Tag: a

  • Less abusive to live a lie.

    "We call it 'verbal abuse' when someone tells us the truth about ourselves and we don't want to hear it."  Byron Katie

     

    The above sentence stayed with me and it occurred to me that we have been taught or led to believe that by telling the truth about someone is abusive.

     

    I know that I have become an outcast due to the fact that I speak the truth, about my family.  I state what is and this is seen as abusive, that it is much better to give a false identification of someone, to not share how they hurt you.

     

    Imagine, we are seen as being 'verbally abusive' for 'Telling'.  It is no wonder why children do not speak up, for we feel it will hurt them to hear the truth.

     

    Isn't it interesting that we protect the ones who hurt us.

    The question is why. Why is it so hard to state the facts, to draw the tough lines when abuse is clearly apparent?

    As Dr. Phil says, there has to be a payoff.  What do we get for our silence?  A father and a mother?

    It is unnatural for a child to estrange themselves from their parents, but what they fail to see is that it is natural to move away from abuse.

    That we were born into an unnatural environment, where the parents abused their offspring, they did not 'raise' them, but lowered and changed who they were.

    In society, it is pressed upon us that we are to love and honor thy parent, that family is sacred.  That is, for the normal functional homes.

    And what is the creed for the unnatural families? What is the rule we are to live by?  How do we unhinge ourselves from the parents that abused us…

    I had mistakenly felt that all would abandon my father…and instead they abandoned the truth.

    They abandoned the truth so as to not be abusive towards their parent, while they are now having to live a lie.

    It is remarkable to me now, that it is literally easier to live a lie than to live the truth.

    And it is abusive to our bodies and our lives to live this lie, but we do it to keep a parental relationship alive.  And the truth of this relationship we dare not speak of….So, we have a silent clause, a do not speak of 'the abuse' clause and if you do so you will contine to be part of this family and/or organization.

     

    We would rather abuse ourselves by living a lie, than to 'abuse' our parent by telling the truth and moving away from abuse. We somehow believe that it is 'less' abusive to live a lie.

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Help not Hurt

    “The question is not, “Can you make a difference?” You already do make a difference.  It’s just a matter of what kind of difference you want to make during your life on this planet.”  Julia Butterfly Hill

    I hadn’t considered that we are all making a difference; it just may not be the kind of difference that will impact another’s life in a positive manner.

    For each thing we do or even what we don’t do matters to someone.

    Just how or who it helps is the difference.

    While taking actions to speak the truth about abuse I am making a difference. And what kind of difference it will make in the lives of pedophiles will be different than how it will affect the lives of children.

    In the past my silence made a difference…it allowed my father to continue abusing. 

    Giving my report of my childhood which lacked memories or odd memories standing out, and how my body feared him, helped bring him to the court of the land.

    My viewpoint of him made a difference, albeit 40 years after the crime.  My report validated the little girl’s experience six years ago…together our stories made a difference to each other.

    The Detective shared with me that he honors and truly understands anonymous reports, how it may be hard for victims to stand tall and share their story.  I get it now too.

    My view of anonymous changed. 

    Anonymous reporting of abuse is vastly different than anonymous attacks.  Both make a difference in completely different ways. 

    Anonymously helping feels so much better than anonymously attacking. 

    There is room for anonymous when it’s used to help not hurt.

     

     

  • Guilt and Judgment

    Yesterday as I rode along my mail route, I listened to The Course of Miracles coming from my Kindle…I have it strapped to the headrest so I can hear it without headphones.

    A jotted down a few things that seared my mind…and then this morning wanted to go back and find the text, but I haven’t been able to find all sections that caught my ear.

    Here is one I found.

    “When you feel guilty, remember that the ego has violated the laws of God, but you have not.  Leave the “sins” of the ego to me. That is what Atonement is for.  But until you change your mind about those whom your ego has hurt, the Atonement cannot release you.  While you feel guilty your ego is in command, because only the ego can experience guilt.” 

    I stopped and wrote that down. “Only the ego can feel guilty” this was an incredible thing to hear for its implications are mountainous.  No one ever has said, “sins of the ego” instead they act like our spirit has sinned and in order to get a clean spirit to heaven you have to get it forgiven. Imagine if you raised a child to understand there is an ego and there is spirit? 

    Imagine learning that there are two ways to view the world, by ego or by spirit…and to know this as a child.

    If only the ego feels guilt, what is religion for?  So when we were made to feel sinful and unworthy who were they talking to??? It has to be the ego, for if the only the ego can experience guilt, they surely were not talking to our spirits.

    I also wrote down, The ego can’t Know, that Knowing is of the Spirit.  The ego can’t know, it perceives and the spirit can’t perceive, it Knows.

    Here is something else I hadn’t considered. 

    “The ego and the spirit do not know each other.  The separated mind cannot maintain the separation except by dissociating. Having done this, it denies all truly natural impulses, not because the ego is a separate thing, but because you want to believe that you are.  The ego is a device for maintaining this belief, but it is still only your decision to use the device that enables and endures ” 

    This makes perfect sense to me, for when I was a fully engaged ego whom I lovingly call “the mental woman” I had zero contact with my Spirit…I love that they don’t know each other. 

    And imagine…the ego is a device use for separation? 

    To me it kept me separated from God and Spirit.

    Then, came a section on Judgment…

    “Have you really considered how many opportunities you have had to gladden yourself, and how many of them you refused?  There is no limit to the power of a Son of God, but he can limit the expression of his power as much as he chooses. Your mind and mine can unite in shining  your ego away, releasing the strength of God into everything you think and do. Do not settle for anything less than this, and refuse to accept anything but this as your goal.  Watch your mind carefully for any beliefs that hinder its accomplishment, and step away from them.  Judge how well you have done this by your own feelings, for this is the one right use of Judgment.  Judgment, like any other defense, can be used to attack or protect; to hurt or heat. The ego should be brought to judgment and found wanting there.  Without your own allegiance, protection and love, the ego cannot exist.  Let it be judged truly and you must withdraw allegiance, protection and love from it.”

    It seems that the church taught us to judge another, but not to judge the ego.  I love that we are to judge how we are doing by how we are feeling.

    Mostly what I listened to yesterday were the differences between the ego and the soul…and it made sense to me. 

    “Any thought system that confuses God and the body must be insane.  Yet this confusion is essential to the ego, which judges only in terms of threat or non-threat to itself.  In one sense the ego’s fear of God is at least logical, since the idea of Him does dispel the ego. But fear of the body, with which the ego identifies so closely, makes no sense at all.  The body is the ego’s home by its own election. It is the only identification with which the ego feels safe, since the body’s vulnerability is its own best argument that you cannot be of God.”

    Imagine, the ego only judges what is a threat or non-threat to itself. It could care less of how this impacts your life or your souls journey.

    It was so beneficial to my peace of mind to listen to the antics of the ego and its needs and how they contrast directly the spirit, and it made perfect sense to me in my experience.

    And when you read this book, depending upon who has a greater control in your world, the spirit or the ego, it will land differently as you read it

    I am not here to try and convince anyone, I am here to share what I heard.  It brought me peace…and it helped me understand the confusion I have with religion, for it seems to me that religion courts the ego with guilt and judgment.

     

      

  • Stories of Fiction.

    What they don’t tell you is that while you are finding out who you are, you will isolate your self from your old life; you will become a stranger there, while becoming your own best friend.

    My five sisters are gathering together this week, and not a whisper to invite me, I am too odd, and too weird, too nuts or insane, a myriad of labels, but a sister to be included I am not.

    There is a part of me that grieves for the loss of being included and my little girl self feels sooo misunderstood and so misclassified.

    It seems my truth seeking spun me into this evil creature that they don’t want no part of.

    The deeper I delved, the more I explored, the more distance I put between us all, my healing keeps pushing me further away.

    It is like I am set out to sea while they are on the beach having a party.

    I know intellectually, that my spirit and soul would have no peace with them, that I have lived too deep now to go back to be a surface dweller…yet I grieve.

    I grieve for what is, for what was.

    I feel being isolated for all the wrong reasons or so it seems.

    I didn’t sexually abuse them…my father did; yet I am out for talking about it.

    I didn’t neglect them like my mother did; yet I am out for pointing it out.

    It is odd for my little girl to reconcile to make a nice neat understandable folder to put them all in.

    The girls I used to take care of, no longer care for me.

    By doing what is right I am wronged.

    I get it and I don’t.

    It amazes me that they can’t see the bad in my father and then see only bad in me.

    My son, when he was a baby, always said when he did something I thought was wrong…”what did my do?”  With a face of innocence…he wondered.

    And that is what rings hollow through me, “What did my do?”  What hurts the most is that I did nothing wrong. 

    All I did was walk hand in hand with the wounded girls, the girls who were all hurt by him, I never left my line…I never wavered, never veered off course, although there are times like these I wobbled.

    I wobble, shed a few tears, and feel the separation and the unjustness of it all, but I forge ahead.

     

    I forge ahead with the truth and bear the consequences.

    They say, “what doesn’t break you makes you stronger.”

    I am being forged in grief it seems at times.

    How can my mind comprehend me being worse then they who hurt them, again, what did my do?

    It seems they have their story of me and a story of my father, both are stories of fiction…

     

     

  • Original Truths.

    We live life on a spectrum, each aspect of our selves grows and expands, each moment of time is stretchy and flexible, and it is alive with the presence of those we are with.

     

    At times my life is highly charged and ignited with huge pockets of learning, and at others it is the calmness of the riverbed.

     

    This past weekend it felt like it was a place where all rivers merge, where we joined each other in our own truths…

     

    We each stood in all our glory, our feelings, our life’s journey, our experience, and truth alone made us one.

     

    It mattered not our age or our roles in life; instead we see each other as spiritual beings on a human journey…and even more importantly the emergence of our souls out of darkness.

     

    Seeing newly freed beings finding their own power was incredible to witness, to see them becoming aware of being conscious, the energy of their essences shining forth.

     

    Yet without the darkness we would have nothing to compare the Light to.

     

    They have known how it feels to be in the constricted tight spot, and are now learning the vastness of being free, being themselves instead of following along behind a religion that is geared to keep your spirit dead.

     

    It felt wonderful to be with others who are embracing the energy of “You be You” of gathering close their own self, their intuition and voice, to live from a place of what brings them peace, love and joy, to see them discover their own originality.

     

    We all arrived with our own original truths.

     

     

  • The Ten Rules For Being Human.

    You Will Receive A Body
    You may love it or hate it, but it will be yours for the duration of your life on Earth.

    You Will Be Presented With Lessons
    You are enrolled in a full-time informal school called “life.” Each day in this school you will have the opportunity to learn lessons. You may like the lessons or hate them, but you have designed them as part of your curriculum.

    There Are No Mistakes; Only Lessons
    Growth is a process of experimentation, a series of trials, errors, and occasional victories. The failed experiments are as much a part of the process as the experiments that work.

    Lessons Are Repeated Until Learned
    Lessons will repeated to you in various forms until you have learned them. When you have learned them, you can then go on to the next lesson.

    Learning Does Not End.
    There is no part of life that does not contain lessons. If you are alive, there are lessons to be learned.

    “There” Is Not Better Than “Here.”
    When your “there” has become a “here”, you will simply obtain another “there” that will look better to you than your present “here.”

    Others Are Only Mirrors Of You.
    You cannot love or hate something about another person unless it reflects something you love or hate about yourself.

    What You Make Of Your Life Is Up To You.
    You have all the tools and resources you need. What you do with them is up to you.

    All The Answers Lie Inside Of You.
    All you need to do is look, listen, and trust.

    You Will Forget All Of This At Birth
    You can remember it if you want by unraveling the double helix of inner knowing.

    Summary

    Your time here on Earth is brief. Time passes and things change. You have options and choices in which to make your wishes, dreams, and goals become reality.

    When you ask yourself, ‘Why am I here?’ or ‘Why is this happening to me?’ or ‘What’s it all about?’ turn to your spiritual primer. Ask yourself, ‘What is the lesson?’ If you hear a defensive reaction using the words ‘never’ or ‘always’ in your response, you haven’t yet learned the lesson. Next, go a little deeper and ask, ‘What is there for me to learn from this experience?’

    Each time you view your circumstances as possessing value, regardless of the apparent confusion or hardship, you grow. Your personal evolution will depend on how readily you embrace your lessons and integrate them into your
    life. Remember, the only consequence for resisting lessons, is that they will
    keep repeating themselves until you learn them. When you have learned a lesson, you will always be tested. When the lesson is learned, the test will be easily passed, and you then move on to more complex and challenging ones.

    You can look back on the incidents in your past and see clearly the lessons you have learned, resisted, and are still repeating. ‘Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift, that is why we call it the present.’

    It is more challenging to look at your present situation and see exactly what your lessons are. Looking into the future is the most difficult. Wishing that you had already graduated from the school of life does not accelerate your progress or make the lessons any easier. Examining the situation for the real lesson is the scavenger hunt.

    Remind yourself that you are here to learn lessons. Be present with your process. Pay attention to what you are experiencing. Be diligent with actions which enable you to ‘get’ the lessons presented to you. Ask for answers and
    you shall receive them. Listen with an open heart. Explore all options. See your judgment as a mirror. View each crisis as an opportunity. Trust yourself.

    Believe in yourself. Look within yourself, to your higher self, for guidance on all your choices. Extend compassion to yourself. Remember, there are no mistakes, only lessons (Rule Three). Love yourself, trust your choices, and everything is possible!

    From If Life is a Game, These are the Rules, © 1998 by Cherie Carter-Scott,
    published in the UK in 1999 by Hodder & Stoughton

    Seen this on Facebook today….and love it.

  • Perception is a choice.

    Chapter nine, Perception is a choice, from “You are What you Love,” by Vaishali

    Perception is the magic carpet that either elevates us into Heaven or plummets us into hell. Perception is how we behold the divine in everything and everyone, or how the relentlessly tight grasp of hell demolishes us. Perception is a gift of free will from Heaven. Where we focus our attention determines whether we freely return perception to its rightful place, Heaven, or whether we surrender it to hell. We choose on a moment–to-moment basis.

    We do not choose according to our experiences or what our parents may have taught us. Nor do we choose according to how much money we have. We choose according to our Ruling Love, because it is our Ruling Love that creates our experiences. It is what we are giving our attention to that determines the outcome of what we have learned here. It is what we do with our love that is our true wealth, security, and happiness.

    To illustrate the power of perception, consider the story of two children who grew up with alcoholic parents. One child grew up to be a teetotaler. The other child grew up to be an alcoholic. When asked why they chose the path that they did, they both gave the same response, “With parents like that, what else could I be?”

    Dr. Phil McGraw, on his television program, The Dr. Phil Show, uses and interesting technique while working with a guest. He directly addresses the person’s perception of self. Dr. Phil will walk the person through a complete examination of their perception. One of his guests was re-creating great turmoil within the family due to the deliberate, insensitive overspending of the family’s financial resources. Dr. Phil walked this person through her perceptual trap. He explained to her that when she is driving around, and it hits her to go to the mall and shop, she should stop and shift perception instead to something more life-sustaining, such as spending time with her kids and spouse, or going to the gym and doing something nice for her body. Dr. Phil explains that each person has sovereignty over his/her perception. So if life, relationships or anything else is not working for you, then you and only you can shift your perception to something that does work.

    All of our suffering is held together by our perception or mis-perception of self and what is. Right relationship with perception is an inner event. It happens in the Heart, not the head. Right relationship with perception has nothing to do with the body’s physical visual ability. Perception based on what we think and believe, based on mind the projections of mind we are here to get over, is the basis of mis-perception or polluted thinking. Unrealized waves are coming from the head and not the Heart, so the perception of self and what is becomes highly distorted and extremely limited. All unrealized waves perceive no hope, no possibility for growth, no good faith in life and love in their story about what is.

    Once again, that is why the third rock from the Sun is here, so that we can as spiritual creatures have a place to come to practice right relationship with perception. This is the place in the universe to come and practice realizing what you are dong with your attention, because this is where we feel it. Having to feel the quality of our perceptions is the lesson we came here for. Most of us re-create very confining perceptual stories that keep us living narrow and severely restricted lives, compared to our potential as God conscious made manifest. Most of us live our perceptual lives within “the box” of duality. Perception is like a stamped envelope. We could perceptually live on the envelope that has the potential to go anywhere at anytime. But instead we choose perceptually to live on the stamp, and we let the “stamped perception” define our value, power and worth and tell us where we can do and when. How does one free oneself from the limiting perception that one is not even aware is holding them hostage?

    The following is a delightful story about an old frog who lived in a dark well, who is visited by an old frog who lived in the ocean. This story is from Sogyal Rinpoche’s book The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying?

    “Where do you come from?” asked the frog in the well.
    “From the great ocean,” he replied.
    “How big is your ocean?”
    “It’s gigantic.”
    “You mean about a quarter of the size of my well here?”
    “Bigger.”
    “Bigger? You mean half as big?”
    “No, even bigger.”
    “Is it…as big as this well?”
    “There is no comparison.”
    “That is impossible! I’ve got to see this for myself.”

    They set off together. When the frog from the well saw the ocean, it was such a shock that his head just exploded into pieces.

    We are just like the old well frog. We are so familiar with living in the dark hole of our perceptions – that we are the body, money, experiences, thoughts, and emotions, all things limited – that when confronted with the truth that we are in fact love, that we are in fact God consciousness realizing itself, our head just explodes into a million pieces.

    The good news is that it is not up to the government, it is not up to large corporations, it is not up to your family or co-workers to create a life worth living from the power of right relationship with perception. It is up to you. No one can eat for you. No one can sleep for you. No one can breathe for you. And no one can watch your mind for you. No one else can shift your perception from temporal to eternal, from lies to truth, except you. You re-created all your limiting perceptions. Therefore only you can create an end these limitations. It is up to you, and what you are freely giving your attention to on a moment-to-moment basis. No matter where you go or what you do, you cannot escape the truth: you are what you love and you love whatever you are giving your attention to.

    Perception is as unique and imaginative as whatever you are giving your attention to and choose to love. You cannot change your life for the better without changing your outdated illusions. You cannot change your outdated illusions without changing what you are giving your attention to. Perception…Change…Growth. They are all perceptual choices. The illusory perception tree produces only illusory fruit. You will find nothing life-sustaining there, only the un-ripe fruit of greater disappointment.

    We have all experienced the magical healing qualities of perception. Everyone has met someone for the first time that initially did not appear very attractive. However, over time you see and share their Ruling Love, and you grow to deeply love the person as authentically beautiful. Historically speaking Quasimodo and the elephant-man were perfect examples of this.

    You also know the opposite. You meet someone who appears in the temporal world to be very attractive. But over time you see their Ruling Love. They are strongly loyal to hell and inflicting pain. When this happens, the initial illusory perception falls away and the other person is then seen for the true ugliness that they give their attention to. It is then that we honestly perceive the deformed nature of the other. It is the Ruling Love of each wave that ultimately determines our perception of ugly or beauty in ourselves and everything and everyone around us.

    You are your perception. Not just physically or mentally, but emotionally as well as metaphorically. The ultimate goal of all self-witnessing, and the purpose behind all of the created reality is to master clear perception. Divine intelligence has given us all free will in our use of perception. You choose your perception and you are One with your choice. Due to the divine law that you are what you love and you love whatever you are giving your attention to, everything in this world is going to continue to go out of its way to keep you honest about what you are doing with your love. Contemplate this the next time your perception informs you that you have no value, power or worth. Not exactly a program you want repeated on the “inner syndicated” airwaves.

    To establish right divine relationship with perception, look back to Swedenborg. When he was alive, people would ask him, “What do you do to be such an actualized person?” Swedenborg would tell them, “It has nothing to do with doing. It is not a doing thing.” It is a remembering to give attention to truth, and forget everything else, it is a perceptual thing.

    To Be or Not to Be in the Present moment.

    The world at large values, even worships doing. The world perceives doing as the highest purpose of all created life. We reflect that perception back to ourselves in our language. We ask children, “What do you want to do when you grow up?” The first bit of information we get from people we meet for the first time is, “What do you do for a living?” We have a bad habit of measuring our happiness by what we can and cannot do. We perceive advancing age with great fear of all the things we may lose the ability to do. We as individuals, as a nation, as a planet, loving giving endless attention to doing and the value of doing. Anyone who has ever spent more than five minutes in America knows that American worships productivity. In America if you do not work unrealistically hard at doing something, if you are not producing, you are dead weight. Goals and quotas are the name of the game, and your worth is only as good as the last thing you produced.

    Being Simple – Simple Being. – Argisle

    The Eastern perception of mind, Ayurvedic psychology and Taoism, suggests a completely different perception on doing. These masters suggest that being is a higher state of mind than doing. Being in the present moment with an open Heart is the very purpose and nature of mind dreaming itself in a material arena. We are human beings not human doings. Nothing will ultimately work for us until we surrender to being here now. These ancient philosophies indicated that there is a way to stop all the problems and limitations, struggles and suffering. There is a way to simply end these in our lives. There is a way to create a final resolution to the on-going drama. How? To be. The instant we are willing to be with what is in the present moment, we are in a the feeling place, the Heart, not the doing place, the head. This is a self-corrective place, the place where the human and the divine become One.

    Ayurveda and Taoism warn us that all of the most menacing acts against life and love happen in the name of defending what we think and believe, and in the name of doing. Why did Hitler do what he did? To become the next world leader, of course. Why did Charles Manson do what he did? To lead what he thought and believed was the next Cultural Revolution. Why do large corporations squeeze the lifeblood out of their employees, and then fire them when their bodies can’t keep up with the pressure? Why do they replace these loyal workers with someone half their age at half the salary? It is done in the name of productivity – becoming more work efficient and cost effective. That is all that matters. It is truly an ugly attack on equability. This vicious cycle of ignorance and pain will unendingly feed upon itself until doing perception is broken.

    We have discussed at length the disease of duality. This disease infects our perception. Once the disease enters mind through the doorway of perception, it then immediately infects the frontal lobe with deep loyalty to subject/object orientation. I am over here- the subject. And everything not me is the object. A wave must be giving attention to duality; it must love subject/object in order to develop such a strong and abiding love for doing. In order to do there must be a you to start the action, and an object in order to for the doing action to become complete. If there is no subject/object, no duality, there would be no love for doing or doing to become. Instead everything would simply be about being here now.

    No wave can serve two masters. A wave cannot be giving attention to being and doing at the same time. The Eastern studies of mind say that being is One with eternal consciousness. Doing is one with the ego. The ego wants, needs to do. Without doing how could the ego tyrannize you with not good enough, and did not do it right? Doing is how we define our value, power and worth. Doing is the camouflage we wear to distract us from how we are treating other people. After all, isn’t getting the job done more important than how we treat others and ourselves in the process? Doing is the doorway to hell that comparison and judgment charge right through. We have trained the ego that we will rely on doing to define our identity. The ego will decide according to when and how the doing gets done what value, power and worth we are allowed to accept, if any. Doing gets more attention than sex. There is something just not right about that.

    Doing to become is our very most beloved demon of destruction. If the purpose of life were doing to become, then every workaholic in history of mankind would have reached enlightenment by now. But as we have all noticed, it does not happen that way. No one could produce enough temporal anything to evolve their way into an eternal place like Heaven. We did not come here to do things in our mind. We came here to be with our mind. We did not come here to do things to our relationships. We came here to be with our relationships. It is in being with what is in the present moment with an open Heart that true enlightenment is realized. Jesus did not come to the planet to model doing for us. He came here to model being with what is in the present moment with an open Heart. He came here to model an inner space of complete innocence form any thought or belief.

    In the life of the historic Buddha, when he left home, he scaled the walls of the palace leaving behind his wife, children and his parents, the King and Queen. The Buddha set forth upon a path of full awakening. The journey he set upon had nothing to do with doing. That is what he left behind. That is the false king he would not serve. This is the first thing he separated from his attention. The Buddha’s path was bout being fully awake, not doing to become fully awake. The famous Tibetan Buddhist master Sogyal Rinpoche says it like this, “When you realize the nature of the mind, layers of confusion peel away. You don’t actually ‘become’ a Buddha, you simply cease, slowly to be deluded.

  • Learning Life by Soul

    Here is another section of Kim Rosen’s book, “Saved by a Poem” that I loved.

    “Have you ever had the experience of a friendship or a romance where it seemed like life had finally brought you the perfect person, whose tastes and beliefs and dreams matched yours, whom you were so connected with that you didn’t even have to speak? And then, after a month or three of this Eden, you inevitably began to realize your differences. It turned out that when it came right down to it, he didn’t actually share the same beliefs as you, and what matter most to you made him very nervous. Maybe she seemed to like your kind of music in the beginning, but later admitted it gave her the creeps. Suddenly one morning you wake up, look your beloved in the face and say, “Who are you? You weren’t like this when we fell in love!”

    At this point, the difference is sometimes too great to survive. You separate from each other. Or you deaden the aliveness of the relationship, relegating your togetherness to what small corner of the connection does not rock the boat.

    If you hand in there without fleeing or numbing your heart you may discover more about who you really are than you ever imagined. Your beliefs may be shaken and your masks may crumble. You might discover a connection with your partner that is not contingent on harmony and agreement.

    The same is true of a relationship with a poem. If you are willing to get curious about what is triggering your judgments instead of abandoning the poem or changing it to fit your comfort zone, you may find that the very lines that give you trouble hold the key to undiscovered layers of your own nature.

    Gina’s favorite poem was from Rilke’s Book of Hours. She carried it on a tattered index card in her purse and often pulled it out to read to friends. She was excited about deepening her relationship with it and came to my workshop with the intention of doing so.

    But as she began the process, she balked. Suddenly she decided she didn’t like the poem anymore. Another poem, Robert Frost’s “West-running Brook,” got very attractive to her. “The whole song of that poem is rushing through me,” she said. “I can’t concentrate on the Rilke.” She felt torn, drawn to the Frost poem but trapped by her commitment to the Rilke, even though she was no longer in love with it.

    She could have been describing a romantic struggle. She admitted that this feeling of being torn was a familiar refrain in her life, played out again and again in her relationships with men: as soon as the time came to do the work of going deeper, someone else showed up who became very compelling.

    I asked Gina where she was stuck in the Rilke poem. She pointed to the lines “Each thing -/ each stone, blossom, child-/ is held in place.”

    “Was that your experience as a child?” I asked.

    “No. I didn’t feel held. Each stone, blossom, child is not held in place,” she whimpered. “The poem is lying!” She and I both knew this was a deeply buried voice, drawn to surface by the poem.

    “Why did you originally love this poem?” I asked her.
    “Because I so long to be held like that. I long for that feeling of being safe on earth. But right now, I don’t believe in it.” She was choking back sobs. “I was so alone as a child. My great uncle abused me and nobody knew. I felt like I was living behind an invisible shield. My mom didn’t notice because she was so self-involved and distracted. I ended up taking care of her, hoping I could make her strong enough to take care of me.”

    Gina was rocking back and forth, her own arms wrapped tightly around her.

    “To really make this poem your own,” I said to her, “you may need to let yourself go through these feelings. Are you willing?”

    Reluctantly Gina began to repeat the line over and over. At first we could barely hear her. But as she allowed the waves of pain to come to surface, her voice became stronger.

    “It’s true, I have such a longing to be ‘held in place’ by something bigger than me,” she whispered. “I want to know what Rilke felt when he wrote this line.”

    “So I invite you to be ‘held in place’ by your commitment to this poem. Don’t get distracted like your mother did. Don’t go off to another poem. Hold yourself right here, as a healing to the unheld one within you.”

    Even through her tears, Gina knew that this poem was the exact medicine she needed to heal the heartbroken child who was so disillusioned by what had happened to her. She had unconsciously prescribed it for herself. Now it was drawing out a trauma that had been buried since she was very young. And even as this poem opened Gina’s wound, it gave her the perfect balm to heal it.

    Kim Rosen

    The line I love is I ended up taking care of her, hoping I could make her strong enough to take care of me.

    This is the ditch that most abused victims fall into, where they are diligently caring for people in order for them to eventually become strong enough to take care of us, become our heroes, bring us the love we know is there IF only they were strong enough to show it.

    Imagine the little one trying to take care of the adult, while the child needs to be held in place by someone bigger.

    The world is a scary place where you the child is the caretaker.

    Love this book….

    She speaks of the poems first settling in the mind being memorized, then moving into the heart and then unearthing feelings deep within, speaking the soul’s language.

    During my journey I too felt that I would get things first in my head, then my heart would recognize it, and then finally my soul resounded in knowing.

    She calls this knowing them by heart.

    I feel I am knowing life by soul.

  • The Journey….

    In Kim Rosen’s book, “Saved by a Poem” she writes,

    “ I discovered how the separating lines of culture and age can dissolve in the presence of a poem the first time I went to Africa. In Kenya, at the Tasaru Ntomonok Rescue Centre for Girls in the Rift Valley, I unexpectedly found myself speaking a poem to a group of Maasai girls, only a few hours after I met them. I had long wanted to visit this miraculous place, ever since it was opened by Eve Ensler and her organization V-Day in collaboration with Agnes Pareyio, a Maasai woman who dedicates her life to stopping the practice of female genital mutilation (FGM). Tasaru, also called the V-Day Safe House, was created as a haven for girls escaping FGM. Fifty or so girls live at the house at any given time. Each has had to leave her family and community. Many have traveled alone for miles, barefoot over rough roads, spending nights hiding under the bushes for fear of being found by wild animals.
    My first few hours there were awkward. My shyness kept me from striking up conversations with the girls, most of whom though they understood English, did not speak it willingly. They were shy with me too, keeping their distance and watching me in twos and threes, whispering in Maa (the language of the Maasai) and giggling.

    Finally I decided to go over to the kitchen, where I heard a lively singing as a group cooked ugali (Porridge made of cornmeal) and cabbage over an open fire. I listened outside as the last song dissolved into gales of laughter and a cacophony of exclamations in Maa. But the chatter instantly hushed when I walked in. A tall girl who spoke excellent English came up to me and stood directly in front of me: “Do you remember my name?”

    I didn’t. I had been introduced to about 20 girls in the last couple of hours and could not for the life of me remember which beautiful Maasai face went with which name.
    “Salula?” I asked sheepishly, grabbing the only name I remembered. “No!” The girls shrieked with laughter at what must have been a big mistake on my part. “That is Salula!” They pointed at one of the youngest girls, who had arrived at the Safe House only months before at the age of 9, having been rescued in the midst of a forced marriage to a 42 year-old man.

    “I am Jecinta.” The tall girl spoke to me with exaggerated patience, as if to a two year old. “Do you know any songs?” Clearly she was giving me an opportunity to redeem myself.

    “I know some songs,” I said. “But what I really love most is poetry.”
    “I write poems.” An older girl with exquisitely chiseled features and piercing eyes was looking at me intently from behind a huge cauldron of steaming cabbage. She was dressed with more sophistication that the others, wearing a tight sleeveless shirt and matching short skirt that made her look more woman than girl. I noticed her gold necklace and earrings as they glinted in the light of the cooking fire.

    “Do you know any of them by heart? Can you recite any of them here?” I asked.

    “I am too shy to do that.” Her beautiful accent made even this simple statement sound like poetry. “I cannot.”

    “May I recite a poem to you?” I asked her. “Then maybe after you will want to recite yours to me.”

    She nodded. Suddenly I panicked. What poem might these girls relate to? I pored through the archive in my mind. Not one seemed remotely appropriate. Their life experience was so different from mine.

    The kitchen became strangely silent. The clatter of washing and cooking had ceased. The whispering and giggling that had been a constant soundtrack in the background was quiet. All the girls stopped their work and were waiting for my poem.
    Out of nowhere “The Journey” by Mary Oliver, a poem I hadn’t thought of in months, burst to mind. Without even taking the time to run through it silently to see if it was appropriate, I began speaking: “One day you finally knew / what you had to do.”

    The poem is about leaving home, turning away from the many voices that demand that you stay, risking the anguish of those who need and love you, and walking alone into a wild night in order to save “the only life you can save.” The girls listened, transfixed. Each of them had lived through such a turning point. Each of them, at a very young age, had defied tribal tradition and left her parents, friends, and community to save her own life. Who could understand these lines better than they?

    It is difficult to describe what happened in that crowded smoky kitchen as I delivered the poem. There I was, a white, middle-class American woman, speaking words written by another white, middle-class American woman, surrounded by Maasai girls who had grown up in tribal villages in the Rift Valley, in families so poor that two cows their parents would get when they gave their daughter to an old man in marriage were their only hope of a better life.

    But as “The Journey” filled the kitchen, there was no separation between us. We were transported into a timeless, placeless, languageless realm where we were the same. By the end of poem, tears were running down my face and several of the girls were crying as well. Several of them dove toward me, wrapping their arms around my waist. There was a long silence. The Jecinta asked, “Who is this woman, Mary Oliver? Is she Maasai?”

    I shook my head, barely able to speak. “American,” I whispered. “Mzungu. Like Me.”

    “How did she know?”

    In the silence that answered her question, the girl with the gold necklace and piercing eyes came from behind the cauldron of cabbage into the center of the dirt floor.

    “I am ready to say my poem,” she announced.

    In a single wave, the other girls and I moved to one side of the kitchen, spontaneously creating a stage among boiling pots of food.

    “I am just a girl child.” Her voice was surprisingly strong, pulsing with a natural rhythm as contagious as any slam poet’s vibe. “It sounds good but oh no-/ To my father I’m just a source of income.” She continued through the list: her mother who sees her only as a “beast of burden,” the boys at school who objectify her beauty, and “the sugar daddy,” for whom she was just “a juicy fruit to be eaten raw.” The poem ends with the wise and heartbreaking question, “Who cares for me?”

    By now there were about two dozen girls packed into the smoky kitchen or leaning in the windows. As the poet spoke her final question, we all cheered and burst into applause. I looked around the crowd that had gathered. Most girls were melted into each other, their arms draped around their friends. Two girls had maneuvered me into the space between them; one rested her head on my shoulder. For a long moment of silence gazed at each other through the smoke, our eyes full of light.

    In these moments of poetic communion when life comes into a harmony, miracles happen organically: the stroke victim’s brain starts making new synaptic connections; a sense of uncanny peace and joy pervades the Freedom Space as bombs explode in the surrounding streets; the armed Sunni soldier embraces the Shiite poet in tears of joy to discover they feel the same grief and longing; a runaway Maasai girl hears her own story told by a white
    American writer, and she is empowered to find her own voice. When you speak a poem that is written in the language of your soul, you become a voice for the heart in the world, and everyone around you is blessed by a sudden grace.
    Kim Rosen

    The Journey

    One day you finally knew
    what you had to do, and began,
    though the voices around you
    kept shouting
    their bad advice —
    though the whole house
    began to tremble
    and you felt the old tug
    at your ankles.
    “Mend my life!”
    each voice cried.
    But you didn’t stop.
    You knew what you had to do,
    though the wind pried
    with its stiff fingers
    at the very foundations,
    though their melancholy
    was terrible.
    It was already late
    enough, and a wild night,
    and the road full of fallen
    branches and stones.
    But little by little,
    as you left their voices behind,
    the stars began to burn
    through the sheets of clouds,
    and there was a new voice
    which you slowly
    recognized as your own,
    that kept you company
    as you strode deeper and deeper
    into the world,
    determined to do
    the only thing you could do —
    determined to save
    the only life you could save.

    ~ Mary Oliver ~

  • My Soul Cheers

    Shutting the valves or entry points where I have allowed toxic behavior and or negative energy to seep in, feels soooo liberating, so empowering, so self loving, I feel so lightened by this, if only I knew that I wouldn’t feel alone, but empowered, I wouldn’t have waited so long.

    The first time I left my family, I did so in fear, anger and anxiety, in moments of pure panic due to the way they were all acting, I segregated myself in solitary confinement in fear. Fear of who they were and how weak I literally was, I scurried to be far far away from them.

    I was out of control in a lonely spot with raging fear, alone and empty inside, twisted up with confused and conflicting images, tangling love and fear, I had to run to survive, not knowing that I would survive…I left.

    It wasn’t an act of courage or empowerment but an act of sheer terror.

    The difference between fleeing in terror or fleeing with knowingly and great awareness are oceans apart.

    One leaves you vulnerable and alone.
    The other empowered and alive with great gusts of newfound peace, like breathing or not breathing.

    Breathing with the right to orchestrate your world, using your free will to close the source of pain that flows into your world.

    What a great thing to know, how empowerment is grown, it is birthed by making a choice, using your awareness and seeing the cause, doing what you can to eliminate it in your world.

    This isn’t at all about them, but about you.

    You have the right to open and close relationships.

    I love that I found the energy to use the switch, to flip the button to off.

    It doesn’t change who they are, but it greatly changes their impact in my world. Little did I know, even though I left the window open, that I was the one I was waiting for…

    Inside, as my tank overflows with empowerment, my soul cheers!

    (I think I scored one for me!)