Flesh and Bones: Meditations on Flexibility and Rigidity

Flesh and Bones

As my ankle heals, I am reflecting on the duality in our bodies of stiffness and softness, of stability and movement, of stop and go.

These things live in constant relationship, affecting each other and depending on each other.  These apparent opposites NEED each other in order to do their jobs well.  Firm and flexible, strong and sweet.  Furthermore, a loss or imbalance in one creates a corresponding loss or imbalance in the other.  For example, the loss of stability in my ankle makes me stop being able to move with any flow.  The return of some stability brings back a return to some flow, but my flow is in constant negotiation with the pain and resistance in my ankle.  Stop and go. Go and stop.

And balance is what we want. 

We need both our bones and our flesh.  Bones can seem to get in the way of stuff, but look at any yogi, and tell me bones get in the way!  We need the firm rules, AND we need the creative soaring beyond the "box."  

Okay.  Enough with the metaphors.  Let's get specific.  Let's get concrete.

What are BONES?  Bones are rules.  Bones are guidelines and laws.  Bones are the police and locks and barriers. Bones are STRUCTURE in all its forms.  Crappy structure equals system collapse and nothing can get done.  NO rules means no order, no sequencing, no clarity, no direction.  (That's an extreme, because there are always some rules in some form, like gravity.)  We need "bones" to be stable.  We need them to hold up, to support, to carry, to anchor, and to withstand. That is their purpose and their job.

What is FLESH?  Flesh is intention and desire.  Flesh is CONTENT.  It is the WHY.  (Hmmm.  Not very concrete....)   FLESH is the stuff that happens in the hospital building, as opposed to the building itself.  The ability to provide medical care is the flesh.  This need requires a place and it needs tools to be fulfilled.  The building and equipment are the bones for the flesh of getting the job done.

Abandoned buildings are like skeletons.  They have no life. Maybe that's why we make skeletons a symbol of death.  They are a concrete symbol of something lifeless.  We all have seen the horror of bumping into "stupid rules"---where we completely see the lifelessness of a barrier or law that is obsolete.  We have all seen someone enforcing a rule without understanding its deep "why," and how much harm that can do.

Isn't it funny that a pile of muscles doesn't have that same archetypal resonance with death?   It might evoke something kinda creepy, like "the blob."  But it just isn't energized the same way, eh? Though it is hard to imagine how I could accomplish anything without any bones, we don't use "bare muscles" as a halloween image.  (Sounds more like the Chippendales!)

Anyway, it is the metaphor of the interdependence of our bones and flesh that is interesting me now.  It is the need of the one for the other and the other for the one.  I get mad at my physical inflexibility sometimes, the same way I get mad at the inflexibility of some aspects of life.  But my inflexibility isn't actually due to my bones.  Bones don't bend, sure.  But it is my soft tissue that is overly tight, or weak, that gives me the inability to move every-which way.  Yoga has been showing me that.  It is my tissues and ligaments that can learn and be trained to be more expansive, less tender, more strong AND more free.

Just some thoughts.
Alison

The Black Hole

The Black Hole

Today I am going to talk about it.
Today I am going to speak about a part of my reality that has been tagging along at my heels since I was a kid.

I struggle with depression.  I am tired of struggling with depression, but being tired of it doesn't make it go away.

This past winter and spring have been particularly rough, and that is why it is in the front of my mind.  I am also proof-reading a manuscript by a fellow minister, who is also a fellow sufferer of depression and who is writing a devotional particularly written for those of us who live with depression.  In his manuscript, he aptly refers to depression as a black hole. 

Depression sucks.  Like a black hole, it draws everything inexorably and relentlessly into it, and utterly negates it.  This definition of a black hole pretty well describes depression.  It is from the same website from which I borrowed this photo.
"The field of gravity around a black hole is so immense that it swallows everything in its reach; not even light can escape its grip. For that reason, black holes are just that –emitting no light whatsoever, their "nothingness" blends into the black void of the universe. "
http://www.zeitnews.org/space-science/scientists-gear-up-to-take-a-picture-of-a-black-hole.html

Nothing can escape.  No light whatesoever.  Those are pretty extreme descriptions of a mood.  They sound melodramatic.  I know that when I am doing well, I will find that description of depression melodramatic.  I will want to minimize it.  "Oh, well.  It isn't all that bad."

That is from my own self, who has been battling a recurrence of depression for over eight weeks now.  From one whose first thought nearly every day is, "I just want to die."

I think denying  depression's awfulness helps me feel like I have some power over it.  I think denying depression's awfulness helps me pretend the darkness isn't so dark---it helps me feel less afraid of its absolute darkness and relentless power.

Have you read Harry Potter?  The flying, evil creatures called "dementors" epitomize depression.  Their weapon is a kiss---a kiss which sucks one's life away until there is nothing left but a shell, dead-eyed and motionless.  JK Rowling knows depression, and anyone who reads these stories and has struggled with it recognizes it too.

There are two ways to battle dementors.  One is with chocolate. (Well, duh!  Of course it is!)

The other is the summoning of a "patronus."  You can decide for yourself what that represents, but for me it is guardian angel energy and ones inner strength.  Someone else can summon their own on your behalf, but the best trick of all is to learn to summon ones own.  Summoning one's own patronus, or guardian angel, or inner strength, takes LOTS of practice and is the most difficult to do in the face of an immediate dementor attack.  Harry manages it for the first time to save a friend.  He has a much harder time summoning one on his own behalf.  Sound familiar?

I have to tell you, there is something about having depression characterized in a storybook, and having those characters have some tools to battle depression that helps me feel a bit more hopeful.

I can laugh when my best friend brings me chocolate with understanding in her eyes.  I have not one inkling of judgment when another friend downs two bars of Lindt 72% dark in a half hour.  I simply understand the effects of a close encounter.  I cannot judge, because I recognize that desperate emptiness.  I have been there too.

Honestly.  Isn't it time dark chocolate was covered under OHIP?

Wow.  Well writing this has pushed the current batch of dementors back a bit.  Humour and friendship, non-judgment and unconditional love all make a difference.  The support of friends is huge.  But as for finding my own patronus?  I'm not there yet. But I can tell you that writing is somehow connected to it

Thank you for listening.

Alison

For support and comfort and information on depression and other forms of mental illness, look at http://www.itsmyturnmovement.org/site/  and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wWHH1iWq3A.
My personal story is here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4U0jYFf-Ng&feature=related

Addendum 2019: I can now summon a corporeal patronus. ;) https://alisonlongstaffmoore.blogspot.com/2019/10/teaching-defence-against-dark-arts-to.html

Object Relations Theory, or The Continuous Birth of the Human Heart

The Continuous Birth of the Human Heart

As I limp through these post-Easter days, I am reflecting on the concept of rebirth.
I am particularly thinking about spiritual or emotional rebirth, or the birth of a new paradigm or way of being on the planet.
I am thinking about this because I feel like I am stuck in a womb.  I feel like I am on the verge of a breakthrough, but I have no idea "into what" or how to prepare; if I am still gestating or if I am actually stuck in a psychic birth canal.

Anybody got some forceps?

I feel like I am nearing the finish line, but it is too soon to sprint;  like I am in transition, but it is too soon to push.  Spring may be around the corner, but I haven't reached the corner yet.

Anyway....

So while we are waiting, let me tell you about Robert Kegan's spin on "object relations theory."
"Who? On object- what?"
Robert Kegan on ....   Never mind.

Just tell me if this resonates with you:
Our personal growth (meaning psychological or spiritual growth) mirrors physical gestation and birth, and happens repeatedly as we grow.
So our spiritual/emotional journey goes something like this:

1. We make a breakthrough (birth).  Sometimes this breakthrough opens up a whole new, enormous, intimidating world (picture the flailing, crying newborn).  Sometimes we want to run back to an old way that is familiar and safe (this new place feels out of control and we prefer to feel contained and cocooned).  Other times we feel utterly relieved and filled with joy at the new possibilities (the womb was tight and cramped and we couldn't move at all.  Now we have freedom).
2. We grow accustomed to the new reality.  We adapt to the new reality and settle in.  When we have a challenge, we sort it out (cry in hunger; food shows up).  It's all good.  There's seems to be endless possibility; so many things to explore.
3. Then we begin to experience some frustration. We begin to encounter limitations.  We have desires that we cannot satisfy as quickly as we'd like (we can't reach the toy; can't follow mommy; can't make mommy/daddy come right away).
4. And finally, our limitations become increasingly bothersome.  We begin to feel trapped by our limitations (can't crawl/walk/communicate). This is also the equivalent of us reaching our full gestation and becoming cramped in the womb.  We may have a sense of the potential that lies beyond, if we can simply break out of our current, still nurturing, familiar reality.  Depending on where we are in our spiritual growth, we may feel a growing anxiety and tension.  We are afraid to move on, and yet we realize that we cannot stay in the current environment.  But if we hesitate, the current reality itself may withdraw support and push us to move on.
5. We take that next step and, whoosh!  A breakthrough!  And from cramped, dying, obsolete ways of thinking, we flounder into a much bigger paradigm with much wider freedom and possibility.  Woohoo!

And the whole process starts over again.

"You must be born again."
...and again,
and again,
and again....
This is my experience of life, anyway.
This is my experience of working to become a wiser, kinder, more skilled, more adept, more deeply compassionate, and more playful human being.

Is it like that for you?

Where are you in the birth cycle?  Newly freed?  Content?  Slightly frustrated?

Squashed and ready for a breakthrough?

That last one?  That's me.

Oh, where does object relations theory fit in here?
It is only after we have made the break-through; it is only after we have acclimatized to the new paradigm, that we can look back on the old paradigm and see it for what is was.  Like an old tricycle, once we have learned to ride a two-wheeler, we may have a fondness for it, but we cannot imagine going back.  We might ride it from time-to-time in play, but it gets increasingly awkward the longer grow our limbs.

The caterpillar cannot imagine being a butterfly, but the butterfly can remember being a caterpillar.

Or, we can only understand a world view when we can see it objectively.  We cannot have an objective relationship with it while it still enfolds us.

That's my mini-lecture on object relations theory.

Thanks for listening!

The Colour Purple - Thoughts on Pride and Self-reliance

So my life took a dramatic turn yesterday.
Actually, my ankle did.

In an innocent moment descending some stairs, I caught my heel on the front edge of the final step.  As my weight kept transferring forward, my toes dropped to full extension, then past full extension as I continued forward over my ankle to sprawl on the floor.
Embarrassment, several swear words, and a registering of the nasty crunching that had just happened in my ankle all pressed forward as I rolled onto my back.  I propped myself up against the wall, trying to calm my breathing and assessing my next move.
I was in a secluded public stairwell.
"I realized with dismay that there was no way I was going to be helping my congregation serve the Easter dinner at the soup kitchen in an hour."
My primary feeling was one of shame.  I was thoroughly embarrassed that I had allowed this to happen.  On top of that was shock and nausea and a tremendous amount of ankle-pain.  I breathed and rested and trembled, knowing that sometimes these ankle-turns can settle down quickly and not be as bad as they first seem.  After a bit I got on my hands and knees, then reached up to a hand rail on the wall.  I took a firm grip, and placing as much weight into my arms and my good leg as I could, I attempted to stand.
No go.
Weight on the injured ankle was like an electric shock.  I realized with dismay that there was no way I was going to be helping my congregation serve the Easter dinner at the soup kitchen in an hour.

I collapsed in tears, frustrated and angry.  Self-pity and "poor me" soon joined in. To get to my car I would have to cross the lobby, a wide paved landing, ascend about 6 concrete steps, cross a road, then a large expanse of goose-poop littered grass, then about 30 yards of paved parking lot ... crawling.  It was about 5 degrees out. (40 degrees Fahrenheit.)
The more the new reality hit, the faster flowed the tears of frustration and pain. And on top of everything else, I was mad at myself and ashamed that I was crying.
I called  my son to advise him of my situation and asked him to come get the car.  Then I called 911.  As I was speaking to the dispatcher, two women came in, chatting away with coffees in hand.  They glanced at me as they went by and then slowed to a stop on the stairs as I answered the dispatcher's questions, tears still flowing.  "No," I wasn't bleeding.  "No," I wasn't having trouble breathing.  The two women had a quiet whisper and then one asked, "Are you okay?"
"To get to my car I would have to cross the lobby, a wide paved landing, ascend about 6 concrete steps, cross a road, then a large expanse of goose-poop littered grass, then about 30 yards of paved parking lot ... crawling."
More tears coursed down my cheeks as I shook my head, no.
The dispatcher assured me an ambulance was on the way.  The one lady stayed with me while another went to fetch help.  I kept on feeling angry with myself and embarrassed, mixed with gratitude for the kindness.

A first aid worker brought ice and propped my foot on a chair.  That's when I noticed that my ankle had a large egg-like swelling where my ankle bone ought to have been.  That was just plain unnerving.
The police arrived next, (both with shaved heads.  Randomly I thought, "Do all police now want to look like 'Ed' on Flashpoint?" but couldn't figure out how to ask that.)  Then the ambulance arrived, and the three ambulance gentlemen quickly had me assessed, splinted, and on my way to the hospital.
"Randomly I thought, 'Do all police now want to look like "Ed" on Flashpoint?'"
So I could choose to write about the professionalism of the paramedics, or the goodness/brokenness of the Canadian health care system, or government budget cuts, or any number of other things.
But what I want to reflect on today was how hard it hit me to realize I needed help.
I have done my fair share of noticing how "this" person or "that" person's stubborn self-reliance has gotten them in trouble, and thought, "If they would only admit they need help and ask for it...." or "Why are they trying to do everything alone?"  It has been easy to decide that their pride was getting in their way.
But it is a whole new thing when it is me needing help.  Why is it such a hard thing to accept?  I suspect that I am not alone in this.  I even sometimes minimize how hard someone else's struggle might be, assuming that *I* in their shoes, would handle the same problems much more easily.... But at least I now have had enough humbling personal experiences to know that such minimization is probably a lie.  I suspect it comes from my fear of experiencing such vulnerability myself.

So there I was, (and here I still am,) chewing on the amount of shame and anger I felt yesterday, and wondering about their sources.  They certainly weren't "logical" (she said, in a Spock-like voice.)  I cannot see how either the shame or the anger served me in any positive way.
I suspect some of my fear of dependency comes from being raised American, where complete self-reliance is valued so highly.  And I know enough about myself to know that I do take a lot of pride in my own self-reliance.  But this runs deeper than just pride, though pride is certainly there (as if I could take credit for the privileges and benefits I have known, or for being born with a creative mind that problem-solves pretty decently.)
Upon reflection, the shame and embarrassment were not so much about anyone seeing me down, but instead were a response to an immediate inner chorus of criticisms, as though a host of nagging, ruthlessly critical older siblings live in my psyche, ready to jeer at any foolish move.  "That was stupid!"  They shout.  "Why weren't you watching where you were going?"  "What an idiot!"  "I knew your multi-tasking would get you in trouble!" "You and your stupid Blackberry." etc, etc, etc.
I think the deep embarrassment and shame were in response to those thoughts.  Had I had nothing but compassionate and curious acceptance of this abrupt turn in the road, my journey would have been so very different!  I could still have made note of the contributing causes to my spill and resolved to pay better attention to my footing, without needing to beat myself up inside with abusive self-talk.
"Had I not been so ashamed and angry, I might have been fascinated by the illogical quality of the emotions running through my being."
THAT is what I'm noticing.  That even though I am resolved to rewire my thinking to be more supportive and compassionate and solution-focused, I still have a long way to go.  The habit of self-criticism and name-calling runs very deep indeed, it seems.

But there was more.  I truly believe the tears also came from a deep fear of vulnerability.  It felt fairly primitive, as though now as a cripple, I was a liability to a tribe who could easily abandon me.  And abandonment by the tribe, especially now that I was wounded, would mean death.  Had I not been so ashamed and angry, I might have been fascinated by the illogical quality of the emotions running through my being.  "Really?  This brings up the fear of abandonment and death?"
It certainly seems as though stresses can bring out some pretty illogical, primitive emotions.  Am I am the only one who experiences this?
 "Really?  This brings up the fear of abandonment and death?"
With my foot up on a pillow pondering life from a sofa, thank you for listening.

 Alison    http://www.dilbert.com/strips/comic/2012-04-06/

I am a Goddess - Reflections on "Perfect"

I am a Goddess

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Heck.  "I am a goddess" is a LOT more fun to live with than the broken record that has been running in my head most of my life.  ("I am too fat, too stupid, to clumsy, and too ignorant to be lovable; but if I fake witty, intelligent, competence I might get crumbs of love for short periods of time." That's the old story and it just hasn't been a lot of fun.)

So I'm changing my story.

I am chucking out my old deadly-serious-struggle, and worry, and hyper-responsibility, and "if-I-try-very-hard-maybe-God-will-love-love-me" thinking.  I'm working on a much more playful, hopeful approach to life.  So I'm going with, "I am a goddess!"

(Now, chucking the old hyper-responsible struggle feels a bit like trying to pull a magician's scarf out of my sleeve.  It just keeps coming and coming and coming....  But hey, it is bound to end one day.  And if not, I am determined to go down trying to shift this energy.  Every little bit helps, right?)

What does it mean when I say, "I am a goddess?"  It means I don't deserve constant put-downs (from my own inner critic).  It means I deserve loving support (from my own soul)!  It means I no longer wish to go around with a beaten-puppy energy.  I want to hold my head high and smile into people's eyes from a deeply content centre.  (Not smile so that they won't hate me.  Not smile to placate.  Smile from inner peace!)

Yeah, okay.  Those of you who have known me a long time may be thinking, "You've been learning this for a long time already, girl!"  And you'd be right.  I am simply newly excited to be re-learning this at an even deeper level than before.  And yes, this is probably going to be a life-long lesson.  (Like yoga!)

"Whereas 'worthless worm' thinking made me live a life in which I craved constant reassurance.... 'I am a goddess' thinking puts me in a much more playful, open consciousness."  

IN FACT: (she shouted) I suspect that many more people on the planet than just I struggle with an inner "worthless worm" mentality.  It is heavy in many religious circles.  In fact, I have felt and witnessed a terror of letting go of "worthless worm" thinking.  But I have to ask, why are we so attached to beating ourselves up?  What are we afraid of?

Because when I look at the FRUITS, all I know is that, whereas "worthless worm" thinking made me live a life in which I craved constant reassurance, and in which I have been pretty needy, and because of which I was sustaining a constant low-level of anxiety and fear; "I am a goddess" thinking puts me in a much more playful, open consciousness.  I am much more present to the beauty around me.  I am much less critical of others.  I am looking for the beauty in each person and each moment; and I am much more trusting that it is "well with my soul."

And I believe, having been living this way a little while, that because my belief is that it is well with my soul, it IS well with my soul. And believing that it is well with my soul frees me up to be more loving with others.  And in my book, that is the whole point.
So "I am a goddess!"  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Know you are made of love, and live it!
Alison

"You're so mean when you talk about yourself.  You are wrong!

Change the voices in your head.  Make them like you instead!

The whole world’s scared, so I swallow the fear ...
So cool in line and we try, try, try; but we try too hard, 

and it's a waste of my time.

Done looking for the critics 'cause they're everywhere.
They don't like my jeans; They don't get my hair.
We estrange ourselves, and we do it all the time.
Why do we do that?

Why do I do that?
Why do I do that?

Oh! Pretty, pretty please, don’t you ever, ever feel

Like you're less than---Less than perfect
Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel like you're nothing
You are perfect to me!"

(From "Perfect" by Pink)

 

In Pursuit Of Contentment

In Pursuit Of Contentment

Today I am reflecting on contentment.  

The more I pay attention to and observe myself, the more it seems that my state of happiness/unhappiness is directly connected to whatever story I am believing that day about "reality."  If I am feeling hopeless and helpless, I am probably believing something like, "The world is too corrupt for the little person (me), to have any hope of getting ahead. Why even try?" 

On other days, when I am feeling positive and hopeful, those negative stories can get very little traction within me. In fact, I blow right past the old negative stories like a train through so many cobwebs.  They have no weight at all.

So...

... maybe there is a chicken/egg relationship here.  If I am already feeling down (let's call the negative emotion an "egg"), I am more prone to negative sorts of thinking ("chickens").  While the more negative "stories" I believe, the more down I can feel.  The thoughts and feelings so feed on each other so intensely that it can be tough to tell which is the creator of the other.

"The more I pay attention to and observe myself, the more it seems that my state of happiness/unhappiness is directly connected to whatever story I am believing that day."

How does this relate to contentment?  I would say I am practicing an "attitude of gratitude," except that I was so frequently told that I should  "practice an attitude of gratitude" during really painful times, that  "practice an attitude of gratitude" now means "minimize and dismiss your pain."  Not helpful at all.  (It still carries a negative charge for me.  Ah well.)  

So instead, I am "widening my perspective in a way that helps me feel better."  I have been helped by an increasing awareness of how well-off I am compared to the vast percentage of people on the planet.  I have indoor plumbing, for heaven's sake!  Many, many humans on the planet do not have that.  I have safe drinking water coming out of my tap.  (Okay, "safe" is relative.  I simply can't get worked up over the incredibly low risk factors possible in most of North America compared to a huge percentage of the rest of the world).  I have a tap at all!  I have a BOUNTY of water available at the turn of a handle, unlike so many places!  I have a bounty of food, a warm, attractive place to live, and even a nice hair cut.  I have wonderful friends, none of whom have been tortured, or watched their family members be murdered, or had them mysteriously disappear.  (Honestly.  How can I think I have a hard life in comparison?)

I am serious.  Remembering what so many other human beings have to live with as normal conditions, truly helps me stop looking at what I don't have and helps me better appreciate what I do have.  I had to be ready to do this before I could.  But at last I am ready.  And it is helping.

"I DO know that the stories I am telling myself ... make a HUGE difference."

 

Do I have times when I look around me and wish things were better?  Of course!  I am guessing that this pursuit of contentment will be a life-long project.  But I DO know that the stories I am telling myself, such as, "I am blessed with so much good fortune," rather than, "I have so little, and what I have is broken and disappearing," make a HUGE difference.  I could make an argument for each of those statements.  But living from the first belief makes me a happier person, whereas living from the second drops me into a cycle of misery.  It all lies in the story I am telling myself.  

Maybe that's what Jesus meant when he said, "Your stories have made you well...."

More on stories tomorrow.

Thanks for listening!  

In this Moment

Now let me say, I am a type "A."  I am a DO-er.  One of my least favourite types of moments is when I can't be doing something.  "Just sitting" is very hard work for me.  Meditation, silent retreats, moments of silence in conversation and worship, these take a great deal of effort for me to stay present.  I think that is why I prefer yoga as a meditation. I suspect that the steady movement of my body helps my brain to shut up more easily.

Maybe I am an undiagnosed ADHD poster child?

So lately I seem to be being called to look at this inner restlessness.  I observe a "hurry, hurry, hurry" inside of me.  I want to move on to the next thing so relentlessly that I am repeatedly missing the present thing.  I suspect that my inner restlessness is married to my inner perfectionist.  There is a strong part of me that analyzes and judges each moment, and MOST moments are judged inadequate in some way. So I am eager to pick up and move on to the next, in case it is better.  (This is all vastly unconscious as it is happening.  I discover it upon reflection.)

I liken this inner restlessness and discontent to an inner "geographic cure" syndrome.  "Geographic cure" is a term used in 12-step circles to name the ways we try to solve our inner problems with external changes.  "Things will be better once we move to the new house."  "Things will be better if I just switch jobs."

Sometimes those beliefs are true.

But more often than not, unfortunately, we take our inner problems with us no matter what external changes we make.  And my inner restlessness almost never settles down and is content.

So it is time to practice contentment.
More on that tomorrow.
Today I am noticing that THIS moment is actually quite fabulous.  The sun is shining and I have nothing I have to do today! (A rare day off!)   I am writing!  I have all that I truly need.