Just keep showing up

This past year, I have had to let go of my beloved 5Rhythms dance practice. At least until my physical therapist has restored the alignment in my fascia network. At least until I have learned not to let other dancers pull me into their dance and out of my own boundaries.

Now, how many times have I written a blog on this topic? Do I ever listen to my own wisdom? Yes, I do… and at times I forget. Most of you probably know by now that living these truths in daily life is more challenging than simply understanding them.

There are always so many things to feel guilty about: not doing enough, doing too much, wanting too much, being too judgmental, not seeing the truth. The truth is, that this is what life is about. We are imperfect. I'm imperfect. Accepting this fact is the first step.

And the next step is to gently, patiently let go of the guilt and bring yourself back to your practice. Whether that practice is: listening to your body, sitting still, paying attention to your own boundaries, or whatever it is you wish to do because you know you will benefit from it. Jack Kornfield describes it as the way you would lovingly train a puppy: “Sit… Stay…” And when the puppy runs off, you gently bring it back and start again. Just keep showing up. Again and again, in the spirit of loving kindness to yourself.

This is what I wish for you in this dark season of the year, when we light our lights and celebrate, each of us in our own way, the advent of love in the world. Just keep showing up.

A rainbow-colored house

The latest fuss about the Dutch Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet (St. Nicholas and his Moorish servant Black Peter) was discouraging enough. For those who haven’t been following the discussion, St. Nicholas is attended by a servant (often several) whose face has been blackened and whose clothing suggests the attire of Moors in the 4th century. Recently, it has been suggested that this is discriminating against people with a black skin and condoning the Dutch role in the slave trade. At first it seemed to simply be a vehicle for political catfights. Now, media and policy-makers have taken over. This year Piet’s face was painted all the colors of the rainbow, as a statement that we are a rainbow-colored nation, home to all races and creeds.

Putting aside the fact that the presence of a Moorish servant to a bishop in 4th century Myra (in present-day Turkey) is probably historically accurate, another thing disturbs me. In Austria and southern Germany, St. Niklaus is accompanied by Krampus. There, the original intention of balancing black and white: the forces of good and evil, night and day, is intact. Krampus cannot be turned into some harmless symbol of political correctness. He’s just too scary.

Now my American friends have informed me that the greeting Merry Christmas is considered to be politically incorrect these days, discriminating against all belief systems that do not center around the birth of the Christ child.

It took me a while to understand my own impatient sighs. After all, as far as religion is concerned, if anything you might call me a pagan. And I deeply honor and respect all races and belief systems. But that is exactly why I object to this approach. It provides the semblance of tolerance, without getting to the root of the intolerance. If people distrust and fear Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Christians, or anyone else who is not of the correct persuasion or skin color, political window-dressing is not going to change that.

The root of the problem lies, in my perception, in the fact that We is so often defined as a group that includes some people (or life forms) and excludes others. And the outsiders need to be kept out or exterminated, at any cost. This is the We of adolescent groups, the ones who all wear the same clothing or listen to the same music. True adulthood means letting go of this exclusive identification and opening one’s sense of belonging to all people… to all living things in the universe.

And so this holiday season – and the rest of the year – my home and heart is opened to all life. I wish all a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyful Yule, and (in other times of the year) Blessed Diwali en Eid. And I will light a candle for Zwarte Piet, who taught me the truth about discrimination and tolerance.

Nourishment

Today is Thanksgiving Day in the United States. Families will gather together throughout the country and sit at tables laden with food. Traditionally, it is a way of giving thanks for the abundance of the harvest. And, even though the tradition was carried to the US (and Canada) from England, many different cultures have a special day in which they commemorate the harvest.

When I first moved to Holland, I tried to continue the Thanksgiving tradition with other expat friends. But we grew scattered and our little tradition died. And so, I will not be sitting down to a large dinner with family or friends.

However, this morning I did find myself musing about the things that nourish me. Truly nourishing things, not the things that simply make me feel sated. Those things that fill a deep need in me, that help me grow and feel happy.

I’m grateful for the presence of a few people in my life with whom I can talk about that which really matters to me. People who share their feelings and thoughts with me and truly listen to me. This feels very nourishing.

The solace of quiet solitude, something I tend to brush aside in my busy life of doing, gives me nourishment. When I do allow myself to sit quietly, it brings me back to the essence of who I am in this world.

The beauty in nature, the constant flitting of little birds at the feeding station outside the window, the way the sunlight falls at an angle through colored leaves, the way snow falls without a sound. These are some of the most nourishing things I know.

The happiness I feel watching my grandchildren play and witnessing my children as adults is nourishing. Not necessarily out of pride (though I am proud of them), it’s the simple joy of seeing the way they become more and more themselves.

After some health issues last summer, I learned to pay attention to healthy eating. A burgundian by nature, I suddenly found myself challenged to combine good tastes with good food. It’s beginning to work; I lavish even more care and attention to my cooking than I used to. And at the same time, I have become sensitive to which foods truly nourish me and which ones make me feel tired and run-down.

And so I feel a deep gratitude for the abundance in my life. I wish all of you, whether or not you will celebrate Thanksgiving today (or any other day), true nourishment in your lives.

Knowledge and wisdom

This diagram has been intriguing me since it popped up in my network recently. It’s a very basic Socratic model and the gist of it is: the more I know, the more I’m aware of my ignorance.

We are raised to believe that gathering knowledge is the road to adulthood. The more we know, the more we understand life and can approach life’s dilemma’s with insight and wisdom. As I stumble through life, only able to use hindsight to understand what I was doing, it becomes more and more clear to me that this is an illusion. Knowledge does not lead to wisdom.

The Age of Reason, which in many ways still dominates the western world, makes a similar claim. The more knowledge man gathers about the world, the more we will understand about the world and life itself. Recent discoveries in the fields of physics, biology, and astronomy would prove otherwise. Our currant series of environmental, economic, and political crises would prove otherwise. It would seem that mankind, especially western thought and paradigms, is stuck in the middle stage of the model. Thinking one knows and understands everything is even more dangerous than innocent ignorance.

So true wisdom means accepting the fact that we... I... know nothing. With this beginners mind, as it is sometimes called, we can open ourselves to experience. Experiencing things without immediately jumping on them and declaring their meaning and relevance. Accepting that we don’t always understand the consequences of our deeds. This humility could also make us more thoughtful and careful about what we do. And sometimes, we can only understand by looking back, after the fact.

I love sharing my experiences and understanding of life through this blog. But reading my blog will not help you understand where you’re going. It might help you understand where you’ve been. And, just possibly, it can help you understand where you are stuck right now.

Autumn leaves

Ever since I moved to Holland, I have become disenchanted with autumn. Growing up in New England, autumn meant bright, fiery colors against a blue sky. Here, the leaves simply fall to the ground, heavy- laden with grey, cold rain. But this year, we’ve been treated to a blazing autumn and it has triggered musings about this very special season.

After the harvest abundance of the late summer, autumn is the time that trees and plants pull their energy back and down into their roots. And, because they have pulled their energy back, they let go their leaves. They no longer need the leaves, they’re going into hibernation.

For me, it’s also the season to pull back, out of the active summer. To go inside myself and reflect on the past year: the new impulses that came with spring, the fruits of the summer. What do I need to let go? What habits and thoughts no longer serve me? Autumn is a chance to rest and renew, a chance to simplify, to pare life down to only that which is essential. To let go of everything that clutters our lives and creates confusion. So that the bare branches of who we really are stand out in all their stark beauty. Waiting for new impulses and growth in the spring.

And, as the days grow shorter and colder and the light grows dimmer, we start creating light and warmth of our own. A few days ago, the Hindu celebration of Diwali took place, the festival celebrating the triumph of light over dark. Autumn brings us the light of warm fires blazing in the dark, warming and comforting us. Just as the autumn leaves give us one final blaze of warm, bright colors, before they flutter to the ground.

I wish you warm, bright, comforting fires. But most of all, I wish you the ability to let go that which no longer serves you, to simplify, rest, and renew.

Solitude

One of the things I love about White Storks is the fact that they are both social birds and solitary birds at the same time. They migrate and nest in groups and are often seen preening each other. But, when they’re hunting, they prefer to stand alone in a high place where they can oversee the territory.

I see myself reflected in this behavior. I’m a gregarious person and I enjoy working, playing, and carrying on conversations with other people. I love discovering how other people explore the world and lending a helping hand when they get stuck. But the times that I can return to my solitary space and be alone with my thoughts are the times that I become recharged and renewed.

This is not something that came easily. For a long time I lived in fear of being alone. And I think that many people know this fear. Being alone is often seen as synonymous with loneliness. And loneliness presupposes that one does not feel connected to other people. The fear of loneliness and isolation keeps us from enjoying solitude and it isn’t until we have been able to let go of that fear that it becomes enjoyable.

There’s another fear associated with solitude and that is far more instinctual, even primal. Homo sapiens learned at an early stage that safety was in numbers. Living in large family groups or tribes kept preying carnivores or marauding neighbors at bay. Even now, it is wise to consciously take measures to make sure that you are safe from harm, that you can reach someone in case of emergency, etc. if you’re planning to spend time alone. Last spring I did a three day wilderness solo. This primal fear of being alone and unsafe was one the strongest emotions that I had to deal with. I describe this in my blog Fear (May 20, 2014).

Last weekend I spent three days with several friends, basking in the warmth of our time together. It was a time of learning, a dance of delicate balances: consciously choosing when to go along with the group and when to listen to my own wants and needs. It was wonderful, warm, and easy to get accustomed to. However, as I drove home, I looked forward to easing back into my solitary life.

But the first 24 hours at home, I found myself slightly at loose ends. In three days, I had grown accustomed to people around me. I had to readjust to having no conversations, distractions, or empathy. And this led me to a third interesting aspect of solitude: there is a slightly addictive quality to having people around all the time. And so, if you are used to it, being alone feels uncomfortable. The way people, who have stopped smoking, feel uncomfortable without a cigarette. By recognizing this, I was able to let it go.

And what is your relationship to solitude? Do you enjoy it? Do you fear loneliness or feel unsafe? Are you so accustomed to having people around you that you feel uncomfortable alone? Please share your thoughts!

Despair

The newest WWF Living Planet Report gives reason for alarm. Within two generations, the population size of vertebrate species (other than human) has dropped by 52%. We need 1.5 Earths to regenerate the natural resources we currently use. Reading these hard facts, it is very difficult not to despair. My cognitive brain refuses to see a solution that will work fast enough to keep the human race, my human race, from destroying life on this planet, including our own lives. Not in my lifetime, perhaps, but I want my grandchildren and their grandchildren to live and enjoy the beauty of life on earth as much as I do.

I try to push that feeling of despair away. I like to be as positive and solution-oriented as possible. Despair immobilizes me, saps my energy. So I think of all the large and small-scale successes we have had in re-wilding parts of nature, bringing back species that were seriously endangered. I read about new initiatives, working with multinational businesses to find innovative solutions. I look for ways to raise awareness of the problem and to help people find their own answers. But the sheer numbers are overwhelming and I do feel pain, anger, and despair.

Yes, we should acknowledge that feeling of despair, says Joanna Macy in her book Active Hope. Only by honoring our pain for the world, will we be capable of breaking the spell of business as usual.

And so the challenge emerges: where to find the balance between honoring the pain and despair and letting it drag us into depression, futile anger, or stubborn denial.

Despair can also rise on an individual level. I worked with a client recently whose entire life had collapsed around his ears: his job gone, his marriage falling apart, his health threatened. And it seemed to me that the first step was to acknowledge the intense despair that he felt, acknowledge that feeling that nothing made sense any more. Feeling the pain instead of trying to escape from it through cognitive reasoning, hard work, or spiritual approaches emphasizing peace of mind.

Pain, grief, and sorrow are a gateway to empowerment, to finding new depths and new horizons in yourself. For my client, it meant accepting that this crisis in his life would bring him closer to the essence of who he is and what his life is about.

In the legend of Pandora’s Box, she opened the box, in spite of being warned not to. All the misfortune, wickedness, sickness, and terror was released into the world. But at the bottom of the box lay Hope. If the box had never been opened, Hope would not have found its way into the world.

And so I honor my pain and despair for the world. And, by doing so, I find new empowerment, hope, and energy to do all that I can to help.

Courage

I feel so lucky! I was recently able to attend a full-day workshop in Amsterdam held by the poet David Whyte. And, those of you who have been following this blog know that he is my very favorite poet (and author in general).

The title of the talk was Robust Vulnerability. But the theme that stuck with me the most afterwards was that of courageous conversations. The kind of conversation you have with your loved ones, where you bare your soul, not knowing how the other will react, maybe going out on a limb, but determined to carry on the conversation anyway.

And I thought back on all those times that I avoided having that courageous conversation, trying to stay safe in the world as I understood it at the time.

Or the conversation that you have with yourself, admitting something that is almost too big to contain. Going out to the edge of what you understand about yourself and knowing that you can’t hide from yourself any more. Maybe admitting longing, defeat, or heartbreak. Maybe it’s about a step that you know you must take… even though you don’t know what will happen when you do.

And I challenged myself to hold that courageous conversation with myself and, through my writing, with the world.

Whyte used the term moulting. When birds moult (exchanging one coat of feathers for a new one) they shed everything that makes them attractive, trusting that the new coat will come. Some of them do this feather for feather but others do it all at once. And facing the world with a naked skin makes one very vulnerable.

We humans often try to keep ourselves covered with a coating that makes us as attractive as possible to others. Shedding that skin makes us feel way too vulnerable. The night after the talk, I dreamt that I had lost all my curly hair and had bald patches all over my head. Fortunately, my subconscious was not telling me to shave my head but it was telling me to pay attention to this concept of shedding all the masks that make me look as attractive as possible. To myself and to the outside world.

And this, I think, is courage. If we can show this kind of courage in our lives and our relationships, we emerge stronger and more beautiful than before.

Loving life

A friend said to me the other day, “I was born to love everything and everyone.” This sheer trust in the natural goodness in the world blew me away. Especially because he is not exactly a naive person and comes from an “eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” culture.

I tend to sometimes feel overwhelmed by the problems that we face in these times. Recent reports of how the climate change is endangering wildlife and news from the Middle East or Ukraine, are so tragic and so depressing that I sometimes lose faith in the power of the natural goodness in the world.

Can I love everyone and everything? Am I capable of love when my children or grandchildren are threatened? I am capable of anger, as I pointed out in my last blog. The more I explore this theme, the more I realize how closely related anger and love are. Anger is possible because we are capable of caring so deeply about those we love. And we grow angry when we hear about war and the wanton destruction of nature because we care about the world so very deeply.

As Albert Einstein pointed out, you can’t solve a problem with the same thinking that created the problem. And so trying to defeat hatred and intolerance with more hatred and intolerance will only increase this type of energy. Turning my back to the pain in the world and making sure I and my family get what we deserve, even though this is empowered by love, will end up feeding the selfishness and greed that I despise.

It takes something radically different to turn this paradigm around. And maybe this won’t change the way things are in our lifetime, but it will keep us from being devoured by the same demon of hatred and greed that is threatening all we hold dear. And, possibly, this spirit of love and compassion that we bring into the world will eventually bring about a healthy world for future generations.

Tibetan Buddhism, as taught by Pema Chodron, has a meditation practice known as tonglen. In this practice, you breathe in pain, taking it into your own heart, and then breathe out loving kindness. This meditation practice, done regularly, actually softens the heart and makes compassion for yourself and others easier, more natural.

At first you should practice with your own pain and negative emotions. As that grows easier to do, you can extend your awareness to those people around you who have hurt you or whom you have negative feelings about. And once you start feeling how this softens and opens your heart, you can extend your awareness to the pain of the world and your feelings about those whom you feel are the perpetrators of the pain.

Practicing loving kindness, compassion, makes us more and more aware how we are all interrelated. All humans, all life forms. And so we open the door to loving life and loving everything and everyone.

Anger

It happened so unexpectedly and quickly that I got caught up into it without thinking. I made an innocuous but clumsy remark, someone took offense, I apologized, the other wouldn’t let it go. And that’s when I felt myself getting angry. And, for a brief moment, all I wanted to do was lash out and wound the other. I was able to step back and take a deep breath. But the anger… the sensation of feeling angry… stayed in my body for quite a long time after the incident.

Anger is a primary emotion, one that we need to express in order to stay healthy. It allows us to fiercely defend ourselves and our loved ones when they’re being threatened.

Often we feel called to fiercely defend our own integrity when it is being threatened or maligned, as in my example above. Sometimes the threat is real. But sometimes we’re projecting memories of early childhood wounding on to this “threat” as we perceive it. Our sense of vulnerability creates a deeply felt need to protect ourselves. And so we lash out at our real, or imagined, attacker.

Anger also allows us to defend that which we believe in so deeply that this belief defines us. When I see someone showing cruelty or disrespect towards other humans, animals, or any being in nature, I feel disgust. And disgust, like contempt, is an expression of anger. The anger I feel comes from my deepest belief that all life should be treated with respect and reverence.

And this is where things get tricky. Because anger can prompt us to attack when we want to defend and collective anger, collective indignation, can start riots and wars. And so we have learned to curb our anger, to be polite, and to think before we act. So expressing anger can get complicated. A friend sighed the other day, “I need to express my anger more, I wish I could find a civilized way to do it!”

When we keep anger, especially old anger from early wounding, inside us, it eats away at us like a poison. Bottled-up anger can be the underlying cause of many physical symptoms: high blood pressure, heart disorders, stomach ulcers, sleep disorders, etc. And sometimes we think we’re keeping the anger inside, but our defensive reactions betray our disowned anger.

David Whyte, in one of his recent essays, speaks of the essence of anger:
“ANGER at its heart, is the deepest form of compassion, for another, for the world, for the self, for a life, for the body, for a family and for all our ideals, all vulnerable and all, possibly about to be hurt. Stripped of physical imprisonment and violent reaction, anger is the purest form of care, the internal living flame of anger always illuminates what we belong to, what we wish to protect and what we are willing to hazard ourselves for.” (from his upcoming book of essays, CONSOLATIONS, a book I am very much looking forward to!)

Can we, can I, learn to live with the “internal living flame of anger” in such a way that it burns clean and bright without turning into a dark poison?

Slow down

It has been a confronting summer. I suddenly have to get used to the fact that my supply of energy is no longer inexhaustible. It seems I have to slow down.

I did not like the idea of slowing down at all. Since my early retirement in 2012, I have had so much fun teaching, learning, dancing, hiking, traveling, and exploring. And now my body has said STOP, in a very clear, not to be misunderstood, way.

My first reaction was to think, Oh no! There must be something wrong. Something that needs fixing. It took awhile to figure out that I might just need a change of pace. And I don’t have to immediately resign myself to “old age” simply because I can’t go at high speeds all the time.

Andrea Juhan, a wonderful dance teacher, uses the term Speed Limit during her Libido workshops. Some of us are very good at exceeding our own speed limits. Have you ever driven a car just a little too fast taking a curve and you realize you need to brake in order to make the curve? But you were having so much fun driving just a wee bit too fast. You exceeded your own (and the car’s) speed limit for that situation.

In relationships we often have difficulty with speed limits. One person wants to go fast and the other is still trying to feel their way into the relationship. Both have to stay true to their own needs. They need to find a delicate balance to stay together. If the individual speed limits are too far apart, this may just not work.

This morning I went dancing again (5Rhythms) for the first time in several months. I took things slowly, one step at a time, listening carefully to how far my body wanted to go and what it needed. At one point, we were asked to move with a partner. I had a young, bouncy partner who needed a lot of energetic movement. It was so tempting to let him pull me into his high tempo. So I consciously applied my own speed limit. Keeping in contact with my own body was more important than keeping in contact with my partner.

On the way home from the workshop, I resisted the temptation to drive fast, savoring the idea that slowing down does have its charms. Plenty of beautiful things to see along the way!

Letting go

The osprey season at Hog Island in Maine has almost drawn to a close. The three chicks all flew from the nest and are living nearby, learning to perfect their flying and fishing skills. Next month they will undertake the long migration flight to South America. We, who watch regularly, know that we will probably see the parents back next year with a new nest. But the chicks, whom we have been studying avidly for the past three-four months, will disappear out of our lives for good.

Some of the 2000+ viewers are already feeling the pang of the empty nest. On the chat, where information, screen captures, and sightings are exchanged, people report tears and an empty feeling. We joke about osprey addiction and withdrawal symptoms, empty nest syndrome, etc. What has happened, is that people became deeply attached to the family life of these birds. This connection was very strong and filled a need for many people. And now they have to let go.

In the Buddhist tradition, attachment is the root of all suffering. And learning to let go of that which you are attached to, is the key to a life without suffering. It took me a very long time to understand and accept this principle. How can I not feel attached to those I love? And this is the crux: can you learn to love without the attachment?

Attachment means that you can no longer live happily if that person/animal/object vanishes from your life. We can also be attached to our life style, our profession, our relatives, our pets, our home… and it is good to appreciate these things. But not to make our happiness depend on them.

We are, at least I am, extremely attached to our children and grandchildren. No grief is bigger than having to mourn the loss of one of these precious people. But being able to let that grief go will not diminish the love that we feel… have always felt… for them.

I try not to say things like this when someone shares their sorrow at the osprey chicks leaving the nest. But observing these reactions was the inspiration for this blog. So here’s to the Hog Island Osprey chicks, who are teaching so many people to let go, with love.

Loneliness

Blue moon
you saw me standing alone
without a dream in my heart
without a love of my own…

How we dread loneliness and still it has inspired so much beautiful poetry, art, song, and literature! When we think of someone as being lonely, our heartstrings are pulled. Empathy floods us, as we realize how terrible it must feel.

I can remember a period in my own life when I felt so very lonely that it seemed as if life was unbearable if I couldn’t share it with someone. And when I look back on that time, what I really remember is how poignant that feeling was. No wonder it inspires the artist in us. When we dare express strong emotions like loneliness and grief, great art emerges, art that can touch the hearts of all the readers/listeners/viewers.

I think that one of the reasons for this, is that the expression of loneliness is really the expression of a much deeper yearning, a longing to feel connected to life itself. To feel connected to the deeper mystery that lies behind our daily lives, whatever name we give to it.

There is an existential aloneness that none of us can escape. Each of us is essentially alone, unique in our experience of life. We can avoid this feeling by focusing on our relationships, our children, our religion, our professional lives, or our social lives. And often we use these things to escape from this awareness of being alone. We dread loneliness in all its forms.

I think the best way to cope with this, is not to try and move away from the feeling of being alone but to move towards it. Don’t try to cover up or escape loneliness by distracting yourself. Allow the loneliness to pull you towards your deeper yearning - the yearning to lead a meaningful life, the yearning to feel connected to something bigger than yourself, the yearning to plumb the depths of your own capacity for expression.

It may lead you to new discoveries about yourself, who knows?


And my sincere apologies to my regular readers for the erratic appearence of the blog these days! As some of you know, I've been working on a book. Which is a challenging experience, to say the least, but it has proven very difficult to combine both types of writing. I will try to bring the frequency back up to normal soon. And I will keep you posted on the book!

Worry

My cat is a real night-huntress. And sometimes, when I get up in the morning, I don’t find her in her customary position: curled up, sleeping soundly on her blanket. Immediately, irrational fears pop into my head. Where is she? Did something happen? Usually, she comes running into the house five minutes later, meowing loudly, demanding attention. I didn’t have to worry. And still I do.

Worry is a form of fear, which I wrote about in an earlier blog (Emotions). But it’s not the immediate fear that helps us fight or flee when we’re in danger. It’s a more insidious fear: afraid of what we think might happen. Our mind conjures up possible scenarios, we grab onto the worst possible scenario, and start playing it, like a movie, over and over in our heads.

Remember falling in love? Remember worrying every time your beloved didn’t call, show up, pay you a compliment? I certainly do! Your mind starts saying, maybe he/she no longer loves me, maybe… Fear grabs hold of your mind and keeps you from sleeping.

If there is something you could or should do about the situation, to prevent that which you fear from happening, then at least there is a foundation to act from. Then the fear is a signal to act. However, unfortunately, we all tend to worry about things we can’t do anything about.

Yes, if anything happens to that fierce little huntress of mine, I will be very upset and sad. That doesn’t warrant locking her up in the house, however. It’s her nature to hunt and her life is as vulnerable to harm as mine. Worrying about it will not change that.

And if the person you’re in love with, starts drifting away, there’s also very little you can do about it. Worrying will only eat your energy away and cost you valuable sleep.

These are the moments that it’s invaluable to sit, mindfully, with your turmoil of emotions, observing what is happening, accepting it, breathing through it. Or to go out in nature and tell your worries to a tree or bird. Or to write, paint, or dance your feelings. In all things that happen in life, there’s a lesson to learn.

There is an old Mother Goose rhyme that expresses this very well:

For every ailment under the sun
There is a remedy, or there is none;
If there be one, try to find it;
If there be none, never mind it.

Distraction

From time to time, I need to retreat into an empty space. Not doing, just being. That’s the place where I receive inspiration for my writing and other creations. My Muse is waiting there, to whisper wisdom, stories, and beautiful images into my ears.

However, I’m very good at doing everything but sitting quietly and being. And this has not only kept me from writing the blog for the past two weeks, it’s also kept me from other creations that are patiently waiting until I finally gather the focus to do them.

In the Wheel of the Four Directions, the South is the place of doing. During these lovely, long summer days I spend a great deal of time with my feet on the ground: working in the garden, organizing my house, giving workshops, etc. And in the evenings, when my body is tired of doing, I find other distractions: the webcam on the osprey nest, the World Championship Football, socializing with friends…

The West is the place of retreating inside oneself and just being. Open to receive whatever is being whispered in the stillness. That really does sound more like a place to be in the autumn, but in the endless cycles of life we do need to be in the West more often than once a year!

The rain we’re having today is a blessing. No temptation to go out and do things, no reason not to sit quietly and write. Yes, I know that writing is also doing but I can only get there through that quiet place.

And so I ask myself, what part of me is so resistant to retreating into the stillness? What inner voice whispers to me, right at this moment, to get up from writing this blog and go do the laundry?
“Just for a few minutes, you can always get back to this later,” the voice insinuates.

There is a part of me that doesn’t like the stillness, doesn’t like to stop doing. And so I sit quietly with that part of me, asking it what it needs. What is its concern, how can I convince it to leave me alone every once in a while? We strike a bargain, my doing voice and I. Once a day I’m allowed take a short break to just sit and be, to retreat inside and listen to the voice of my Muse, to gather inspiration, to write.

My part of the bargain is that I stop thinking negatively about that part of me that lets itself get distracted. It’s not much, but it’s a start… The laundry can wait.

Emotions

I once met a man who told me, “I have no emotions, emotions are a woman thing.” I smiled, knowing that, when someone speaks with this much conviction, it makes no sense to tell him otherwise.

The primary emotions in our lives are Fear, Anger, Grief, Joy, and Compassion. When we deny ourselves the experience of these important emotions, it can make us ill. I have seen this happen over and over again. This time I’d like to talk about it from my own personal experience.

As a child I lived in fear and I had good reason to. As I discussed earlier this spring, fear is the emotion that saves our lives when we meet up with a life-threatening situation. Emotional (and physical) abuse is a life-threatening situation for a small child. There are three possible reactions to fear: fight, flee, or freeze. I froze a lot and sometimes I had the presence of mind to run away and hide. That probably saved me from becoming emotionally crippled.

The act of freezing prevents a person (and especially a child) from totally inhabiting his/her body and space. And so, in later years, I learned to ground myself and be comfortable in my physical reality. In the 5Rhythms dance, the first rhythm, Flowing, is about this very thing: connecting to your breath, grounding with your feet, and being totally present on the dance floor.

As I grew into puberty, and started understanding what was being done to me, my fear turned to anger. I started teaching myself to fight back. Of course, the anger was, at first, misdirected and ineffective. But that isn’t the point, the point is that the anger needs to find a means of expression. When anger gets bottled up, it becomes a black thing inside us that eats us.

Only when we have been able to breathe and move through our fear, are we able to release our anger. The second rhythm of the dance, Staccato, is the rhythm of fire, of the fire of anger and being able to stand our ground.

But life can still wound us and I have been no exception. I have lost loved ones and hopes for the future. I have been forced to see things that I didn’t want to see. I have been hurt by the wounds of others, including the wounding of the earth. And these are the moments to let go of all thoughts of staying calm and rational, to just let the healing power of the tears flow.

Holding back grief will sap you of all your strength, all your energy, and wear you out. In the dance, the rhythm of Chaos helps you let go of control and feel your grief. But only if you have been able to move through your fear and let out your anger.

And so I have learned to let go and express the important emotions of fear, anger, and grief. What happens then, is that life lightens up. Suddenly we are able to see the beauty of sunrise, sunset, and rainbows, no matter what our circumstances are. Suddenly it’s no longer about doing and having but about being. Joy is the ability to be with ourselves and our lives, no matter what is going on. Joy is the Lyrical rhythm of the dance, the rhythm of lightness.

And at this point, we… I… can let go of my preoccupation with myself and my own story and turn my love and understanding to the world around me. To view everything that ever happened to me or through me with compassion. To view the world, with all its craziness, with compassion. Then I… we… enter into the age of wisdom in the rhythm of Stillness.

Mirrors

No matter how often I tell myself that I am constantly reacting to projections of myself in others, I do it again and again. This is so deeply ingrained in all of us that it slumbers in our unconscious selves. We need to remind ourselves, again and again.

This can take interesting forms. Recently I have been entranced by a webcam view of a nest of ospreys in Maine (USA). The osprey mother is beautiful, the fierce, proud glare from her yellow eyes stirs my soul. But the most fascinating thing about this nest, which attracts as many as 1300 viewers at one time, is the amazing, untiring, nurturing attention with which both mother and father osprey take care of their three chicks.

I find myself constantly comparing them to human parents - my parents, myself as a parent. Attributing human characteristics to them like patience, loyalty, and love. Now mind you, there is more to this than instinct. This particular pair has been nesting here for several seasons and their parental skills develop further and further each year. Some other osprey parents, on nests that can be followed, do a poorer job of it than these. But a lot of the awe and tenderness with which I view them is projection of my own desire to be so tender and nurturing.

The topic of nurturing leads me to another way that we can project ourselves on others. Someone came to me who is caught in a highly nurturing and caring role. Everyone sees her as the kindest, most helpful person they know. She started catching on to the fact that, by taking care of others, she was reflecting a deep childhood need to be taken care of herself. Now she’s taking the first steps to learn how to take care of the orphaned child inside.

One of the most striking ways that others can be a mirror to learn from is found with the people who annoy us the most, or make us downright angry. In my earlier articles on our shadow side, I have pointed out that there is always a side to us that we reject to the point of refusing to see that it’s a part of us. Often, people who display the kind of behavior we don't want to acknowledge, evoke an intense feeling of dislike in us. So, when you find yourself reacting negatively to someone, stop and examine what you might learn about yourself in this interaction!

How wonderful it is to live in a world full of human and non-human mirrors we can learn from!

Purpose

I had a wonderful, impromptu conversation recently. The woman I was talking to confessed that she has a good life but she feels that she’s not contributing to the good of the world or of other people. She misses a sense of purpose. This intrigues me. My first thought was - of course she’s contributing! Simply by being who she is, she contributes to someone’s happiness. I certainly had a great afternoon talking to her!

But I do realize that many of us are searching for a sense of purpose. As we reach those achievements we strove for when we were young: a family, a home, a career, recognition, etc., we start looking at the larger picture. Have I been true to myself? Have I done something of intrinsic value for the world? Has my life made a difference somewhere, somehow?

And the next question is: So what can I do? What is my specific contribution to the world, my purpose? And often answering this question means letting go of the expectations that other people have of you and letting go of the expectations that you grew up with.

This delightful illustration came to me by way of my friend Danielle van Kampen. I think it gives a great overview of the subject. So often we restrict ourselves to that which we are good at and can get paid for. But because we have overlooked that which we love, our work lacks passion. And if we overlook that which the world needs, it’s just a profession and not a real vocation. And at some point we start feeling tired… or maybe at a dead end… or maybe just confused.

The good thing is that this uncomfortable feeling is the start of a new journey. That journey requires taking a close look at what you yourself think is important in life, not what others think.

By putting together all four elements you arrive at that mix of passion, mission, profession, and vocation that we call Purpose.

Levensdoel

Onlangs had Ik een geweldig, spontaan gesprek met een vrouw die ik verder niet ken. Ze vertelde dat ze een fijn leven heeft maar dat ze het gevoel heeft geen wezenlijke bijdrage te leveren aan de wereld of aan andere mensen. Ze mist een levensdoel. Dit intrigeert me. Mijn eerste gedachte was: natuurlijk levert ze een bijdrage! Alleen al door wie ze is, maakt ze iemand blij. Ik heb in ieder geval een fijne middag beleefd vanwege ons gesprek!

Maar ik realiseer me ook dat velen van ons op zoek zijn naar een levensdoel. We bereiken de doelen die we onszelf hebben gesteld toen we jong waren: een gezin, een woning, een carrière, erkenning, enz. Vervolgens beginnen we naar het groter beeld te kijken. Ben ik trouw aan mezelf gebleven? Heb ik iets van intrinsieke waarde voor de wereld gedaan? Heeft mijn leven ergens een verschil gemaakt?

De volgende vraag is: Wat zou ik dan kunnen doen? Wat is mijn specifieke bijdrage aan de wereld, mijn levensdoel? Om deze vraag te beantwoorden, moet je vaak alle verwachtingen van anderen loslaten en ook de verwachtingen waar je zelf mee werd grootgebracht.

Dit prachtige schema kreeg ik via mijn vriendin, Danielle van Kampen. Het geeft een mooie overzicht van het onderwerp. We beperken ons vaak tot dat waar we goed in zijn en geld mee kunnen verdienen. Omdat we niet hebben gekeken naar waar we van houden, ontbreekt ons werk aan passie. En als we niet kijken naar wat de wereld nodig heeft, hebben we weliswaar een beroep, maar geen roeping. Er komt een punt in het leven waarin we ons vermoeid en uitgeblust voelen… of misschien op een doodlopende weg… of misschien gewoon in de war.

Het goede van dit, minder prettig, gevoel is dat het het begin van een nieuwe reis markeert. En die reis vraagt van je dat je goed kijkt naar wat je zelf belangrijk vindt in het leven, niet alleen wat anderen belangrijk vinden.

Door alle vier elementen bij elkaar te leggen kom je bij die mix van passie, missie, beroep en roeping dat wij Levensdoel noemen.

Heb jij een steuntje in de rug nodig voor een nieuwe reis naar jouw levensdoel? Overweeg mee te doen aan Een Nieuwe Reis van 10-12 oktober.

Fear

When I tell people about my solo time in the Arizona wilderness last March, they ask, “Weren’t you afraid?”

Yes. During the days that preceded my going out, I was afraid. The first night out, I was also afraid. And I sat with myself that night, observing the fear, asking myself what, exactly, I was afraid of.

For some reason I was not afraid of rattlesnakes, scorpions, or gila monsters, the only really dangerous things I might run into. We had learned to deal with them, learned to read their body language, learned how to take precautions. I was prepared for them.

The answer was quite simple. I was afraid of all the things I imagined could go wrong. Maybe a skunk would wander in and spray all over me. Maybe some crazed man would cross the river, find and assault me.

My imagination had run away with me and the things that I feared were highly improbable. Realizing this calmed me and, for the rest of my 3 day solo, I no longer felt afraid.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with fear. It is a very important emotion, it has saved people’s lives over and over again. However, it can also take over and rule our lives. Fear that we will lose our income, lose our source of security. Fear that we will lose love, that we will lose those we love. Fear that our emotions will send us into a bottomless pit.

And we let the fear cramp us up, make us rigid, and keep us from living wholeheartedly.

When we step out of our cramp and examine these fears for what they are, we find out that they are all in our imagination. There isn’t anything to be afraid of. When we let go of our fears, we find ourselves capable of love, joy, and truth. Capable of movement and growth.

Have you learned to let go of fear and find movement in your life?

Angst

Als ik mensen vertel over mijn dagen alleen in de Arizona wildernis afgelopen maart, vragen ze, “Maar was je niet bang?”

Ja. Gedurende de dagen voorafgaande aan mijn solo en de eerste nacht van mijn solo voelde ik angst. En de eerste nacht ging ik ervoor zitten, om mijn angst te observeren en mezelf af te vragen waar precies ik bang voor was.

Kennelijk was ik niet bang voor ratelslangen, schorpioenen of gila monsters. Dat waren de enige echt gevaarlijke wezens die ik tegen zou kunnen komen. We hadden geleerd daarmee om te gaan, hun lichaamstaal te lezen, voorzorgsmaatregelen te nemen. Ik was hierop voorbereid.

Het antwoord was simpel: ik was bang voor de dingen die ik fantaseerde. Misschien zou een stinkdier binnenvallen en mij helemaal besproeien. Misschien zou een gekke man de rivier oversteken en mij aanvallen.

Mijn fantasie was met mij op de loop gegaan en ik was bang voor zaken die hoogst onwaarschijnlijk waren. Toen ik me dat realiseerde, kalmeerde ik. Gedurende de rest van mijn solo tijd voelde ik geen angst meer.

Er is niets verkeerd aan angst. Het is een hele belangrijke emotie, het heeft mensenlevens tal van keren gered. Maar soms neemt het je leven in beslag. Angst dat je je bron van inkomsten of veiligheid zal verliezen. Angst dat je liefde zal verliezen of iemand die je dierbaar is. Angst dat je emoties je in een neerwaartse spiraal gaan sturen.

We laten de angst ons verkrampen, ons rigide maken. We verliezen de souplesse om met heel ons hart te leven.

Als wij uit de verkramping stappen en de angsten onderzoeken, blijkt dat we ze gefantaseerd hebben. Er is niets om bang van te zijn. Als wij onze angsten kunnen loslaten, ontdekken we liefde, vreugde en waarheid. We hervinden het vermogen te bewegen en te groeien.

Heb jij je angsten kunnen loslaten zo dat je beweging in je leven kunt vinden?

And so it is

The massage therapist pushes and pulls at my leg and bends my knee. At my yelp of pain, he shakes his head. “This looks serious. What have you been doing with yourself?”

What I have been doing is exactly what I tell everyone (friends and clients alike) not to do: ignoring the signals in my body that I’m doing too much. I will now have to be very patient and very gentle with myself to get back to the point that walking (let alone dancing) doesn’t hurt.

I immediately feel anger and frustration. Why can’t I keep my own boundaries? I should know better! And, this, of course, is all about accepting things as they are. Not just accepting that I have injured my knee, but also accepting the fact that I’m capable of doing stupid things like this. And it’s ok that I am.

When we embark on the path towards becoming the person we want to be, one of the first things that happens to us is that we become dissatisfied with the person we are right now. It seems so logical, it’s about change, isn’t it? And this is where the strange and magical alchemy of change comes in. As long as you try to get rid of your bad habits and become a better person, you will find yourself either failing at it or solving one problem only to find new ones. Like the legendary Hydra: for every head that Hercules lopped off, two more heads would appear.

Saying to yourself: I can be a good person, if I can only learn to listen to the signals of my body and respect my boundaries, is not going to make you any happier or bring you peace of mind. Saying to yourself: I am a good person, even though I sometimes ignore the signals of my body and go over my boundaries, will. And you will find yourself listening to your body and respecting your boundaries more and more. Because you’re treating yourself with love and respect.

And so I try to be as patient with my shortcomings, those shadows of mine that pop up, as I am with my swollen knee. If I disappoint myself, I forgive myself. Again and again. With love and respect.

Het is zo

De massage therapeut duwt en trekt aan mijn been en buigt mijn knie. Als ik het uitschreeuw van de pijn, schudt hij zijn hoofd. “Dit ziet er niet goed uit. Wat heb jij de laatste tijd met jezelf gedaan?”

Wat ik heb gedaan is precies wat ik iedereen (zowel vrienden als cliënten) aanspoor niet te doen: de signalen in mijn lijf, dat ik bezig ben mezelf te overbelasten, negeren. Nu zal ik heel geduldig en zacht met mezelf moeten omgaan om zover te komen dat ik weer pijnvrij kan lopen (laat staan dansen).

Ik word meteen boos op mezelf. Waarom kan ik niet mijn eigen grenzen in acht nemen? Ik zou beter moeten weten! En dit gaat natuurlijk over de dingen accepteren zoals ze zijn. Niet alleen accepteren dat ik mijn knie heb overbelast maar ook accepteren dat ik in staat ben om zulke domme dingen te doen. En het is goed zo.

Als wij de eerste stappen zetten op de weg dat ons leidt naar de persoon die we willen worden, voelen we ons meestal ontevreden met wie we nu zijn. Dat lijkt ook logisch, het gaat toch over veranderen? En hier komt de vreemde en magische alchemie van het veranderen tevoorschijn. Zolang je probeert om van je slechte gewoonten af te komen en een beter persoon te worden, zal het niet lukken. En als het wel lukt, als je het klaarspeelt om een probleem op te lossen, komt het volgend probleem omhoog. Net als de mythe van de Hydra: als Heracles een kop afhakte, groeiden er meteen twee nieuwe koppen aan.

Tegen jezelf zeggen: Ik zou een goed mens kunnen zijn als ik kon leren luisteren naar mijn lichaam en niet meer over mijn grenzen heengaan, maakt je niet gelukkiger of rustiger. Tegen jezelf zeggen: Ik ben een goed mens, ook al luister ik niet altijd naar mijn lichaam en ga ik soms over mijn grenzen heen, wel. En je zult ontdekken dat je steeds vaker naar je lichaam luistert en je grenzen bewaakt. Omdat je jezelf behandelt met liefde en respect.

Dus, probeer ik net zo geduldig te zijn met mijn tekortkomingen, mijn schaduwen die zo nu en dan op ploppen, als met mijn overbelaste knie. Als ik mezelf teleur stel, vergeef ik mezelf. Steeds opnieuw. Met liefde en respect.

Seduced by the shadow

I grew up with the folk-rock group Fairport Convention. One of the traditional ballads they sang was Reynardine, the tale of how the crafty fox seduced a maiden and led her to her ruin, by flattering her and pretending to be a high lord. Later, Sheila Chandra covered the song under the title The Enchantment. Her version is beautifully haunting, making the experience of the enchantment almost visceral.



And seduction is a type of enchantment. A will-ó-wisp, drawing people further and further, until they fall to their ruin or drown in the swamp. There are many, many myths and fairytales based on this theme. And like most myths and fairytales, this story emerges from our collective unconscious. The legend of Faust, selling his soul to the devil for the promise of unlimited knowledge, wealth, and fame, is another example that has inspired many tales.

Who does not remember being seduced by someone or something? I certainly do remember many instances in my own life. We all know secret desires. We all are susceptible to the promise that these desires will be fulfilled.

The maiden in the tale of Reynard is totally innocent, unaware of her own susceptibility to the promise of romantic love and a wealthy prince. And Faust falls asleep, unaware of the fact that the little dog that has followed him home is actually Mephistopheles.

This is the essence, the part of the story we can learn from. In each of us lie hidden parts – desires and bits of personality that we are unaware of. In fact, we probably would say, “Oh no, that’s not me!” if this was pointed out to us. The term that Carl Jung coined for this is the Shadow. Sometimes we see our shadow projected onto other people and wonder why we react to them so strongly. The more we deny our shadow, the more susceptible we are to its enchantment. At some point it can surface and we do things we never dreamed of doing. This feels like our own ruin, we become filled with guilt and shame.

If we do become aware of a trait from our dark shadow (there is also a golden shadow, but I won’t go into that this time), we often try to get rid of it as something totally undesirable. This only leads to it going even further underground and emerging with demonic vengeance.

Robert A. Johnson, a Jungian analyst, points out that the secret to owning one’s shadow is to be able to live with the paradox. Seeing both sides of who you are, immersing yourself into the nature of both your light and your shadow side, eventually leads to a solution that honors both. The more we learn to acknowledge our shadows, the less susceptible we are to the types of enchantment and section that modern life in Western society provides: relationships that damage us, jobs that deaden our soul, and forms of addiction.

Saving the world

There was a time that I was convinced that my life would only have meaning if I could help bring about world peace, the end of pollution, and justice and equality for all. As a child of the 60’s, it was only logical that this had to happen in my lifetime. And I had to play a part in it.

I went from protest marches to neighborhood empowerment action and eventually found myself involved in local politics. I became more and more disillusioned about the possibility of anything changing. It seemed as if, for every problem solved, at least two new problems would arise. The media seemed to overexpose us to all the drama in the world and if I took them all seriously, I would simply get overwhelmed.

As time went on, I started building a family and a career. I started closing my eyes to world problems. Small scale problems were challenging enough. In The Netherlands, my adopted homeland, environmental issues are usually tackled by new government rules, regulations, and taxes. Not only does it often seem ineffective, it’s also often very bureaucratic.

But at the very core of me, the idealist will not die. I love the world too much for that. And I want my great-grandchildren and their grandchildren to be able to love the world as well.

And this is the point where writers/teachers like Joanna Macy provide the inspiration and courage to continue to do that which I can do, that which each of us can do. I just finished reading her book Active Hope – How to Face the Mess We’re in without Going Crazy. I recognized my own journey in her description of the three stories of our time. I try to hide from my own despair by believing in Business As Usual. Otherwise I might be overwhelmed by the Great Unraveling. But, more and more, I can start believing and actively participating in the Great Turning.

This is something I can do with my own unique gifts, in my own unique way. Each of us feels called in a different way. Some people feel called to participate in actions to defend life on earth. Some feel called to develop new economic and social structures. And some are suited to helping us change our perceptions, thinking, and values.

But the most important thing, and Joanna Macy’s call resonates strongly with me, is to find and connect to others who also feel this calling. Every little thing we do, alone but especially with others, is a step in the right direction. And so I recycle and work in my garden and find ways to exchange knowledge, inspiration, ideas, and vegetable seeds with others. I organize gatherings of people to see how we can use our talents and create synergy on a small scale. And I devote my counseling practice to helping others find their own, unique way of being in the world in these troubled times.

I may never see the fruits of my labor in this lifetime. I will not let that discourage me. I’m not doing it for myself.

Threads

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

The Way It Is - William Stafford

When I first read this poem it immediately spoke to me about my own life, about the countless and sometimes incomprehensible choices I have made along the way. Choices to walk away from things and choices to walk towards things. I wasn’t always convinced that I was making the right choice. Sometimes they brought so much pain and suffering to myself and to others, that I was convinced that I had made a very wrong choice. But, looking back now, from the perspective I have gained, I can see how I was always following my thread.

Sometimes I did get lost. My thread got tangled up in thorny bushes and it took me awhile to unravel it and recover from the scratches. But I didn’t let go of the thread.

At one point, I started turning to other people to teach me and guide me. And I’m very grateful for their guidance. But I did learn that, no matter how valuable their teachings are, they only accompany me for a short while on the path: a certain crossing, a clear signpost on a rainy day. Eventually, my thread takes me further and I continue on my way.

And I think this is true for all of us. We can get caught up and bogged down in our lives. But we all follow a thread, even when other people can’t see it. Sometimes we have trouble seeing it ourselves. We can ask someone for help and guidance. But that is always just to get past that one snag in the path. And then we go back to following our own thread.

The Wheel of Change

The Dutch version of this story will appear on my website soon. My webdesigner and I are working on a way to make it a little less bulky. Last February, I announced that I had worked out a schematic approach to my vision about how people grow and change and how I can help them with this as a coach and counselor. Here is the extended version:

Each of us has the (latent) urge to lead a meaningful life. Sometimes this happens all by itself. But most of us find ourselves tied up (at least once) in a life that is directed by the needs of others, not our own needs. At the same time, we see things happening in the world that make us feel sad or angry. We try to do something about it but don’t know how. And, in the center of our lives, is always the need to give and receive love. That and the need to discern between that which nourishes us and that which doesn’t.

Sooner or later, we become confused. And this confusion is always the first sign of something new emerging. I have worked this out, schematically, on a wheel. This wheel is an age-old symbol for the continuous cycle of live and change: day and night, the seasons, the rhythm of the moon, etc. In the East, where the sun rises each morning, confusion and the need to change something can emerge in one’s life.

If you want to do something about the confusion, the next step can be to ask someone for help and work out goals for this together. You could also try and solve this without help. But then you won’t meet me in the role of coach. So in this schematic approach, I am assuming that you will come to me for help. And sometimes it’s a good thing to admit that you can’t do everything by yourself…

You are now very much in the process of change and nothing feels stable. An important step to take now is to honor your pain, fear, sorrow, anger, or other emotions that awaken in you. We all want to live without pain and strong emotions. So we hide the emotions, stick a Band-Aid on them, look for healing. But these emotions are your guides on the path towards growth and change. I use focusing, mindfulness, Systemic Ritual® and other methods to help you be with this pain without it overwhelming you.

On your path towards wholeness, you will learn to accept your shadow. Your shadow is that part of you (and you usually have more than one) that you are convinced is not you! For instance, you are someone who goes out of their way to support and care for others. Somewhere, deep inside, there is a part of you who wants to be very selfish and just look out for Number One. This sub-personality may haunt your dreams or you may find yourself disliking someone intensely who seems selfish and self-serving. Perhaps you suddenly act like this when you’re feeling especially vulnerable and you think, How did that happen? I’m never like this! Learning to see your shadows and to understand how they bring balance into your life is an important step. I can help you with this, using dream work, active imagination, Voice Dialogue, and body work.

It’s also essential to learn to accept your gifts. We tend to only concentrate on that which is wrong with us. We usually see our qualities, those things that are very right with us, reflected in the people we admire. But these qualities are the gifts we have to offer the world. So, using dream work, active imagination, Voice Dialogue, and body work, I can help you learn to accept your gifts.

And once we have learned to accept ourselves as we are, we can start making important choices in our lives. Choosing to leave that mind-deadening job or maybe stepping into the challenging job you weren’t sure you were good enough for. Ending a relationship that is hurting you or maybe daring to start a relationship. You make your own choices. I can be a sounding board, a mirror, so that you understand and accept the consequences of the choice.

And so you start walking your own path in life. You have something to offer the world, your own, unique sound.

And this is the point that you find rest. Well-deserved rest from all the confusion and need to change yourself. You can just be. Until the moment comes that the cycle begins anew…

Roots

Some people grow up very conscious of their roots. I have had people tell me that they travel far and wide but are always aware that, when they came home to the place they were born and raised, it really feels like homecoming, a sense of belonging to the land.

Others, and I myself belong to this group, grew up without real roots. As a child, I lived in six different locations in the world during the first five years of my life. And even after that, I didn’t live more than five years in one place until I was well into my 20’s. Circumstances can push children into a similar rootless existence. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a difficult life. Expatriate author and publisher Jo Parfitt often describes happy moments in her books and blogs about moving to different parts of the world.

However, it can leave a subtle mark. For a long time I was puzzled by my own restlessness. Am I an American at heart? After spending any amount of time in the wild places Stateside, I’m often overtaken by a yearning to base my life there again. Do I belong to my adopted Netherlands? This cultivated, under sea-level country I’ve lived in for the past 44 years? And why does visiting New Zealand suddenly fill me with the urge to go live there?

Leaving a place that has made me feel welcomed and at home can be very difficult. I’m not good at lingering goodbyes. A little voice inside me taught me to shut down and leave quickly, so I wouldn’t be overcome by grief and loss as a little girl. That voice still takes control whenever I need to leave people or places behind.

And so I have recently begun to consciously teach myself to put down roots, no matter where I am or how long I will stay. To take my cue from the trees. During my recent stay in the Sonoran Desert, I found Mesquite trees, stubbornly putting down their gnarled roots in stony barren land, even in rock crevices, pulling up nourishment and growing against all odds.

If they can do it, I can. And I allow myself to take my time saying goodbye these days. I allow myself to feel any grief or pain that it might bring. Because, allowing myself to feel grief and pain also means allowing myself to feel love and joy. And so I can carry all the places I’ve been and the people who have meant something to me in my heart.

I’m curious as to what putting down roots has meant for you, please share!

A new approach

I have been searching for a way to deepen the content of this blog without losing its accessibility. A few weeks in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona has given me the impetus to work the changes.

As a central theme, I would like to use the image of the Talking Stick Circle, also known as Council. The sharing that is done in this traditional way of sitting in council with others is based on four clear intentions:
1. Listen with our hearts
2. Speak from our hearts
3. Get to the heart of things
4. Speak spontaneously

(I have borrowed the description of these four intentions from the book Soulcraft, by Bill Plotkin.)

For me, this embodies the way I would like to be in the world and would like to communicate with others. In a blog, it can be a bit tricky. In spite of my encouragement to react to posts, most of the articles I’ve written have not been commented on (though some kicked up a lively discussion on Facebook). I hope that this can change and that we can start a dialogue going on any and all themes that you feel drawn to.

Another change is that I am going to try to just write in English for a while. Most of my active Dutch readers react to the English texts. And English, my mother-tongue, is the language of my heart. Feel free to react in Dutch, however!

If either of these changes seems a bit too much for you, dear reader, please react and I will try and fit your wishes into the changes.

I hope that we will enjoy a deeper connection to life's lessons through this blog together!

Unconditional

An acquaintance joked the other day that she tries very hard to be unconditional. But she does expect something in return! A prickly joke, this, and a great illustration of how easy it is to talk about being unconditional and how difficult it is to put it into practice.

If I offer a friend a ride somewhere and I don’t expect anything in return, my offer is unconditional. Of course this means I won’t mind if I don’t even get a thank-you back. Right? Expecting someone to say thank you seems to go without saying. But this is about the expecting. Thanking someone is a gracious (and polite) gesture. Expecting a thank-you is everything but unconditional.

Things get more complicated when we start talking about unconditional love. Loving someone without the love being returned? Without expectations? Writing about it is much easier than experiencing it. It so often leads to pain and sorrow!

Love is so simple. It is living from a sense of abundance, it’s there in unlimited amounts. Like sunshine, like the myth of the purse that was always full of gold. And still we are afraid to love in this manner.

Why is this so difficult? Why do we grow unhappy when we give our love to someone but receive nothing in return? This partly has to do with fear, often old fears that are awakened in us. Especially if we experienced betrayal or loss as a child. Love makes us vulnerable.

But surrendering to love enables us to learn a tremendous amount about ourselves. Our own beauty – and our own darkness – is reflected back to us by the beauty and darkness we see in the other. We learn to face our greatest fears and touch our greatest joys. We learn to trust and we learn that the most important thing is to be able to trust in ourselves. This is why it’s always worthwhile to take on the adventure of love. Even when it does not end as we had hoped.

But allowing yourself to be dependent on love is a different matter entirely. No one else is responsible for your happiness than you yourself. It is so tempting and oh so treacherous to make your happiness depend on what someone means to you, what you mean to someone else, how someone takes care of you, how you take care of someone else.

Learn, first and foremost, to love yourself. Then it is much easier to love someone else unconditionally, from a sense of abundance.

There is, however, always a boundary. I wrote about this earlier in my blog Walking away. If a bond is no longer good for you, if it costs you more than you can or wish to pay, then it is high time you started taking care of yourself. That too is part of loving yourself.

Unconditional love means loving someone and taking responsibility for your own happiness at the same time.

Is this something you recognize?


p.s. I'm taking a short (2-3 weeks) break after this and will return full of inspiration!

Onvoorwaardelijk

Een kennis grapte onlangs dat ze hard probeert onvoorwaardelijk te zijn… maar dan verwacht ze wél wat van de ander terug! Het was een wrange grap en een mooi illustratie van hoe eenvoudig het lijkt om onvoorwaardelijk te zijn maar hoe waanzinnig moeilijk het in werkelijkheid is.

Als ik een vriend een lift aanbied en ik hoef er niets voor te hebben, heb ik het onvoorwaardelijk aangeboden. Dat houdt in dat ik het ook helemaal niet erg vind dat ik niet eens een ‘dankjewel’ te horen krijg. Toch? Dat we verwachten een blijk van dankbaarheid te ontvangen lijkt vanzelfsprekend. Maar het venijn zit in het woord verwachten. Een bedankje is een mooi (en beleefd) gebaar. Een bedankje verwachten is alles behalve onvoorwaardelijk.

Het wordt helemaal ingewikkeld als wij het hebben over onvoorwaardelijk liefhebben. Iemand liefhebben zonder liefde terug te krijgen? Zonder verwachtingen? Erover schrijven is zeker makkelijker dan de daadwerkelijke beleving. Het gaat zo vaak gepaard met pijn en teleurstelling!

Liefde is zo simpel. Het is leven vanuit overvloed, het kan niet op raken. Net als zonneschijn of de mythe van de portemonnee met ongelimiteerde goudstukken. En toch zijn we bang om op deze manier lief te hebben.

Waarom is dit zo moeilijk? Waarom worden we ongelukkig als we onze liefde aan iemand geven en er niets voor terugkrijgen? Voor een deel heeft dit te maken met oude angsten die in ons wakker worden. Zeker als we in onze jonge jaren te maken hebben gehad met verlies of verraad. Liefde maakt ons kwetsbaar.

Maar juist de overgave aan de liefde stelt ons in staat om zoveel over onszelf te leren. Het mooiste in onszelf - en het lelijkste in onszelf - zien we in de ander gereflecteerd. We leren onze grootste angsten en onze grootste vreugden kennen. We leren vertrouwen en we leren dat we vooral op onszelf moeten kunnen vertrouwen. Daarom is het altijd de moeite waard om het avontuur van de liefde aan te gaan. Ook als het niet goed afloopt.

Maar dat is wat anders dan je afhankelijk stellen van de liefde van anderen. Niemand anders is verantwoordelijk voor jouw geluk dan jijzelf. Het is zo verleidelijk en oh zo verraderlijk om je geluk afhankelijk te stellen van wat een ander voor jou betekent, wat jij voor de ander betekent, hoe een ander voor jou zorgt, hoe jij voor een ander zorgt enzovoort.

Leer eerst om vooral jezelf lief te hebben. Dan is het veel makkelijker om anderen onvoorwaardelijk lief te hebben, vanuit overvloed.

Er is, overigens, altijd een grens. Ik heb hier eerder over geschreven in mijn blog Weg lopen. Als een verbintenis niet (meer) goed voor je is, als het je meer kost dan dat je kan en wil dragen, dan is het de hoogste tijd om voor jezelf te gaan zorgen. Ook dat hoort bij jezelf liefhebben.

Onvoorwaardelijk liefhebben betekend van iemand houden en toch verantwoordelijk blijven voor je eigen geluk.

Herken je dit?

p.s. Ik neem een korte pauze van 2-3 weken en kom daarna vol inspiratie terug!

Thuis

Onlangs kwam ik weer thuis na een weekje weg. Ik was niet lang weg en het was een erg inspirerende week geweest. Ondanks dat ik veel en graag reis, voelde ik me intens gelukkig en verwelkomd toen ik naar binnen stapte. Ik ben gaan mijmeren over wat het betekent om thuis te zijn.

Thuis zijn is geaard voelen op deze grond van de plek. In mijn geval, de plek die ik gekozen heb als mijn thuis. Dit grond, deze bomen, de vogels en dieren in deze omgeving zijn misschien niet zo spannend als ergens anders maar ze brengen me vreugde.

Thuis zijn is gekoesterd voelen binnen deze muren, vrij kunnen ademen met de sfeer van de plek die ik voor mezelf heb gecreëerd. De warmte en zachtheid van mijn kat en van de schapenvellen die over mijn stoelen heen hangen. De koestering van mijn eigen bed.

Thuis zijn is weten dat mijn rusteloze ziel kan rusten op deze plek. Ik kan mezelf neerzetten, tussen al deze ontdekkingsreizen, en gewoon zijn. Alle gedachten, indrukken en ontdekkingen integreren.

Thuis zijn betekent mijn geest en lichaam stil laten vallen. Luisteren naar kleine, zachte stemmetjes – de stemmen in de wind en de bomen. Luisteren naar hoe de stem in mijn hart zegt, Dit is jouw plek. Zie: de vogels verwelkomen je, het gras verwelkomt je, de bomen verwelkomen je. Je mag nu rusten. Welkom terug bij jezelf. Welkom thuis.

(De afbeeldingen uploader werkt even niet, afbeelding komt later!)

Home

I recently returned home after a week abroad. It hadn’t been a long trip and was very inspiring. Even though I travel a lot and love to travel, I was still very, very happy to walk into my house and feel welcomed by my surroundings. It triggered some musing about the nature of being at home.

Being home is feeling grounded in the soil of the place. In my case, the soil of the place that I have adopted as home. This soil, these trees, this wildlife may not be as exciting as somewhere else but it brings me joy.

Being home means feeling comforted within these walls, breathing easily with the atmosphere of the place I have created for myself. The softness and warmth of my cat and of the sheepskins on my chairs. The comfort of sleeping in my own bed.

Being home is knowing that my restless soul can rest in this place, that I can sit down between all these journeys of discovery and just be. Assimilate all the thoughts and impressions, integrate all the journeys.

Being home means quieting my mind and body and listening to quiet little voices. Listening to the voices in the wind and the trees, listening to the voice in my heart, the voice that says, This is your place. See, the birds welcome you, the grass welcomes you, the trees welcome you. You may rest now. Welcome back to yourself. Welcome home.

(The picture uploader isn't working right now, will add a picture later!)

The process of change

Instead of an article, this week I would like to share a drawing I recently made. I spent the past week in retreat, focussing (among other things) on what direction my counseling practice is taking now.

The process begins and ends (and begins again at some point in your life) in the North-East quadrant of the wheel, proceding in the direction that the Earth turns (E-S-W-N) At the Center are the words Love and Discernment, which I consider core teachings.

How do you experience this? I would be grateful for your feedback!