How are your toddler disciplines going? Are you doing things that help you stay here and now?
My own life hasn’t changed all that much, yet waves of fear and grief wash over me unpredictably and I sometimes feel out of control. There’s a lot of that going around.
Panic comes from trying to resist and control what’s uncontrollable: the virus, the future, other people, those waves of grief and anxiety. Remember, this present moment is the only refuge from what we can’t control or predict.
Anchoring into your breath will help you stay present. You always have your breath, as long as you’re alive. And it’s the perfect metaphor for what we need to be about these days: accepting the reality of this present moment and surrendering attempts to control what isn’t ours to control.
Martha Beck, as well as many other mostly Buddhist teachers, teaches this “accept and surrender” meditation. Doing it once will help. Doing it for five minutes will help even more. Doing it for twenty minutes in the morning and again in the evening is ideal. But doing it is the helpful thing. Try not to let the perfect be the enemy of the done.
Ready? Here it is. Sit quietly. With every inhalation, say to yourself, “Accept.” With every exhale, say to yourself, “Surrender.” That’s it. That’s all you need to do. When your mind wanders, as it inevitably will, just gently return to your breath and these two words. This is all you do.
You can embellish if you choose. You can substitute other words. (I find “Let go” fits my brain better than “surrender.”) You can expand the words, maybe saying “I accept this world as it is” on the inbreath and “I surrender control of this world” on the outbreath. Whatever. Just, please, do it. It will help.
Every breath is a little resurrection. You drew your first inbreath when you were born, and your last exhale will be at the moment of your death. Every breath in between birth and death can be an acceptance of this life just as it is, followed by letting go of any attempt to control this amazing gift.
Another suggestion, lifted from Kara Loewentheil, is to write a manifesto or mission statement for yourself. I suggest following the “thoughts create feelings which lead to actions which create results” model. Here’s mine that I just wrote:
I believe that I’m strong enough and flexible enough to handle what comes my way, and I feel courageous in my vulnerability to this present miraculous moment. I will show up compassionately as my true self, rooted in Source, loving and free and available for my family, friends, community, and the world.
When I read this, I feel much more relaxed, present, and creative. Is this a manifesto a toddler would write? I think so! Maybe let your inner toddler help you write yours.
I invite you to share your manifesto in the comments, if you’re feeling brave. And let me know how those toddler disciplines are going!
There are so many generous creators offering resources to help us get through these COVID-19 times. Martha Beck is offering a newly-created course for a special corona rate. Registration is closing April 14th, so check it out if you’re interested. (I don’t get a commission. I just find her work insightful, useful, and fun!)
“We’re supposed to feel like toddlers in Square One, not knowing what the hell is going on half the time, and needing lots of naps. If you’re completely bumfuzzled and often tired, you’re doing it right.”
That’s what I wrote in last week’s post about the Change Cycle and how this global pandemic has smacked us into our next metamorphosis. We’re all preschoolers again.
It’s an uncomfortable feeling, this not knowing what the hell
is going on. I’m finding it easier to stay in the present moment, the only
refuge from what we can’t control or predict, when I care for myself like I’m a
three-year-old.
You know how to care for a toddler. You give that child a structure that keeps them safe and supports their toddler work.
Here are some concrete practices for being simultaneously three years old and that three-year-old’s caregiver.
(Do you have a photo of yourself as a preschooler? Put it where you’ll see it often. Do the same for the other adults in your household, as a reminder that we’re all preschoolers now.)
Sleep when you’re tired. Nap early and often.
Draw something. Scribble and doodle, then add color. Finger paint. Mess around with clay.
Go outside. Sit in the sun. Plant seeds. Take lots of walks. Stack rocks. Make a nature mandala. Pay attention to birds and flowers. Lie on your back and watch clouds. Gaze at the night sky. Cuddle with a warm, furry animal.
Put yourself in water. Splash your feet in a river. Wade in a creek. Swim in a pool or lake. Take a bath
TL,DR: We humans, as members of an always-changing Universe, are subject to repeated cycles of death and rebirth. COVID-19 has pushed us into change. Change follows a predictable pattern. Understanding this pattern helps us ride the “Change Cycle” with more ease and better results. The first phase of the Change Cycle as described by Martha Beck is Square One, characterized by death and rebirth. Your job right now is to let your old pre-Coronavirus identity dissolve. This will probably feel painful and scary, and the pain is made worse by resistance. Care for yourself and others as though you’re in active grief, because you are. We are held in Love as we do this holy work.
The Change Cycle is a foundational component of Wayfinder
Life Coach Training. I think it’s a necessary archetypal pattern to understand,
especially during times of transition. And boy, howdy, are we in a time of
transition right now!
Everything in the Universe changes. Every single thing. We
humans are members of the Universe. So change is built into our DNA, however
much we try to deny or resist it. The Change Cycle, as taught by Martha Beck,
is initiated by a catalytic event and has four phases.
Here’s a short overview, followed by a deeper dive into
Square One.
The Change Cycle: Martha uses the metaphor of a butterfly when describing the Change Cycle.* Imagine a caterpillar melting down in its chrysalis. That’s Square One, the phase of death and rebirth. Square Two, the phase of dreaming and scheming, is when the former caterpillar, now “caterpillar soup,” begins to reform and coalesce as a new creation – a butterfly. Square Three is a Hero’s Journey, when the new butterfly does the hard work of emerging from the chrysalis. This is arduous work for the butterfly, and it can’t be short-circuited. Finally, our caterpillar, after going through a lot of acceptance and hard work, flies freely as a butterfly through Square Four! Square Four, because everything in the Universe is always changing, doesn’t last forever. Along comes another catalytic event, and bam! On to the next Square One! Every time you ride this cycle, you get bigger and wiser and more yourself. Unlike our caterpillar, humans ride the change cycle over and over again until we die, unless we resist it.
Martha Beck’s Finding Your Own North Star, p. 245
Caterpillars naturally enter their metamorphosis. Human
beings usually need something to push us into change and transformation,
because most of us resist. The catalytic event that pushes us into the Change Cycle
may be something we longed for and planned for, like getting married or having
a baby. Or it may be something we don’t want and didn’t plan for, like
COVID-19.
Deeper into Square One: My friends, we are in a global Square One. This global lockdown accompanied by instant internet news is unprecedented. Coronavirus has forever altered our world. Remember that Square One is characterized by death of old identities. This pandemic has destroyed our identities as people who get to go where we want, do what we want, and control our own destinies.
Square One is painful, and it cannot be rushed. This square is overflowing with grief. Just like your grief when a parent or a spouse or a dear friend dies, this grief simply must have its way with you, and the best course of action is to accept it. As Tara Brach and other Buddhist teachers often say, “Pain x resistance = suffering. Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.”
When my mom died, I felt like my world had altered
irrevocably. My life had slipped off the rails. I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel
anything but pain again – joy and happiness seemed like they had fled and would
never return. I know you’ve felt this grief, too. You’ve known the deep sadness
of missing someone or something so much you’re afraid you’ll never recover.
The only thing to do when you’re grieving is to grieve. Grief can’t be rushed. It can’t be sidestepped. The dissolution of Square One simply has to happen. Just as the caterpillar turns to caterpillar soup, we become “person soup.” We have to let our former identities dissolve when the new identities aren’t yet clear. The imago cells that coalesce to form the new creation will only find each other when the old creation is completely fluid. Completely disaggregated.
This is how this has to go. Death and rebirth is how our
world works. It’s the story of winter’s death and the rebirth of spring. It’s sunset
and darkness preceding sunrise and a glorious new day. It’s a waning moon
followed by a waxing moon becoming full and illuminating the night. This is how
this has to go. It’s okay. You’re okay. Let go. Let death have its way with
you.
The only way to come out on the other side of this process a realer, bigger, more present and authentic you is to let the Change Cycle have its way.
These days, just like after my mom died, I’m moving more
slowly. I’m tired and inefficient. I’m forgetful and a little fuzzy around the
edges. I’m craving several hours each day just to be with this new reality. I’m
praying, walking, moving my body with love, sitting in meditation, while
working harder than I ever have before. I’m being really gentle with myself –
creating a cocoon for this metamorphosis. I suggest you do the same. Treat
yourself as though you’re in active mourning, because you are. Life as you knew
it, before the pandemic, is gone. It will never be like it was. Grieve the
loss. Give yourself all the time you need.
If you don’t take all the time you need, if you push through
or avoid or try to step off the cycle, you delay rebirth. I know this to be
true. After my mom died and after other catalytic events in my life, before I
knew about how change works, I resisted, sometimes for years. Resisting the pain
caused me to suffer and stay stuck, completely unnecessariy.
How can you tell you’re resisting the death of Square One? Some classic symptoms of resistance are keeping busy all the time, indulging in addictions, numbing, dissociating, avoiding being in your body, obsessing and worrying, and saying things like “Why me?” and “This shouldn’t be happening.”
We’re supposed to feel like toddlers in Square One, not knowing what the hell is going on half the time, and needing lots of naps. If you’re completely bumfuzzled and often tired, you’re doing it right.
If you take all the time you need to dissolve, to grieve,
to become “person soup,” one day you’ll feel a lightening of that load, and
maybe just a glimmer of hope. You’ll catch a flash of light in the distance. That’s
a sign that you’re moving onto the threshold of rebirth. Those holy imago cells
swimming inside you are beginning to find each other and coalesce. A new you is
beginning to form. And just like the caterpillar, your chrysalis will have done
its work. You will be ready to do the hard work of emerging and flying. And we
will be amazed by your beauty!
The Change Cycle is a holy cycle. Although you may not feel like it, although you’re hurting, know you’re held in Love as do this holy work. You will be okay. You will emerge from this experience – COVID 19 or any other catalytic event – as a new creation, and you will be okay.
Contact me if you’d like to delve into this further. I’d love to talk. Consultations are offered free of charge and obligation.
Here are four things I’m remembering now. I hope they help.
1. Change and transformation are how nature works. Nothing in the natural world is immutable. Even rocks change. We’re part of nature. Earthlings are designed to change and transform! Expecting stasis, and equating falling apart with failure, will only make you crazy.
Every thing arises and passes away. That’s always been true. Nothing is fundamentally different now, except that we’ve had our illusions of control ripped away. The caterpillar in its chrysalis has to completely dissolve before the imago cells begin to coalesce into a butterfly. Why do we think that we, with our conscious worry-prone brains so afraid of dissolution, should find this fun??
2. We’re all connected. Elsewhere I’ve written about the moment on the Camino de Santiago when I viscerally knew what science and faith had been telling me all along. That moment on the rainy Meseta, when I felt the presence of the deep heart connecting me to everything and everyone around me, is one I’m rooting myself in these days. I’m sure you have those moments, too. Re-member them. Just as trees in a forest feed each other through their interconnected roots, our rootedness in love and peace feeds our neighbors and our world.
3. We’re all grieving right now. You might have lost someone to death. You might have lost your job. You might have, as I have, lost your freedom to go where you want to go. We’re all grieving the death of our sense of predictability and safety. (See #1, above.) So be gentle with yourself and others. Treat yourself as though you’re in mourning, because you are.
4. Presence is our only refuge from what we can’t control or predict.* You can’t control the past or predict the future. The only thing you’re in charge of is how you show up in this present moment. Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor, has this to say:
Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.
When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.
Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.
Let’s look back at Frankl’s middle sentence above: When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves. I’m reminded of this version of the Serenity Prayer used by Twelve-Step groups: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”
Here’s a “Serenity Practice” to help calm your worried brain:
Write down the things you’re currently worried about.
One by one, ask yourself if you can and want to do anything about the thing, whatever it is.
If so, and you choose to take action, make a to-do list or a checklist. Identify the first step, and calendarize it.
If you’re worried about something you’re not in control of, find a way to begin to accept it. You might try RAIN, or prayer, or a ritual of giving your worry to the universe.
Finally, make a habit of connecting to your Wise Self during this time of intense unpredictability, in whatever ways work for you. Breathe. Walk outside. Do yoga. Call a non-anxious friend. Make something. Help someone.
I’m here if you’d like to talk through this practice. I’m here if you want to talk about anything else on your mind unrelated to COVID-19. I’m here if you just want someone to talk to, especially if your mind is losing its shit. Contact me if you’d like to schedule a free, no-obligation conversation. I have time for you!
Be gentle with yourselves, my friends. Be gentle with each other. Be present to the miracle of this moment.
We won’t be the same when this is over, but we will be okay.
Three twelve-year-old boys asked me that question when I
was teaching at a Roman Catholic school some years ago. These boys, Protestant
like me, were attending the compulsory Ash Wednesday mass for the first time,
and were horrified at what they thought was going on.
I reassured my young students that no, those were not
human ashes.
Today though, to you, I say “Yes! I hope so!” I hope the ashes of Ash Wednesday are your ashes. I hope during this holy season of Lent that you let what’s in the way of love burn up in Easter’s holy fire and wash away in the waters of new birth.
Lent is a time to get back to the true you. To return to and relearn the real sweetness of your heart, underneath the accumulations, armoring, and disguises of the years.
Soften. Gently notice obstacles to love and let them be removed. Be open and willing to be burned up. Trust your essential goodness. Listen deeply to your heart, which is the same thing as listening to God.
Your heart is also God’s heart. Your soul is that place
within you where you and the Holy are most connected and interpenetrated.
That’s the point of Lent. Disciplines are how we do this
relearning, reconnecting, and listening, as incarnated souls living in precious
bodies on this lovely planet in this singular moment. So choose your Lenten
discipline carefully and make sure it does what you want it to do.
Perhaps you imagine Lent as spring cleaning. Or getting
the garden ready for another growing season. Or razing that fancy McMansion and
building a tiny sustainable house in its place. Or, as they do in northern New
Mexico, cleaning the acequias so water flows freely to thirsty places. Or
something else entirely.
The point, when the priest smears the gritty ashes on your forward and says “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” is not to dwell in your badness. The point is to reconnect with your goodness, your heart and soul, where you are at home in Holiness.
The hope of Lent is to give everything that is not true – every obstacle to loving yourself, others, and our world – to the flames of Lent.
Give everything that binds you to the flames, and rise in freedom with the sun of Easter.
There are some things no one else can tell you. Some things you just have to decide for yourself. Unfortunately, these things are the big things. That’s why having someone else tell us what’s true seems so necessary. Who are we to say we know the truth about the big things, such as the meaning of life and why we’re here? It feels important to get the big things right.
Most of us rely on other people and institutions and systems
and culture for answers to the big questions, subconsciously if not consciously.
Dismantling those belief systems is scary. You’ll probably feel like you’re
falling. You are!
As Chögram Trungpa said, “The bad news is you’re falling through the air, no parachute, nothing to hang on to. The good news is, there’s no ground.”
It’s not about knowing the truth, you see. It’s about seeking your own answers to the questions that are ultimately unanswerable this side of the grave.
Why is there life at all?
What’s the purpose of your particular existence?
Where do we come from? Where are we going?
How shall we live while we’re in these bodies on this planet?
Why do we suffer and die?
What is love?
Does God exist? If so, what is God’s nature?
And there are the big questions for churchy people: sin and morality, the need for redemption, forgiveness.
The answers you’ve received from your parents and teachers, your churches and your schools, your televisions and social media feeds – they’re all made up. They’re someone else’s best guess.
No one knows the true answers to the big questions. That can
be freaking scary. But please don’t hand your questions over to a “higher”
authority. Don’t throw your hands up in despair and go back to Netflix. Don’t
take the easy answers that you know in your heart aren’t right for you. Don’t
decide the answers aren’t important.
To rely on someone else’s answers is to hand them your power. We can’t ultimately know the important answers. Anyone who says they have them is lying or deluded. The seeking, the doing the best we can, is what’s important.
So be intimate with your big questions. Sit with them.
Ponder them. Learn to be comfortable with not knowing. Let them grow and
stretch you. Let the big questions make you bigger and stronger and more flexible.
Pay attention to your experience and intuition. Pay
attention to your inner wisdom. Give yourself the respect you deserve. Strive
to live in integrity with your questions. Listen to the wise ones. Find a
community that welcomes your searching – one that blesses your open hands and
open mind.
“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything.” ~Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet
Last week I wrote an intensely personal note to you which included two pieces of information I rarely share: my dad’s skiing death and my stepfather’s abuse. I put them out there for all the world to see. Why?
Mostly, it’s because I’m tired of keeping these secrets. I’m seeing more and more clearly that I’ve been making both events mean that I’m bad, broken, and unlovable. If you know them about me, you won’t like me. Or you’ll feel sorry for me. I don’t want to believe that anymore. That belief has caused me to lead a diminished life, and I’m tired of it.
Here’s what’s truly true: bad things happen to everyone. As do good things. It’s all part of the human experience. What hurts us is the story we tell ourselves about the bad things. And the good things, too. What hurts us is our thoughts about ourselves, others, and the nature of the universe. What hurts us is thinking we deserve these events, bad or good.
The brilliant Kara Loewentheil’s Unf*ck Your Brain podcast on December 17th was about vulnerability. Kara dropped this bombshell that exploded in my brain: “The only person we’re vulnerable to as adults is ourselves.” Kara elaborated that when we’re afraid of someone else’s negative judgment when we tell them something personal, it’s because we secretly believe they’re right. If we’re okay with the information, we’re okay with their reaction, positive or negative. So I dug into why I resist telling people about my dad’s deadly accident and my stepfather’s sexual abuse. I thought it was because hearing about these events makes others uncomfortable, so I was just being considerate. And they do make others uncomfortable, but that’s only part of the story. Mostly they make me uncomfortable.
It turns out I’ve spent fifty years believing bad things happen to bad people, and I thought I needed to keep my badness a secret. But of course the truth is I didn’t cause either event. My dad hit a tree so hard he died. My mom’s need to have this man take care of her was stronger than her desire to protect me. That’s all. I didn’t cause my parents’ divorce, my family’s disintegration, or my dad’s alcoholism and three remarriages, either. I was a just child trying to make sense of bad situations created by the adults in my life who were dealing with their own shit as well as they could. Sometimes they dealt very badly. And gravity happens, even to the best of skiers.
I’m learning to think of the decade that undid me as a testament to my strength and resilience, and the mysterious power of grace. As I’ve come to see myself differently – as a tender, strong woman who deserves joy – I’ve also come to see my parents differently. This is forgiveness. As I open myself to deeper and deeper healing, I’m letting my parents off the hook. I’m forgiving my dad for dying young and my mom for inviting someone into our lives who hurt me. I’m pretty sure, as I continue to heal, I’ll find that I’ve forgiven my stepfather, too.
Those events broke me, and it’s okay. I’m okay. I think Leonard Cohen was right: the broken places are where the light gets in.
“Ring the bells that still can ring Forget your perfect offering There is a crack, a crack in everything That’s how the light gets in.”
And light doesn’t only come into us. Light goes out, too. Our cracks and broken places are where our light shines through most brightly in the dark. Our imperfections can be channels of grace and healing for our world. We can flow with this light.
Sharing my broken places with you, dear reader, has been
healing for me. Thank you for allowing space for them.
An invitation: If the time is right, gently and with immense kindness, ask yourself what about yourself you keep sequestered from other people. What secrets do you carry? Why are you choosing to carry them? What are these secrets costing you in energy and intimacy?
Answering these questions will help you discover if you, like me, believe untruths that are causing you to suffer. Contact me here if you’d like to investigate together.
