I remember when I was a child, I wished that I could be satisfied
working behind the counter of a store and I used to be mad at God for
me being a dreamer. I was just so certain that I could not be me and
survive in this world.
And with all the voices (internal and external) asking 'Are you sure?'
where there is no security to be found except a flutter in my heart
when I do what I love, hardly no examples of anyone embodying my dream
and realizing it is because I step in the intersection-the places in
between, the places people step over-that I am needed. It is my
medicine, but is it one of those medicines that taste sweet or taste
like hell, but is still good for you?
I don't know.
Are you sure? Some good intentioned soul asks and I respond, "No, but
there is nothing else to do." And so I walk on, because I can only be
what I am. Everything else is addiction.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Re: Can you be bound and free at the same time?
One of my colleagues was asking about the difference between being in debt and acknowledging those that came before? I blurted out the question, "Yes, can you be free and bound at the same time?" I think of my heros, like Nelson Mandella who took his prison and transcended it daily and then used the very experience of his imprisonment to mobilize a people, to bring healing to a nation, but for most of us, a cage is a cage and prison is hard, no matter what we have learned from it after the fact.
Prisons have transformative power, because on some level, they –in there hard, cold way-are an acknowledgement. Acknowledgement of what? Of power. Some of us are in prison, because we are a threat –a threat to notions of decency, a threat to notions of tradition, a threat to notions of privilege and domination.
Some of us are in prison, because we simply cannot bare to be free, from all that what came before. It is what we know. It is familiar. My self-created and self-imposed cages are still a recognition of power- even if that power is turned inward and it is still a reaction to a threat.
Sometimes the threat of having to live outside the cage, outside the definitions that have been handed to me. There is no coincidence that suicide rates are high among those returning from war and those who have been released from prison after a long time. It is hard to live on the outside. Outside of what?
Outside of the inheritance. Living outside the inheritance can be like throwing open the windows, it is just too bright, too much all at the same time. Freedom can hurt the eyes, there is a period of readjustment and then the shock and possible grief that you lived in the dark all that time, when the world was full of color.
In those moments, I have to remember-everything that made the cage make sense. I have to remember what the threats were that were so compelling that I had to put myself away, beyond life itself. I try to remember what made me fight like hell to keep the glue of the cocoon on me, so that I could hide. I remember and then I validate my process, “Yes, of course. Of course.”
And then freedom comes. Beyond the cliché of unleashing myself from my own prison, there have been many key holders in my life. Far from individuation, I know that I am made up my relationships. Some come bringing maps, some come bringing tea, some come bringing laughter, some come to simply sit in the dark with me, quietly and silently, then walk out the door. I see them leave and I remember that I can too. Some simply use their own and remind me that I have my own.
And what is freedom? Sometimes freedom is simply deciding to live. Sometimes freedom is to decide to pick up the phone and call someone and receive them when you have been told that you are worthy of nothing but rejection. Sometimes freedom is a hot shower and remember that you have a body and it is yours, now. Sometimes freedom is telling yourself something new when everything around you looks like the same old thing. It is acknowledging all that came before without giving my power away to the story, because it all serves. As one friend put it recently, “I am broke, single and without a place of my own, but my Spirit is in tact.”
Freedom is self-imposed.
Prisons have transformative power, because on some level, they –in there hard, cold way-are an acknowledgement. Acknowledgement of what? Of power. Some of us are in prison, because we are a threat –a threat to notions of decency, a threat to notions of tradition, a threat to notions of privilege and domination.
Some of us are in prison, because we simply cannot bare to be free, from all that what came before. It is what we know. It is familiar. My self-created and self-imposed cages are still a recognition of power- even if that power is turned inward and it is still a reaction to a threat.
Sometimes the threat of having to live outside the cage, outside the definitions that have been handed to me. There is no coincidence that suicide rates are high among those returning from war and those who have been released from prison after a long time. It is hard to live on the outside. Outside of what?
Outside of the inheritance. Living outside the inheritance can be like throwing open the windows, it is just too bright, too much all at the same time. Freedom can hurt the eyes, there is a period of readjustment and then the shock and possible grief that you lived in the dark all that time, when the world was full of color.
In those moments, I have to remember-everything that made the cage make sense. I have to remember what the threats were that were so compelling that I had to put myself away, beyond life itself. I try to remember what made me fight like hell to keep the glue of the cocoon on me, so that I could hide. I remember and then I validate my process, “Yes, of course. Of course.”
And then freedom comes. Beyond the cliché of unleashing myself from my own prison, there have been many key holders in my life. Far from individuation, I know that I am made up my relationships. Some come bringing maps, some come bringing tea, some come bringing laughter, some come to simply sit in the dark with me, quietly and silently, then walk out the door. I see them leave and I remember that I can too. Some simply use their own and remind me that I have my own.
And what is freedom? Sometimes freedom is simply deciding to live. Sometimes freedom is to decide to pick up the phone and call someone and receive them when you have been told that you are worthy of nothing but rejection. Sometimes freedom is a hot shower and remember that you have a body and it is yours, now. Sometimes freedom is telling yourself something new when everything around you looks like the same old thing. It is acknowledging all that came before without giving my power away to the story, because it all serves. As one friend put it recently, “I am broke, single and without a place of my own, but my Spirit is in tact.”
Freedom is self-imposed.
Re: As If there was no bound
Somebody spoke about acting as if there was no God. I began to think to myself, how would I act if there was no God? How would I change? I think I would lay around all day, eating cookies and watching movies. I feel like the thing that gets me off the couch is a drive to use my gifts in teh world out of respect to that which I feel gave me the gits in teh first place. In that sense, I feel accountable.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Starting With Me
A beautiful soul asked me, "What is the use of tradition? What is the use of sacred text-of that which came before."
I thought about it and said, "That is an interesting question, what if I started with me. What if there was no God, except the God of present time?" I sat with how that would feel and I felt -in that moment-incredibly alone. I told him that the only way that I could translate it was being cut off from my ancestors.
I told him, "The gift of my ancestors is that I get to learn from their mistakes and their triumphs. Some things I no longer have to do, because they have done them for me. Other things I can learn to implement in my life. I realized that they did the best they could with what they had and knew. We all have."
To start- as if there was nothing before- seems that I would lose so much. Of the mistakes-mine and my ancestors -I look back, bless and release them. What else is there to do? What text is not sacred? After nearly three years of seminary, I am finally convinced that 'sacred text' has the possibility of healing as well as harm. Doesn't everything and doesn't everyone?
A beautiful soul said to me, "I am so glad that there are so many people out there doing things, so I don't have to." I frowned. She said, "I am glad that someone is creating a mural in San Francisco, so I don't have to. I can just focus on what I came here to do."
In the moment, I could not understand her and I felt uncomfortable. I knew it was because I have never viewed the earth as being of service to me. I realized that I held that my relationship with the earth-on some level was one sided. I was here to serve.
I woke up early this morning and realized that my ancestors have lived lifetimes of poverty, they had already done that and that I did not have to do that.
I woke up early this morning and realized that there had been enough suffering for lifetimes and that I did not have to do that.
I woke up this morning and realized there was enough sorrow to fill oceans on several planets and I did not have to grieve forever.
I realized that I did not come here to suffer
I did not come here to shrink
I did not come here to be small
We had compromised ourselves for generations.
I woke up this morning and realized that my ancestors were filled with courage and that I could manifest the legacy handed to me in present time
I woke up this morning and realized that my ancestors found joy in the face of struggle and I could manifest the legacy handed to me in present time
I woke up this morning
I thought about it and said, "That is an interesting question, what if I started with me. What if there was no God, except the God of present time?" I sat with how that would feel and I felt -in that moment-incredibly alone. I told him that the only way that I could translate it was being cut off from my ancestors.
I told him, "The gift of my ancestors is that I get to learn from their mistakes and their triumphs. Some things I no longer have to do, because they have done them for me. Other things I can learn to implement in my life. I realized that they did the best they could with what they had and knew. We all have."
To start- as if there was nothing before- seems that I would lose so much. Of the mistakes-mine and my ancestors -I look back, bless and release them. What else is there to do? What text is not sacred? After nearly three years of seminary, I am finally convinced that 'sacred text' has the possibility of healing as well as harm. Doesn't everything and doesn't everyone?
A beautiful soul said to me, "I am so glad that there are so many people out there doing things, so I don't have to." I frowned. She said, "I am glad that someone is creating a mural in San Francisco, so I don't have to. I can just focus on what I came here to do."
In the moment, I could not understand her and I felt uncomfortable. I knew it was because I have never viewed the earth as being of service to me. I realized that I held that my relationship with the earth-on some level was one sided. I was here to serve.
I woke up early this morning and realized that my ancestors have lived lifetimes of poverty, they had already done that and that I did not have to do that.
I woke up early this morning and realized that there had been enough suffering for lifetimes and that I did not have to do that.
I woke up this morning and realized there was enough sorrow to fill oceans on several planets and I did not have to grieve forever.
I realized that I did not come here to suffer
I did not come here to shrink
I did not come here to be small
We had compromised ourselves for generations.
I woke up this morning and realized that my ancestors were filled with courage and that I could manifest the legacy handed to me in present time
I woke up this morning and realized that my ancestors found joy in the face of struggle and I could manifest the legacy handed to me in present time
I woke up this morning
Friday, November 13, 2009
Money as Spiritual Exchange
Money-as a medium of meaningful exchange-becomes a force for liberation and empowerment. In a meaningful exchange, both parties give and both parties receive. In this way money becomes part of a spiritual exchange in which people encounter each other and their own deepest selves.
From Alchemists at Work: God, Money and the Common Good by Katharine Rhodes Henderson
Money as a meaningful exchange. Money as a statement of who you are on the inside. Money as a reflection. Money as a Spiritual exchange. Someone wake me, am I dreaming?
When has money ever been anything other than a power exchange? I have never known it to be anything else. In my life, money was a statement of power, control, domination, worth and value. It was the means of separation: who belonged and who did not, who counted and mattered and who did not and who was a winner and who was a loser.
Today as I went to teach on emotional health and wellness at a very rich private school. I paused before entering and reminded myself, I have value-in the face of all that wealth. I saw all the teenagers driving cars that I have never even thought to own and I could feel myself slipping. Slipping into what? Where did I go?
Judgment. Judging whether they would listen to me as I spoke. Judging whether I could articulate the issues intelligently enough for them to feel challenged in light of the fact that they are challenged -constantly-by their ultra educated parents who need them to walk in their image and likeness.
Wondering. Who would I be if I was born into wealth? I grew up in the face of a split reality-on one hand , growing up poor and on the other hand having a parent who had access to resources, but withheld them out of fear of 'spoiling' us. He had a theology that giving too much, killed work ethic, not realizing that other things are lost through withholding.
Like it or not, many of us translate wealth into love-sharing or withholding it and if money exchanges are an transactional articulation of our inner spiritual lives, then I have been living in spiritual poverty for a long, long time.
I could feel my anxiety as I approached the school. As I entered the building, a gang of fire departments came along with an ambulance. Later, I learned that one girl had fainted. I thought-what value you must have to have -no less than 3 trucks come for you. What would have come if a girl had fainted in east oakland?
And as I sat and talked with them, many already with private therapists-at 15 and hearing their pain, their stories and realizing that they are marginalized on a whole other level. They have monetary exchanges with their parents that have their own power dynamics.
When I have had moments of pure generosity, where people have shared out of the intention of love articulating that they were simply engaging in an equal energy exchange, I am most humbled. I haven't always known how to wrap myself around it, maintain my center in the face of it or know how to remain grounded, but I am clear that I need my encounters to be deep, my transactions authentic and money to be a symbolic statement of sharing love, because Spirit is in all.
Monday, November 9, 2009
God of the Poor
Do we have to lift ourselves out of physical poverty in order to lift ourselves out of Spiritual poverty?
This was the question presented by one of my colleagues today. I sat with that question. My parents were convinced that education was the way out of economic deprivation. It may have been true in their time, but many of us come out of school in debt that would buy small houses in some states.
I was left with so many questions. Do we lift ourselves out of poverty? If poverty is a system that requires people to stay in it to survive, how do we lift ourselves out of it and if we could lift ourselves out of it, then why haven't people done so? Is there such a thing as Spiritual poverty? I know I have had moments where I felt separated from the God of my understanding. I know I have had moments of feeling absolutely connected and having fifty cents to my name, but I have always felt that Spiritual poverty was a matter of illusion, because something deep within me, knows I am connected-even when it doesn't look like it.
What I found most curious about the question is the privilege of being able to separate Spiritual poverty and physical poverty when millions of people must find God in the dark, because there is no electricity, no simplicity. How many poor people must find God in rain water, because there is simply no access to clean water? God of the poor is finding a clean piece of newspaper when toilet paper costs too much.
I don't know if I can link spiritual poverty with physical poverty, because so many of the physically poor that I know are spiritually connected and abundant. The question becomes, who is the God of the poor? The God of the poor is the God that is present as the wife is on her knees cleaning the floor. The God of the poor is a down to earth God and a God of details that walks with the poor three miles into town to get some small bit of sugar and salt.
The God of the poor is a God who is a God who is not separate from the struggle of living. The God of the poor is the God that allows you to wake up and try to get support for your babies. The God of the poor walks into the welfare office with her to face the assault on any sense of yourself left by the social worker whose compassion morphed into contempt years ago. The God of the poor who is in the stretch of the back after bending all day to crush rocks. The God of the poor is in the wind that brings a moment of relief, the small reason to smile when nothing is funny.
Seems to me that the God of the poor is close, tangible- in the details. The God of the poor is present in the bathroom changing the toilet paper and cleaning the toilet bowls when everybody has gone home. The God of the poor is present when sanitary workers sweep the streets early in the morning. The God of the poor is the God of the invisible and therefore is unseen and tangible all at the same time.
For the poor, there is no order- we cannot wait for physical deprivation to be released before we access God, because God is present in the midst of all struggle.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Transforming what we have been given
"How do we transform what we have been given?" I first heard this question from healer Orland Bishop a few years ago at a conference on philanthropy. His question never left me. I have been handed a lot-we all have- and there is much work to be done.
I remember running into my friend Frank one time on the train and he had asked me about the love of my life. I began to cry and I told him that I had a broken heart and that there was more work to be done. He said, "When there is more work to be done, there is more work to be done." He was right, he was absolutely right.
Money. There is work to be done. There is the reality that we require it to live and there is the reality that too many people identify themselves by it (either having it or not). There is the truth that much harm has been done in its name and then there is the truth that money has also fed people, supported people in making transitions that they would not have done otherwise.
In my home, money was the source of tension, it was the symbol of whose side you were on and it was a source of shame and grief, embarrassment and a source of validation that you had made it. Ancestrally, money is complicated. Were we not bought and sold? I am not sure that money is neutral. I don't know if money is simply a reflection of our intentions. Can individual intention transform a wound created by collective consciousness? How do you transform the wound?
Healer. That is what I am. I am the symbol of everything that you did not want to become in my family. My dad tried, "Don't you want a job on Wall Street?" He never could accept that I was an artist. I was thinking, "Sure, I can bring flowers to the brokers and tell them that their worth is not their work." I can just imagine running around wall street handing out flowers and saying, "You are beautiful just as you are!" I would be ushered out quickly.
Worse, I am a healer artist. As I slowly began to come out to my family, I remember one of my cousins said, "Okay, we need to sit down and talk about this healer thing, I mean....surely you cannot make any money from doing that?" I stuttered and tried to spit words here and there on terms that sounded like I could put spiritual work on terms that he could hear, but to him, I was just lost, searching. Spiritual work often does not fit into traditional models, yet it was also true that I did have a plan (just not one that he could hear): My plan was to listen deeply and move. As one friend put it recently, "You are walking the path of the mystic artist." What does that mean? I am broke.
What does it mean to be broke?
I tried working at a law firm one time and I lasted 6 months (was it that long? Hmmm not sure), tried to fit in, become a lawyer, embody the external indicators of success (clothes), but I truly believe that deprivation comes when we walk the path of denial of who we are and when I was working at that law firm, I had more money than I ever dreamed and was more broken than I could ever remember. I have finally come to a clearing, a space where I literally have nothing to lose and the understanding that I can only be who I am and to love how I am-in the world-even when it does not make sense to anybody outside of me. It takes courage to follow your heart, it really does.
Yet, I am tired of dichotomies: do great work for the world and have an empty fridge or work for some muckitymucks, sell your soul and prosper. As a spiritual leader, I find the dichotomies more pronounced: feed the poor and deny yourself in the name of God or preach prosperity and ignore the poor in the name of God. Who are we outside of either or? Do we get to have it all: our spiritual integrity, service and prosperity? I remember sitting on a plane once and as usual the person sitting next to me tells me their who life story. This time, the man sitting next to me was an older soul from NYC and we started talking about money. He challenged my fundamental belief that love wins when he said, "I'm telling you, kid only cruel people win."
I felt naive, idealistic and somehow in the face of his absolute certainty, I said, "Oh really? Well, maybe I should be cruel then?" I immediately felt silly as soon as I said it. He smiled and he patted my hand and said, "No, I think you should stay nice. We need nice people in the world too." My mom used to have a cup with a man with a screw through his body and it said, "This is what happens to nice people." I was sitting in an Irish bar in England one time and this drunk Scottish man meandered over to me and said, "You are nice." I guess I can only be what I am.
Well, I guess I am writing this blog to experiment with the notion that I can be who I am -a sensitive healing artist and all around nice gal- and prosper. I am writing to give myself permission to live outside the activist/capitalist and spiritual leader/prosperity preacher dichotomy and to reconcile prosperity with ancestral legacy.
I am committed to healing the inheritances that I have internalized, so that I may authentically be of service to others. I am healing the inheritances so that I may show up more fully- in my power- in the world.
I remember running into my friend Frank one time on the train and he had asked me about the love of my life. I began to cry and I told him that I had a broken heart and that there was more work to be done. He said, "When there is more work to be done, there is more work to be done." He was right, he was absolutely right.
Money. There is work to be done. There is the reality that we require it to live and there is the reality that too many people identify themselves by it (either having it or not). There is the truth that much harm has been done in its name and then there is the truth that money has also fed people, supported people in making transitions that they would not have done otherwise.
In my home, money was the source of tension, it was the symbol of whose side you were on and it was a source of shame and grief, embarrassment and a source of validation that you had made it. Ancestrally, money is complicated. Were we not bought and sold? I am not sure that money is neutral. I don't know if money is simply a reflection of our intentions. Can individual intention transform a wound created by collective consciousness? How do you transform the wound?
Healer. That is what I am. I am the symbol of everything that you did not want to become in my family. My dad tried, "Don't you want a job on Wall Street?" He never could accept that I was an artist. I was thinking, "Sure, I can bring flowers to the brokers and tell them that their worth is not their work." I can just imagine running around wall street handing out flowers and saying, "You are beautiful just as you are!" I would be ushered out quickly.
Worse, I am a healer artist. As I slowly began to come out to my family, I remember one of my cousins said, "Okay, we need to sit down and talk about this healer thing, I mean....surely you cannot make any money from doing that?" I stuttered and tried to spit words here and there on terms that sounded like I could put spiritual work on terms that he could hear, but to him, I was just lost, searching. Spiritual work often does not fit into traditional models, yet it was also true that I did have a plan (just not one that he could hear): My plan was to listen deeply and move. As one friend put it recently, "You are walking the path of the mystic artist." What does that mean? I am broke.
What does it mean to be broke?
I tried working at a law firm one time and I lasted 6 months (was it that long? Hmmm not sure), tried to fit in, become a lawyer, embody the external indicators of success (clothes), but I truly believe that deprivation comes when we walk the path of denial of who we are and when I was working at that law firm, I had more money than I ever dreamed and was more broken than I could ever remember. I have finally come to a clearing, a space where I literally have nothing to lose and the understanding that I can only be who I am and to love how I am-in the world-even when it does not make sense to anybody outside of me. It takes courage to follow your heart, it really does.
Yet, I am tired of dichotomies: do great work for the world and have an empty fridge or work for some muckitymucks, sell your soul and prosper. As a spiritual leader, I find the dichotomies more pronounced: feed the poor and deny yourself in the name of God or preach prosperity and ignore the poor in the name of God. Who are we outside of either or? Do we get to have it all: our spiritual integrity, service and prosperity? I remember sitting on a plane once and as usual the person sitting next to me tells me their who life story. This time, the man sitting next to me was an older soul from NYC and we started talking about money. He challenged my fundamental belief that love wins when he said, "I'm telling you, kid only cruel people win."
I felt naive, idealistic and somehow in the face of his absolute certainty, I said, "Oh really? Well, maybe I should be cruel then?" I immediately felt silly as soon as I said it. He smiled and he patted my hand and said, "No, I think you should stay nice. We need nice people in the world too." My mom used to have a cup with a man with a screw through his body and it said, "This is what happens to nice people." I was sitting in an Irish bar in England one time and this drunk Scottish man meandered over to me and said, "You are nice." I guess I can only be what I am.
Well, I guess I am writing this blog to experiment with the notion that I can be who I am -a sensitive healing artist and all around nice gal- and prosper. I am writing to give myself permission to live outside the activist/capitalist and spiritual leader/prosperity preacher dichotomy and to reconcile prosperity with ancestral legacy.
I am committed to healing the inheritances that I have internalized, so that I may authentically be of service to others. I am healing the inheritances so that I may show up more fully- in my power- in the world.
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