Better Bend Than Break

There’s an old fable about the competition between the reed and the oak during a gale storm. As the wind howled, the oak boasted, while the reed said nothing. The wind became a tempest, and the reed bent down flexibly to the ground. The oak fell, uprooted.

Sometimes we seem strong but we are just being stubborn. We become rigid in our moral positions and don’t even try to understand the problems of those around us. We like to be thought of as uncompromising and tough.

Maybe we’re frightened. Perhaps we fear that if we even start to compromise we will be lost; on sign of weakness and the dam will burst and we’ll be up to our old tricks again.

Don’t confuse rigidity with true strength. To be strong we need to be tolerant, responsive, and gentle. We need to be strong in a loving, flexible, human way. This is a central part of one’s personal growth.

What I Want is to be Myself Again

I’m learning that when we lose faith in our feelings, we lose faith in ourselves and become outer-directed. That is, we look to the world to tell us how to feel and what to do.  We seek approval and love from others so we can prove to ourselves that we are worthy.  Paradoxically, to be outer-directed is to be self-absorbed. How can this be?  We feel so unsure of who we are , that we cannot let go, be spontaneous or real.

We can reclaim ourselves by becoming inner-directed.  This means looking within ourselves for the direction we need.  When we’re just beginning to learn to trust our feelings, this can seem to be truly agonizing.  It means trusting the reality of our needs and our right to express them.  Only then can we find the faith in ourselves and in life, that we have lacked.

Becoming inner-directed takes self-acceptance and self-love.  It also takes time. Until then, there will be no real peace because it is the only way to find ourselves.

Faith Is

Faith is putting all your eggs in God's basket, then counting your blessings before they hatch.

-- Ramona C. Carroll

The Duality of Me

 

I am a Gemini. There was a time when I was ashamed to say that I'm a Gemini.  People would begin to go off about how horrible their entire life experience has been with us Gems.  Really.  And then they'd hurl their judgments of me (cloaked as comparisons of course), by the time they were done, I felt like an inappropriate, over talkative, manipulative ass. I'd try to recover by saying, "I'm gregarious".  But you wouldn't even believe the number of individuals that chose to believe that I'm not a safe person to be around - because I'm a Gemini.  Well let me tell you this: there is a duality about me.  And it's all good. Sure, I may be Bi-polar.  But that's all good too.

Some of my friends and family actually enjoy that I'm a Gemini.  My duality.  Yes, there seems to be two of me in many aspects of my life.  But to a degree, it balances me.  I still love myself when I hate myself.  See myself as honest when I'm lying.  See myself as creative when I feel like a slug.  See what I mean?  And you know what?  I am gregarious!  I love people.  Love to hate 'em and love to love 'em.  Sometimes I love too fast.  Sometimes I want all that I cannot have or possess.  But overall, I love who I am, and am happy that I'm loved by someone else.

Afraid of Dying

What I fear most about dying, is not knowing for sure where I’m going. I remember when I was in training as an orderly at a nursing home in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, the training instructor taught us to never just get behind the wheelchair of a patient and start pushing. She explained that while a resident is sitting in their wheelchair, perhaps even dozing off, that the initial start can frighten them half to death, and that not informing the resident beforehand like this, “I’m going to take you to the dining room now, Mr. Schmitz”, erodes the dignity of a resident. They may feel a loss of control.

Would mother Universe please tell me what it will be like? I have begun to form my own concept. By working on this gradually, I’ve noticed that my anxiety over transitioning has lessened to a degree. My version that I’m comfortable with for now, goes something like this:

My version is much like what the renowned psychic, Sylvia Browne suggests in her books, which is gleaned from her own psychic journeys beyond with her spiritual guides and from her impressions during psychic readings. In her version, which I easily claim as my own belief, is that the actual transition itself is painless, and that there is no further attachment to this physical world in the mind.

A tremendous and brilliant white light is our Guide and we will have an overwhelming sense of trust and love in our Guide. Others who have gone before us are there to greet us. Even those beloved pets we lost are there! I’ll see my grandfathers, my mom, even my dogs Heidi, Jessie, and oh my dear CoCo. And my cats Samantha and Maya!

Everyone on the other side looks the way they did when they were around 35 years of age. Communication isn’t through words any longer but rather telepathically. There is a continuous beautiful melody of music everywhere. Time on the other side is different from this world that we know now. What we know as a lifetime to us here is a mere blink of the eye on the other side. Before we know it, those that we left in this world, are right behind us. That comforts me knowing that Christopher won’t be too far behind. I worry about how he’ll manage when I’m gone.

It has been explained to me that we didn’t know where we were going when we were born, or came to this world, and that it is OK not knowing or fully understanding where we’re going when we make our transition. That’s something I’ll have to work on; trusting in mother Universe’s ability to take care of me. Even the last leg of life’s journey is packed full with lessons. Right up until the bell sounds for the next class to begin.

Art is Meant to Disturb

The Mask of Mental Illness – By Christopher Dale Eshenbaugh

I can see that my new life will be full of the unknown, but that is what can make it exciting and creative.

Many great artists were neglected or even abused during their lifetime because their work was considered too provocative.  Painters like Van Gogh, poets like Blake or Poe, and novelists like James Joyce were pushed out to the margins of society because their vision was too disturbing.

Most of us like a comfortable life, and those of us who are addicted to one high or another may not want to be troubled by new ways of seeing and imagining the world.  Yet, the day comes when our addiction no longer satisfies us and we begin to long for a new vision and version of our lives.  Art can help us in our recovery. 

Art allows us to change our way of looking and living, even if at first the change is disturbing.  Like artists, we can create new images and new patterns for our lives.  At first, it may be painful.  Old, comfortable habits die hard!  But, as we move forward, taking our little baby steps, by baby steps, we come to see that it’s exciting to be on the move and even at the frontier of new, creative endeavors.  Creativity, after all, comes from loving ourselves and others. 

The Power of Art

The Mask of Domestic Violence – By Artist, Christopher Eshenbaugh

 

“Thanks to art, instead of seeing one world (our own), we see it multiplied.”  -- Marcel Proust

 

I’ve been looking at the therapeutic nature of art to one’s recovery lately.  In our active addiction, we tended to have a single, narrow view of ourselves and the world we live in.  We thought that everyone was obsessed by using, fantasies and erotic images; we saw others perhaps as mere doubles of ourselves. 

One of the great joys I find in reading is the ability to enter other people’s lives.  We often come to know fictional characters even better than our friends because a novelist can give us the illusion of being all-powerful and all-knowing.  So we get a special “inside view,” and many people in books become familiar and very dear to us.

Reading can take us out of ourselves and expand our views of other people.  We learn that, indeed, “it takes all sorts to make up a community in this world of ours,” and our lives become less isolated through contact with others.  The power of art is to deepen and enrich this perception of ourselves in relationship to the world.  Through reading, watching plays and films, or exploring a painter’s world, we begin.

Let Your Creativity Emerge!

 

“It is the creative potential itself in human beings that is the image of God.”  -- Mary Daly

Within each of us is a creative person.  Getting comfortable with our creativity often means letting go of tight, rigid thinking so that the spontaneous, artistic side of ourselves  can emerge. 

Whether or not we think of ourselves as artistic, we are.  To be artistic is to create , an instinct that we all possess as human beings.  Each day, as we make our way along this path toward personal growth, we find the courage to create ourselves anew.  One way to encourage our creativity is to find an outlet for it.  I love learning to play the organ, digital photography and editing, writing short stories for children and poetry.  My friend Albert enjoys beading and Native American dance.  In my last two posts you’ve enjoyed the art of Christopher Eshenbaugh.  For you perhaps you’ll find your creative self through embroidery, furniture refinishing or gardening.  Most anything that allows us to create something outside ourselves can be good. 

The joy of working with our body, spirit, mind and feelings is truly a joyful experience with an amazing reward at the end: we have finally created something new, and in it, we can see ourselves.

Death in the Abstract

"It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens." -- Woody Allen

Even after a recent near death experience, I tend to think of death in the abstract, as a fact rather than a reality. I know that everything passes and that we are bound to die, but I rarely allow myself to accept the reality of dying and being dead.

Is this my way as well as that of others who refuse this fact our way of avoiding the reality of death? It may be that we can only think of more worldly, mortal acts as a new beginning, a false sense of perpetual renewal, even a kind of rebirth. Especially in fantasy and maybe even in our relationships, we are always "falling in love" all over again. Always young, always beginning again, always keeping our options open. Never settling into the contentment of a commitment.

As we begin to mature and develop through our efforts of personal growth, we can learn to integrate our thinking and feelings about death into our daily lives. We can sense death as an integral part of life, and not just as an abstract finality. This can become part of our process of learning to experience reality in all its stunning diversity. Life can become more precious as we realize that we must leave it.