No Man is a Christmas Island.

Henry David Thoreau famously wrote that “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation”.

Even with a mere 42 years of life experience, I’d confidently add to this the phrase “…and spend huge amounts of energy pretending that this is not the case.”  Indeed, most people are hiding.

The young, in particular, need to know this – because as they face the normal ups and downs of life, they start out by believing what they’re told: that the “successful adults” around them are actually as “together” as they appear to be.    Often, the young conclude that *they’re* not doing something right, because they don’t feel “together” on the inside.  That seems like a terrible thing to have to admit, and so they learn to put on a good front – and hide their true selves.

And so another generation of “hiders” is born – who often become the “successful adults” who intimidate a *new* generation of young people into following along in the pattern.

Just for fun, let’s throw some gasoline on that fire.

What if you tend to pick up powerfully on the feelings & moods of those around you?  What if, despite another person’s highly-practiced control of their facial expressions and body language (permanently set to the “Everything’s just fine” setting, when they’re in public), you could still sense anxiety and fear on them?

Well, simply put - In a world where most people are hiding their true selves, you might find that difficult and confusing.  This is particularly true if you haven’t yet learned to tell the difference between your own feelings, and those of those that surround you.

What a lot of young sensitives don’t realize, though, is that it also means that you have a powerful gift, with the potential for great good.  This is because of the reason most people are living in desperation:  They believe they’re alone in having struggles, and no-one ever shows them otherwise.   If you can simultaneously see past their hiding-screen and have the compassion to help draw them out by being Real about your own struggles,  then you’ll have changed their world – and you’ll have done it in a way that others (who couldn't "see" them) could never do.

Christmas represents a huge opportunity to put this kind of thinking into action.

In spite of all its positive aspects, Christmas raises the bar of “quiet desperation” to record-breaking levels for most people.  Many are spectacularly stressed about issues surrounding the Holidays, and simultaneously, they are striving to not give off the impression that they’re anything but Joyful – because they’re ashamed to admit it.  It’s a safe bet that at no other time of the year are more people “hiding” with quite so much gusto.

As a sensitive, you can approach this Christmas in one of two ways:
You can be panicked about facing room-fulls of smiling-but-desperate people making Holiday-small-talk, and the waves of anxiety they pump out…
…or you can be the one person in the room who’s being Real, sees what’s actually going on, and gently calls people out of hiding, helping them to be Real, too.

To be Real with you, I’ll probably be doing a mix of both. :-)

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As an aside:  On this topic,  I am powerfully drawn to the work of Brené Brown, and her notion of “wholehearted” (genuine, authentic, and risk-takingly honest) living.  Google her TED talks.   You’ll thank yourself.
Also, check out this.

Pursued by Turtles

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to attend a small group workshop run by a shaman. Yep. I lost half of you right there. No matter. The other half are leaning forward and curious. Hey, friends. :-)

The participants had been invited to bring a “relationship partner” (not a person, but an issue that they wanted to work on). I "brought" my habitual impulse to try to control the unfolding of events in certain areas of my life – the corollary of which is my lack of trust in the Universe. At some level, I had recently worked out that this was a key issue (if not the primary one) that feeds my sleepwalking, and it seemed like a good choice.

In an exercise early in the day, we drew random picture cards from a deck, and had to write about our “partner” issue in a “once upon a time” narrative style, using the imagery from the card. My card showed the sun, and I wrote the tale of a man who, everywhere he went, was blinded by the sun, and spent his time fearful of injury from running into obstacles.

We then took turns telling our stories to the group, and working through a process of acting them out, with various attendees being drafted by the facilitator to assist. As I was walked through my own story, a bright light was shone from the far side of the room, and as I tried to walk toward it, I was repeatedly pushed into obstacles (people!) by the facilitator. I was getting nowhere. Finally, she stopped me and asked-

“So, what is the Gift of being blind? What’s absolutely perfect about this?”

What a ridiculous question.

So ridiculous, that I was surprised to find my eyes filled with tears as I blurted out, “I go slow. The gift is that I go slow.”

And that was it. Without rehashing the entire 12-hour odyssey of the workshop, it all came down to that. My “issue” was, in fact, pushing me toward a simple realization, that I needed to simply embrace. I go slow.

In short order, a number of other “dots” from my learnings in the last few years self-connected, and I was left with a clear sense of the things I needed to start doing differently. It’s going to be a lot of work. I have caught and redirected my thinking in this new way a dozen times today, already.

Not surprisingly, I’m sleeping better.

I explained this to a friend, who, knowing me rather well, just chuckled and emailed me a picture of a turtle. Yesterday, I made it my desktop wallpaper at work. A poem from a favourite novel ran through my mind all day:

"See the TURTLE of enormous girth!
On his shell he holds the earth.
His thought is slow but always kind;
He holds us all within his mind.
On his back all vows are made;
He sees the truth but mayn't aid.
He loves the land and loves the sea,
And even loves a child like me."

And suddenly, this morning, a realization surfaced that had somehow escaped detection to this point.

The imagery of the turtle, and quite explicitly the concept of the turtle as a kind of spiritual “guide”, has come up at a number of key points in the course of the last decade. It’s been a clear enough pattern that today, when it finally struck me, I smacked my forehead in wonder and laughed at how stealthily the archtype had cornered me, yet again. This time, however, I’m actually hearing the message.

I’ve been pursued by turtles for years. Finally, I’ve seen the wisdom of allowing them to catch me.

Flow Control

I have been aware, for some time, that my emotional makeup tends to be heavily weighted on the side of giving rather than receiving. This sounds like a good thing - but that's only because our culture is so acutely slanted in the opposite direction. In fact, an ideal goal should be to cultivate a balance - and for whatever complex set of reasons, I haven't done that.

The graceful and sincere acceptance of compliments, for example, requires conscious effort. The same applies to allowing others to make altruistic gestures of any size in my direction. I can certainly allow it, but not without effort, and certainly not without mentally calculating how I can make it up to them, later. On a more parapsychological note (bear with me if that's not your thing), I had the experience last week after a group "positive energy exchange" exercise of two of the participants actually verbalizing that although they were surprised by how powerful my "output" was, what they were sending back at me was initially just bouncing off. This was interesting, since during the exercise, it had taken several seconds of real effort of will for me to get into a "receiving" frame of mind.

On the surface, these seem like a not terribly serious problems: A person who gives (materially, emotionally, energetically) tends to be liked and sought-after. They tend to stand out. But like any other area of dynamic tension, it is a balance that is the healthy and ideal target.

In the framework that I've come to accept as "the way the universe works", a person's conscious and unconscious intention has a significant role in their experience of life. I believe this beyond a mere "positive thinking makes me happier" notion - I actually consider that our energetic intent and focus influences the nature of how reality unfolds around us. New Age-y types often speak of our ability as "co-creators" to "manifest" our own reality. A part of that equation, however, is our ability to "allow" those things to happen- to simply, unilaterally receive them from the Universe.

And here I come to the crux of why an imbalance in giving and receiving matters. As I feel around in the back corners of my mind, I can detect a resistance to allowing certain kinds of "gifts" in. It may, frankly, be an issue of belief in my own "worthiness". That sounds so pop-psychology-whiny - but it strikes me that that may be precisely the root issue - and something that I don't think I'd even consciously considered when I started typing this blog entry. Interesting.

When I consider why I'd feel that way, the first thought that comes to mind is that even though I've long-since moved on from the theology of my youth, it's very possible that a lingering notion of what "God" is like (Holy, transcendent, and only interested in interacting with me because of some act of astonishing mercy) is informing my beliefs even now. Certainly on an intellectual level, I've moved beyond all of that - but in my unconscious core? Perhaps not. Old habits, especially those ingrained from infancy until one's early adulthood, die hard.

Learning to gracefully receive sounds like it will probably be fun, though - even if slightly uncomfortable. Here goes!

The Road Less Traveled, and a Choice of Trees

Tidying up the house this morning, I came across a framed copy of William Butler Yeats' poem "The Two Trees". A few years ago, while going through a massive reorganization of my life, this poem, and Loreena McKennitt's musical tribute to it, made a profound impact on me. It was bittersweet to reflect on it.

The poem speaks of a "holy tree", growing within the reader's heart, glorious and strong-rooted - full of life. It also speaks of a tree that is viewed "in the bitter glass" - which more or less would be the opposite of "rose tinted glasses" (crap-tinted glasses?). The reader is presented with the choice of where to spend their focus.

This became somehow entwined, this morning, with the Robert Frost lines-

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

It's absolutely true. Although one should aim to focus on the present moment, not defining one's self in terms of "my story so far", it still strikes me that the lesson I learned back then, which has resulted in my (more often than not, anyhow) choosing to walk the brighter road... has made all the difference.

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

Phase Shift

August 20th is a day I have referred to for the past 5 years as my "high holy day". It is a spiritual holiday without a religion. A celebration with only one attendee: Me.

This year (as previously), the days leading up to my observance of this milestone, as well as the days after, have resulted in a shift of perspective and intention. Previously "important" notions fade into the background. New people appear on the scene. New themes suddenly begin recurring. And, importantly, my sense of my place in the Universe subtly shuffles - in a markedly positive way.

I'm infused with a sense of anticipation about where this next phase of my journey will take me. I'm excited at the prospect of learning new lessons about trust & intention. As it happens, I'm looking forward to sharing. Maybe you'll just be able to read and smile knowingly, but if we're both lucky, perhaps something from my world will speak to something in yours, and we'll both be the wiser.

Let's go.

Calm All The Way Down

I dropped by a favourite lakeside park of mine after work today to enjoy a few moments in the sunshine, and perhaps to experience some inspiration.

I was immediately struck by the incredible clarity of the water near the shoreline, and in the narrow stream that flowed out into the lake at this point. Having spent a lot of time in this very spot, I knew how often it is that the shallows are churned up, and the water cloudy with silt.

As I looked at the surprisingly turquoise water of the lake, and the clearly visible patterns of stones on the bottom, the phrase - "It's calm - All the way down," came to mind.

In a heartbeat, these words had grown to become a keen insight about my own life. The kind of clarity I was seeing in this water meant that there was a stillness in it - and not a momentary one - It was one that had held for a period of time. As it did so, the particulate that had previously clouded it had settled to the bottom.

So too, my mind. A randomly applied moment of quiet, as lovely as it may be, is not enough to lastingly settle the mental clutter that gives rise to the habitual, undefined state of unrest that sometimes plagues me. A more persistent state of quiet, maintained over time, is what makes a real difference.

So often, aware of the things I can do to bring myself peace, I am able to calm the surface - but this can be merely cosmetic. True mental clarity in the depths requires discipline. It is not a matter of pleasing some external deity by performing acts of devotion - a paradigm that was drilled into me in my youth... but rather it is simply the pragmatic mechanics of how the mind works. I can choose to do what needs doing... or not.

Breakthrough

On a walk today with the kids, we came across a quiet pond that had frozen over very thinly with a still-transparent layer of ice. For a while, we played at "skipping" stones across the water, trying not to break the ice while getting the stones as far as possible.

At the end of it all, the smooth surface of the pond was scattered with stones of various sizes. Looking at these, I imagined the moment that would inevitably come for each when the ice beneath would melt just enough that the stone would slip through. It will almost certainly happen suddenly - even though the incremental softening of the ice will have gone on for some time beforehand.

I reflected on how our lives are so much the same. There are moments of acute change that come on us suddenly, demarcating past from future in ways that are very obvious 'features' on the landscape of our lives. Of course, all such changes come as the result of the same kind of slow, incremental preparatory steps that precede the crisis moment for the stones scattered on the pond ice, but because of the way we tend to look at our lives, they are typically perceived as moments of crisis.

All of this seems relevant, I suppose, because the last month or so has seen a "softening of the ice" around the stone of my own life. It's clear that a moment of demarcation is just around the corner.

Does the stone fear the change that is coming for it? No. After all- It's been through all of this before... more times than we can imagine.