Reflection

(Rhonda’s words:)

She kept wondering…

“Why can’t he see it.”

Maybe it isn’t there or

Maybe it’s all her.

And then he told her about watching the little girl.  Her intention to feed some ducks.  Good intention.  Warm and generous heart.  But she chose an unconventional approach keeping the bread intact and rather than using crumbs, used whole slices.  Maybe she had a disability that kept her mind from thinking of another way.  Maybe she was lazy.  Maybe no one had shown her a way where the ducks would be more responsive.  Maybe she was doing exactly what her mother had told her to do.  But he wanted to go show her the right way to feed the birds.  He saw her foolishness.  Wanted to change her, fix her and make her understand what she was doing was wrong or inefficient.  He didn’t want to accept that the little girl just wanted to feed the ducks in her own way.  Her own pace.  With her own insightfulness.

The story made her realize something they both choose not to see.  A need to control life outside and  within.  A need to want to dive in and alter what simply is.  Change something for the “better” or “best”.  Yet neither realizing the best is in the moment, happening just the way it is.

She had to eat.  Had to nourish her body.  While her soul was screaming for something, too.

And at the table while eating vegetables… she read the following from a book, “Healing Through the Akashic Records:  Using the Power of Your Sacred Wounds to Discover Your Soul’s Perfection” by Linda Howe.  And it all came together.  She saw it more clearly.  Identified with words what has kept eluding her. She connected her own need to eat vegatables with her need to feed the ducks, the way she knew to feed the ducks.

(Linda’s words, words that could have been Rhonda’s:)

“My father’s death was a slow and terribly painful one.  Perhaps you, too, have been helpless in the face of a loved one’s suffering.  The compassionate space of the Records gave me relief from the sadness and angst I experienced during that trying time, and this in itself was a tremendous healing gift.

But I remained troubled.  I felt tied in knots about how my siblings should respond:  both to my father’s care and to handling the emotionally wrenching situations themselves.  (There were knots tied within knots tied within knots – I am the second child of eight!)  I was certain I knew what each of my brothers and sisters should do, and I felt strongly compelled to manage and direct their actions.  As you might imagine, my direction was not always welcome.

The Records revealed a different approach.  They led me to an understanding that all of my brothers and sisters were entitled to their own experiences of our father’s death.  They showed me that not only was it inappropriate for me to guide, urge, or try to inspire my siblings – for I truly did not know what was best for them – it was also unnecessary.  I came to understand that each of us had a unique relationship with our father and that it was insulting and demeaning of me to force my perceptions on another. This was not an easy realization to come to:  none of us wants to discover that our behavior has been insulting or demeaning….

…I came to know and trust that everyone could take care of him or herself. ..

…This invaluable discovery – that each one of my siblings had his or her own rightful pathway through our father’s death – is one (lesson) I cannot now unlearn.”

And a few pages later, Linda writes:

“I know how hard it is to live with hurt feelings and the scar tissue that has built up around them.  I know how difficult it is to be held hostage to old patterns of interacting with others.  I know how demoralizing it is to keep trying to change but to fail again and again.  And I know what it is like to use your shortcomings against yourself.  It is because I have suffered these experiences, too, and have been relieved of them, that I am sharing this method with you.  Believe me; your efforts will bring tremendous liberation.”

(Rhonda’s voice:)

The challenge for her becomes what Linda suggests is the first step;  "don’t judge, fear not….  resist not.” 

All things she’s heard him say in a different kind of way.

Can she see in her what she sees in him?

Can he see in him what he sees in her?

Knowing Myself Inside My Guitar

I’m trying really hard to stop focusing on what and who has been lost over my lifetime, who is currently slipping away. (including loss of self on too many occasions to count) I keep reminding myself to focus on the gifts that come in; every day, ALL day. I’ve been waking up thanking the stars, the sky, the earth, God, the universes for all the up-and-coming surprises of the day. It’s been a huge internal transformation.

But I got slammed back a few steps when my friend pointed out that my Taylor guitar is showing signs of cracking in the body. Not just in one place, but a couple places. This situation felt worse than a kick in the stomach for the simple fact that I’ve not always allowed myself to invest myself in the biggest passion I’ve had since birth; music. For some reason, or for many (such as “you’re not good enough”/”you’re not worthy”/”you don’t deserve it”) I’ve invested in other things that come and go, but very seldom have I invested in instruments, equipment, lessons, etc. It took me a long time to reach a place of self-acceptance and self-love, a place that felt safe enough finally to purchase a really nice guitar that quite frankly was “beyond my means”; more than what I could afford. But I saw it as an investment. Not just an investment in my own music career, but an enormous investment in my soul.

And a year and a month later it’s already broken. And I feel that familiar “tearing apart” that loss often yields in its wake.

I just got off the phone with the man whose hands are going to try to lovingly restore her. I’ve been beating myself up, wishing I would have watched more closely, investigated what needed to be done in order to properly and completely care for such a valued part of my life. And this is what I was told after talking about how difficult it can be to monitor the proper humidity levels. (I’ve been semi-joking that the guitar is trying to catch up with my own dings and scrapes and brokenness.)

According to Tim;

One never knows when a guitar is built where the wood came from and where the wood that once was a tree survived. What conditions surrounded it. Usually if a guitar cracks, especially a cedar top, chances are that tree lived an extremely stressed life from the very beginning. It probably knew all kinds of adversity that other trees weren’t subjected to. It probably suffered periods of drought, of torrential downpours; extremes. Most likely, that tree was damaged, but remained so incredibly strong it managed to make “the cut”. And once shaped and molded into its new state, one can never know the misuse, the dropping, the twisting or bending or reshaping that that thin layer was put under, the tension constantly present. It might have been neglected.  And once it was held and cared for, it was allowed to give in to the pressures it had always known. And the places that now are weak are asking to be supported, to be reinforced. Those additions might change its sound quality – slightly. Maybe for the worse, but most likely for the better. And there might be more repairs that need tended to in the future. But chances are, the guitar will be stronger than ever, more beautiful than ever, scarred but “added to” because of the character marks it will proudly portray.

I’m a little bit blown away by this new life lesson given through an experience that at first felt so negative and so heavy. This guitar found me. It sang to me, spoke to me when I heard it played for the first time. It continues doing so each time I look at it, play it, hold it. And from this day on, I will cherish it all the more for its strength and daring and determination.

QTIPS and Caring Enough

It hit me once again this morning.

Many of our patterns of behavior run deep; generations deep. So many of them aren’t even in our conscious mind. We move through them not realizing what we’re doing. Or not doing. A great grandmother always puts others before herself. A grandmother doesn’t take care of herself, always gives to others. A mother is so busy taking care of everyone outside of herself, she misses the symptoms that wreak havoc with her body later on… Too busy on the outside to care for the precious commodity on the inside.

I used to get so mad at my mom for not taking care of herself. As a child I’d watch as my dad would lay into her, verbally, too many times physically. Shoving her off a bar stool onto the floor, kicking her with his cowboy boot. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t fight for herself. Why she wouldn’t stand up, run away, get out, give up and make changes. I didn’t realize until my high school years how much resentment I had because of that one thing about her. I used to be unable to sleep at night, worrying. Thinking it was my job to protect her.

I’ve come a long way from that little girl who watched in horror. I’ve learned to love a dad who used unhealthy substances to try to mask his own pain, his own mental anguish. I’ve learned how to practice a deep, deep well of forgiveness and acceptance.

Without all of it I wouldn’t be me, here and now.

Mom eventually separated from my father, went back to school to become a teacher, and moved to Arizona where finally, she found ways to heal. She found ways to feed her own soul, to recharge her batteries, to find her own passions and joys and discover who she was. I remember loving our talks on the phone. She would tell me about alternative health therapies she had been trying. She would tell me about experiences around campfires with friends. She told about dancing in the middle of her living room while holding onto a long, flowing scarf. How free she felt, how uninhibited.

My mom went from being what I thought was “weak” into being the strongest person I know. Actually, now I know she’s always been the strongest person I know.

It’s just now dawning on me, after years of dealing with my own chronic pain that my mom fought even longer with her own chronic pain. But unlike me, she didn’t really talk about it a lot. I’m sure she didn’t want to bother people or dump her problems on anyone. But as her daughter, I saw it. I felt it.

For so long I misunderstood my mom’s inaction from abusiveness and later her action of moving away. For a long time, I felt like she went away from me. And at that time I was a single parent, so I felt like she went away from my son, too. I took everything about her actions so personally. QTIP = “Quit Taking It Personally” Now I see how she left FOR HERSELF.

What dawned on me today was the beautiful gift she gave in her absence. In her own way, she showed me that in order to be best for others, you need to be best for yourself. You need to take care of yourself in a way that honors your entire life – a life borrowed for such a short while. No one else can care more for you than YOU. And sometimes, as I’ve known, it’s difficult to even rise in the morning and brush your teeth, comb your hair, take a shower, get dressed. Those tiny bits and pieces of feeding your soul seem horrifically hard.

Care enough for you.

Care enough to take the little steps necessary to keep you safe, warm, healthy, balanced, more whole and less stagnant and LESS STRESSED. Keep finding ways to fill the soul. Big ways. Little ways. Any way that gives back and puts back in what has been depleted. Guard yourself wisely. Make adjustments. Rest. And sometimes, as I’ve been told by a healer in the past, “rest, rest, rest and then rest some more”. Listen to what every part of you is saying. And then take action and direct your steps where they need to take you. Care enough to give the best you can be to those who are counting on you each day. Do it for you, not them. Benefit from your own self love so it spills over onto others. Do it so you can live out your truest potential, serve your highest calling, find your purpose.

Care enough.