to win a position. I’m not trying to be right, there is no personal right. I mean, to him, he’s just as right as I might think I am. So really, who is right?

All I know is that I was living in a situation that I couldn’t stand to live in, or with, any longer so I removed myself from it. He, too, is also in a situation that he can do something about and just because he’s not doing what I hoped he would do doesn’t make him wrong. We’re at an impasse.

However, when I think about the amount of time that we’ve been apart now, I start to wonder what the hell I’m doing. Perhaps I should go back so we can work on things. I mean, after all, I do love him. But I can’t.

Do I really want to return to the comfortable and familiar pain of old? Just because I’m feeling discomfort right now doesn’t mean I should go back. I need to hold right now, endure.

What I have learned over the past several months is that pain is not always an indication that something is wrong. I think we fear pain too easily and so retreat, and in doing so we often miss the potential for the transmutation of old into new. I think when pain is at its highest is when the potential for change is at it’s greatest.

So, I’m not going back. I will sit amidst this new discomfort, thank you very much, and welcome the pain and wait patiently for the barrier to break and the metamorphosis to occur.


As Eckhart Tolle so prophetically said, “Your mind is an instrument, a tool. It is there to be used for a specific task, and when the task is completed, you lay it down.”

If my mind is an instrument, then all my individual thoughts are the cutlery – cutlery that gets used for specific purposes – and that should go back in the drawer when finished with.

The problem is, I haven’t been putting my cutlery back. I’ve been putting them, all dirty, into a big giant sac, which is now, at the age of 39, overflowing and stinking and causing me physical pain because it’s too heavy to carry.

It’s time to put the cutlery back in the drawer, put it away. This isn’t to ignore it. No, not at all! As I take each utensil out, I must acknowledge it, admit that it exists in my tactile fingers, and put it back.

Whatever it was used for served a purpose at that time, but not now. Not anymore! It gets cleaned and can be used again. I cannot enjoy the present taste of new food by using a dirty fork. The new food would be tainted by the stench and decay of the old. New would blend with old and the pleasure of the new, the now, would never be fully experienced.

It’s time. It stinks too badly to ignore the mess anymore. I open the sac and oh, yup, I see…

  • There’s the bloody mess of  a spoon that ripped my heart out when my mom left us when I was 8 years old. I didn’t see it coming. The extraction of love and security from my young, innocent body left a gaping hole which would become a gateway for fear and insecurity and doubt to breed and fester. There was no love left. At that age, I got all my love from my parents, my mom, but instead of continuing to feed me, the love was ripped away from me to feed someone else.
  • And there’s that pistol-whip of a knife that slashed me across my face when a young boy looked me deep in my eyes and said, “You’re ugly.” I already felt it – I was unlovable anyway and ugly isn’t loved.

Knife joined spoon in my pain sac and the weight began to accumulate.

  • There’s the fork that stabbed me multiple times all over my body when my sister yelled at me and told me I was a fat, lazy slob and that it was no wonder I had no friends.
  • There’s the other knife that spread me out to nothingness and allowed anyone to fuck me. I don’t know who I am but I am an empty vessel. You can fill me to take any form you want – I will let you so you will love me. I’ll be whatever you want me to be.
  • There’s another spoon. Oh yes, that’s a messy one! That’s the one that gouged out my voice and left me unable to express myself. I’ve been so afraid to speak because, once I do, you will know who I am and will push me away. I don’t contain anything that is lovable. Instead, I began observing and watching and made my own ideas of what others wanted. I became a mime acting in ways that I thought others wanted. I won’t dare vocalize but look, I can act that way too if that’s what it will take for you to love me and accept me. Sometimes it worked – but never for long.
  • Fuck! There’s the serving spoon, the one that hollowed out everything left inside me, scraped me down to the skin. It emptied me completely for the first man to tell me he loved me and and committed to staying with me. I am empty now and I can fill myself with all that  you want. I am your wife, I am yours. But filling myself with only him and his pain body left me aching and starving for more.

Always empty. Always pretending.

  • Oh, and here’s one that was just recently tossed in my sac. It’s another spoon that took some more of myself out in order to let another person in. I took too much of myself out, again.

It’s cleaning time!

My utensils have been used as destructive implements – not by others – but by me. When I am hurt and rejected it’s because in some way, often sometimes and sometimes often and always in ways unknown to me at the time, I’ve created space for it by using the old, stanky stash of cutlery.

Spoons create holes and empty spaces. Knives create slashes of anger and contempt. Forks create puncture wounds that allow self-hate to seep in and love to leak out.

I am a weak and oscillating energy force flopping back and forth. I can’t keep anything in. I am not firm in self.

But things are changing.

My cutlery will no longer be used as weaponry. Instead, I shall use them to feed myself in beautiful, nourishing ways, care for them, and then return them to their sacred drawer until I need to feed again.

A Whole New Level of Selfish

I thought I was a pretty good person, a decent individual. I consider myself a giver with an open heart. I would much rather tend to the needs of others than satisfy my own comforts.

It turns out though that I might just be a horribly selfish human being. And the worst part is that not only am I selfish, but completely ignorant to it.

Until now. I’m starting to see glimpses of the horror that lies at the root of unconsciousness. And it’s me.

Recently, a friend had said something to me that hurt. You can read about it in my People Like You post. It pierced my heart. I didn’t respond to it right away because my first instinct was to fly off the handle. So I sat with it and rolled it around in my head for a while and then I blogged about it. I thought I had found comfort and closure. That was not the case.

The words still weren’t sitting well with me. Something was still stinging. So, my next logical step was to email my friend and explain how what he had said hurt me and that perhaps we could discuss it.

The response I got was anything but kind. There was a lot of finger pointing. You this, you that. How dare I judge him. He, or so I thought, had turned the whole thing around and put the blame back on me. What the hell???

Without disclosing all the gory details of his email, one poignant note was that he said that I had allowed my pain body to read way too much into his “people like you” comment and that I had been consumed with what I thought was his judgment of me, whereas instead, it had been me judging him.

I hadn’t had words for the “people like you” comment so you can be sure I had no where near coherent words for this.

— blankness —

I’ve spent the last few days thinking not only about this particular “people like you” thing and his email but also about this whole pain body thing. And while I know he would say I’m thinking about it too much and giving it more life to breath, I need to define it – for myself. That is, at least for now, how I need to grow in my understanding of this.

And, the more I think about all of this, I do believe he is absolutely right. He had never, in all of our personal encounters, given me one reason to judge him as bad or as someone who would hurt me. He has, in all honesty, always shown me love and kindness and focus. Yet, my pain body was making up stories based on my past emotional traumas and so, in turn, I was judging him as bad and hurtful. How unfair is that to put that role on somebody who has never once performed it?

The pain body is an entity that wants to live and so, it started feeding. And I kept feeding it because I didn’t even know it lived. Until now.

But the pain still sits there and while I know it exists now I can’t quite find the root of it. I can feel it and I follow it through my body and straight into my heart and the pit of my stomach but knowledge of it doesn’t do anything to lessen the pain.

I went for a long, long walk tonight. It’s an amazing form of meditation for me – I am actually able to find immersion in presence during walks. And often, like today, realizations come to light and I begin to understand.

The pain comes when something feels so good in my life. My pain body tells me that all people will leave me and will hurt me (because I’ve experienced it). So I try to make them stay. It’s a pattern of mine to lose myself in someone else’s ideas and ideals just so that they’ll stay. It can be constricting and suffocating. You like fishing? I’ll fish with you. You like cars? I’ll like cars with you. You want to become a monk? I’ll follow you into solitude. I’ll do whatever you want…just don’t leave me. But the inevitability of it is that everyone will always leave at some point and what’s left will always be me. And, somehow, I need to find a way to be enough.

But how? How do I become enough? By ending the selfishness. It sounds absurd but hear me out…or at least hear Eckhart Tolle out:

Whatever you think the world is withholding from you, you are withholding from the world.

And this is exactly how I am being judgmental and selfish. My emotional traumas spin falsehoods and cast blame making me expel distrust and judgement and insecurity out into the world. Isn’t it true that we reap what we sow? So wouldn’t it make sense that if I’m sowing blame and judgement that that is what I will end up reaping?

What is it that I truly want? I want love. I want freedom. I want joy. If those are the things that I truly, truly want then that is what I must start giving to the world, unconditionally.

The abundance of this is astounding to me. I’ve been so selfish – and I’m sorry…I didn’t know.