Friday, March 21, 2014


When I was a child I was very sensitive.  I cried easily, loved easily, and was quite physically affected by everything. The world was wonderfully, terribly intense. Bright. Vibrant. ALIVE with colors, sounds, and emotions. Some intoxicating, some excruciating. As I grew older I learned (for the sake of survival) to distance myself from this affectedness. I grew strong, thick calluses around my tender places. I learned that being vulnerable in a world full of suffering was dangerous. My heart needed to be protected by an armor so strong it could not be pierced by the hate and tragedy, the sorrow, and overwhelming hopelessness I encountered.

 I dulled my senses. My innate ability to feel-- joy, sorrow, wonder, disappointment, elation, became casualties of a dysfunctional perception. I, (like so many) mistakenly believed that feelings were a sign of weakness and I steadfastly insulated myself against them. In so doing, I also stopped seeing the beauty, the unfathomable depth of meaning which pervades this human existence. I would find myself, as we all do at times, bowled over by the overwhelmingly miraculous nature of reality. Babies were born. Spring came after seemingly endless winters. Kind gestures touched my heart. Relationships were born where before there was none. I found in others that spark of wonder, that genuine kindness that I recognized, and I began to remember. Little by little, Life's gifts and particularly its sorrows disarmed me. My armor was not pierced so much as it was disintegrated. Life touched my tender heart and stirred within me the knowledge that I was created to feel. I cannot deny this purpose.

My spirit increasingly leads me to a place from which I can find strength in vulnerability. I not only remember how it feels to be affected, but I am allowing tenderness to find its way into my heart where it may soften and melt all barriers, to bring me back to my original perfection. Free from the illusion of fear. Safe in the knowledge that true strength lies in Love. Love of life. Love of self. Love of All That Is, Was, or Ever Will Be. We mustn't guard ourselves from that which is. We cannot seek to limit our experience. It is through our total immersion that we liberate ourselves. We are beings born of infinite Divinity. With this knowledge, may we greet Life. Open and whole, without limitations or barriers against the full potential which is our birthright. With no need to protect or shield ourselves, let us swim fearlessly in the vastness of all that is. Succumb to Life's depths and wade playfully as well in the shallows.

Friday, March 7, 2014

Digging for worms...

Relationships are mirrors for the soul. If you find yourself challenged by the reflections you see, you are being given a great gift--the opportunity to recognize where your spirit cries out for your attention.

With compassion, courage, and deep awareness, even the most difficult people (most assuredly those) can become our greatest teachers.

When we seek comfort from people who reflect only what we want to see, we are neglecting a deep seated need for our soul to heal itself. In essence we may be covering over potentially infected wounds with warm and fuzzy bandages. 

 We all want to feel comfortable, but discomfort is not without purpose. Pain is a signal. It is sent to force us into attention. Be it physical, or emotional, ignoring or masking pain is never prudent when it comes to improving our conditions.

If you find yourself suffering in relationship, embrace the opportunity to look deeply into what pain you are bringing to the equation. You can't heal what you won't see. 

Be brave enough to look under your emotional rocks, dig them up, flip them over and grasp the juicy worms of truth that wriggle underneath.
These are the food for your awakening.

Give thanks to those who serve as rocks in your path. Where you stumble, you are being given an opportunity to find an aspect of your being that may be trapped and waiting to be unearthed. 

"Nothing ever goes away until it teaches us what we need to know." -Pema Chodron


Monday, March 3, 2014


The old woman walked slowly with a cane and a heavy limp. Less of a limp actually as a drag. Her left foot bent in at the ankle making it look odd and drag along the floor as she drew it forward, step after agonizing step. 

She looked so fragile to me as she came through the door of the hospital. The early morning sun streamed through the tall windows and she caught my eye. Her eyes were pale and blue like a tropical sea. Her smile was sweet and tainted with that look of uncertainty that is reserved for the very old and/or the very sick.
For an instant I felt compelled to aid her in whatever way possible. She appeared so alone and vulnerable.

My mind entertained ideas of her in her youth as a strong, vibrant woman. A mother perhaps, who bore children and the weight of the world upon her sturdy, feminine shoulders. 

I was struck by the realities of age and time. I thought of my own grandmothers, both gone now. Their strength. Their presence. Their authoritative wisdom, matched in intensity only by their unprecedented gentleness.

I then let my mind meander on this train of thought, beginning to ponder the significant power of women, of mothers. How our mothers, the creators of life, the very epitomes of strength and vitality, somehow lose their independent, indomitable air and gain a new power. A power so painfully poignant. The power to shift into their own softness. The  pure unadulterated capacity to embrace their own profound vulnerability.  

I sat with this idea playing out in my mind. I sat beside my father whose own vulnerability of late is another story in and of itself. I sat there, being a mother, a daughter, a woman, affected by the very basic realities of human existence. I sat there and I opened to the sorrow and the glory that comes with that depth of understanding. I sat. Contemplative and awe struck. I felt my own heart soften. My willingness to feel was deepened. I was awash in sweet, excruciating appreciation. Alive. However fleeting the sensation, I was  undoubtedly, quite alive this morning.