I spend a lot of time and effort trying to make things happen; so much so I can wear myself out and everyone around me. It's easy to feel utterly justified in this - there are so many things that need attention, so many problems to fix. In arenas where I feel like I have something on the line, or some expertise, or I've put some time in, well, I have to admit: I get invested. And much too often, I call that being a hard worker.
You can see the slippery slope, can't you? If I'm working so hard, well I better be appreciated! It's so easy to lose sight of that investment piece - which, by the way, is really only my own personal version of how I think reality should be. It's a neat little package: I take my diagnosis of what's wrong, apply my solution of how to fix it, justify it with my blood, sweat, and tears, and viola! Applause, please, and flowers, and a raise, and a little undying gratitude wouldn't hurt either.
There's a teaching in the Sweet Medicine SunDance Path about the 5 huaquas: happiness, health, humor, hope, and harmony. Harmony is the one in the center, the quality from which all the others arise. And here's the thing about harmony: we can't make it happen. There's no way to get to harmony by focusing first on where it is not and trying to create it from there. Harmony is what we get when we are are present with the reality that is. Harmony is a blessing, a free gift. The one we get for just showing up.
When the Hard Worker in me looks at that, she throws a little tantrum. How can I accept reality given all that's wrong with it? And how come harmony, which I think of as a pretty nice feeling, is what you get when you cop out? That's not fair! What about all my hard work?!?
The reality is, though, that the Hard Worker is not really doing the hard work. Doing just what I know how to do, my way, on my terms - that's the easy way. Showing up and participating in the reality that is, and meeting other humans there on their terms, and creating something together...that takes some guts.
No wonder there's an incentive system.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
After the Ecstasy, The Laundry
I love Woman of the World’s view of pre-ceremonial jitters. It was an excellent reminder that it is often hard to interpret exactly what is going on with me, especially right before ceremony. It is good to remember that what I call jitters might just be excitement, or expansion, or any number of other positive states.
I’m now on the completion side of the two ceremonial experiences that I mentioned in my last post. As I think back on them I feel just as jittery although this time that might be anything from lack of sleep to expanded awareness. (One of the experiences that just ended took place over two weeks. I didn’t get much sleep during that time.)
I am now being gentle with myself as I move back into the fullness of my regular day to day life and catch up on tasks that accumulated while I was away.
As Jack Kornfield, a well know Buddhist teacher says, “After the ecstasy, the laundry.”
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Ceremonial Jitters, Redux
Like Ms. Morganstern, I recently had the opportunity to experience ceremonial jitters. Or, was it emotional jitters? Or was it excitement? Or was it a cold coming on? It was really hard to tell!
It was hard to tell in part because the upcoming ceremony touched many parts of my life, in addition to being a training for me.
It was also hard to tell because the physical feelings were much like those I've experienced in a variety of situations.
I've noticed that there are some physical feelings, ones which I associate with emotions, that could actually be tagged in a variety of ways. That is, I could attribute my feeling of nausea to an unpleasant encounter I had yesterday, or to nervousness about something coming up, or to the fact that I did a vigorous workout too soon after eating. If I'm not careful, I can easily attribute it to the wrong thing, and end up taking that thing much more seriously than it deserves.
In this case, I decided to become an observer of myself: to observe what was happening when the feelings came up, how they affected me, how long they lasted. I learned something valuable to take into the upcoming ceremony: namely, that it was nothing more or less than a movement of my energy, which I could handle in whatever way I chose.
In some ways, this is a basic Red Lodge Year 1 teaching: balanced choreography. And in another way, it is more related to my condition of bodily appearance: how I am in my body, how I handle myself, how well I know myself. And in yet another way, it's really all about maturity: do I have the self-awareness and self-control to stop myself from going into an unproductive reaction, and just see what's really there in this specific circumstance?
It's a bit like my experience of performing. When I first started, I was so nervous I could hardly do anything, and afterward I was totally (and destructively) focused on the mistakes I made. My reactions were controlling me. But as I did it more, and worked with those reactions, I became much more able to see them for what they were - energy, nervous energy, fear - and give them their own place at the table for what they brought, without projecting what that might be. In particular, I was able to turn my attention away from the focus on mistakes. That made it much easier to keep from making mistakes. It also made performing much more pleasant, and also usually meant I would learn something from it and come out of it a better performer rather than a more fearful one.
In other words, having those feelings or not was really not important. What was important was what I did with them.
It was hard to tell in part because the upcoming ceremony touched many parts of my life, in addition to being a training for me.
It was also hard to tell because the physical feelings were much like those I've experienced in a variety of situations.
I've noticed that there are some physical feelings, ones which I associate with emotions, that could actually be tagged in a variety of ways. That is, I could attribute my feeling of nausea to an unpleasant encounter I had yesterday, or to nervousness about something coming up, or to the fact that I did a vigorous workout too soon after eating. If I'm not careful, I can easily attribute it to the wrong thing, and end up taking that thing much more seriously than it deserves.
In this case, I decided to become an observer of myself: to observe what was happening when the feelings came up, how they affected me, how long they lasted. I learned something valuable to take into the upcoming ceremony: namely, that it was nothing more or less than a movement of my energy, which I could handle in whatever way I chose.
In some ways, this is a basic Red Lodge Year 1 teaching: balanced choreography. And in another way, it is more related to my condition of bodily appearance: how I am in my body, how I handle myself, how well I know myself. And in yet another way, it's really all about maturity: do I have the self-awareness and self-control to stop myself from going into an unproductive reaction, and just see what's really there in this specific circumstance?
It's a bit like my experience of performing. When I first started, I was so nervous I could hardly do anything, and afterward I was totally (and destructively) focused on the mistakes I made. My reactions were controlling me. But as I did it more, and worked with those reactions, I became much more able to see them for what they were - energy, nervous energy, fear - and give them their own place at the table for what they brought, without projecting what that might be. In particular, I was able to turn my attention away from the focus on mistakes. That made it much easier to keep from making mistakes. It also made performing much more pleasant, and also usually meant I would learn something from it and come out of it a better performer rather than a more fearful one.
In other words, having those feelings or not was really not important. What was important was what I did with them.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Pre-Ceremonial Jitters
Next week I am taking two big steps in my “medicine training.” Either one alone would be enough to give me pre-ceremonial jitters. Having them scheduled back to back is giving me a chance to experience outright anxiety.
My teacher Harley Swiftdeer Reagan says that fear as a teacher teaches us to make the unknown known. There will certainly be plenty of opportunity to do that.
I’m glad I have been on a path of self growth and development long enough to know that I experience the jitters (as well as anger, resistance, negativity, fear, etc.) right before I take most any big step forward.
That makes is easier to remember that it isn’t a problem that I am about to do ceremony that will require me to become more that who I already am. It also isn’t a problem that I am reacting in uncomfortable ways to the thought of the upcoming challenges. That is about as predicable as the sun rising and setting.
At whatever stage of maturity I am at, that is just how I react. Luckily, I still get to do the ceremonies, and I will likely grow and change for the better, no matter what, as long as I keep scheduling and showing up to these types of challenges that help me transform into something more and better.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Karma, Dharma, and The Miracle Worker
Almost against my will, I was drawn into the movie The Miracle Worker a few days ago. I flipped it on out of curiosity - what did Patty Duke look like at that time? Anne Bancroft? I already knew the story, of course, so that wasn't the draw. (In case you don't, it is story of Anne Sullivan's struggle to teach the blind and deaf Helen Keller how to communicate.)
But I became fascinated with the process of resistance and learning - and I recognized it in myself. Helen had lived her first however many years with certain rules, e.g., she could walk around the table, take food off anyone's plate and eat it. When Anne took over her education, suddenly that was not permitted anymore. Helen resisted that change with - ah - alarming vigor. But sometimes changes come whether we want them or not.
As I watched, I saw the concepts of karma and dharma (as they are understood in the Sweet Medicine SunDance paradigm) dramatically played out. Briefly, there are certain lessons we must learn in our time here. When we are still in the process of learning these specific lessons, we are said to be in karma. One of the key features of these lessons is this: if we don't get the lesson in one form, it will come to us in another, more forceful form, then another yet more forceful, and so on, until we finally get it. Once we learn all of those specific things, we move into dharma, where we choose what we desire to learn. In dharma we may succeed or fail at our learning, but we are at choice - no longer forced to "get it."
I saw this in The Miracle Worker as Annie tried, over and over, in many different ways, some gentle and some quite rough, to teach Helen that the hand movements (sign language) meant specific things in her life. Imagine the difficulty of conveying this concept to someone who can neither see nor hear, has no idea of language - imagine the difficulty of grasping that concept without the visual and verbal prompts most of us had! It's really quite a big leap.
It must have seemed to Helen through most of that that some outside force was arbitrarily forcing her to do things that made no sense, and preventing her from having what she wanted and needed to live. And yet, as soon as she got that one concept, that one lesson, a whole new world was opened up to her. In this world, she could ask for what she wanted - we see her demanding the signs for ground, mother, I forget what all - but clearly at that point she had taken significant control over what she was learning, what she wanted to learn.
Sometimes, there's just that one click, that one little thing, that takes us from totally resisting change to understanding the meaning and direction of it, and what it means for us, and the willingness (even eagerness) to go with it. For myself, I pray that I may just notice when I am resisting change, and look for the piece, the concept, the different perspective, that will let me see the possibilities it brings and how to move into it.
But I became fascinated with the process of resistance and learning - and I recognized it in myself. Helen had lived her first however many years with certain rules, e.g., she could walk around the table, take food off anyone's plate and eat it. When Anne took over her education, suddenly that was not permitted anymore. Helen resisted that change with - ah - alarming vigor. But sometimes changes come whether we want them or not.
As I watched, I saw the concepts of karma and dharma (as they are understood in the Sweet Medicine SunDance paradigm) dramatically played out. Briefly, there are certain lessons we must learn in our time here. When we are still in the process of learning these specific lessons, we are said to be in karma. One of the key features of these lessons is this: if we don't get the lesson in one form, it will come to us in another, more forceful form, then another yet more forceful, and so on, until we finally get it. Once we learn all of those specific things, we move into dharma, where we choose what we desire to learn. In dharma we may succeed or fail at our learning, but we are at choice - no longer forced to "get it."
I saw this in The Miracle Worker as Annie tried, over and over, in many different ways, some gentle and some quite rough, to teach Helen that the hand movements (sign language) meant specific things in her life. Imagine the difficulty of conveying this concept to someone who can neither see nor hear, has no idea of language - imagine the difficulty of grasping that concept without the visual and verbal prompts most of us had! It's really quite a big leap.
It must have seemed to Helen through most of that that some outside force was arbitrarily forcing her to do things that made no sense, and preventing her from having what she wanted and needed to live. And yet, as soon as she got that one concept, that one lesson, a whole new world was opened up to her. In this world, she could ask for what she wanted - we see her demanding the signs for ground, mother, I forget what all - but clearly at that point she had taken significant control over what she was learning, what she wanted to learn.
Sometimes, there's just that one click, that one little thing, that takes us from totally resisting change to understanding the meaning and direction of it, and what it means for us, and the willingness (even eagerness) to go with it. For myself, I pray that I may just notice when I am resisting change, and look for the piece, the concept, the different perspective, that will let me see the possibilities it brings and how to move into it.
Monday, July 19, 2010
My experience with Harley SwiftDeer Reagan
Harley Reagan, also called SwiftDeer - he's a controversial guy. If you've ever Googled him, you may have found some pretty derogatory stuff, along with the good stuff. I've had the opportunity to work with him in several arenas over the last few years, and here's what I know.
He is undoubtedly an experienced and skilled martial artist. I know this because I have been on the receiving end (in teaching moments) of some of his seemingly effortless but stunningly effective techniques. I have also seen him work with high-level black belts from other disciplines, and have observed the respect they give him. I can only imagine that the folks who doubt his skills have never visited him in his dojo.
The man loves to shoot. The Deer Tribe Gun Club, which he founded, holds all-steel matches every month, and has been doing so since before 2000 (when I first learned about it). Harley Reagan is an NRA training counselor, and runs NRA classes throughout the year. That takes dedication, and to more than just shooting: to learning and passing on the art and science of safe and skilled gun handling.
His curiosity is boundless. I don't know many people who read as much or as widely as he does (nor who encourage others to do so much as he does). His knowledge base is really quite impressive.
He is extremely generous in private arenas, and often (though not always!) compassionate in a grandfatherly way.
His teachings in spirituality are both broad and deep, and useful in practical ways. The body of knowledge and ceremony that is the Sweet Medicine SunDance Path (at least, the parts of it I've seen) is profound.
And, on top of all that, it is absolutely impossible to lose sight of the fact that SwiftDeer is human. He's just a guy. Anyone who forgets that (that is, who tries to see him as a "guru") is quickly reminded of his human-ness as soon as they spend a little time in his presence. He can be cranky, obtuse, opinionated, stubborn, frustrating, and funny as hell. And, like any teacher, you can't take everything he says at face value. You are responsible for what you do with what he says. But he, at least, is completely up-front about that. Anyone who has heard him teach has almost certainly heard him say, "Don't believe anything I say. Validate it for yourself."
That's something I appreciate in a teacher.
He is undoubtedly an experienced and skilled martial artist. I know this because I have been on the receiving end (in teaching moments) of some of his seemingly effortless but stunningly effective techniques. I have also seen him work with high-level black belts from other disciplines, and have observed the respect they give him. I can only imagine that the folks who doubt his skills have never visited him in his dojo.
The man loves to shoot. The Deer Tribe Gun Club, which he founded, holds all-steel matches every month, and has been doing so since before 2000 (when I first learned about it). Harley Reagan is an NRA training counselor, and runs NRA classes throughout the year. That takes dedication, and to more than just shooting: to learning and passing on the art and science of safe and skilled gun handling.
His curiosity is boundless. I don't know many people who read as much or as widely as he does (nor who encourage others to do so much as he does). His knowledge base is really quite impressive.
He is extremely generous in private arenas, and often (though not always!) compassionate in a grandfatherly way.
His teachings in spirituality are both broad and deep, and useful in practical ways. The body of knowledge and ceremony that is the Sweet Medicine SunDance Path (at least, the parts of it I've seen) is profound.
And, on top of all that, it is absolutely impossible to lose sight of the fact that SwiftDeer is human. He's just a guy. Anyone who forgets that (that is, who tries to see him as a "guru") is quickly reminded of his human-ness as soon as they spend a little time in his presence. He can be cranky, obtuse, opinionated, stubborn, frustrating, and funny as hell. And, like any teacher, you can't take everything he says at face value. You are responsible for what you do with what he says. But he, at least, is completely up-front about that. Anyone who has heard him teach has almost certainly heard him say, "Don't believe anything I say. Validate it for yourself."
That's something I appreciate in a teacher.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Being of Service
Recently I've devoted a significant amount of my time to volunteering - a richly rewarding activity that, with inattention, can become a hungry monster eager to devour as much time as I'm willing to give it. In order to take better care with myself, and bring more integrity to the time I do volunteer, I've had to look more closely at the notion of service.
At first I looked at it all pretty practically, setting a specific number of hours per week that seemed reasonable. Time was a useful feedback system, but gave me no sense of how to set priorities. Indeed, there were some weeks when the priorities at play made time a meaningless measure - either because my work and personal life demanded all my attention, or the volunteer work rightfully compelled my attention beyond the allotted time.
Recently I had the opportunity to devote two weeks to being in service, volunteering my time and skills to an event that is precious and important to me. This experience turned time upside down, demanding more attention and less sleep than I even knew was possible.
Coming out of that experience, I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. My time bound mind was worried - had I gone too far? done too much? On a practical level, I've needed significant recovery time in the days after the event - physically, emotionally, mentally. In fact, it was a bit of a struggle to get back into the swing of my regular life.
Spiritually, though, I was elated. I had faced a big challenge - a whole series of them, in fact - and had brought my very best to the table: calling on all I had, putting as much beauty in the space as I knew how, making mistakes and not letting them stop me, learning new skills and ways of being, asking for help, taking care with what I needed and stalking in each moment how I might be fed by it, and continually connecting to the ways that my individual pieces were a part of something greater.
That's what the Sweet Medicine SunDance path teaches about service through the concept of maku. (Here's a full article on the topic, a message from the elder ThunderStrikes.)
From the article:
"Maku is not so much a sacrifice as it is a full offering of one’s self without expectation of return because to not do so is not an option."
Without the spiritual thread of my service experience, it would have been sacrifice (and even now I know I have more to learn about this difference so that these experiences are more maku, less sacrifice). Through spiritual determination, however, this service becomes a lesson in how to live my life.
It's not about how much time I give here, there, or the other place. It's about giving the time I'm giving in any moment because it is the best I have to bring to whatever is most needed, be it my dishes, a client's problem, a ceremony, or caressing a loved one. It's discerning what is true and real, within me and within the spaces I inhabit, and honoring what matters most.
At first I looked at it all pretty practically, setting a specific number of hours per week that seemed reasonable. Time was a useful feedback system, but gave me no sense of how to set priorities. Indeed, there were some weeks when the priorities at play made time a meaningless measure - either because my work and personal life demanded all my attention, or the volunteer work rightfully compelled my attention beyond the allotted time.
Recently I had the opportunity to devote two weeks to being in service, volunteering my time and skills to an event that is precious and important to me. This experience turned time upside down, demanding more attention and less sleep than I even knew was possible.
Coming out of that experience, I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. My time bound mind was worried - had I gone too far? done too much? On a practical level, I've needed significant recovery time in the days after the event - physically, emotionally, mentally. In fact, it was a bit of a struggle to get back into the swing of my regular life.
Spiritually, though, I was elated. I had faced a big challenge - a whole series of them, in fact - and had brought my very best to the table: calling on all I had, putting as much beauty in the space as I knew how, making mistakes and not letting them stop me, learning new skills and ways of being, asking for help, taking care with what I needed and stalking in each moment how I might be fed by it, and continually connecting to the ways that my individual pieces were a part of something greater.
That's what the Sweet Medicine SunDance path teaches about service through the concept of maku. (Here's a full article on the topic, a message from the elder ThunderStrikes.)
From the article:
"Maku is not so much a sacrifice as it is a full offering of one’s self without expectation of return because to not do so is not an option."
Without the spiritual thread of my service experience, it would have been sacrifice (and even now I know I have more to learn about this difference so that these experiences are more maku, less sacrifice). Through spiritual determination, however, this service becomes a lesson in how to live my life.
It's not about how much time I give here, there, or the other place. It's about giving the time I'm giving in any moment because it is the best I have to bring to whatever is most needed, be it my dishes, a client's problem, a ceremony, or caressing a loved one. It's discerning what is true and real, within me and within the spaces I inhabit, and honoring what matters most.
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