I M Perfect lady

Tag: emotions

  • A Life Review of Feelings

    While in yoga yesterday, I wondered if the body could express itself without a head, is there a way to vent your feelings below the neck?

    It seems to me that the head holds all the valves of release.

    Our tears are shed through our eyes, our mouths speak words, our beliefs and thoughts either match our feelings or deny them, but all the expressions are done above the neck, yet the feelings seem to be below.

    We feel deeply with our heart, our gut has instincts and intuitively knows, we feel ‘something’ deeply in our bones, and the truth of our experiences seems to reside in the torso.

    Yet the head is where we can articulate what the body feels.

    It is like the head needs to tune into the body, open a line, and form a connection.

    When the two are joined as one, we can live a life that is steered by feelings and emotions allowing us to express specifically our needs, wants and desires.

    Living totally in the head leaves you separated from feelings and emotions.

    I am not certain you can release emotions with out a head.

    The vents are in the head as far as I can tell.

    If a body is detached from the head, it just fills up with unexpressed emotions, which grows into rage, rage that explodes and subsides all without ever delving into their formation. I believe the root of disease.

    A head that is detached from the body, is a senseless head.

    A head that is making choices based on whims of others, for it has no roots, nothing to anchor it down, it is not grounded in feelings or emotions connected to your life, it floats a few feet ahead of your body.

    Amazing to witness this, live this way and then get the opportunity to experience the rejoining of head to body, to feel feelings that have long been stuffed down, to go back in a life review of feelings.

  • What steals my Lucidness.

    Lucid – suffused with light, Luminous
    Having full use of one’s faculties, Sane
    Clear to the understanding, Intelligible

    Lately in my dreams I am more aware, allowed to make a different choice in old nightmares. They are cut short, for I turn around knowing where that dream is headed, I exit the dream.

    It is like I found the power to shut off the night terrors.

    In my childhood I dreamed often of the Houghton Hancock Bridge falling down while I was on it. The theme was the same, bridge going down, me in the middle and safety impossible to reach, and I would awaken spent and terrified so grateful it was only a dream.

    The other night, I was approaching the bridge, and it appeared to be going under the water, I turned and left the scene.

    Now, I am not certain what the ‘experts’ would say Lucid dreaming is, but for me it is when I can make a choice that ends the night terror, prior once it began I had to ride it out, suffering as my emotions were kidnapped.
    And yesterday I thought if there is lucid dreaming, then it must be possible to have lucid awake time.

    In lucid awake time, you are aware, having full use of one’s faculties, sane with clear understanding.

    It is like having lucid consciousness. And I feel oftentimes my dreams are showing me my unconsciousness, so I am lucid about that as well.

    The more lucid you are the less I feel you will be kidnapped by circumstances, that you will be able to be have control of self even if the scene isn’t to your liking.

    We can have waking nightmares, where it feels impossible to survive this moment in time, where the daily dream grabs hold of us and doesn’t let us go.

    The key I feel is to change your usual reaction.

    One change and the nightmare becomes a dream a nice day dream, a friendly moment in time, coming bearing gifts of understanding, showing you where you are out of control, trying to give you back your lucidness.

    Having full use of your faculties’ means that no matter what, you will stay in your center, and not lose control to the dream scene as it unfolds.

    Yesterday at work could have been a package nightmare, but instead I took control, while my boss was losing it.

    The numbers overwhelmed, I had 61 and my buddy had 113, my boss stressed not knowing how we would deliver all.

    There literally is a limit, so I told her we would do our limit and leave the rest behind, we would take the priorities first and the third class would wait until tomorrow, and tomorrow we would do the same, just dealing with what must go.

    It is surprising how the packages lost their dominance and their weight, how they meekly sat awaiting their fate, once we realized it is us who has the power over them.

    Not losing control of your faculties, remaining sane and not allowing the packages to take hold of your emotions, means you changed you in the scene.

    What is so insane is that we believe that the package can control our emotions, yet it is us, we allow them to make or break a day, to steal our peace, to drain us completely, we let go of the control of our emotions.

    A thing, an item, a circumstance, a part of the whole daydream, hijacks us without a gun, they just arrive and we throw up our hands and become hostage.

    It is incredible when you literally look at what has power over you and how it is gleaned.

    Imagine being weaker than a package that has no voice, no emotions, nothing. Innocently it is just a box that covers a gift, an item purchased, a toy, an item of clothing, a thing the box holder order, nothing more and nothing less, it is.

    Who lost its faculties, not the box, it remained unchanged, a perfect rendition of a package, while the human being in the room, danced a dance showing her vulnerabilities.

    Today I will watch to see what steals my lucidness.

  • A safe place for Me.

    The sentiments, feelings, expressions, emotions of this blog may appear childlike and perhaps unbecoming of a big lady like me, but what I have just realized, is that the healing I am doing isn’t about a big lady, rather that of a little girl.

    The wounds that happened to me, happened as a young child, and what happens then the body grows big, but inside of me I am stunted and remain emotionally immature.

    Expressing my feelings now, about events long ago, sound like I am lost in my past, but what is really going on is that I am healing me in my past and allowing my emotional body to catch up with my big lady body.

    What is also very incredible is that an event today is orchestrated perfectly to heal a part of me that was hurt a long time ago.

    The gifts that I received by my mother leaving a message on my daughter’s phone, is multifaceted.

    Empowering, grieving, to seeing things I failed to notice, nothing happens by mistake.

    Each event that stirs up emotions is here to teach, to bring a part of me back to me.
    Just so you all know the little girl voice is a voice of little girl who had no voice growing up, and I am thrilled beyond words, that I have the opportunity and the vessel for her to heard.

    Whether another soul reads this or not, I am reading it as I write.

    It is an incredible experience to speak as me and to hear me, to feel the sorrow and be the one to comfort, to allow tears to fall that have been repressed for years, to feel after so many years of being afraid to, I am talking to or as the little girl in each post.

    What sacred space this is.

    A safe place for me.

  • Backwards to Find Myself.

    In Peter Levine’s book, “Waking the Tiger” he speaks of understanding abuse, as you had to be there, that in order to truly understand the full impact, you had to be there.

     

    We use that in humorous situations, that sometimes the humor is lost in translation, same goes for abuse.

     

    What is so insidious about the abuse is that the abuse mountain of emotions that are too big for a young child to handle is now you.

     

    And the little child of you is lost behind all the swirling rolling twisting contorting emotions, a river of terror, it is like standing behind a waterfall, unable to get out in front of those falling currents of emotions.

     

    It is like swimming in a stream up a waterfall for we are brought back to being a young child feeling what we failed to feel, we are being brought back to the scene of the crime to simply feel.

     

    Simply feel what was so horrendous that we left our self behind.

     

    You had to be there, means we have to walk through our abuse to be there, to own it and live it and know its impact, and then and only then can we be reunited with the child self we left behind.

     

    It is amazing how you can live a life and not be there, not be conscious of not being there, to be missing and not even know it. 

     

    The crime of abuse is that we grow up without a self, we leave behind in a secure place our wonderful beautiful self, and go forth without that.

     

    We don’t want to soil and put garbage on our self, we want to retain our perfection and we believe we can by simply not acknowledging abuse.  Yet we don’t live beautiful and wonderful, we live as abuse.

     

    And somehow we feel that we made ourselves dirty, soiled and feeling like garbage.  Yet it is not our self we feel, we feel the contents of abuse.

     

    To make the separation between what is abuse and what is the child is to see abuse as the painful waterfall that came down on the child. 

     

    The waterfall of abuse is not the child.  It is what happened to the child. 

     

    It is my experience that once you understand that the abuse is not you, but something that happened to you, that you are not responsible for the waterfall of abuse, you can then retrieve the child back.

     

    Seeing the innocent child waiting behind the waterfall allows you to let go of the shame and the blame and the guilt.  It allows you to see clearly the separation between the abuse and the child.

     

    The child didn’t create the waterfall of abuse, but instead intuitively retreated to get out of the pain.

     

    In my case, no adult ever came along to rescue the child.

     

    I walked backwards to find myself.

     

  • Your Diet Today

    As I did yoga today I was reminded of where all the unexpressed emotions lay, the container that holds them when I lived a short distance from my body, is my body.

     

    What has always been true and will always remain true, is even if you mind doesn’t allow you to stay in reality, we haven’t found a way to take our bodies out of it.

     

    Our heads only live in denial; it is like the phrase, ‘get your head out of the clouds’.

     

    I am reading “The Joy Diet” by Martha Beck.

     

    Her book contains instructions for a different kind of “diet,” one designed not for the body but for the soul.

     

    “When the word diet first entered the English Language, back in 1656 when I was a little girl, it didn’t refer to food intake.  It meant “a way of living or thinking.”  A few decades later, diet also came to mean “a day’s journey.”

     

    Her first technique is to do 15 minutes of day of nothing. 

     

    The second one is to be truthful.  Imagine this is the chapter I read last night.

     

    “The practice of telling ourselves the truth is so simple and so freeing that you’d think we’d all do it constantly. The fact is, however, that most of the people tell themselves the truth only in selected areas, and many of us lie to ourselves and others about practically everything we experience.  Why? Because living behind a pane of glass, numbing and empty though it is, also feels safe.

     

    …in 1992 and the years that followed, I realized that the simple, small truths of my real thoughts and experiences were the keys that unlocked the dungeon doors for my true self.  Trying to stop telling them would have been like trying to give up oxygen.

     

    This was an almost inexpressibly painful period of my life, but as it drew on, I began to feel intensely, vividly alive.  Prior to that time, I ‘d had no idea so much joy was even possible.  I’ve watched in pain and pride and dozens of my clients have taken the same kind of plunge, determining to tell themselves the truth, no matter what, then opening up secret after secret, breaking through lie by lie, until they find their hearts.  I only recommend that they go for one Moment of Truth a day, but the effect is the same whether you go for broke, as I did, or proceed gradually, as I suggest.  As far as I can tell, this process is always hard, always painful, always so, so worth it.

     

    If you did nothing but pursue the truth about yourself for the rest of your life, you would never run out of fresh discoveries. Every day brings you new experiences, changing you, bringing new aspects of your true self into expression.  There are many layers of thoughts and perceptions in your mind, so many interactive connections that have been developing from infancy on, that the largest part of you will always be an undiscovered country.  As you tell fewer fibs and keep fewer secrets in your inner world, you’ll find energy you once spent on denial turns outward in a kind of creative bloom.  Fascinating ideas, compassionate actions, unheard-of adventures will bubble up from the inexhaustible well of your unique personality during your Moment of Truth.”  Martha Beck

     

    This is the perfect book at the perfect time to help me articulate the ways of living outside of the bubble or as she says, behind the pane of glass.

     

    I love that diet is a day’s journey!

     

    What will you do on your diet today?

     

     

     

     

  • The Disguise

    One man's junk is another man's treasure, applies to people too.  It is amazing how two people can view an individual in two contrasting ways.

    Now the question is which person is right?  Does the individual change depending upon who he is with, or is 'beauty' really in the eye of the beholder?

    What draws us to a person or repells us away?  Is it possible that however deep you are, you then are able to see deeply into their lives.

    As I unpacked my childhood wounds and all the subsequence parcels, I changed the way I now look at people.  I see courage in those who fearlessly unpack and sort through years of feelings, emotions and pain, learning and correcting errors of their ways.  And that leaves me with nothing to say to those who have yet begun to unpack.

    The unpacked souls run, are restless and anxious, forever moving to keep from feeling their pain.  Their overly flowerful praises are slung back and forth in hopes that they will dress up what lays beneath, like window dressings on a prison.

    Unpacked, unshackled, unloaded, I am silent in knowing.

    I see beneath the disguise.

  • Respect Doesn’t Arise.

    If someone told you to respect someone how do you go about doing that?  That even if you don’t love him, he deserves respect. 

     

    I sat there and felt those words in confusion.

     

    It seems I typically respect those I love and I am not sure what I do with the rest.  I have no stressful thoughts of them, just space. 

     

    I don’t believe I disrespect them, but I guess I just allow them to be and inside there is a space where respect and love feelings would be, a vacancy.

     

    So how would I make respect inside of me?

    Is this possible to conjure it up?

     

    And what is wrong if I stand there empty of respect for someone? 

     

    Why is it that I am frowned upon for not finding respect inside of me for him?  Am I malfunctioning?

     

    When I sat with this awhile, I know that the absence of respect fits perfectly with the absence of actions that would ignite respect.

     

    Without an action, a gesture, something deserving of respect, respect doesn’t arise.

     

    Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary.  ~Mark Twain

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Bucket

     

    Hands.  Simple hands. They speak a language of their own.

    What makes them tell their story, what makes them do what they do, what powers these hands, makes them move, or lay silently.

    Hands.  It seems to me they mean more than a name. 

    Hands lift you up when you are small and when tasks seem too big.

    Hands can slap you down and away, when all you want is love.

    Hands can teach you to survive, or keep you hopeless.

    Hands….watch those hands…..feel those hands….listen.

    They are speaking a message, what are they telling you.

    I held a sleeping hand.  Now that sounds weird, but I did.  It was warm, it was caring, it was pure love.  It lay part curled in total peace, gentle and silent.  It lay there just for me.  I held it and was filled with peace, with gratitude.  I held the hand and tears slipped down knowing.

    Knowing what?  What did I know?  It seemed I could read the message of this hand.  I could now read the true message of another.

    I could read or could I feel?  What was I feeling?

    Feeling? Hands can bring you feeling?  Hands deliver our feelings?

    Now that seems weird. 

    I always thought we had feelings, like it is a given, like it comes with our hair color and our eyes.  Isn’t it part of the package?  Don’t we all come with a nice assortment of feelings?  Where are they stored and how do they get there?   Are we responsible for our feelings?

    Hands without feelings, what would that be like, lifeless, useless, hopeless?

    Feelings where do they come from?  Who makes feelings?

    Who teaches us feelings?  Is there a class on feelings when we are young?  Who decides our bucket of feelings?  Do we get all kinds?

    Do babies come with their bucket full and little by little do they seep out?  Do they seep out or does one kind overflow the others.  Are little children responsible for what they carry in their bucket of feelings, or is it possible that is our job as parents?  Little hands with a big bucket full of feelings. 

    Inside my bucket was overflowing with feelings, murky, dark, swirling, sad, scary, frightening, too little, heavy, to much out of control, vulnerable children, keeping safe too many, no one is watching, all alone, no one to tell, no one to listen, I am responsible for too many, not my children, can’t stop the flow, twisting and pulling, falling, I can’t keep holding this bucket, it is far to big for me….or is the bucket too small.

    One day the bucket crashed to the ground and all my feelings fell out.

    All. They lay on the ground, messy.  And I lay on the ground. Empty.

    Sad. No love was in my bucket.  Loveless, hopeless, lost. I had carried that bucket for nothing. I had dragged it around for naught.

    Me. A Bucket. Both Empty.

    Empty, I reached for a hand. 

    In it I felt something.

    I held that hand. 

    That hand carried me, accepted me, loved me, cared for me and waited.

    With patience, It knew I would find my own way.  It knew I had it in me, long before I knew. 

    I held the hand of God.

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