Being Human

"How about just being human?" she asked me. 

One of my weekly clients and I always end up in deep philosophical conversations, the first of which started with, "What is love?"-- but that's a whole other story. Last week, the question was about just being human, just a few days after my CranioSacral workshop in which my teacher had the initials "H.B" after his name, standing for "Human Being."

My client asked me about this during a conversation about self-judgments, self-analyses, and pursuit of "self-mastery." "What the heck is self-mastery?" she asked. So many questions, so little time...."How about just being human?"

"Just being."

It was a great reminder on a day that I had started off feeling cranky, making assumptions, taking things personally, and creating drama. But it wasn't enough to take away my self-criticism. It wasn't enough to make me laugh at myself or feel that there was no need to apologize.

And so I did apologize, later, on the phone, to someone who also brought up this whole "being human" thing.

"Why apologize? You're just being human."

Yes, he was right. As was my client. And finally it was sinking in. Sometimes I forget, and even when reminded, sometimes it's hard to accept, to surrender, to let go of questions, doubts, stories. Sometimes it's hard to just sit with the negative emotions and embrace them, taking in what they're here to show me. Sometimes it's hard not to judge myself, for "just being human!"

Sometimes I have to take a step back to take a leap forward. 

I saw this poem in a brochure yesterday, and it really resonated with me, with this theme of "being human" that's come up over the past week:

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes 

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture.

Still, treat each guest honorably.

It may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing, 

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guest from beyond.

--Rumi

Morning by the lake

I love the quiet stillness of the early morning.

The lake is calm.

This reminds me of a mindfulness/centering/stress-relief visualization my life coach gave me, which was to imagine myself at the bottom of a lake, where it's always calm, regardless of what's happening on the surface. (Laura, if you're reading this and have anything to add, please do.)

mi a fasz?

That's the Hungarian equivalent to "WTF?"

And that's what I just thought to myself after also thinking to myself, "Faj a fejem." That's Hungarian for "My head hurts."

Why do I still think certain things in Hungarian? 

Usually it's just when I'm driving and irritated. Hungarian road rage.

I think the thing I miss most about my ex-husband is the language. I miss speaking Hungarian. I really enjoyed learning it and playing around with it, inventing my own words, like "tehen baba" for "veal." Tehen baba means baby cow. I don't remember the actual word for "veal." But that was my famous "first word" creation. My ex and his friends and family all thought it was so cute and funny. And it was..... It's so nice to be able to look back on those times fondly, with love, instead of with sadness and anger. Lots of good times. Lots of fun times. Took some time to get to this point. First year of separation, and first year of divorce, I couldn't have imagined it. But it's true that time heals all. Not sure if it would have happened nearly as fast, or as fully, without Sheng Zhen Qigong though. The qigong of unconditional love is some  powerful stuff....

Bump it

That's the name of a hair styling product that has an annoyingly repetitive, hyperactive, saleswoman-on-crack commercial. Bumpits, to be precise.

It's also what I've been doing the past couple of days, as in bumping into things. 

Yesterday I slid off of my stool and bumped my bum. This morning I woke up disoriented when my alarm went off and bumped my head into the nightstand by the bed. And this afternoon, I bumped my back into the corner of a piano when standing after bending down to pick something up. WHAT DOES IT MEAN?             

I don't know.  I'm just glad I didn't bump into the car that cut me off on my drive home just now. And I'm glad I bumped my head between my eyes, instead of poking my eye out. And I guess it's good that my hand absorbed the shock of my fall off the stool since my tailbone's still recovering from last year's Halloween fall. Typically I'm not so clumsy; falls and bumps don't happen so often, but when they do, they seem to happen big and frequently in a short amount of time. I guess that's why I think it must mean something. Must be some sort of message. Usually the analysis is crystal clear to me. But not this time. None of the usual analyses fit, and my brain hurts thinking about it.

[sigh]

Actually, my head really does hurt from falling off my stool. The impact traveled up through my wrist, elbow, shoulder into the right side of my occiput.  Too bad my craniosacral class was LAST weekend instead of this weekend.....

I'm gonna go curl up in a ball, or perhaps stretch out and unwind, on the couch now. Hopefully I won't bump into anything else on my way there.....

A Meaningless Hobby

What was my intention for starting this blog?

Why call it "meaningless" if I'm putting my precious energy into it.?

Why  not call it something else, like "my latest kick-ass moment"?

These questions came from an email I received in response to my blog notification email. My initial reaction was, ugh, i don't know!  don't ask. But then I thought more about it.

First the name. Meaningless hobby. What is meaningless? Is anything really meaningless? What's meaningless becomes meaningful. That's the whole point. Isn't it? Everything is meaningful. 

Or nothing means anything at all; everything's meaningless.

 Depends on the philosophical perspective. Depends on my mood. 

What stumped me more is the hobby part of meaningless hobby.  Is a blog a hobby? Is my blog a hobby? What the heck is a hobby?

Hobby: a small Old World falcon (Falco subbuteo) that is dark blue above and white below with dark streaking on the breast

That's not what this is. So, let's try again:
Hobby: a pursuit outside one's regular occupation engaged in especially for relaxation

Ok, that's a hobby. So, if this blog is my hobby, that means I only write in it to help me relax. Not because I have to. Not to recount every thing every day. But just whenever and whatever I feel like. Just for fun. Just to get some of my internal chatter out of my head.  An outlet. A place to write free from pressure. A place where my writing may or may not be read by others, and it doesn't really matter to me either way. A writing exercise, free from expectations. Never on my to-do-list--

uh oh, I just noticed the "pursuit" part of the definition of hobby. I don't want to pursue anything. Pursue = chase. But wait! Pursue also means "engage in." So it's ok. 

Ok, I can have a hobby. A meaningless hobby. A meaningless hobby that may be meaningful sometimes and meaningless other times. May be boring sometimes. Interesting other times. Funny sometimes. Sad sometimes. Good writing sometimes. Bad writing other times.

But enough with the labels, the definitions, the explanations.  "A Meaningless Hobby" is a funny name (at least my brother thinks so, and so do I), so it stays. 

As for my reluctance about blogging (that's another thing I've been asked about), I think  I explained some of that in the first entry; I thought it would take away from "more important" writing time and energy. I also, personally, don't enjoy spending a lot of time reading things online, so I rarely read other people's blogs. I also have privacy concerns, not just for myself but for those in my life who may inspire me to write. But, to be honest, a HUGE part of my resistance to blogging was just the word "blog." 

BLLLLOG. Sounds like blah. Sounds like someone throwing up. I don't like the sound of it. And I'm quite sensitive to sound. The word does not resonate with me. In fact, it evokes a feeling of heaviness, yuckiness, and darkness. Like a bog! Blog. 

themes of the day

Last night I watched "Vicky Cristina Barcelona," and one of the lines in the movie was something along the lines of "I'm not free; I'm committed." Or vice versa.
Hey, that's what I was writing about this morning in my blog, I thought to myself.

That's all. For now.

Too sleepy to write more on that; maybe I have nothing else to say about it anyway. And too sleepy to write about the theme of today: being human. Two different people at two different times in two different contexts talked to me about "just being human." And my weekend craniosacral teacher had the initials H.B. after his name. When asked what it stood for, he said, "Human being."

Ok, I just might have to write more about this. Not that I "have to" write about anything. First rule of Meaningless Hobby, it never goes on the "to do" list. No have to's here.

So, that's all, for now....

Afterthoughts

As I was shutting off my laptop after posting the Young and Pretty entry, I had some afterthoughts.

First, I thought about what I said to my parents, "why not live it up while I'm uncommitted -- no man...just me. Committed to myself."

I went to bed last night but couldn't sleep. What the heck did I mean by that? There's something wrong with that statement. Now I realized that my dad was not the only one saying "messed up" things. I was saying messed up statements to myself!

I don't believe it's an either/or type of thing. Living it up and commitment to myself vs.-- vs. what?? No vs. Why not live it up no matter what? Why not stay committed to oneself while committed to another? A partnership doesn't have to stop me from continuing to travel and learn and explore and grow; I'm ready for someone who would support me in that and be doing the same for himself. It wouldn't mean an end of freedom or a complete loss of personal time and personal space, a loss of myself. Been there, done that. And I am ready for something healthy this time. Something that allows freedom rather than taking it away. Something that contributes to me finding myself, rather than losing myself. Though not in a partnership, I've recently been blessed with a little taste of part of what that type of relationship would feel like. So I know it's possible. I may be old and pretty by the time the full deal comes into my life, but it's worth waiting for. And maybe it won't be that long after all. Who knows? No rush. And I am ready.

Also, I don't need to explain or think of myself as taking advantage of what's lacking in my life. I'm merely taking advantage of what is. I'm taking advantage of my advantages. No need to cram it all in now before something or someone comes into my life and puts an end to it. There is no end. I'm here to enjoy life and live it up til the day I die. And maybe some days living it up means doing nothing and being alone. And even that can continue when sharing your life with someone. As long as there's love. As long as there's trust. In oneself, in others, in the bigger picture beyond--- big topic here and too sleep deprived to delve further right now.

Second thought keeping me up: I love my bed. And it feels so good to be home. After being in Seattle for a few days, it felt so good to be back home. Perhaps it's time to cut down on the traveling and workshops. Perhaps it's time to just settle down and be still for awhile. As I wrote above, no need to rush. That's what I'm feeling, organically, not forced, not from any outside influence or mental chatter. I just feel it inside. And I was feeling it earlier last night too. So I bought my ticket home from Austin, the one-way ticket I was waiting to buy, waiting to see if I wanted to stay longer than an extra night or two, after qigong teacher training. But I don't. At least not right now. And if that feeling changes, I cross that bridge when I come to it.

Third thought was gratitude for the past couple of days that were spent with my best friend growing up. Living across the country, we've barely kept in touch. But she's like the sister I never had. Reconnecting with each other felt really nourishing. It was also a great practice for me in terms of separating out what's mine and what's hers in terms of "issues" that come up when we're sharing our stories and giving each other advice (or refraining from doing so). In the end, I felt super clear on what was mine and what was hers, and was grateful for the perspective gained and some of the mirrors she held up in front of me---


Oh, speaking mirrors, I have a confession to make. Part of why I was disturbed by my dad's "young and pretty" comment was because just a few days prior I was having an awesome hair day(!) and felt frustrated about yet another "wasted" good hair day. I was looking in the mirror thinking, I look damn good, and for who? Somebody's missing out. And then I laughed at my ridiculous self, or rather at my ridiculous ego and fear. Fear of being alone, specifically based on appearance or age! How messed up is that?!?! Quite. And then for my dad to say that thing about choosing to get married while still young and pretty? Sort of erie. Sort of funny. Sort of makes sense. But luckily I'm evolving and had already had this conversation with myself in which I smiled at my reflection while telling myself that the only one missing out was me if I continued thinking that way. I don't need a man, or a friend, or anyone, to flatter me; clearly I can do it myself! I'm not saying it's not nice and welcomed and appreciated coming from someone else. But it's certainly not essential; my happiness doesn't depend on others; it depends on me.

While I'm still Young & Pretty?!? What planet are YOU from, Dad?!?

"How was your workshop, Beck?" my dad asks me.

I tell him and my mom about how much I love CranioSacral and that eventually I want to take a BioAquatics course and work with dolphins! This leads into talking about all the workshops and traveling I've been doing lately, how I can afford it for now and "why not live it up while I'm uncommitted-- no man, no child, no pet. Just me. Committed to myself."

"Well it's your life, and you can choose your own adventure," my dad says.

"That's right! And right now I'm choosing to travel a lot and load up on workshops," I say, pleasantly surprised by my dad's supportive statement.

But then he says, "You should choose to get married while you're still young and pretty."

And then time stands still for a second.

Did he really just say that? What a way to ruin that feeling of support and understanding.

Internally my blood is on the verge of boiling. But I think of the locket I'm wearing, the locket I had just shown him I was wearing. It's one he gave to his mother, and she gave it to me. I started wearing it a week ago as a reminder of love and acceptance in the face of judgment and criticism. I didn't tell him that that's the meaning I assigned to it. But it is. And it helped. It helped remind me, in that particular moment, that his intention was love and support. Someone else could say the same words to me or to someone else and it would be clear that it was a put down, harsh, critical, negative. But with my dad, that's not the case. It's just that we see certain things very differently. So back in the moment, I maintain my cool by controlling my tone of voice while also showing my internal disappointment and reply,"Do you know how messed up that is for you to say to me? On so many different levels?"

In the past I would have been hyper-sensitive (maybe still am but respond differently) and defensive in response to a statement like this. I probably would have said the same thing, but with a very different tone of voice and attitude. If I hadn't been so grounded and full of self-love, my father's statement would have hit below the belt (though certainly not his intention), would have felt like a bowling ball in my stomach, would have filled me with sadness and rage. Instead I mostly felt disturbed that my dad would think that way and say something like that to me.

"What's wrong with what I said?" he asked.

"Well, first of all the 'should choose' part. I should choose to get married? Hello?!?! I've been married, and it didn't work out. And I can't just choose to get married."

So then he says something about putting myself in places and situations where I'd meet a potential husband.

"Like where? How? What? That's just not where I'm at-- I would love to share my life with someone, but not just anyone, and I'm certainly not interested in trying to find someone, or getting married for the sake of getting married, settling for someone who's not right for me out of fear that I better do so while I'm 'still young and pretty.'"


Which brings me the next part of my explanation about what's so messed up about his statement, and I say some things along the lines of, "While I'm still young and pretty, dad? Gee, thanks! Yes, I'm young and pretty, thanks, but I'll always be pretty. And aging is inevitable. And I deserve to be with somebody who sees my beauty inside and out regardless of age. Plus, I've got great genes! Look and you and mom. You both look so young for your age."

There was more about me being on a spiritual path, and my mom backing me up, and my dad listening politely, interjecting a little, but not saying much. The compliment on his and my mom's youthful appearance brought this conversation to a pleasant end. I tell my dad that I appreciate his concern, and I know he just wants me to be happy, but that we have different opinions on what that means. And in the great words of my dad, "I'm entitled to my opinion; you're entitled to yours."

And then I tease him a little by saying I'm gonna have to post a blog about this conversation.

And then he asks, "Do you think aliens will read your blog?"

My dad is so unpredictable. From serious to ridiculous, he's always got something interesting to say or ask. I smile and play along, "No! They don't have to read it. They just know what I write without reading it."

And then I said something about being descended from aliens. My mom says something about everyone coming from Mars.

My dad gets real serious again. Silence. And then he says, "I come from St. Louis, not from Mars."

I burst out laughing. And it's contagious; my parents laugh too. I tell my dad, "That's great. Great quote from the Judge. That one's gotta go down in history. I wanna put that on your tombstone!"

"Ha!" My dad laughs, likes the idea, and even gives me the ok, "you can put that on my tombstone."

And then my mom chimes in, "Well I come from Mars, not from Venus; nobody comes from Venus."

I start laughing at the cartoon-like image in my head. "Not that I like the thought of either of you dying, but I can see it now: side by side tombstones. Mom's says, 'I come from Mars, not from Venus,' and Dad's says, 'I come from St. Louis, not from Mars."

We all have a good laugh over that, and then as the laughter dies down, my dad asks, "But why are you thinking about my tombstone?"

We all laugh again.

It was nice to go from a potentially upsetting and volatile topic to such a silly conversation.... I love my parents. But I don't just love them; I actually like them too. And I am so grateful for that! So grateful for them. :)

"for damaged hair"

I just noticed that the conditioner I use at my parents' house says "for damaged hair." I've noticed this before, but it never bothered me until now.

As I read those words, my head tilted to one side and I sort of frowned. Damaged? I'm not damaged. My hair's not damaged. And I read that book about the messages in water a long time ago and again recently, and I believe there's something to it. So having the word "damaged" on that bottle of conditioner made me wonder if the conditioner's damaged. It has that message seeping into it. So I tossed it in the trash. Where it belongs.

Why are there so many products out there telling us there's something wrong with us? And using negative words to do so?

And why are some more accepted than others? The "for damaged hair" probably helps sell that conditioner, but would skin moisturizer "for old, dead, dry face" sell? I don't think so. 

a not-so-rude awakening

My  parents have this super deep extra long bath tub downstairs. It was in my bathroom growing up, but I was never into baths until recently. So rather than enjoying it all those years, I, and most others, found it to be somewhat annoying and impractical because you  literally have to CLIMB in over the high wall of the tub.

 

But recently I started taking baths once or twice a week, both as a mindfulness/meditation practice and for energetic cleansing purposes. An energyworker recently strongly suggested I take Epsom salt and baking soda baths because of how open I am combined with all the time I spend working with others through massage and qigong. And wow! What a difference it makes. My first one totally brought back that sparkly fresh glow. No energy-draining weight-bearing entities attached to me! Just pure, fresh, and clean.

 

So this morning I took a bath at my parents’ house in my old  bathroom, and man was I missing out all those years! Just the other day I was thinking about how silly it is that bath tubs are so short, so what a treat it was this morning; I could almost extend my legs fully and be completely submerged in the water. Ahhhhhh…. and then BAM!  I was thrust out of my deep relaxation when the shower head fell into the tub and hit my knee. My ears were under water, and I think the sound of the impact was more jolting than the impact itself.  What a rude awakening, I thought to myself, irritated but also sort of laughing at the situation.

 

Thinking about alarm state and diaphragms, what I reviewed and practiced yesterday at day 2 of Craniosacral, I sat up and immediately cupped my right knee. Light pressure. No agenda. Present. Grounded. Neutral. And voila! My knee let me in, my heart rate and breath slowed back down, and most interestingly my left sits bones released. I heard an internal pop and felt it settle down.

 

It’s all connected. That rude awakening wasn’t so rude after all.

 

I laid back down, submerged in water and induced a still point through my lateral ribs. Being in the water allowed my body to gently and slowly twist, following the internal release. Next I tried a diaphragm release of the thoracic inlet, and holy cow! My head started tilting back into what felt like an occipital base release. Surrendering. Unwinding.

 

Wow. CranioSacral under water. I just might have to do this more often!

1 Adam down, 2 to go....

As I walked up to the door of the Massage Sanctuary, I saw a familiar profile. At first I wasn't even surprised. It was as if I knew he'd be there. Although I hadn't seen him in 3 or 4 years, I had seen him yesterday in my mind's eye while receiving CranioSacral. I had this little waking dream of being at a wedding and holding a baby that was not mine. Perhaps it was his. And he was getting married. But first it wasn't him; it was my brother. And then it was him. And then it was my brother again. 

When I walked through the door, his back was to me, and I said, "Adam?!" He turned around, and yes it was. It was 1 of my 3 Adams. Yes, 3 Adams all overlapping in some way in my life. There's the ex-husband, the on-again-off-again temptation turned friend, and then there's this one, the summer fling. We met in 2000, totally hit it off, but didn't date for long; he was wonderful in many ways (hence our agreement that he was the "good" Adam in comparison to the other Adam in my life, the "bad" Adam, the temptation). Although Adam A. was good, he had one fatal flaw: he looked too much like my brother! And he had his own reasons too for agreeing we were better off as friends. And so friends we became. He and his wife were even there a few years later when I married Adam #3! And shortly after that wedding was the last time we saw each other.

And as usual in my life, when it rains it pours. Today it's pouring Adams. Apparently the one formerly known as "bad" thought we were meeting for lunch today. I thought it was next week. It's been more than a year since we've seen each other, and I rarely hear from him. So to hear from him and plan to get together around the same time that I run into Adam A. is pretty darn erie.  And so at this rate I won't be surprised if I wake up to an email from my ex-husband!

No Agenda

With no agenda, be present. 

Grounded.

Neutral. 

This is how to listen,

how to feel.

This is how to be.

No need to chase it.

Don't chase it.

Let it come

naturally

to you.

Stop wanting.

Stop expecting.

Just be open 

to receiving

whatever it is

whenever it comes.

Present.  

Grounded. 

Neutral. 

The 3 words of the day. 1st day of repeating CranioSacral 1. Awesome teacher! So much better than last time. And most of the day was spent discussing and practicing the words above, to help us feel the subtle cranial rhythms. All day I was thinking about how important these three things are beyond the context of craniosacral, beyond the context of being a body/energyworker.  If everybody, every day, approached life from a place of present, grounded, neutrality, without agenda-- can you even imagine? 

welcome to the psychic friends network

Last night I drove down to Seattle-- Mercer Island actually-- after a super long day, and as I drove past my old elementary school off of Island Crest Way, I thought of high school. I thought of the times I spent at the playground and Dragon Park as a teenager. I thought of Chris Mulally as I drove past his driveway. I wondered if he's in Europe or just down the street. I wondered if he'd received my email, if he'd read my blog! I thought of his blog and how I used to make fun of it for documenting everything in his day, hour by hour, but that at the same time I enjoyed reading it. I was thinking about posting a blog called "Ode to Mulally." Don't ask me why. Not even sure what it would say, but I liked the sound of the title. As I continued driving, I thought of how rarely we see each other, how rarely we talk, how rarely we email. And this morning, who's name appeared in my inbox?? None other than good ol' Mulally.  This one's for you. Stay tuned for the "Ode." Or not....

Let's talk about sex.....

Ah, that takes me back to the 90's, good ol' Salt n' Pepa. They were on to something with that song....

And why am I thinking of that song? Because I've had sex on the brain for an insane majority of the past 2 days! And there's no reason why I should keep it to myself. In fact, most of my thoughts were not about sex itself but partially about how we talk about, or rather how we DON'T talk about it. And how crazy is it that even seeing that word -- SEX-- stirs up so much. WARNING! May be unsuitable. Mom, Dad, Kids, shut your eyes, cover your ears. Shhhhh.....

It started a couple days ago, when I got this email from a friend in response to my first blog post:
Nice blog. Reading about your continuum made me a little uncomfortable. I felt like I was reading about someone masturbating
Really? I furrowed my brow and felt troubled, more out of concern over my friend's discomfort than over my decision to share such an intimate account of a profoundly healing movement experience. I was disturbed more by the discomfort than by the reference to masturbating. At the same time, I recognized that she might be joking, but I was in serious mode and took her seriously, so I wrote back expressing my concern. Turns out she was joking about feeling uncomfortable, but this whole exchange led me to lots of thoughts about how common it is that seeing or reading about someone taking a "Continuum Dive" often does evoke sexual associations, and that that often does make people feel uncomfortable.

Now, there's a part of me that wants to say Continuum's not sexual. But maybe it is, not specifically but in the more general sense of the fullness of being! Fully experiencing your body, waking the body from a deep sleep, FEELING more alive-- sex(uality) is a part of that. And there's nothing wrong with that.

At the same time another part of me wants to say that it's not sexual and/or that it's just that we have nothing else to compare it to. We've gotten so out of touch with our bodies, we've moved so far away from feeling and moving as nature intended, as we started out as embryos, as newborns, fluid and free. So, yes, sex and masturbation may come to mind when reading about or witnessing, or even experiencing, continuum movement. What other frame of reference do we have?

Undulations.
Wave-like motions.
Feelings of ecstasy and pleasure from movement.
Deep, full body breathing.
Curling toes.
Arching spine.

Sounds pretty sexual, doesn't it? Yes it does. But so what?! In the great words of George Michael, "Sex is natural, sex is good." And it's true. Sex is a natural part of life, people! We are sexual beings, whether we like it or not, and why not like it?

Which brings me to the next issue. Regardless of the reason behind the association with sex, whether it's because it's natural and healthy to make that association or if it's because of how dissociated we are from our own bodies that we have no other frame of reference, the other issue remains: the discomfort this association evokes.

In this society, so many people are uncomfortable with their own sexuality and bodies, ashamed, embarrassed, and out of touch (pun intended). Afraid.

Fear instead of love. We're afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. Afraid to touch. Afraid to love.

One of my clients was telling me that they were thinking about having a family massage night once a week; she has a couple of kids in elementary school. But she and her husband started worrying about how that could get misconstrued if one of the other kids at school, or a teacher, or another parent overheard something about a family "massage" night. Oh, and don't even get me started on the sexual associations that go along with massage-- I guess I just did get myself started. But I'm stopping now. Maybe more on that another time.

Back to Continuum. And sex. Back to the discomfort....

I bet this email, or even the title of it, will make some people uncomfortable. But that's too bad. No, actually, it's not bad; it's great! Go ahead and feel uncomfortable. Take a look at why. And move beyond it. Why the discomfort? Why the taboo? Life's too short for such self/society-inflicted repression and suffering. Free your body. Free your mind. Open your mouth and speak freely. Move your body. BREATHE. Feel pleasure. And please, feel good about it!

And here are some videos of Emilie Conrad talking about Continuum:

Fluid system1

Fear

Aging

Fluid system2
  
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.

I crack myself up....

I just checked my voicemail and heard this message:

"Hi, Rebecca. It's Rebecca. Ummmm, I'm calling to tell you that I just spent $24.26 filling up a tank of gas, but the receipt didn't print out. [pause] I love you, beautiful! Bye!"

Ha!

I am laughing at myself.

This is the 2nd message like that I've left for myself in the past week. And I love it!

It started after reading that new favorite book of mine, "The Mastery of Love." And while all excited about rediscovering my self-love, I told someone that I was going to start writing love letters to myself. She said I might not want to broadcast that. But why the heck not?!!??!?!

Whether somebody else is loving us and praising us or not, we should always love and praise ourselves, first and foremost. Otherwise, we put our happiness in the hands of others, put off our happiness for some thing or some one else, out there, outside of ourselves. But it's all within. No need to search or seek. No need to need or want. Love and happiness are already there, inside of you.

And now I'm taking my loving happy self outside to enjoy this sunshine, even though it's tempting to write more right now, not only about the above topic, but about intention, the title of my blog, more on continuum and the thoughts triggered by a couple responses to my first posting. oh, and mold. so, more to come.... or not!

I don't know about this....but I do know it's a beautiful day.

For various reasons, I have some hesitations about starting a blog, so who knows how long this will last....

BUT, yesterday I read an article that encouraged finding a "meaningless" hobby for 2009. The first thing that came to mind was starting a blog. It came to mind because both my brother and a close friend had suggested I start one, but I'd always protest, partially because I felt it would take time away from more "meaningful" writing or other activities. I'd rather put my writing time into writing a book, or two, or three, or four.... Books with meaning, that would be helpful to others, and helpful to myself to get memories and ideas and stories out of my system. But clearly that hasn't been happening. What's happening is NOW. And what's more present-moment than keeping a daily blog rather than writing about the past for the sake of a future book? Perhaps not writing at all, and just simply being! But for writing, blogging is pretty present moment.

And this morning I woke up to an email from that friend who had suggested a blog, and he actually referenced my blog, as if I had already started one. WHAT?!?!

Fine. Ok. So instead of writing in my journal or in a Word document right now, I'll use this space to share this morning's experience. Since this is my new "meaningless" hobby, perhaps it will take some of the pressure off of my writing, and I can just be free to write whatever, not caring who will read it. Maybe nobody will read it. Maybe this is just for me. Uh oh, that's starting to sound sort of "meaningful" now, isn't it?

So, this morning I didn't really wake up to that email. I woke up to my thirst.

Not knowing what time it was, I rolled out of bed, crawled to the hole in the floor, and climbed down the ladder. (I sleep in an attic/loft-type space. It's like sleeping in a tent, but indoors and up a ladder. Like a treehouse! )

Back to waking up--- Once I got some water and saw what time it was, I realized I wouldn't be going back to sleep, so I climbed back up to get 3 important things: my iPod with my meditation on it, my cell phone (I can't believe I'm labeling this as important!), and my new favorite book: "The Mastery of Love" by don Miguel Ruiz.

Then I went into the blue room. The blue room is a blue room. I think it's supposed to be my bedroom. But it's where I meditate and practice healing movement, like qigong and continuum. I also keep my clothes there.

I sat on the little black couch in the little blue room and listened to my favorite meditation. Connected with my "wisdom center," removed negativity and blockages, filled myself with love and light.

After the meditation, I rolled out my personal shiatsu mat on the floor and sat down. I'd decided which Continuum dive to go into. One that Emilie Conrad showed me during a private, with an addition that Julie Jacobs (Continuum teacher and physical therapist in Seattle) had shown me.

Circling the inside of the mouth with the tip of the tongue and humming, followed by knee lifts and puffy o's, followed by lying down and circling the belly button with thumb tip and puffy o's, followed by side-lying waves and octo-movement with blurs and lunar breaths. Hmmm, if anybody's reading this, unless you've experienced Continuum Movement, you probably have no clue what I'm talking about. And for now it will remain that way. Not going to explain.

But what I will share is that I had an amazing experience. A breakthrough of sorts. During one of my movement explorations on the floor, the right side of my body ended up in the same position it had been in at the time of impact, when the car hit the tree, 12 years and 11 months ago. Immediately I filled with tears and fear and knew where I was: back in that car, terrified, trapped, not able to feel or move my legs-- but no! I was not in the car. I was at home, on the floor, safe. I was safe. I am safe. And without thinking about it, I heard those words leaving my lips, "you're safe, you're safe, i'm safe, i'm safe." not only was i safe, but i could feel and move my legs. with this realization and release, my crying subsided, my heart rate slowed, my breath returned and deepened. and then ecstasy. freedom. weightlessness.

the difference in my movement and my mood was profound. so free and playful. my legs no longer felt heavy or disconnected. they felt alive. i felt alive. smiling. laughing. moving. and suddenly i was no longer side-lying; i was on my back, like a baby, playing with arms and legs up in the air. so effortlessly. so joyfully. at last!

oh how i love thee, let me count the ways! where to begin? where to end?

i spent about an hour with continuum, and then i wanted to feel water pouring down on me. so it was time for a shower. i slowly stood up and stepped out of the dark room and into the bathroom. as i opened up the window in the shower, i saw blue sky and sang out, "Beautiful day!" and half way through "beautiful day," i heard a voice in my head saying that every day is a beautiful day. And it's true.

The sky is always blue.
The sun is always shining.
Sometimes we just can't see it.
But it's there. Always.