Freedom from facebook (?)

Yesterday, it was a Monday, at about 6:31pm, I impulsively decided that I would forego facebook for one entire week. I noticed that my tendency, when I have a few minutes of nothing planned to do, is to check facebook. The problem is that one can get lost there for more than the foreseen few minutes. And what more productive things could I be doing with my time? Don't get me wrong, I love facebook and enjoy sharing ideas, thoughts, music, Xavierisms...and I come across some really great and inspirational stuff from time to time.

But I have been wondering what facebook does to my ability to remain in this fabulous present tense. Quite some time ago I caught myself thinking: "That would be a great status update!" And then my brain began repeatedly producing such thoughts. Facebook made me develop a new thought pattern, a habit, a samskara if we want to use Sanskrit. Now, when something great/funny/inspirational happens, I almost immediately think to myself, "Hey! I should put that on facebook!" Consider how this affects my ability to live in the moment...right? Not good. But I am torn, because I do like facebook.

I have to admit that I have, since my declaration to abstain, checked facebook in order to communicate with my friend who is not entered in my new phone. Silly, I know. So I have to message with her on facebook until she texts me. I haven't posted and I try not to read the news feed...but I see the first few things. I feel like I am missing opportunities to express myself!

Hence, I write this silly blog post, which barely anyone will read because I won't "share" it on facebook. Which brings me to another issue: narcissism. I want to express myself. And I can write a blog or post things on facebook or twitter or instagram (woah! I just realized that I can get instagram now because my phone takes pictures!! yipeee!!) So now the world can see me again! Where is this need, this desire to be seen, to be heard, stemming from? Who the hell am I and does anyone really care what I have to say? I guess some people must because I do enjoy the expressions of others. Like anyone, some posts resonate more than others.

Why is that? I feel like we can only hear, only understand certain messages. Some we disagree with, some we like, some make us roll our eyes. But the same post that makes me roll my eyes makes another person jump for joy; the same post that changes my worldview makes another person shut down and get angry. I have been so incredibly in love with the band Nahko and Medicine for the People lately. I posted like five videos on my facebook wall. It appeared to me, based on the lack of likes and such, that nobody cared. The lyrics, the message, is of unity and equality, of love and interconnection. And the music itself is fucking awesome. So why doesn't everybody love it as much as I do? The answer is not simply that we all have different tastes. It's that we have different rhythms, frequencies. And some messages make some of us uncomfortable. In any case, "Time to increase my frequency!" (That's a line from this awesome song "Budding Trees").

There is a duck inside of you!

This morning was proving to be less than calm, less than peaceful, both in my mental landscape and in my surroundings. As I went about my morning getting ready routine I felt surges of excitement, anger, frustration; anything but peacefulness, nothing akin to certainty.

Don't get me wrong, I like uncertainty. It provides opportunity for growth and expansion, but it isn't always pleasant. I realized that Xavier was also feeling some emotions this morning as I entered the living room. He had been asked to get dressed, maybe even with some sternness at this point. He exclaimed, "Nothing is real! My dada is not real! My mama is not real! Not even I am real!" We are talking serious 5 year old existential crisis. I glanced around and noticed The Essential Rumi lying on the coffee table. As we have recently developed a habit of asking Rumi for help, I declared: "Wait! Let's see if Rumi can help us!"

I raise the book above my head, uniting with the wisdom therein and feeling where exactly to open the book. I even place my finger upon the page before reading whatever passage comes forth. And here is what we learned:

There is a duck inside of you.

Her bill is never still, searching through dry

and wet alike, like the robber in an empty house

cramming objects in his sack, pearls, chickpeas,

anything. Always thining, "There's no time!

I won't get another chance!"

A True Person is more calm and deliberate.

He or she doesn't worry about interruptions.

But that duck is so afraid of missing out

that it's lost all generosity, and frighteningly expanded

its capacity to take in food. (66)

It was perfect for me, as a message to reflect upon. And it was perfect for all of us, as we started laughing at the idea of having a duck inside of us and all began quacking, pecking and playing around!

On the road to becoming a "True Person," whatever that might mean, I will consider my actions more mindfully, more deliberately. I am often impulsive, maybe because I fear that I will miss out, that I won't get another chance. 

There is a duck inside of me. There is a duck inside of you? And together we might quack!

"What would you like to do if money were no object?" I would write.

According to my most favouritest blog these days, Brain Pickings, yesterday (Jan. 6) would have been Allan Watts' 99th birthday. I didn't previously know who Allan Watts was, though I certainly did see this video at some point in the last couple of years, whenever it went viral enough for me to click on it:

 

The video had a profound impact on me the first time I saw it, yet I was unwilling to admit the answer. What would you do if money were no object? I would write, by the sea. There would be a sacred space for movement and meditation, for conscious breathing. I would live near the ocean and would head out surfing whenever possible. A space for reflection, creativity and even healing. A retreat where others could come and find inspiration as well. Not just to write but to create.

You see, I have always written. My first story was written in French and published in a children's magazine called "Clin D'oeil." I think I was in grade 3 when I wrote about a young girl who ran away and was adopted by a wolf pack for the weekend. Indubitably, the Disney version of Kipling's The Jungle Book probably had something to do with my theme. The magazine gave me some kind of prize for writing that story and, if I recall, they wrote to me and asked me to write more stories. Even at that young age, I was already somehow stifled. I never did send them anything else.

I recently found many of the journals I have kept over the years. So many of my entries begin with phrases like, "I need to write." And then I proceed to write about how I should really be writing more. Countless ideas for stories, collections and poetry fill these journals. Unedited, half-finished poems litter the pages. Loose pieces of paper pregnant with possibility are tucked amidst them with the instruction: "Finish this!" 

But I haven't. You see, I know that I am a writer, but I am afraid that I am not necessarily a "good" writer. Perhaps I am finally nearing a period in my life where my daring, my courage will allow me to move past the fear of failure, of rejection to a place of abundant creativity. Letting go not only of the judgement that I anticipate from others, but letting go of my own self-judgement. It's time for me to be "daring enough to finish." 

"Daring Enough to Finish" (Rumi)--you didn't really think reveal my own poetry for judgement yet ;)

Face that lights my face, you spin

intelligence into these particles

I am. Your wind shivers my tree.

My mouth tastes sweet with your name

in it. You make my dance daring enough

to finish. No more timidity! Let

fruit fall and wind turn my roots up 

in the air, done with patient waiting.

Let your Love be like a Lighthouse

Tomorrow is Xavier's first day of kindergarten. He is excited. I'm excited too, and a little nervous for him. To be honest, I am not convinced that school will ultimately be good for him. I do think the kindergarten we have found for him will be awesome! But school in the traditional sense, I'm just not so sure. Luckily, Edmonton dos have a ton of really neat scholastic options.

When I was at Wanderlust I went to a speakeasy with MC Yogi. He told us parts of his story that day, the first time he had ever publicly shared aspects of his story. One thing that was really hard for him was being in school, and not because he isn't smart or disciplined enough but because it felt like prison to him. In short, school was a bad place for him to be.

When it came time for questions I sat quietly waiting to see if what I wanted to ask should really be asked. Then, at the end there was a moment and I knew I should ask my question. I wasn't sure how I would phrase it so I just started talking. I said something like, "I have a 5 year old son and he's very bright, he loves making music and singing song lyrics. You talked about your difficult experience with school and I guess, I'm...(choking up a little...deep breath) Hoooph. I guess I am more worried about it than I even knew. I'm worried about Xavier going to school and what it might do to him. So I don't know what my question is. Do you have anything, any insight you might share?"

He paused and said, "First of all, I see your love for your son and it is beautiful. Keep loving him like that. You see, you have to be the lighthouse. Your love is the lighthouse on the shore. His path will be whatever his path will be and all that you can do is love him with integrity, act with integrity. You don't want to go out there and try to guide him in because then nobody can find their way back. Let your love be solid and strong. Be the light so that when he needs you, he knows just where you are."

Woah. This is the only possible answer to what I was asking. Other people came up to me and said, "Have you thought of homeschooling?" I have. And then some who said they were worried too. Some who said try alternative schools. All kind suggestions but MC Yogi gave me the only TRUE answer possible. "His path will be what it will be. Your job is to love him unconditionally. And to act with integrity." Which points to the need to discover and to be my true authentic self.

Thank you so much MC Yogi <3 As Xavier partakes in his first day of kindergarten, I'll remember to always be his lighthouse, always shining for whenever he needs to come home.

"Where did she go?" Searching for the Self

It was Thursday night. I was tired and in a pretty negative head space. I had been reading Derrida's Of Grammatology, which I actually quite enjoyed, until I started discussing it with others. Hearing their interpretations, wondering if my own interpretations were wrong. Why should my interpretations be wrong? Why should their interpretations be either? A work, a text means what it means to you when you read it. The damage, the illumination, the propensity to question is already done upon ingesting the words. Of course you can change your mind, but better not to do so simply because of what another person says. Experience it for yourself, put what you have read to the test by searching deep deep inside...

That was a tiny rant. The post is to begin: It was a Thursday night and I was questioning my decision to take a 3 day yoga for kids teacher training. We needed a journal and I was looking everywhere for the one I was currently writing it. I couldn't find it anywhere but I found another one, one I had only written in once. The only entry began: "A fresh moleskin. I thought it was the old one. I was to work on my shadow poem that I had started. Xavier told me to write a poem about a little girl...maybe I should." So, on the night before my kids yoga teacher training I reread something, more of a musing than a poem, that I had written on February 20th, 2012.

Where did she go? I knew her once.
Deeply, wholly, truly, sweetly. I knew her.
Has she really gone or does she remain?
Somewhere in the depths of this me that has been constructed.
Constructed by me, my experiences, my reactions to the world around.
Life doesn't merely shape, it adds.
Layer upon layer while she sits quietly.
Unworried, unafraid beneath the heavy burden of "personality."
She waits, but wants nothing.

Once in a while she catches a glimpse,
sees the light through the time unlikely whole–
A tunnel through the mass of unreal, of imagined or of unimagined.
Sometimes Others can see her shine.
I see the light reflected back in me from their eyes.

To discover who you are, what you are, you must first dis-cover.
There is so much dis-covering to do.
Peeling back layer after layer, unrolling, de-velopping until all layers are removed.

To know who you are, begin by removing that which you are not.
It will sting, it will burn, it may even bleed.
Whatever is left in the end, whatever is revealed must be the answer.

She's in there. I know she is.
Wide eyed, the image of love and of truth.
That little girl, I will not lose her completely.
Indeed, to do so is impossible.
She will rule again, in this I trust.

When I reread those words I knew taking the training was in the cards (as they say). And (instead of 'but') I had no idea how transformative and how healing the kids yoga teacher training with Nicole Koleshis of Next Generation Yoga would be. Tears and oh so much laughter. Our inner children, the who we are at our core before life happened to us (often causing so much trauma along with the joy, often prompting so many walls to be built while still showing us the incredible beauty and love that is life) is really our inner Selves. Allowing your inner child to come out and play does so much more than show you some neat ways to engage children, it shows you how to move closer to living life as your authentic Self.

I sat in meditation on Saturday night after the second day of the training. My usual pain spot behind my right shoulder began to tingle. The tingling spread over my entire right shoulder, front and back, into my chest and then down my arm. It felt so healing, so good. And tears were coming followed by me observing in my body the experience of intense fear and inability to understand. You see, when I was about 2 years old I pulled a pot of boiling water (my nice little pot that I loved to play with) onto myself. I received third degree burns on my chest and right arm. I suspect that the scar tissue runs deep and I gained some insight into what that experience might have done to shape who I am, to form my outlook on the world. Not good, not bad-simply an insight into Self, some very useful svadhyaya (self-study).

I am deeply grateful to all the beautiful, fun, inspirational women who participated in the teacher training. And to our amazing teacher Nicole for helping us all to grow and to love ourselves a little more. "I am happy."

Themes? Patterns? Groupings? Why?

Today the moon is full. It's in Leo and that means creativity (according to some) or communicating with ancestors (according to others). I'm starting to think that all astrology is some pretty awesome cosmic storytelling...much interpretation going on. The point is, I feel like I should write something...but I don't know what. Before beginning I wanted to choose a theme, I wanted to have a title...my indecision nearly caused me to just call it quits and go to bed. But is life really like that? Do we live according to themes? No! It's mostly a wild ride and we try to make sense by grouping everything. So I thought I might just write and see where I end up...

Ancestors. I love my Grandma, and I miss her. I told my friend Sarah, after impressing her with my ability to taste that she didn't use quite as much butter as the shortbread recipe called for, that my knowledge of baking comes directly through an ancestral link to my Grandma's life experience. I have never even made shortbread! Maybe it's true, maybe I'm full of shit. Likely some of both.

I had so much fun visiting Sarah and Vagelli in Calgary. We even drove to the mountains, hiked along a gorgeous mountain stream and saw three amazingly beautiful elk (with huge antlers). And we danced. Dancing. There is something so healing about bodies moving together to the same rhythm. Something intriguing about the way each body represents that rhythm pulsing through it. We should all dance more, and sing. As a society, we are broken maybe because we don't incorporate singing and dancing into our daily lives anymore.

Someone told me that there is a drumming circle at some cafe in Edmonton. I want to go. I love drumming in drumming circles. But will I go? What am I afraid of? Or am I really really so busy (I kind of am for a bit). And spoken word. Spoken word is so powerful, especially live. I remember seeing Shauntay Grant in Halifax. Wow. And Magpie Ulysses at Ness Creek. Most of the spoken word poets I have ever seen have moved me tremendously...not always because they are incredibly talented (though most of them are) but because they are brave enough to share their words. They have let go of caring what people think enough to bare their souls to strangers...vulnerability. There really is power in being vulnerable. And sleepy...now I am sleepy....

The journey continues

I am in my office at school, supposedly writing a paper. I am a scholar. You see, I had my Vedic Astrology chart read by Paddi Moore(Paddi's blog). She said that I am a scholar, that I have been studying for many lifetimes. When she asked what it is that I do I told her, with a nervous, insecure laugh, that I am doing a PhD in French literature. Paddi doesn't miss much. My insecure laugh along with my chart confirmed that I don't value myself, I don't love myself enough, I could improve my self-worth. I've been intending to LOVE myself for awhile now (see LOVE is my intention post for how I dedicated my entire 200hr SATTVA training to loving myself). I'm making progress, but there's work to be done. She asked me to imagine what the world would be like if knowledge and wisdom were highly valued, valued even more than money. I thought to myself, "I would be a Queen in that world." I am wise (even writing that makes me cringe at the idea someone might judge me for being conceited-I do that too much. Worry about what others think. Try to please them somehow. Awkward and uncomfortable. Seldom resting into my authentic self). But I am wise. I walk into this amazing Old Arts building on the UofA campus most days, passing below the sculpted owl who reads a book as I heave open the heavy wooden doors. Owls. Wisdom. The owl that flew towards me in my meditation once.Wisdom and knowledge.

So I am working on finding value in me. I have already noted that nothing I ever do is good enough for me but I am going to stop being so self-critical and begin giving myself credit for the wonderfulness that is me. Rumi reminds me: "I remind you with these poems to dress in the flower of God's qualities, not your torn robe of self-accusation" (The Glance, 21). I want to take that robe off. I am also, according to my chart, highly spiritual and highly empathetic/sensitive/psychic. I am a nurturer. I care. We didn't get too far into the chart, actually. Much damage control to deal with. It's hard, mourning the loss of love for one's own self. Why can't I just love myself? How will I learn? More than anything I need to learn this, for Xavier. So he can grow up with a mother who truly loves herself, who has a strong sense of self-worth. How else we he believe in his own worth?

I decided to dance and be joyous as I dressed myself this morning. I was having fun but as I caught a glimpse of my body in the mirror I heard the all too familiar judgmental thoughts, mean cruel thoughts to myself about myself. I stood up for myself this time, stating things like, "Hey! That's not nice. Don't think that. I am beautiful, no matter what I say." Xavier and Meshon must have heard me. Meshon asked, "Are you arguing with someone?"
"With myself." I replied.
"What did yourself do to you mama?" My darling Xavier, so sweet.
"Myself was being mean to me." So I will work to silence the mean, judgmental self inhabiting my mind.

I share this perhaps too personal post because, I fear I am not alone in this. Self-loathing. A feeling of worthlessness. We end up living half-lives. I want to love myself enough to dream big, to live a huge and full life! I want to undress myself from this robe of self-accusation and self-judgment. If you feel the need to get naked, please get naked with me ;)

And finally, a poem from Rumi to inspire and enlighten:

Undressing
Learn the alchemy true human beings
know: the moment you accept what

troubles you've been given, the door
will open. Welcome difficulty

as a familiar comrade. Joke with
torment brought by the Friend.

Sorrows are the rags of old clothes
and jackets that serve to cover,

then are taken off. That undressing,
and the naked body underneath, is

the sweetness that comes after grief. (65)