WRITE TO LIFE

When I sit down, I really don’t know what I’ll write. A phrase may spur me or I have some vague idea. Some past memory may be haunting my consciousness, reminding me of an emotion or a lesson learned that’s calling to express itself. But aside from that, how it will manifests is a guess, even to me.

I write a line or two. I may even have a whole paragraph formed in my head. I review what I’ve written. Then mind kicks in and does what it does best. It accepts stimulus and spins wildly, linking one thought to another. It finds connections that either didn’t exist or were overshadowed by other thoughts blocking its view.

I assess what I see on the surface of that connection and project what lies ahead in the inky shadows too murky to see clearly. I consider the relevance, evaluate, and choose which connections to follow. Riding the tram leading into their tunnels, I race full steam ahead, absorbing the brilliant images whizzing past. These images churn up new connections, appearing as alternate tracks that I switch onto, collecting more images which coalesce into a coherent story.

Usually that story relates to the vague idea I started with, but sometime it completely jumps track and veers into a totally unrelated concept. If that happens, the original idea still lies dormant in the background; ready again to be pursued at another time. Or it fades away into the abyss of things conceived, but never reaching fruition.

Some of the posts almost write themselves, with seemingly little input from me. With those I basically just go along and enjoy the downhill ride, like sledding down a hill freshly packed with snow. Others are laborious and painstaking, like traversing the slippery peaks of the Himalayas while hiking in Teflon® coated shoes, without pitons to tether myself during the climb.

Some of them make sense and even smack of humor and wisdom, from time to time, like an older brother sharing his experience. Others are so arcane they have no meaning to anyone other than myself, as if displaying an ancient hieroglyph from a long forgotten language. In those, readers are bewildered by what I present to the world. Perhaps simply shaking their heads and muttering, “What the hell is he doing?”

Occasionally I have a plan, even an outline. It holds together tightly, as if it were secured with bailing wire and strapping tape. But mostly it’s a stream of consciousness, held together by nothing more than gravity.

There are times when I completely abandon a post I’m struggling with. I throw my hands up in defeat and sit there disgusted. Admitting failure frees the creative mind and urges my creativity to change course. Though sometimes I feel defeated and just walk away until another time.

Writing is almost always rewarding, whether anyone else shows appreciation or not. I do it for me. It’s one of the things that define my value. It provides an avenue to set goals and realize purpose. It gives me something to point to and say, “Hey, I did that.” It allows me a space to interpret events and sort out meaning. I value it for the benefit it provides. I love writing simply because it helps me learn and grow.

I write the same way I live life.

REACH PRINCESS, REACH

“Give me your hand, princess!” the captain hollers.

“No. You’ll just pull me back and I can almost touch it,” the princess replies.

“Give me your hand now, princess. You can’t hold on much longer.”

“No, just another inch and I’ll reach it. It’s so close and I’ve wanted it for so long.”

“Princess, it’s not worth losing your life if you slip,” he pleads.

She hesitates, thinking briefly about what he’s said, but then extends her hand until her fingers touch its jewel encrusted rim, and the glisten from its sheen sparkles across her wide green eyes.

“Princess!” the captain cries out, as she loses her footing, lurches forward, and falls into the abyss.

Pretty exciting piece, eh? Sounds like the script of a fantasy adventure movie. But actually it’s the everyday dialogue between everyday people. Oh, I dressed it up a bit, but there’s nothing fantasy about it.

So many people constantly stretch perilously beyond their reach for that one magic thing to change their lives forever. They risk losing everything they have to obtain it. And sometimes they do pluck it right from the jaws of disaster. But then what happens? Are they satisfied with it? Or do they idolize it for a time, then cast it away, seeking the next magic thing?

And it doesn’t have to be a “thing” at all. Sometimes it’s a person, a job, a circumstance which places them in a situation where they’ll do or feel something they’ve always wanted. They condition themselves to always seek out that one more prize they believe will satisfy them.

Now, there’s nothing at all wrong with having dreams and working toward achieving them. However, if on the way to those dreams we cast aside all we have around us, then we really need to think first about assessing whether the risk is worth it. Sometimes it is. But is it a conscious decision to reach for that dream? Or is it a constant obsession of risking everything time and again to collect the next charm on life’s bracelet.

A lot of people are never satisfied with all the blessings they have surrounding them. They’re convinced something of greater value lies just beyond the horizon to lift their lives upward, closer toward bliss.

The sad thing is that happiness is not achieved, it’s lived. Happiness already resides within each and every one of us. All it requires is opening ourselves up and experiencing it. We don’t have to seek it beyond what we already have. We don’t need to cast away the love of our closest companions to find it. We can’t trade unhappiness for happiness by obtaining some new privilege.

If we can’t feel happiness right now in our lives, one more experience won’t bestow it upon us.

Happiness begins with appreciation. It’s strengthened by acceptance. It’s bound to us by tolerance. It’s guaranteed through appreciation. It’s a tidy little circle.

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strive to reach new heights. But if it means burning the ladder beneath us to get there, then we’re simply climbing to self-destruction. Once we sever the ties we have to those who love us, we’re left with nothing but ourselves and the poisoned cup of regret.

So, princess, reach for that shining jewel, but keep your hand firmly clasped to mine as you reach. Appreciate all you have on this side of the abyss before making a decision to let go.

SPILLED TEA

I think the gods are toying with me today. Twice already I spilled my tea, even though I tried being careful. It’s like my extra caution brings about my clumsiness.

This is a good example of how I inadvertently short-circuit the power of intention to manifest the opposite of what I wish. I tried being careful, but in the back of my mind was the fear of spilling my tea.

The power of that fear was the true root of my intention. It’s what transferred from my subconscious into the mechanism which receives such transmissions. Once received, the impartial universe set into motion the forming of my reality, based on the power of fear hovering in my subconscious. It’s these backhanded intentions that sabotage true fulfillment of desires.

There’s a lot of evidence showing we do manifest our own reality. And not all of it comes from candle burning chanters, reciting esoteric spiritual mumbo jumbo, in meditation rooms heavily laden with the smoke of incense. Most of it comes from everyday mundane sources.

Several years ago, I decided to go back to college. I desired training in a field where I could build a career. I set into motion a chain of events resulting in me becoming a statistician.

I wanted to buy a new truck. I make enough money in my career to afford one. I thought about what I wanted. I did research. I looked at different models. Then I bought it.

Disney World® was a place I’d always wanted to visit. I had the money and a vehicle that could transport me there, plus haul my popup camper. I booked the trip and went.

Of course, there is another component to this manifesting reality thing. Perhaps it’s spiritual. Some link connecting our spirit to the rest of creation may exert an influence bringing into alignment circumstances that fulfill our desires. Or maybe it’s purely psychological. With our intent, our brains are more focused on seeing connections we missed when we were not so focused. Personally I think it’s both, but who knows?

Regardless of which is right and which is wrong, manifesting reality happens. Moreover, those little niggling self-doubts in the back of our subconscious influence how our reality unfolds.

That’s my biggest downfall in successfully creating the reality I desire. My conscious mind thinks about what I want, but my subconscious focuses on why it can’t happen. The effect of the subconscious has much greater impact on manifesting reality than the conscious mind.

“Oh great,” you lament, “Now I have to concern myself with every little thought hiding in the depths of my subconscious?”

Um, no. It’s not actively trying to control every thought that’s crucial, but rather staying focused on the positive instead of fear. If our natural approach to life is based on fear, then the results are mixed. We get want we want, but only partially, with conditions attached that detract from their true fulfillment.

If we’re afraid of losing our jobs and not having enough money, then that fear becomes the overriding presence influencing all that manifests. We might keep our jobs, but we’re always concerned that at the next corner we turn, devastation awaits.

If instead, we focus on how blessed we are to have the job, providing us with all the necessities we need and even some luxuries, then that sense of blessing is the omnipresent influence of our manifestations.

The shift in focus is subtle, but powerful. Focusing on the positive, draws more positivity to us like a magnet. Focusing on fear, also acts as a magnet to draw more fear.

Consciously developing appreciation for every blessing I have naturally leads the subconscious to dwell in the beauty of love, which means I don’t have to control every thought racing through my mind. It’s much more manageable that the impossible task of constantly monitoring all my thoughts.

Stew on that while I laugh with the gods about the clumsiness I’ve manifested for myself this morning. I’m going to get another cup of tea.

LEAVING YOUR ROOM

Why do we suppress our grief? What is it about grief that we fear so much? It may go back all the way to some of our earliest family interactions.

As children, we laugh and have a good time with our parents. Perhaps we do something silly and they laugh. We continue doing this until everyone just roars. But then there are other times when we cry. A few childhood tears don’t usually cause much of an issue. However, if we carry on about something our parent’s have no patience for, like crying because we can’t watch some show or play with a toy that our brother has, then their response might be quite different. They may scold us and command, “If you want to cry, then go to your room and do it there.” So, we run to our rooms, bury our face in a pillow, and cry alone.

We condition ourselves into believing that if we feel bad, no one wants to be around us. We associate expressing our sorrow with “being bad.” So, we suppress it. We learn this lesson early in life. At that age we rely on our parents as our barometer on what behavior is acceptable and what behavior is not. Of course, we do this because at that age we haven’t yet developed enough maturity to think critically.

It doesn’t stop there. It becomes part of our early programming. We hardwire it into our behavior as we live through more and more experiences. We extend that feeling of “being bad” to every event that even slightly relates to sorrow. Being creatures of habit, we ingrain it as a pattern. So, we continue doing this our whole lives until we become neurotic and fearful to express our sorrow.

Then when a grief situation comes up, without even thinking, we hide away our grief as if it were something shameful. We bottle it away and the overwhelming pain shakes the bottle. Like a shaken bottle of soda pop that’s ready to erupt, our suppressed grief makes us want to explode. And each new grief event shakes the bottle even more.

If instead, we leave the bottle open, it dissipates, like an open bottle of soda that goes flat. Once all the gas releases, it no longer will erupt. Once all our grief is let out, we’re no longer bound up in pain by trying to keep it corked. We still miss our loved ones, but we’re not debilitated by the torture of unresolved grief.

All this springs from something as simple as cowering to our parent’s intolerance over the emotional outbursts of a child who’s becoming acquainted with emotions. Don’t blame your parents, they just did the best they could with what they had to work with. Most likely they learned that intolerance from their parents, too. As the saying goes, “History repeats itself.” No sense lamenting about our humanness.

Instead, recognize the irrationality of keeping our emotions pent up. When we’re happy, we don’t make any bones about sharing the power of our happiness with the world. The so-called negative emotions are just as powerful as the positive ones. They need release, too.

So, when you recognize sorrow creeping in, don’t run to your room and bury your face in the pillow. Confront your sorrow. Accept it has just as much right to express itself as does joy. Seek out the comfort of someone who you trust and who cares enough about you to be tolerant. Share your feelings. Watch the sorrow dissipate as you release the bottled up tension. Feel better. Then return this favor to others who experience sorrow.

And forgive your parents for their humanity. Being parents doesn’t automatically make them immune to fear.

NOTE: An excellent book worth reading on grief is “The Grief Recovery Handbook – The Action Program for Moving Beyond Death, Divorce and Other Losses,” ISBN-10: 0060952733, written by John W. James & Russell Friedman, respectively the Founder and Executive Director of the Grief Recovery Institute. It’s not a theoretical book explaining grief in psychological terms. It’s filled with practical advice and meaningful exercises that successfully moves the reader through the grieving process.

NEXT GENERATION OF GRIEVERS

Recently a friend’s father died. What a horrible tragedy. It was not necessarily unexpected, but that really makes no difference.

Expected or not, death sets into motion the crushing wheel of grief. Once the wheel starts rolling, it’s nearly impossible to stop. It generally continues until it runs its course or we divert it onto a different track and try to suppress it.

Suppressing it is a mistake. A defining characteristic of grief is that whenever a new grief event occurs, it brings up all the unresolved grief we’ve buried in the past. Even more insidious, we’re not even aware that unresolved grief is gripping us.

I’m a fan of Star Trek: The Next Generation. When the series ran, I scheduled nothing during its time slot. If the unthinkable happened — some event came up that I just couldn’t wriggle out of — I made damn sure my VCR was set to record it. Plus, I had other Trekkie friends as backup to record it. I was/am indeed a fan, going back to the origination of the word, as a derivative of “fanatic.” When they announced the final season, I was devastated. After the credits of the last show finished, I realized I was grieving.

How silly I thought it was that I should grieve over a television series. But I did. I felt as if I lost friends who I’d invited into my living room each week. When the series was released on DVD, I bought all seven seasons and relived my adventures with the crew of the Starship Enterprise.

A few years later, I learned how each new grief event reawakens all past unresolved grief. My unreasonable behavior regarding the ending of Star Trek then made sense.

It wasn’t so much my grief over losing contact with the characters, but it did bring me face-to-face with all the previous loss I’d encountered throughout my life — from the ending of friendships and a marriage, right up to the death of my parents.

It wasn’t that I missed Commander Data and Captain Picard. It reminded me of the profound and debilitating pain of loss.

I set about making peace with myself regarding my past losses. Instead of just keeping it bottled up inside me and suppressing my grief, I embraced it.

I cried. Boy, did I cry. I thought about how much I missed my parents. I accepted it was okay to admit I missed them. I lamented all the holidays I’d never share with them. I cursed all the vacations we’d never have the opportunity to take together. I got mad with the immutability of death.

Now I feel more at peace with my loss. I still miss them dearly, along with all the other people who’ve exited my life. But, I am more at peace with loss.

So, I hope my friend doesn’t try to suppress her grief or push away her feelings of loss over her dad. Rather, I pray she embraces them. Cries. Gets mad. Then releases the hold that keeps her tethered to his loss.

NOTE: An excellent book worth reading on grief is “The Grief Recovery Handbook – The Action Program for Moving Beyond Death, Divorce and Other Losses,” ISBN-10: 0060952733, written by John W. James & Russell Friedman, respectively the Founder and Executive Director of the Grief Recovery Institute. It’s not a theoretical book explaining grief in psychological terms. It’s filled with practical advice and meaningful exercises that successfully moves the reader through the grieving process.