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The Dance of Comfort and Discomfort

By Lisa Meuser.

As we have been discovering over the past few months, the topic of discomfort[1] has many, many tendrils – some of which are still to be discovered! Always “on the journey,” new sacred tendrils constantly reveal themselves as I evolve. Maybe you’ve discovered that too? The Field of Possibility is ever revealing, and limitless.

I often experience a sense of excitement when new discoveries are made, AND I can also feel the vulnerability in my system in the unfamiliarity of what has opened. My practices are essential during such times – slowing down, being outside/connected to nature, having authentic connections with people where I share my full self, and spending quiet time in meditation are some of my go-tos. How is it for you when you make new discoveries? How do you engage in self-care?

Moving Deeper
Spending time in curious inquiry and being with expansive questions is also central to my well-being. Getting intimate and familiar with discomfort, which occurred through extensive inquiry, disrupted the trauma response of discomfort being conflated with danger. Always deepening, I continue to discover. Today, while I was connecting to the topic of struggle, which feels related to the theme of discomfort, I could feel some left-over tendrils that are calling me forward. I am grateful that I have the resourcing, tools and agency to explore this territory.

Tonight I am wondering: what would it look like, to embrace, normalize, and even be comfortable with the territory of struggle? I’m slowly feeling into this one, as I can feel there is old territory here coming up lately around struggles I’ve experienced in the past, that were laden with trauma. In what small ways may I still be conflating struggle and danger, struggle and wrongness, struggle as an experience needing to be fixed, figured out, controlled, managed, or even repressed?

What things happened then, that I am projecting onto now?  And then I come full circle: What would it be like if struggling was something to respect and honor, to give space to? We know that discomfort is a part of evolution, and it would seem that at times struggle is as well, as it is often involved in change processes.

What deeper territory have you been connecting with that are related to discomfort? What would you like to have more clarity with, with regards to the topic of discomfort? What questions keep you in curious exploration?

Switching Gears to Comfort
It might seem strange to now bring in the topic of comfort, after so much focus on discomfort.  However, comfort is just the other side of the same coin – it’s what discomfort depends on, in a sense. Comfort doesn’t exist without discomfort, and vice versa – they are both expressions of a polarity, and always live in relationship with each other.

As we explored over the last months, many people are challenged by discomfort – I hope the blog posts of the last months have been useful in building a sustainable and intimate relationship with discomfort. Similarly, many may be challenged with being consciously intimate with comfort as well.

We all might say we like comfort, but in order to really embrace comfort we have to know how to somatically receive it – i.e. connect with it from our bodies. I might be in the most “comfortable” room in the world, but if my body doesn’t know how to take it in, then it will just be intellectually comfortable, which is a hollow experience as opposed to a somatic experience.

Receiving Comfort
Learning how to be in relationship with oneself includes discovering not only how to be in relationship to discomfort, and struggle, but also how to be in relationship with healthy forms of comfort, and the receiving of said comfort.

One of my first conscious experiences of receiving healthy comfort was with my cat. Really! I consciously chose this practice: every time my cat laid on my lap and purred, I’d put down what I was doing and engage in the sacred art of receiving. This may sound easy, but at times it really was not! Over time it became easier – whatever I was preoccupied with was set aside, and I surrendered. This practice opened a door for me and it wasn’t long until I deepened into my practice of receiving comfort in more mundane, yet profound ways.

These days I still practice receiving from my sweet cats, and also enjoy receiving comfort from baths and my warm bed, particularly these days when the weather has turned cold where I live! Receiving comfort in these simple ways is a part of my practice of self-care. I shared this in a recent gathering, and hearing about my connection with comfort gave others permission to name their sources of comfort.

In what ways do you receive comfort? How has receiving comfort been practical, and also profound for you in your journey?

We Never Know What’s Possible
I’m writing this last part a few days after writing the above sections and am left with some last-minute thoughts as I prepare to send this off. When I wrote this post a few days ago, I shared with all of you what had quite unexpectedly, and seemingly out of nowhere, just revealed itself: my struggle with struggle. While it may not seem like a big deal to you, this was a big reveal to me – it literally stopped me in my tracks.  Maybe you’ve experienced that before too, where you didn’t know THAT was coming? Asking the simple and curious questions I did in the beginning of the blog post was so helpful for me, setting the stage for my journey inward. Slowly but surely, committed, connected, and compassionate inquiry led me on a mysterious journey.
Unseen layers of my trauma rose to be met, which included revisiting the many times in my life and my ancestral lineage where struggle was very much akin to death, despair and immense disempowerment.

Today, a few days later, these energies are being transmuted, and I am now left experiencing struggle as I now know it, from where I am now, as a movement of change, growth, co-creation and joy. Yes, joy!  When we enter the field of possibility, we never know what’s going to happen. As I prepare to send this out, I am experiencing the profound depth of Matrix Integration. I am humbled, and I am grateful.

What’s Alive for You?
Please consider spending some time contemplating some of the questions I asked throughout this blog. I’d love to hear about your journey. And, as always, if you’d like me to write more about something please let me know!

If getting to know the deeper territories of yourself interests you, learning how to gently and compassionately do so, and/or, if supporting others in the discovery of their self, interests you, check out my upcoming 2021 Exploration or Gatherings.

[1] I started a series of blog posts on the topic of discomfort starting in August (click here to read them) and have been writing on this topic monthly ever since.

To read more about Lisa Meuser, click here.

The Exhaustion of Inner Oppression

By Lisa Meuser.

Here is the second piece in a series of blog posts exploring discomfort and disconnection.  

I have been noticing in clients, in myself, and perhaps everywhere: tension (and discomfort) goes up when a sense of connection to well-being goes down.  It’s not the tension or push-pull that’s the problem, in fact tension is a normal part of the human experience; it’s the constant lack of well-being amidst the tension. Could you imagine us being a culture that communicated from kindness, that operated from a sense of “we-ness”, or that was rooted in curiosity? Even amidst tension, we could be in connection, supporting one another. But we are a culture rooted in dominant/oppressive narrative[1] behaviors and mores, a culture that is rooted in disconnection, and so along with tension we also feel disconnect, and that changes everything. 

When I think of tension, I think of a “push-pull.” There is something pushing, and another thing pulling, and this creates a tension. We may have literally experienced this in our families of origin – where we perhaps found ourselves in between our mothers and fathers, or, as was in my case, in between my mother and my brother. We may have experienced this in our circles of friends, or in other kinds of engagements, where, for example, there is a sense of pressure to be a certain way. We may have experienced this from groups of people, or from culture itself, particularly if we are from a marginalized population (as deemed by the culture in which one lives).  We often don’t have good skills to navigate these tensions, and we often aren’t with others who have these skills either, who can support us.

Survivors know this territory well, on a variety of levels. Instead of being raised with loving and kind voices and a compassionate culture, we were often raised with external narratives filled with supposed tos and shoulds, as well as other judgements, and sometimes even hatred. We tried so hard to “be good,” but we still got treated the way we were being treated. 

It hurts to be rejected, to be excluded, to be othered, to be harmed, to be left out… to not belong. We so desperately want to be accepted by others, included by others, valued by others, loved… and it can be devastating when we are not. We try so hard to get that approval so that we can belong. Over time we innocently internalize those external judgmental narratives, and they become our own narratives. In the process we begin to turn ourselves into pretzels – fighting with ourselves to be certain ways – still trying to get that approval, to get that belonging. 

We can literally feel this push-pull in our bodies when we are involved in conflict, with ourselves or with others. One part of ourselves may be pushing one way, while another part may be pulling in another way. It can show up differently for each person, based on the context. I often experience it in my solar plexus, but it has showed up in my throat, heart, lower belly and other areas of my body. It is usually very uncomfortable and can create distress in our bodies. You might think to a time when you weren’t sure what to do. You wanted to X, but you also wanted to Y. Maybe it was your belly in that push/pull, and it felt like there was a knot there.  Maybe it was in your heart, with a clenching. Maybe it was in your throat, with a tightening. Or maybe there was overwhelm, and so a sense of numbness came over you. Not knowing how to navigate the discomfort of our bodies, this push-pull often takes us to our minds, where an internal sense of fighting comes alive – a fighting and a franticness in our thoughts, as we’re convinced that we’ll be able to figure it out from there.

Feeling Exhausted?

All that pretzel-making is such burdened, hard work – in an innocent attempt to feel safe, we turn to fighting with our self through our thoughts.  We so badly want this discomfort to end, and we attempt to rely on our thoughts to do it. The unconscious internal narratives may look like, “If I do X, things will calm down,” “If I do Y, they will stop yelling at each other,” “If I do Z, this knot in my belly will go away,” “If I am XYZ, I will be included.” The thoughts can morph into “I should be better than I am”, “I should be like I was when XYZ”, “I should be like XYZ person is,” “I am supposed to be XYZ, not as I am.” The variations are endless.  Hidden within all these unconscious narratives are shoulds and supposed tos and have tos, that we hope and believe will lead us to relief and safety.

Phew. Is it any wonder why we experience so much anxiety, and why we are so exhausted? 

This frenetic state of being is perhaps the biggest clue that we are out of well-being, and that we need to get some clarity. We know that our revved-up thoughts are not helping, and so we must slow down and pause. As we do so, we will be able to step back from the franticness of our minds and start to get conscious with the subtext/subconsciousness of our thoughts by simply asking ourselves, “What thoughts am I having right now about XYZ/myself?”  Having a healthy relationship with our somatic presence is an important part of this process. There are some simple practices to develop this relationship mid-way through this blog post.

Shifting into Well-Being

While this slowing down and becoming familiar with our thoughts is a necessary part of shifting patterns, we may not at first appreciate what we find! For example, we may have considered ourselves to be a rather peaceful person, only to discover this inward fighting and conflict going on! Discovering what had been out of my attention has often been difficult for me – it may bump up against a kind of arrogance I have about who I am and/or my place in the world. Said another way, it often didn’t feel good to my personality to realize how many blind spots I had about myself! Shame and humiliation often surfaced first. After the sting wore off, usually with the help of some loving people in my life, I moved from humiliation to humility, where I could wake more fully to the learning part of being human. Once I re-remember I am a human here to learn, I find the discovery aspect of my human journey less threatening, slowly becoming grateful for the opportunity to unlearn the innocent yet harmful patterning. 

I didn’t have support to help me be aware of my subconscious narratives early in my journey and so it took me a long time to learn that often it wasn’t others who were harming me anymore. Over and over I thought it was other people. To clarify, yes, people had harmed me tremendously in my past, particularly when I was a child. I had minimal sense of autonomy or ability to choose with regards to my predicament. As I matured and was able to make choices for myself, those internalized oppressive narratives followed me, and over time I realized that as an adult, no one was harming me as much as I was harming me through the subconscious mental fights going on in my mind in attempts to feel safe. 

When we argue with who we are and when we are constantly comparing our self to others/imagined selves, it is we who are rejecting our self, berating our self, other-ing our self, excluding our self. What once began as others not being loving towards us and others rejecting and judging us, becomes us not loving our self, rejecting our self, and judging our self. It becomes us who abandon our very self. 

Spotting that internal fight, rather than focusing on the external fight, can be a first step in putting a cog in the wheel of self-violation. It can also be a huge step in moving towards empowerment, because while we can’t control how others respond to us, we can slowly over time learn how to be kind and loving and accepting of ourselves. And for the record, self-compassion is something I had to learn as an adult, because it was never role-modeled to me as a child or even into my 20s, despite my years in a spiritual community.

Loosening the Grip of Oppression 

Naming this happening may seem like no big deal, but naming is one of the most important components of shifting a habitual pattern. A pattern runs at its strongest when it happens without consciousness. As soon as it becomes conscious, it immediately starts to lose power and it will lose more power if there is less judgement associated with the naming. In other words, if I beat myself up for being conscious of the pattern, it will hold it in place. But if, upon recognizing I’ve participated in the pattern, I can factually say to myself, “Ohhh, I just did that. Ok, I can see how that is the pattern of X,” that simple awareness will start to shift the pattern. This is where getting support was helpful for me in shifting the patterning, as I did not know how to treat myself with patience or kindness until it was modeled to me through somatic practitioners trained in trauma healing.  

Once you are able to name the patterning without judgement, you might start to notice it more. As kindly and compassionately as you can, keep naming the pattern as it arises, without trying to fix or change it. The kindness and compassion itself can be profound in shifting the pattern. I found journaling to be useful, in addition to exploring with supportive practitioners and friends. 

Although it may take time, all of this plays a role in shifting the oppressive tendencies we have with regard to how we treat ourselves, as well as others. 

Keep exploring, and please let me know what questions arise for you as you get to know yourself!

[1]  I’ve written about the dominant narrative here and here

To read more about Lisa Meuser, click here.

How Full Is Your Well?

By Lisa Meuser.

Almost daily, I journey with clients who are beating themselves up during these Covid-19 times for not being more productive, so I thought I’d write a little about it.

I think it’s worthwhile to consider why we might not be as productive as we think we should be. I think it’s useful to be reflective and ask ourselves questions…

  • What do we need in order to be productive?
  • What helps us to be able to be productive?
  • What gets in our way or diminishes our abilities to be productive?
  • Why does it matter to us if we’re being productive?
    and
  • How full is our internal well?While I love the terrain of the first questions, I’m mainly going to be focusing on that last question: How full is our internal well?

For most of the individuals that I’m speaking with, we have noticed that before COVID-19 came around, their well was already dry, or mostly dry. This is really common because we live in a culture that overworks, that over-thinks, that over-demands, and underneath it all, doesn’t value self-connection, self-awareness, self-love, nor the nourishment of our hearts, our minds, and our bodies. In fact, many in our culture won’t even have the luxury of considering their internal well.

When our wells are dry and then a pandemic strikes, we might immediately ask ourselves: “is this really the right time to think or expect ourselves or others to be productive? Does that really make sense?”  While it’s hard to counter those dominant narrative[1] thoughts that we hear all day in our own heads, and from the collective, it’s essential for our well-being that, if we are able[2], we slow down and ask ourselves questions.

Again I ask, “When our wells are dry and then a pandemic strikes, is that really the right time to think or expect ourselves or others to be productive? Does that really make sense?” Or, might it be a time to instead slow down and acknowledge that our well is empty, and first we need to, at least, begin to fill it. Perhaps it would be a radical act to get clear and name this, if at all possible, before we take on anymore: we need to tend to our depleted wells.

Yep, I know, easier said than done – those internalized, dominant narrative thoughts are strong, and scarcity fears and realities are intense at the moment. But, if you are someone who is wondering why they’re not more productive in this time, and if you are able to slow down… I invite you to ask yourself how full your well has been. Was it full before Covid 19? Was it full for a year leading up to Covid 19? Has it ever been full? If your well has not been full, please know this isn’t your fault. Please don’t think it’s one more thing to beat yourself up about. This is an outcome of the systemic, dominant narrative that we are all a part of that ignores our wells.

If you are beating yourself up for not being productive, or for having an empty well, I have an experiment for you. If you are able, choose to consciously decide to not be productive in all the ways. See what is possible to walk away from for a few weeks. Put the X away. Put Y aside. Acknowledge that this just isn’t the time. Give yourself permission not to be productive as you think you should be, knowing that any other expectation would just be a set up for more self-judgement. Additionally, give yourself permission to ask for help from friends, family, and/or from local service providers who are working in mutual aid.

As you put X aside, take up this curious question: what is it that fills your well, just even a little bit? What happens as you put aside X, and take up Z instead?? I took this question to heart. Slowing down to connect to the micro within moments, has been filling my well – watching the beak of a bird eating bird seed, examining the unfolding of a leaf or flower bud with my eyes and nose, experiencing a micro movement of breath within a breath, watching the tongue of my cat, feeling the aches of my heart, the growth in my garden, hearing the witty and wise comments out of my daughter’s mouth, taking part in community meditations, listening to the movements of leaves, the sound of feet on the floor…   All of these various “Z”s have been contributing to my well. What about you?

If your well is not full, the time of a pandemic is not the time to push yourself, judge yourself, pressure yourself into being a more productive human being. Instead, if you are able, gift your mind, your heart, and your entire being, the nourishment needed to let your well begin to fill[3].

When your well begins to start to fill again, it may be the time to take on some of the questions I posed at the beginning: What do you need in order to be productive? What helps you to be able to be productive? What gets in your way or diminishes your ability to be productive? Why does it matter to you if we’re being productive? Once your well starts to fill again, you will be tempting to engage in the very same behaviors that empty your well, so before you do that… I invite you to go slow, and stay connected to yourself.

I came into the pandemic with my well mostly full, as I had just taken four days off with practices and people who fill my heart, mind and being. After those four days, returning back to life as I had known it was tempting – my caregiving and fixing conditioning can be loud, and the dominant narrative seductively started blasting through organizations I was a part of, through my Facebook newsfeed, and through my very own psyche as the pandemic hit full force.

Fortunately, I am committed to seeing through the destructive ways of the dominant narrative and how I partake in them, and are surrounded by others who are too, so I immediately started to ask myself the questions I posed above. I keep returning to those questions and continue exploring whenever the “productive bug” gets in my ear.

In the spirit of tending to my own well, which I am being very mindful of these days with regards to how full (or empty) it is, I will resist the urge to share more, and instead keep this blog short.

I invite you to stay curious, stay connected to your well, and reach out for support as needed. These are challenging times for most, and you do not have to muddle through it alone.

To all my survivor friends, I love you, I care about you, I see you. You are worthy just as you are. I imagine us breathing in Love together and letting that breath be enough, knowing that we too are enough, just as we are.

To read more about Lisa Meuser, click here.

[1]  I’ve written about the dominant narrative here and here

[2] Unfortunately, many may be in predicaments where, due to a variety of reasons, they do not have the time/space to slow down, ask such questions, or even consider their well.

[3] Again, it is important to acknowledge that many people will not have the privilege to consider their own well. If this is you, or someone you love, please look into your local area’s support services as many communities are forming mutual aid groups to help care for those who are in need.

Our Stories Are Sacred

By Lisa Meuser.  

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”  Rumi

I gently breathe in this quote. It has taken me a long time to know Rumi’s words. Most of my life I hid and denied my wounds, concealing them not only from others but also from myself. I repeatedly and systematically attempted to suppress, re-write, and/or rebuff the stories of my life experiences. This started when I was young.  I made excuses for and reframed others’ unhealthy and abusive behaviors. I learned to keep secrets to keep the peace.  Over time, I innocently abandoned myself as I learned to pretend that “all was well.”

I know I’m not alone in this. The majority of people express that they’ve had a great childhood. And yet, after a few questions, it is clear that what they are choosing to remember is coming from an act of self-preservation: it can be difficult to face the reality of our lived stories when we’ve denied them our whole lives.  We often prefer the story of “all was well”, even when it means we have to splinter ourselves to maintain that story.

While many of us always had a roof over our heads, food to eat, and clothing to wear, our more basic and fundamental needs such as emotional guidance and heart connection may not have been tended to. From the outside, I had an ideal childhood. And yet no one in my family was emotionally available or willing to really hear my stories, and after a while I disconnected from my experiences, from my stories, and made myself invisible as a way to cope. Maybe you too were a caretaker of others’ stories, as it was too hard to be with your own?

As I grew older I was bombarded with various social, political and spiritual messages that encouraged me to further forget about the past, and focus on the positive. Common phrases used in our culture include: “don’t dwell on the past”, “let bygones be bygones”, “look to the bright side”, and “be here now.”  Don’t get me wrong – it’s not that those phrases don’t have some wisdom sprinkled through them. But when we hold onto those mottos so fiercely that we aren’t allowed to be with our experiences, we violate ourselves. Over, and over, and over.

Would it be an act of loving kindness to tell a young toddler who has scraped their knee to “get over it”, or “just focus on the present!”, or look to the bright side of the experience? No. A kind heart would console, support, love, and guide a toddler through their pain, through their accident, all the way to the “other side”- however that may look.  A loving approach would ideally allow for the child to retell the story as many times as necessary, until it felt complete for them. We’d empathize. We’d listen. We’d help tend to the wound. We’d support them until they were ready to return to the playground. And they likely would. We’ve probably all seen that when a child is held and heard, they quickly resume playing, their needs having been met.

And yet what we often do with ourselves is pretend our scraped knees aren’t scraped (or that our hearts aren’t breaking). We often pretend that everything is just fine, and then to add insult to injury we judge ourselves when our hearts continue to be broken – which we then take as proof that “we’re broken.”

In my direct experience, it is never that we are truly broken[1]. I have never met a client who is broken. Rather, it is the way that we’ve learned to connect ourselves that is broken (and we can see how this is a cultural imprint, as culture does not connect with the wellbeing of mind/body/spirit, and instead often does the opposite).

Of course the way we’ve learned to connect with ourselves is broken! Most of us didn’t live in households that provided the level of emotional care, nurturance and guidance that we needed, so we never learned directly, or indirectly what true love and care was.

Even though we’re adults now, the need for a kind and loving response, the space to tell our story, and our needs to be heard and supported, haven’t gone away. They may have gone underground, or been buried, but our biological need for connection and love remain.

Shame kept my stories hidden, from myself and from others, and I see this with almost all my clients.  What I also see is immense freedom when people feel safe enough to honestly connect to their stories – to their actual lived experiences instead of the pretend life they held onto in their minds. This freedom multiplies when they feel safe to share their stories out loud in a safe container.

Repression is oppressive, and oppression is traumatizing. Telling our stories has the opposite effect. Telling our stories, first to ourselves, and then to another, has a liberating influence that leaves one feeling a sense of real empowerment – maybe for the first time in our lives.

Naming our stories to ourselves is deep work. It takes time, because it’s counter-intuitive based on all the strategies we’ve learned to keep silent. Naming and then believing our own stories takes courage. It takes time to develop the safety to be in our truth, after giving it away for so long.  For me, being heard by someone I trusted was an immensely important part of that. I was so used to doubting myself, that I needed a trusted guide to support me as the stories met the light of day, outside of the realms of my mind.

This is why we know it is crucial that as we heal from our wounds, we find safe spaces and safe people who listen to and believe in our stories – to our sacred, lived experiences. This produces a beautiful fertile ground “for the Light to come in.”

Find safe spaces. Find safe people. Your stories are the hallowed ground of your being.  When you find a safe person or group to share in, consider honoring your stories by connecting with what you need as your story is shared.[2] Our sacredness doesn’t need to be fixed, and yet a fixing paradigm is very common in our culture.  You may want to let your listener know that you don’t want your story to be treated as something to be fixed or changed, and instead received, as if your listener is being given a gift – because they are.

When stories are free to live in the light of day, something unanticipated often happens. As we release what we had been resisting all our lives, as we allow the stories to live and breathe, the stories themselves start to disintegrate. But this time it is from Love, not from denial.  This will happen on its own, although it’s often counterintuitive. I’ve found that the process can be supported and then integrated  through the guidance of an embodied somatic therapist, facilitator or guide.

I have experienced – directly and in my relationships with my clients – the immense freedom that comes when stories and wounds are allowed, named, spoken, expressed, and felt.  It is something far beyond what the linear mind understands, and births a sense of empowerment that is known from  being. Neuropathways shift, one’s sense of safety in the world changes, and relationships with life are transformed. Possibilities we couldn’t even imagine reveal themselves.[3]

It has taken my whole life to fully understand that that wounds and their corresponding stories are truly sacred. These days I experience wounds, and the stories of wounds, as sacred, grace filled, and also as the way Home.  I will be leading a deepening course this spring that will provide safety to explore our sacred stories. Please contact me to learn more.

I leave you with a poem I wrote after being given a prompt “If we could write a tomorrow which is wider than wounds we have worn”. Much love to you, as you share your sacred stories, on your way Home.

 

Stories Return Us Home

If I could write a tomorrow,
it would be wider than but include the wounds we have worn…
it would include my wounds,
it would announce my wounds,
it would put my wounds on display so that others too
could include, announce and
display their wounds,
as we move into tomorrow.

If I could write of a tomorrow,
it would have less denial, less hiding, less pretending…
By naming and sharing our wounds,
we would weave something so bountifully amazing,
taking us wider than the wounds we have ever worn.

If I could write a tomorrow,
I would use my wounds
and all that I have learned,
to springboard into creating a world where
community and connection is paramount,
from birth to death,
woven into the very ways we value the
ways we spend our days
and deeper into the way we view
our very selves.

If I could write a tomorrow,
humans would not be commodities
or things.
Worth would not be earned but known.
Sharing would be common place and
love would be given,
not bought or sold in the guise of
consumerism and exploitive capitalism.

This may be my soap box, but it doesn’t feel like an
impossible dream.
When I
slow down
and
take a look
towards pain and suffering.

I look at it in the eye,
feel pain burrow into the
caverns of my heart.
As I do
something widens
and deepens.
Something called Love

takes it all,
filling me with a sweetness of now that
exists at the very same time as
sorrow, sometimes in the very same place.
Reminding me another way is
indeed possible.

I write of another way…
where we know and
live knowing that,
in our shared plight of
being human,
there is Love.
The joy, mystery, pain, and
beauty of
being human.

I write of
lessons
being learned from the
wounds of yesterday.
Creating an amazing
tomorrow to be a part of.
I commit

to staying with
these wounds, honoring these wounds,
taking responsibility for these wounds,
and the wounds that my foremothers and forefathers
were born from,
have created,
which birthed me
and which I have birthed.

I write of a now,
inviting all to share
unique dreams and unique pains.
To share without needing to fix or problem solve
but to celebrate.
A recognition that each
story is sacred and powerful
in its very essence,
as we return Home.

To read more about Lisa Meuser, click here.

 

[1] And yet, I honor the phrase “broken hearted”.  The sense of the heart being broken references the wound of which Rumi writes, and is, in my experience, our ticket home in the telling of our stories.

[2] You might, for example, ask your listener;  “please just listen,” or “please validate what you’ve heard,” or “please say you believe me,” or “please hug me when I’m done.”

[3] “Every time you tell your story and someone else who cares bears witness to it, you turn off the body’s stress responses, flipping off toxic stress hormones like cortisol and epinephrine and flipping on relaxation responses that release healing hormones like oxytocindopamine, nitric oxide, and endorphins. When we tell our stories and others bear witness, the notion that we are disconnected beings suffering alone dissolves under the weight of evidence that this whole concept is merely an illusion.” – Lissa Rankin

Longing For Love

By Sumitra Burton.  

While looking back over my life recently to see what kind of “credentials” I had gathered along the way, I recognized a core thread that has permeated my experience from the very beginning: a passionate longing for love.  Somehow I had never been aware of it in quite this way before.

As a little girl, I was deeply moved by a picture in our church’s entryway of Jesus in his long robe with children around his feet.  Jesus was looking at the children with deep love.  I can feel now the sense of longing that arose in my heart to experience that kind of love in my life.

Early on I somehow got the idea that pleasing others was the best way to find the love I so dearly wanted.  I tried to make them happy, so that they would love me.  My mother once said to me that I was selfish, which struck me deeply as I took this to mean that “I” was selfish, rather than simply my behavior in that moment.  The desire to not be selfish translated in my young mind to mean that my own personal needs and desires must be subdued in deference to others.

I married very young (19) and was excited to feel loved by my young husband and the support of a dream that we would somehow live happily ever after, loving each other unconditionally (those were the vows we took when we married – through sickness and health, joy and sorrow, etc. – right?).

It wasn’t long, though, before this dream started falling apart as I often experienced a lack of love in our relationship.  We were both so young, and my husband had had a traumatic childhood and needed lots of support.  Neither of us had the skills to communicate our feelings and work through the difficulties that arose.  Over the years we had four children together, were separated many times, and actually married and divorced twice.

By the time of the second divorce, I was totally devastated – confused, grieving and alone.  I had tried so hard to love him, and had failed, and my longing for love (still very strong) seemed to have reached a dead end.  The harder I tried, the worse things became.  I had given my all, and it wasn’t good enough.  Something was deeply wrong, and I was convinced there was something deeply wrong with meI must be unlovable!

I stayed alone for the next 30 years after the second divorce, practiced yoga and meditation as best I could while being a single mother, eventually living and working in an ashram retreat center for many years.  I found a sense of peace while I would sit to meditate, but in my daily life there was still much confusion and even desperation as I tried to make others happy so that I would feel loved in return.

One day I remember so clearly, a spiritual teacher remarked, “We have to love everyone, including ourselves.” I was shocked to hear the part about “including ourselves.”  Of course, this made perfect sense, and why had it taken so long for me to realize this?

From that moment I began wondering what it would mean to love myself – and very gradually began to explore how to do this. There wasn’t much support in those days for this kind of endeavor. I found myself eventually gravitating towards a philosophy of relaxing more into who I already am, rather than the old paradigm of disciplining myself to become a better person.  I began to have glimpses of being okay as I was.

When I finally discovered the Living Inquiries and the tools of resting and inquiry, the old beliefs of “unlovable” and “not good enough” arose dramatically to be explored, and slowly began to unwind.  It’s been a dynamic process over the past seven years of working to unravel these old beliefs and learning to relax into my natural sense of being-ness.  A main component of this quest has been the gradual shift from looking outside myself to looking inside for the love that I long for.

While there is a sense that the inquiry process will always be needed (no end in sight!), there is also a deepening awareness that innately I am okay and lovable.  Any time I notice I am looking for love outside, I recognize the old feelings of unworthiness creeping in.  Deep inside there’s a growing understanding that not only am I lovable, but that I am actually Love Itself. No separation.

This morning I am taking time to simply allow the longing to be felt.  The intensity of the longing is immense, filling my whole inner torso like a vacuum in a cavern.  It feels like I will be engulfed by it if I allow it to be fully felt.  Go ahead, I say.  Let me be consumed by that longing!  As I sit with the sensations, an image of a gate appears.  And as it opens, Love is Here.  Love is calling me Home.

To read more about Sumitra Burton, click here.