And Then There Is Rest

Maybe getting back into a schedule after Spring Break triggered my malaise. Or perhaps my unrest was triggered by working on financial requirements for medical bills with one friend diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer. Or maybe the dullness enveloped me as I waited for news from another friend who spent the week in the hospital with her husband in the Critical Care Unit.

Off and on during the week I also had thoughts about an essay I had just completed. "Is it worthy of trying to find a publication for it?" Writing the essay had taken more than a month of multiple rewrites and intensive mental energy—it came at a price.

I had achieved an important goal. I thought I would be elated. Instead, I felt strangely lost and disgusted with the work.

Worse, not a single creative idea for writing came through for days. I reminded myself that I give my offerings without expectation of return. And consoled myself that even if the piece is worthless, I used my time honestly with clear intention to give something to others with love.

After thinking this through, I went about my days, but something was bothering me. "What's wrong?" I kept thinking. It seems I'm always either actually dealing with something "wrong," or expecting something to be awry, or anticipating and trying to avoid suffering.

Pain, suffering, death, disease, and all the "wrong" things about life are foreign, incompatible experiences for the soul. So it's not surprising that while we're in the physical world we often find ourselves perched on a look out with a telescoping lens.

I'd fallen back into a comfortable routine after Spring Break, my friend's husband pulled through well, and helping my other friend with breast cancer wasn't a burden but a joy. After a full week searching for the cause of my dissatisfaction, it dawned on me:

I'm in the rest part of the creative cycle.

After a day of activity we sleep to process our mental and

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Happy Black-eyed Susans and the State of the Family in America

Spring brings phlox. White, purples, pinks. They're soft, delicate, peaceful. I adore them. When in bloom, they're always nestled throughout the sacred space in my temple room in small understated vases. But I treasure the Black-eyed Susan's cheerful orange-yellow glow. They have a fire for life but not without graceful countenance.

I just walked in the door from picking my first gathering of the season. Spritely, joyful Susan's deserve larger vases: one white and blue in delicate ceramic design, the other deep ruby-wine glass vase. When I must discard my yellow bundles of love, I put them in the dirt on both sides in the front of the house. They seed themselves. They grow themselves from their own deaths. I've got a whole Black-eyed Susan garden thriving and I want to extend their patches of space.

There's another garden I'm giving special attention to: my family. Every day I turn myself over to the practice of unconditionally loving each member of my family, as well as myself. This takes practice, rigorous practice at first. I don't always feel loving, and people, family included, can be absolutely impossible at times.

But once I decided that my life's work and joy, my spiritual path, the way toward my human evolution was to develop unconditional devotional love, I've found that it seeds itself, sprouts up from and strangles fear, and returns love to me unbounded.

As I braved thorn bushes and stinging Nettle in open sandals to pick Susans, I was thinking about families and our relationships within them. I agree with Debra Moffitt in How Relationships Heal: Moving into the Divine Union.

Within relationships we have tremendous potential for spiritual development. Have we heard how this can be possible? Do we understand the significance for our lives? Do we believe this?

If we look at the state of family in America we might suspect our collective answer has to be "no" to each question. Do we care about this? Enough to change—maybe not the whole society, but ourselves? Are we depriving ourselves and our loved ones of something by sticking with the "no" answer?

After looking at statistics below, if you had to rate it honestly, how would you rate the health of Family in America?

Awful, Poor, Fair, Good, Great?

Divorce rate holds firm at 50% for many years^[1], with more than 2 million couples marrying every year^[2]. One million marriages coming to an end every year means emotional turmoil for 2 million people and their families.

Most everyone either knows the emotional and relational costs of divorce or is close to someone who does. Divorce may be nasty or not, but almost always is painful as we watch life push us forward past evaporating dreams.

Divorce isn't the only familial ill in America.

As you read the numbers below, please don't read too fast. Allow yourself to remember that each number refers to a human being.

Every day 5 children die from abuse and neglect right here in our country^[3], or 1,770 children in 2009^[4]. However, this number doesn't take into account the fact that 50-60% of children's deaths due to maltreatment are not listed as such on the death certificate. 80% of these children are under 4 years old. In addition, an estimated 695,000 children were abused in 2010^[5], and in 2009 there were reports and allegations of abuse involving 6 million children.

More than one in four children live in a single parent home^[6], or 24 million  children^[7]. 408,000 children were in foster care^[8] in 2010, but it should be noted that closer to 600,000 move in and out of foster care during the year.

Every day more than 3 women are murdered by their partners^[10]. About 1.3 million women are victims of physical violence by their partner every year. Nearly 7.8 million women have been raped by their partner at some point in their lives.

Domestic violence is the leading cause of injury to women—more than car accidents, muggings, and rapes combined. Studies suggest that up to 10 million children witness some form of domestic violence annually.^[11] In 2005 there were 191,000 cases of rape or sexual assault reported,^[12] a significant number of cases are not reported.

Whenever I listen to the news or hear depressing things like these statistics about the state of family in America I feel overwhelmed. What can I possibly do to help change the suffering in the world? What's really frustrating is I usually answer, Not much.

But I can change what's happening in my home with my significant other, my children, my grandchildren, and my broader family. I can change how I relate to my friends and colleagues.  I can change how I behave in relationships and I can do it today.

Guy Finley writes, "How do we illuminate our relationships at home, in our workplace, wherever we are? What must we do to enlighten this murky world of ours that staggers under the weight of its own shadows? We must cease being an unconscious part of its darkness."

I see my Self and each being as a spiritual individual and understand we are eternally interconnected in relationships. I choose to act with each person, event, and my environment in a manner that honors and energizes how I want to express myself in my personal relationship with the divine. I design my relationship and establish the tenor of that relationship with divinity by choosing how I act in each circumstance now.

Let the numbers remind us; let the human beings remind us; let our loved ones remind us: we can choose to love unconditionally.

With love to you and your family,

[1] CDC FastStats

[2] http://www.divorcereform.org/rates.html

[3] http://www.childhelp.org/pages/statistics

[4] http://www.gao.gov/new.items/d11599.pdf

[5] http://www.childwelfare.gov/systemwide/statistics/can.cfm

[6] http://www.familyfacts.org/charts/135/more-than-one-in-four-children-live-in-a-single-parent-home

[7] http://datacenter.kidscount.org/data/acrossstates/Rankings.aspx?loct=2&;by=a&order=a&ind=107&dtm=432&ch=a&tf=133

[8] As of 2010, http://www.childtrendsdatabank.org/?q=node/199

[9] http://www.ncadv.org/files/DomesticViolenceFactSheet%28National%29.pdf

[10] Extrapolated from http://www.ncadv.org/files/DomesticViolenceFactSheet%28National%29.pdf

[11] http://domesticviolencestatistics.org/domestic-violence-statistics/

[12] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rape_in_the_United_States

The First Five Minutes

I like to set my inner compass for the day before I lift off the covers and begin moving. I begin by thinking about what is scheduled for the day, who I will interact with, what I'll do. First I note without judgment my thoughts, sensations, mood, and emotions, and breathe into them with acceptance. I gather myself—all parts. The multiple voices in my head and the variety of feelings, and I think and feel through how I would like to interact with the day.

This self cooperation with all our parts shouldn't be underestimated or undervalued. I use it many times, not just during my first five minutes, to manage stress, anxiety, increase work output, and resolve conflicts at other times.

During my five-minute alignments, I consider how I want to see myself and the world.

I have found that the key to the practice of loving unconditionally is remembering that I am a spiritual being and others are spiritual individuals, too. When I see someone in the day, I often make a mental note while we're talking, This person is more than what I see, s/he is a spiritual Self.

To get myself to make this mental note in real time with a person, I remind myself in my first five minutes. What can I say about reminding myself to remember? Our natural condition in the material world is to be forgetful. I want to remember, to be conscious, and present every day. I don't find this comes automatically, but it can come easily through practice.

So, I'm lying in bed and I think about the activities scheduled for the day. If it's likely to be a hectic day, I'll lovingly explain to myself that I'll breathe and move through the day without rushing. I may move quickly, but I don't want to rush. Rushing causes me to be unconscious about what I'm doing and why.

While cutting vegetables, sweeping the floor or speaking with a doctor or an IRS agent I want to remember that I'm acting as service to others. I want to be in service to the people I love. We can always look for ways to extend the boundary of love beyond our family and friends, but first we must start with those we're closest to.

Back to my meditation. Maybe tensions have been growing during the past few interactions with someone I'm going to see that day and I want to diffuse the situation. I visualize the person in my mind, see them as a spiritual being, check in with my own boundaries and needs and commit to honoring what is required for my health. I remember good qualities about this person. Then I ask to be of service.

Whether it's a person or a relationship or an activity I focus on becoming conscious about, I bring as much clarity around my intent as possible, as if setting the stage for the players to act out the drama later. I can even visualize how I would like to see the exchange go. I don't think events will unfold according to my vision of them, rather I'm clarifying and strengthening my intent.

Taking five minutes when I wake up, or five seconds before I begin an activity or interaction, to willfully set the course of my relationship with the day or event or person predisposes me to behavior I would like to model.

Without being conscious like this, I find myself less capable of navigating through a difficult exchange or pressing on with determination when I’m bored, scared, or simply lazy.

Unlike artificial energy from coffee, RedBull, or 5-Hour Energy, if I consciously align my intents and emotions with my integrity and desired behavior, I have inner strength to draw on throughout the day.

Artificial stimulants that can mask genuine needs of the body such as proper rest, nutrition, and relaxation and thus create imbalance and even illness, but inner strength guides me to not only recognize my genuine needs—all of them: physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual, this inner powerhouse supplies intelligence, energy, discretion, and intuition to help me maintain balance and spiritual direction.

Conscious days spill into my dreams at night.

Sometimes I clearly see myself working through emotional and mental challenges in my dreams; I become a witness of inner healing. Often, if I pay attention, I learn tips and tools for navigating "waking" life.

By taking five to set my compass, if I head south with an attitude or behavior (with myself or others), I’m likely remember my true destination and re-track my steps, or relocate my direction, toward what’s important.

The early moments of awakening help me tap the wisdom of the right brain and my heart.

It's a time of synthesizing and looking at wholes and aesthetics and seeing concepts, events, people, and relationships in completely different perspectives. It's a time, literally, of setting tones, like hitting a bell and letting the sound reverberate through my body and align my heart.

I like keeping my eyes closed when I wake, and stay in a meditative state, while I imagine through whatever character, quality, behavior, or perspective I want to work on. It's often surprising—always edifying—where the randomness of thoughts and feelings lead and how powerfully they stay with me. Just by being with my day like this before it begins I often see ways to make the day more enjoyable or manageable.

Inner strength, acceptance, focus—developing what I want my inner landscape to look like—is fueled by an inner commitment to develop it. Just as the balance in my bank account will only grow when I make deposits of money in it, inner strength grows through deposits of attention and intention.

If I take this spiritual perspective in mind and heart, then living high aspirations even when everything and everyone seems to be going against my grain is manageable. It's almost as if taking a few minutes to lay down some track is all I need to pick up speed and stay the course.

Come from your heart for your first five minutes and watch your life shift. To your first five and finding your heart compass,

Come From Your Heart: Heroine of Your Journey

I studied mythic story structure according to Joseph Campbell in A Hero with a Thousand Faces and Christopher Vogler's The Writers Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers to prepare myself for a rewrite of my memoir. A friend explained he saw his life in terms of mythic structure. He regularly speaks in metaphors and I found his perspective of life fascinating. I've rarely considered my life, or life in general, from a mythic story perspective.

What fascinated me was that when I laid out the sequencing of Three-Act story structure,  archetypal characters, and overall quest structure of the hero/ine in mythic story stucture my life's narrative lined up closely, nearly exactly.

There were four tent-pole-climaxes/ordeals with scenes and sequences. I left the ordinary world at seventeen having been called to a challenge at eight, and entered the special world of a different culture and experience, replete with tests, allies, enemies, thresholds, threshold guardians, tragic heroes, magic talismans. I entered the inner belly of the whale and came back out to tell a story.

When I noticed the coincidence of how a life did fit into mythic story structure, I shuddered and contemplated Schopanhauer's perspective that if we live long enough to stand back and look at our life story as an objective observer, we would be shocked to see the rich cohesiveness, as if we lived the plot line laid out by a conscious writer.

With a deepening appreciation of the perspective of mythic story structure, I stood back and reviewed my losses, my pains, my lessons, the betrayals I performed, the betrayals I experienced, as if they were completely separate from me, though they formed me, lent me wisdom and opened my heart. I felt all the pain I had experienced was worth passing through—every sob and splitting open of true feeling, a necessary step to reach where I have come: Willing and determined to love unconditionally with full trust. All the pain of the past, all the hurts, all the lost hope from frustrated expectations were lifted from me completely and I've been reborn without the fear of death. For however the rest of my life plays out, it will be with the intelligence that the life as a whole has shown. I feel blessed beyond my deepest expectations. My life feels whole and complete even if I have to leave in this moment.

As I read about story structures, it also occurred to me that I was the heroine in my life story—not in the sense of story structure, but in the sense of fact. This sudden thought surprised me and made me very uncomfortable.

Who was this heroine? What type of heroine was she? What type of heroine did I want her to be?

Besides being the heroine in your life story, you are the co-author. Two very important roles. If you're not a writer, and the metaphor doesn't speak to you, consider you are the composer, choreographer, or painter—whatever type of artist you are, you are the artist creating the landscape of your life.

Of course, we often feel that life unfolds its own mysterious ways. So mysterious sometimes it feels like pure chance, and other times so mysterious it seems everything is pure intelligence.

"Where should we begin? Begin with the heart. For the spring of life arises from the heart and from there it runs in a circular manner."

— Meister Eckhart

As memoirist, I think a lot about story. Three-Act story structure. Mythic story structure. I had hero/ines on my mind as I studied archetypal roles in story.

When a heroine in the story interacts with another person she is intersecting into the life of another heroine. Everyone is a hero/ine of their own story. If we honor ourselves as a heroine and everyone else we meet as the hero/ine in their story we can bring conscious respect for the spiritual hero/ine Self. When we do this with each other we forward the goals of all heroines. We create heroines and their stories of inspiration.

I've always thought a heroine would be gallant, brave, and a heart-centered nurturer. As I child I dreamed of becoming like Joan of Arc. I wanted to sacrifice my life for others. It took me forty years to learn how to sacrifice myself without losing my Self or hurting myself. The lessons that drew blood and broke my heart have meaning. I now trust and am peaceful, genuinely happy.

I've never thought of a heroine as a damsel in distress. The heroine of my ideals loves broadly and richly, continually giving and humbly accepting, pushing through the pain an open heart brings, and she keeps extending her capacity to give love beyond previous boundaries. It seems the more I nudge myself toward loving, the more the universe loves back.

When you hear "heroine" what comes to mind? Having power as the heroine, If you thought about scripting your life, would you make any changes? How would you align your behavior and beliefs of the heroine you see or want to be? Are you taking steps to become her?

The great events of world history are, at bottom, profoundly unimportant. In the last analysis the essential thing is the life of the individual. This alone makes history, here alone do the great transformations take place. And the whole future, the whole history of the world, ultimately springs as a gigantic summation from these hidden sources. In our most private and most subjective lives, we are not only the passive witnesses of our age, and its sufferers, but also its makers. We make our own epoch.

—Carl Jung

To you, Hero/ines,

Meena Forgives Buddha

She didn't forgive Buddha the saint-ascetic, but Buddha, the pit bull who bit her in the face two weeks ago.

There's something Buddha-like in the act of a small child forgiving a dog who hurt her.

Meena and I were standing in front of the refrigerator in the middle of a lengthy three-year-old dialogue wrestling with her emotions about the event.

"The dog says, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Meena said in a different voice and using an animated face.

"I'm sure he's sorry," I reply.

"I won't do it again," Meena said in a now-distinct dog voice.

"He might do it again, Meena. You have to ask adults to help you before you go near animals."

"He didn't bite this cheek," she said while she pushed her little finger into the cheek that is unmarred. As she gazed at the floor, she slowly felt around all parts of the uninjured cheek. I can't say what she was thinking, but perhaps something to do with the normal skin of one cheek in comparison to the other cheek that has caused her so much pain and fear of pain. What goes on in a child's mind as they learn about the passage of time, change, and suffering?

"No, sweetheart, he didn't bite that cheek," I finally responded.

"I forgive Buddha," Meena said contemplatively in her own voice.

I stared at her. Yes, it seemed she understood the basic concept of forgiveness: I'm not mad though I'm hurt.

She acknowledged, then made decisions about, two highly complex human emotions: suffering and compassion.

How is this possible for a toddler? Where did she learn to put the two concepts together? Moreover, what impelled her to offer Buddha forgiveness?

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Reflections on International Women's Day

Today's a busy day.

Women around the world are celebrating International Women's Day at seminars, conferences, luncheons, dinners, and breakfasts promoting women's rights, dignity, equality, and empowerment. The messages focus on themes such as innovation, the portrayal of women in the media, women in history, women's health, and the importance of education and career opportunities. Michelle Bachelet, the UN Women executive director, shares a message here.

The Library of Congress and The National Women's History Project are celebrating the day with the theme "Women's Education—Women's Empowerment." The International Women's Day group says the day is to celebrate economic, political, and social achievements for women, and their theme this year is "Connecting Girls, Inspiring Futures." The United Nations' theme is “Empowering Rural Women and Ending Hunger and Poverty.”

Thousands of women work throughout the year, not just on one day, to help women and girls. I bow to them in gratitude.

I'm passionate about these issues, yet feel wholly incapable of making a difference in the tragic global picture of the mistreatment women.

My passion smoldered at first, then broke into a blaze by my mid-20s. I had to put a brake on my efforts for women when my health collapsed. Recently I've been thinking more about the historical picture for women, past to present: from the horrors of witch-burnings, sex slavery, and genital mutilation, to rape, bride burnings, flogging Muslim women to death for exposing an inch of skin, domestic violence, and female infanticide.

Sacred Laundry

A chill rushed through the open windows as a storm approached. A load of laundry tumbled in the dryer. After several hours at the desk writing, I stood. As always, my hips and knees didn't want to move at first.

Friday afternoons are a time to steward items in the house back to their places, but it was really cold, so first I walked around closing one window after the next. I wondered if I should turn on the heat, as I rubbed my shoulders and slid into the laundry room. Aaaaah! I held the warm bundle of clothes a few extra seconds before dumping them on top of the machine to begin folding—my first step toward pulling the house together so I could finally relax. I wanted to get going and onto the relaxing part.

As I began sorting the family's clothes I was struck with affection.

There was no particular reason. In fact, there was discord in one of my relationships and worry in another. Not feelings I would expect to draw out the stunning affection that welled in me. As if to compound the wonder of my experience, I thought,

I've folded thousands of loads of laundry.

I do two to three loads of laundry a week. Since I've been married to Nog for twenty-seven years, taking into account that I've been doing laundry much longer than that and Nog has helped do laundry for years, that means I've done at least 4,000 loads of clothes! The sheer number of times I've processed laundry can make the chore so mundane as to be mind-numbing or aggravating.

Why was I overcome with love?

To the Future, with Love

Be here now. Live in the Now.

These truisms have circulated for centuries, and authors Ram Dass and Eckhart Tolle, elaborating eloquently on these approaches to life have helped us spiritually, as well as in modern pop-psychology and practical living.

I often carry on conversations with the shower head in my bathroom when I bathe. The act of cleaning is a time for a few minutes of reflection: another kind of cleaning. Today was no exception.

As warm water cascaded onto my body, I heard, "If you want to lay claim to future moments, you must be present to the current."

The focus of the thought was upon the nature of the future. I want to act in respect of my gifts and future is one of them. There's always a future. Just as sayings like, "Be present to the moment," are truths, the future is a truism—a fact that is forever. We are eternal beings. There's always the next moment. That's what I believe. So future is not something I want to shy away from. But I'd like to have a better relationship with it.

Nearly every day I have to reassess my circumstances in light of the present and the future. How I behave with Meena today, how I manage her care, what I expose her to today, will affect her in the future. Every day I'm faced with thinking about how I will interact with a member of my family or a friend. It seems all day long I have opportunities to check in with my heart, to stay close to it, so I have more chance of connecting with another's.

How we live in the present affects, even directs, the future—ours and other's.

Because "futurizing" is so deadly to mental health, we're wise to avoid it. My mother is fond of telling me not to "futurize" because the tendency creates anxiety. Well, that's an understatement. Eighteen years ago I developed a full-blown panic disorder that took seven years to bring under control.

What are we going to do about the future? Ignore it? Are we prepared for it? Do we need to be? How do we approach the future in a way that doesn't rob us of sanity?

I have this off-again-on-again love affair with the future.

Meena's Healing Journey

Meena put two grapes in her mouth and carried one in each cheek to pre-school this morning. If there wasn't a bandage on her face you'd never know that she was bit by a dog just ten days ago.

"Mom, come look at Meena's face," Pavana yelled from the bathroom last night.

"There's new skin growth!" I said.

Nag came in to look, too. "Wow."

Last Monday I took Meena to the cosmetic surgeon. After a traumatic ten minutes (which felt like half an hour) removing the stitches, the surgeon explained that the little chunk out of her cheek will leave a significant scar because so much flesh was removed.

He explained that in cases like Meena's they would do cosmetic surgery. But it's advisable (adults willing) to wait as long as you can. Children's skin is so elastic that the incision from cosmetic work would stretch and become wide as they grow. I had no problem waiting; I had dreaded this news: she would do well with cosmetic surgery. Now we know it's best that Meena decide for herself, if and when, she wants cosmetic surgery.

I had mixed feelings. We don't have to do more surgery now, but the scar is quite a mark. Luckily, there's a reason to leave aside any worry at this stage about the healing of the wound.

A friend gave me Montmorillonite clay, minerals (often from volcanic ash) that form in microscopic crystals, forming a clay. It is used in internal and external healing.

In December, my friend's three-year-old son lost the top part of his middle finger halfway at the nail bed. She rushed him to the ER, with the tip of his finger, but the doctors said there was no reason to stitched it back on. They put a stitch in the finger, and told her his finger wouldn't grow back.

Of course not. When do we see fingers growing back?

Determined to heal her son as best as possible, my friend began packing his finger with Montmorillonite clay. In just a month and a half after the accident, 95% of his finger has grown back!

A Dog Stole My Meena's Face!

The person on the other end of the line was mumbling. I was frustrated. When I suddenly understood, I slammed down the phone.

"A dog bit Meena in the face," I screamed to Pavana.

My mind raced. I couldn't even imagine damage to Meena's precious face. My stomach sank as we ran to the car.

In front of the house, a police officer stood with several people. A man held Meena, screaming. I took her in my arms and squatted on the ground with her draped over my knees to look at the wound.

My stomach churned with nausea as I suddenly remembered holding my two-year old brother Christian, covered in blood after a dog had bit him. I had rushed to the kitchen sink, holding his arms tight as he screamed, his head jerking to each side.  I couldn't make out the features of his face through the blood. But I had to make sure the dog hadn't bit his throat or hit a main vein in his neck—that he wasn't dying. Then I saw. Christian's nose hung loosely on his face with a thin patch of skin on one side. The dog had basically removed his nose.

"Meena, I'm just going to look," I told her. But she was hysterical. I looked.

A circular section of her lower left cheek was completely gone and a laceration extended an inch. It was wide, and exposed muscle and fat loosely dangled. The wound was awful.

"We have to go to the ER, son, quick."