Being Brave

I posted this yesterday on Facebook:

Some times the most courageous thing we do in a day is just show up. Show up and be our vulnerable, real, not all together n perfect selves. We do it with heart n “realness.” Like tonight with me teaching a new class- Iam always nervous. I just am. I’ve taught hundreds of times n I still hope people get it, I hope people come away feeling better n lighter n connected. I haven’t mastered not having expectations. So I feel into that nervousness. I ok it, allow it to be there. I ground myself. I surrender. I pray n ask that the divine speak n move though me n I speak the truth rising up fri within me n that my authenticity, however flawed or fascinating, softens n nourishes the hearts I am with. THAT is courage. Love, Lisa

Bravery has got NOTHIN’ to do with FEELING brave!  It’s got everything to do with being willing to DROP the perfect, the “I’ve got it together” gimmick, the “I have to have it all perfect” need for control…and getting REAL.  Being real, being vulnerable, being hopeful, being full of fear, being courageous enough…DARING ENOUGH…to believe that voice within us now turned to shouting to get our attention…to get us to believe and embody “I AM AMAZING!  I AM BEAUTIFUL!  I AM ENOUGH!  I AM GOOD AND HOLY AND WHOLE!”

This world, shoot — our childhood — however “perfect” they were or weren’t — would have us believing in scarcity, playing small, being out for “numero uno” in an obsessive and myopic way…believing we are not enough, we shouldn’t be so bold, we shouldn’t be so powerful.  Well, ENOUGH.  Enough of all those voices.  Enough believing all those lies and untruths!

I choose to be courageous enough to believe in my goodness.  I choose to believe that the Divine has some awesome work and words and poetry to share through my hands, my eyes, my life!  I’ve KNOWN that since I was a little girl.  I can remember being really little and believing I’d own my own business and I’d write and I’d lead and I’d be about helping people and I’d be about moving my body.  Well, look at me!  That’s what I do!  But there has always still been something in me — those voices — that say, “But you don’t know enough” or “who, YOU?!”  or “don’t be such a know-it-all” or “don’t sound too confident” or “don’t mess up and appear weak, either!”  or “You are going to cry if you start reading your poetry or really talking from your heart!”  OR… this is a doosey: “Who’d want to join YOU??”

Well, so what?  So what if I cry or mess up or don’t get it perfect or I am nervous or that I come across as a “know it all?”  I doesn’t matter any more if someone likes me or not; gets it or not; if I belong or not.  Ultimately…we belong to the DIVINE!  We can’t NOT belong!  Too many times I’ve let the little “new kid in the Catholic school” girl in me shy away and be filled with fear that I’ll be “kicked off the lunch table” (seriously.  I was.  That’s a whole other story!).   YES, ME!  The Divine wants ME to stand up and sing it, say it, read it, lead it, move it.  THIS takes courage.  It takes COMMUNITY.  It takes bravery.  It’s scary, crazy…and I can’t “not” do it.  To stay quiet or step down or not teach or not lead would disgrace the divine.  I’ve been encouraging, supporting, accompanying others doing this for years.  Now, today, me…taking the next courageous step in my own path.

This day, this moment, has been coming.  It’s been rising up from within me for YEARS now.  Through meditation, lots of “being in the messy,” lots of “getting real,” and lots of “being right here and STAYING.  SOFTEN.  ALLOW” when really, I’d want to high-tail it outta there.  And today…today something just ‘clicked.’  Or snapped.  Or…came together.  And I can’t go back.  This is it.  And actually, this is how I’ve been living my life.  Boldly.  Sooooo imperfect.  So human.  So authentic.  So “The Divine has got somethin’ to say and move through ME!”

We all have it in us — this desire to be authentic and live courageously.  HOW ARE YOU CALLED TO LIVE COURAGEOUSLY?!

Well, this is me waking up a bit more today.  And, so beautifully, just a few days until my 39th bday!

What a gift — to be courageous and bold and believe and embody our goodness!  However messy and miraculous that is!  And it doesn’t feel like a big step.  It’s just, as my beautiful mom says, “the next right step.”

Facing fear, living life

Maybe it’s because I’ll be turning 40 in a year.  Maybe it’s because there’s this tender “knowing” rising up into my conscious mind, influencing even my mundane everyday decisions.  Maybe it’s because giving birth brought me to my most raw, vulnerable, warrior, grace-surrending self.  Maybe because I’ve survived six years of parenthood.  Maybe it’s because touching life so tenderly every day in two growing, beautiful children makes me touch the reality of life’s companion, death.  Maybe it’s all of these and more I can’t name quite yet happening within me.

But I get it:  THIS IS IT.  This life will end.  Maybe not tomorrow or next year.  Maybe not for another 40 years.  But me, you, we are all of the nature to grow old and ca-puuuut.  I don’t know when that last breath will be.  I don’t know for certain if I’ll see my children grow old and have babies and I’ll be that grandmother holding her grandchildren with wise eyes and slow hands.  When I get in the car to commute down 270, I don’t know if the goodnight kiss I gave my husband the night before will be the last one.  I just don’t know.

In this culture, we loath aging.  We don’t talk about dying.  And so we live in a way where we take it all for granted.  Or at least many of us do.  I do — more than I care to admit.  But the truth is that there’s no getting around it — we will cease to exist.  All we love, cherish…it’ll all end some day.

But this doesn’t have to be a downer.  Over the last six years, something in me has been consciously aware of and quietly noticing…sitting back and reaalllly watching this life and hearing Her whispers.  “This is it, Lisa.  Bless it.  Notice it.  Live it.  Let it go.”

Even in my early thirties, though of course, I “knew” we all die, that fact never really seeped into my conscious awareness and my everyday actions.  Still today, I act like I have forever.  But more and more, I see how there is an end approaching.  It doesn’t really matter what I believe happens after this life, the fact is that THIS life, this very one, will cease to exist.

And somehow, in that sitting, in that knowing, in that allowing of death to “come closer,” I am being transformed.  And it has prompted me to live.  To live more fully, ferociously, quietly, contently, honestly, gently, and…tenderly.

How?

One way:  I am facing my fears.  I have always been petrified of snakes, ever since a baaaad dream about them when I was a child.  Aware of how, in many cultures, the snake represents the feminine in all her power, I have sat in meditation many-a-times drawing closer and closer to that powerful, sensual Feminine force…within me and the Divine.  But still scared. Until a week ago.

I had a dream where my two year old, old-soul daughter was holding a snake.  It was wrapped around her arms and shoulders.  She was completely enthralled, even content and “at home.”  She told me the snake just wanted to nuzzle up next to her for warmth and comfort.  And she was happy to oblige.

Fast forward a few days.  We were our amazing local nature center for a birthday party.  I knew they’d bring out the animals, including snakes.  I decided that when it came around to it, I’d hold the snake.  And I did.

facing my fear! holding a snake

Petrified, I breathed.  I opened up to letting go of the past stories I’ve told myself about snakes.  I opened up to having no expectation or hope for the future about me and snakes.  I just opened up to THAT VERY MOMENT of holding the snake — with no past, no future.  Just noticing and being present to the sensations of holding this snake.  And it was….ok.  I noticed how strong this little snake was — how she wrapped herself around my arm.  I noticed how she moved so slowly and gracefully and quietly…and purposefully.

Now a week later, something in me is changing.  I still don’t know what it is quite yet.  Maybe it’s more of Life and Death and the Divine whispering: “Wake up, sweet Love.  It’s time.”  Maybe it’s the quietness of fear dissolving, illusions fading:  “I could run into a snake and not be freaked out.”  Maybe it’s truth and true power rising:  “This is your life, Lisa.  Notice it.  Hold it.  Bless it.  And let it go.”

So I am.  Day by day.

Love’s Quietness: My Husband’s Everyday Valentine Gift

“True inward quietness…is not vacancy, but stability—the steadfastness of a single purpose.”
-Caroline Stephen

Last night I felt drawn to go back and read some journals from years past. I happened to pull out the one from my first semester in graduate school, the fall I met my husband, Brian. In reading some of my entries, I was struck by something: what I sensed in him and between us then is what I still sense today. And I needed the reminder.

“Sept. 29: Brian came over and we made dinner. Oh how it seems to just flow between us…He has a beautiful, kind presence… I find myself thinking of him as I meditate and pray, feeling a soft smile emerging from a deep space within me. I pray that God will direct my head and heart to what’s really at my core. Whatever God is up to – let God be up to it.”

“Oct 1: I have fallen for Brian. ‘Ahhhh!’ is all I can say. My heart is exhaling. There is a gentleness about him, a profound peacefulness…how can I be taken by someone from such a deep, soothing, peaceful place in me…Tonight he laid his head down on my lap and I just sat there petting his head. We sat like that in silence for an hour, our hands softly touching. No words…just ‘being.’ This is true grace. I am at peace, wrapped in peace, melting into Brian.”

I knew at the end of that first semester that we would be in each other’s lives. I saw within Brian a profound peace, a gentle and powerful stillness that made every cell in me exhale.

A decade later, life looks completely different than it did that first semester. A new town, tough pregnancies, two kiddos who are our greatest teachers, loneliness, sleepless nights, a mortgage, forgetting it’s recycling day, budgeting, births, deaths, and everything in between.

As I sat there reading these entries, I was struck by how, over the last few years, I have often been frustrated with Brian’s quietness. I’m not talking about the typical “wife wants to talk, husband is talked out” kind of frustration. For an introvert, Brian is actually really awesome about engaging me in conversation.

But rather this: I can get so frustrated thinking that Brian is not “in it with me” because he doesn’t “match” my inner emotional state – when I am stressed about getting out the door in the morning, worried about registering for preschool, packing for a family trip, or figuring out the grocery list.

Sometimes I have pulled back over the years, mistakenly thinking that I am “in it alone” when Brian is calm and quiet. And when we feel alone many of us protect ourselves, often retreating inward, withholding, cowering back, blaming, lashing out. And if you are anything like me, we push away the very thing we need.

But what I am coming to know and heal – through a lot of meditation! – is that my frustration and anger have nothing to do with Brian’s quiet. Just as Eckhart Tolle says, “You are never angry for the reason you think you are,” I am angry because I am filled with fear. Feeding that fear are old hurts, old patterns being relived, hijacking me while I stand in our kitchen, holding C., getting A. ready for school, searching for my keys, and talking harshly to Brian. It is the fear that “I am alone in this.” As I let that fear hijack me, it grows, I push Brian away, and I feel even more alone.

But the times when I acknowledge that I am starting to feel alone, breathe with it, and choose to connect to Brian, I receive the very thing I need: to be alongside a kind, stable, steadfast soul drawing me into a vast landscape of peace and tender love. Brian’s quietness is that peaceful landscape that holds and heals my fear of “being in it all alone.” In ways I never imagined that first New England fall when I fell in love with Brain, his quiet, gentle presence is actually my healing balm, a soothing salve that nourishes and strengthens me.

I once asked Brian when we first started dating what he believed his purpose was on this earth. He said, “To love.” I have written about how I have three (not one!) words for this year: soften, strengthen, and forgive. When I choose to turn toward those sweet blue eyes, Brian’s peaceful presence softens my worries, strengthens my light, and draws me into a sense of “home” within my own soul. THAT is Love. And I am grateful that Love forgives and embraces again and again.

Happy Valentine’s Day, sweet love.

Tips for Everyday Mindfulness #5: How fear dissolves

Last night I had this strange dream. Someone I am close to (not someone I know in my waking life) and I were in prison. Some other inmates were planning to gang up on us and things were about to get ugly. I’ll save you the details, but as things were heating up and I was getting scared, I thought “Lisa, just walk away.”

In the dream, I realized that I didn’t have to engage the gang of inmates, try to muster up brute force, develop a quick plan to high-tail it out of there, or try to talk my way out of it. I could just walk away.

I took my loved one’s hand and said, “Let’s just go.”

Though I was trembling inside, there was a “sureness” deep in me: this is what we had to do…no matter the outcome. Not one of the inmates tried to stop us. Not one snarled at us, jumped at us, or tried to hurt us as we had feared earlier.

Instead, as we began to walk away, one by one each inmate turned into a stone-like structure and began to crumble, falling to pieces, turning into a heap of ash.

Now in that half-awake half-asleep state, the thought popped into my head, “What if this is how it is with anything that keeps us imprisoned? Any fear or habitual way of thinking loses its power and its grip on us once we just decide to stop feeding it…and walk away.”

Instead of mustering up brute strength, developing an intricate plan of attack (or way of trying to keep the fear at bay), or talking ad nausium about it…just get up and walk away. Stop trying to do anything about them and just walk away.

This is similar to what we do in meditation – observing our thoughts (along with sensations and emotions)…seeing them as passing clouds or like leaves floating down a river without engaging them, clinging to them, or trying to stop them. Our fears begin to have less of a grip on us. With no power, they just dissolve.

When I told Brian about this dream, he said this reminded him of a quote from the book, Dune, by Frank Herbert, “I will face my fear. I will allow it to pass over me and through me. And when it is gone I will turn the inner eye to see it’s path. And where it is gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

A new way of looking at fear and being a teacher

Two beautiful definitions that Jonathan Foust shared with me the other day. Hearing them made me exhale and relax. The power and impact of these quotes are still swimming in and taking up residence in my heart. I thought that they may inspire and resonate with many of you.

FEAR
Fear…maybe we could think of the energy that we label “fear” as“creative dynamic tension waiting to be unleashed.”

Wow. Doesn’t this make “fear” sound more approachable? Less scary? Doesn’t it sound more like such energy holds the power of our unfolding, our transformation rather than something to be avoided? When Jonathan shared this with me, I felt “less scared” to go into my fears and was able to see the energy of fear as a force that is actually “on my side” and is about my true expression of self in the world rather than something that is “against me” and keeping me down. I saw the energy of fear as something to be harnessed and expressed rather than contained and controlled.

What would it look like for you to think of your fears in such a way — as creative energy wanting to have your attention and waiting to be unleashed…for your own becoming?

A TEACHER
A teacher is “someone who shares the radiance of her own discoveries.”

What ease this evokes in me as I sit with what makes a leader, a teacher, and as I deepen my practice and experience of being both with my own children as well as clients and students. This definition conjures up an image of someone who sits with, wrestles with, struggles with, lets go of, softens around, embraces, and allows herself to be transformed by her own vulnerabilities, fears, grief, history, and experiences…AND TEACHING FROM THIS SPACE.

It is when she does this that the layers shed, revealing her Self and the gems of wisdom and light that shine there. “Teaching” from this space is less about perfecting the information presented and the message shared and more about “transmission” and “accompaniment” and “presence.” This definition brings an exhale to my heart — and inspires me to REST IN MY TRUE NATURE as I serve others — as a mom, therapist…and teacher.

How does this definition ease your load as a parent, manager, boss?

Mindful Moment: What our children inherit

Yes, he is still wearing his costume

Last night our little 3 1/2 year old A. woke up around 10 pm. I heard him at the top of the stairs, “Mama? Mama?” I ran upstairs and he folded into my arms. (And yes, he is still wearing his halloween costume. Read post here!).

“What’s wrong, little honey?” I asked, gently holding him against my chest as we sat on the top of the stairs. I have to admit, I was tired and hoping it wasn’t anything big.

A.: “Mom,” beginning to whimper…

Me: “Ohhhh, what is it honey?”  I drew him close to me.

And then A. began to cry. As I held him he asked me, “What’s after being a boy?”

Me: “Well, you become a teenager, then a young adult, then a man, then an old man.”  I was confused.  I didn’t know where this was coming from.

A.: “Welllll, what’s after that mom? What’s after being an old man?”

I stopped. I sat there in the darkness holding my son wondering what was concerning him, wondering how to respond to such a profound question without sounding trite, wanting to soothe his worries, wanting to find the right truthful words for a toddler. I wondered, “Is he still asleep? Is he dreaming? Did he have a nightmare and is now fully awake?!” I was also exhausted – my brain shuts off around 8 pm — I have problems finding the right words during the day let alone after my brain has “powered down.”

So I held him close and said, “Well, you can be a dad, then maybe a grandpa”

A.: “Mom, I don’t want to be an old man!” <now sobbing>.

Me: “Oh honey. That’s a long, long, long time from now.”

A. : “then my SHOES, my favorite shoes, won’t fit.”

Me: : “Oh Love, I hear you. You love your shoes.” I held him closer to me and stroked his wet little cheeks. “My Love, there will be many fun shoes in your life.”

A.: “And my backpack won’t fit!”

I held him. Eventually we moved into his bed.  I laid down next to him and held him and softly sang to him. I gave up my attachment to getting anything done before I headed off to bed. I felt A.’s breathing begin to slow down and deepen. His eyes were closing. I may have dozed off myself.

Then A. rolled over and said, “Mom, when I’m a teenager grandpa won’t be around!!!” And he began to sob again.

My heart sank. I laid there frozen for a moment. I got light-headed. How did this child go in to the darkest corners of my heart and pull out the deepest fear there — my parents dying? How did I pass on to him this fear that has been with me since I could remember?

Since I could consciously collect and recall memories I have been terrified of my parents dying. I can remember being on a trip with my dad when I saw my dad putting his shirt on as we got ready for the day, saw the gray hairs on his chest and began to sob, “YOU. ARE. DYING!!!!!!!!” (He was all about thirty-something then!).

A guilt beyond what I have ever felt before came over me — what have I passed on to my child? What fears has he inherited? Oh he is only three! I do NOT want him to be so weighed down with such worry like me! What ELSE have I passed on to him?!

My parents with C. (a lioness!) - look at the way my dad looks at C. I hope this look of cherishing -- of tenderly regarding -- is one I've inherited and will "pass on" to my children.

I continued to hold him and reassure him, caressing his cheeks, running my fingers through his hair. I remembered the book The Kissing Hand.

I took his little hand to my lips and kissed it. Then put his hand to his cheek and said to him, “You will always have our love – mine, daddy’s, your sister’s, papas’ (plural), grandma’s, nana’s – whether near or far.”

And A. said: “Oh. Kind of like when papa is in Florida?”

Me: “Yes, just like when he is in Florida.”

And soon he was asleep. I kissed his little forehead and went downstairs to tell Brian.

Whether still in a dream-like state or consciously awake through it all, A.’s words and fear and trembling still sit with me. The nurses at the hospital didn’t mix up this mom and baby match. This surely is my son. And I feeeeeeel for him. He takes on the vibes and needs and worries of the world, just like his mom. He senses it all, catches on to it all, feels it all – instantly. My god, I don’t want him to be so weighed-down! I want his heart to be care-free and light.  Again, the primal desire of a mother sweeps over me and I want to protect him, save him from any suffering.  The ache of knowing I will not be there when he is an old man and my heart nearly explodes with grief and someone else will need to care for him makes my heart ache.

And then I become grateful for his little sister. Barely eight months old, I know already she has a clarity about her, a discerning clarity…a wisdom about what to carry emotionally, mystically…and what to put down. She will teach her big brother this. And he will teach her how to embrace this world and jump into it with fire and passion.

I remind myself that it’s quite possible my children will inherit not only my fears but also my loves — of people, poetry, and loving this world.  Not only my shortcomings and insecurities but also the ways I am powerfully confident.  Not only my anxiety but also my grounded calm.  Not only my darkness but also my tenacious sense of hope that keeps me on the journey of drawing others into their own light.

Ohhhh the things that keep me up at night — the mystical connections between souls. The fears I carry in my own heart and body.  The light of Hope that ultimately soothes our worries and wraps us in warmth and love.