Sekhmet Rising

Changing At The Speed of Thought

2006-11-15T15:01:00.000-06:00

When I sat down to write this entry, I had a completely different slant in mind. Suddenly life bubbled up in front of my and off I went in a new direction. Returning to my computer, I notice now that what I was going to write about had shifted entirely. In fact, I find myself noticing just how often those shifts occur - without me even noticing!

So often what appears in this forum is my attempt to make sense of the world and my experiences. The process usually begins with something that resonates deep within my body. If I am willing to pay attention, I begin to hear its strains emerging all around me in the conversations that I have with others, the books that attract my attention - even snippets of overheard conversations in a grocery store check out will seem to echo a part of it. It seems that every where I go, I notice the same riff with subtle variations which form a harmony too synchronistic to ignore. And before I know it, here I sit with humming through me, ready to integrate it in some way.

The observation that has been hard to ignore for the past few days is the one of self-sacrifice, and surprisingly, it was some of male friends through which these discoveries came to light. I say surprisingly because I am very familiar with the female version of this story of self-sacrifice, obsessive care-taking and yes, ladies, whether intended or not, we often wear the robes of martyrdom. The female version of this tale makes so much sense to me in light of our cultural conditioning to care take relationships, to be "good little girls", to be "nice"... you fill in the blank, because it maps to my own experiences.

Everything reached a crescendo in a conversation with a male friend recently. It was with great interest and compassion that I listened to him share his frustration and growing resentment of the burden he has taken on in supporting his family, his employees and anyone else who needed rescuing. This is a man with tremendous energy and zest for life whose primary desire is to live life fully and with excitement. As a rule, passion for living pours out of him, and yet recently, I had noticed that some of that spark was retreating.

As we talked, I realized on a deeper level, the cultural conditioning that men carry about being the provider, the hero, the rescuer and the one with all the answers. I understood how lonely that place could become; how small the space can be. I nearly jumped out of my seat to cheer as he claimed his ability to choose himself first. Claiming his right to create his own experience in life by choosing who he invested energy in, choosing who he spent time in conversation with, choosing time for himself over the myriad of details waiting on his desk was magic to witness. And yet, it was evident that this was a challenge to many of his beliefs about his role in his family and work life. Reclaiming himself in this way meant shedding some aspects of his old identity. As we spoke and he said these thing aloud, I could see that spark returning. He changed at the speed of a thought. A shift in perspective unlocked the box and there was a crack of light peeping through! Light that I suspect will continue to radiate everywhere as he continues living the choice he made to create life differently.

Finding yourself as the buffet that feeds everyone else was not an experience unique to women! What an enlightening discovery for me!! This conversation and thought has changed me in ways I am still discovering. Before that conversation it was an intellectual concept, today it is a deeply felt realization.

I find myself mentally reviewing a conversation recorded by Louise LeBrun, Founder of the WEL-Systems Institute, called "White Knights and Reluctant Heroes". As I ponder, I notice that much of what leaves men and women drained, frustrated and resentful is the roles we have co-created together. We can't wait to be released from these limitations - we must choose ourselves first.

As a woman, I am now noticing how I continue to hold beliefs about men that are not based on reality so much as habit and I am grateful to mind friend for opening my eyes and inviting me to change with the speed of thought.

If you are interested in the audio recording mentioned above, check out the product section of www.WEL-Systems.com

Ahem! Clearing My Throat

2006-11-13T14:10:00.000-06:00

I have been on a journey these last few months .... and probably longer, to unlock my voice. I'm not exactly sure when I shut it down except that it feels like a very long time ago.

The throat is an interesting part of our anatomy. Not only is it one of the most vulnerable spots in our body, it is the conduit through which the sound that we are in the world emerges. The sound of our voice is distinct, even with its infinite variations in tone and volume. Our sound is part of what makes us uniquely "us".

What I find peculiar with my voice is the dichotomy that exists for me between spoken and written word. I carry considerable fear in my body about saying the "wrong" thing. Some of this resides in what was instilled from my early years about good manners. Much of it comes from surprising and undesirable results created when I "spoke my mind".

I recall a game my grandfather used to play with me in which he would joke and tease me, twisting my words and being witty. While it felt like a fun game and it certainly increased my vocabulary and capacity to be succinct - it also left me feeling frustrated, misunderstood and perpetually wrong.

It wasn't until recently that I made the connection between my current fear of being misunderstood and the familiarity of all the sensations that used to arise during my word matches with my grandfather. I know he had no malicious intent, it was simply his love of language and of me that sparked this game Because I didn't have the maturity then to make sense all the feelings that would arise, this memory has been lying latent in me, affecting me to this day in how I choose to communicate. Breathing deeply and relaxing into the sensations still there all these years later, I have been discovering that they no longer trigger the automatic censorship they once did. When I do find myself censoring, I am much more aware and curious about it rather than it being my habituated way of communicating.

I have also noticed of how often my throat feels congested and I am aware of how often in life I have swallowed the opinions of others, spoken the party line and regurgitated what was expected and accepted. That was then and this is now. I am uncovering my capacity to say what is means something to me. It may not always be what someone expects to hear and I'm not invested in being right - only in adding my opinion to the mix rather than swallowing my thoughts on the subject in order to be nice and likeable.

There have been the times in my life, as I suspect there have been in yours when I silenced the scream, the anger, the rage because it wasn't pretty, or nice or safe. Strangling my sound and choking it back so that if it was heard at all it was a little, ineffective squeak that never conveyed the full measure of what I was feeling.

My voice in the world reveals me to the world. Although many have told me I am an eloquent speaker, I know inside myself that I struggle with incredible internal censorship which allows only the bare facts to emerge, revealing only a fraction of what I have to share. My role as a secret keeper and confidante all these years further contributes to shutting down my throat. Somewhere deep in my belly the warning bells begin to ring signaling "DANGER!" when I speak in a group. Discovering a sense of safety, connecting to who I am now and NOT who I was then, relaxing into my body as I speak - have all been effective in creating more and more room for expression in my life recently. And there is always more! The "more" becomes easier to claim as I stay awake to it.

In writing, my voice on the page allows me to bypass much of the physical device of voice and I notice that I do very minimal editing and that thoughts arrive complete, full and with a distinctive voice. Writing offers me an outlet and a place to discover the many varied thoughts that pass through my awareness without them feeling tight and constricted. It doesn't bother me that written words have a permanence to them where the spoken can dissolve as they are uttered. It is where I discover what I have to say in this world.

Writing returns me to the child-like innocence of speaking for all to hear....And I don't think the full reclamation of my speaking voice is far behind!

Strutting Your Stuff!

2006-11-10T10:33:00.000-06:00

I've recently developed a fixation with peacocks. Thinking back, it began on a shopping spree with my buddy, Gwen, who took me to this beatiful store in Pakenham. Once there I feel in love with the most georgeous peacock blue blouse and a skirt that blended that tone of brilliant blue with a rich brown. Although not a style I would usually wear, I tried on this ensemble and was stunned to see how it came together.

Let me tell you honestly, that I have struggled most of my life with issues around weight and feelings of insecurity about my physical appearance. When I came out of the dressing room and saw the effect of this combination it felt like a homecoming. The richness, the vibrancy, the sassiness and the sophistication I saw staring back at me in the dress shop mirror was the part of me that had been waiting for a long time to be born.

I bought the outfit....and yes, a few other things too (the cat's already out of the bag now that my husband saw our joint visa bill!). As I stood waiting to pay, it was all I could do to not tell the wonderful saleswoman to hurry up before I changed my mind! I was wrestling with all kinds of thoughts about how my lifestyle really didn't match the beauty and sophistication of the clothes, did I deserve it, maybe I should just lose some weight and then look around for something similar....you know, the usual hoops I know many women jump through. ( I wonder do guys go through the same check out agony as we do? - that's another entry!)

Although I didn't notice it at the time, something had really begun to shift inside me. A desire to create a life outside of me that matched the one inside me more closely. A few days later, though the Creativity And Life Program process I created a painting covered with peacock -like feathers. Although muted in tones and a bit cloudy, as I sit looking at it over my desk, I'm really struck by how the process of painting captured the beginning of this re-birth. Not yet at full vibrancy, but clearly emerging.

Since then, I've begun to see the vibrant and irridecent shades of blue, green and golds making their way into my painting, my wardrobe and most recently my decor. The amazing part for me, is that it is not with a conscious intention! And so I have begun to ponder what the metaphor of the peacock might be for me.

It is perhaps the most Phoenix-like bird that I can conjure up in my mind's eye. In the myth of the Pheonix, it burns up and rises from the ashes - re-born and resplendant. A powerful metaphor for re-birth and transformation. The elements of fire and air indicate a swift and rapid shift.

A peacock is really hard to ignore. They are bright, shiny, exotic....and LOUD! For such a pretty package, they have quite a set of pipes. Peacocks don't skulk around the edges. They strut, unconcerned about being noticed as they go about their business. They aren't trying to fit in or be any less "peacock" than they already are. You don't see groups of them masquerading as pigeons, colluding with each other about their magnificence. (At least I haven't ...send me a note if you have and together we'll out them.....)

I love the beautiful "eye" on each of the tail feathers. As a peacock opens its fan for all to see, you notice that all the eyes are looking forward. They aren't looking behind at where its been but are focused forward on where it is heading. Eyes are a symbol of identity. In the chakra system, the third eye is the seat of the soul, the perpetually unfolding identity, who it is possible to become.

This is the gift of my peacock obsession - that a blouse isn't just a blouse or a pillow just a pillow - they are the reminders of who it is possible for me to become. They represent my self-acceptance at the deepest levels after years of trying to please. I've worn a pigeon disguise myself on many occasions and may have even fooled a few folks - or decided to pretend that I didn't notice that they were also in disguise. As I wear my blouse, and smile at the hit of colour in my living room, I know that I am creating my inner life on the outside and it feels marvelous!

Parenting: A Pandora's Box

2006-10-17T12:41:00.000-05:00

I am now emerging from what feels like the seventh circle of parenting hell - the extended tantrum. My son generally has quite a sunny disposition. We have been blessed with a creative, loving, engaging child with a magical imagination - and a huge stubborn streak. While this capacity to cling to his convictions may serve him well through the upcoming years of peer pressure, a few short days away from his 5th birthday, his one track mind has called up all kinds of questions for me about my capacity as a mother.

What began as a quirky trait has now morphed into an incredibly limiting habit. He hates new clothes! (This is how I know that he did not get this particular stubborn streak from ME! At least that is the trump card in the case I am making to my husband about whose DNA fostered this strange obession!)

Okay, I understand that this is a world where kids don't get much opportunity to exercise their personal power. Wanting my son to be able to express himself, I decided clothing is a place where I can give him free reign to make his own choices within seasonal boundaries. The resulting combinations might be dubbed Rag-Bag Chic if they were endorsed by haute couture. Problem his, his flat out rejection of anything other than sweatpants has taken on a maniacal overtone.

A few years ago we were on vacation in Ireland and by the last evening we had come to the end of clean toddler clothes. We had picked up some new items during a shopping trip a few days earlier and felt this would be an excellent solution for the special farewell dinner we were about to enjoy at local fine dining establishment. We approached my Napoleonic little emperor with caution knowing from past experience that new clothes were likely to evoke a frosty reception. He grudgingly put them on with the carrot of adventure dangling before him.

Once in the car with time to think he began to loudly voice his objections. After 40 minutes crammed in a European economy car with a screaming toddler trying and nearly succeeding in completely removing his clothes while strapped into a car seat (Houdini lives on!), we arrived at the restaurant with an inconsolable child, ringing ears and short fuses. At this point I thought, "Is it worth ruining an entire evening for everyone just because I want to have my kid in clean clothes? Was this more about my image as a parent than about my child's happiness and enjoying time together?" So I chose to relent and end the stand off by fishing out some dirty clothes from the trunk, all the while feeling contrite for having let my let my rules interfere with my child's empowerment.

Fast forward a few years and I now see that this is not a phase he has grown out of at all. In fact he has staked out his position very clearly and with tight little borders - very few items of clothing make it past his rigorous scrutiny. I had mistakenly assumed that as he grew older and had more opportunities to make choices that he would loosen his grip a bit on this one - NO WAY!

And this is where things have become a source of agony for me. As a result of his clothing obsession, he is now missing out on new activities. Activities that he enjoys but refuses to dress for. A case in point was last week's meeting of the local Beaver's troupe. He was having a blast at the meetings - until the uniforms arrived. He steadfastly refused to wear the vest. It all came to a head last Wednesday during the initiation ceremony when the kids receive a scarf. My son's tolerance for new clothing items hit overload and he staged a revolt. My frustrated husband, who is generally endlessly patient, ended up removing him from the meeting since it was clear that he was not going to budge on his position and it was causing massive disruption.

And this is not the only place to pose a problem for him - there are special clothes required for skating, swimming, and a myriad of other adventures. Yesterday was the turning point when my son decided to dig his heels in while getting ready to attend a special dinner where a dress code was in effect. We had all been excitedly anticipating this event for well over a week. My son had choosen his clothes well in advance. It seemed like clear sailing until the moment of truth arrived and he refused to get dressed. This time, with the writing on the wall after the Beaver meeting fiasco, I took a stand. After some preliminary discussion, bargaining and ....I'm not proud about this one - threats.....I cancelled the event thereby unleashing the perfect storm of Pre-schooler revolt.

Now, I'm sure that many of you by this point think that either my son or I need some kind of psychiatric help and you may be right! But bear with me as I continue to make sense of this for myself as I think, that like many things in life, this is not really what it appears to be on the surface.

Having had lots of sensations wash through me....actually "wash" is such a gentle term for the extended tsunami that has been roaring away.... I have largely moved through the many thoughts I have been having about how poorly qualified I am as a parent.

I had to first get past my embarrassment and then my irritation. Beyond that I ran smack into a pit of grief for my son's lost opportunities because of his inflexibility and inability to see the larger impact of his choices. I then felt the sinking feeling of despair at resorting to the tried and true parenting methods that have been passed down generation to generation of shame and deprivation. And now today is a new day and I realize that no matter what has been unfolding, I have continued to communicate to my son that I not only love him, but that because I love him - it is time for him to begin to experience the direct consequences of his choices. I have begun a campaign to help him notice repeatedly that he can make a new choice at any time if he doesn't like what his choice has created. We both got curious about why he keeps making choices about simple things like clothes that limit the big picture of the fun he was looking forward to. No answers yet but lots of questions I know he had never thought about.

My heart aches for him when I imagine the disappointment he will feel when he realizes that one of the consequences of his choices may be that he will not be re-joining his friends at Beaver's or learning to swim with other kids his age - that is unless he decides to make some new choices to navigate past the clothing issues he has created for himself.

I certainly feel guilty that I did not see that this situation needed correction earlier in his life - AND I firmly believe that guilt is useless energy but can fuel movement in a new direction. So, today marks a change in direction for our household. Who says you need a long time to turn a ship around....hang on to your seats for this course correction!

I'm pretty sure that any of us as parents set out with only the best of intentions as we enter the Pandora's Box of raising children. I know that my curiosity has served me well so far. I have far more empathy for my own parents than I had ever imagined...although I'm sure I was a little angel (wink!). More significantly, the lesson that my son has taught me about stubbornly holding fast to one point of view so that it eclipses all kinds of new experiences that lie beyond it has been nothing short of profound.

I know that we both must be willing to change and that that change does not require that either of us have to give up our personal power, only that we must both honestly see and accept the consequences of our actions to date and to use them as sign posts as we navigate forward, creating more room for expression and expansion in our lives.

I'm sure one day my family and I will find this whole period in life hysterically funny. Right now, I'm just moving out of the "hysteria".....I'll let you know when the "funny" rolls in...assuming I'm still blogging 20 years from now!

A Woman's Worth

2006-10-13T12:43:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been wondering how does one measure a woman's worth?

I've now played for both teams in the Career vs. Stay-At-Home-Mommy game and I can tell you that's its a sad state of affairs to realize that there are no winners. There just a bunch of pissed off, jealous, guilty, self-loathing women roaming the streets! If you are a woman in either of these groups and don't occasionally feel like this....And you're not in deep denial....then you might as well skip to the end of this missive.

If you work and have children the push-pull of career satisfaction and financial need competes head on with a desire to be with your children. Never mind the myriad of child-rearing, house-keeping tasks that exist in even the most liberated of households. And if you are married to an unenlightened cave-man type, well .... I don't think I need to press the point. We have a job at home that requires loads of physical and emotional input and a job outside of it .

But no, my dear reader...the prospect of having 2 full-time jobs is not enough for working mom's. You must also factor in the occasional jealous single coworker who assumes that when you nip out no later than 20 minutes after the work day is done in order to pick up your runny-nosed, cranky kids from a babysitter who is in a near state of collapse after 8+ hours of minding your darlings along with 6 other runny-nosed, cranky pre-schoolers - that you aren't pulling your weight at the office.

And then there are the other women in your life who have made the choice to sacrifice career and many lifestyle luxuries in order to stay at home with their children. Naturally the grass is always greener - no matter what side of the fence you are on. Escape into the working world becomes elevated to near utopia in those weak moments that follow a sprint across a lego strewn floor in order to dive in between and unhappy dog whose tail is firmly in the grip of a gleeful kid. No amount of zen training in the art of walking on hot coals can prepare one's feet for biting pain of lego.....makes stiletto, pointy-toed shoes sound downright luxurious!

As women, we have been sold two competing, seemingly mutually exclusive bills of goods about what is valued. Our incomes, our careers, our responsibility to make the most of our "liberation" go head to head with our culturally conditioned roles as the caretaker of our relationships, the nurturer of our children.

Who loses in the end? WE DO! Now before you say "Amen to that sister", give some careful thought to how much you have bought into aspects of these two competing roles. You see, I think that as women, we have been very quick to mindlessly buy into all kinds of externally imposed expectations. In our defense, they are deeply conditioned beliefs that we carry about what it is to be a woman in Western society.

Now imagine if you could shed all of the thoughts that pop up as you consider your particular set of beliefs about women in the working world and women in the home. Both genders have their own unique composite of ideas, perceptions and beliefs that have been acquired along the way....just begin to notice some of them.

Now if you are a woman, imagine life with no judgments, no guilt. A life that is filled with joy, fulfillment, expression and expansion. I'm happy to say that it can exist....sometimes for fleeting moments and sometimes for extended periods. How do you reach this Mecca, this promised land?

Its actually is an inner journey in which, after paying attention to the many beliefs you hold that leave you feeling breathless, hopeless, guilty, resentful, martyred, stuck, unhappy and ask yourself, "Am I willing to let go of this belief and replace it with what I know, deep in my soul is right for me." And for all you guilt addicts out there...chances are if its right for you, then it IS right for everyone else in your life....they just may need to see the evidence of how this new choice affects you.

Not only do you deserve more, your partner, your kids, your co-workers all benefit too. There is nothing more draining than living or working with someone who is unfulfilled, resentful and /or exhausted. Not to mention the fact that every child deserves a parent who is able to meet their own needs and show up happy, vital and fully present for them. You just can't give what you haven't got. We all know this but we continue to let our guilt and fear of being judged get in the way of living it.

Martha Beck comments in this month's Oprah magazine that there was a unique group of women who emerged in her research about career women and those who had chosen to stay home. She dubbed the group The Mystics. These were women, some at home and some in the workforce, who had transcended the cultural mythologies about work and home-making, moved beyond the competing definitions of women's value and contribution and began to follow their own inner promptings about what was valuable to THEM.

What was striking was that these women refused to be defined by cultural beliefs and tacit rules, they looked inside themselves and created their own unique role. That is an incredible act of honesty, creativity, courage and self-preservation. You can bet that there are many invitations to discover old patterns of beliefs as you choose to create your own unique identity and then reveal it in the world at large...and yet I know this is the true definition of liberation...and its doesn't come from anything or anyone outside yourself.

Want to know a woman's worth? If you are a woman, look inside yourself to discover your own unique identity. Woman or man, the contribution you make to world from that place of authenticity is priceless.

And that is my two cents worth on the topic! What do you have to say?

Creative Constipation

2006-10-03T10:29:00.000-05:00

Writing anorexia...that is what I am suffering from today. Creative constipation!

It seems that when I move away from regular writing, the whole system clogs up. I notice how sensitive I am to the moods and needs of others and how willing I am to dam the flow and attend to those needs. I will quickly sell myself out based on a sniffly nose, email distraction or out of misplaced empathy for another's creative drought. Somehow it feels self-righteous to withhold my pleasure and play in the face of competing demands for attention.....very martyr-like of me don't you agree?! That's my good old alter ego, "Francis" at work. (See "Perfectionism" for an intro to Francis)

This clenching up, shutting down process affects every avenue of life for me. What usually fills my writing space is the random observations of life. Little oddities like noticing the sea monkeys swimming in an aimless vortex on my son's desk and wondering why they don't look anything like the ads I used to see in the back of comic books when I was a kid. Do modern sea monkeys eschew the formality of the crowns they were always pictured with back in my day?

Then there are the bigger oddities - like enjoying the various reactions to my dog as we walk the trails. Yes, my dog wears a T-shirt which leads to many a raised eye-brow, a laugh or spontaneous "hello" from a usually quiet passer by. I was once told by one startled neighbor, "Hey! Your dog has a t-shirt on." To which I gasped and responded, "Really?!" amidst a bunch of shared giggles. To my dog's credit, he really loves all the attention it gets him. He seems to really enjoy strutting along, being noticed.

The T-shirt thing happened quite by accident. After he had some minor surgery and wouldn't leave the healing incisions alone, I resorted to putting one of my son's old sweat shirts on him. I swear my dog was euphoric! My doggy mind reading abilities are somewhat limited but I'm pretty certain that he saw this as one step closer to becoming "boy".

His "Pinocchio Complex" has been evolving ever since we brought my infant son home from the hospital and he was de-throned from the centre of attention that he had enjoyed for a few years. With the donning of the sweatshirt, I could see he felt he had moved up a few notches in the world. His love of T-shirts persists.

What is startling is how quickly our t-shirt clad dog/boy became an accepted fact around our household. It takes that daily walk around the block to remind me just what a spectacle it all is! And it reminds me of a few key observations about my world in general.

I notice how acclimatized I have become to the number of unique perceptions, thoughts, ideas that are my expressions in the world. It is often not until they are trotted out in a public domain that I begin to notice them based on the responses of others. I notice that unlike my dog, this recognition and occasional curiosity leaves me feeling uncomfortable while another, more playful part of me craves the attention and a witty joke. Most of all, like my dog, I love it when the otherwise silent passer-by smiles and is jolted into a conversation.

Blogging, walking the dog - 2 sides of the same coin! And both a cure for creative constipation!!

Message In A Bottle

2006-09-27T08:40:00.000-05:00

"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

2006-09-26T08:03:00.000-05:00

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

2006-09-21T07:57:00.000-05:00

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

2006-09-16T16:49:00.000-05:00

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

2006-09-12T11:24:00.000-05:00

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!

2006-09-07T21:24:00.000-05:00

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!

2006-09-07T09:59:00.000-05:00

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!