Trusting the process

In meditation practice we work to create the posture, learning to align with gravity and allowing that alignment to support us almost effortlessly. Then we can “trust in the process that it allows to emerge. Like a twig that falls into a river with a strong current, you will unfailingly be conveyed in the direction of the goal of your practice.” [excerpted from the book The Posture of Meditation.]

I have found this true in life as well, having quite literally thrown myself into the arms of a divine Love and hoping that I would be safely held. I have worked hard at “aligning” myself with love, wisdom, and compassion — desiring and seeking healing and connection with my deepest, truest Self. I have come to believe, through hard-won experience, that when we seek first and foremost that deeper connection and love, it opens up a universe of possibilities to us, and allows healing to emerge.

In the healing of deep, long-festering wounds we are indeed like a twig that has fallen into a river with a strong current. We are tossed about relentlessly, going under at times, crashing into boulders, and racing along at great speed feeling completely out of control.  While being tossed about in the rapids you can’t see where you’re going and it can be hard, if not impossible, to retain any kind of perspective. Healing is a frightening journey and takes great courage.

The best and bravest thing to do is to relax into and trust the process. You will — unfailingly — “be conveyed in the direction of the goal of your practice.” You will, at some point, find yourself coming ashore on the solid ground of your own true Self, discovering the arms of Love wide open just waiting to scoop you up and embrace you. You will discover a fire within where you can warm yourself, and a deep Wisdom seated there waiting patiently to greet you with all you will ever need.

May you have the courage to leap into the river and to trust the process. May you come up for air often enough to keep your courage, and may you come safely ashore to the Love that is waiting for you.

On resilience and trauma

I was surprised, in my meditation studies, to see the word resilience applied to the sitting position. Well, at first I wasn’t surprised because I thought of resilience as a stoic strength, which was precisely what I thought it would take to make myself sit still and just breathe for half an hour. Like many people, I thought formal meditation meant sitting still as a stone statue of the Buddha.

However, the way it was applied here was that resilience implies movement — being resilient means to be constantly adapting to the ever-changing shifts in our bodies and minds, making the necessary subtle movements that keep us in alignment on the meditation cushion.

I love that image in terms of healing from trauma — just as we learned to fight, flee, or freeze in order to survive (and that was brilliant and resilient at the time), as we heal we learn to adapt to and allow the ever-changing shifts in moods, emotions, triggers, flashbacks, and physical sensations as they come up. Being resilient in healing means we’re allowing whatever arises to just be, without judgment, and we’re learning to let it flow through us and on out. It’s constant change and movement, taking us deeper and deeper into healing and wholeness as different layers arise.

It’s not fun and it’s not easy, especially if “freezing” was your mode of surviving. But the more movement of energy we allow and engage with the more resilient we become. And the more resilient we become, the more we’re able to handle whatever life throws at us. The one certainty about life is its uncertainty — there is no arriving in some mysterious, unchanging place called Stability. I guess I’ve come to see resilience itself as stability — by learning to allow and flow with whatever arises I’ve developed a deep inner strength that no one can take away or destroy.

May you, too, find the movement you need for healing. May you learn to be comfortable with change and uncertainty. May you be resilient.

Wild, wise woman emerging

When the Universe relieved me of my job in January, I decided to explore new possibilities and listen to the inner yearnings of my heart rather than frantically look for a job. Fortunately, for the time being, I have the means to do that.

For years I have longed to be part of a community of women unafraid of exploring their inner worlds and supporting each other in that process. By listening to and following my intuition I have come to a place filled with such women, and am finding myself lovingly supported in my own journey toward freedom and autonomy.

It’s amazing the effect it has on a person’s soul and psyche when the eyes you look into reflect back love, admiration, respect, faith and belief in you, and encouragement. Things I thought were long-dead within me are coming back to life, and while I’m still unemployed there is a path unfolding before me. I don’t know precisely where it’s going to lead but I know I have to follow it — and trust that something beautiful is happening.

Many women, and especially victims of trauma, have suffered serious injury to their ability to trust themselves and rely on intuition. I love this quote from Women Who Run With the Wolves:

The cure for instinct-injured women: “Practice listening to your intuition, your inner voice; ask questions; be curious; see what you see; hear what you hear; and then act upon what you know to be true. These intuitive powers were given to your soul at birth. They have been covered over, perhaps by years and years of ashes and excrement. This is not the end of the world, for these can be washed away. With some chipping and scraping and practice, your perceptive powers can be brought back to their pristine state again.” (Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D.)

May you begin to uncover and restore to beauty the treasure within your own Soul.

Uncertainty and change

Sometimes the way forward is not the least bit obvious. Sometimes you have to step back and look at the big picture, and sometimes that just makes it more difficult. When in doubt close your eyes, listen to your heart, and feel your way forward. You can look and look and look with your rational mind, and all you’ll see is confusion and chaos. By feeling your way intuitively, you build your inner strength and slowly the way opens up before you. Sometimes you discover a door in what appeared to be a solid wall. Trust your heart, and trust the process.

I was laid off (without pay) over the holidays, and decided that instead of freaking out I would look at this as an opportunity to get some much-needed rest and spend more time meditating and practicing yoga. Quite unexpectedly I fell in love with formal meditation (I generally loathe sitting). I was gradually experiencing more and more deep peace and calm, and decided to enroll in a course to become a meditation instructor.

When I returned to work, I knew a new path was unfolding before me. I had (and still have) no idea precisely where it’s going to lead or what it’s going to look like, but I went back to work knowing that ultimately I did not belong there. At the end of my first week back my boss told me that the VP over him had decided to give my position to a former long-time employee (I was classified as a temp, but I’d been assured that my position was secure for two to three years). And just like that I was, and am, unemployed.

Six months ago I would have been completely and utterly undone, overcome with abject terror. But between my EMDR sessions and my very active yoga and meditation practice, I have found solid ground deep within my own soul and am able to be at peace. I am learning to trust the process of an unfolding life and to live beautifully with uncertainty and change (American Buddhist nun Pema Chodron).

May you, too, find the courage you need to face each day as it unfolds before you, and not be overcome by fear. May you be safe and free. May you be well.

Patience with the healing process

Sometimes the winter of the healing process is a long one with vast expanses of seemingly nothing happening. At least nothing “good.” It can be very tempting to run — as fast and hard and in whatever way you can — from the harsh, unrelenting, unforgiving pain you’ve been living for so long. But if you can find the courage to stand and face it, you can learn to embrace it and let it do its work. Winter’s work is a deep, slow, hidden process. And it’s necessary.

Scattered across the ice
like the stars in the night sky
countless
tiny pieces of pain
glitter cruelly
with a terrible beauty
crusted together
in a winter that never
seems to let go
The wind-swept expanse
contains a lifetime of woes
hidden beneath layers
of ice and
snow

It requires trust and faith, to believe that underneath all this frozen pain some kind of healing and growth is taking place. But if you’re sincerely seeking and desiring to be whole, then know that it is happening. The Universe has a way of meeting the heart that reaches toward love and wholeness. And when the time is right, the warm sun of spring will begin to melt what is frozen within you, revealing tiny, beautiful buds of new life.

May you have the patience to wait.

Some lovely awards

Thank you to Heather at Donning the Crescent for nominating me for these two awards. She writes beautifully of her own journey, which happens to be on the path of the Craft. Yes — a real, live witch! (This is my miniscule contribution to demystifying and de-stigmatizing that word and that way of life. Plus, her writing and photos are beautiful.)

I’m supposed to recommend 15 other lovely and/or inspirational blogs but I have to confess that the intensity of my healing journey of late hasn’t afforded the time to explore other blogs. That’s something I hope to be able to rectify in the near future.

In the meantime: I wish you all healing, along with clarity of vision and purpose in the coming new year. May you find deep peace and meaningful relationships to buoy your soul.

Letting go of rotten fruit

It is officially winter today, and yet this tree in my yard still clings to this apple — to rotten fruit. I get it, from the standpoint of trauma. In many areas of our lives we are stuck or frozen, holding on to behaviors or ways of thinking — rotten fruit — that no longer serve us. Letting go, for a person with CPTSD, is a terrifying prospect. It means being vulnerable, and in the past vulnerability meant some pretty horrible things, and was likely even life-threatening.

But in order to heal and grow we do, eventually, have to start letting go of the rotten fruit in our lives. Much of that fruit — whether extreme anger, overpowering fear, defensive armor, social isolation, abusive self-talk — comes from seeds planted by abusers. We didn’t get ourselves into this mess, we never intended to grow this fruit in the first place, but in the end we’re the only ones who can get ourselves out of this mess and work toward healing.

And the thing is, it’s only when the rotten fruit is released that something new and healthy can grow in its place. Whatever rotten thing is hanging heavy in your life right now, may you have the courage and the strength to release it. May you be free from that suffering, and may something beautiful and life-giving begin to grow in its place.

May you be comforted, supported, protected, cared for, healed. May you become the love you need.

Breaking up the ice of trauma

Lake Michigan

Healing childhood trauma is damn hard work. The survival tactics that saved us then do not  serve us now, and can even become a source of imprisonment. For me, the freeze response and dissociation were what kept me alive. But decades of freezing and dissociating took their toll both physically and emotionally, and as my children came along I became determined to heal no matter the cost.

In the winters on the island where I lived for 15 years, the ferry passage from the island to the mainland often became frozen over or jammed with ice floes pushed in by the cold north wind. The winter ferry was an icebreaker and twice daily would break open a path for those who needed to travel over and back again. I loved to bundle up and stand out on the deck, listening to the cracking ice and swooshing water, and watching the broken pieces either submerge in the icy depths or go skittering off across the fields of unbroken ice.

I breathed deeply, knowing that I was doing the same work in my heart. Years of frozen trauma had encased my mind and heart, but not my spirit. With determination and great effort I was breaking up that ice to set myself free. Sometimes it seemed to close right back in again as soon as I took a step forward, much as it did with the ferry after it had passed through. But it would be that much easier to break it up again, for having been plowed through once already.

There were icy chunks of thought patterns and beliefs that cracked and split wide open, skittering across the surface of my heart and away from the depths. It was terrifying to look into the icy deep of my woundedness — it threatened to swallow me whole and take me down to a dark and hidden death. But there was also great beauty in the work and the process. The smaller pieces of fractured ice glittered and sparkled in the sunlight, creating a dance of light that the solid, unbroken ice never could. The larger chunks and shoves gathered up deep shades of greens and blues and wove them into otherworldly hues.

And then there was the water itself, once the ice was broken open. At the edges it was a deep  and light-filled green, but the middle and depths where the light didn’t penetrate were such a dark green as to look black. It’s a terrifying yet sacred act to look into the depths of a wounded soul — there’s no knowing what monsters may be coiled and ready to spring forth from that blackness. I knew if I fell in I would sink slowly and be devoured completely.

I clung tightly to the edges of sanity as I carefully, slowly worked at breaking up the ice in my heart, exposing the depths to the light of day. Moment by painstaking moment, year after year, I worked. As more and more sunlight was able to penetrate the darkness it brought warmth. The light and the warmth brought healing and new life.

The passage the island ferry crosses daily is known as Death’s Door. For those of us recovering from complex trauma, we have to make that journey — crossing Death’s Door and going back again — many, many times in order to bring forth the healing that is our birthright. May each of you have the strength and courage it takes to carry on, and continue breaking up the ice in your life.

Learning to embrace the darkness

I learned to embrace darkness and its power to heal while living on an island in Lake Michigan. For 15 years I raised my four children alone, with little in the way of support. I was wrapped in a cocoon of solitude as I learned to listen to my heart and all that Nature had to teach me.

Night by night I walked alone in the dark — sometimes by the light of the moon and stars, sometimes carefully finding my way in utter blackness. If you’ve never had the privilege of experiencing night far away from city lights, it’s difficult to imagine just how black black can be. On a moonless night on my little island, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face — it was swallowed by the darkness. That darkness taught me to walk carefully, gently, slowly, finding my way by my other senses. It taught me to trust and follow my heart more deeply.

Sometimes the crescent moon would be sitting low in the western sky, glowing with hope even as it was about to sink below the horizon. Sometimes a deep orange full moon would be rising in the east, painting the clouds in various shades of magnificence as it rode by. Other nights the stars would be scattered brilliantly, constellations hanging so low I could almost touch them. Sometimes the night was still and silent, and other times a cold north wind howled in the trees and pushed back against every step I took.

Year after year I walked. I walked and I listened and I embraced the gift of solitude and darkness. I saw how bulbs planted in my garden needed a dark, cold winter hidden away in order to come to life again in the spring, and I knew my Soul was like one of those bulbs. There was something beautiful deep within me, and when the darkness was done, when the solitude had worked its magic, the beauty would break through the thawing ground of my life.

Healing is a gentle and slow process that can’t be forced and can’t be rushed. It can’t be seen and it often doesn’t feel like anything is even happening. But if you’re very still and very quiet, and you learn to listen with your heart, you feel the warm embrace of Love and you know that somewhere deep inside something is mending. Something beautiful is unfolding. One day, it will break through into the light of day — and you will be amazed.

Your inner world

There’s a place within you
sacred
deep waters
mysterious
magical
filled with Wisdom
and light
But first
you must dive
inward
downward
away from the
light
Learn to breathe
underwater