Grasshopper Thoughts, Vol. V, August 2011

I haven't grasshoppered in a while.  I never know when the urge will hit me, and today was the day.  I find this exercise to be useful when my head....my life, for that matter....is too jumbled up with stress to allow me to focus on one specific topic.  This allows me to skitter about, skim from one thought to the next and do some mental house cleaning.  So, here are the grasshopper thoughts that struck today.

When I breathe from my heart, it is never a mistake.

Sometimes the simple act of that breathing from the heart is the most challenging thing on earth to do.  I still do it.

Locking the car w/ the keys in the ignition and my purse and cell phone still inside the car is going to happen occasionally.  I look at it as a reminder to slow down.  Usually that happens after I throw a bit of a conniption.

I can love someone sincerely, but also not like who they are.  The two are not mutually exclusive and both teach me acceptance….of myself and that other person.

The art of kissing should never be underestimated; view it instead as profoundly valuable.  Seriously.

Banana flavored popsicles might be bad for you because of all the sugar, but they sure bring a smile.

When I was wee, my Grandpa assured me that fairies lived where wisteria bloomed.  To this day, I still believe, and I still glance about on occasion to search them out.

I have accepted that having a poor sense of direction doesn’t make the world stop turning.

Look me in the eyes when we’re together.  During conversation, during quiet moments, just a glance is sometimes enough, other times, a long and meaningful moment is profound….show me who you are in this way, and I will do the same.

Embracing manners will always matter to me.  Call it old fashioned, but I find it a beautiful expression of respect and, to me, it is worthy of continuing.    

I will never understand the concept of curling as a sport.  I get that it's a venerable sport, with rich history and culture behind it.  I'll even watch it during the Olympics (because I watch everything during the Olympics), but I remain mystified.

Sometimes blackberries make the world a better place.  It’s that simple.

Those are my grasshopper thoughts for the day.  There are more, of course.....always.  That's the nature of grasshopper thoughts.  They're always lurking and leaping about.  These are the ones I managed to corral and wrestle onto the screen.  

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If you enjoyed this post and would like to read more, you can find me at Healing Morning blog.

Journey to Joplin

I started blogging by writing about a pilgrimage to a monastery, but recently I made a pilgrimage of a different kind to the town where I was born--Joplin, Missouri. I had already bought my ticket to Joplin for a 4th of July family reunion before the May 22nd tornado. My parents, as well as numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins, live in or near Joplin. I flew in at dusk and I picked out with relative ease the bright, busy lights at the intersection of Range Line and I-44, and I could see the twinkling lights and tree-covered streets of Joplin as we flew over. It was also easy to spot a wide brown scar cutting through the heart of Joplin which had no lights, no trees, no greenery. The F-5 tornado had carved a six-mile-long path of destruction, at times almost a mile wide, which left more than 150 people dead, 7,000 homes destroyed, and 18,000 cars totaled.
But if the aerial view was astonishing, the view on the ground was shocking. Standing at ground zero—say, at 20th and Connecticut, or near St. Mary’s Catholic Church, or across from Joplin High School—it looked like a bomb had exploded from horizon to horizon, as far as the eye could see. There actually was a “ground zero” since many survivors described the eye of the storm passing over them, an eerie calm both preceded and followed by deadly 200 mph winds.
When I reached my parents’ house, I sifted through issues of The Joplin Globe that my mom had saved, which included the photographs of all those who had died: The three men with Down Syndrome-- who lived in a group home and died there together--Mark Farmer, Rick Fox, and Tripp Miller. A friend of Mark’s wrote that he rejoiced “in 1 Corinthians 13:10 as they now have perfect bodies.” http://www.neoshodailynews.com/joplin-tornado/x1534029702/Neosho-family-survives-Joplin-tornado-in-car
Will Norton, a teenager who had just left his high school graduation and was sucked out of his car. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVSeptS3kec His sister shared that it would only be a short time until Will saw them again because life is so short and “time goes fast in heaven.” Rusty Howard, who was found in Home Depot holding his five-year-old daughter and two-year-old son in his arms. The Pizza Hut manager, Christopher Lucas, who led everyone to safety in a walk-in freezer and struggled to hold the door shut before he died. Another father of two, Randy England, who had been laid off from the La-Z-Boy Factory in November which was, his wife said, a blessing in disguise because he had spent the remaining time with his family. He also was leading a mother and children to safety in Home Depot when he was killed. There are many stories of people who died while sacrificing themselves for others, and many more stories of those who came to the rescue of those who were trapped and injured.
While volunteering at Forest Park Baptist Church, I met the grandmother of two children who died. She told me she had received a phone call soon after the tornado struck from her daughter and son-in-law informing her that one of her grandchildren was dead, and the other was “going fast.” She told me the family had good moments and bad moments, but prayer was getting her through. “I pray all the time,” she said. “It’s all God.”
Two other children were in the car with their grandmother in the parking lot of Home Depot when the tornado struck. The grandmother told the children to start praying, and ten-year-old Mason Lillard was comforted by the angels she said she could see. Mason was pierced by an iron bar but survived.
Harmony Heights Baptist Church across from Joplin High School was holding its Sunday evening service when the tornado struck. Three members were killed, while the other fifty or so members were trapped in the debris. A group of young people arrived on the scene soon after and began pulling the members from the rubble. On a Harmony Heights Baptist Church newsletter is the following:
Devotion for the morning of May 22
Jeremiah 17:17 Do not be a terror to me; you are my refuge in the day of disaster. “Thou art my HOPE in the day of evil.”
Also posted on Strange Islands

In Hindsight

I realize the effort to defend my ego is a lot bigger than the effort to simply keep quiet. I also find that in either case, I can be equally incorrect.


I have found that when in my younger years, if someone said, “Here, try this”–and it was not a yummy treat, it probably was not in my best interest.

Every challenge always pays off– Always. You just have to realize that in hindsight.

The things I thought made me feel cool then, often make me feel silly now.

I would have never gotten that perm if I could have seen my senior picture beforehand. (See previous.)

Some of your best friendships do not end–they go into hibernation.

Whatever people feel they need to take drugs for can be achieved without them.

The best title I have ever held is “Daddy.” (And that it took my wife to achieve this title–and still does.)

Upon reflection, when we say we were “born this way”– that should only pertain to the good stuff. The rest we learned.

Being a loser is someone else’s opinion that I do not have to agree with.

I can understand and be compassionate to something without agreeing with it.

Kids and golf can be the most fun you will ever have being pissed off.

God would never forsake me, I would forsake God. (God waited for my return.)

It is okay to love someone and they not love you back–just don’t do it on their property after dark.

I should have listened more to what I didn’t want to listen to.

I also should have kept my mouth shut a lot more.

Most of the worst stuff I feared I created. (Often it would never arrive.)

I see that most of the stuff that I spent most of my time trying to get; I no longer have, and no longer need.

I also see that most of what I ever needed was always there, I was too busy looking in the wrong places.

Wounds heal.

Love returns. (Not that it ever really goes away.)

You can’t be totally present always looking back in hindsight.

 
From Artisan of the Human Spirit

freedom to be me...

the journey starts with the "freedom "from" me"...

the ability to lay down my fears, my wants, my needing to be thinner, richer, taller, more humorous, live in a bigger house... the freedom to be me without all that our own minds say is important, more important than who we really are... the keeping up with the Joneses so to speak... the lack of being complete and happy with what we have been given... talents, speech, sight, food, shelter, employment... be gracious for what is before you and not what you think you need to have in order to be who you think you need to be... for all that we lust for, new car, larger home, better job all to soon becomes familiar... and then we move the milestone again... think of your last new car... no one could eat it in, drink in it, wear dirty shoes in it... for the first year.... now it's just your car... where does the race stop... which milestone becomes enough... a million dollars... maybe it needs to be 2 million... maybe 5... what or when is enough...

the freedom to be me allows for a world of opportunity to be lain at my feet... those moments to be truly thankful, free of wants and desires, just moments of being truly blessed and being content with that... quit complaining about the new job you wished for and received only to find out the hours are longer and the people not quite as nice... quit moaning about having to clean the huge new house you prayed for and received... happiness grows from within and if we can learn to let go, get ourselves out of the way and be content, the whole meaning of our lives becomes crystal clear... all this stuff that we do, not to please ourselves, but to look good in the eyes of someone else, slowly robs us of the joy our lives are meant to be filled with...

but this is our life's work... to free ourselves from the stranglehold our "want" machine has on us... just don't give up.... never give up... even if you die trying... to never have begun the journey is far worse than stumbling along the way and ever reaching for deep down peace... 

the freedom to be me, allows me to greet you and be thankful for who you are, not "what" you are, or what you perceive yourself to be...  

meet me face to face,  and being to being without all of our bling and possessions in tow, as that is the person I am interested in... let me care about your smile and the warmth of your arms as they embrace me, let me see Heaven in your eyes and hear the melody of your heart...  show me who you are and I will honour you in the same way... lift me up and I shall carry you also... 

love me as I shall love you... free to be... me... and you...

also posted on my Blog (http://currentripple.blogspot.com/)

Week 30-Lesson 30: Open Up to Fear

I thought if I traveled, I'd find something. Maybe I'd find God. Maybe someone out there could ease the difficulties of life. You know, I used to talk to God. I'd often ask him (her?), "What should I do?" Often times I'd close my eyes and pray very hard. I didn't want to not know where I was going. I needed to be reassured. I needed to know if things would work out.

But no answer came.

And then one day, when I least expected it, after a long run around the neighborhood, a crystal clear voice said, "You know what to do." The voice was strong and reassuring. But I didn't feel strong and I didn't feel I was any closer to knowing what I was meant to do in this world.

I wanted to follow that voice. I wanted to know it intimately. I wanted to understand where it came from. What if I went the wrong way? What if I did the wrong things? What if I made mistakes? What if people didn't like what I was doing?

I was afraid. I didn't have any answers. I made a lot of mistakes in life (and I'm still making them). I fell down quite a bit. I was not a happy person and I didn't respect myself nor did I believe I had anything positive to offer the world. Still, I could not forget that clear voice that came to me on that fall day of my senior year in high school while running down a narrow path flanked with bright orange and yellow maple leaves. The air was crisp, but the late sun shone on my face and filled me with an incredible warmth. But it did not last.

After high school I traveled all over the world searching for that voice. I traveled to Mexico, South America, Asia, India, etc. I meditated, I practiced yoga and once again, in deep silence, I basked in that inner warmth and stillness I had felt for those few moments in high school. For a time, I attributed these feelings to a certain practice. I believed that something outside me--the environment, an organization, a teacher, a guru, God--made me feel like this. Without this practice or a certain environment, I thought that this peace and this joy could not last.

I don't know exactly when things changed. I don't recall the exact day when I understood that voice or when I overcame my fear. I think it was gradual. Meditation helped, yoga helped, walks in nature helped, writing helped, friends helped, books helped--I am grateful for so many things that aided me on my path and gave me the courage to open up.

But that voice. The one that said, "You know what to do." It didn't come from God or Buddha or yoga or meditation or my husband or my friends or my family or anything else. All of these people and things played a part in understanding these words.

"You know what to do," came from me.

Not the Katherine Jenkins "me," but the one that is opened and fearless. The one that is not separate. The one that is connected to everything.

Also on my blog Lessons from the Monk I Married

How I Began to Create My Destiny: A Story in Ignoring the “Can’t”

I have always been rather over-sensitive. Even when I was young, I was prone to boredom, bordering on depression. Inquisitive, but unsatisfied. Somehow I made it through the rigors of high-school and its social life. Once I got into a good college, I proceeded to get more and more lax--after all of my hard efforts, I reckoned I deserved a break. Plus, I was tired of my good girl image and wanted to be reckless.

This mentality continued to dis-serve me throughout college. The harder I worked, the harder I played. During my sophomore year’s specialized program geared towards over-achievers, I had a huge amount of reading and paper writing every week. Rather than miss out on the Thursday fun of welcoming the weekend early, I would force myself to finish so I could join the revelers.

I suppose I needed that release too, since I put so much pressure on myself when sitting down to write. I fought tooth and nail for my very soul, the voice telling me “I can’t” bouncing around my head like a ping-pong ball. It was my first taste of panic, though I couldn’t name it at the time.

I continued to prove that voice wrong, every week. And it still haunts me from time to time. I found myself wondering where it comes from, and why it had so much power over me.

Like any grateful child, I prodded my parents for answers. More bluntly, I blamed them. I ran away from family obligations like my life depended on it. It might have, in fact. But in the course of the rupture, I became more and more broken. Even as I traveled the world and the distance between us increased, I couldn't face myself and my own tendencies, hereditary, cultural or otherwise.

Anger, resentment, desolation—they followed me like stowaways, surfacing during my darkest moments. My health suffered as a result, and I knew that unless I tried something drastic, I'd never recover. So I quit my job and began searching for solutions to my self-inflicted problems. I turned to creative writing in the hopes that one day I could share my story. I never imagined I'd actually have an inspiring story to share.

Now that I've unloaded all this garbage out there, I'll take a pause in the story. We have come to the juncture between the “before” and “after” of the makeover. For me, the turnaround point came through a program aptly named “Inner Engineering.” It was challenging, but fun. It enabled me to look at life anew, with a clarity I'd never known before. By the end, I was bursting with so much energy that I couldn't recognize myself. It was so powerful, so positive, that I needed to explore further; it couldn't be ignored.

After several subsequent programs and long stays at the Isha Yoga Center, I became enraptured by the new yoga and meditation practices I'd welcomed into my life. My health quickly improved, as did my relationships. I noticed my reactions to situations subtly changing; things that once bothered me didn't have the same effect. There was a distance between me and the emotions that used to over-power me.

In this space, I began to shift from unconscious reactions to conscious ones. In this space, I began to create my destiny. In this space, new possibilities emerged like phoenixes.

The old patterns of thoughts and emotions are still there to some extent, they just don't rule me anymore like in my life's previous chapters. I've discovered a bliss so pure that it keeps me wanting more, and knowing that I'm bound to get it once I stop paying attention to the nonsense. I've discovered a world far beyond my wildest imagination: one where I'm happy. And life's volume is just so loud, I simply can't hear the “can't” anymore.

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Interested in discovering more? You can get a discount on Inner Engineering Online, 7 online classes for self-empowerment, and learn a free meditation. Becky blogs about personal and professional explorations at Becky Blab.

Break on through to the other side.

You're in the street late at night. You see a dark shape ahead. Your heart races. You notice your breathing. You feel the sweat on your palms and the thrill of fear in your belly. The automatic part of you gets you ready to run. It's ok though because you realise that the dark shape is just a ladder leaning benignly against a wall. From there it's a quick return to feeling normal. You let our your breath and your body relaxes.

Or not. The rest of your trip home is a bit frantic. Your head snapping from side to side. Your legs have a mind of their own and there's the feeling of being pushed along from behind by an invisible hand. Full scale panic is a hairs breadth away. It's ok though you've good reason to be on alert. You are alone on a dark street at night and you know what can happen. It's happened before......

Or not. In fact you are surrounded by people at a party. You're not sure what triggered your panic, but you are tense. Your heart is pounding. Your breathing is rapid. You have to get out of there. You signal your partner using the private, much practised, non-verbal signal designed for this occurrence. Because as usual your panic takes away your ability to excuse yourself politely.

Fear and panic. Hand and glove. Or not?

I fear something that does not make my heart pound or my breathing ragged. It's source is a shapeless, formless, intangible, hovering monster that dwells behind a door that I lock securely. I have cataloged it as the fear that I will do a bad job and fail. To keep the door locked that separates me from this monster, I busy myself with a million other tasks or I simply do nothing at all. Both of these strategies work for me, but both of them are torture.

I believe that this is what we should fear the most, because holding ourselves back, running away, and locking the door is so much worse than facing the monster. I know that it's only when I face any fear head on that it vaporises, or that perhaps it was never made of anything at all.