In pondering my purpose in life, I often imagine the following: what if I had been born a slave in Egypt, building the pyramids? I would have spend my entire life in hard labor at a task I probably did not care about, and probably would have never seen the final product before I died. The vision could equally well be of many other conditions of slavery that have existed throughout humankind's sad history.
I imagine there are two kinds of slaves - those who accepted their lot in life, and those who rebelled, either internally through resentment and depression, or externally through attempts to escape or change the system. Given the chances of actually succeeding in rebellion, I imagine that accepting one's lot in life is the more healthy answer - that there, one can find at least some internal peace.
This is a difficult conclusion for me who values his freedom so highly - to think that it might be better to acquiesce than to fight. We hold those who have fought for freedom so highly in our society as the examples of who we all should be. Yet, no one is ever totally free. We all pay taxes, we all sit on hold waiting for a customer representative to come on the line, we all constantly suffer the small indignities our society has in store for us. Without the skill of finding peace in the middle of restriction, we would all be miserable indeed.
When does acquiescing become an escape, and when does it become a legitimate path to serenity?
I'm about to re-enter the workforce, and am trying to prepare myself to lose 40+ hours of free time each week in return for money. My freedom has a price, apparently - I can be bought. Is this an indignity or a privilege? It feels like a return to slavery. Can I find serenity working for the corporate empire? Should I?
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Though he slay me
It has once again been a long time since I've posted. One excuse I have is fatigue. I have been diagnosed with a long-term lung infection that is sapping much of my energy, and many things have fallen by the wayside. I sleep 12 hours a day, and am not working because of the amount of sleep I need. The infection is expected to last another year, and I am on triple antibiotics to combat it, which may be adding to the fatigue.
The infection has changed my life. There are many things I cannot do that I used to do, or cannot do as much of. I get tired easily, and do not have the physical stamina that I am used to. I dance three dances and go home, instead of dancing all evening. I spend a lot of time at home reading instead of doing things.
Being a depressive as well, it is hard to find the line between what I can do but just don't feel like it, and what I genuinely cannot reasonably do because of the infection. It is a question constantly on my mind, and if I am not careful, I can use the accusation of laziness to beat myself up all day. I am slowly learning to have some sympathy for the various losses I have suffered and are still adjusting to.
Another issue the infection has brought up for me is that of resentment. I have a tendency to fall into a victim attitude, and can easily become resentful over what "life has done to me". In this, I follow in the footsteps of my father, who was partially disabled from when I was five years old, and resented his disability the rest of his life. He was sure to remind us at least yearly of the accident that "did this to him".
From the distant memories of my religious upbringing came a quote the other day: "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him". It is from the book of Lamentations in the bible, and is someone speaking about the suffering he is going through and his attitude towards God. The verse struck me, because the author is obviously not talking about trust in the sense of believing he will come to no harm. He is referring to what might be considered an absurd attitude - trusting someone whom you know will hurt you.
This speaks to me more of an attitude of the heart rather than an evaluation of trustworthiness, and it struck me as the only healthy attitude I could think of having in the face of my infection. Life (my substitution for the word "God") is going to do us "wrong", cause us to suffer, deprive us of things we want and need, and that deprivation is inevitable. What attitude do we have in the face of this reality? Resentment? Fear? Bitterness? Resignation? None of these attitudes are useful, and could cause at least as much harm to us as the injury itself.
What came to me from this verse is that the attitude of "trust" he writes about is a willingness to face pain, an openness in the face of known danger, a willingness to play the game for the joy of it, despite knowing you may lose in the end. This is not pretty stuff. But life often is not pretty. Life is often obscene, with its heartless cruelties, handed out with equal ease along with the beauties and joys of this world.
How do we face life in its glory and its cruelty? By being willing to face the pain and danger and still live with an open heart. We all face death, ultimately. What choice do we have but to love the one who will ultimately take our most prized possession away from us?
The infection has changed my life. There are many things I cannot do that I used to do, or cannot do as much of. I get tired easily, and do not have the physical stamina that I am used to. I dance three dances and go home, instead of dancing all evening. I spend a lot of time at home reading instead of doing things.
Being a depressive as well, it is hard to find the line between what I can do but just don't feel like it, and what I genuinely cannot reasonably do because of the infection. It is a question constantly on my mind, and if I am not careful, I can use the accusation of laziness to beat myself up all day. I am slowly learning to have some sympathy for the various losses I have suffered and are still adjusting to.
Another issue the infection has brought up for me is that of resentment. I have a tendency to fall into a victim attitude, and can easily become resentful over what "life has done to me". In this, I follow in the footsteps of my father, who was partially disabled from when I was five years old, and resented his disability the rest of his life. He was sure to remind us at least yearly of the accident that "did this to him".
From the distant memories of my religious upbringing came a quote the other day: "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him". It is from the book of Lamentations in the bible, and is someone speaking about the suffering he is going through and his attitude towards God. The verse struck me, because the author is obviously not talking about trust in the sense of believing he will come to no harm. He is referring to what might be considered an absurd attitude - trusting someone whom you know will hurt you.
This speaks to me more of an attitude of the heart rather than an evaluation of trustworthiness, and it struck me as the only healthy attitude I could think of having in the face of my infection. Life (my substitution for the word "God") is going to do us "wrong", cause us to suffer, deprive us of things we want and need, and that deprivation is inevitable. What attitude do we have in the face of this reality? Resentment? Fear? Bitterness? Resignation? None of these attitudes are useful, and could cause at least as much harm to us as the injury itself.
What came to me from this verse is that the attitude of "trust" he writes about is a willingness to face pain, an openness in the face of known danger, a willingness to play the game for the joy of it, despite knowing you may lose in the end. This is not pretty stuff. But life often is not pretty. Life is often obscene, with its heartless cruelties, handed out with equal ease along with the beauties and joys of this world.
How do we face life in its glory and its cruelty? By being willing to face the pain and danger and still live with an open heart. We all face death, ultimately. What choice do we have but to love the one who will ultimately take our most prized possession away from us?
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Books of Healing
I've been going through books that are piled in boxes as a result of new carpet being put down, determined to reduce my book volume by half. Many of the books are about healing from the past, from trauma, abuse, abandonment - books that I have clung to with desperateness as I strived to relieve myself of some of the pain I was experiencing.
But I am finding many of those books easy to let go of today. I have not looked at them for years, and I know the basic message contained in each one. My healing has not taken the form I thought it would - it is hard to say exactly what I am healed of, and how much I am healed. Yet I am finding these wonderful books no longer critical to my life, and the issues and distortions of my thinking no longer severe enough to warrant the kind of intense attention I used to give it. Healing has in fact taken place - not in a flash with laying on of hands, but through time, thought, and a ton of support and care from friends.
The books have become an indicator of progress that is otherwise hard to see - it is a milestone to discover I no longer need many of the supports I relied on for years. Things are not perfect, and other issues are on top, but there is comfort in seeing evidence that I have actually changed.
But I am finding many of those books easy to let go of today. I have not looked at them for years, and I know the basic message contained in each one. My healing has not taken the form I thought it would - it is hard to say exactly what I am healed of, and how much I am healed. Yet I am finding these wonderful books no longer critical to my life, and the issues and distortions of my thinking no longer severe enough to warrant the kind of intense attention I used to give it. Healing has in fact taken place - not in a flash with laying on of hands, but through time, thought, and a ton of support and care from friends.
The books have become an indicator of progress that is otherwise hard to see - it is a milestone to discover I no longer need many of the supports I relied on for years. Things are not perfect, and other issues are on top, but there is comfort in seeing evidence that I have actually changed.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Freedom and Disobedience
This morning, glancing through "The Betrayal of the Self" by Arno Gruen, I read,
"We learn in earliest childhood to yield to the demands of those whose 'love' we are dependent on. Without reflection, we learn to equate freedom with disobedience. Therefore, we respond to freedom...with anxiety and fear...
"The lesson of our childhood is that power, initially experienced at the hands of our parents, promises an escape from the helplessness we despise...Freedom then takes on an entirely different, unexpressed significance: it means deliverance from, not harmony with, our own needs."
Life is about living in harmony with our needs. I heard "needs" defined by an NVC teacher recently as the basic life force that causes everything to live and move, from the first single-celled life form to the complex creatures we are today. Needs are what get us up out of our chair and cause us to desire to live, breathe, love.
To live in harmony with our needs would mean, first, that we know what our true needs are, and second, that we accept our needs as legitimate, and do not apologize for them. How easily said, yet hard to do. But I am learning - by being still, by reading, by reflecting, step by step, mistake by mistake.
Oh, to live straight from source, to feel the wordless part of my being speak to me from its own deep intelligence about my needs, and to see myself respond without question - that seems like a state of being worth living for.
"We learn in earliest childhood to yield to the demands of those whose 'love' we are dependent on. Without reflection, we learn to equate freedom with disobedience. Therefore, we respond to freedom...with anxiety and fear...
"The lesson of our childhood is that power, initially experienced at the hands of our parents, promises an escape from the helplessness we despise...Freedom then takes on an entirely different, unexpressed significance: it means deliverance from, not harmony with, our own needs."
Life is about living in harmony with our needs. I heard "needs" defined by an NVC teacher recently as the basic life force that causes everything to live and move, from the first single-celled life form to the complex creatures we are today. Needs are what get us up out of our chair and cause us to desire to live, breathe, love.
To live in harmony with our needs would mean, first, that we know what our true needs are, and second, that we accept our needs as legitimate, and do not apologize for them. How easily said, yet hard to do. But I am learning - by being still, by reading, by reflecting, step by step, mistake by mistake.
Oh, to live straight from source, to feel the wordless part of my being speak to me from its own deep intelligence about my needs, and to see myself respond without question - that seems like a state of being worth living for.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Standstill
My life is in somewhat of a standstill. Most of the activities that defined who I was have stopped. I no longer do many workshops. I am not writing my books or blogs. I ceased doing my computer job back in April. My move across the country has been put on hold. My primary relationship has changed. And the recent changes in my health have stopped me from dancing, from going to many events that I love, and from seeing friends.
Who am I, having been stripped of the identities that I relied upon to define me? And what is the next step, now that everything has changed?
I realize I am waiting. While I am healing from my sickness, I am doing a lot of reading - books on mindfulness, on happiness, on living. I realize that I am waiting because I don't want to put as much effort into activities that will end up a disappointment. I've spent many years building community, only to find something "wrong" with whatever I create, and leave, dissatisfied, to try again in another format. I've worked hard at various forms of relationship that have not turned out as I had hoped. I've looked at several places in the country that I thought would be more condusive to having the kind of life I want, and yet never found that perfect place that I knew I would finally call home.
The books I'm reading, and the meditation I've done, tell me that there is much flawed in my thinking, that I build a lot on illusion and unobtainable demands. I keep discovering old issues and hurts under what seemed like a noble undertaking. How much of my desire for community is simply missing the warmth of the close family I never had as a child? How much of that desire can never be satisfied? How much have I been surreptitiously demanding that others meet my personal needs, rather than building for the good of all? How much of my leading has been a desperate attempt to be finally seen and heard, rather than the spirit of life and healing pulsing through me? The feeling here is not that I should be perfect; rather, the feeling is that I have poured out a lot of energy in ways that have not fully satisfied the deep longings within me.
And so I wait, and the books are my teachers. I want to know where I can put my efforts that will result in true happiness in my life, and not lead to more disappointment. I want to know what truly satisfies, and to find that out, I feel I must set aside every preconceived notion and find a way of holding myself truly open to new wisdom and experience. When I get up to try yet again, I want it to count more than the previous times. I want to be a bit more mindful where I put my efforts. I want to be a bit more open and aware of the energy and love around me I might have ignored. I want to be less focused on satisfying the ego and more on satisfying the heart.
It is lonely here, in this standstill, and sometimes loneliness is a good thing - it can allow us to center and ground, and ask, what are we really longing for? If past efforts have not worked, maybe I can drop a bit deeper, and ask, what is that inner ache really about? Where will it lead if I drop my assumptions about what I need? Standing here, right now, everything feels expendable in return for true satisfaction.
Who am I, having been stripped of the identities that I relied upon to define me? And what is the next step, now that everything has changed?
I realize I am waiting. While I am healing from my sickness, I am doing a lot of reading - books on mindfulness, on happiness, on living. I realize that I am waiting because I don't want to put as much effort into activities that will end up a disappointment. I've spent many years building community, only to find something "wrong" with whatever I create, and leave, dissatisfied, to try again in another format. I've worked hard at various forms of relationship that have not turned out as I had hoped. I've looked at several places in the country that I thought would be more condusive to having the kind of life I want, and yet never found that perfect place that I knew I would finally call home.
The books I'm reading, and the meditation I've done, tell me that there is much flawed in my thinking, that I build a lot on illusion and unobtainable demands. I keep discovering old issues and hurts under what seemed like a noble undertaking. How much of my desire for community is simply missing the warmth of the close family I never had as a child? How much of that desire can never be satisfied? How much have I been surreptitiously demanding that others meet my personal needs, rather than building for the good of all? How much of my leading has been a desperate attempt to be finally seen and heard, rather than the spirit of life and healing pulsing through me? The feeling here is not that I should be perfect; rather, the feeling is that I have poured out a lot of energy in ways that have not fully satisfied the deep longings within me.
And so I wait, and the books are my teachers. I want to know where I can put my efforts that will result in true happiness in my life, and not lead to more disappointment. I want to know what truly satisfies, and to find that out, I feel I must set aside every preconceived notion and find a way of holding myself truly open to new wisdom and experience. When I get up to try yet again, I want it to count more than the previous times. I want to be a bit more mindful where I put my efforts. I want to be a bit more open and aware of the energy and love around me I might have ignored. I want to be less focused on satisfying the ego and more on satisfying the heart.
It is lonely here, in this standstill, and sometimes loneliness is a good thing - it can allow us to center and ground, and ask, what are we really longing for? If past efforts have not worked, maybe I can drop a bit deeper, and ask, what is that inner ache really about? Where will it lead if I drop my assumptions about what I need? Standing here, right now, everything feels expendable in return for true satisfaction.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Freedom from, freedom to
One of my greatest fears in life is that of being trapped - trapped in a relationship, trapped in a destructive pattern, trapped by lack of options, trapped by lack of power. I have only felt truly free when I was alone, because I tended to take on the obligation of pleasing those near to me.
My fear of being trapped comes from a rigid upbringing, where I was taught the "right" way to be and to act; disobedience was punished severely until my will was broken, and I would obey my mother's will without questioning. I had a pseudo-freedom - when I accepted the limitations placed on me, life became easier. I was rewarded for being docile. As an adult, I have broken away from that and have gone my own way - but fear still dogs my footsteps, and I am always waiting for the punishment to start.
Thus I kept focusing on rights instead of wants - I had to make sure I guarded my freedom, or I would lose it. I focused on freedom from - from structure, from restrictive relationships, from commitments and obligations, from anything that could entrap me - instead of freedom to - to pursue my passions, to make life mine, to discover who I truly was. I was running from instead of running towards.
My fear has been based on a belief in my powerlessness - a belief that I will not be able to resist the forces against me. I was like a bird with clipped wings - I had freedom from the cage, but no freedom to fly. But the fact is that I am no longer a child whose freedom can be restricted and punished at will - like the elephant on a string, I am only restricted because I have not realized I am powerful, that things have changed. My parents are dead, I am a capable and intelligent adult, and I can do as I please.
Only when I know I can avoid what I don't want, can I begin to relax in my power and focus on what I do want. Knowing my power will allow me to start to look around, and ask, what is my desire, instead of what is my right.
My fear of being trapped comes from a rigid upbringing, where I was taught the "right" way to be and to act; disobedience was punished severely until my will was broken, and I would obey my mother's will without questioning. I had a pseudo-freedom - when I accepted the limitations placed on me, life became easier. I was rewarded for being docile. As an adult, I have broken away from that and have gone my own way - but fear still dogs my footsteps, and I am always waiting for the punishment to start.
Thus I kept focusing on rights instead of wants - I had to make sure I guarded my freedom, or I would lose it. I focused on freedom from - from structure, from restrictive relationships, from commitments and obligations, from anything that could entrap me - instead of freedom to - to pursue my passions, to make life mine, to discover who I truly was. I was running from instead of running towards.
My fear has been based on a belief in my powerlessness - a belief that I will not be able to resist the forces against me. I was like a bird with clipped wings - I had freedom from the cage, but no freedom to fly. But the fact is that I am no longer a child whose freedom can be restricted and punished at will - like the elephant on a string, I am only restricted because I have not realized I am powerful, that things have changed. My parents are dead, I am a capable and intelligent adult, and I can do as I please.
Only when I know I can avoid what I don't want, can I begin to relax in my power and focus on what I do want. Knowing my power will allow me to start to look around, and ask, what is my desire, instead of what is my right.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Neediness and need
We all have needs that must be met by other human beings, from needing someone else to grow our food, to needing the companionship of another human being. These are legitimate needs, and unless we choose to become a hermit and grow our own food, others will always be involved in meeting those needs.
Neediness means expecting someone else to figure out how to meet our needs. This places the responsibility on the other person to "do it right", and allows us the luxury of complaining or criticizing them for not helping us, not doing enough, or not doing the right thing.
Taking responsibility for our needs does not mean we do not ask anyone to help; it means we figure out how to meet our needs, then seek someone willing to do what we want. I can't go to a hardware store and ask them to build me a birdhouse; but I can learn how to build a birdhouse and go to the hardware store to get the supplies I need. This gives me freedom to choose how to meet my need - if the store doesn't have the right tools or supplies, I can go to another store until I find what I need, or find another way of building my birdhouse.
We need each other, but we do not need any one person, or any one thing from a particular person. That is our strategy, not the need itself. We cannot obligate anyone to help us, but we can get what we need based on the help and love already available to us.
One source of support is a community with whom we have built goodwill - i.e., we have connected to a community that loves and appreciates us, and we have given abundantly to those in need so that they are willing to do the same for us. Finding people who love us, and to whom we can give our love, is part of our responsibility as adults to provide support when we need it.
Neediness means expecting someone else to figure out how to meet our needs. This places the responsibility on the other person to "do it right", and allows us the luxury of complaining or criticizing them for not helping us, not doing enough, or not doing the right thing.
Taking responsibility for our needs does not mean we do not ask anyone to help; it means we figure out how to meet our needs, then seek someone willing to do what we want. I can't go to a hardware store and ask them to build me a birdhouse; but I can learn how to build a birdhouse and go to the hardware store to get the supplies I need. This gives me freedom to choose how to meet my need - if the store doesn't have the right tools or supplies, I can go to another store until I find what I need, or find another way of building my birdhouse.
We need each other, but we do not need any one person, or any one thing from a particular person. That is our strategy, not the need itself. We cannot obligate anyone to help us, but we can get what we need based on the help and love already available to us.
One source of support is a community with whom we have built goodwill - i.e., we have connected to a community that loves and appreciates us, and we have given abundantly to those in need so that they are willing to do the same for us. Finding people who love us, and to whom we can give our love, is part of our responsibility as adults to provide support when we need it.
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