Failing to Imagine, Learning to See

In Visionary summer, I wanted to take a fresh look at my work/art/life plan. For some strange reason I couldn't see anything with my mind's eye. Who do I want to collaborate with, what do I want to create, what do I want to experience? My attempts to dream life into being went nowhere.

How mortifying that Wild Imagination should have failure of imagination!

But it's hard to dream big when we are feeling small. If we are unable to see anything ahead, it's time to see what's right here. I had to look at my anxiety and fears about no money, no support. I had to name my limiting beliefs. I had to face what in me felt hopeless, helpless. I had to be compassionate with these parts in me and agree to coexist peacefully. Maybe you know what I'm talking about.

I also had to let things be. In taking a pause, I got to fill up on reading about, of all things, the genius in each of us that relentlessly shapes our lives. I also had a most profound nature experience: the swift river flowing over immovable me. I understood how I am sculpted beautifully over time by life, like the granite boulders in the wild river's current. I felt grounded, joyful, satisfied. No pressure to do, just the bliss of being present and awake to incredible simple beauty. A day like that just fills my soul.

And now I have to pay attention to unexpected opportunities and support coming along - the days away at the river, a trip to see family and friends, a teaching gig, an inquiry about commissioned art, a new service project. These things pop up most often when I'm at my lowest, as if the Universe is saying: don't give up, keep going.

So that is what I'm doing.

S is for Showing Up

I'm going to help a friend pack up for a move this weekend. This is part of my m.o., showing up at a significant turning point after a long absence. Maybe it's a dramatic gesture to be just as important as the everyday reliable friends. Or it may be the healer in me responding to a cry for help. Whatever the case, I can show up for my friend it that way.

My teacher Angeles Arrien holds that Showing Up is the essential power of the Warrior, the Leader in each of us. I try to gauge how well I show up and make myself available to life. Where is it easy and where is it more of a challenge for me to be present? This year I've learned about what I prioritize based on what's been easy to commit to and where I say YES. Writing, my family, my home, certain deep friends, a new training make me say YES. And I see where it's harder to show up fully in certain aspects of my work practice and exercise routine.

The hardest thing is how often we don't show up for ourselves. Our feelings of abandonment are transformed when we can just be present and meet ourselves consciously. No fixing or healing, just meeting. I've had the great experience of being received by my own compassion in Focusing. I've felt a necessary connection made by hearing my own words and stories read to me. I've known the back and forth of therapeutic touch. My body-mind is beginning to remember how to stay rather than run off. And it feels good.

It's a lifelong process, this business of showing up. What allows you to show up - in your relationships, at work, with your creativity, with yourself?

Q is for Quality, not Quantity

I splurge in little ways to stay open and abundant. By choosing quality over quantity and taking time to savor, I give myself a greater experience of being alive and connected and present. Sometimes just a taste can open up a world.

Each step of creating an organic heirloom tomato salad can be savored. Selecting the ingredients, I can feel sense the water, earth, and sun dense in the flesh. I can smell the vines, almost feel the pricklies. At the check out counter I chat amiably with the cashier with the faded Maori chin tattoo and am grateful we have money in the bank for this and that she’s here being of kind service. In my kitchen, preparing and arranging the food I lose track of time, move efficiently and with the forehead numbness of pure intuition. In the thrall of everyday creativity.

Eating, slowly taking in this delicious fruit, is a whole mindfulness meditation. I so enjoy the natural sweetness set off by just enough salt. The golden yellow, the green stripes, and the shadowy red fill my eyes. And I laugh with my man at how outrageously good something so simple can be. How lucky we are.

A little luxury is good. Once I paid $3 for one fragrant, softball size peach in Tokyo. Totally worth the memory of peach juice in August running down my face. It didn’t cure my homesickness, but gave me a much-needed connection to the earth there.

Experimenting is good. I brought home the exotic dragonfruit to try, because I’ve never been to the dry tropical places it grows. The magenta fleshed fruit is definitely something to be eaten in appreciative company. I had the pleasure of oohing and ahhing over it with friends who’d come for Sunday brunch.

Receiving is good. The time we went housepainting up the coast, the art teacher had brought one precious truffle from her home in the south of France. Shaved finely over an angel hair pasta appetizer, it was earthy sublime.

Opt for quality over quantity and connect - to the earth and her bounty, to deep nourishment, to each other, and to the seasons. All this lived experience expands out of the relatively brief clock time needed to prepare and eat a side dish together. And that's the key, time shared. I'm convinced it is our most precious resource, how we show up awake and alive to this moment with each other. Here I’m talking about food, but for you it could be something else. Where do you choose quality over quantity?

G is for Go

A friend of mine likes to remind himself about pacing: Slow, Flow, and Go. It's a good teaching for me to come back to exactly where I am right now, before I go rushing off ungrounded.

Slowing down to acknowledge how things are with you now is a kind of gentleness towards yourself. Yesterday in a movement exploration class I found myself trying to do things right, pushing, going too fast. Working way too hard to try to get into ease and flow. But pressure brings constriction, the opposite of flow.

I wasn't giving myself time to rest in the physical support that was there. The floor meeting my hand, the chair holding up my hip, the breath and sounds that help extend and suspend the limbs. I couldn't feel any of that, just frustration. I wasn't letting myself rest in what did feel good and nourishing. I was missing the moment.

So that's the pushing the river. On the other hand is inertia, forgetting there's always one step we can take. We can get self-indulgent, fall into our helplessness and hopelessness. Sometimes the best action we can take is grounding in the body and be present with what's here, even if it's terrible pain and discomfort. Can we just stand it, since it too is part of us? Making effort for the good is honoring where you are right now and supporting where you want to be.

We've all had enough practice bulldozing our way through what we call resistance, with mixed results. What if we could just take a moment to be really present and notice what is here and what is needed next? So where do you Slow, Flow, and Go? And where are you stuck?