Buddha, Jesus and A Wise Woman

Buddha, Jesus and A Wise Woman

I have read a lot of articles on authenticity and living an authentic life.  It seems this is the soup de jour of self-help/self-realization writing. In general this is a helpful topic, getting people to think about who they really are and what direction they want their lives to go. I have thought a lot about authentic self and true self and wonder how many of us are actually ever able to fully live into who we are intended to be and if not fully how many of us are able to maybe on occasion moderately approach our authentic self.

A year ago I was preparing to walk the Wicklow Way in Ireland. I really didn’t know what to expect and I had only a mild inkling that the journey would somehow deeply impact me well beyond immediate weeks post return. What has been interesting is the way the pilgrimage continues to shape me daily. Walking in a group yet in many ways all alone has served as a jumping off point for me to really look at my life, myself and they way I interact in the world. I guess one could say it has helped me to assess my authentic self.

The thing I have discovered is that my authentic self is not who I wished I would find. I secretly hoped that I would be able to live harmoniously, wisely and spiritually. I pictured myself as perpetually centered being, allowing for all discomforts and irritations to roll off me. I imagined that I could be a wise woman who could give Buddha or Jesus a run for their money. Of course all of this is really impossible and a complete pipe dream.

To be fair to myself, I was simply buying into our societal and religious complexes that have sold lies about what a truly, “spiritual,” “religious,” or “Christian” person looks like. Jesus and all the Christian Saints have somehow been depicted as prudish church goers and the, “spiritual not religious” camps have created a conglomeration of various eastern religions that also lean to the side of pent up repression. I wonder how many people have embraced the secular only because religions and now spiritualties have not allowed for the full range of human expressions, the demons, the angels and everything in between.

In the year since my return from the pilgrimage I have tried to sort through what happened out there on the trail. I still struggle to make sense of the darkness that emerged alongside an experience that could be described as nothing but divine sweetness. How does this translate to my “real life?” How can I live into this space and still run my business, give Rob what he needs and get the kids to soccer? How do I let God do what God is going to do when I am bitching at the bank? Does it even matter?

My spiritual director says the divine and the profane are married. Perhaps this is where true authenticity starts.

Jesus is My Driver and My 5 year Plan

Jesus is My Driver and My 5 year Plan

            I was at an auto parts shop today and saw a key chain depicting a fish mandala and the statement, “Jesus is my driver.” I smirked and took a picture. I had a vision in my mind of Jesus with his long flowing hair and robes as my Uber driver, shuttling me and Rob safely from drinking establishment to drinking establishment in a black Cadillac Escalade.  “Hey Jesus, how long have you been an Uber driver?” I imagined myself saying. In response His retort was, “A little over 2000 years.”

            We are vacationing where there is a beautiful stream that runs behind our cabin. We have made this a family tradition for many summers, as it is idyllic and relaxing. It was about 5 years ago that this setting served as a turning point for me. I was faced with family illness, personal financial loss and confrontation of demons that were long since repressed. Every year we have visited this spot since, has been a reminder of my crumbling and the beginning of an existential crisis that has taken me years to comb through.  

            This visit, the water from the creek seems to bring new beginnings. Life has come in waves or rather increments, parceled out of 5-year terms. I am at an end of a section of my life. I have moved from brokenness to at least intermittent wholeness and I am left wondering what the next 5 years will bring and how I might navigate them.

            I thought I might start with some personal goals. First off, I want to continue to dedicate myself to improving my leadership skills. Secondly, I will continue to seek the ever-elusive emotional equanimity. Thirdly, I would like to seek a deeper relationship with God so that I might better know my true self. Lastly, I will try to continue to kiss my demons, love others and myself and perhaps most importantly strive to be brave!

            I know these goals may never be met but I am hoping that with Jesus as my driver, the next 5 years won’t be anything to Him.

            What are your goals for the next 5-year parcel of your life?

             

            

Conversations

Conversations

I have recently been on a quest to have difficult conversations with people. Not that I really want to engage in hard discussions, in fact I would say up until lately, I would avoid these situations at all cost. Instead my MO was to brood, harbor anger and ruthlessly rant and rave regarding these relationships that had gone wrong. I could easily hide behind my self-righteousness and indignation. Blaming others and self-protective reasoning seemed easier than to confront, discuss, or apologize. In short, the cheap way out was my way of being. 

Then, this year I decided to seek healing. Not that this is something so totally new but the culmination of years of self-discovery and work had led me to a desire to be free. Free of resentments. Free of regrets. Free of anger and hatred of others and of myself. I knew on a deep level that freedom was not available for free.  I would have to work at it and do some difficult things if I wanted to net any meaningful results and move forward even minutely.

I began inviting people into conversation. Most accepted. One was silent. Two declined. It would be futile to wonder about the abstainers. It is the way it is for now and I choose to hold it lightly. Instead, I am focusing on the conversations that have occurred and they are nothing short of transformative. The healing that can manifest when apologies are given and received, when misunderstandings are cleared and when compassion is offered is nothing short of divine.

This experience has opened a new way of being for me. It has shown me how to apologize, ask for forgiveness, and accept my errors yet know that my worth is not based on my foibles. I was able to garner the strength to state my thoughts and feelings without self-defensive hostility. Learning to be forthright and avoiding the verbal pabulum that comes from my underlying desire to please everyone has changed my engagement with others.

I like to think of these conversations as a spiritual practice. Talking with someone on a vulnerable level allows for deep connection. Being strong as well as admitting weakness within these interactions manifested a humbling tension that seemed initially to break me down but has since allowed me growth that I would not have expected. Finding God in the messiness of human engagement is both difficult and delightful.

Does anyone want to have a conversation?

Holy Week '15

Last summer I was blessed with the ability to place myself on a pilgrimage walk through part of Ireland. I had physically trained and was prepared to the best of my ability. My boots were broken in, my pack was methodically filled and my gear was perfect. On the first day of the walk I felt as if I were on the start line of a race. My energy was intense and focused. I was convinced I would pound out those miles on the trail and when we arrived at our evening’s destination I would be able to complete any and all tasks at hand. I am still not sure what those imagined tasks were.

As the day progressed and the miles slowly drifted by, I could feel an unrest rise within me. The miles felt treacherously long. I was desperate to get to our night’s lodging so I could be done with the first day. I needed to check it off my list and, “get on with it.” To add to my frustration, we missed a turn, my feet were becoming blistered and it started to rain. I had wondered why I bothered to walk this pilgrimage to begin with. I wanted for it to be over and I hadn’t really started.

Then, midway through our second day, God seemed to speak to me. A healing light entered my soul. I noticed my pace slowed and I took more breaks. I noticed the scenery, I enjoyed the misty rain, and I breathed in the cool air. I realized the pilgrimage was not about accomplishment or some sort of end point but rather it was about the process of life and what my soul is here to experience.

I have worked at bringing this understanding into my everyday life and have noticed it has made me more whole. Perhaps this is also what Holy Week is about, walking the pilgrimage. Not to reach the destination of Easter Sunday but to take in what life is really about, wrong turns, blisters, rain and all.

40 Days

40 Days

Lent started a couple of weeks ago. Who is really counting? We mark time in various ways and for me lately, days seamlessly meld into months. The 40 days of Lent will pass and I will be distracted through most of it. Enjoying the weather, watching an obscene amount of baseball, and planning the annual Easter egg hunt. This Lent will pass without much notice.

On Ash Wednesday, I allowed our oldest child to take a day off from school to help me sort rummage for a local women’s philanthropic group. I have worked at this rummage sale annually since our first-born was in preschool and this year was finally the time for her to come with and experience getting her hands dirty. The sale takes place in a large exposition hall at our state fairgrounds. The building is designed to allow cars to enter and exit freely from either end. This helps workers to bring in tables and lighting and permits members of this philanthropic group to drive through the hall to drop off their donations.   

My daughter and I were assigned to the women’s clothing department and we began to sort, hang and fold. Shortly after our shift began a pickup truck pulled in through one of the large garage doors at the end of the building closest to us. The bed of the truck was filled with women in orange Department of Corrections jumpsuits. When the truck came to a stop, the women jumped down and the guard approached me, he asked, “Where you want ‘em?” as if these females were a sort of commodity. I suggested he inquiry with the lady in charge when one of the women in orange stepped forward and said, “I know you.” I stared at her. Her tight ponytail revealed several neck and facial tattoos that were not familiar. Her severe eyebrows looked to be more drawn-on then plucked into shape. Her smile seemed genuine as I searched my mind for our connection. Was she a parent of one of my students? Was she a former student? I was at a loss. Finally, she said, “You have been here the last couple of years. You are always so funny. Do you need help in this area?” I apologized for my poor memory and accepted the help. Two of her cohorts joined in and the rest of the inmates wandered off to find someone to give them instructions.

The ladies worked side by side with us. They laughed at some of the clothes that were either out of style or simply in bad taste. The inmates chatted and giggled and complained about how frustrating it is to shop at discount stores such as Marshall’s and TJ MAXX. They discussed how more formal attire would be good to wear to various events and ogled the more high-end fashions that had been donated. Then the inmate who had remembered me said, “I get out of prison in 40 days. After 6 years I will be out in only 40 days.” I congratulated her and asked if she had a family to go home to. She said, “My mom is pissed at me because she had to take my kids when I was sent away. I am going to a halfway house in Tucson. It will be good for my mental state, you know?”

All the while, members of this organization had been pulling up to drop off their donations. Luxury cars and SUVs one by one with Prada and Michael Kors clad women dumping loads of unwanted items. Some were obviously annoyed with an indignant air while most seemed indifferent. Admittedly, my attitude would have also been indifferent if I had not been sitting in the midst of this human profundity. I asked my co-worker in orange, “You said you get out in 40 days. Today is Ash Wednesday, so do you get out on Easter?” Her face brightened, “I pack up on Easter and get out the next day.”

My 40 days of Lent will pass mostly without me noticing, I doubt that is the case for my friend in orange.