I just decided to see if I could finally do it--walk into a church service, my protective barriers down and my judgmental self adjourned.
I knew that my experiences in such places in the past were created out of my own perceptions and guardedness--and it was a guardedness on my part that felt as though it went way beyond this singular lifetime.
Granted, I remember a friend in the fourth grade who was concerned that I was "going to hell" because I'd never been baptized. Her concern caused me to search my own heart and mind to determine if I wanted to worship a god who made such conditions. I came to the conclusion that God had already baptized me using the rain from heaven. I later read that Holy water used to be the water priests washed their feet in--and I decided my rainwater was the better deal. Grin.
My sister and I used to attend various church services from time to time after my boyfriend's death. A priest and a minister in our little part of the state both gave sermons that I enjoyed. And then one day I got a phone call from one of the ladies in an "outreach" effort, and even though being the shy person that I was at the time, I had no qualms in firmly telling her, "NO! I am not interested!" I remember the silence on the other end of the line. No one was ever going to convert me--ha!
As I shared earlier, I went to Freeman Education seminars and took part in some activities with other groups of people. I recall one particular incident where a fellow juryman asked me to ask his own question of a defendant in a trial--putting words in my mouth. This was in setting up a common law court--and the man feeding me words saw himself as an older, and more experienced, devout Christian, who was magnanimously trying to teach me the ropes. Bless him for that moment, because it stuck with me.
I did not like asking a judgmental question--it especially did not resonate with me--of another person. I nicely (heaven forbid, I shake things up a bit and make a scene) asked it then--but, afterwards, I was so ashamed of myself for not speaking my heart instead, that I made the choice from then on that that was not going to happen again.
I also discovered I didn't like the mentality of groups of people--they seemed to not think for themselves or from their hearts. So that is why I never joined a Bible study group--I had too many previous experiences listening to what others said various scriptures meant. Too many of them had an ego-driven agenda on either side of an argument.
I determined to read the Bible on my own--and to let the meanings reveal themselves to me personally.
I was born into a family with a very diverse background of Christian faiths. My grandmother (Dad's side) was Presbyterian and my grandfather was Catholic. They chose to allow their children free choice in each one's faith. My mother's dad left Finland partly because the religious structure was so rigid there at the time.
I have Mormon, Catholic, Lutheran, Methodist, Assembly of God, and Non-denominational family members. And then there was our bunch--ha! I kind of relished our "heathen" image.
The truth is, I don't think one of us didn't believe in God, or that there was something greater than our human life. My mom's favorite reminder was, "Never judge another until you've walked a mile in his moccasins." We knew the story of Jesus and I used to try to stay awake until midnight, as a child, in hopes of seeing the Star of Bethlehem on Christmas Eve. We had a Bible and we had a children's book of Bible stories, which I remember looking at often.
I remember going to the movie theater in town to see the story of Jesus. I was really quite young at the time--it's a vague memory but with high impact. Due to the crucifixion scene being so sad and bloody and dark, I said to Mom afterwards (because of what she'd told me about movies previously that were troubling to me), "That didn't really happen, did it? It was just pretend?"
But this time Mom said, "Yes, that did happen."
I was repulsed by that image--to this day, I still shudder at anything that gory. In the early nineties, my husband and I went to a Good Friday service at an Evangelical church just kitty-corner from where we lived in the cities. They gave us all nails to hammer into the cross to remind us of what we did to Jesus--it was revolting and awful--I was already dealing with so much personal guilt and shame. That was like the last straw. I never returned. I was really ticked off at that. I thought church was supposed to be a place of peace, of safety, of comfort. I determined to stick to my walks in the pastures and around the lakes.
*I'm adding in this anecdote in February 2013:
On my way home from the grocery store, I noticed the sign outside a church on my route. It read:
"God made the first valentine--out of two boards and 3 nails."????
Seriously...humorously...it sounds like an extremely horrifyingly-gory valentine. No thanks!
On my ten-and-a-half hour drive to go home to be with Dad the last 3 1/2 weeks of his life, I had the very strong feeling that Jesus need not have suffered such a horrible death. I believe his death was interpreted as a sacrificial necessity because the cultures at that time practiced sacrifice, and because the powers that were wanted to retain control of the masses. I didn't see the loving Father/God that I loved expecting that from any child of His. And I wasn't expecting my dad to suffer a long, miserable and pain-filled transition from life to death either. And I tried to share that idea with Dad, though I knew it was ultimately his choice as to how it happened--and I was ready to honor him in that.
My dad's transition was a huge life-changing moment for me. One that I will write about later. Let's just say that it's the reason I'm writing all of this now.
So, I had a HUGE chip on my shoulder regarding organized religion. And I worked long and hard to put myself in the proverbial moccasins of those who attend church. I've recognized for a long time that I had to be willing to shift my perspective, though my "little human" ego liked her little podium and her self-righteous indignation and victimhood. I'd been living the drama for so long, I was comfortable in it. It was my default setting.
So, yesterday's journey to church was monumental. Yes, it was still a busy, business-like place and yes, the doctrine and tradition was still there. And churches today are struggling for membership--and I felt that, too. And I felt the deep apology for "being human--a worthless sinner." But beneath ALL of that, I most strongly felt what I'd been seeking all my life, too--every single person there was desiring to be a kind and good and worthy person, just like me.
Everyone has his/her own way of finding the answers that satisfy. Some do it by going to church once a week--and it works for them. Who am I to deny anyone that which brings them personal peace and enlightenment and joy? And some are finding it in religious institutions. I still like my pastures, personally, but I also love connecting and socializing with people, too. I certainly don't want to limit myself to one type of individual who is just like me--I stagnate in that environment. And for me, it's all about growth, love unconditional, compassion, joy and honor.
I finally sat in that pew, breathing easily, enjoying the music and the sermon and people--my guard down, my heart open. And finally--there it was--I felt sincere gratitude for all those church-going individuals who've touched my life--they got me here to this incredible moment.
We're all quite the characters--actors, that is--role-playing together. These are stories of my awakening, my remembering realization that Home/Heaven is wherever I am. That I am not the puppet on someone else's string. The search is over. I simply FREELY CHOSE to quit searching outside of myself, and realized all my answers have always been within.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Conspiracies and Fear
At the age of nineteen, my dad toured the U.S. in a Hudson convertible and met people of all walks of life. He grew up during the Great Depression, saw the government slaughter thousands of cows when people in the world were starving—and spent the rest of his life looking for solutions to counteract the greed he saw running the planet. He loved people, kids and animals. And he loved the earth, and he chose to practice farming in a manner that returned to the soil the goodness that he harvested from it.
A dear friend of his who shared his vision of a greater, more compassionate world once said to Dad, "If I have two nickels in my pocket and someone in the world is lacking, then I have one nickel too many."
Dad took the expression to heart—and made a practice of giving away both of his nickels. We’d buy him gifts for holidays, and he’d pass them along to someone who "needed it more than he did." Needless to say, it wasn’t easy for our mom (a partner in raising eight kids), but she understood his intention and his passion, and she often told me that she learned long ago that it was useless to try and change him, or anyone else, but oneself.
As a result of my dad’s journeys, my siblings and I grew up on world bank and government conspiracies, UFOs and aliens (only made sense to me that God would create more than one type of human life form), stories of the Illuminati and the Tri-lateral Commission—to name a few. Dad would take off and be gone for days on end—I remember him calling to check in with Mom only once—her motto was, "No news is good news." And he had some chilling encounters with some very challenging individuals.
It was then only natural that I would delve into the things Dad talked about in order to, at first, simply make my own contribution to making this a better world. In the early nineties, there was a group in the Minneapolis/St.Paul area called Freeman’s Education, and this was a gathering place for people who were interested in the other side of stories not seen in mainstream media sources.
Dad had always told me to not believe everything that was printed in the newspapers or reported on TV, because all those sources were owned by pretty much the same group of individuals. And often people’s quotes were taken out of context or censored in order to fit the owner’s agenda.
In short, there really is no such thing as "unbiased" reporting by any human, whether intentional or otherwise. How we perceive our personal experiences is always going to influence how we perceive, and talk about, anything from that point on.
I had seen a film (this was shortly after the Jacob Wetterling kidnapping, which happened in a small town in Minnesota in the early 90s) on how some high-ranking officials were "allegedly" using kidnapped children for sexual abuse and snuff films. Now, to be honest, I had no way of knowing whether this film was true or not—I believed it to be so at the time. And it troubled me so greatly then that my taxes were being used in this manner, that I opted out of the tax system for a period of a few years.
That’s a whole other unpleasant period in my life, but one in which I walked away determined to be at peace within myself and to have my own answers to my own questions and to not rely on someone outside of me to tell me what is true or not.
I also came to the realization through this walk, that two people could take the same scripture like, "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, and render unto God that which is God’s"--and interpret it to mean exactly two polar opposites as to whether or not to pay taxes. I had no way of knowing which was right—they both made sense.
Also, I met people who were so frightened of the conspirators they were fighting against that they had a gleam in their eyes that was just as frightening as those who were "their enemy." It was disconcerting.
After going over here, and then over there, and every which direction someone outside of me told me to go, I finally arrived at the conclusion that all the answers for me would be found WITHIN MYSELF.
This, of course, is the time I picked up the Bible and read it all for myself, and I found scriptures that appeared to say to trust what you know within, instead of anyone outside—and I’ve held that to my heart and used it ever since.
I finally found the peace I was searching for all these years—and it lies here within me.
Yes, the world has quite a bit of chaos going on, but I believe that if I’m running around telling everyone to be afraid of conspiracies, other races, other religions, other sexualities, the devil, or food, water and fuel shortages—then I’m only contributing to the creation of more chaos and rioting, killing and greed—the very thing my own dad had set out to keep from happening.
I choose instead to remind each person that I touch of the power of LOVE--that he/she holds the goodness of God within himself/herself and to remember that. And when life gets scary and overwhelming, remember to go within to that SAFE and SACRED SPACE and just be still, BREATHE DEEPLY, until one’s own sense of peace has a chance to take over the reins of life.
Jesus’s reminder to "love your enemies" kept me searching within myself for a means to genuinely do that, and not just say the flowery words--while, secretly wanting to kill off my perceived enemy, instead.
May peace be with you…the GOODNESS of GOD is...
A dear friend of his who shared his vision of a greater, more compassionate world once said to Dad, "If I have two nickels in my pocket and someone in the world is lacking, then I have one nickel too many."
Dad took the expression to heart—and made a practice of giving away both of his nickels. We’d buy him gifts for holidays, and he’d pass them along to someone who "needed it more than he did." Needless to say, it wasn’t easy for our mom (a partner in raising eight kids), but she understood his intention and his passion, and she often told me that she learned long ago that it was useless to try and change him, or anyone else, but oneself.
As a result of my dad’s journeys, my siblings and I grew up on world bank and government conspiracies, UFOs and aliens (only made sense to me that God would create more than one type of human life form), stories of the Illuminati and the Tri-lateral Commission—to name a few. Dad would take off and be gone for days on end—I remember him calling to check in with Mom only once—her motto was, "No news is good news." And he had some chilling encounters with some very challenging individuals.
It was then only natural that I would delve into the things Dad talked about in order to, at first, simply make my own contribution to making this a better world. In the early nineties, there was a group in the Minneapolis/St.Paul area called Freeman’s Education, and this was a gathering place for people who were interested in the other side of stories not seen in mainstream media sources.
Dad had always told me to not believe everything that was printed in the newspapers or reported on TV, because all those sources were owned by pretty much the same group of individuals. And often people’s quotes were taken out of context or censored in order to fit the owner’s agenda.
In short, there really is no such thing as "unbiased" reporting by any human, whether intentional or otherwise. How we perceive our personal experiences is always going to influence how we perceive, and talk about, anything from that point on.
I had seen a film (this was shortly after the Jacob Wetterling kidnapping, which happened in a small town in Minnesota in the early 90s) on how some high-ranking officials were "allegedly" using kidnapped children for sexual abuse and snuff films. Now, to be honest, I had no way of knowing whether this film was true or not—I believed it to be so at the time. And it troubled me so greatly then that my taxes were being used in this manner, that I opted out of the tax system for a period of a few years.
That’s a whole other unpleasant period in my life, but one in which I walked away determined to be at peace within myself and to have my own answers to my own questions and to not rely on someone outside of me to tell me what is true or not.
I also came to the realization through this walk, that two people could take the same scripture like, "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s, and render unto God that which is God’s"--and interpret it to mean exactly two polar opposites as to whether or not to pay taxes. I had no way of knowing which was right—they both made sense.
Also, I met people who were so frightened of the conspirators they were fighting against that they had a gleam in their eyes that was just as frightening as those who were "their enemy." It was disconcerting.
After going over here, and then over there, and every which direction someone outside of me told me to go, I finally arrived at the conclusion that all the answers for me would be found WITHIN MYSELF.
This, of course, is the time I picked up the Bible and read it all for myself, and I found scriptures that appeared to say to trust what you know within, instead of anyone outside—and I’ve held that to my heart and used it ever since.
I finally found the peace I was searching for all these years—and it lies here within me.
Yes, the world has quite a bit of chaos going on, but I believe that if I’m running around telling everyone to be afraid of conspiracies, other races, other religions, other sexualities, the devil, or food, water and fuel shortages—then I’m only contributing to the creation of more chaos and rioting, killing and greed—the very thing my own dad had set out to keep from happening.
I choose instead to remind each person that I touch of the power of LOVE--that he/she holds the goodness of God within himself/herself and to remember that. And when life gets scary and overwhelming, remember to go within to that SAFE and SACRED SPACE and just be still, BREATHE DEEPLY, until one’s own sense of peace has a chance to take over the reins of life.
Jesus’s reminder to "love your enemies" kept me searching within myself for a means to genuinely do that, and not just say the flowery words--while, secretly wanting to kill off my perceived enemy, instead.
May peace be with you…the GOODNESS of GOD is...
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Blessing of My Dark Side
One of the greatest challenges for me in this journey has been to embrace my shadow side—the human part who felt so separated from God that she did some evil things out of fear for her own survival, things she wished she could have a "do-over" with, in order to set things right. But what does one do with "a wrong?"
Judas, the betrayer, hung himself. Most of the evil villains in books and stories ended up being killed off—that was the "happily ever-after" ending. But I didn’t want that ending.
I wanted an ending where the bad guy/girl had a change of heart—a one-eighty—where she used her past experiences to shed compassion and encouragement and hope for those touched by her life. I wanted an ending where gratitude took the place of forgiveness, and in that process, atrocious wrongs were undone—where it was a truly happy ending for all.
The story of Saul turned "Paul" intrigued me. I wondered what happened in that Christed moment on the road that had him shift from being a persecutor and murderer of Christians to being a Christian himself. Didn’t he feel guilty over his past? How was he able to let that guilt go?
I’ve seen so many "born again" Christians (including myself at one time) who said they accepted God’s forgiveness of their transgressions, but we were still hauling that old guilt and shame baggage around on our shoulders.
But God seemed to help me with that one, too. When I had a shameful secret emerge to the surface, that inner knowingness kept encouraging me, "Penny, bring that which is hidden into the Light. Share your secret and your story with others. Be honest about what you’re thinking and feeling. You don’t need to blame anyone else or name names. This is your shame, your responsibility, your life. When you feel ashamed of something you’re doing, put Me there. You know you really can’t hide anything from me—why waste the energy on the game of deception?"
I always imagined God as being like my dad—his was a safe lap to cry on. He was always there to pick me up when I took a tumble, and he’d hold my hand for a bit until I got steady on my feet once again. Then he’d cheer me on when I took off running again. In truth, I actually got this from both of my parents—Mom’s embrace, too, was heavenly and wise.
The thing is, I am grateful for those who have played the dark roles for me. Without them, I would not have known what I was made of—how strong I am, how loving I am, how compassionate, how thankful…I needed the dark experiences in order to literally "see" the light in me.
I have an even greater appreciation of the Light because of the Dark playing its part, all out of love for me. I like to draw with pencil a bit, so I love the contrasts between black and white and all the shades in-between. Without them, there is no picture.
I had another personal mantra/reminder:
"Apologize not, for your own or for another's life; for it's OUT of LOVE that we ALL come, and it's UNTO LOVE that we ALL return."
And now that I've come this far, I know how painful it is to intentionally hurt another or myself--it's that "whatever goes out from me, comes back to me" thing. And now that I know that, I choose to release my dark actors from the roles I scripted them. I set them free and I wish them joy in being.
If my life had been all hunky-dory and painless and shameless, I’d never have had any incentive to search for God, to look to be more, to challenge the status quo of "this is how life is…," to grow and to consciously seek to think higher thoughts…
I guess, in short, all of this is just my way of saying to each of those Prodigal Children (Envy, Greed, Vanity, Sloth, Liar, Hypocrite, Gossip—to name a few) inside of me, "Thank you, Babe. Great performance. I love you."
Judas, the betrayer, hung himself. Most of the evil villains in books and stories ended up being killed off—that was the "happily ever-after" ending. But I didn’t want that ending.
I wanted an ending where the bad guy/girl had a change of heart—a one-eighty—where she used her past experiences to shed compassion and encouragement and hope for those touched by her life. I wanted an ending where gratitude took the place of forgiveness, and in that process, atrocious wrongs were undone—where it was a truly happy ending for all.
The story of Saul turned "Paul" intrigued me. I wondered what happened in that Christed moment on the road that had him shift from being a persecutor and murderer of Christians to being a Christian himself. Didn’t he feel guilty over his past? How was he able to let that guilt go?
I’ve seen so many "born again" Christians (including myself at one time) who said they accepted God’s forgiveness of their transgressions, but we were still hauling that old guilt and shame baggage around on our shoulders.
But God seemed to help me with that one, too. When I had a shameful secret emerge to the surface, that inner knowingness kept encouraging me, "Penny, bring that which is hidden into the Light. Share your secret and your story with others. Be honest about what you’re thinking and feeling. You don’t need to blame anyone else or name names. This is your shame, your responsibility, your life. When you feel ashamed of something you’re doing, put Me there. You know you really can’t hide anything from me—why waste the energy on the game of deception?"
I always imagined God as being like my dad—his was a safe lap to cry on. He was always there to pick me up when I took a tumble, and he’d hold my hand for a bit until I got steady on my feet once again. Then he’d cheer me on when I took off running again. In truth, I actually got this from both of my parents—Mom’s embrace, too, was heavenly and wise.
The thing is, I am grateful for those who have played the dark roles for me. Without them, I would not have known what I was made of—how strong I am, how loving I am, how compassionate, how thankful…I needed the dark experiences in order to literally "see" the light in me.
I have an even greater appreciation of the Light because of the Dark playing its part, all out of love for me. I like to draw with pencil a bit, so I love the contrasts between black and white and all the shades in-between. Without them, there is no picture.
I had another personal mantra/reminder:
"Apologize not, for your own or for another's life; for it's OUT of LOVE that we ALL come, and it's UNTO LOVE that we ALL return."
And now that I've come this far, I know how painful it is to intentionally hurt another or myself--it's that "whatever goes out from me, comes back to me" thing. And now that I know that, I choose to release my dark actors from the roles I scripted them. I set them free and I wish them joy in being.
If my life had been all hunky-dory and painless and shameless, I’d never have had any incentive to search for God, to look to be more, to challenge the status quo of "this is how life is…," to grow and to consciously seek to think higher thoughts…
I guess, in short, all of this is just my way of saying to each of those Prodigal Children (Envy, Greed, Vanity, Sloth, Liar, Hypocrite, Gossip—to name a few) inside of me, "Thank you, Babe. Great performance. I love you."
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
When in Pain, Just Breathe...
Pain—probably the greatest motivator in my life. I tried to avoid it, stuff it away for later, bear it with dignity like a martyr, cover it with anger, apply bandages of all shapes and colors, medicate it, manage it, took it to a doctor occasionally.
Pain comes in all kinds of packages—physical, emotional, mental, spiritual—and I felt them all. It’s easy to look back now and appreciate the journey it took me on, but back in the day, it was no joyride. I used to think it was God’s way of punishing me for being such a bad human being—I have to admit, I’m getting a good laugh at myself now for that one.
It was a few moments after hearing Gary Zukov, author of "Seat of the Soul," make the comment on an Oprah show about humans having a tendency to try to avoid pain, that I accidentally slammed my thumb in a kitchen drawer. Sure enough, my first instinctive act was to grab my thumb with my other hand in an attempt to postpone the pain I knew was coming.
After taking a DEEP BREATH down into my diaphragm, which lies beneath our lower ribcage, I made a conscious choice to take my hand away in order to allow the pain, and also allow myself to immerse in it, explore it, follow it to its source and center. The pain that I was so afraid of, in this little experiment, lasted only seconds, and then it was gone.
It was simply a matter of breathing myself through it.
In short, I discovered that breathing while diving into the pain was the quickest way to release myself from the extended suffering of pain. And pain simply became a tool to help me direct my attention to some aspect of my life that was balancing naturally--that was all.
I had an ache in my lower back that was hard to pinpoint, so I lay myself down on our rug in the yoga position called "corpse" (on my back, hands and feet parted enough to feel comfortable) and I started taking deep breaths: inhale through the nose (deep into my diaphragm beneath the lower rib cage) to the count of 8, hold for 4, exhale to the count of 8. The focus on the breath centered me in the present moment, got me to note my heart beating, and I then focused on the area of pain in my back and followed it to its center.
The next thing I knew, memories came to mind of when I was a sophomore in high school and the bank forced us into a sale of our farm equipment. I lost my home, my pastures (my version of church) and my dogs and cats (my best friends)—and I’d never allowed myself to feel the grief at losing them. I’d handled it by getting angry—and, at the time, I wasn’t aware of how angry I was. There I was crying over something that had happened nearly twenty years earlier.
As the tears flowed over the loss of my pets, the pain in my lower back went away, too.
Once I began to embrace pain instead of running from it, it became a gift in my own healing process and I realized that accepting pain didn’t mean I had to endure it in misery for long periods of time.
If I was experiencing pain, there was a purpose for it, and it wasn’t a punishment for something I did wrong. Setting a broken bone is painful, so it stands to reason that healing a broken heart would involve some pain, too.
Just a matter of breathing through it…Just take a deep-down into the bottom of your ribcage breath…Just breathe…
Pain comes in all kinds of packages—physical, emotional, mental, spiritual—and I felt them all. It’s easy to look back now and appreciate the journey it took me on, but back in the day, it was no joyride. I used to think it was God’s way of punishing me for being such a bad human being—I have to admit, I’m getting a good laugh at myself now for that one.
It was a few moments after hearing Gary Zukov, author of "Seat of the Soul," make the comment on an Oprah show about humans having a tendency to try to avoid pain, that I accidentally slammed my thumb in a kitchen drawer. Sure enough, my first instinctive act was to grab my thumb with my other hand in an attempt to postpone the pain I knew was coming.
After taking a DEEP BREATH down into my diaphragm, which lies beneath our lower ribcage, I made a conscious choice to take my hand away in order to allow the pain, and also allow myself to immerse in it, explore it, follow it to its source and center. The pain that I was so afraid of, in this little experiment, lasted only seconds, and then it was gone.
It was simply a matter of breathing myself through it.
In short, I discovered that breathing while diving into the pain was the quickest way to release myself from the extended suffering of pain. And pain simply became a tool to help me direct my attention to some aspect of my life that was balancing naturally--that was all.
I had an ache in my lower back that was hard to pinpoint, so I lay myself down on our rug in the yoga position called "corpse" (on my back, hands and feet parted enough to feel comfortable) and I started taking deep breaths: inhale through the nose (deep into my diaphragm beneath the lower rib cage) to the count of 8, hold for 4, exhale to the count of 8. The focus on the breath centered me in the present moment, got me to note my heart beating, and I then focused on the area of pain in my back and followed it to its center.
The next thing I knew, memories came to mind of when I was a sophomore in high school and the bank forced us into a sale of our farm equipment. I lost my home, my pastures (my version of church) and my dogs and cats (my best friends)—and I’d never allowed myself to feel the grief at losing them. I’d handled it by getting angry—and, at the time, I wasn’t aware of how angry I was. There I was crying over something that had happened nearly twenty years earlier.
As the tears flowed over the loss of my pets, the pain in my lower back went away, too.
Once I began to embrace pain instead of running from it, it became a gift in my own healing process and I realized that accepting pain didn’t mean I had to endure it in misery for long periods of time.
If I was experiencing pain, there was a purpose for it, and it wasn’t a punishment for something I did wrong. Setting a broken bone is painful, so it stands to reason that healing a broken heart would involve some pain, too.
Just a matter of breathing through it…Just take a deep-down into the bottom of your ribcage breath…Just breathe…
Monday, August 31, 2009
My Beloved Mirrors
Nothing like a blog to loosen one's lips--or in this case, my fingertips on the keyboard.
It's been a long journey--this learning to genuinely love all aspects of myself. I had multitudes of "prodigal sons and daughters" within me begging for me to acknowledge them, to appreciate their contribution to my life and then to release them from their old roles.
In my imagination, I see each aspect of myself coming onto the stage, an actor, with a bouquet of roses, taking his/her final bow in front of an audience on its feet, applauding and cheering for a job well done, convincingly so.
Those previous two paragraphs make it sound so easy, for it was as simple as that--but I had an ego who had been protecting me and running the show for a very long time.
My ego was the left hemisphere of my brain, the part that thought myself separate from God (my tiny-feeling human survivor--my identity), and when my more negative prodigal children started coming to the fore, my ego did everything in its power to deny their existence, to squelch them, to avoid them in shame. It was afraid I wouldn't survive my acceptance of them.
At first, I was ashamed of my ego and I tried to kill her off, but I eventually realized that she, too, was an integral part of the human experience--that amazing gift given to me by God--for without her, there would be no distinguishing myself from all of God's other gifts (other humans and Creation).
Early on, back in my "judge not, lest you be judged the same" days, I had an idea surface that I still use as a tool today. I used it as my mantra:
"Thanks to all who touch my life, for you are the mirrors that reflect back to me my own thoughts, beliefs and perceptions."
I am the projector of everything I perceive in this life, and it doesn't change anything if I'm out there trying to adjust the mirrors (fix other people).
I discovered that true change in my reflected outer world starts with changing what's going on within me. It's a whole lot easier and much less dramatically, traumatically messy. And it allows me to honor everyone else in their own journeys while honoring myself.
The outer world was simply a tool to help me see the struggles going on within me--struggles that could be resolved when I was aware they were there.
That's enough for now. I think the next part will be on breathing through the gift of pain...
It's been a long journey--this learning to genuinely love all aspects of myself. I had multitudes of "prodigal sons and daughters" within me begging for me to acknowledge them, to appreciate their contribution to my life and then to release them from their old roles.
In my imagination, I see each aspect of myself coming onto the stage, an actor, with a bouquet of roses, taking his/her final bow in front of an audience on its feet, applauding and cheering for a job well done, convincingly so.
Those previous two paragraphs make it sound so easy, for it was as simple as that--but I had an ego who had been protecting me and running the show for a very long time.
My ego was the left hemisphere of my brain, the part that thought myself separate from God (my tiny-feeling human survivor--my identity), and when my more negative prodigal children started coming to the fore, my ego did everything in its power to deny their existence, to squelch them, to avoid them in shame. It was afraid I wouldn't survive my acceptance of them.
At first, I was ashamed of my ego and I tried to kill her off, but I eventually realized that she, too, was an integral part of the human experience--that amazing gift given to me by God--for without her, there would be no distinguishing myself from all of God's other gifts (other humans and Creation).
Early on, back in my "judge not, lest you be judged the same" days, I had an idea surface that I still use as a tool today. I used it as my mantra:
"Thanks to all who touch my life, for you are the mirrors that reflect back to me my own thoughts, beliefs and perceptions."
I am the projector of everything I perceive in this life, and it doesn't change anything if I'm out there trying to adjust the mirrors (fix other people).
I discovered that true change in my reflected outer world starts with changing what's going on within me. It's a whole lot easier and much less dramatically, traumatically messy. And it allows me to honor everyone else in their own journeys while honoring myself.
The outer world was simply a tool to help me see the struggles going on within me--struggles that could be resolved when I was aware they were there.
That's enough for now. I think the next part will be on breathing through the gift of pain...
Friday, August 28, 2009
My Big Ah-Ha!/Yahoo! Moment
I was standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes asking God, in total frustration and desperation, why the heck I was still judging my neighbors--literally. I had taken Jesus's admonition to "judge not, lest you be judged the same" completely to heart and I'd been trying to adhere to it for several months, only to fail miserably at the endeavor. It felt like I'd spent more time judging than actually living--and I hated myself for that.
What caught me by surprise is that this time god actually seemed to reply the moment I asked the question. It wasn't audible (I didn't actually hear a voice), but I had a comforting tingling feeling and a knowingness of the conversation that clearly came through.
That voice within me said, "Penny--how do you expect to love everyone else without condition if you don't love yourself first? Love yourself first, and all the rest will come easily." It said, "I love you. I have always loved you--in all your ways."
I liked that response, but then I thought about some moments when I had really seemed to have done some bad things. And I had to ask, "Well, God, did you love me when I did such and such?"
And the reply was, "Yes, Penny. I loved you even then."
And I asked, "Well--what about this time...?" Because, I thought I'd really screwed up that time.
Again the reply, "Yes. I loved you then, too." I'd think of other shameful, guilty moments, one after another and it would unfailingly respond, "Yes--that time, too. And, yes, even then...always I love you..."
This back and forth testing of God's depth and height of love of me continued on through the remainder of my dishes and through a walk through my neighborhood. The tears flowed along with the greatest relief and joy--all out astonishment--that God loved me even when I seemed so unlovable, so unworthy, so--human.
This was just the beginning. My ah-ha! moment has been growing ever since, for, you see, I had to walk through all my past shames (layer upon layer) and unconditionally love myself for all those ways of being, just like god, my soul-self, my "I am that I am."
What caught me by surprise is that this time god actually seemed to reply the moment I asked the question. It wasn't audible (I didn't actually hear a voice), but I had a comforting tingling feeling and a knowingness of the conversation that clearly came through.
That voice within me said, "Penny--how do you expect to love everyone else without condition if you don't love yourself first? Love yourself first, and all the rest will come easily." It said, "I love you. I have always loved you--in all your ways."
I liked that response, but then I thought about some moments when I had really seemed to have done some bad things. And I had to ask, "Well, God, did you love me when I did such and such?"
And the reply was, "Yes, Penny. I loved you even then."
And I asked, "Well--what about this time...?" Because, I thought I'd really screwed up that time.
Again the reply, "Yes. I loved you then, too." I'd think of other shameful, guilty moments, one after another and it would unfailingly respond, "Yes--that time, too. And, yes, even then...always I love you..."
This back and forth testing of God's depth and height of love of me continued on through the remainder of my dishes and through a walk through my neighborhood. The tears flowed along with the greatest relief and joy--all out astonishment--that God loved me even when I seemed so unlovable, so unworthy, so--human.
This was just the beginning. My ah-ha! moment has been growing ever since, for, you see, I had to walk through all my past shames (layer upon layer) and unconditionally love myself for all those ways of being, just like god, my soul-self, my "I am that I am."
Accepting Full Responsibility with Self-Compassion
The Word of God—supposedly the only words God ever spoke to humanity were written in one book, the most recent being somewhere around 2000 years ago. When did The Bible become synonymous with the only word of God? Somehow that doesn’t make much sense to me anymore. At one time it did—back before I’d read the whole thing through and before I’d delved further into the history surrounding the times the passages and letters were written and who wrote them, before I knew how to use a concordance. Before I started a personal relationship with God myself. Before I daringly read books others called all kinds of heretical names in order to discourage me from finding my own answers my own way.
Once I started having my own relationship with my source of life, no one else’s words could compare or compete with the unconditional love, infinite compassion, gratitude, celebration and ease and comfort and true grace I found with the God who loved me—all of me, humanity and Creation. And He/She was right here inside me, ever present, though I went through much of my life thinking I was separated from that Most Loving Parent. Funny thing—the Bible has all kinds of stories that tell that very tale: The Song of Solomon, for one. The groom searches all over outside of himself for his beloved bride (his feminine divine self that completes his masculine divine self) only to discover she was always there within him the entire time. It's all over the place in the New Testament—God’s omnipresence was one of Jesus’s basic teachings, from what I’ve read.
I listen to the conversations going on around me and I hear scriptures from that "Holy Printed Word of God" being used in the most unloving, cruelly vicious ways. We all know how words can be twisted—and I have to say, that is probably one of the most perverted things I’ve seen done. God’s House should be a place of comfort, mercy, compassion and grace—and always LOVE. I don’t see it filled with human judges or a god or other entity that judges, period.
Yes, I do love the scriptures. I love Jesus reminding me, "Judge not, lest you be judged the same way." I’ve found that to be personally true. I’ve found that ignorantly casting a stone at someone without getting to know them or imagining myself in their shoes is going to end with me being the one conked in the head with the rock when it’s all said and done.
I’ve also discovered that the answers I find in me are meant for me only, my way is only my way—not intended for anyone else, not to be forced upon anyone else. If God isn’t forcing His Way upon me, well, doesn’t that mean maybe it might be a good idea to follow His/Her example? Good Parenting 101.
I just realized recently that I’m not seeking to be the shepherd of a bunch of sheep—way too much responsibility—and I don’t want to force someone in a direction they don’t want to go. I’d rather empower them in their own ability to discover their own answers and ways within themselves, totally free of charge. The only cost is that each of us must be willing to accept the consequences of the choices we each make—and sometimes the consequences can be wonderful and sometimes they can be painful. But, really, isn’t that part of the package of life experienced fully?
Recently I’ve been the reluctant recipient of forwarded petitions that I can only see as "hate mail." Seems the latest conspiracy is that homosexuals are taking over the world. The only thing is, so much of this is coming from people who consider themselves Christians—and I can only liken them to the Crusaders, the ones with a really bloody history of killing off "lesser non-believers" all in the Name of God. Gee, who else in this current world of ours is committing atrocities in the Name of God? Is one set more right than the other?—both supposedly have God on "their side."
And here’s the kicker in this whole story—I was once a stone-throwing homophobe, too. Back when the news media had the population convinced that AIDS was a homosexual disease, back when I didn’t know anyone of that persuasion personally, and back when I hadn’t truly allowed to let myself consider the subject on my own. I used to tell gay jokes, too.
But I did have a teacher who planted a seed when some classmates were in the midst of playing a spoof about being gay while in one of his classes. He told us the story of a guy he knew in college who realized he was gay. The man was so ashamed of himself and so distraught that he committed suicide. The teacher, who I respected deeply, told this story with compassion and no judgment. And while I went on several more years with my prejudices, that story stayed with me. My ego didn’t like it when my heart kept reminding me of it. After all, didn’t someone tell me that The Bible (God’s Word) said that was wrong?
About a decade later my soon-to-be husband and I were graciously given a temporary home in Minneapolis by a friend of his (and his partner) from college. I found those two men to be some of the most encouragingly supportive people in our lives at that time. We occasionally touch base through the years with my husband’s college friend, and when we do, I walk away lighter of heart. It’s always an uplifting conversation with him.
One other thing that has since come to mind is that I’ve realized that in my own relationship with my husband, sex is only one small aspect of our relationship—there is so much more to the two of us together. And we all see how our human sexuality has been misused and abused through the media—we’ve all heard the phrase "sex sells." Well, I’m inclined to consider that the relationship between a same-sex couple may be a great deal more than just sexual, too, especially if they’ve been together for awhile. I recently saw two men who had been together for 37 years—to me, that means there has to be much more than sex involved.
As the years passed, other friends and loved ones have come forth sharing their personal secrets. I have a friend (a cousin, actually) who is the son of a Christian minister/missionary—I can’t imagine any human LESS likely to just decide he’s going to "try out the homosexual thing just for the hell of it." What human would consciously choose to be gay (not that there is anything wrong in being so) when coming out meant that he might lose the family--blood and church family--he had? Not only that, but according to some—he’d also lose that personal relationship with God unless he denied what he knew deep inside. What kind of god would enjoy seeing one suffer in misery that way?
I can only imagine how that felt to play at being someone I knew I wasn’t inside, trying to be, and do, the "right" thing—only to have it all blow apart.
Oh wait—I DID have that happen to me! Yes, my story took a different tour—my sexual orientation wasn’t the story—but I, too, played at being someone I wasn’t, all in an attempt to keep from being rejected by those I loved and respected. And that wasn’t pretty either—it all looked a bit messy for awhile and sometimes I felt like a blind, cornered creature just attacking and lashing out at whoever and whatever came close to me. And in the end, I had to come out of my own boxy little closet—and I had to let go of some suggestions made by others outside of me that no longer resonated as truth. I had to be my authentic self—a really good thing, come to find out.
And yes, it’s scary to consider that those past choices I’d made and followed as my truth turned out to be hurtful to others—and yes, I’ve felt the guilt and the shame because of that.
But in that process, I discovered the importance of practicing self-compassion that enables me to accept responsibility for all of my life’s experiences and perceptions in a way that turns that personal shame into celebration and gratitude for the wisdom gained.
I could use my story to accuse and shame another (which is likely to earn me a stone to the head) but I choose instead to share it to show that we can always change our minds--our choices--if we don’t like their consequences. And we can do so with self-compassion and appreciation of that one inside us who played that "dark, ignorant" role that lovingly gave us the personal experience that has so much more value and oomph to it than any words preached at us by another. And the scraped up knees and elbows that I acquire along the way do heal up.
And honestly—I choose to do no harm—to anyone. Creating intentional harm ultimately hurts me, because everything that goes out from me (that which is spoken or done) always finds its way back to its originator--me. And that is how it should be—for that includes the intentional kindness and compassion that goes forth from me, as well.
Don't be afraid to let go of suggested truths that don't feel appropriate anymore that you've maybe accepted and held as your own for a good portion of your life. Once again--truth changes and evolves along with an open and expanded awareness. You never really did anything wrong. Your conscious awareness was just limited--you can't play the human game and not have had that happen.
When we share with one another our own stories of personal guilts and shames, and how our perspectives change, and how we decide to simply let old ideas and stories go--we create a safe and sacred space in our world for others to allow the same thing for themselves. That goes so much further with me than any finger-pointing lectures.
P.S. Below is a link to a 16-minute YouTube video with Adamus Saint-Germain talking about the 13th Strand in our DNA, not visible to science yet. It's the one with a balanced Divine Masculine and Divine Feminine--both of which are found in every single one of us humans, regardless of gender. We have a split brain--right and left hemispheres. The right corresponds to the feminine and the left to the masculine. It makes sense to me, and maybe it will to those who read my stuff.
Once I started having my own relationship with my source of life, no one else’s words could compare or compete with the unconditional love, infinite compassion, gratitude, celebration and ease and comfort and true grace I found with the God who loved me—all of me, humanity and Creation. And He/She was right here inside me, ever present, though I went through much of my life thinking I was separated from that Most Loving Parent. Funny thing—the Bible has all kinds of stories that tell that very tale: The Song of Solomon, for one. The groom searches all over outside of himself for his beloved bride (his feminine divine self that completes his masculine divine self) only to discover she was always there within him the entire time. It's all over the place in the New Testament—God’s omnipresence was one of Jesus’s basic teachings, from what I’ve read.
I listen to the conversations going on around me and I hear scriptures from that "Holy Printed Word of God" being used in the most unloving, cruelly vicious ways. We all know how words can be twisted—and I have to say, that is probably one of the most perverted things I’ve seen done. God’s House should be a place of comfort, mercy, compassion and grace—and always LOVE. I don’t see it filled with human judges or a god or other entity that judges, period.
Yes, I do love the scriptures. I love Jesus reminding me, "Judge not, lest you be judged the same way." I’ve found that to be personally true. I’ve found that ignorantly casting a stone at someone without getting to know them or imagining myself in their shoes is going to end with me being the one conked in the head with the rock when it’s all said and done.
I’ve also discovered that the answers I find in me are meant for me only, my way is only my way—not intended for anyone else, not to be forced upon anyone else. If God isn’t forcing His Way upon me, well, doesn’t that mean maybe it might be a good idea to follow His/Her example? Good Parenting 101.
I just realized recently that I’m not seeking to be the shepherd of a bunch of sheep—way too much responsibility—and I don’t want to force someone in a direction they don’t want to go. I’d rather empower them in their own ability to discover their own answers and ways within themselves, totally free of charge. The only cost is that each of us must be willing to accept the consequences of the choices we each make—and sometimes the consequences can be wonderful and sometimes they can be painful. But, really, isn’t that part of the package of life experienced fully?
Recently I’ve been the reluctant recipient of forwarded petitions that I can only see as "hate mail." Seems the latest conspiracy is that homosexuals are taking over the world. The only thing is, so much of this is coming from people who consider themselves Christians—and I can only liken them to the Crusaders, the ones with a really bloody history of killing off "lesser non-believers" all in the Name of God. Gee, who else in this current world of ours is committing atrocities in the Name of God? Is one set more right than the other?—both supposedly have God on "their side."
And here’s the kicker in this whole story—I was once a stone-throwing homophobe, too. Back when the news media had the population convinced that AIDS was a homosexual disease, back when I didn’t know anyone of that persuasion personally, and back when I hadn’t truly allowed to let myself consider the subject on my own. I used to tell gay jokes, too.
But I did have a teacher who planted a seed when some classmates were in the midst of playing a spoof about being gay while in one of his classes. He told us the story of a guy he knew in college who realized he was gay. The man was so ashamed of himself and so distraught that he committed suicide. The teacher, who I respected deeply, told this story with compassion and no judgment. And while I went on several more years with my prejudices, that story stayed with me. My ego didn’t like it when my heart kept reminding me of it. After all, didn’t someone tell me that The Bible (God’s Word) said that was wrong?
About a decade later my soon-to-be husband and I were graciously given a temporary home in Minneapolis by a friend of his (and his partner) from college. I found those two men to be some of the most encouragingly supportive people in our lives at that time. We occasionally touch base through the years with my husband’s college friend, and when we do, I walk away lighter of heart. It’s always an uplifting conversation with him.
One other thing that has since come to mind is that I’ve realized that in my own relationship with my husband, sex is only one small aspect of our relationship—there is so much more to the two of us together. And we all see how our human sexuality has been misused and abused through the media—we’ve all heard the phrase "sex sells." Well, I’m inclined to consider that the relationship between a same-sex couple may be a great deal more than just sexual, too, especially if they’ve been together for awhile. I recently saw two men who had been together for 37 years—to me, that means there has to be much more than sex involved.
As the years passed, other friends and loved ones have come forth sharing their personal secrets. I have a friend (a cousin, actually) who is the son of a Christian minister/missionary—I can’t imagine any human LESS likely to just decide he’s going to "try out the homosexual thing just for the hell of it." What human would consciously choose to be gay (not that there is anything wrong in being so) when coming out meant that he might lose the family--blood and church family--he had? Not only that, but according to some—he’d also lose that personal relationship with God unless he denied what he knew deep inside. What kind of god would enjoy seeing one suffer in misery that way?
I can only imagine how that felt to play at being someone I knew I wasn’t inside, trying to be, and do, the "right" thing—only to have it all blow apart.
Oh wait—I DID have that happen to me! Yes, my story took a different tour—my sexual orientation wasn’t the story—but I, too, played at being someone I wasn’t, all in an attempt to keep from being rejected by those I loved and respected. And that wasn’t pretty either—it all looked a bit messy for awhile and sometimes I felt like a blind, cornered creature just attacking and lashing out at whoever and whatever came close to me. And in the end, I had to come out of my own boxy little closet—and I had to let go of some suggestions made by others outside of me that no longer resonated as truth. I had to be my authentic self—a really good thing, come to find out.
And yes, it’s scary to consider that those past choices I’d made and followed as my truth turned out to be hurtful to others—and yes, I’ve felt the guilt and the shame because of that.
But in that process, I discovered the importance of practicing self-compassion that enables me to accept responsibility for all of my life’s experiences and perceptions in a way that turns that personal shame into celebration and gratitude for the wisdom gained.
I could use my story to accuse and shame another (which is likely to earn me a stone to the head) but I choose instead to share it to show that we can always change our minds--our choices--if we don’t like their consequences. And we can do so with self-compassion and appreciation of that one inside us who played that "dark, ignorant" role that lovingly gave us the personal experience that has so much more value and oomph to it than any words preached at us by another. And the scraped up knees and elbows that I acquire along the way do heal up.
And honestly—I choose to do no harm—to anyone. Creating intentional harm ultimately hurts me, because everything that goes out from me (that which is spoken or done) always finds its way back to its originator--me. And that is how it should be—for that includes the intentional kindness and compassion that goes forth from me, as well.
Don't be afraid to let go of suggested truths that don't feel appropriate anymore that you've maybe accepted and held as your own for a good portion of your life. Once again--truth changes and evolves along with an open and expanded awareness. You never really did anything wrong. Your conscious awareness was just limited--you can't play the human game and not have had that happen.
When we share with one another our own stories of personal guilts and shames, and how our perspectives change, and how we decide to simply let old ideas and stories go--we create a safe and sacred space in our world for others to allow the same thing for themselves. That goes so much further with me than any finger-pointing lectures.
P.S. Below is a link to a 16-minute YouTube video with Adamus Saint-Germain talking about the 13th Strand in our DNA, not visible to science yet. It's the one with a balanced Divine Masculine and Divine Feminine--both of which are found in every single one of us humans, regardless of gender. We have a split brain--right and left hemispheres. The right corresponds to the feminine and the left to the masculine. It makes sense to me, and maybe it will to those who read my stuff.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)