Which Lady Do You See?

There she is...but who do you see?
Do you see them both, or only one? 
Or one at a time...?
The young lass with her fur coat, and a feather in her hat, or the old lady with the head scarf and the sad eyes?
Or do you, like me, go back and forth seeing them each in turn?

The mind is a tricky place this way, needing definition, needing clarity, only being able to see one perspective or the other in any given moment.  And the image is black and white, clear and simple, and in truth it is neither one nor the other - yet at the same time it is also both at once! 

Whether our minds can perceive the whole is another discussion altogether.  Our mind rushes to organize things into categories or as belonging to one thing or another.  The mind is restless until it can assign meaning, place blame, create order out of chaos.  The mind will assign order where there isn't any (like seeing shapes in clouds), and define things so it can make sense of the world again, and be at peace.  Sometimes that skill is useful, like with language, math and directions.  Sometimes that skill is even beautiful, like with poetry, song, music in general, and even observing regularity and symmetry in nature. 

And yet there are times when the compulsion becomes limiting, and are we aware when that is the case?  Can we remain vigilant so that our mind does not confine a lovely image which contains multiplicity to either one truth or the other?  Are we able to expand beyond either image in itself and see how the artist must have been able to see?  The artist with each pen stroke held in their hand the possibility for both images to be seen.  With sure decision, carving the line of both the old lady's nose and the soft chin of her younger counterpart.  The equivalent in language might be a pun.  Perhaps it is also a bit like a magic trick.  And if we can pull our minds back far enough, and appreciate the outcome(s!), then we also have a chance to expand our minds.

We can grow into "yes and also this other thing."  Rather than "this, but not that."  They are both there all the time.  They are both true.  And also neither of them are there at all, it is clever pen markings on a sheet of paper.  Yet it provokes me.  I hope it provokes you too.

The Floodgates Have Opened

I would like to give sincere thanks to this wretched election cycle for bringing to light so many of the topics that have lain dormant, roiling beneath the surface, begging to be addressed.

We have not reached any conclusions or solutions, and for those of us who have been on any healing process (whether small or large, physical, emotional or mental) we know that it can get worse before it gets better.  Old wounds are being ripped open again, plenty of our citizens are aching on both sides of the proverbial aisle.  I'll share some of my thoughts here, but I'm not offering solutions either, really.  I am (mysteriously, somehow) optimistic that once we all have a chance to feel heard, we can find some common ground - even though -

Anger abounds, recriminations, accusations, and fear-mongering seem rampant.

And in the middle of all the wailing and gnashing of teeth hope flowers innocently in me.  In my core, at the center of my being, I am grateful that we are facing these difficult conversations, and facing our shame, facing our hatred.

We each host all the feelings of betrayal, of black lives and of blue lives, the disdain for immigrants, and the gratitude for the courage our ancestors showed immigrating themselves, the disgust and shame and guilt and rage for ever having such a thing as rape, such a thing as abortion, or such a thing as machine guns in the hands of mentally unstable people, in the hands of children, in the hands of terrorists.  And the disgust and shame and guilt and rage for having allowed men of certain privilege off with a slap on the wrist, or forcing women with unwanted pregnancy to travel hundreds of miles or carry the child to term or pay $25,000, or not having responded with legislation in the wake of Sandy Hook, or Fort Hood, or Colombine, or Newtown, or San Bernardino, or Isla Vista, or why is this list so long and seemingly never-ending when we have the ability as a people to limit access to the tools for mowing down dozens of people in a matter of minutes --- not just the ability, the responsibility.

I lost the thread for a minute there...a sea of unshed tears, of hopelessness and frustration with a deadlock-stalemate-checkmate which would be alright if so many lives were not lost in this fight over power, over money, over legislation.  I do support our right to bear arms.  If those arms aren't semi-automatic killing machines.  No one is coming to confiscate the hunting rifles, at least I'm not...I think we've suffered enough tragic losses to introduce better regulation, longer waiting periods, and maybe having certain priors should disqualify a person from buying certain kinds of fire power...And more regulations equals more jobs...

And wherever we turn our gaze, the floodgates of opinions and facts and emotion have opened, and people are sharing their pain, their hearts, their minds.

Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, and I see the shining hope bursting out of the deepest darkest abyss, a female black police officer shouting her outrage in a video on social media and being seen and validated and heard and supported.  This world of false dichotomies, the suckers choice of pretend fences, as if there is a simple right or wrong, or a clear path or solution.

And refugees are merely an idea to most of us.  I have made many friends through the dance community, and even dated a handful of men from Mexico or Guatemala.  Maybe you can imagine being separated from your family, but this is different.  Living in fear of being deported.  Living here and knowing if you went home to visit you would not be able to come back across without risking your life.  Sending money home.  And then finding out your brother was killed in a car accident, and you haven't been home in 7 years, and you can't go home to bury him.  It's still only an idea to me, but it is an idea that breaks my heart.  And you hope you can be hired to do work that will pay you, without cheating you because who can you turn to if the boss doesn't pay you what they promised?  And what kind of a boss will hire an illegal immigrant, other than one who knows they can pay them less than any other kind of worker?  What a land of opportunity!  How can I want to close our borders when most of our American population is descended from immigrants ourselves?  Hypocrites.  And yet, my heart hardens and my blood runs cold at the thought of living daily as they do in Israel, and Syria, and Pakistan -- hugging their loved ones not knowing if it will be their bus that a suicide bomber boards that day.  I am uncomfortable with that level of paranoia, and so far have been blessedly shielded from that constant true terror.  But somehow my body understands the threat as real, and I cannot help but wonder and worry. 

And the amazing courage of a member of the LDS faith sharing on facebook about her late-term (but necessary) abortion.  Sometimes the worst choice is upon you, and at that moment you need the love and support of your doctor, your family, and your community.   Federal and state governments do not get to weigh in, do not enter the equation.  She humbled me with telling her truth, in spite (or maybe because of) the ideals she is raised with.  Thank you for stepping into the light with this gut-wrenching and tragic personal loss.  Along with at least a half a dozen more who felt compelled to share their painful stories in response to the presidential debate.  Women who might otherwise have hidden in the shadows, giving comfort to countless other women who did not know they were not alone, and that they are not murderers when faced with their own death or the unsustainable lives of their unborn angels.  Silence is tempting, and comfortable, but these brave souls stepped into the light to comfort others, educate others, and change the narrative.

And more women finding the courage to come forward and share #whywomendontreport, and the eye-opening stories that might give people pause rather than further shaming the great fictitious gender divide.   The writers blogging about all the things women face on a daily basis and are expected to accept.  Actually, no, there is no expectation...expectation assumes that it was on a list or on anyone's radar...but so much is so deeply buried in the subtext and underpinnings of "how things are" or "how the world works" that not only is it not an expectation, it's barely even been identified.  So well hidden, many (men and women alike) might even from within its very framework question its existence.  Non-binary gender identity may be what saves our human race.  Transgendered men and women may soon be called upon to bear witness and be our mediators in this battle that has been boiling beneath the surface for hundreds of years...because only someone who has lived life in both hormonal states can tell us what the common ground can be.

The honest authentic human stories people are finding the courage to share are ugly, repulsive, heart-wrenching, volatile, triggering...and what can be born out of this wreckage might just be empathy.  Bring out the worst, let it boil over, let the world feel seen and heard...

Perhaps the brave souls will continue to come forward as they have been doing lately more and more, sharing their personal struggles and overlapping loyalties.  We need, now more than ever, to come together in hurt, and in healing...and take action to weave our narratives into a new configuration.

Kinds of Currency

There are many kinds of currency, and it reflected in our language in obvious ways sometimes, but not always.

First, the most obvious which is of course actual money. We spend it, invest it, save it, waste it, gamble it (win, lose), loan it, borrow it, earn it, crave it, and sometimes some people even steal it.

Next most obvious is time.  "Let's spend time together."  "That is such a waste of time."

And then:  "Pay attention!" "Attention deficit disorder"

So how much do we monitor our attention budget?  Do we need to have one?  And if so, how do we prioritize?

We can be out of time, out of energy, out of money...do we also run out of attention?  Are there things that sap our resources while we are unconscious?  Would we spend those resources differently if we were 'paying attention' to them?

A little over a year ago, I shifted my time/attention budget dramatically in the area of social media.  It was an important and healthy shift for me, reclaiming both my time and energy/attention.  It means that I no longer post on walls for birthday greetings.  (I used to log in each day partially to stay abreast of such goings on.) Now, if I send a greeting it is a private message, but in many cases I feel pretty sure people don't miss me.  In some cases I'll appreciate the reminder to call or text someone, but if someone misses me they can reach me and the wall post is such a tiny gesture, and some folks have even taken to shortening it to say hbd, so as the latest slang says: (which is probably obsolete by now) whatevs.
And then I took an extended break from social media of all kinds.  That was also good for me.

When I first started blogging, I had similar obsessive checking habits, and adrenaline responses when numbers changed on the statistics, or seeing which country was looking...okay, okay, I still get a big endorphin hit from all those things, just like when there are likes, shares, comments, etc...But knowing it's a drug has empowered me to keep it in perspective in some important ways.

Do I still spend time on social media?  Yup.  Is it an addiction?  Definitely.  Do the pros outweigh the cons?  For now, for me, yes.  I have my spending habits under control.

But on this topic, on a related note, are some of us addicted to attention?  Do we behave or misbehave in an attempt to get attention?  As a recovering people-pleaser, I can attest that praise is indeed another form of currency.  Some folks are on the other side of the same coin, craving attention in their case yields misconduct, which yields the 'reward' of punishment, yelling, time-out, or some other version of attention.  So is there a solution?  If you are a parent reading this, I'm afraid I don't have much useful advice.  Maybe notice trends, and then when your child expects a certain response go the other way?  I'm not sure.  Kids are so tuned in.  But also we 'pay' people compliments (a form of praise) which is further evidence of it being a kind of currency.

Now our language takes a funny turn when calling someone morally bankrupt.  We all sort of know what that means, and maybe we picture Harold from the Music Man selling snake oil to the good (gullible, desperate) people.  Or someone can be spiritually bankrupt as well.  Does that imply that morality or spirituality can be spent, saved, invested?  The way we invest time or energy into something?  Are those two things (morality/spirituality) even quantifiable?

When we've had an emotional day, we say we're spent, which I think refers primarily to energy levels, but does it go deeper?

And if these things are all a form of currency, how do we balance our checkbooks?  Is it most important to keep our attention greed in line, not have a deficit in our morality, or be owing on some mortgage in our neglected spiritual house?  How do we measure our overall dependence on these things, and how can we become accountable for our own balance?

Fending for Ourselves

In all my meditative digging over the past year, I have been considering offense, defense and boundaries in general.  Boundaries are sometimes even fences, aren't they?  And people defend, or offend...and fence-sitters are condemned for wanting the best of both worlds.  Also there's that saying about good fences making good neighbors...

I'm reminded of one of my favorite quotes from the movie "10 things I hate about you" which happens near the beginning.  "I've heard of people being overwhelmed, and people being underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed?"  (Her friend responds "I think you can in Europe.")  So here I re-formulate it:  I know people can play defense, and offense, but do we ever just fense?

This lead to me looking up the etymology of both offense and defense in hopes of learning the Latin root or something fancy, linguistic, and nerdy and fun...but I have to do some deeper digging to satisfy those urges, but since my reboot on this blog I am making an effort not to let red pens and research stop me from airing my thoughts.  (PS, I think offence is a legit alternate spelling...just sayin'.)

So I plunge onward sharing my unedited thoughts:

In order for me to get offended about something someone says or does, there has to be a receptor in me for that.  This was one of the teachings I received from Michael Barnett during my meditation immersion.  When I was in a state of being offended, it was easy to blame the other person, the circumstances, the "other," so it came to me almost like ice cold water in the face while still trying to wake up to be told that I had something to do with my own offended-ness.  It was not a welcome message at all.  But upon reflection it is true that there are times when offensive things are said or done and they do not touch me, rattle me, enrage me, engage me.

So two questions arise in me; is it possible to choose which things trigger or do not trigger these defenses in me, and if so how will I accomplish this?  I know that a series of such 'offenses' triggered a large response in me recently, inspiring me to write the piece about uptalk & vocal fry.  Which rattled something loose in me, and felt good to express.  Which raises a third question, having to do with whether offenses are undesirable in the first place, as one, ahem, meaning me  I might have originally thought.  Or perhaps offenses yield a lot of worthwhile engagement, which then makes me re-calibrate my position on offenses.  Maybe offenses are desirable after all?

But I feel like I'm jumping around.  Let me go back to the first question.  Can I choose the triggers to which I respond?  I think there are two realities.  First I want to acknowledge that responses that have become automatic will not disappear from wishing them to, or overnight.  So in that sense I think no, I cannot choose when it is still automatic.  What I can do is observe, reflect, and begin to recognize that those automatic responses happen in me.  And then my awareness can grow, perhaps large enough to recognize them from further away, or closer up.  And someday my former unconscious reflexes can become conscious ones, and ultimately perhaps even in the hot-trigger moment I can become a chooser rather than a reactor.  So in that sense, yes, I can eventually choose to become conscious, grow my awareness, and begin to celebrate the possibility.  What this leads to is not the kind of detachment that dis-engages me, but an inner wisdom about engagement in general.  And it allows me to engage in a way that my core self has no need to refract segments of shame, guilt, or regret over.  I don't aspire to be un-triggerable.  I do aspire to engage in meaningful ways, and in ways that foster healthy open communication, a free exchange of ideas, and the opportunity to learn even more.

There is an interesting worrisome phenomenon in the online world.  With the advent of google and twitter, facebook and instagram, like-minded people are finding each other.  Is that a bad thing?  On the one hand, no, not at all!  We gravitate toward things that resonate in us in a positive way.  Who would seek out opposing viewpoints?  They offend!  But there is an 'on the other hand,' to be wary of.  (I know, I know.  Ending this sentence in a preposition is making my inner red pen jitter, but I am forging ahead inspite of the red pen these days!)  On the other hand, if we are not confronted with alternate points of view that challenge our thinking, help us learn or grow, then we risk stagnation.  We also risk a false sense of feeling that 'everyone agrees with me.'  When I studied the Colosseum in school, it was explained that the structure was built to prevent any kind of riot or uprising, by segmenting the sections of the stadium.  In isolating by beliefs, we might be giving up more than we are gaining.  I may have read about the search engine version of this in a Gladwell book, or something similar, where based on your search history the machine will begin to show articles higher in the search that will agree with your political leanings, which might sound convenient, but also contributes to the narrow-minded convictions of whatever beliefs I might already hold.  It's slick and dangerous.  I hope we all have friends in our online and real life social circles with whom we can respectfully disagree, a gadfly or two, a devil's advocate, and the tolerance to hear another perspective than our own.  A willingness to be offended, and learn through that encounter one of at least two things...at the very least!  If nothing else, we can learn the courage of our own convictions, because nothing proves our belief better than being tested, prodded, and asked to justify that belief.  And the opportunity to grow and learn and expand our awareness is exponential when confronted with diverse and varied opinions.

Fight the urge to flock together!  Fight the urge to follow along with the visible trends!  Buck the system.  Friend an enemy on social media, and then actually try to understand their point of view.  Engage and enrage, watch and observe.  I am not suggesting that we go around trolling our enemies, blasting and shouting opposing views.  I am suggesting an online expansion, and inner expansion, and a true courage...the courage to let our convictions be tested, tried, and demolished when necessary, fortified when appropriate.

And so I guess I landed on yes...offenses are desirable.  Funny, not the conclusion I would have expected myself to come to - but there you have it.  Leave room to surprise yourself in this funny life!

Sometimes I'm An Inside-Out Porcupine...

I'm learning to zoom out, which is critical in terms of self-awareness and growth.  While I'm in the middle of an emotional wave, it's a little harder to be clear, so I cherish the reflections that happened in my mind between those waves.  

Today I saw a movie which on the screen was your typical sci-fi post-apocalyptic action movie, in case you haven't seen it I guess I should warn you that it's called Snowpiercer and there might be spoilers at some point.  Maybe.  Although if you know the premise of the film that might be enough for my purposes, which is that all of surviving humanity is on this train which has all these features and gadgets that allow it to go on running, and in the movie it's been running like this for 17 years.

For my personal taste it had a bit too much gratuitous violence, but here's what happened while I was watching.  I decided to take it as a metaphor, and each person in the train is an aspect of myself.  Like any good movie, it had tension, in this case (for example) between the oppressed at the rear of the train, and the affluent rich guy-in-charge at the front. And it got me thinking about my own internal systems which I take for granted.  How do I decide what is most important to me, who is running the ship/train/body?  Who has who hostage?  Whose side am I on?  Because every conflicting priority can't simultaneously rule, perhaps internally we murder or cage or enslave our inner compartments. 

Maybe it doesn't have to be all or nothing, vanquish or be vanquished.  But on the inside, there are oppressed sad pieces of me, plotting their revolt, plotting a hostile takeover.  And for each of them, it is do or die, or wither on the vine.  Or maybe the reality is that none of that is true, and the best answer is to go off the rails.  Change completely.  Walk away. 

Anyway, there are a million perspectives and opinions even now as I write this - on life, liberty, what happiness looks like, how things could be or should be.  And sometimes, instead of pointing outwards, like they do on a porcupine, those barbs point inward, poking, prodding, judging, invading, and right now, I am learning how to hug and accept this awkward creature, an inside-out porcupine.  How can I let it know those barbs are sometimes too sharp without that becoming a new barb?  How can I let warmth ooze through and soothe the stinging wounds?

Because maybe it's okay to be attached to the train, the system, and buy in, and it isn't selling out.  Maybe being on board is the best we can hope for today, and the revolution is not until tomorrow.  Or maybe we're on somebody else's train and we need to get on our own.  Or maybe we have a stowaway!    

The Gentle Giant Within

Tonight, squeezed in among the harried to and fro, a fellow dancer reached out for some advice, and it was truly my honor to extend to her the wisdom and kindness and gentle spirit I have been evolving into these last years, and especially this past year.

She asked in the quietest of tones if I had any advice for why she is letting this tiny thing (that shouldn't) bother her, why it gets to her, why it should upset her, why does she let it upset her?

She ran off to dance, giving me time to compose my thoughts, and when she came back I told her to first acknowledge herself for recognizing that she is allowing it to be a trigger.   And that she will eventually be able to breathe even more breath/space between the trigger and the response, and that she has taken the first step in even seeing that there is a trigger.  I told her to be gentle with herself, and that today the response might still bubble up first, but someday she will be able to zoom out even further and gain perspective on why it is a trigger.  Also that the response is valid, even if some part of her mind deems it out of proportion, but to embrace the whole experience.

I wish I could convey more clearly the depth of what we shared, the warmth, the kindness, the compassion that passed between us.  So much understanding, so much sisterhood, so much vulnerability and empathy.  It was humbling that she came to me to ask my advice in the first place, and that I could offer some comfort, some guidance, some encouragement, and link with her energetically was truly a gift tonight.

I feel so blessed in having become so much more stable myself, so much more grounded, so clear in myself...the teachings are still working in me, through me, and I celebrate and embrace each day's offerings.

Show me my path, I will not shy away.  I will walk this path in tandem with all who wish to join me...or perhaps our paths will weave a colorful tapestry as we intertwine for a time and then go on to engage or unwind or rewind or unravel or entangle somewhere new and unexpected...!!!

a life-changing taco

Somewhere along the line, I swallowed some lies.  Lies like 'I'm in the way,' or 'I'm too loud,' or 'I don't matter,' or 'I shouldn't ask for anything, I don't deserve to be.'  Well originally I was going to write happy...I don't deserve to be happy.  But then when I got to the word be, that might have been the lie I swallowed.  'I don't deserve to be.'

Children soak up the world in gulps and gobbles, un-discerning, unyielding, impatient to grow and become adult, eager to be treated as an equal and a whole human being.  As a child we might mis-read or misinterpret the heart of a message, or maybe we get the underlying meaning more clearly than intended...who knows.  The thing is that when I was young I believed the world reflecting me back to myself through how others treated me was an accurate mirror.  Now that I've grown older I can see that there are many fun-house mirrors mixed in with good reflectors.  The fun-house mirrors at a carnival are only fun because you know them to be distorting.  But if we took them as a real and accurate reflection, they'd be truly terrifying.  In life it becomes important to treat distorting mirrors differently, giving them less credence, and maybe even a little compassion, since we do not know their story of how they became their warped selves.  Maybe I'll write a short story about human fun-house mirrors wandering around unable to figure out which ones are warped the least...what a wonderful children's book that would make...!

In any case, the life changing taco was an experience at dinner last night, and I must try to convey into words the magic of the moment before it slips away into the minutia of today's magical learning opportunities!

After a day of darting around town hunting for items at stores, comparison shopping, weighing options, and getting things done, we navigated through the sea of food options and I finally found myself in line looking at a menu of food options.  For more context on my level of vulnerability after all the option-weighing, you can read about it in one of Malcolm Gladwell's books or find Sheena Iyengar's TEDtalk.  Basically, not only was I hungry, but I was mentally exhausted from all the weighing and choosing.  And I was just relieved to be done making decisions.  (Or so I thought...)

I had no trouble deciding on the burrito, but as hungry as I was I wanted a taco as well, either a pork in adobo or a mushroom and onion taco.  The thing is, I am avoiding four-legged foods at the moment, so as delicious as the pork in adobo is at this place, I was ordering a chicken burrito.  And I was thinking a pork taco might be a nice compromise (being small), but then the mushrooms sounded really good, and since I was having them hold the yummy mozzarella from my burrito I thought maybe I could substitute mushrooms (or something at least) since I was not having the cheese.  On the register I saw that my total had jumped up by $3 once I said to add mushrooms to the burrito, and in that moment I let go of ordering a side taco in addition because I wasn't interested in paying more, but she hadn't said 'by the way there is an additional charge of $3 for adding mushrooms to your burrito,' she had just assumed I wanted them at any price.  Also there was someone in line behind me, and they were typing in to go orders from the phone in between taking my order and the person who had gone before me...and I felt myself shrink.  I didn't want to slow things down.  I didn't want to be a nuisance.  I didn't want to make a fuss.  I didn't want to gum up the works or ask more questions.  The cost of adding those mushrooms was more than a side taco would have cost, but I couldn't bring myself in that moment to change my order, change my mind, say 'hey, that's not okay with me, you didn't give me a warning or an option!'

Flustered, hangry, irritated with myself for not standing up for what I wanted, I huffed my way to a table to wait.  Swirling accusations in my mind, what's the fucking big deal, it's only three dollars, why do you care if the mushrooms are in a taco shell or on your burrito, why are you even so upset over something so insignificant, and on and on the litany in my mind, mocking, deriding, unforgiving, relentless.  And then tears welled.  For god's sake, am I really crying about a taco?  Or three dollars?  Get a grip!  The inner judge and jury were having a field day.

And I let the storm roll over me, through me. 

And after a little while, glassy-eyed, but clear, I rose out of my inner meltdown, walked myself back up to the counter, and bravely asked 'Is it too late to switch my order?  Can I get the mushroom taco instead of the mushrooms in my burrito?'  And whoever I spoke with needed to know my order number, which I knew, and she made it happen, and I walked myself back to the table feeling worthy.  Feeling brave.  Feeling I had gone to bat for myself.  Feeling my request was totally reasonable, and knowing that my asking was all that was necessary.

Giving people credit for wanting to please me too is something I'm still working on.  I have a long habit of people-pleasing, but it's sort of like learning to take a compliment rather than brush it aside.  Or like allowing someone else the joy that giving generously can bring, by receiving too now and then. 

It may have been the most delicious mushroom taco I have ever eaten.  I earned that taco, in more ways than one. 

I am so grateful to myself for weathering the storm of inner insults, and rising above, beyond, and taking care of my desires in the moment, allowing me to celebrate, and rejoice.  I have a track record of not asking for what I want, and later being sad and that old pattern is (slowly but surely) dissolving!!  That old pattern of swallowing my true desires in favor of not rocking the boat, not being a pain, not being the squeaky wheel.  The thing is, all my life I guess I've secretly been jealous of squeaky wheels.  And the external and internal rewards of not being squeaky aren't that great, to be honest. 

Maybe I've been robbing other people of the opportunity to please me, all these years, by keeping my needs and wants to a whisper.  Or on mute.  How can anyone even try to please me if I don't share my thoughts, my dreams, my heart? 

Next time, perhaps I won't even have to go back to change my order.  But that too will come.