Message In A Bottle

"Shame! Shame! Go away...." has been a recurring theme in my thoughts lately. Such a powerful emotion. I've recently been having chats with friends about their experiences of shame and noticing how controlling and power grabbing it is. There is such an undeniable curling in that happens. Its as though all of my insides turn to thick gelatinous lumps as a waves of heat waft up from my chest and enveloping my face. There is a slippery, slinky feeling as I feel myself gathering in my tender shoots and then a door slams and I begin to shut down, hunker down and wait it out.

This response always takes me off-guard and has taken the luster off many moments of joy and excitement. The deep messages about not getting "too" anything - "too big for my britches". "Too intellectual" , "too serious", "too fat", "too excited" leave me breathless with following the rules for a middle of the road existence. There are times when following the rules of "too" leave me feeling like a cast-away in my own life. I wonder how many more of us there are marooned in our middle-of-the-road desert islands awaiting a message in a bottle to reassure us that we are not alone. This is my message in a bottle.

Shame is such an automatic reflex that I don't have to wait for anyone to "do it" to me - I'm quite capable in that department all on my own! I see it now as a safety net it once was. If I got there first, maybe the sting wouldn't be quite so penetrating. If I got there first with a self-deprecating laugh that only showed a tinge of the deep self-loathing that I carried, it was an apology to those committed to a middle-of-the road lifestyle.

Without shame I would be able to soar to great heights or crash spectacularly, and either would be fine because I am clear that at my core - I am okay. Shame is really about fear. Fear of judgment, of reprisals of some sort - most often of being rejected and abandoned by the people we care about. How ironic that in the process of managing our shame, we reject ourselves and abandon our potential in exchange for acceptance.

Even more ironic - those who are closest to us can see and sense us for who we really are. Is really difficult to keep ourselves hidden. Its kind of like calling a Bengal tiger a house cat and having everyone stick by the story. Crazy-making! The fable of the Emperor's New Clothes comes to mind!

So what is the antidote to shame? I wish I knew! I think that its seeds lie in the realization that I am safe and the world is a safe place to be. I've heard it said that "safety is an inside job" and I heartily agree. Look at the many who have survived horrific events and go on. Victor Frankel, the famed holocaust survivor and psychiatrist had many lessons to share with the world based on his discovery that we ultimately have the power of choice - no matter what the external circumstances are - we can still choose our response. We never have to forfeit the rights to our internal world.

I also believe that our choices are always intelligent in some way. They serve some purpose. If they feel limiting then perhaps its time to re-consider those choices rather than allowing them to run on auto-pilot. My choice to feel ashamed about my weight and size are deeply rooted in the past. What I keep forgetting is who I am now is not who I was those many years ago when I learned to be ashamed of my body. What I am creating right now, is based on all the beliefs I acquired about my weight and how holding onto those particular beliefs somehow served a purpose that contributed to my sense of safety.

And here, my friends, is the ultimate act of creativity - to create a new belief that is of my own choosing that says, no matter what, I am okay as I am. I can never be "too" anything. That said, I have a feeling it will be my ticket off this desert island!

Creativity, Everyday Mysticism and the New Age

I spent the weekend at a marvelous creativity workshop offered by my friend, Gwen McCauley. Although I wouldn't consider myself much of a painter, I was amazed by how I saw my deepest thoughts unfolding on the paper in front of me. What seemed to live inside me as nameless hopes and fears, desires and unspoken conversations emerged on paper and canvas in startling ways. It didn't matter that I would approach a new canvas with nothing more than a colour in mind, unsure of what tools and mediums to use, when I simply played, got messy and I was rewarded with a sense of home coming - a deep connection with my inner life.

So often we hold creativity as somehow separate from our day to day lives. We have made it some kind of sacred act that only a chosen few can participate in. In my own experience, I can read and research all that I want but it no substitute for just jumping in and creating. In choosing to let go of my many rules about what makes "good" art, I was thrilled to discover that the whole point of creating is the process - not the product. Once in a while you get rewarded with something special and the rest of the time its just fun. Not a bad deal!

I can see how the threads of this conversation weave their way through other facets of my life. Healing Arts and Healers carry the same mystique, as does religion. What they all seem to have in common is the criteria for expert guidance and interpretation of our experience. (And that's another conversation I intend to pursue!) When did life become so compartmentalized? When did we begin to cut ourselves off from our natural abilities? Imagine just jumping in!

As my thoughts wander into the growing culture of New Age, I wonder about the growing demand for mysticism in modern living. Perhaps those mysteries that we seek are really more about remembering who we are as whole beings. The mystery is reconnecting to our own innate gifts having sifted through all the times we have annexed some critical part of ourselves in the mistaken belief that we somehow didn't measure up. Like in Grade 3 art class when someone else's masterpiece got centre stage on the bulletin board, or when it was suggested that you just mouth the words to the Christmas choir song or when you were encouraged down one path at the expense of the other. There are many opinions and suggestions along our paths that we take on as our own - gosh, who would we become if we were to stop and question them?

New Age philosophy seems to be taking us even farther away from who we are. There are lots of "teachers" and "healers" that in an effort to guide us, take us even further away from ourselves. The process of self discovery becomes an mystical journey, full of new rules, new experts, new beliefs - many of which may not map to what we instinctively know about ourselves.

We simply need to stop, breathe and listen. If you are having difficulty hearing yourself think over the din of competing voices, then let yourself speak through art. Collages, finger paints, crayons, - there are lots of fun things to choose from. Turn your inner 3-year old loose and be prepared to be thoroughly surprised by the wisdom that emerges!

If you are looking for someone to point you in the right direction and who will play alongside you with humor and curiosity, check out www.OUIcoach.com for upcoming creativity programs.

Married with Children

Some days I wonder, "How did I get here?!" On reflection it has been a great journey overall....And then there are mornings like today.

My darling husband waking and rushing off for a long commute to his work where I am sure he is thankful to not have to participate in our morning ritual of insanity.

After goodbye kisses all round, I'm on my own. On my own with a barking, whirling, 7-year-old Wheaten terrier who is ready to rid the neighborhood of squirrels this morning. He is egged on by an energetic almost-5 year old boy who is tearing around the house half dressed and jumping off the furniture as he imitates the frenzied pitch of a terrier about to combust.

Groping for the coffee pot I am focused on avoiding spontaneous combustion, myself. As our dog explodes into the backyard, letting all of our neighbor's know that we are up, the TV clicks on with ear splitting volume. I swear one of the first motor skills my son mastered was the TV remote.

Getting on with this morning I pour coffee, cheerios and kibble into respective bowls and head for the shower hoping for a few moments of silence. FLUSH! Scalding hot water and an insistent chorus of "Mommy are you done yet?"

Emerging red-eyed and only mildly scalded with half of one leg shaved, I discover that the dog has eaten both breakfasts and now I am making a sandwich for my darling child, who insists that he can't eat more cereal - breakfast only happens once a day.

Breakfast/lunch is over, the dog has gone back to bed with a full stomach to sleep off his early morning work out. Now comes the time my son and I both dread, the final sprint out the door.

He hates new clothes. It is not only a crisp fall day, but he has grown about 2 inches over the summer so his old clothes just won't cut it anymore. We square off. I try everything from salesman tactics, to flattery, to hard core negotiation. He doesn't budge. I find myself thinking "This child will make car salesmen weep."

Finally, after prolonged negotiation we agree that the fall coat will travel in the car to the school and hang on his hook - but he will not put it on. Sensing near victory, I agree and figure he might be willing to be swayed by his teachers at recess.

Leaving a rejected coat and a pouting child, I return home to begin today's writing session and wonder was it worth it? Do I love the life I have created? Am I glad to have given up my business in order to stay at home and to write?

ABSOLUTELY! Now where is my coffee?

Perfection

Perfectionism seems to be the recurrent theme du jour so why not have it out right here! Come on inner perfectionist, I'm calling you out onto the carpet....and its going to get messy.

Life is messy. When I gave birth to my son I remember that it was an exposed, noisy, visceral, messy affair that ended with his lusty yell and me lying in a heap, feeling an indescribable sense of joy and accomplishment. Miraculous new life, in all its splendor. Was it like a Martha Stewart cover shot? - No way!

Writing isn't much different. It gets messy, I am exposed, vulnerable. It is a visceral process as I excavate the many tucked away little corners of unfinished business that seem to surface from the depths as I write page after page of whatever rises to the surface, allowing the full flow of shame, joy, humiliation and triumph to ripple through my body in order to capture its essence on the page.

Today I wrote about everything from lunch meat to the incredibly wise words my Grade 5 teacher, Mr. Royce, shared with me that were an anchor in my turbulent little life and they still bring tears to my eyes. He reassured me that I would find many things in the world outside the schoolyard that I would not only be good at, but that I would love. He was right.

More than that, he was able to see past my plump, non-athletic, bookwormish, goody-two-shoes persona and recognize the little girl who longed to find a place in the world that reflected who she was, not just who she was expected to be.

My need for order and perfection has been a shield against the unexpected. It is though I can keep the nasty, scary parts of life at bay if I become the "best little girl" ever or BLG, as my friend and Sekhmet co-author, Lorna LeBrun, has dubbed it. As children we tend to see every aspect of our parents' moods, relationships, frustrations as a refection of of who we are. So often this is reinforced by our limited view of the world at that age. We have no experience with which to temper the sharp edges of the complexities of adult life. We simply feel confused about things we don't even have the capacity to talk about. As adults, we are rewarded for this coping mechanism over and over again at work, by magazine layouts and popular culture everywhere.

My inner perfectionist has set up permanent residence, often masquerading as who I am. If I don't pay close attention, my power is usurped by this matronly, finger-wagging, imaginary entity I have nick-named "Francis". If I don't sneak past her, I end up writing in tight, tidy lifeless little circles. My sentences don't grab at my insides and arrive on the page with a lusty yell....they are stillborn.

As much as I appreciate her attempts as creating safety and order, "Francis" leaves me flat and lifeless. Do I really believe that an organized underwear drawer will keep the psychos of the world at bay? Well, not when I pose the question so bluntly - and I'd be lying if I didn't mention that the "Francis" aspect of me is trying really hard to keep that bald faced lie alive! It let it go would mean that life is unpredictable, uncontrollable and - GASP! Messy!!

Beginning...Again

I wrote an insightful, witty entry last night ( at least that is what I'm telling myself in this moment!) and hit the wrong button sending it off into cyber-no-where land. YIKES!

And so I get the opportunity to begin again. I must confess, I hate beginnings. Some folks dread endings and farewells but I cringe at the thought of beginning again.

And yet life is full of beginnings. Every time I sit down to write I must find the place within me to begin. I choose to set aside the dozens of other things clamoring for my attention. I reach past all my personal mythologies about what I need in order to support creative flow. No incense or lovely music for this writer. A barking dog, blaring TV and distant rumble of a washing machine spin cycle is what accompanies me into my creative space.

Julia Cameron writes of beginning where you are. I have often quoted this piece of wisdom as its undeniable truth resonates deeply in me. As a recovering perfectionist, it has been liberating to discover that where I am is all I need. The creative space is a well-spring inside me that is unaffected by external circumstances. All I need in order to create is to reach down into that internal space, breathe in, breathe out and there it is.

Beginnings are not always brilliant - but they are always courageous. Poised on the edge of something we can watch as hours, minutes, days, and sometimes years float past us as we wait to begin. Procrastination is an intelligent choice for those of us who dread beginnings. Perfectionism, fear of the unknown, ill-defined future can keep our intentions in suspended animation as our dreams shrivel on the vine. And that vital part of us shrivels along with it.

Breathe in, breathe out....Each breath is a new beginning. And so I begin again from a new place and I am rewarded by the discovery of a different creative flow.

Burn, Baby, Burn!

The Egyptian goddess Sekhmet was known as was the Goddess of Fire. Fire as an energy can represent all kinds of states from passion to creativity to rage and anything in between.

Since I have been in a creative drought over the summer, I have chosen to call up the myth of Sekhmet for a couple of reasons. The first is the incredible experience that I had as a contributing author to the book, Sekhmet Rising: The Restlessness of Women's Genius. Writing for that project was an amazing experience of creative flow. I was madly in love with writing. Like any love affair, I was stealing time from all kinds of places to sneak off so that I could spend time on my passion. I didn't seem to need to eat. I would often find myself awake at all hours with a fresh inspiration. When this passionate affair came to an end and I held the completed book in my hand, it was an incredible sense of achievement. Within days, I found myself wondering "What next?" That feeling has stuck with me through the summer.

I've been moping. I feel jilted by my muse. I'm cranky. I'm over eating.....And I'm afraid. In fact, I'm afraid to admit that I'm afraid......How's THAT for crazy making?! What if I can never write another thing again? What if all my inspiration has gone? What if my choice to focus on writing was all a big mistake? Not to mention the guilt that I'm not producing anything that makes much sense these days, unless its a grocery list!

Writing is my passion. Now that I've discovered that a project, like a relationship, can reach conclusion I'm realizing that it can be grieved, released and that I will love again! The Sekhmet project was like my first passionate love affair and now with fond memories, I am moving forward again and bringing all that fire into focus.

Burn, baby, burn!

A Blog Is Born!

As a contributing author to the newly released, Sekmet Rising: The Restlessness of Women's Genius I have found myself at loose ends for new writing projects. While there are lots of snippets of inspiration, nothing has fully blossomed yet. Perhaps planting some seeds here will inspire new creativity. If nothing else, it will give me a committed writing space and room to rant!