nonfiction – Page 7 – One Woman's Quest

Dream House

There is a house that I often visit in my dreamtime. I am either thinking about buying it, or have just moved in. It is set in the country, high up on a bluff overlooking the water. It is not a new house, nor does it stand alone; it shares the quiet street with other houses, different from itself. Tall trees line the street, and green sloping lawns surround the house. The setting is idyllic, but I have concerns about the house. Sometimes the house appears as a yellow brick, two-story, older style home; other times it is a small white raised ranch. Every time, I worry that the house is not big enough for comfort.

When I enter, the main living area appears cosy, and has a certain charm. It is liveable, I think to myself. Then I look around, and am amazed to find that there is so much more to this house than I first thought. Always there is a second kitchen and living area, as well as endless bedrooms and bathrooms. I awaken with a feeling of pleasant surprise and a longing to explore more.

* * * * *

None of the houses, nor the setting in the dream are places I’ve been to in my lifetime, however; there is a certain familiarity. The setting is a feel good place: quiet and serene, and off the beaten path. Years ago, as a single mother, I used to drive up to the lake and admire the houses on the bluff, wishing one day that I could live there. I would dream of a simpler life, where I could be close to nature, and write.

The old, yellow house reminds me of a rental property my former husband and I bought, hoping it would be an investment that we would profit from. The house turned out to be a money pit and a bit of a nightmare. We just didn’t know enough about real estate values at the time.

The white house reminds me of the home my parents bought at the lake for their retirement; a home that became a wonderful gathering place for friends and family.

Often, I think the house in my dream represents me: aging, and plain on the outside, although surrounded by beauty and comfort. Inside, I appear uncomplicated at first, yet there is more to me than even I know. I love the idea that there are many more rooms to discover within.

Life’s Treasures

I have thought of my life as a rally race, in which I am driving blindfolded and without a navigator. There have been many bumps in the road, and several turns, but a whole lot of discovery. One of the greatest treasures I have encountered on my journey is compassion. I stumbled upon it unintentionally.

I have always approached life with passion and courage. At five, my peers would ask me to form an army against the neighbourhood bullies. Fearlessly, I would lead the confrontation, ready to fight. At eight, I had a reputation for beating anyone who crossed me. I gave up the physical battles by thirteen, but anger still lurked just below the surface.

At twenty, I applied for a job in customer service, only to be told I was too intimidating. I ended up in collections. An attitude of judgment closed me off from others. Life was a battlefield, and my sword was raised.

Then, at twenty-eight, something happened. The walls around me came tumbling down to reveal a highly sensitive and intuitive side. It is impossible, I discovered, to empathize with another, while holding judgment. Opening my heart in empathy, unlocked compassion. The world suddenly became kinder, warmer, and more loving. I laid down my sword.

Compassion without limits, I would learn, can be detrimental. I felt so wholeheartedly for others, that I forgot about my own needs. Conservation was the next treasure I needed to find in my life quest. The ability to establish boundaries, and set parameters on how I expended my compassion. Life is about balance, and while there are limitless opportunities to help others, I do not have limitless energy. Free will dictates making healthy choices. I understand, but have not fully incorporated this treasure.

The last gem I am just uncovering, although I still have a lot of digging to do. It has been a hard road to come to the realization that I do not have to be the first, the best, or the only. I am not sure, but I suspect, that it relates to my sense of not being good enough.

A work in progress.

Mindfulness

“Can you consistently eat when you eat, and sleep when you sleep?” asks Derek Lin in “The Tao of Joy Every Day”.

Therapeutic Touch is a practice which teaches how to stay fully present and centered in the moment. Practitioners learn how to set aside all distractions so that they can focus completely on the treatment itself. Like many others, I struggled with this concept in the beginning. I would quiet my mind, focus on my breathing, and then remember I had forgotten to change the laundry over, or return my mother’s call. My mind, I discovered loves to travel in multiple directions at once.

To train myself, I would pick random times during the day and “check-in” on myself. The first thing I discovered was that I was driving without actually being aware of what I was doing. Behind the wheel, I felt an inexplicable need to be in front of the traffic, weaving in and out, tailgating, and exceeding the speed limit. I decided to replace this behaviour with mindful breathing, always bringing my awareness back to what I was actually doing. Instead of passing the car in front of me, I would take deep breaths, and will myself to stay aware. It didn’t take long before I began to notice other drivers like myself, driving aggressively. Ironically, I noticed that many of those drivers did not gain a lot of ground, having to stop for the same lights, and succumb to traffic. Remaining conscientious and choosing to drive mindfully, I knew myself to be a lot less stressed than those other drivers. It was an aha moment.

I learned how to bring my full attention to my clients, effectively able to sense the subtleties and different patterns they presented. I felt I had mastered this art.

Yet, in response to Lin’s question, I have to confess that I usually eat as an aside to whatever else I am doing, and when I sleep I toss and turn with thoughts of what was undone from the day before, or what needs to be done tomorrow.

I can’t help but think that if I could just focus on eating as a solo activity, I would be more conscious of the taste of the food and the response of my body, and maybe, just maybe, not eat to excess. I would have to turn off the t.v., and the computer, close the book, and just eat. It is a effort worth exploring.

As for sleeping, well, that is another matter. How does one clear the mind enough to just sleep?

(Image: healthyhappyhumanbeings.com)

Contemplation of Inner Lives

Wasn’t it Carl Jung who said that each of us has a cast of thousands within our psyche? What if I could meet with my inner personas, envision a way for us to all get along?

I am reminded of a recurring dream I have had about an underground cave full of people, through which I try to maneuver. I picture the cave to help me imagine my inner selves. The space is roomy, with high ceilings, and a fire that lightens the scene. There is an underground body of water around which people are gathered. It is crowded in here. I visually push the crowd back, clearing a space in the light.

“Listen up troops! This is ego talking. Can we have a meeting?”

Who will come forward?

A small figure steps into the clearing. She looks to be about three or four years old. Dark curls of hair fall in disarray about her shoulders. Dragging a stuffed animal by her side, she rubs her big, brown eyes with her free hand, as if just waking up from a deep sleep.

“Hello, Little One. Welcome.” I am delighted both by her innocence, and her bravery for being the first to step up.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch more movement. It is a twelve-year-old version of myself, who steps in to take the little one’s hand. Ah, responsible me. I know her well.

An older woman steps in next. She is well-groomed, neat and trim. Her hair is white, and obviously long, but caught up in a bun. Her face is long; not my face. I don’t know her.

“Welcome,” I say and she nods approvingly.

“Anyone else?”

A pregnant version of myself steps forward. Not the new mother me, but the woman expecting her third child. The established mother. She looks tired, but not unkind. She has brought her babies with her.

A shadow darts across the opening, then fades back into the dark corners of the cave. I try to see where it went and see a figure trembling there in the darkened crevices.

“Would you like to join us?” The figure is slightly hunched, hugging herself tightly. “Please.” The others reach out their hands towards her. She moves to the edge of the darkness. Her long hair looks tangled, dirty. Her eyes are cast down, I can’t see her face. It looks like she is holding a blanket around her. “If you are here, you are part of us,” I offer. “We’d like it if you’d join us.” She looks up and it startles me. The pain in her eyes it so real my breath sticks in my chest. She steps forward and I see she is naked under the blanket. She is my violated self. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Please come into the light. I want you here.” The others move to surround her.

The shadow darts again. Is that a little boy? I follow the movement. There is a tall, proud, Aboriginal woman. She is wearing some ceremonial costume, although nothing I recognize. She steps silently forward. I like her energy. Then three figures push out of the crowd to join in. They too are of different ethnicity and race. Arms locked like old friends they are laughing and jostling; a happy presence. Another woman pushes forward, directing a young boy before her – the darting shadow. He has a dishevelled mop of hair, and dark mischievous eyes, reminding of pictures of my father as a child. She is a big bear of a woman, very motherly, and obviously very much in control.

There’s a boy here? Are there any men? I wonder. I look around. Many faces still stand on the periphery, and yes some are men, but none have come forth….oh, wait a minute, here’s one. A whiff of pipe smoke hits me first. Very professorial. Tall, thin, with greying hair, and kind eyes. A thinker, I’m guessing. Another young man steps forward. Dressed immaculately, and carrying a case, he looks driven by ambition: fearless.

“Okay,” I say. “It looks like we could do this all night, but we need to begin. Can we get started?”

The big bear of a woman steps forward, with the little boy in tow. “The goal here is to find some harmony,” she states. “I think it would best if everyone could be heard. State your concerns, and also what you bring to the whole. I’ll start. I am Mother Earth. I believe in the unity of the whole, and am big and strong enough to hold us all together.”

Cool! I am liking this exercise.

The white-haired woman is next. “Well, I am wisdom, and I believe this can work also, but I am a little concerned about how ego is running the ship.” She looks directly at me. “We won’t live forever, you know; be a little mindful of how you take care of our body. Some exercise would go a long way.” I gulp. Yes ma’am, I’m thinking.

“What do you have to offer?” Mother Earth asks.

“Perspective,” is the response. “When the ego needs direction, and is willing to listen, I offer perspective.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Good to know.”

The professor tilts his pipe towards me. “Don’t forget intellect. You have a good mind. Use it. No concerns right now, as long as she keeps learning.” Fair enough.

My mother self just beams at me. She is happy that the babies are still coming.

The twelve-year-old, still coddling the little one, gets my attention. “Don’t forget us,” she says.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “How could I forget you?”

“But you do. You often do. We need care too. We need fun and new discoveries, and most of all we need love and affection. Well, not so much me, but the little one does.”

I have to smile, because I’m sure she means both of them. “Of course you do. Don’t I show it?”

“Not very often. You spend far too much time worrying about the future, and where the next dollar is coming from. You forget that we need attention and just to hang out sometimes.”

The little one nods, as if she understands. She puts out her arms and I hug her to me. She is so tiny, and pure. “You are precious,” I tell her. “I would never want to lose you.” She snuggles up and leans into me. I offer my hand to the twelve-year-old. “I would like for you to let me be the adult,” I tell her. “I appreciate everything you have done, you have a great sense of duty, but you also need to just be a kid.” The look she gives me is undecipherable. I look to Mother Earth for some direction. She nods at the younger me.

“Go ahead,” she says. “Tell her.”

“You have made promises to us that you do not keep. We don’t know what to believe. Little One needs to feel safe and secure, she needs you to be consistent.”

“What about you? What do you need?”

Her lip starts to tremble. Is that a flicker of anger I see behind her eyes.

“You can tell me.” I try to keep my tone calm, and reassuring, but my heart and mind are racing. “What have I done to this child? Then I understand. “Are you angry with me, or adults in general?” I ask. “I know you’ve been hurt by many.”

“I don’t know who to trust,” she begins. “I try and try to be good and make things better, but it’s like I don’t exist. It’s unfair.” The floodgates burst open. “I feel like I don’t matter. No one notices me. No one cares.” The little one runs to her and they hug again. “We need to know you care.”

“But I do care! Maybe I just don’t know how to show it. Please, help me to understand what you need.”

“When you were us you knew what you wanted. You promised that you would not put up with injustices, and you would make us count in the world. You also promised that we wouldn’t need anyone.”

“I know I did, Honey. But that is not a healthy response. Relationships are a natural part of life, and while I haven’t always been able to protect us from harm and abuse, I have made better choices, haven’t I? I do care very much about you, and I know you have been hurt.” There’s so much I want to say, but she does have a point. “I’m sorry.”

“And what about her?” They both glance in the direction of the young woman in the blanket. She is too wounded to be angry.

“I made a terrible mistake, and you suffered for it. I am so sorry. I don’t know how to lessen your pain.” Then, “Mother, I have stumbled through life, and made poor choices out of fear, anger, and impulsiveness. I see now that I have hurt all of us. How do we find alignment without trust? Have I ruined our chances?”

“Of course not, Child. There is always hope. This is a good beginning. We are talking, and you are listening.”

“I am listening, but I feel so responsible, and inadequate.”

“Oh, you are not inadequate; far from it.”

“What we need,” interjects the Warrior Princess, “is direction and leadership. You,” she is speaking to the young business man, “need to take a step back. While your ambition is appreciated, it is not always in line with the common good. Your energy and spirit are good, but you serve us better by working in the background. As for you,” she turns to the three friends, “your lightheartedness is wonderful, and we need you as a constant reminder of the need for tolerance and harmony. Young lady,” she says addressing the twelve-year-old. “You are mighty strong and that is admirable, but you are yet a child. I invite you to be open to the future instead of always fearing it. We need your youthful exuberance to power the movement. And you, Little One, you are indeed precious, and we never want to be without your sense of wonder and innocence. Professor, Wise Woman, you know your roles. Young mother, you are much appreciated right now with these new grandchildren coming. As for you, Young Man,” she turned to the little boy with the hair. “You have the very important role of looking out for possibilities. You have just the right amount of restlessness, coupled with curiosity and daring. Every good team needs that. Now there is just one more thing to do.” Opening her arms, she gestures for the crowd to form a circle around her, then she invites the wounded girl and myself to join her in the middle. Silently, she positions each of us facing one another. I offer my hand to the girl and she takes it. I clasp it to my heart.

“There is a lot of strength in this room, and I want you both to feel it.” Although the room has fallen silent, and the faces are all somber, we can sense the truth in what she is saying.

“There is also a lot of hope, and love in this room. Let that be with you, also.” We both take a deep breath in, and I can see her shoulders relax a little, though she still clutches her blanket to her.

“There is no movement within a community of blame, only heartache and pain. I want everyone here to release any blame that their heart may be holding. Take a deep breath in and as you let it go, release any blame with it. Replace the blame with love for the whole.” All chests rise on the inhale, and collectively we exhale a sigh of release. Breathing in again, we begin to feel lighter.

“You are so beautiful,” I tell my wounded self. “You didn’t deserve this. None of us did. We all hurt for you.” A murmur of agreement circles the room. “And we all pray for your healing.” The murmur becomes a rumble.

The Warrior Princess raises one hand in the air, placing her other palm on the Wounded One’s forehead. “You are not alone,” she says. “You must not carry the burden of this pain alone. Let us each take on our share of the burden and lighten this young woman’s load. Open your arms and receive her.” All bodies push forward to embrace the Wounded One in a massive hug of energy. From within the circle their is a heart-wrenching sob, then a flow of tears that passes from one self to the next until there is a palpable shift in the air. Then, as if on cue, everyone steps back into the circle, giving us room. Our eyes meet, and the most incredible thing happens. The young woman lets go of her blanket, and standing straight and proud reaches her hand out for mine, and clasps it to her heart. Her whole being shines with such radiance and light that I am not embarrassed by her nakedness. She is beautiful!

I am beautiful.

We are all beautiful.

And in that moment we are so wonderfully aligned that we feel the perfection of our being, and the miracle that is existence.

“Thank you, all.” I whisper, not wanting to break the reverie.

(Image: en.wikepedia.org)

On Wisdom

The difference between knowledge and wisdom is experience.

A young man once asked me if he could shadow me for a summer, so that he could learn from me. I asked him to tell me about his life.

“It’s good,” he replied.

“Tell me about a hardship that you have overcome.”

“None that I can think of. My life has been easy.”

“Are your parents together?”

“Well, no,” he explained. “They separated when I was fifteen.”

“That must have been hard.”

He shrugged. “That was about them. It wasn’t about me.”

He was a nice young man, and I believed him to be very sincere. “What will you do with your summer, if I say no.?”

“I was thinking I’d try to get a job at a resort up north.”

“That’s what I would recommend!”

His disappointment was visible. “But I want to help people; I want to do what you do.”

“Let’s look at this hypothetically. If someone came to you suffering from deep depression, how would you help them?”

“I would meditate on it and look for answers.”

“I see. And if none came?”

He had no response.

“Let me explain something,” I was starting to feel a little bit like David Carradine talking to Grasshopper. “Much of my ability to help another comes from life experience. In the case of depression, who do you think would be in a better position, someone who has lived through it and come out the other side, or someone who has meditated on the possibility?”

He didn’t need to answer.

“The best thing you can do for yourself right now is gather experience. Learn all that you can, too, but when your intellectual knowledge, meets your experienced knowing, then you will be ready.”

“How long will that take.”

I had to suppress a smile. I was impatient once too. “That depends on you. From where I stand, you have a ways to go.”

“Why’s that?” He looked offended.

“You haven’t even recognized the pain of your parents’ divorce. How can you help another deal with their wounds, when you haven’t looked at your own?”

“There is time for everything,” I said more gently. “Now is a time for gathering. Go North. You’ll learn much more there than I can ever teach you now.”

Focused Intent

For years a padded treatment table doubled as our dining room table. The height was right, but the width was too narrow, and it felt awkward to sit guests around it in the center of our large dining area. Replacing it was not a priority, but I knew if I didn’t move it out, I’d never get a proper dining set. So, one Sunday morning, I packed it away and started to polish the hardware floors.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for our new dining room set.”

“Is there something I don’t know?”

“No, but it’s never going to happen if I don’t make room for it.”

“So, we’re not going to eat in here anymore?”

“Not until the new table comes.”

In the midst of this exchange, my parents arrived unexpectedly. “Guess what we did today?”

I had no idea.

“We bought ourselves a new table and chairs. Would you like our dining room set?”

* * * * *

I shared this story with a friend. I had learned about it in a workshop. Set your intent by specifically asking for what you want, and clear any blocks that might stop your wish from manifesting. Then let it go, and let God.

She and her husband were struggling to get by, with one income, and three children; the youngest having a lot of special needs. Their old car was on its last legs, and they couldn’t afford the vehicle that would make their life easier.

“Believe me,” she said. “If that worked, I would have done it long ago.”

When she called me the next time, her tune had changed. “I thought about what you said,” she explained, “and I realized that my block was my attitude. So I asked for a van in which we could transport our family, and I set aside my disbelief. The very next day, I was walking to work and ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen since high school. We talked over old times, and then you won’t believe what happened. She said she had heard about our daughter, and she wanted to help. She said she had come into some money and she would like to either buy us a new vehicle or give us the money to pay down on our mortgage. We pick up the van next week!”

* * * * *

The system does not always work so well. One friend asked for abundance for years, but nothing happened. She even tried to get specific, asking for a set amount of money, but somehow, it never manifested.

I do believe that we get what we ask for, and I also believe we have to be careful about what that is. For years my sister “just wanted to be thinner”, but she didn’t do anything to make that happen. Her wish came true, but the cost was not worth the prize: cancer ensured she shed the pounds rapidly.

Picture what you want, then be open to receiving it. Anything can happen, but you have to be able to picture it first.

Mapping Life

If you could make a map of your life, what would it look like? Have you walked one path, or several? Has the terrain been flat or rocky? What would the road ahead look like?

Let’s see if I can describe the map of my life.

My beginnings were in the east, at the edge of residential land, bordering on industrial. The path I was born on was bordered by rosebushes, but despite the flowery hope, the thorns were painfully evident. Not yet able to carve my own path, I was often passed over fences and imposed upon others.

At four, we moved west as a family and the path seemed to open up, and brought the fertile promise of new topsoil. It was here that I began to picture a direction of my own, and dreamed of writing, teaching, and fighting for children’s rights. But the richness of the soil proved superficial, and the foundation started to crack, and suddenly, we veered off course.

The new road took us out of town, away from the familiar, and on the edge of an escarpment. The way was marked by rocky crevices, and treacherous footings. As strong and independent as I tried to be, there were too many dark places here, and my confidence was shaken.

By the time we ventured back to my hometown, I had already disengaged myself from my parents’ path, and began to carve my own. The beginnings were not auspicious. I was headed into a dark, overgrown forest, which would trip me up many times over the next couple of years, causing me to grasp at any beam of light, desperately looking for a way out.

I came to clearings from time to time, and if you look closely, you will see the areas that I clear cut myself, out of sheer determination to make that time of my life count.

Then there are the moments where the path lifted me out of the woods and onto the sunny, green hilltops, and life was good again. And I resumed my dreams, and pursued my studies, and became a mother.

Until the earth opened up and swallowed me momentarily, but I climbed out of that, and for awhile I walked along the beaten path, not really sure if I belonged, but not wanting to miss out either. See my footprints there, hesitant, beside the road?

And see where I started to carve out yet another new route? There, where the trees are not so dense, and the wood is new, and spring green. Notice how the path begins to develop, wobbly a bit, at first, then straightening out, making it’s way in a slow ascent along that mountainside. There are the plateaus I have talked about, and look there, where I took a steep climb. Those were good times. I had purpose then, and felt so alive.

The path goes underground for awhile. You can’t see it, but it winds its way through the caves. I can tell you, I tried a few different trails while I was under there, but eventually settled on the one I’m on now. You can see it emerging, there at the top of the map, where the mountain opens up to a green valley. I’ll be resting here awhile, but the journey is not over yet.

Just over that next hill there is a village, and beyond that village, on the horizon, an ocean. Looks like there will be a few more peaks to master, and that the road might double back once or twice, but I am hoping for a beautiful landscape ahead, and a lot more ease of travel.

Try it yourself. Draw a map of your own life.

(Image: yourlifemapping.com)

A Witness To Death

My mother told me that when she was a child, she would wake up in the middle of the night to find her mother slaving over the woodstove. Grandma was a midwife. Mom said Grandma’s dreams would tell her when a baby was coming, and she would get up and cook for her family, knowing she would be away.

Grandma’s gift passed on to me, with a slight variation.

I first learned about it the night my four cousins perished in a fire. I awoke in the middle of the night with an awful chill. When my mother told me the news, I realized that I’d already known about their passing.

Walking home from school one day, at the age of eleven, something unseen stopped me in my tracks. The image of my paternal Grandmother filled my mind along with the sensation of her love, and a farewell. I arrived home to find my family gathered around. “I know,” I said, before anyone could speak. “She told me.”

Lying beside my ailing sister one night, I had a vision of a spirit. He told me to listen for the howling of the wolves, and that my sister would pass through the fire on her way to the other side. I was with her the night an unexpected storm came in. The wind it brought sounded like a pack of wolves howling outside the window. I had been holding her hand, but the heat from her body was so intense, I had to let go. The nurse said her temperature was higher than her thermometer could measure. She passed away ten minutes later.

Do I believe in life after death? Yes. Does that lessen the grief of losing a loved one? No.

Grief is the natural response to loss. Life may go on, but the relationship has been permanently altered, and that is loss.

When Dee found out she was dying, she made me promise I would be there to hold her hand. Death, like birth, I told her, is not something we have control over, but I would do my best. The call came at 6:30 one morning.

“Dee says it’s time,” her mother told me. “Can you come?”

I had children to get off to school, and so it was two hours before I arrived at Dee’s bedside. She was already well on her way. With one hand I grasped hers, then placed my other over her heart as I leaned in to whisper: “I’m here.”

Dee’s eyes opened and she took one last gasping breath and died. Her spirit, like a breeze, flowed through the house, flickering all the candles her mother and sister had lit to mark the occasion. She was free!

I witnessed the miracle, and then I grieved.

First Glimpse Of ME/CFS

Hesitantly, I turned the key in the lock and pushed the door ajar. A waft of warm, stale air accosted me.

“Hello?” I’d been told there might not be a response.

Something was resting against the door, so I pushed harder to let myself in. The beam from the light of the open doorway was thick with dust and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I was walking into a little foyer, with stairs ascending to the main level. The walls on either side of the entrance were stacked high with boxes, and laundry baskets full of stuff. Something lay on the floor at my feet – a coat, or a blanket, I couldn’t tell – the object of resistance. I stepped over it and closed the door behind me. The smell of the place accosted me then, a smothering aroma of dust, and cigarettes, and cat fur. I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

“Hello?” I called again, more desperate for a response. None came.

She’ll be in the bedroom, at the end of the hallway, her mother had told me. She likely won’t awaken.

It was the middle of the day, but dark blankets covered the windows, allowing for minimal light. I waited for my eyes to adjust before climbing the steps to the kitchen. The rows of boxes and debris continued and flowed into the kitchen, where dirty dishes and takeout containers littered the counters and floors. Who could live like this?

I felt my way along the hall, carefully stepping through the hordes of items stashed there, until I reached the last bedroom.

Politeness made me knock again. Again no response.

The situation was worse than I thought, and I seriously doubted my ability to be of help. It all started when she was seventeen, her mother told me. She had a terrible case of the flu, followed by encephalitis, and then one thing after the other. She rarely gets up, and has trouble putting a sentence together. The doctor’s have given up on her. She hasn’t been out of the house for ten years, and we can’t get anyone to go in. We’d really appreciate if you’d go see her.

Two tabby cats greeted me as I opened the bedroom door, as did the fetid odour of a litter box. Shooing them aside, I approached the bed. Rumpled bedding was tangled up in the middle of full size bed, but no sign of any thirty-three year-old woman. Now what?

I decided she had to be somewhere within the mess of sheets and bedding, so centering myself, I began. I ran my hands just above the bed, hoping for some sense of heat, or thickness, that might indicate there was a body inside. Instead, I just felt foolish. So, I stood at the foot of the bed and took some deep breaths, re-centering in hopes of some divine inspiration.

“Well?” A thin, croaky voice emerged from under the covers.

“Hello,” I said again, beginning to feel like a parrot.

A thin, waif-like hand appeared, followed by a matted head of hair. She was tiny. “Any hope?” her voice sounded as if it was coming from under water: slurred and thick.

I was at a loss for words. Here was this wisp of a woman, holed up this house with no daylight, and no fresh air, locked away from humanity, and all I could think of was how could she possibly survive. I would have committed suicide long ago if it had been me. What could I tell her about hope?

Then I remembered something both Joan Borysenko and Bernie Seigel had said during their workshops: There is something to love about everyone. Find it and you can help them.

“Yes,” I said. “I believe there is.”

“Really?” The word came out stretched and squeaky.

She had survived this long. She had beaten odds, and continued to live. It wasn’t much of an existence, but something kept her going.

“You have an incredible will. Now, you just have to learn to channel that to get better.”

* * * * *

Patty’s story is for another day. Meeting her taught me the importance of an idea that works. There is something to love about everyone. I use it everyday in my teaching practice.

(Image: www.experiencewellness.co.uk)

Plateaus

“I don’t know, Lynn; I just feel flat, as if I’m stuck.”

“You’ve probably just reached a plateau.”

“What do you mean?” Lynn, fifteen years my senior, was a beloved cousin and mentor. When I was young, I knew her as a famous singer who traveled and performed with celebrities. Poor health forced her off the road, and a failed marriage stripped her of all material wealth. Yet, Lynn never lost her quiet dignity, and I found in her a gentle friend, who was always willing to listen.

“The spiritual journey has been compared to climbing a mountain: sometimes the going is easy and exhilarating; sometimes it is steep and difficult; and sometimes you reach a plateau.”

“That feels about right.”

“Have patience, and when the time is right, you will move again.”

I always pictured Lynn as a pillar in my life. Her strength and presence often held me up. Since she died fifteen years ago, no one else has taken her place.

* * * * *

My quest for spiritual enlightenment started as a little girl. I distinctly remember being five and having a strong sense of purpose, as if God put me here on this earth to do something. I felt it was important to keep the door open for God, so that I would be ready when the time came. My faith was pure, innocent, and wholehearted.

Fifteen was when I started to have doubts and turned my back on God. I also fell into a depression that would not break for many years.

At twenty-eight, I felt like I suddenly woke up from a deep sleep, and the quest was on again. These were the years when Lynn and I bonded, and I tackled that mountain with fervour. I had never felt so alive. Even through hardship and pain, I never felt alone. I knew that God was with me.

Then I turned my back again. It was nine years ago, but now I’m backing, asking questions again; wondering.

I guess I just hit another plateau, Lynn.