Beyond Broken

Pathwork

The Magic Of Second Chances

This time of year we all experience endings and we hope for new beginnings.  We ambitiously make New Years resolutions but do we really believe in second chances?

Perhaps all of us have at least one precious item that we revisit at this time of year.  For me it is a book I was given when I was four years old. Each year I try to gather children around on Christmas Eve and I read it to them.  This year the reading took place with hot apple cider, safely spread around an outdoor fire.

The story is about a little old fashion (even for 62 years ago) doll named Miss Flora McFlimsey who was once loved by a little girl on Christmas morning but has long since been forgotten in the toy cupboard of the attic.  She is very lonely and has only one visitor, Timothy Mouse.

One night Timothy Mouse is very excited because there are so many more crumbs than usual for him to eat and he tells her there is a tree growing right out of the living room floor. “Ah, it must be Christmas Eve” Miss Flora McFlimsey muses.  And her inanimate body begins to creak and move.  She feels like she would give anything to see one more beautiful Christmas tree.

Miraculously (there are lots of miracles) she makes her way down to the living room just as Santa is arriving.  He is muttering under his breath, “Dear, dear, dear, I seem to have lost the doll for Diana in the snow storm on way here.”  And then Flora McFlimsey steps out of the shadows and Santa says, “Well now my dear, it seems that I have seen you before. Oh my gosh you will be just the doll for Diana.”  And he sets Ms Flora McFlimsey under the Christmas tree next to the doll in the stylish red dress and the bride doll and heads back up the chimney.  Immediately the bride doll and doll in the red dress begin to make fun of Flora.  After all she is quite shabby and worn and out of style.  She feels so ashamed she wants to head back up to the attic where she belongs but all her joints have stiffened again and she cannot move.

Little tears come into eyes when Timothy Mouse appears again and says, “help is coming soon.”  What happened next (another miracle) cannot be explained.

The angel comes down from the top of the Christmas tree and her original clothes appear as new. The angel helps her back into her beautiful blue dress with the ermine muff and kisses her on her rosy check and whispered something ever so softly in her ear.

It was something about Christmas and something about love, but only Flora McFlimsey heard her.  And then the angel flew back to the top of the Christmas Tree.  Suddenly footsteps could be heard on the stairs and shouts of “Merry Christmas!”  The children appear and all them head straight for Flora McFlimsey.  No one paid very much attention to the other dolls.

But Flora McFlimsey was so happy for once again on a Christmas morning she was hugged and kissed by a little girl.

After this reading of the annual story I began to think about second chances and how they are always possible, often with the help of what seem to be miracles. Not always the overt miracles found in children’s stories, but miracles nonetheless.  How often do we not even try to start over because we feel too old, too shabby, or too stiff and set in our ways?  In what ways do messengers like Timothy Mouse appear in our lives but alas go unnoticed or unheeded?  I want to celebrate the miracle of second chances as we think of relationships we might want to repair (including with ourselves), changes we want to make in our lives and roads we have been afraid to travel.  Let’s invite the miracle of love and Christmas to show us the way and begin 2021 with these questions:  Where are my angels?  What is possible that I have not considered or even dismissed? What miracles might I invoke and co-create? And what helpful companions might be there, ready to help me on my path to change? What doubts do I need to question and set aside?

Let’s all go for it.  2020 has shown us that we had better not wait.

 

 

I WONDER WHY

As a teacher trained in Special Education I was taught to use every question children ask as a learning opportunity.  “What is that,” the child asks pointing to a stop light.  I would answer, “it is a stop light and watch it change colors, red, yellow and green.  Red means stop, yellow means slow down and green means go.” In recent years, I have seen teachers in the Waldorf School respond differently. When a child asks a question (and inevitably children ask a ton of questions) the parents and teachers are likely to answer, “I wonder.”

Sensing the wisdom of this, I was challenged to change my approach and answer, “I wonder.” And it took me a while to understand the depth of this philosophy of letting children stay in the wonder and mystery of world, and find the answer for themselves when they are ready.

This week in sessions, my own and someone else’s,  I notice a pervasive human tendency to try and answer difficult questions.  How do we answer the “unanswerable questions?” Like, why do bad things happen to good people? Why do innocent children starve to death or are tortured in war?  And especially, why is this terrible thing happening to me?

One person I work with is wrestling with a terrible thing that is happening with her son.  She has a whole list (I captured 6 items) of how she has failed him as a mother and caused all his troubles.  Some of them have a grain of truth (after all, there are no perfect mothers), but most of them feel very harsh and exaggerated to me.  I am curious about her list.  I know when we blame ourselves or others (and she can bounce back and forth between herself and blaming her son) that there is a difficult feeling being guarded, a difficult feeling that the blame game is protecting us from feeling.  I ask her if she can put her list in a little thought bubble outside of herself and look at.  I am trying to help her get some distance from it.  “Oh no she says, I need it right here close (and she motions to holding it on her lap).  I ask if she might consider making it a balloon and holding it by the string.  “No I need it right here” (same motion), she says.  And we get curious together about why she needs to literally persecute herself for this fate that has befallen her son.  We ponder this for a few moments and finally she says, “Well, I need a REASON for what has happened”.  And we both feel how powerful the need for a reason is—an answer in the moments when life unexpectedly serves up painful circumstances.

If we do not have a reasonable explanation for inexplicable and painful things, what are we left with?  She did not want me to take her reason away—even a little away. What do you do without a reason? Without one,  we live in a very dangerous, chaotic and random universe.

Without a reason we are left to find support from some other means. And a lot of the “reasons” that we imagine are ways to turn against ourselves and create shame and blame. Without these reasons, we are back to “I wonder”, and we are left with the MYSTERY. As I feel into this “I wonder”, what I find is the miracle of spirituality.

My client needed support as she struggled to separate her grief from her grievances. A “council of women” appeared in her imagination, all women who had struggled literally and figuratively through the labor of having children and then losing them. This group of women surrounded her and wailed with her in grief. They were a collective but they also had individual stories. One was the mother of the son who was one of the Columbine killers. Another a mother of a lonely son, who became radicalized on the web and put on a vest and blew up himself and others. Were these mothers “bad mothers”? No! There was not a clear cut answer to what happened, why this happened to them and their sons. They were fallible mothers but… it was a mystery how this happened. As she felt surrounded by these women, feeling their support, she began to relax into and feel her true grief. And then came a more universal grief, a non-personal grief that is clear and clean and true.

Later in the week I am in my own session, unpacking some of my own trauma. In my 15th year I am sitting in the front pew of our Synagogue right next to the altar (which feels very close to God). It is the funeral for my mother who has just died. I feel the support of those around me and the support of God. There is a comforting fabric of all that surrounds me, affirming that this is a very sad and terrible thing to have happened. Grief comes quite easily. A year later, I am sixteen, sitting in the same pew at the same altar, but this time my father is getting married to a woman I hardly know. It is supposed to be a happy occasion but it is too much for me, and much too fast. I fear I am now losing my father. I will be an orphan. And I look up at the altar and decide that God is now punishing me. I have done something terribly wrong to deserve this. Something is so wrong with me that everyone is happy around me but I am not. Since that moment fifty years ago, I have lived with a subtle feeling that I am being punished. Pain in my body follows me around most days and it is confirmation of the punishment by God. I have my REASON.

Then I too move into the MYSTERY and I am surrounded by a group of women. They have all lost their mothers and it did not go well afterwards. This “it did not go well afterwards” is the new puzzle piece of my work. The women form a collective but each has her own story as well. One women loses her father to grief and has to raise her younger siblings; another is shipped off to other family members and boarding schools. For me it did not go well with my stepmother and I did in fact lose my father. As I am surrounded by this support I feel a fullness creeps into my chest and a fullness surrounding me. I look up at the sky at twilight and the sky is luminous. A confirmation of a God that is so grand and true and loving.

That night I have a dream.  I am at a shopping mall—dropped off there by my husband—and as I go from store to store, no one is wearing their masks. I am the only one.  I feel like I have been dropped off into a world that is so different from me, that does not understand the threat and danger.  I am so upset, I wake myself up and have to walk around the house for a while before I can go back to bed.  These are  the feelings I had with my father and new mother.  I am able to feel them now through this dream.  No one understands me and no one understands the danger and threat.  Having been dropped off there I am trapped just like I was at 16 in my family.  Everyone seems to think everything is normal.   The feelings are difficult but I remember the luminosity of God that I felt and go back to sleep.

I Can Be Very Mean To Myself – A Six Month On Line Class Begins in September

I can be very mean to myself – A Six Month On Line Course

 Begins in September

During the Pandemic’s isolation, many of us have come face to face with….ourselves.

What we have found is it not always a great relationship.  In fact we can be mean, dismissive and judgmental to ourselves.  In this powerful monthly committed group we will learn how our pseudo solutions to avoid pain create much more pain and that actually going into the center of ourselves and our true feelings is easy and quick.  The result is instant relief and aliveness. This is a practice and we will learn the tools to undo this pattern. 

After attending this workshop series you will never be so mean to yourself again.
It is a promise!

We will meet the first Friday of each month from 11:00 – 1:00 pm EST – The class is limited to 20 people so reserve your spot soon.  We will break the class into partners so that there can be a mid-month check in and practice and I am available as well. The cost is $300 and a monthly payment plan is available.  Please email me at whubbard0@gmail.com with any questions or if you want to reserve a spot.

We will work with the following Pathwork Lectures and additional tools from modern psychology  and neuroscience on the following dates

Friday September 4th  #97  Perfectionism

Friday October 2nd   #83   Idealized Self Image

Friday November 6th  #190  Importance of Experiencing All Feelings, Including Fear – the Dynamic State of Laziness

Friday December 4th   #114  Healthy and Unhealthy Struggle

Friday January 1st 2021  #201  Demagnetizing the Negative Force Field

Friday February 5th  2021  #212 Total Capacity for Greatness

Additional Reading Suggested – Radical Compassion , Tara Brach

Little Drops of Rain – The Grace of Grief

Walking on the beach yesterday — a beach that is officially closed except for exercise — I started to let in the fact that our summer is essentially cancelled.  Each event was cancelled one at a time and there was a feeling of loss, or sometimes relief. But now there is the empty beach and the empty summer stretched out in front of me for miles.  My mind went to all kinds of conclusions.  First, that I should not feel sad because I have so much to be grateful for, second that we could stay a shorter time here and then go home and third that I was just feeling blah and would get over it.

I came back home and listened to a Tara Brach podcast I have been following Called Sheltering in Love.  She has been a teacher of the practice of RAIN meditation, a profound process of Recognizing a feeling, Allowing it, Intimately feeling it in the body, and then Nurturing it.  As I fought my feelings that arose when I felt the loss of our summer I had hoped for, we usually resist our feelings.  We do this by minimizing them to try and make them small or exaggerating them so they feel too big to handle or by trying to fix them. So naming them and allowing them is so different.  And then giving them space in our bodies and our own comfort — it is revolutionary.

Today, Tara varied a bit from RAIN.  She says she uses this mantra: “Come right up to the edge and then soften.”  She is referring to coming right up to the edge of a difficult feeling and then softening instead of stiffening and deflecting as we usually do.  She leads us in a ten minute guided meditation and I use the difficult feeling of grief.  As I move to the very edge or edginess of grief, I feel much more grounded in my body.  I remembered this: grief is grounding.  I had discovered this before. The heaviness of grief lends us weight and gives us the feeling of substance.

Towards the end of the meditation we are invited to bring in a nurturing presence of our own or a nurturing person or spiritual entity.  I remember grace, and a special moment from the past.  Over ten years ago a close friend was visiting me from Israel.  She speaks Hebrew as her native language and is very proficient in English but she is pausing to translate each thought from one language to the other.  I am no help to the communication. I speak no Hebrew.  We are outdoors in the woods one day and she tells me she thinks I am very graceful…

At that moment I am sure that something has been lost in translation.  I have never thought of myself as graceful. I was never good at any sport, always too tall, too fat, too uncoordinated.  Being too tall, I took to stooping over and have poor posture.  I cannot think of a graceful thing about myself.  So I ask my friend to explain.  And she says, ” the way you hold your grief is so graceful.”  I am a person who experienced a good amount of loss and grief, all before I was 16 years old.  For years I tried to get rid of it or heal it.  Once, on a mountaintop, I created a ritual with a small fire and burned all my losses written on little pieces of paper and watched them curl in the fire and go up in smoke.  There, I thought now this is all behind me.  But it wasn’t, and the loss and grief would come over me in unexpected moments.  When I watched a young girl shopping with her mother, or when I cooked and entertained, something my mother loved doing.  It was hard losing her when I had just turned 15.

I became impatient with myself.  I would rail against my mother (imagining she could still hear me) with an unquenchable question : “How could you leave me?”  I would summon her to give me a sign, any sign.  One day she did answer me.  She said that her death had nothing to do with me.  It was her own life’s trajectory.  It settled the question but did not bring me much comfort.  Her words were matter of fact, like a reading of spiritual law — not warm or particularly loving.

I finally realized that transforming the grief, getting over it, or whatever, was not my actual task.  My task was to learn a way to live, and love, with the grief, and let it inform me, ground me, even console me. I learned this gradually, and it seems that my friend noticed.

Today I find the pairing of grief and grace again.  As I allow in the nurturing presence of grace my whole body feels animated, as if grief now has a substance and an aliveness.  It is a profound experience— allowing our feelings.  Lingering with the experience I realize that going through the grief did not produce joy as I may know it but something new all together.  Perhaps this feeling is true joy.  I invite the people I work with to feel their feelings all the time.  I am glad I did it for myself.

 

What Is Calling YOU?

It now seems a bit ironic that my last post, at the end of January, was about finding our true pace in what can be such a frantic world.  What I suggested as a task worthy of some thought and consideration has now been imposed on us as we are forced to slow down.  Moving fast through the world with a doingness consciousness can become an addiction.  Most of us have addictive behaviors, but are not addicts.  In fact our addictive behaviors have often served us well to help us cope with and avoid very difficult feeling states or painful situations.  As the world has come to an unprecedented screeching halt, this can be the deepest and most meaningful of times — if we chose to take on the challenge.

We can inherit our addictions, and the one I inherited from my mother looks a lot like OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder).  My mother, whose name was Bernice, was nicknamed Baboo Bee (after the kitchen cleanser popular in the 50’s).  She scrubbed and cleaned everything continuously, including me.  This was particularly frustrating for her and wounding for me because I never stayed clean!  I was a constant project for her and I felt like I was a constant disappointment.  I had a cousin who always seemed to stay ‘put together’.  But not me.  One minute after brushing my hair it would recoil and fly out in a million directions.  ‘Stay on all day’ lipstick stayed on me for about two minutes, and still does.

In the past week I have been holding space for a lot of people who feel fearful and ungrounded.  In between my sessions I have been going out to the garden and somewhat maniacally digging up weeds.  My OCD has resurfaced with a surprising momentum and force.  Not consciously, but somewhere below the surface I am sure I believe that if the garden is weed free, then I am safe.  That I have done my bit to help the situation our world is in.  That each weed represents a deadly germ and as I dig this one weed, getting the full root ball underneath it, I am making the world a better place.

It has helped me feel more grounded, being outdoors, my hands in the soil.  But of course I know this strategy is just my way, just as it was my mother’s way, of dealing with stress and disorder inside and around me.  It is an illusion of control, and although it is fruitless, it also helps in a small way.  So here is one meaningful thing we can notice as we slow down.  Watch for little addictions that are getting stirred up.  Poke a little deeper for the real roots or deeper feelings underneath. This can help us get closer to ourselves — our true nature.   Now I can look at my behavior with some humor and lots of awareness and compassion. I can begin to turn my attention to ordering my real inner garden, my inner home.

And as I contemplate this I turn to Tara Brach and her new book, Radical Compassion.  On page 130 I find the heading; YOUR STAR IS CALLING YOU.  And although her book was published in December, before the world as we have known it ended, she seems to be talking to each one of us now.

She says, “Awakening from the trance of wanting is a spiritual path.”  And clearly many of our wants are stymied right now.  For some of us, what we truly need, like money, employment, food and shelter, is being challenged.  As one-by-one more and more things are getting cancelled, I notice an interesting phenomenon — some things that cancel are really disappointing and other things that cancel give me a sense of relief.  This makes me wonder how much of my life I actually want to be living?   In the trance of ‘wanting’, have I lost my way?

Next in her book is a beautiful meditation what contains the question; “What is my deepest longing?” This quiet time in our lives allows us to step back from everything and ask these kinds of basic questions.  And some of us may be in too much fear to settle into them.  At the beginning of my sessions I have been inviting us to remember the most beautiful, serene and safe place we have ever been.  As we go back to this place in our minds eye, I illicit all the senses, how the air felt, the view or sights, the smells.  As we linger there a little longer (30 seconds) we both immediately calm down and our fear or threat feelings reduce.

So, what is my deepest longing? What captivates me?  As I make my way into and through the meditation she gives us prompts. Is it the longing to love fully or be loved, to know the truth, to be peaceful, helpful, to free of fear and suffering?

  • The longing to be helpful fits. I feel this deep in the center of my being.
  • I  also have an especially strong longing and need to know the truth.

Those answers came to me. What is calling you?

Tara Brach promises that when you know your deepest longing it gives you a felt sense of innocence, energy and flow.  I experienced this in my body.  She also promises a potential inner shift that can give us fresh resolution, openness and ease.  For me it makes my life take on new meaning.  It gives me a new sense of my true priorities.

When and if life gets back to some new ‘normal’ I will be making different choices about how I spend my time.  They will need to be in alignment with my deepest desires.

I hope that I will not need things to be cancelled to know they were not right for me in the first place.