Shaking the stop sign

I used to have faith in everything that happened because I could see a larger purpose. It felt nice to believe. This mode meant it was possible for the tooth fairy and neat endings to exist. And whatever happened, I looked toward something higher. I was always looking for something higher.

I don't know what you would call that something higher. Joy? God? Spirit? All of these work for me.

Things happen and you look for answers and guidance. It is like the road is under construction. There is a reason, like the earth made a crack appear in the road. This is what is happening. And then there is what you must do. You have to wait. You stop there when the person in the orange vest holds up the STOP sign and gives you a look that says, "Pay ATTENTION."

Then they reverse the sign, and it says "SLOW." You can go now.

This road crew is parallel to GOD or Spirit, in my world. It is akin to the "something larger than me" that provides me with guidance. And it is also simply a road with a road crew telling you to do things. Both the literal and symbolic can coexist in my world. This allows me to walk my tightrope of sanity.

But there is also the solo showing of "just because." Sometimes things happen, and I don't look for a reason. Of course, there is the tendency for my mind to try and decipher the meaning behind things. And if I am frustrated, increasing attention will go to the process of "how" and "why," while hypotheticals lie one on top of the next, smothering one another with "possibilities." Then I think about it some more until I shake it off with a walk.

But there is this delightful moment that arises every now and then, like a quick breath on an inhale, where I just see the moments. This part of me sees things happening and then, sees just "that they are happening." I am dying. The house is sinking into the mud. The glass is broken. A baby is born. This does not subtract from the richness of the moment. I can do whatever I like with the information. The road has a big crack in it because the earth opened up. The earth opened and I am staring at the crack.

When I am in this mode, all is well, even if there are unsightly blackheads on my nose. It is not because I think "it is all for the best." I am viewing like Switzerland.

Currently, I have not "lost" faith. I still look for signs. This is my adult version of a teddy bear. It is just that there is this other part developing in my search for acceptance. I want peace when I see things happening, and I can find it in translating. Or, I can find it in seeing what is there as "what is there," rather than attempting to call a rose by any other name but a rose.

Victoria's Secret could USE this...

So I decided (Yes, Amy, I know this is not a proper sentence) to take on the idea of dropping one of my classes. It doesn't pay very well, and it has never felt "right." There's always a hint of hesitation for me before I go in and this tired feeling across my eyes that I have to fight off. This does not happen regularly when I teach. Or I wouldn't teach. I mean, today, I may be operating on half a cylinder, (does this make sense?) as this is the second day in a row with 4-5 hours sleep, BUT...generally, I am thrilled and interested.

I talked to the person in charge about cutting the class short a half hour. This way, it would just be an hour. This would make it easier, I thought. Anyone can make an hour fly by. Then, I thought about it, and I explained to her that I didn't want to do this because then I would have even LESS income coming in. Notice it was not with the idea that something else would fit in its place and suit me better. LESS was on my mind and the throat lump reared its nasty head.

I wiffled and waffled until I got off the phone. Of course, I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling. The nag is actually my inner voice, who talks to me. (I do regularly talk to myself OUT LOUD. Thank heaven for the invention of cell phones, which makes it appear as if I have one of those bluetooth thingeys in my ear.)

So the Voice begins to start: Drop the class. Maybe you should drop the class. You have been thinking about this for a while.

I play with the idea and the unpleasant lump is revving up in my throat. The fear is there. And the voice is saying: What will you get then? What if you don't fill it with something else? What if you have nothing? What if what if...So I ask, "Should I drop the class?" I give It the choices: YES or NO.

First I do my usual way of determining things when I am confused and cannot bother friends any more because my quota is up. I ask the question I want answered, then pick anything near by with writing on it, and point my finger to a spot that draws me. Then I look for the clue. Like if it said, "then," I would assume this means "yes," because it sounds like it if you move the "t" and make it a "y." Or if it said "disaster," I would assume no. There's sort of makeshift rules that I make up to find my answer. And before you accuse me of being "California," I am not from here. I come from the Midwest. So there.

I tried asking and pointing in my notebook. But the link was too obscure even for me. I didn't know the answer. Then I tried same thing, pointing in a favorite book. Did this a few times. Nada. Couldn't make any sense to what I saw. No answer still, to my question.

But I knew I needed to make a decision. So I decided to dao. Now I may have spelled it wrong. But I will tell you what it is. You dangle some sort of pendulum and can ask it "yes/no" questions. Perhaps some of you are very clever and can get it to speak, but I haven't figured that out yet. Holding the pendulum by your two fingers, you let it swing. "Yes" is determined as being one way--say vertically forward and back, and "No" is determined as being the other way--say horizontally to the right and left. To determine which is which, you ask it obvious questions. Mine today were (b/c I was feeling very fragile) "am I a girl," and "am I a boy." This much, I knew I could figure out.

Once you have your directions for "yes," and "no," set, then you are ready to go.

The problem was that I couldn't find anything to work. First I tried a pen. Nope. Didn't swing. I tried to dangle it as much as possible, but it did not dangle. Then I tried a spoon. No dangle. I even tried the cord that is on the phone charger but this just stood there sullenly, and made less effort than both the spoon and pen combined.

I really needed to know. What to do about the confounded class. The lump in my throat was making me. So I ran upstairs, scanned the room wildly, and grabbed the first thing I could think of. My bra. This is not a little sports bra. I am talking about what would more suitably be called a "brassiere." The type of bra my mother or someone's mother would wear. Or someone like me who can fill it. This is not the type of bra that girls who wear those stylish, little sports ones would ever have to stoop to wearing. It's for the big girls.

The thing about this bra is that usually--actually, all the time, it sits unused. It is supportive for me, holds everything in, and does not allow bounce. It fits perfectly. But it is uncomfortable. Instead I wear what women are not supposed to wear regularly, because it is truly unflattering. But it is more comfortable and I start feeling as though I am going to have a panic attack with the other. Or that I can't breathe.

So I was thrilled to finally find a use for it. Those puppies are expensive.

I got ready to ask my question, and filed a disclaimer with the throat. NO backlash. I warned aforementioned bulge that it needed to go immediately to a nice rest home, far away from me if we were going to do this. Now for the defining moment:

I dangled. It came. I saw.

I called my employer and told her, "Drop the class." Being compulsive, I also emailed her the same message.

One less hour and a half of work. Just before my throat could think about slinking back from glossier pastures, I checked my email. A new one from someone. More work! And better pay!

And now, the title makes sense. I wasn't trying to be clever. Well -- maybe just a little.

The thing about WAKING UP

I am finding CLARITY. I "capped" it because that is how it feels inside. People often say all CAPS looks like screaming. But that is what is happening. My eyes feel like they are open so wide, and a hundred truths are pouring in without my interceding. The gateway is open and there is no blockade, no barrier, no guard standing at the front to stop the flow.

What comes in must then come out. The movie--my movie--has always been running, but now I am looking at it. I thought I could skip out before. Before I found my food sobriety. In the story of Jonah and the Whale in the bible, Jonah tries to hide from God. Now call God whatever you want. Lots of people get nervous if you use the word GOD. Maybe this is just an aspect of California. It seems that it's like wearing acid wash jeans to some. Out of style. But let GOD stand for whatever you want if it makes you nervous.

Anyway, so Jonah was not successful. How can you hide from God? I thought I could hide as well from things I did not want to see, from words I did not want to comprehend. The consequence of this state, induced by my already expansive nature that was easily damaged by sugar, was that I was dimmed to all sorts of things. Maybe not compared to another person. So energetic was I. So full of enthusiasm. But my natural level was dimmed under these conditions.

So here I am, at 40, figuring out how to live with feelings and intuition and perception that grows clearer all the time. Lots of benefits. Obviously, it is good for business. And my feet shrunk a half size so far. Truly. I guess the bloat deflated. I can understand all sorts of things now that I never thought possible. I am expanding my concept of my "intelligence." These are all wonderful things. And the joy--well, I was already one of those "high on joy" kind of people. Now it is exponential.

But there is this other aspect. The feelings that I judge, that I deem upsetting, or disappointing, or knowledge of what is happening with people I love. This is not so great for me sometimes. So I am telling you instead of resting my head on the bosom of a big hunk of bread, which would soon migrate to my mouth. Then I go right back to darkness. I will stay here.

Cliches are like opinions...

How does a heart feel when it's broken? I focus so much on my throat every time a feeling hits. But in these matters, there is a feeling in the heart -- like a weight pulling down at the same time a part of me wants to lift up and fly out of myself. But I don't. That is what makes it heavy.

There is a solution. If I could lift an inner shell of myself that contained all my inconvenient history right out of the top of my head, the gloppy feeling would fly out. Maybe land in a splatter somewhere on a needy scalp and mug as a toupee. And the heart would go back to playing in rain puddles or starring in a Disney movie.

It is interesting that love stories are often about "heartbreak." The phrase is a cliche, which all the writing snobs tell you not to use. But why not use what is apt and suited? This logic has all the sensibility of say, when I gotta go to the bathroom, not using that bathroom because everyone else uses it. Instead, I run around looking for a less used bathroom. And this is considered superior thinking. Just saying, it's ridiculous reasoning. I'm still in a bathroom. And heartbreak is exactly that, whether or not it has fancier adjectives to describe it.

A rose is still a rose...Now why try to come up with something better than that?

Hang on to your cliches.

Let's get back to the topic at hand: "Heartbreak" should be amended to "heartweight." After all, it is this lead-like force pulling you downward in body and spirit. It is the moody heartweight, in its doldrums, that resists a meaningful glance. Or refused to notice the eye candy of magnificent skies.

A blazing sunset with pinks and oranges can be the ticket to lightness of being. This is the good stuff. Makes you gawk and hang your mouth open like an imbecile. Also lets the heart lose any deadweight-pronto.

So what is my remedy for "heartweight?" I don't know...maybe look up at the sky and check it out. And don't run off to the next galaxy just because someone else is looking up there, too. It doesn't pay to be that sensitive to cliches. Everybody's got one. (And you never know, you might like the person looking.)

To do-or not to

Hungry...Am I? Aren't I? I didn't sleep well, so this tends to make me dopey. Also makes we want to float in vats of macaroni and cheese. Remember those Kraft ones? Actually, I was partial to Velveeta shells. I found those to be very "fancy." The clock looks like it could be lunch. I calculate when I ate last. I analyze if I need it. I ponder whether it would be sensible before the time gets too close. Teaching yoga on a full stomach can be done, but I don't recommend it.

What to do: It's like I'm looking at the t.v. guide of options and wondering what I can watch next. Just move the channel to something. Even just for some noise to have something there. Like having a drink in the hand. Just drink something! This is some sort of social expectation. If you go out to eat, you must eat. It is rude, otherwise. You cannot just hang out with the person, but need to show you're participating by sticking a plate or a bowl in front of you with something in it. I should bring toy food with me next time and throw it in a bowl and see if anyone notices. Things to be done.

It is no wonder that I am wondering about what to fill myself up with in this spare moment, mixed with a night's poor sleep. I dreamt I was living in Michigan and it was winter. In the midst of my dream, I panicked. I have this annoying commentator in my dreams. It is me. There is the dreamer, (me) and the commentator (me). Maybe it's caused by some sort of genetic snafu.

In the dream, my announcer said, "What are you going to do about the tires? How will you drive in all that snow and ice??" I am used to California, so the thought of a Midwest winter yanked me out of pure viewing and into anxiety about what I was going to do to fix the dream. Anxiety is a very familiar place. This is why I teach yoga. It is not for others.

And this brings me back to here and my "murmur" that is in the stomach. What will I do if I feel something and don't have a plan? If it is not work time, or lunch time, or some other appointed time for me to feel busy doing something.

If I eyeball my feeling--look inside, as I like to say--it does not feel like hunger. It feels like brain is soggy. Turned into pasty milk-soaked alphabet cereal letters. From figuring and configuring.

Eat when hungry. Don't when not. Sleep when tired. Drive when in Michigan.

Taking the Peel OFF

Things fly out of my mouth now and I can't stop them. I don't mean swearing, although that happens too, when someone gets in my way and I'm driving. But I mean that the security system that was once in place, has been lifted. But no one gave me the memo. I just didn't notice it until it happened so regularly, that I wondered: "What happened to the "nice person?"

When people used to ask that question, "What is your best quality?", my response was always "I am nice." For years, I said this with pride. Now, I think about this idea, Hmm, am I? I am not so sure about that. Maybe compared to some people. And maybe NOT compared to others. But more important, I see that there has been a longtime act.

The act makes me believe I "look" a certain way which is more acceptable. In my eyes, if you are nice, people like you, good things happen, you are GOOD. The opposite is bad. And BAD means you will be without love. Maybe people will throw pies at you. (Which I won't be able to eat on my no-sugar lifestyle.) But the problem with this theory of goodness, is that I never really was any nicer than I could be. It was a soft idea, like a piece of fruit that is rotten and pushes in when you touch it. I "thought" I hid anything that looked contrary and preceded to stuff myself silly with sugar and food, exercised for hours at a time, and tried to bury it.

All because I thought it made me less lovable. But the funny part is, I was the same, except there was a strange layer of film over me. Like the layer of dust on the dvd player I noticed the other day. I noticed it for a while, yet I ignored it. Until I couldn't and finally cleaned it off.

Well, this is what has happened with my "personality," for lack of a better word. It has popped out unannounced, uninvited, and I can't shove it back in anymore. It's like I went from an in-ey belly button to an out-ey. And now it's out. I didn't clear the dust away. The cessation of sugar did it for me. Now I'm out and here to stay. I finally get that bit that "older" women used to say to me about getting to a certain age and just being whatever you are.

Now it's here. And so am I -- un-peeled like an orange.

How to Pass the Lump

How is sadness still there. I think reprovingly-- it is enough-- after several minutes. Yet, it is still drip, drip, dripping. Today, off the hearts of others, by the wayside, it seems to be thick in the air like the smell of bacon. And it is clinging on and to me. Even in the midst of sadness, my mind leads me back to meat!

Once again, it is back to the throat. The throat seems to be the seat and the launch pad for so many emotions. Why is it that I do not start to feel it in my toes? Or a twitch in my nose? I'm not going Dr. Seuss here--I just wonder. The throat seems to embody so much sensation. It's like there are eyes and ears and a nose in there.

I am doing something new. I am letting it float around without resisting. If I sit here and sink in with it, not sinking down, but floating, it doesn't feel unpleasant. It feels like a sensation. I am used to blocking off these sensations. Perpetually happy. Like a recurring hiccup. But then, there is this sobriety from sugar, my favorite drug. (Fortunately, I still have a plethora of commas and broken sentences, much to my sister's chagrin.)

All of a sudden, when I am quiet and just sitting here, without t.v, or noise, or food, or chatter or the plans for the next day-- I have my ear to the wall of these invading sensations. Climbing around until now without notice. So I peer inside. Sadness was something I always threw my whole body into. Or pushed it away with sweets. But watching it like this, is very strange. It is a full-time job watching these emotions.

In this moment, the lump in my throat seems to have settled into a mild pimple that just hints at being there. My body is relaxed, my eyes are wet, but I am feeling life. The situations are the same, yet, my inside is not.

This is how things pass. It did not take so long after all.

The Crest of Wanting

There is an ache to wanting. It starts in my throat, and I feel this sweeping motion moving through me. It is like a wave that comes over me, and then instead of release, it sinks back down again. So this is what makes it "wanting" and not "completion." The wave lifts and sinks and lifts and sinks. It gets me riled in the same way you can get a dog worked up by running around and around until they begin to jump up and down, nip at you. They are expecting something.

What's next? That is what they are expecting. That you will throw the ball, roll on the floor with them, shake things up. And this is the same aspect that keeps this wanting a frustrated, unclaimed passion that hints at bursting, but sinks just before the final moment.

And what do I do then without release? Find something else that interests me. Let my fingers fly on the keys. Press my feet into the ground and lift my arms and shake my body around. Open up my mind and let beauty and excitement and something live or maybe creepy pour out. It is a good feeling to be excited and know that I have a pulse. I prefer excitement to staring blankly without the joy or the effort. But sometimes, there is so much of it in me, and so little idea of what to do with it all.

As it comes, It GOE$!

The sadness seeped over me, like a thick blanket. I felt it down to my bones. I felt the call of sugar plums and caramels, chocolates in cheerful wrappers and brightly colored gum drops--the colors only chemicals can make. And I waited. And I wrote. And I waited.

I wanted for something outside me to dampen it. It felt like this moment was the only moment of all moments. What did it matter then, if I left reality. What the hell was reality good for? Why should I bother...but somehow, I held on to that strand hanging there. Just one little strand, like little pearls. And hanging on turned minutes, into pages, and into sleep. And then I taught

The world opened up and changed just like that. Engaged. Learning with another person. And seeing the lights go on. This excites me, and brightens my world. And I am so happy now that I hung on. Barely, but it's the end result that counts.

Watching Things Pass

Anger.

When I feel anger inside me, it is the most uncomfortable thing imaginable. It feels too strong, like too much hot sauce on your food. It's not like boredom, which buzzes silently so you can almost feel something. You can ignore it. But anger...I don't like that I can't ignore it. The feeling is not like the joy from seeing someone connect with their body and realize something. Or a moment of just being there without noticing one way or the other.

Anger is the loudmouth in the room who has to get noticed.

I have an addiction. It's all about feeling good. And I'm a junkie for it. The "strongness" of the feeling of "bad" is what bothers me. If I didn't feel that hard lump in my throat, it would be better. It's the hard lump that bothers me. It's like a nut stuck there in its shell that sits there uncracked.

It's easy to understand the words "don't be angry." If I'm not angry, then I'm not angry. But when I am...the worst part is the effects of it. It's this torrent in my body moving the opposite way of everything else, like a vacuum cleaner picking up everything in its midst. You know how if you vacuum and you forget to move certain rugs, the vacuum will just start sucking it up, crunching it and making a horrible whine? Well, that's what anger feels like inside me. I don't like it one bit.

Although, at this moment, when I describe it, I notice the nut went from being a giant one, about the size of a golf ball, to the size of a circle you could make if you curled your index finger all the way into the base of the thumb. And now the vibrations are getting softer. The vibrations are the ping pong ping of mad. And they are getting softer. Now I am having to look harder and harder. It is just a bit of an uncomfortable feeling now--like the size of a marble.

And I am breathing again. This is a good sign. I always know I am coming out of it when I begin to breathe again. The jaw is unclenching. I will watch it pass.

WHAT FILLS SPACE

What happens when you are accustomed to having things and realize they no longer are there. I don't mean for this to sound obscure, but sometimes you think you have something--a thing, a friendship, a pet--and it feels like "mine." You don't think about it as "mine" really, but that is the feeling underneath. And just knowing it is "mine," gives me an idea that I am secure. I order extras of a food I like, or extra contacts, and this hoarding makes me feel like I will somehow be safer.

But underneath, when something changes--the change being that the friendship passes, they stop making my lipstick, my eye prescription changes, I no longer live in the same city I grew up in--then that feeling of "mine" that filled me up, falls away and I am left standing without it. All of a sudden, I am wobbly, and I feel a pitter patter in my heart. It isn't the pitter patter of love and butterflies, but the feeling of absence. There is space there that was taken up before, by an idea. Even if the idea was incorrect, a delusion, a fantasy--it gave me a sense of a nice structure that I could hang onto.

The "right" answer is to embrace the space. But the right answer is not always human. The human thing is to cling. Cling until you can't. So space is a nice idea, if you are reading a lovely Zen book with beautiful quotes, or seeing a movie. But in reality, it can be hell.

I think this aversion to space is what makes it challenging to age. If you have an idea of yourself, and it sticks at a certain age, you are doing everything you can to hold on to that image, even though time, reality, and everything around you speaks to the change. That is the problem with being set on an idea, a time, an unchanging body or mind. It is going that way anyway, so the structure that you so desperately hang onto, is all the wall collapsing on you. It will collapse no matter what you do. This is life. But trying to resist and hold it up, is what makes a lot of work.

It is all about space and how much of it you can tolerate. How much space can you handle?

The Way to Freedom

Here is an exercise to do. Do it often and whenever you need it. You can use this for the rest of your life. Go inside your body with your inner eye. Think of it like a laser. Start from the top of your head and go down to your feet. Notice every little thing you can. This noticing will do something completely different for you. It will draw you INSIDE, past the chattering mind and the ego and the scars that hold you in a place you don't want to be. But it will happen naturally. So go inside. Starting at the top of your head on the front of you. Notice what you notice. Sensations. For example. Your head, maybe you feel an itch near your eye, you feel a buzzzing inside your forehead, maybe your cheek feels cool, warm. maybe you feel the saliva inside your mouth. do this the whole way down your body. You will get "stuck" at certain place and realize you have been thinking about groceries, or crabbing, or what you will do later, for a few minutes and then realize, Oh, I have gotten off what I was doing. DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT. DON'T SCOLD. DONT LECTURE. Simply come back to observing. Do this for as long or as little as you like. When you notice a sensation that feels good, try not to try and "hold" it or focus on a sensation that feels "bad." Just notice. This is the whole idea. By noticing, you are going deep inside. This is where all suffering begins and ends. And by focusing on sensations with observation, ignoring commentary, you learn to be more non-reactive. You don't '''try" and learn, you will learn as a result. I take it everywhere with me. You don't have to be sitting with crossed legs, in a yoga class, or a cave. You can be anywhere and everywhere for this to "work." When you tune in to your sensations, you can see "the weather inside." When you feel thoughts coming up, disruptive, aggravating, anxiety inducing, see if you can "watch" them as though you are watching a movie. Without making them good or bad. The way you would watch stormy weather outside. This is the beginning of freeing yourself from the worrying of thought. There is no end to it and that does not matter. It stops when it stops. But this is always there for you, for your move toward freedom.