Half of Me, Whole of Me

This time of year, I always find other's words to be more meaningful than anything I can muster.  I need the comfort and joy that can be found leaning into them, inevitably finding some support.  So, with great appreciation to Parabola Magazine, The Society for the Study of Myth and ... (a rich and rewarding subscription gift to give btw!) for bringing my attention to the following hallow words of Thomas Merton:

"When I am not present to myself, then I am only aware of that half of me, that mode of my being which turns outward to created things.  And then it is possible for me to lose myself among them. Then I no longer feel the deep secret pull
of the gravitation of love which draws my inward self toward God. 

My will and my intelligence lose their command of the other faculties. My senses, my imagination, my emotions,
scatter to pursue their various quarries all over the face of the earth.  Recollection brings them home.  It brings the outward self into line with the inward spirit, and makes my whole being answer the deep pull of love that reaches down into the mystery of God."

—Thomas Merton from "No Man is an Island," (Shambhala, Boston) 2005 (first published in 1955).

May we all return to this inward gravitational pull as the season dictates.  May we bring home this recollection of other possibilities.

Returning: Authentic Movement in the Now

Sometimes we find ourselves in the throws of circumstances we know nothing about, and for which we have no reference point.  Perhaps it is precipitated by a shock, trauma, re-trauma causing a degree of disassociation. We are left almost bereft, uncertain, feeling outside of our normal self.  The world has turned upside down, we try to act, make decisions, behave to and in the completely unfamiliar.  What is, becomes living an estrangement; a betrayal of one's core truth.  In this disorienting position, we grapple with trying to reach an understanding with skills we don't have, that aren't in our normal milieu.  Perhaps the shock has us abandon our centered self, the place of understanding and homeostasis from which we usually operate.

Recovery is not immediate.  There is an unwinding necessary.  Typical destressing techniques don't work, aren't possible in this scenario.  Time is actually the healer, the thing that helps us regain perspective, bringing my externalized self back home.  Returning to the body as a point of reference, returning to the act of listening to the body is a salve that begins to heal the torn fabric of ourselves, our being.

In my mind this is the true value of the Authentic Movement (AM) form.  It's an invitation to return to what Is.  There is a client I have coached for several months and we have used AM in significant ways to reassociate (self)Presence as a prescription.  After a very difficult week of losses, I suggested she do some AM during our session.  Initially, she didn't want to; she felt too tired and she didn't want to do all the angry air punching she felt she would end up doing.  I asked her who in her believed she knew what her tired body would turn to in the moment of dropping in and stillness that is the beginning of the form.  That's a moment that is new, not laden with anticipation or agenda.  We are asked to breathe, sense and Be-- and then finally allow what is to manifest.


She described this session as I have described sessions, as many many others have described sessions, as being an affirmation of the body to Self, an experience of returning to what is true, now. When we stop, breathe, drop in-- the unexpected often happens.

We are our bodies in this way.  Our bodies are a source to return to for a reality check, for our truth to pass through and the rest of me to register.  All of a sudden, the frenetic head energy I've been running on all day is redistributed, transformed to include the rest of me.  I find my strength, my vertical in the presence of the body in the now.

The Art of Being a Play-er (Part II)

I've had a YMCA membership for over 36 years.  I'm a swimmer.  I love everything about swimming (except the chlorine).  Recently, I've rededicated myself to my swimming practice.  And in doing this, I see when I approach laps with pleasure instead of disciplined persistence I leave the pool in joy.  The disciplined persistence usually gives me a nice endorphin high, but my dedication to pleasure gives me a long lasting joy.  Play is serious, play is an art.

Any practice is focused, has rhythm and there is an external effort that persists.  This is valuable.  But there is an art in a practice that is effortless. This comes about when one is at play.  When the focused persistence turns to wonder and a watchfulness, when the agenda of the activity is put to rest and there is a fascination in the moment to moment Moment; the sensation of a stroke, the rhythmical breath in and out, the water pressure from a kick forcefully washing over the musculature of the femur.  Play has no agenda.   It's purpose free.

Play for children is serious.  It's about discovering, determining themselves and the world around them.  It's an exploration.  They do this without watching the time, fully invested in the connecting moments.  They are alive in the now, the sensations, the attention and energy present.  Whereas they are "working" in their play (i.e. figuring out roles, how to physically articulate in a game), the effort is minimal.  They are open.  They are free.  As adults, this is possible to reclaim.

In my The Art of being a Play-er, Part 1, I mention the possibility of this in the mundane activity of washing dishes.  Revisiting that post, I find that play is possible when I am present to the here and now.  What transpires in that?  There is a release of tension in having to know, the (usually) righteous expectation.  The untying of the knot of purpose happens.  An attachment to what is familiar falls away and the courage to have curiosity moves in.  Interest in what is bubbles to my surface and an attention builds for that, not all the indoctrinations and associations I have for whatever is in front of me.  This is a scary, even terrifying moment where my well practiced do-er desperately grasps for what she knows, but hopefully bravely relinquishes that control to the unknown of the life-art unfolding.

Disciplined persistence, having a strong purpose for something--- these don't have the possibility of ever being art.  They are the preparatory actions of learning to be a well practiced do-er.  Our youth is considerably spent in this.  The problem is, if we become entirely enamored of this well practiced do-er stage, we can't find our way to being the effortless life-artists we are meant to be. 

Play teaches us this.  It is the state of being open and enjoying whatever comes our way.  It's related to the state of deep gratitude for being human, and all the joys, sorrows, ugliness and miraculousness contained therein.  Play/Presence is the possibility of waking up to being in a heated dialogue and finding the humor that releases the tension, the hope in being able to listen without reacting, speaking one's truth without harming.  It's being in more of oneself, being more whole.

The changes we need to make in our lives depend on this.  If we are making life style behavioral changes, learning to play in this way is necessary.  We can have all the purpose and self discipline in the world to start that exercise regimen or dietary change, but if we aren't bringing more of our whole selves, our play-er, our presence, our sense of fun and curiosity to the journey, what are the chances the changes we make in all that force and glory will stick?  Like I said, I like the pool, but laps can get boring after awhile and the chlorine reeks havoc on my hair.  Get my play-er on.

Plating: Procurement to Plate, the Joy of Partaking III

Why do we bother to imagine and intend how a plate presents?  It's the food that matters, right?  It's the  components  we bothered to prepare that get our saliva started, bile juices turning, that promote the digestive process.  What does it matter what it looks like as long as my body and a meal are in gear?

We humans discount the impact of subtle (and gross) impressions on our being.  Impressions are a food unto themselves.  They satiate a deeper hunger, a hunger that isn't always at the forefront of ourselves.  I saw this when I was a nurse in a hospital.  Patient's fragile states and reduced appetites were often impacted not by the food so much as the presentation.  I saw patients lose their appetite if the meal was huge (imposing, overwhelming).  Countering this, I saw patients gain an appetite when color, care and balanced portions were presented.  It's an energy thing, I think.  A patient's energy is so sensitized due to their illness; they pick up on, register (possibly assume?) the energy of the plater, the server, the preparer of the meal.  When it is mechanical, uncaring it's unappetizing.  Institutional food is not unappetizing solely because it's mass produced, but also because it's mass delivered in an often coarse way.  The automatic and unmindful way we partake of meals or food as a general population has become commonplace.  And so it is reflected in our institutions.  When we become more sensitized to the sacred event in a meal and all the parts thereof,  the event becomes something else.  We become something else other than food shoveling automatons.  A meal is (could be / should be) a sacred event; a nurturing of our being through deep nourishing impressions and thoughtful, balanced nutrients.

When imagining a meal, the long view of how it will be served and how it will end up on a plate is necessary.  Whereas three components on a plate are traditional, a fourth (or more) component makes it a party, a feast.  Keeping intact the original shape and size of at least one component supports the other components which have undergone chopping and/or shrinking (a transformation).  Alternately, if all the components are roughly the same size and whole, it is less interesting and appealing than when one or two have been altered in size and/or texture.

It might be helpful to look at the components of a meal as playing a role.  There is the "hero" on the plate and the supporting players.  The supporting players enhance, even elevate the hero.  They are sometimes the sublime foil for the hero or each other.  They do this through complimenting color, texture, size and shape and of course flavor.  An example of this would be the sweet/sour/pungent accompaniment to meat, such as a chutney or a sauce/gravy.  This is a complex foil.  Complex in color and flavor.  Often the simplicity of a steamed vegetable unadulterated, brings relief to one's gastronomy when the other offerings have more complexity.  

As far as plating goes, harmony and balance are achieved in a meal when proportions are considered in relation to the whole, when colors are complimentary, when texture and shape are varied.  This might seem like a lot to consider and possibly fussy.  Fuss happens when tension moves in.  In a relaxed state, the right everything is available.  There is no hyper considering, worrying, over-concern.  Hence, no fussiness.  Considering the relationship of the meal's components as full and dimensional as well as being sometimes complex, is not the same thing as being overdone or fussy.  Overdone can be loading a pancake with so much fruit, that it does not allow the complex carbohydrate to have a voice of its own.  Or drowning the hero (protein) in a sauce that overbears upon the prime attraction.  Too much.  Not enough thought, restraint, or care-- or perhaps a capitulation to impulsive desire.  The food's end result will always show us the truth of the matter.

There are always surprises in cooking.  The colors you thought you were going to get don't happen or aren't pleasing.  Something shrinks in cooking you didn't expect.  The relationship of the components isn't finding balance on the plate.  Wonderful quandaries!  It allows us to reconsider what is required.  It asks us to sensitize ourselves to what is and to move from there in an open inquiry.  Quite often, the simplest of things like a leaf of parsley, a sliver of orange rind pulls everything together.  What to use?  How to decide?  Relationship should be what dictates the creative impulse.  If parsley was used in one of the components-- to have parsley at its simplest, expressed on another component would speak volumes.  It would be sublimely related. We aren't bringing something entirely foreign, but something, somehow related.  It's an interesting study to soften and open to what is and what the plate asks for.

photo credit:  Lalu Danzker

Service is an interesting consideration.  Do we plate before reaching the table, attempting to  control the received impression?  Or does the meal call for a family-style delivery?  Platters and bowls of the meal's components on the table to individually serve from?  This latter prospect invites a sense of abundance and also a different type of interaction among the meal's participants (things have to be passed to others, conversation ensues).  Every meal calls for its own type of service.

This post and most of the posts I write on food (hopefully) invite you into a sensitization, a receptive mode:  this state is the human gift.  All people have this as a propensity, it is part of our human inheritance.  Receptivity to impressions of food is just one facet of the prism of our existence.  It's a good place to practice the process of opening, sensitizing and receiving impressions and will carry over to all relationships (inner and outer) as its value is recognized.

Following the Rules: Embodying Ourselves and the Practice

The embodying of an art form, practice or ourselves, means a two-fold process:  learning the "rules" well, living them so they are a natural reference point, and then letting go of the rule's structure.  Only then is there a deep confidence in one's "Way" and a freedom in that Way. Only then do we become ourselves, or form art or live a practice.

I am not particularly a lover of rules.  In fact for me, it has always been a secret pleasure to bend and/or go against them.  Rules often impinge upon "individuality", a self's impulse.  They are often restrictive, even stifling.  But as in all things, there is a season, a time for everything.  So there is a time to understand and live the rules (without them absconding who You may Be).  To blindly identify and attach to rules, whether they be a religious or spiritual practice or a craft/art, is to live bound.  There comes a time when stepping beyond the structure of rules is necessary to grow oneself and one's practice up.

I am a 'personal witness' for someone in a large group Authentic Movement (AM) session.  I move first and find myself doing a lot of strong, grounding movements with my arms, legs, body.  It's as if I am filling myself with strength and courage.  I move out and my mover moves in.  I am 15 feet away from her and have the impression I should be closer.  This would be breaking the group agreement (rule) of returning to the same place for witnessing all the time, established at the beginning of the group session.  I stay where I am, but keep feeling the tug to move closer.  I finally move the 10 feet I need to be closer to her.  I "sprout" my arms, moving them into a large embrace of the space to identify my new spot to the other witnesses. They sprout their arms as well, acknowledging the change. The container feels intact.

Despite my deep love and appreciation of Authentic Movement practice, I almost always have an inner eye roll when the form's guidelines get raised in a new group.  They are practical and almost entirely safety based; why take the trouble to bring them up, we all know them.

Well, we don't all know them in the same way. It is an assumption to think otherwise. Much like social etiquette in different families, regions and countries, the rules, customs and the understanding of AM rules can be different.  It becomes necessary when crossing boundaries and terrain to keep clear the very simple guidelines.  The reminder of them actually sets an intention for safety.  Safety is imperative in an AM setting; the depth of our work has the possibility of surfacing and showing us our otherwise submerged material.  Without safety, our protection and survival mechanisms are always in play, in at least an oblique defense, making it impossible for the more subtle expressions to reveal themselves.


As I witness my mover, I remain standing, this being somewhat irregular in the form.  The mover's process is intense and the witnessing requires a significant renewal of self-grounding on my part.  I find myself moving slightly (maintaining stillness is a norm in the practice) to what I witness.  This standing and moving is necessary for me to stay present and unattached.  I have an impression of myself being a samurai; knees are bent, feet wide apart, arms bent in front of me as if protecting my dantian, my torso, my 'home'.

Embody:  to give a concrete form to; express, personify, or exemplify in concrete form: (to embody an idea in an allegorical painting.); to provide with a body; incarnate; make corporeal: (to embody a spirit);  to collect into or include in a body; organize;incorporate; to embrace or comprise.  Merriam-Webster Dictionary

What does it mean to embody something?  M-W Dictionary says it in a cerebral way above.  Embodiment is quite the opposite of cerebral.  Embodiment is a full integration of parts; parts of an understanding we hold in varied aspects of ourselves.  Embodiment is to fully live or express something complete.  To be embodied is to be ourselves as we are meant to be in that moment.  To be a complete expression in movement, verbalization,  or visualization.  For anything to be embodied is for it to be perfectly Whole, to be exactly as it is meant to be.  This usually doesn't look or sound like what we  imagine the expression to be.  And yet, it rings absolutely true when it is expressed.  Embodiment can not be forced or created. It creates itself.  It's the timely accumulation in experiencing the suffering and joy of our material over our continuum, and the benefit of having lived the rules.

My witnessed mover has moved out of the moving space and is now witnessing.  I enter the space as a mover, running, skipping, jumping lightly, releasing any held tense material.  I circle and bend and turn and feel absolute lightness and joy.  My face feels open and ecstatic.  I become aware of another who has entered the circle.  She is following me;  it actually feels like I am being stalked.  I feel she wants a part of me.  It comes to me that this needs to be confronted.  I stop circling and stand in my samurai pose.  I am surprised at how relaxed and unafraid I feel.  The other mover doesn't hesitate to move into my body and attach.  The primary guidelines for contact in AM-- to move slowly, wait for cues that mutual engagement is desired by all parties, has not been maintained.  My samurai arms move swiftly up disengaging the mover.  I feel angry at the violation. 

I later describe this experience in the circle.  The other mover reacts and starts to justify her actions.  Before she starts to speak, I want to ask her to take three breaths before speaking so as to enter herself, the cell memory of her experience.  But I am too slow and also, this would be irregular to do this.  She is defensive, reactive, not clear in her verbalization.  She forgets or doesn't know the AM guideline to attempt to be in oneself (one's embodiment?) while talking about a movement experience, as she was in the actual movement.  She forgets or doesn't know that witnessing response to a mover is always in service to the mover not themselves as witness.  When this (difficult) effort is made, the verbalization becomes an extension of the movement experience instead of outside the movement experience.

The concepts of following the rules and being embodied seem antithetical on the surface.  But they are related, part of the same process.  We have our attitudes about words, like "rules" and "embodiment".  When these attitudes relax into an open inquiry, a word and its previously assumed meaning becomes an unknown.  It isn't attached to the attitude any longer.  I can have a different, fresh experience of it.

Not living the simple guidelines/rules of AM practice agreed upon by a group of movers/witnesses, can have dire consequences; even in 'mature' and seasoned groups.  When the rules are relaxed in groups where the trust level is high amongst the members, a certain vigilance and integrity also relaxes.  Sometimes it results in a further spaciousness, an expansion of possibility.  Sometimes it leads to a 'no one being home' situation, and a drop in meta support of its members and the container's safety.  In groups that don't have a seasoned foundation, people get stepped on, bumped into, (not usually serious) injuries can ensue, as well as the obvious psychological repercussions of not being seen, felt or respected through "accident".  Unwanted contact can feel like a violation.  Unwanted, unembodied verbal witnessing in a circle cheapens the mover's experience and can feel like a violation.  Rules in the form are not arbitrary, but provide safety in a circle of movers, seasoned or not.

No matter how mature one is in a practice or art form, returning to and letting go of the rule's of the form is necessary. As one becomes more seasoned, they are a light reference point touched upon and released.  As in all rules maintained in society and elsewhere, one doesn't have to think of them, they are well established in our interior.  When this is mature in us, embodiment of a material and of ourselves is possible, in large part to the safety of the rules we have integrated over time and practice.  How do I know where I am in this way?  Our self-awareness becomes more refined with practice.  I begin to see the natural adherence and letting go of the guidelines and the oblique repercussions.  This is my maturity, my seasonedness.  This is how I know where I am in the practice.

Courage, Confidence and Wellness

We spend a lifetime searching for balance.  We learn about a new piece of dietary information; we try it out.  Science comes up with new info about our body's function; we consider this, perhaps, by modifying our behavior.  We accumulate information and try to verify an approach to our own wellness through the decades.  And if we're lucky,  something settles in us that isn't so reactive.  It's hoped for—that we become discerning in our responses to new information, not jumping from one new fangled idea or another in a quest to be healthier.  This would go for a spiritual growing up as well.  In all of this, what is the difference between adapting and adopting?

Courage and a Self Confidence is required. Through our continuum, there is a time to follow and "obey".  There is also a time to find the courage not to look toward outward "authority",  but believe enough in what one has experienced, gathered information-wise and trust in one's own maturation process.  Or, maybe it's about following the intuitive messages even though all that outward advice makes sense.  A reliable practice of self-awareness will sort the false impulse from the true impulse.  It is a growing up of sorts;  a confidence in one's own perceptions, knowledge/understanding base and the experience of having navigated dark corners before.  It's a trust in speaking up, being adversarial when necessary, being close to one's own truth.  This doesn't negate being open to other information or an other.  It just means owning one's own grounded material in what Is.

This sometimes means finding one's own language within the known culture, whether it be in spiritual practice or wellness lingo.  Human nature makes us prone to being static in our approach, clinging to what has been known, whether it be language, way of understanding, an approach to a spiritual or wellness practice, or dietary and movement habits.  Because everything is changing all the time, being light "on our feet" is necessary.  A regular practice of entering into unknown territory, making efforts that are not familiar, or may be somewhat uncomfortable and foreign.  Becoming familiar with how—and where—I recede and retreat into habits that aren't useful is part of the self awareness practice.  If one has relied primarily on external authority to direct one's efforts in the past, claiming a semblance of one's own "master" is initially a rocky road.  It's sort of like being 20 years old again, finding your young adult legs under yourself, making first time life decisions, leaning into resistance and not capitulating.  It's possible to boldly strike out, to find the courage to be enough where you are, recognize your needs, and make a demand of yourself or of others to meet those needs.

It is true there is an "action" component to all this.  But mostly, it's sublimely internal. The action has turned inward, hence, doesn't have to be externally manifested to the extent it has been in previous decades.  Stepping up to (the responsibility of) oneself minimizes confusion.  Confidence is confidence, not arrogance.  Courage is courage, not being cavalier.  It's clear.  Understanding and living these differences makes us our own leader, mentor, guru.  And if we somehow find we have trickled our way into arrogance or have become cavalier, that's ok.  Because we have, at our foundation, taken responsibility and owned what is.  So we own that, and we mindfully work with that manifestation.  It's a beautiful thing. No longer are we afraid of being—or experiencing ourselves—as arrogant.  We are more afraid of not seeing what is.  We are more afraid of being static and internally atrophied.  Scary personality portraits of old are now interesting, beguiling, surprising and refresh our perspective.

"To thine own self be true." Hamlet, Wm Shakespeare

“And you will know the truth, and that truth will set you free.”  John 8:32

The Care of Aging Parents: Making the Last Laps Rich (Part II)

In Part I on this topic, I centered the post around the idea of setting an intention of what we want in the healing and transformation of the relationship with one's aging loved one.  Opening to the feeling aspect of what it is we want prepares the ground for the details, and helps sees us through the challenges of what is put into play—what, hopefully, we and our parents want.  In this Part II, I will deal more with the nuts-and-bolts of how to provide the sustenance that makes these last laps rich and meaningful for you and them.

Once the intention is set, it is good to determine how you and your elder are going to work together.  Are they handing everything over to you, abdicating all control?  Or do they want to be co-determiners as long as possible?  How will this work, how is it imagined?  Part of the healing in the relationship is the sublime relating we do with them, and they with us.  The confronting the hard things in a soft way, the 'yes' and the 'no's. The disagreements, fears, the sensitivity to the taking control and having little say.  It's this territory that is fertile, if not a challenge to navigate.  This is where we attempt to optimize our Listening,  our Attending-to/Attention, our Observing.  This is where breath and a nuanced appreciation for what Is can transform the difficult transitions.

You see your elder aging, having a more difficult time doing basic things, like laundry, cooking and cleaning.  You might even notice a hygiene deficit or important memory lapses (not taking medications in a timely manner, forgetting to pay bills, etc.)  By this time, it's late in the game.  It's late in the game, because of Denial.  Denial on everyone's part.  Experiencing or noticing a decline in a loved one or self is not easily accepted and often minimized.  We want the old homeostasis, even though change is well underway.  We think it's ok for them to be left alone for a few hours, or even though their balance is somewhat shaky, it's ok as long as their cane is nearby.  This lack of acknowledgement of a decline is denial and it is dangerous.  The primary concern we should have is safety.  Are they safe 100% of the day?  They aren't if they're forgetting medications, leaving the kettle on when on the stove or not being hygienic.  Always best to err on safety's side.  Have more coverage, not less.

Decline comes in all gradations;  gradual to quick.  It's important that once it is underway, there are watchful others around regularly to gage needed interventions.  It might start with grocery runs, housekeeping every other week, or help with a weekly shower.  A decline in social engagement outside the home is a subtle marker as well.  This often happens when an elder realizes they are losing memory (uncomfortable conversing with people who know them but whom they don't remember knowing) or have lost a physical fitness that makes it uncomfortable to be more active.  Losing memory can be very subtle and effectively hidden  by vague responses.  Dementia is masked by depression and sometimes vice versa.  He/she that has created an intention to be the 'observer' engaged with the elder becomes responsible for this watching and deciding/co-deciding with the elder when intervention is required.

Every situation is so different. There are myriad ways people can creatively care for loved ones, and also myriad situations in which the caring transpires.  It may be a collective of family members, or a trusted caretaker or group of them who reports to an adult child who is far away.  Determining the elder's wishes (early on, if possible) is helpful in determining what can be set up (home care, elder care in a senior community, etc).  And of course what is physically and financially possible for the adult child.

Early on, it is vital to consider obtaining power of attorney and/or a medical healthcare proxy for your parent.  It is easier for you to manage your parent's finances this way, and there isn't any holdup when it comes to healthcare decisions.  Outside sources that may be of help are your elder's doctor's office (might have referrals to home care agencies, social workers, etc), and local community senior centers which have programs during the day. Also seek information about alternative resources to support your loved one's needs, be they day/night companions, meals on wheels, rides to doctor appointments, groceries, etc.  If your elder is coming from a hospital situation, case managers and hospital social workers are knowledgeable goldmines regarding external resources and medicare/medicaid insurance payment of needed medical supplies; mine them fully.  Visiting Nurse organizations will do a full home assessment to determine level of care required and make suggestions.  Often, Medicare/Medicaid and private insurances pay most of this service.

When deciding on an elder institution (if that is an option you are considering), ask a lot of questions, field them not only to the 'home', but other professionals.  Hospital nurses that deal with the geriatric population often have an interesting perspective.  They see people come in from different places in different conditions, they hear and are aware of the best and worst places.  From institutions, ask for family references.  What are the activities (i.e.,  are residents ever taken off campus?), is there music, art, plant, pet therapies? What is the ratio of care, caregiver to resident?  Is there a "care for the caretaker" program helping with staff burnout? You should be able to get a rating on the establishment from the better business bureau, possibly AARP, etc.  Once an institution is decided upon, it behooves you to form congenial, informed relationships with the staff; they see you frequently, they know your expectations, they are aware of your strong advocacy for your parent.  When things go awry, a steady, calm, rational response is much more powerful than a reaction.   The former elicits respect from staff.  The latter elicits defensiveness and does not bode well for the care of your parent.  This being said, uncharacteristic strong reactions infrequently provided (and merited), are a heads up, pull-up-your-socks reminder to caretakers, which can go a long way to improving care.

For all caretakers, at any level of care, at any point in time, it should be assumed burn-out, compassion fatigue, will develop.  It is a huge undertaking having the welfare of another in your hands.  Being connected to one's breath, finding nourishing quiet moments for oneself helps to soften the hardness, opens one to another type of rest and rejuvenation.  Take care of yourself; make sure those caring for your loved one are also taking care of themselves.  It is through this regular practice where the quandaries, obstacles and difficulties are often relinquished.  Less tension in your body and in your life allow for another understanding, a possible spark of creative genius in solving a problem, an attraction to the thing or person that is needed in a moment.  This is the miracle of this process.  The process of healing a relationship, transforming a life in the middle and at the end.  This is what makes the last laps so rich, even while it is so hard.

The Care of Aging Parents: Making the Last Laps Rich (Part I)

This post is Part I of a 2 part series.  It precludes the practical detail of the action of mindful caring for our elders.

We are all born.  We all die.  And almost all of us have elders to consider as we ourselves age.  Without exception, that complex relationship, has its ups and downs (as well as karmic complications) through the relationship's continuum, and inevitably impacts our intentions to our aging loved ones.

At a certain point in a person's life, decision-making is necessarily abdicated due to advanced age or infirmity.  The decisions regarding the circumstances as to how their life will run its course is left to others:  adult children/family or institutions.  As adult children of aging parents, how do we consider what our relationship will be to our loved one's last laps?

For some, its a "no-brainer"; their parents have put into motion through long care term insurance purchase, or moving into an elder community that sees to the layered needs of the aging, or specifically voiced to their family how they would like to live the last years or decades of their life.  For these adult children, it's about follow through, respectfully adhering to their parent's wishes.  Even this ideal scenario is complex.  Possibly the adult children are not in a position physically, geographically or financially to honor these wishes.  Perhaps the aging community chosen is not so ideal, needs to be monitored on a regular basis.  Whatever the arrangement planned, the adult child's committed engagement is required, therefore, altering many aspects of their own independence.  Becoming clear to one's boundaries, capacity and level of commitment is essential.  Setting an intention that corresponds to the relationship you seek to create or maintain with the elder in your life is also required.

Many people claim there is a natural unfolding of this process, everyone involved takes their place.  Why make an intention if this is so?  Making an intention clarifies what you wish for in this relationship, shores-up the commitment with more of oneself.  The expected journey is long; challenges to the healing of a relationship, guaranteed.  An intention keeps us close to ourselves, and what we hope for, especially when the going gets rough and we question the endeavor.

Making an intention opens the field.  The field being one's perception, one's sixth sense.  It's possibly a growing up of the soul, an internal awareness of oneself and other.  It's a path of deepening oneself and one's possibility.  All the facts of the circumstance take a minor role and the relationship rises to the surface of prominent importance.  This is healing.  A possible healing of karma for those engaged and definitely a healing of what has been hard in the relationship.

With an intention, this is practically guaranteed.  How can I say this?  Because with an intention and a commitment to this journey comes a letting go of all that ultimately does not matter.  Whereas the details and circumstances are important, they are very secondary to what is shared. The cream rises to the top, a softening of oneself allows for perception to descend into parts of our self we didn't know we had.  This changes everything.  It also allows there to be this type of change in another.  If we only hold on to the details, the specifics, schedules and external needs-- and only allow that to run this lap, we miss the opportunity the  initial vow or intention created for us.

An intention might start with questions:  What percentage of my time do I want (not necessarily can) to spend with my parent?  With my parent's life affairs? What are aspects of our relationship that are  asking to be healed, would I like transformed? What are the grudges, resentments and hard parts we share?  How can I forgive?  How can I ask for forgiveness?  How much hands-on caretaking do I want to do (again, not necessarily can do)?  What is the necessary sacrifice on my part to do what I think I want to do?  Can I do this?  Can I get help with it?  All these questions are treated as an open inquiry.  Nothing is answered in a hard/fast, black/white way (at this point).  It's a beginning in fleshing out the feeling aspect of the proposed journey.  The decision-problem solving aspect of myself shouldn't jump in at this point, there will be plenty of time for that part to act.  In intention setting, its about allowing breath to enter the feeling center to create some room.

In this place of relationship a trust in something else besides the external occurs.  An adult child's anxiety and worry over the external details, the finances, the medical complications is background material.  It is almost always there, but for the most part doesn't take over our lives because the relationship's intention has helped us make it primary.  The connection, the vibration shared, the meeting and the healing is at the center.

Making the last laps rich, even under challenging and difficult circumstances is possible when this intention is in place.  Intention runs my actions.  I lose it, I return to it, I lose it again, but it is at the heart of what I want for my loved one and myself and steers me in the critical moments.  Our time, our financial resources, our individual direction; taking this on complicates our lives a little (or a lot) more.  Much like people making the lifelong decision to raise children.

In this journey we make, while there are hurdles, there is also a satisfying ride, a relaxing into the sublime elements of being connected to oneself and another more fully, an allowance of a natural unfolding.  Witnessing the external decline of another, whether mental or physical, isn't what you were afraid it would be.  The other's hallucinations, disorientation, good/bad pain days are experienced in a different way as this more subtle relationship is taken on.  The distinct impression of seeing our loved one with one foot in one world and the other foot in another more opaque world is touching and awe-inspiring. We see more of each other, a broader spectrum beyond personality and that is gratitude personified.  It is in this healing relationship one feels one's fortune; and it is reflected back from our loved one, having been shared.

I bring up intention in this first part, because it must precede the nuts/bolts and problem solving of the circumstantial details.  Otherwise, the external drives our actions, not the intention.

Repetition and Transformation

We live our lives in repetition.  So much of our comfort and discomfort is in the everyday cycling through sameness.  Repetition can bring a type of death.  It also can bring a type of renewal.  Renewal to what might have become mundane; the ordinary transformed.

I've taken to like ending my blog each year with a poem post. Below is a year-long series of tweets by poet Ian McMillan, describing the same walk he takes every day, wherein he illustrates the possibility of transformation in an ordinary, everyday sameness.  It is long, so freely skip and play in-between, allowing the impression of a new sameness to fall on open senses.

May 2014 bring the miracle of transformation in ordinary sameness to us all.

Each morning, I get up early and go for a stroll through my ex-mining village near Barnsley; just before 6am, I walk to the newsagent, then down a long hill and up a steeper hill and back home. It takes me about 40 minutes and I tweet about the stroll as soon as I get in. I’m excited by the idea of creating minimalist poetry about a limited canvas, trying to find something new every day from the same mile and a bit. The moon is a regular presence and so is the word “beautiful”. Here’s my selection of some of the tweets I’ve posted since  Christmas Day 2012:

25/12: On my early stroll, by the zebra crossing, one Belisha beacon working, one not, Like the cheapest open-air disco you ever saw.

27/12: On my early drizzly stroll I pretend  I’m in a film noir walking the mean streets of ~LA until a bloke with a dog says “ R8 kid!  Cold ’un!”

28/12: On my early stroll I’m battered by  the breeze, a skiff on the pavement’s lake. A  bit of old Christmas paper like a gull with  holly wings.

29/12: Early stroll. Find a pound coin on the pavement. Beats that 5p I found the other day. Moonlight alchemy!

30/12: On my early stroll I’m struck by the simple beauty of a No Entry sign. The red circle, the white line. It has the power of art.

5/1/2013: Different ways of looking at the moon: gaze, peer, peep, stare, glance, gawp. Pointing sometimes, like today. It was so beautiful.

6/1: Early stroll. The moon hasn’t turned up. I’ve been moon-jilted. Maybe it’s slept in. Sky like an empty purse with no coin in it.

8/1: Early stroll. Beautiful sliver of a moon low in the sky. I could almost touch it. I will. I daren’t. I might. Would it feel cold? I daren’t.

20/1: Just took the snowgrip things off my shoes. They feel like something you might find in the haunted wing of a lingerie shop.

21/1: Early snowy stroll. I find myself trudging, so I try to vary it: jazz trudge/hero trudge/tap trudge/thoughtful trudge/satirical trudge/trudge.

28/1: Early stroll. A man at the bus stop wearily lifts his arm as the bus approaches: it’s an exhausted hand-jive, an almost-signal, a wavelet.

16/2: Early stroll. I come across three discarded pens, and an empty pack of headache tablets. A poet’s passed by, I reckon.

23/2: Early stroll. Here we go, another day to seize, from aubade to nocturne, from first  kettle on to last light off!

1/3: Early stroll. Birds fly across the moon,  blossom begins to appear on a tree down the hill. I’m walking through a haiku, it seems.

3/3: Early stroll. I’ve eaten my apple then find another apple on the pavement. Tempted to eat it, so tempted. Barnsley: garden of Eden. Me: Adam.

8/3: Early stroll. I say Good Morning to a bloke in a camouflage jacket and he seems surprised that I can see him.

9/3: Early stroll. There’s a door in a skip and I’m tempted to open it, go through, find a mystical and magical land. Somebody stares at me from a bus.

10/3: Freezing early stroll. Grit wagon  trundles by and sprays me. Now I’m gritty.  I’ll go home and write a country song and a detective novel.

11/3: Early stroll. By the almost-demolished school, a bunch of red fire extinguishers  like chess pieces waiting for a game. Snow speckling them.

12/3: Early stroll. I see the bloke in the  camouflage jacket again, but walking behind is a man in a hi-vis jacket. His evil twin/ soul/conscience?

14/3: Early stroll. A big piece of gold-coloured wrapping paper, lifted by a breeze, flies towards me like a primitive sculpture of a mythical bird.

23/3: Early snowy stroll. A craving for colour in the white. So, thanks to blue bag in tree, green sparkly hat in front of car, crushed marker pen.

29/3: Early stroll. Cold, brilliant blue morning. By the flats where the farm used to be I remember a fire, burning hay. I was 6. My face warms.

30/3: Early stroll. An empty bus passes and I crouch to look at the moon through its moving windows. The driver slows down, thinks I want to get on.

7/4: Early stroll. A mystery by the demolished school: a small box with HARMONICA  written on it but no harmonica in it. I stand and listen: birds.

8/4: On my early stroll my left shoelace unravels itself: so that’s what walking is, a gradual progression that leaves you naked. Better speed up.

14/4: Early stroll. I walk past a door and the smell of toast and the sound of someone whistling and I want to go in and eat and whistle.

15/4: Early stroll. Beautiful visual image of five garage doors in a row, each door a different colour: a green/a blue/a green/a brown/a blue.

20/4: Early stroll. A row of black socks on a washing line seems to be walking in front of a tree just beginning to sprout pink blossom. I find 50p.

21/4: Early stroll. I wish I knew the proper names for clouds, but I don’t. So I’ll call that one George, that one Thinking, that  one Yesterday.

25/4: Early stroll. Meet my brother who looks just like me. Our voices mingle in the morning air. Our breath hangs in sibling sentences.

26/4: Early stroll. I often see that horse in that tiny field but this is the first time I’ve seen that trampoline in the corner. Possibilities.

27/4: Early stroll. That house joined onto the dancing school is To Let. Imagine living there, living near rhythm. Living near jazz and tap.

2/5: Early stroll. I’ve walked up and down these hills for fifty years so I must have worn a groove. I’m erosion on my own.

4/5: Early stroll. I stand, as I often do, where the long-demolished football factory was,  to listen for the sound of ghost footballs  being made.

12/5: Early stroll. An abandoned ironing board near the paint shop. Six snails move towards  it. A bread van lurches as it passes: inside,  rolls roll.

16/5: Early stroll. A runner gasps by. The grumpy bloke who never returns my Good Morning returns it grumpily as we walk through fallen blossom.

18/5: Early stroll. Dandelion clocks in verges. Abandoned football on top of a bus shelter, looking like the moon. Clocks/moon: time/space stroll.

19/5: Early stroll. A tiny snail rushes towards a huge snail. A discarded lipstick sits on the floor, waiting for a smile.

26/5: Early stroll. Bright sunshine, and a full moon dawdling over my brother’s allotment, which is bathed in sunlight, moonlight,  lettuce-light.

30/5: Early stroll. It’s such a lovely morning that I feel my shadow wanting to skip. I try  to resist, but my shadow insists. Roof  pigeons watch.

2/6: Early stroll. Equine excitement on the street: four escaped horses corralled into a  front garden by a passer-by. House owner  still asleep.

3/6: Early stroll. A plane makes a chalk mark across the sky. Passengers look down and  say “there’s @IMcMillan on his stroll. We’re in his tweet”.

4/6: Early stroll. Under a sky the colour of boredom I hold my stomach in as I pass a Slimming World poster and almost tread on a slug.

5/6: Early stroll. Sculptures: the wheelie  bin monoliths, the single stone placed on the low wall, the imperfect pavement circle of spilled pop.

13/6: Early stroll. A home-made (stick and string) bow and arrow on the floor. I pick them up. On the corner: a hubcap that could be  a shield.

15/6: Early stroll. Muggy, damp. Two snails make their slow way towards two discarded beer cans near the roundabout. Party time  next Tuesday.

30/6: Early stroll. A helicopter flies very low over my head just as I walk by a huge white arrow in the road that’s pointing at me. I  walk faster.

6/7: Early stroll. Mist over the valley where the pit was. An empty eggshell on the floor as though the mist has escaped from the egg.

9/7: Early stroll. A fridge-freezer in a garden like the start of a fridgehenge, and a bus full of people in hi-vis jackets like a sun on wheels.

27/7: Early stroll. Dozens of snails climbing Mr Moody’s garden wall. Slow music on a brick piano. Rose petal patterns on the path.

28/7: Early stroll. Two small blue betting-shop pens on the floor tell a tale of hope. A single stick of rhubarb points Northward.

30/7: Early stroll. Someone has placed a hubcap on a low wall; it’s like a grey metal sunrise. I lean to try and align it with the real sunrise.

31/7: Early stroll. That brick-shaped piece of polystyrene means that someone, somewhere is building a polystyrene house. 4th little  pig, maybe.

2/8: Early stroll. I find a single jigsaw piece by the empty houses. Turn it over: a blue sky. The man on the mobility scooter waves.

19/8: Early stroll. A vivid sunrise over the old pit then, unbelievably, a single orange button by the bakery. The sunrise represented.

22/8: Early stroll. Mist over the valley, the  trees poking like broccoli. The man in the  Men at Work sign is still wearing wellies. The moon hides.

23/8: Early stroll. In the soft-edged rain I  buy a big bag of porridge at the shop then  trudge down the street like a disappointing/surreal Santa.

24/8: Early stroll accompanied by the nihilistic dance music of a burglar alarm. Three party poppers stuck to the wall of the betting-shop: win!

26/8: Early stroll. The few pink clouds fade, reflecting the pink rose petals scattered  on the pavement. Beside the chip forks. And that biscuit.

28/8: Early stroll. Moon like a half-constructed emoticon. A runner pounds by so I increase my walking speed momentarily. As does that  ginger cat.

30/8: Early stroll. Bright cool morning. As I pass the streetlights they go out and I try to ignore the stone in my shoe which nags like  a memory.

6/9: Early stroll. A few leaves on the floor like scouts for autumn’s wagon train. The temporary traffic lights are at red and I stand very still.

11/9: Early stroll. Three white vans pass,  followed by a black van, then a white van. Like a chess game on wheels. One overtakes. One turns off.

14/9: Early stroll. Couldn’t find my glasses  so the sunrise glowed like a three-bar electric fire and the grumpy bloke shone like a  shaky angel.

15/9: Early stroll under shifting, dramatic skies. A white van trundles by, the passenger holding a map. I see it twice more: lost, wandering.

20/9: Early stroll. The moon slips in and out of the clouds, auditioning for a horror film. I stand in front of the new CCTV camera,  holding a cucumber.

22/9: Early stroll. The moon hangs in the  sky like an idea I wish I’d had. Two carers  rush to change a flat tyre. Someone waits in a room somewhere.

23/9: Early stroll. Single lights: the security light illuminating the cemetery, the car  with one headlight like a radioactive monocle, a bathroom.

26/9: Early stroll. Dark and quiet. The man  on the mobility scooter nods as he rattles  by, crushing a discarded Bob Marley cassette, tape waving.

30/9: Early stroll. I eat an apple from my tree under a fingernailclipping moon. The two  grey-haired ladies walk by me laughing. I spit a pip high.

6/10: Early stroll. Vivid constellations remind me how small I am. A man says “Has tha seen a white dog?” Is that it there, shining in  The Plough?

14/10: Early stroll. Morning still as a coat  hanging in a wardrobe. I find a shiny penny beside a red removal van from Cornwall. A man’s cig glows.

15/10: Early stroll. Five minutes later than usual, so I pass different people. The bus shelter is empty. That light is on. That light is off.

19/10: Early stroll. Can you be dazzled by  the moon? This morning I was. A red necklace lies on the path like a jewelled snake. Two  shattered brollies.

21/10: Early stroll. A white cat looks at a white car, as though trying to decide what kind of cat it is. Two people ignore my cheery “Morning!”

22/10: Early stroll. The scaffolding on the pub throws beautiful shadows in the pavement. Raised voices from an upstairs room. A  hedgehog bustles by.

30/10: Early stroll. I wish I could save this morning’s light in a shoebox and release it on a gloomy December afternoon.

1/11: Early stroll. In the heavy mist, a discarded 2p coin gleams like a fallen moon. I pocket it. Hens cluck at me from behind a hedge.

3/11: Early stroll. The sky is a delicate,  questioning blue. That green box I moved off the road yesterday waits for me on the  pavement, frostily.

5/11: Early stroll. Rain flecks my glasses and a man in a black coat and black hat passes with a black dog on a lead. Only the lead is visible.

18/11: Early stroll. A light goes off in a bedroom and on in a kitchen, as though light has  fallen downstairs. Loaves are put on the  bakery shelves.

22/11: Early stroll. Perspective and slope make that man as tall as a tree. A red van parked by a white van: wine on wheels.

24/11: Early stroll. A tennis ball sits in the  pavement like a failed idea; the two older women who walk most mornings smile at the Christmas lights.

26/11: Early stroll. The moon is a huge grin in the sky. The dead cat by the Post Office looks oddly peaceful. The paper boy’s head is down, hood up.

28/11: Early stroll. The moon is in and out of the clouds. My old house is empty, but it has new windows. I lift a fallen bin. It clatters.

30/11: Early stroll. A clear sky vivid with stars and an astonishing sliver of almost-orange moon. Two skinny men in tracksuits appear from shadows.

2/12: Early stroll. Over several months that cardboard box has turned to mulch. It has a time-based beauty. I slip on it, laugh, slip again.

3/12: Early stroll. I’m held by the sight of leaves falling from a tree in the cemetery. The man in the paper shop draws his wife a map.

5/12: Early stroll. Those hedges have been trimmed so the view down that back street  is different. I refuse simile, even when I see a red glove.

6/12: Early stroll. A woman in bright white shoes waits in a darkened bus shelter. A kid goes by on a bike with his hands in his pockets. Puddles.

7/12: Early stroll. Sign on a lamp post: LOST BLACK LAB. A man whizzes by on a bike, coat flapping like a super-hero’s cape. Cycleman!

8/12: Early stroll. A man comes out of his house, looks at the ladders on top of his van as though he’s contemplating climbing them to the moon.

13/12: Early stroll. The ginger cat beside the tarpaulined caravan. The tattered circus poster. The lit snooker table in the empty pub.

Turning Toward: An Approach to Addiction

One of the wonderful aspects of navigating a wellness coaching business is finding my strengths along the way and attracting those that would resonate.  I am surprised to be surprised finding out who I am.  And I am even more surprised at the people who find their way to me for support and assistance.  There, more often than not, is a shared vibration which makes even the stickiest, difficult work a joy for us both.

Whereas most nurses are very directive, that is not my favorite approach (although it has been fun to play the bossy role at times).  The bodyworker-artist in me finds my own and other's difficulties intriguing.  In relation to a healing or dealing with a habit, I can do all the linear list making a client could ever want, but what I really love and find most effective, is collaborating.  In regards to wellness, I don't personally like being told what to do, and I have found most autonomous, self-directed adults feel likewise.  I like figuring things out with the light guidance of others.  I like to be empowered in the process, not directed by an other's force (well meaning or not).  So, creating relationship with one whom helps and making relationship with that which needs attention is an adventure worth exploring.

One of the approaches I've used successfully as of late with addiction (in particular smoking) has been focusing compassion on the parts of oneself that needs smoking to survive.  Forget about the external addiction.  Who in this person needs, craves, longs for cigarettes?  Don't quit smoking out of inner/outer pressure from others or out of shame.  Quit smoking because you don't need it anymore.  Heal the original wound.

The parts of a client that need smoking are vulnerable.  The last thing they need is contempt, ridicule, disappointment  and rejection coming at them.  They hardly can admit their existence out of fear of being seen as weak, pathetic and pitiful.  Working with people to divulge these delicate areas in themselves, works best if  humor is in play.  Also, creatively using trance state, movement and play in venues that a client appreciates and relaxes in, is useful.  Buoyancy and play help in the suspension of fear and negativity.

What I have been finding in many people who depend upon smoking, is they do so because it takes the edge off of their loneliness, frustrations, sense of isolation, misery, grief, feeling of abandonment, or friendlessness.  People who smoke (maybe who struggle with any addiction or hard habit) have had a trauma around one of these mentioned areas that they could not then and have not since been able to navigate.  They started smoking when their girlfriend left them back in high school, or the kids went off to college or lost a job, etc.  Or they started smoking to quell a sense of self-inadequacy, disappointment, disillusionment.  Over time, smoking became inextricably linked to relief from these emotional states that are hard to admit to oneself or others.  Emotional states that are unbearable (without a cigarette).  This is the human condition.  In practice, this is what surfaces, the pictures that unfold, the stories that get told.  The feelings linked to the smoking are usually more shaming for the client than the actual smoking.

So, how does this compassion approach work?  What I do is set an intention with the client to not change anything overtly, but to watch, observe and even honor the need by caring for the needy-one.  This allows change to unfold organically, naturally, non-violently.  We watch the ritual of smoking; the reliable time around the urges, how a cigarette is actually handled from beginning to end, the thoughts and feelings in the inhale, the exhale, the smells and other sense involvement. I encourage practicing a suspension of judgement or self criticism during the study; it frees up that which is curious and interested.  Clients record heavy/light usage times, when is the best cigarette of the day, when is the time it is most negligible.  They record the sense of who in them requires a drag or two (the bored, defiant teenager, the lonely child?).   We also record the external and internal stressors, the hiding of it from certain places and people, when is it enjoyable and when is it repugnant.  In this process, they (and I) begin to become more familiar with what the habit of smoking is to this unique organism, what it means to all/most of themselves, the joy and sorrow around it, connected to it and the pleasure/displeasure present. And we are easy (even playful) about it.  Hell, brimstone and cancer threats are not required.

What happens in this approach is the person inside who has this habit is less shrouded in shame, becomes more self-accepted.  A curiosity is cultivated. It doesn't become about "breaking" the habit, it's more about the interesting self who participates in the habit and all the accompanying circumstances and history that support it.  It becomes an awakening of sorts that is freed from the previous inevitable guilt.  When clients start to emerge out of their shame and guilt over the addiction, I've witnessed a soaring sense of creativity and intuition from them, which then becomes like a beacon toward a movement of change.  Seemingly all of a sudden, they decide their living situation needs tweaking to abate their loneliness.  Or they acquire a pet, join a church, or take up an art class.  Experiencing this vivid creativity, they begin to feel what it is like to be more themselves.  This phenomenon by itself is enormously comforting.  And then, quite anticlimactically one day (in their own time) it is decided, "You know, I don't think I want to have smoking in my life anymore.  I don't need it." Like giving up old clothes that don't feel right anymore. And every time this happens for a client, there is a new Wow for me.  It's incredible how natural and non violent the action is.  The stopping wasn't based on withholding, denying, shame or judgement. It's based on a healing seated in a global sense of self love.

Post smoking cravings and urges are there, but taken in perspective, because they've been studied with compassion.  One senses one's dimension; no longer held in these mean, contemptuous pigeonholes of "weak", "addict", "hopeless, never to change",  "disgusting", etc.  The secret corners have been exposed to benevolence.  Someone loving, kind and occasionally funny has partnered up with them--- themSelf.  They truly are no longer alone or friendless or isolated.  They've evolved caring witnesses within in the process of courageously facing their history, undisclosed feelings and their truth.

This approach is really a larger commitment to know oneself, and yet also does happen to be effective in habit cessation.  People who appreciate this inside-out work,  are the types of clients I am interested in and whom seem to be attracted to my wellness work.  I can and have done the directed, linear approach. But, it is not that interesting to me.  It requires but a perfunctory formation of a relationship to self, other or the issue. If it is at all successful, it's almost always partially so.   Compassion work is a commitment but it lasts a lifetime; once you get a taste, a gist of it, it's pretty easy to access and keep as a consistent constant in one's life.  It actually becomes almost impossible not to actively know it.  It is Love in action, something one begins to find, they can't live without.

Provide and Protect

I am writing about protection because it's been coming to my front door in one aspect or another over the last few days.  One of the rules about protection is when it comes to your threshold,  you sit up, pay attention and do what you need to do (provide) to be safe and, well.... protected.

The word "protection" tends to raise red flags.  But in my mind, protection is as benign as brushing your teeth routinely or getting your oil changed on the car every few months. Care and a thoughtful maintenance are precursors to both providing and protecting.  For both realists and alarmists, protection is required when one is vulnerable, in a weakened moment, or partial to victimization at a given time.  As a generalization, responsible parents are exemplary at this and I've noticed as a group, men also are very good at it, when cued into that part of their nature.  Call it sexist, call it chivalrous, there is something comforting in watching men vigilantly watch out for their women folk in the myriad of ways that they do.

Protection comes in many forms; who you are, what you believe, what rituals you are familiar and comfortable with will dictate what form will serve you.  Every religion has their symbology which can serve as protection.   Christians have worn crosses around their necks for centuries for (Jesus') protection.  Veils required in some religious houses hearkens back to the dark ages when veils were seen as a protection from evil spirits (bad spirits skim off the head gear and avoid synagogue/temple entry?). High thresholds (18") at the entry of traditional Chinese abodes are meant to trip up evil spirits. If you were the mythological god Achilles, you'd know what you would have to protect. And so it is with us.

We know our weaknesses.  And we are usually aware of what to do to keep ourselves from harms way.  Some examples:  Heated buildings-cold weather winter combination brings chafed skin conditions; we protect and provide by using extra emollient lotions, increased vitamin C and E intake (bolsters and strengthens cell structure, inhibiting breakdown) and cover overexposed skin to water and the elements.

Flight or fight responses are protective mechanisms.  A vulnerable person in a threatening situation could get their rankles up, be peskily annoying, scream, argue or take the fall back approach of disappearing or acting ignorant/stupid.  Any one of these choice of expressions is an individual's hedged bet that they will be left alone or be helped (squeaky wheel gets the grease, no matter what squeaky sounds like).

Then we have provide and protect tactics when dealing with energy; our own or others.  Talismans like jewelry, stones, pendants that have significance (have been blessed, come from a strong source) are often used.  My mother used to tell me engagement rings (even though they came first) went second over wedding bands as a source of protection for the marriage. Prayer or ritual around safeguarding one's own energy field in preparation of a difficult encounter or anticipated negative field is useful.  "Power" clothing and certain colors are psychic and psychological protection for perhaps an intrepid meeting. The main action is one of creating an intention while including provisions that become a reassuring reminder.

What would be a meaningfully considerate act to ourselves when approaching a threat?  The very consideration of the question is the first step in providing protection and a thoughtful care gesture to oneself.  Things and situations that threaten, scare and steal energy from us cannot always be avoided.  Entering the crucible is often necessary for our arising.  But considering what protects our energy, rituals that support our being--- is a self-care approach that affirms a right self-Love.