spiraling in(ward)

'Tis the season ...

This past weekend it was time to winterize the garden (even though it still feels like late summer here) and I find myself marveling at another year under the belt (or on the belly - yes, the menopausal marsupial pouch is emerging). I can't shake the feeling of my life as a spiritual strip-tease in the sense of I am paring away the inessentials to steep myself in what makes a difference, what keeps me in connection with Self and Source.

Obviously, chatter is not high on my "keep" list.

I am popping in to say I am deep in my trenches. All energy is being funneled towards my spiral inward.  What has been supporting me: this circle of lunar lovelies (The Journey Inward) ... astrological guidance and insights from a dear friend and gifted teacher Kristina Wingeier ...a community holding me accountable to daily practice and radiant living (Fierce Grace Collective) and my daily measures (how do I fill my own basket?) which include drawing, painting, cooking, prayer, meditation, time in nature, hands busy with crafts or cradling cups of tea, cuddles under the covers as my girl and I watch cooking shows or nature series ... you get the point. Daily living celebrated but also peppered with curses as I beam my hip against the concrete counter top or fumble with the settings on the dishwasher (how do I override the timer setting that I inadvertently triggered?) or search for my misplaced mailbox key (how did it end up in the trash?)

The week of my birthday I traveled to Northern California for a self-proclaimed goddess retreat. Go figure, the one week of rain coincided with my visit. Well. No matter, two goddesses will have fun wet or dry and I gratefully offered myself to some much welcomed pampering in the form of good food, hot beverages, belly-aching laugh binges and soul-nourishing discussions that sparked some deep aha's.  Oh, and hours of couch lounging watching Six Feet Under. I had forgotten how utterly brilliant and insightful this series was/is. Am eagerly awaiting season two to arrive at the library so I can binge some more.  

flexing our shero muscles; with Kristina Wingeier

While on retreat, we journeyed up the coast for a one day workshop/introduction to Equine Guided Education.  Yes, this is a process where the horse is the coach/guide! My kind of teacher :)  I had an inkling of what might happen, but I also knew (and craved) the experience of having to find my way through feeling and being. I want to shift out of so much thinking (lordy, am I good at thinking thinking thinking) and discover what lurks beneath all those busy thinky thoughts. What really is driving me right now? I keep flashing on "connection" but what does that really mean? What am I holding back from in myself and in my life?  

EGE_Promo, Achille Bigliardi from achille bigliardi on Vimeo.


The day was an introduction to the process and I was able to try both round pen technique (going in and asking the horse for guidance on my questions which really are my confusions) and a leading exercise. I admit, I felt crazy stepping into a muddy, wet ring (another rainy day) with a horse and speaking out loud to her and the group my questions, my ideas, my ill-formed declaration of purpose. What do I really care about? What contribution or legacy do I wish to create, nurture and grow? It was awkward trying to find words when I came to the workshop with the belief that I am lost. And crazier still to struggle with language when what blocks me is my robust and busy mind.  

Cliched statements of belief or purpose fall especially flat when spoken to a horse in the rain. I learned a bit about my habits ... the disconnect between what I say and what I believe. My body language, manner of speaking, and the horse's reaction showed me where the true horseshit was to be found. Later on I realized much of my time in the pen was spent desperately posturing for that horse's approval.  Like me! Tell me I am okay!  Of course, as long as I don't feel that way about myself, the horse isn't going to either. It is all about coherence for the horses, and this horse showed me my inner and outer realities do not line up.  I walked out of the pen still confused, not having dug deep enough down to discover the raw and real source of my imbalance. 

The next exercise was to lead a horse out in the field while clearly one's purpose or inner conviction/now-truth.  I admit, I was thinking to myself "I know how to lead horses! This will be easy." Ha! In a clear and steady voice I stated my truth and stepped forward only to feel the horse statue-still and unyielding. Feeling that first edge of resistance, all my resolve and confidence crumbled. Inside my head, the voices were scrambling, shouting, and panicked. I turned back to look at the horse and without connecting with myself, attempted to move her forward. 

all images of me with the horses by Kristina Wingeier

Again, she would not budge. Apparently, my body language mirrored my own doubts which the horse clearly understood. I wasn't connected to my own truth so much as I was grasping onto a resolve to make this happen. So when it didn't, I could feel everything inside me freeze up. I honestly don't remember the shift. I just breathed. Let go of the voices screaming inside me, lifted my heart and stepped forward. This time when I felt the resistance on the rope, I did not back away. I leaned forward, held on and decided "I want to move on." And then the horse began to walk.

As we made our way in a circle, I could feel the lead line taunt between us and for a moment I worried "It shouldn't be this way." But I also realized if I started thinking, all would be lost. I had to keep moving. To think would lead to becoming stuck again.  And I want to move forward into my life. So I kept walking and the horse followed. Eventually, I was aware of walking with my heart leading, belly soft and it was then that I felt the lead line slacken, the horse and I moving together in harmony.

It all happened so fast, I am still unraveling the experience. Believe in myself. Drop into the body, lead with my heart.  Step firmly and confidently into the Now.  Decide, then act. Quit second-guessing myself. The only one I have to convince is myself. There was a lot of talk about leadership that day. What it boils down to is relationship. I learned that the first horse, Lily - the one whose approval I sought - was the mother of the horse I led in the second exercise. In my own life, my mother never offered me guidance; she only  offered support and encouragement. The challenge has been and continues to be trusting in myself.

I understand now I was holding back in the round pen. I joked that I didn't want to step in the mud or muck. How true. Don't let things be messy, don't be difficult, don't release the confusion and frustration. Move towards the light, stay out of the mud.  Well, Life began in the primordial sludge, didn't it? 

The other piece I am chewing over is the rift between knowing and believing. I keep circling back to my need to KNOW ...  what should I do with my life? Underneath that is my assumption that there exists a single (and correct) answer for me to discover. But what I learned from Tiponi is it matters little the what of my work, my life. What matters is the way I show up for my life. Listening today to an interview with Kundalini Yogi  Snatam Kaur I heard what the horses were trying to teach me: it is about listening and being fully present in myself. It understanding my inner vibration moves out into the world ... what is the state of that vibration? Is it clean, clear, uplifting, and loving? 

How well am I tending to my heart? That is the key to understanding how I can best tend to my life, how I can offer myself to the world.
 
  

lessons on fishing (and time) ...

[F]or me, philosophically, stress is a perverted relationship to time. So that rather than being a subject of your own time, you have become its target and victim, and time has become routine. So at the end of the day, you probably haven't had a true moment for yourself. And you know, to relax in and to just be. 

- John O'Donohue, interview in On Being (transcript here)

The first time I heard those words, I had to stop what I was doing (yes, multitasking), sit down, rewind (so-to-speak) the audio and listen closely.

[O]ne of the huge difficulties in modern life is the way time has become the enemy. (John O'Donohue)

I believe I have been shadow boxing Time for much of my adult life.  It's a slippery eel; the more I try to extract myself from a sense of being caught up in the net of time  -- rushing, running late, arriving breathless, wringing my hands at all I have to pack into one slim suitcase of time -- the more entangled I become.

To be conscious is not to be in time ... (T.S. Eliot, Burnt Norton) 

I totally agree with Eliot ...  but how to live in this modern world of school bus schedules, trash days, tax days, monthly bills and all AND to live in what an art teacher of mine once referred to as Medieval Time (absorbed, suspended within and outside of Time)?

Only through time time is conquered. (T.S. Eliot)

I'm not sure I want to conquer time so much as befriend it? It dawned on me that my frantic relationship with Time is part of a larger and deeply rooted anxiety. "Not enough-ness." It isn't so much Time fudging around with me as much as modern society perverting Time by turning it into a commodity. What is my time worth? You are wasting my time!  Words I've even heard my Girl parrot (from whom? Gulp.) 

I don't want Time as an enemy. I want to understand its deeper magic, the alchemical potential hinted at by O'Donohue when he writes "Possibility is the secret heart of time. On its outer surface time is vulnerable to transience. In its deeper heart, time is transfiguration." (Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom)

This student is more than ready ... and finally (it's about time?!) my teacher stepped forward:

Or rather, she perched forward.

For the past few weeks I have gone to the park for a walk and discovered Heron on the edges of the shore fishing.  The immediate lesson Great Blue Heron offers is that of patience. If you want to see Heron doing anything other than standing still like a avian manikin, you had better be prepared to wait. And watch. Abandon any notion of a quick walk and surrender to becoming like Heron by standing still. Looking  and waiting. 

Would say there is a fair helping of trust involved except doubt probably never enters into the heron's mind.  Now, I find myself doubting often ... getting antsy with the suspension of my walk (wasting my time?) but there is that delicious moment when an inner stubbornness wins and with a sigh I adjust my posture and settle in for the wait.

So far, I've always been rewarded.

Or rather, Heron is always rewarded for her patience, her commitment, her deep knowing This Is What I Do.  

Watching her the other day, I realized I often bemoan "Why is it taking me so long?"  The It varies - my understanding, my knowing, mastery of a skill, completion of a project or process, my finding My Way, flashing upon My Purpose - the list is long but the vibe is always that of me out of sync with some mythical timeline. I ought to be further along. I ought to have this all figured out by now.

Yeah. Right-o. 

It struck me that when I am fully absorbed and committed ... like Heron, focused upon the water that will surely yield a fish later or sooner ... I am suspended within the flow of time but not constricted by it. When I tantrum and feel the squeeze of Time -- this is taking me too long! -- then I am not fully in. I am distracting myself. I am turning outward when the call is to go in. Time  - or a fixation upon time and time keeping - is my means of side-stepping the depth diving. I don't have the time and it is taking too long.

So maybe, just maybe my frustration with time is a clue that I hiding out on the surface of time, swinging on the clock face when in fact time offers me a portal to dive deeper within. 

I know Heron's deeper teaching will be both a lesson and a surrender to time. Showing up, abiding, paying close attention, and most of all knowing when to act ...

and knowing when to stay in stillness.

filled up *

I was walking Moose dog this morning when I realized, it had been 48 hours since I had last left the house.

And even that excursion (into town for Chinese class with Cowgirl) was the only trip in a week ... I've had a cold which has left me more irritated by the pure exhaustion and not-so-covert message from my body "You think you know what slowing down feels like? Well, let me show you ..." 

I then started thinking about  the fact that tomorrow will mark the 10th anniversary of my father's passing. All this reflection upon cycles of time lead me to thinking about what the past ten years has held for me.

In the past decade, I became a mother and said goodbye to both of my parents. I also lost my favorite aunt (namesake for my Cowgirl), several dear friends and spiritual sisters, and my first (and only) cat of 18 1/2 years and my first dog boy of 14 1/2 years.

The past ten years we moved to our current home, the one we dreamed and designed (and still pay for!)  I rekindled my passion for creating art, studied under some amazing teachers (creative and spiritual) and have crafted a daily practice that reflects, nurtures and holds all of my passions. I have entered menopause and am embracing the wisdom it offers, a creative and spiritual freedom of self-sovereignty. 

I have traveled to new places - China, New Zealand, Bali - and I have returned to favorite soul-home spaces - Cape Cod, Squam Art Workshops, Pacific Northwest, Italy (!) I have made incredible new friends and reconnected with cherished childhood sisters. My circle extends around the globe, a truly mind-blowing thing to consider.

image by Em Falconbridge

I trip myself up by fixating upon productivity -- what have I accomplished? -- and it is the gift of a bird's eye view that helps me shift my understanding. Rather than thinking about  what I've done (although in fairness, I can give myself credit for the many yeses  - and the many goodbyes - that have brought to this place in my life) the reframe that lights me up is this ...

How FULL is my life? 

image by my fantastically talented niece, Alyssa Reiner

How full is THIS life?   

Way full ... and my sacred task is to simply open myself up to it all. 

down the rabbit hole ...

Apparently while I am distractedly exploring my rabbit hole, the real rabbits are taking advantage of the salad bar I've conveniently potted and maintained for our mutual  enjoyment. 

I paint the nasturtiums before they eat them. I suppose it is a balanced exchange?

I have had an epiphany of sorts during some recent rabbit hole spelunking. (If you know me at all, you will understand my tendency to depth-dive results in "duh" moments transformed into a-ha! insights; and for my next trick I shall be spinning straw into gold.) I am an over-thinker (not the a-ha! or duh) and the exhaustion of chasing my own tail has lead me to quietude.  I find hard, physical labor helps here (exhaustion quiets the mind) and frequent retreats into Nature do much to balance out thinking and being. What I understand now from the vantage point of total collapse and surrender (hello, Menopause!) is the lunacy of believing my task is to create deep meaning and purpose through my life.

Now, I can live my life with purpose and meaning, but it seems utterly arrogant to maintain it is my job alone to endow it all with deeper significance or importance. It occurs to me that this notion is unique and specific to human beings in general and is part of our burden having been kicked out of The Garden.  

I plant, water and feed and obsess over my nasturtiums and the rabbit comes along and eats them. Who is the dumb bunny here? This being human - by which I mean walking around believing myself to be so bloody influential and important - is exhausting work. I don't mean to downplay the responsibility we humans have for our impact upon the planet - our destructiveness is due in no small part to our stubborn clinging to the notion of ourselves as separate and outside of Nature. 

And there I go again, believing I need to say something important. This is my a-ha! - my clinging to the belief that I need to be or at the very least appear to be important to matter. I mean, everything and everyone matters. The rabbit, the nasturtium, me ... we are all equal here. But living with such gravitas, ack!  I am mindfully cultivating a lightening up, a freeing up and an opening up of heart, mind, spirit. 

I start my days outside on my patio with incense and prayers of thanks. I often linger to watch the antics of the hummingbirds at the feeder.  Thinky thoughts have their place, but they can muck up the transmission of such magic.

I meditate daily to help me listen deeply and to relax.  I gather my art supplies and I draw and paint ... clouds, trees, butterflies, birds, Moose-dog ... whatever lights me up and fills me up. 

I head to the park regularly to walk and listen and look. I still look for meaning, hoping to add to it through my attention and attentiveness.  But I am wanting to hear the stories that exist outside of my human mind: the stories of the lake and the land, the Great Heron and the trees, the prairie plains and the skies.  

 

I believe we live in a web of meaning and importance and my role is not so much to be fashioning it, but surrendering to it. 

I've missed coming to this space and sharing my experiences, sharing the magical moments that are occurring all around me. I've labored under the belief I must justify my taking up space and time by offering something meaningful or purposeful. 

Hogwash.

I am here. I am filling up my sketchbooks and filling up my eyes and my heart. Allowing it all to spill out as I fill up again.  What I have to share matters to me. It is all I can and want to do. And that is enough.  

So I may be diving down more rabbit holes or slipping off into the woods on a regular basis, but my intention is to share those moments. I mean, who am I to hoard what is being offered with such immense generosity and joy? 

 

just love.

This first full week back to school has had a topsy turvy kind of vibe to it.  Trying to find a rhythm with this new schedule along with mandatory wake-up time (no snooze button for me - that is a hardship!) has me shuffling through my days annoyed by any and all requirements placed upon me.  Dinner? You all want dinner?  I mean, isn't it enough I packed you a lunch? 

Given my mood, I don't know why I was surprised to find one of my favorite horses at the barn acting peevish of late. Usually she is very sweet with me. I am a horse-lover but I am not a horse person. I do not know all the ins and outs of their behavior so my assessments are pretty simplistic and I keep them to myself (my job is to know their poo, not their minds.) This horse I feel needs lots of reassurance and when I am around her, I try to give it to her. When we are alone, that is. 

But lately there have been others around and I realized today that we both have felt rushed. In that space, feelings are often brushed aside and dismissed. The equivalent of being told "Get over it!" With this horse, I've found it has always worked best when I've acknowledged her responses. "Oh yes, that big tractor IS strange and scary, isn't it? But I am right here and we will walk by it together."

I know some of you get this (please tell me you do!) And I am recounting all of this because I recognize for the horse and for myself, being pushed on without time to acknowledge our feelings is a guarantee for upset, outbursts, nips, and all sorts of unhappy and unloving responses.  

Today I had time to slow myself down and just hang out with her for a bit. Not expecting her to act a certain way nor trying to make her behave (according to human expectations) but holding space for her to be, well, her.  And very quickly, the sweet horse I knew emerged.

This got me thinking. 

Earlier in the week, a mother with a special needs child said to me "He is scaring me right now ... I don't know what to do for him." Not to diminish her situation, but it struck me that as a mother I know all too well the squeeze of wanting so much for my child and fearing myself not equal to the task. Perhaps too this is how the horse felt: the burden of expectations making her anxious, overwhelmed and acting out. I wanted to wrap my arms around this mother and let her know it was okay to feel scared. I wanted to tell her I see how much she loves her child and how she does so much for him. I wanted to make her feel better ... which is really a reaction to my discomfort with her pain. And in that moment, her pain was immense and beautiful. It spoke of the fullness of her love and it needed to be expressed.

Years ago, prominent yoga teacher shared with a group of teacher-trainees this advice: "You think you are here to teach your students yoga, but you are not. You are here to simply to love them."

Those are the words I would say to her now. Those are the words I need to remember myself.  My job is simply to love. My child. The horses. My family.  My friends.  My life.  This world.