a rock is a rock. a whale is a whale.

Seven or eight years ago, I listened to the poet David Whyte's audio series What to Remember When Waking over and over again. 

And one of his core principles that made the biggest impression on me was David's idea that to be a human being means that we feel a sense of exile in the world, a sense of not belonging. And this is just part of the make-up of being human. It doesn't mean we're doing something wrong, and in fact, our work is to consciously bear this sense of exile with compassion. David says:

A form of enlightenment may be to understand that you may never feel quite at home in the world and you’re not meant to. This is part of being human. We go into to nature to try and intuit the inherent belonging-ness and just "being ourself" that nature feels—a rock is a rock, a whale is a whale. But as humans, we aren’t meant to have this. We always feel as if we don’t quite belong. Just being ourself as a human is to feel slightly out of it. We’ll never be the image of perfection we want to be. And we’re not meant to. Our sense of compassion for the rest of creation and ourselves depends on our sense of exile. Thank God we’ll never be the image of perfection because it lacks the conversation and much larger territory we receive through our difficulties. Part of the courageous step we take is how we shape our identity and what it means to take the step to be more fully human and more fully here. Which means to understand we’re not meant to fully belong and create heaven here. We’re meant to hold both heaven and exile.

I remember hearing this as such a relief, and I think I re-listened to that section many times.

I, too, would go into nature and measure myself against the ease of nature, but, as David points out, this is measuring apples to oranges. And I found it to be such a relief to think that maybe the sense of not being at home in this world wasn't something wrong with me or something to fix, it was just an element of being human, and part of what makes us tender. 

In an interview with Tami Simon, David goes on to explain this idea around exile/not belonging: 

Part of this idea came to me when I was in a very exotic place. I was out in the African bush and watching a Malachi King Fisher, whose feathers are these really, primary colors of blue, white, and red and it was lit up by the evening sun. And I could just feel the “King Fisherness” in the world. And there was no other corner of creation that could actually substitute for the King Fisher. It made me think about what it meant to be fully human. I had had experiences with this living in the Galapagos for years in my twenties. I suddenly realized that one of the core competencies of being human was that we were the only corner of creation that could refuse to be ourselves. The King Fisher doesn’t get to choose to be a crow. And the mountain is just a mountain and the cloud is just a cloud. The tree is just a tree. That’s why the natural world seems to be so nourishing to us because we get an intonation of what it might be like just to be ourselves. But as human beings, we have this extraordinary ability not only not to be ourselves, but to pretend to be someone else and to hang a mask in front of our real identity. We can even take a further virtuosic step and forget that we’re hanging a mask in front of our face, which you remember to begin with the first few times you did it. Suddenly you’ve become the mask and you’re actually practicing that identity as a beautiful form of defense against the world.

I think it’s quite merciful actually to think that you can look at yourself and others and have a sense of compassion about that, reality is actually very fierce and very difficult–that it is actually quite extraordinary with the consciousness that we have of being alive, which many other creatures do not have, of loss and the poignancy of that loss. Therefore, it’s one of the foundational building blocks of real compassion for others. And I think that when you are a Father Keating or a Dalai Lama, when you’re with real authentic presence, it’s because they understand the fierce nature of the average human life and the loss and losses that are involved with it. Every human life is quite magnificent and dramatic and mythological because of the intensity of what’s at stake.

Once you understand that and turn your face back toward it, toward your ability to feel exile, toward the necessary human qualities of losing and being lost, then suddenly you find a place to stand in it all. And strangely enough, you find yourself emboldened by it actually and more courageous, because, I think, as you move closely into that sense of physical presence, you realize that you’re going to lose it all in the end. You’re going to have to give it all away, no matter how much money you have in the bank, no matter how big your spread is, it’s all going to go to other people in the end. Why not start practicing giving it away now, not necessarily in a Puritanical, saintly way but just risking it for what is really, really important.  Full interview here. 

What do you think? Is it a relief to remember that not feeling at home here is actually an important part of the human experience? I'd love to hear your thoughts. 

With care,
Brianna

photo by @meiying

water bottle battle

When my son Finnley was in 8th grade and practicing for the upcoming soccer season, we had a battle over water bottles.
 
He was playing during the very hot summer months and he was also really struggling to keep track of his things. He lost his water bottle within the first couple days of practice and searched the lost and found, but no luck. So he took another one and I made threats about what would happen if he lost this one, and then he lost it.
 
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. And lots of grumpy feelings going around. 
 
Until Finnley told me he wasn’t going to bring any water bottles to practice anymore and that it was fine and “no big deal.” I imagined him dying of thirst or drinking up all his poor friends’ water, but I threw my hands in the air. 
 
And then, at the first game of the season, it all made sense.
 
Finnley came out of the game, panting and with red cheeks, and he headed over to the big yellow jug for filling up water bottles that was sitting at the edge of the bench. 

He flopped down on his back and slowly shimmied himself in the grass so that his head was perfectly lined up under the jug's water spigot but not touching it. It took some maneuvering, but when he was all lined up, he turned on the spigot and drank to his little heart’s content.
 
I think I yelled out loud Ahhhhh, I get it! across the field. 
 
Because something clicked in my brain and heart that day—
 
Finnley knew how to solve his problem (and in a way I never would have thought of!), and life got a whole lot more magical when I trusted that. And, not for nothing, our relationship has really thrived when I've been able to remember and walk this principle out over the years. Life changing, actually. 

What do you think? Have you thrown your hands up in the air only to realize that was exactly what needed to happen?

With care,
Brianna

photo by @willianjusten

the need to avoid

A love letter to my fellow avoiders...

When I'm scared about a situation, especially a situation that could bring up a lot of conflict, I have this pattern of not wanting to look at it. It's like I kind of hold it off to the side, in my "blindspot."

This is all pretty unconscious, but I think there's a (younger) part of me that is sure this is the easiest and best thing to do. Except I've found out it takes a lot of energy to keep it shrouded over there in the blindspot. But the need to avoid also feels very real!

And on it goes. 

Can you relate—do you do this dance of avoiding or minimizing?

Anyway, I was re-visiting one of my enneagram books the other day (I'm a type 9, the peacemaker) and it talked about how a healthy 9 is able to bring the fullness of their awareness to themselves, others, and the present moment. 

That phrasing, "bringing the fullness of my awareness," really got me, and I think this is a kind of remedy for all of us who struggle with avoiding. 

Bringing the fullness of my awareness means letting go of the blind spots. It means gathering and letting in all the information and letting myself see everything there is to see, to know everything I know.  

In short, it's letting go of denial.

And letting go of denial brings the fullness of myself to a situation and allows for the tensions, and paradoxically, this is also what allows for true intimacy!

I've found that this process can't be rushed. As Melody Beattie says, sometimes denial is a protective device, a necessary shock absorber for our soul. We need it. Until we don't. 

Here's how the process goes for me...

Awareness is always the first step. I become aware of my avoiding (symptoms include feeling extra tired and extra fuzzy and grumpy), but often I'm not quite able to shift things right then. So I name this and bring in some acceptance for this dynamic. And then I let it rest. Maybe I do some physical stuff—some weeding, or I clear out some clutter, or I clean some windows so I can see clearly. I keep offering up this dynamic and I keep reminding myself that it's safe to fully know the things I know. 

And then it might subtly shift and I just stop needing that blind spot (ah, it feels so good to get all that energy back that was being used to hold that blind spot!). And sometimes it's more drastic. Like one spring day, I'm ready, and I take the action needed. 

Either way, I feel full of the truth. That's the best way I can describe it. 

What do you think? Have you experienced this kind of process of working with denial?

With care,
Brianna

photo by @motosha

How long will this take

When I attended a training last summer with the incredible Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, she shared that her classic book Women Who Run with the Wolves was written slowly over twenty years time and received forty-two rejections from publishing companies. 

I loved hearing this and I now share this with my clients who are writers and artists or with clients who are trying to "birth" a big change—not because I think they need twenty years, but because it can be comforting. And because these folks often have a lot of questions about timing. 

How long will this take? 
What if it doesn't work and I've spent all this time on it?
How will I know when it's ready?

I get it. I've asked these same questions.

And I usually share that I don't know how it will be for them, but I've tried harassing myself into working faster or harder and it always backfires. So now I try to remember that I can trust my timing and focus, even when it feels painfully slow or like I've lost the thread. And when I trust myself, I step out of false urgency and self-judgement. I connect dots that seemed unconnected and I wanna keep showing up for my work. I'm following my longings, and this is always fruitful. And, yes, sometimes a big break-though or download happens all at once—we can definitely stay open to this, but we don't demand it.  

This way of operating goes against everything in our speedy culture, so I love hearing examples of so-called "late bloomers" and stories about the depth of attention and time needed to bring something new forward. 

Here's what Dr. Estés says about her writing process (and this is how she also recommends readers approach her book as well): "Most read Women Who Run With the Wolves the way it was written. A little at a time, then go away, dream, see, listen, let heart, mind, body, soul, spirit think about "the matters that matter to you," then come back again, trotting forward over the beautiful vast and wild terrain of your own psyche, making the substance of your own precious life, visible and blessed by the wild self." (Full essay here.)

What do you think? Are you a late bloomer or are you creating a slow-motion miracle?

With care,
Brianna

photo by @stasostrikov

sweeping my front porch

I've been fascinated by feng shui for the past couple of years because it feels like it's helping to balance out a missing piece for me—I've spent so much time pondering the inner and spiritual worlds and feng shui is all about working with the physical world. I love the idea that we can engage with how our physical spaces affect us and that our homes can be a powerful ally. 

And my favorite feng shui practice right now is sweeping.

I liked to sweep long before I knew anything about feng shui—I think it's kinda meditative and very satisfying and I liked thinking about all my generations of ancestors who also swept their floors. And sometimes the vacuum is just too loud. But when I learned its meaning in feng shui, my love for sweeping made even more sense to me.

Sweeping in feng shui supports clearing out old energy and welcoming in new energy. And I've learned that sweeping outside your front door is a great place to start, because your front door is where all the energy of your home enters.

So I've been setting an intention and sweeping outside my front door as an embodied and symbolic gesture for clearing out stale energy and welcoming in a new flow and vitality. (And by the way, my front porch area area was really dusty—and that metaphor isn't lost on me!) It feels good and I think my house likes it too!

What do you think? Do you like to sweep? Do you find yourself wanting outer/physical reminders of the inner work you're doing to clear out old patterns or energy? Maybe try some sweeping. And let me know how it goes. 

With care,
Brianna

p.s. A little more on the magic of sweeping...

photo by Daniel von Appen

the facts of life

I recently came across this poem by poet and theologian Pádraig Ó Tuama from his collection Sorry For Your Troubles. It feels like the sort of facts and truths to be holding right now. 

+++

The Facts of Life
by Pádraig Ó Tuama

That you were born
and you will die.

That you will sometimes love enough
and sometimes not.

That you will lie
if only to yourself.

That you will get tired.

That you will learn most from the situations
you did not choose.

That there will be some things that move you
more than you can say.

That you will live
that you must be loved.

That you will avoid questions most urgently in need of
your attention.

That you began as the fusion of a sperm and an egg
of two people who once were strangers
and may well still be.

That life isn’t fair.
That life is sometimes good
and sometimes even better than good.

That life is often not so good.

That life is real
and if you can survive it, well,
survive it well
with love
and art
and meaning given
where meaning’s scarce.

That you will learn to live with regret.
That you will learn to live with respect.

That the structures that constrict you
may not be permanently constricting.

That you will probably be okay.

That you must accept change
before you die
but you will die anyway.

So you might as well live
and you might as well love.
You might as well love.
You might as well love.

+++

Yes, we might as well live and we might as well love. 

With care,
Brianna

P.S. And in my search for this poem, I found this image of Pádraig’s poem in of a Poetry Box. Have you seen these in your neighborhood? It looks like they are kinda like a Little Free Library, but with rotating poems inside and free copies of the featured poem for people to take! 

A lifted foot

I did an online retreat for the new year with Heather Ruce, and one of the questions Heather asked is what gesture best describes your intentions for the new year. I liked this idea of focusing on a gesture, because gestures helps us drop the mind down into the body. 

Heather does a lot of work teaching sacred gestures (via the teachings of GI Gurdjieff), and she talks about how different gestures seem to carry their own energetic signatures that cross languages and cultures and how these are movements we humans have been doing for generations and generations and generations. These are things like bowing our head, kneeling, putting our hands over our heart, opening our arms wide. The moment you make one of these gestures, you can immediately sense the meaning and energy behind it. 

When I heard the question about a gesture we're being drawn to, I got a vision of a lifted foot in the process of taking a step.

I don't know if this gesture fits into the typical canon of sacred gestures, but it feels spot on for the energy I'm being called to, which involves taking skillful action at the right time and being clear and direct. And I love how this feels like a kind of antidote for the drain of overthinking, stuck, push/pull energy. 

So I'm going with it for this year—a lifted foot, a step. And I'll try working with this posture/gesture when I know I'm needing a boost of it's medicine or a reminder that my body knows how to do this clearly and directly and the rest of me can trust and follow that. 

What do you think?  Does your body feel drawn toward a specific gesture these days? And if so, what is the energetic resonance for you within that gesture?

With care,
Brianna

p.s. The photo up top is a drawing from my notes of what I imagined this sacred gesture might look like. I guess I gave the gesture jazz hands, too. Ha! :) 

don’t be afraid of its plenty

I'm practicing "letting the good in" as my therapist calls it.

Given the state of our world and after years of personally dealing with challenge after challenge, it feels very strange and foreign.

My old response to goodness and joy was often to minimize it or not trust it or to not really let it in because I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And the response I'm practicing now? 
I get all scared and squirmy and want to run and then I turn and say...
"Thank you."

I receive it. I let it land. And woosh, it's like a warmth spreads over my body. I am nourished and softened. 

And really, who knows what goodness is floating around just waiting for us to let it land, waiting for us to stop squirming and say thank you.

Here's Mary Oliver on the subject (from her collection Devotions)...

Here's to not being afraid of its plenty (or being afraid and doing it anyway),
Brianna

so nature's wastefulness seems quietly obscene

I like writing poems in conversation with other poems.

I was trying to write about life's baffling wastefulness (and being wasteful with my own life and longings) when I found a poem by Tony Hoagland called "A Color of the Sky" from his book What Narcissism Means to Me.

Tony's poem helped me to write my own and I decided to make this process a part of the actual poem...

What about you? Do you like to write in conversation with other writers or want to give it a try? Are you thinking about life's baffling wastefulness?  

With care,
Brianna

Fall Triduum

In a few days I'll be "keeping" the three days of Halloween, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day as a sacred passage and a thin space (Oct 31, Nov 1, and Nov 2nd). 

I bring out photos of ancestors and beloved ones (and beloved pets!) who have passed, and this year I have a few more to add because my circle of beloveds has grown. I also bring out photos of saints and awakened ones. I put them all on a table in my kitchen, where they get lots of gathered attention over the three days and remind me of the inner work before me.

And it's a reciprocal exchange of energies—I give attention and I also receive deep nourishment and assistance from my ancestors and saints and awakened ones. So much help is available to us, and the conscious work that we do and that we offer up on behalf of the whole matters. 

In the christian wisdom tradition, Cynthia Bourgeault calls these three days the "Fall Triduum," and she says that the intention of this passage is to "taste that in ourselves which already lies beyond death in order that we might begin to live from that place now."

Cynthia writes: "The days are shortening, the leaves are fallen, and the earth draws once again into itself. Everything in the natural world confronts us with reminders of our own mortality….In the quiet, brown time of the year, these fall Triduum days are an invitation to do the profound inner work: to face our shadows and deep fears (death being for most people the scariest of all), to taste that in ourselves which already lies beyond death, drink at its fountain, and then to move back into our lives again, both humbled and steadied." (You can read her longer description of the Fall Triduum here.)

However you mark the turning of these days, may you be well and may you find space to remember the mystery of death and those who have gone before us. 

With much care,
Brianna

the creative cost of over-responsibility for others

“Many of us find that we have squandered our own creative energies by investing disproportionately in the lives, hopes, dreams, and plans of others. Their lives have obscured and detoured our own. As we consolidate a core through our withdrawal process, we become more able to articulate our own boundaries, dreams, and authentic goals. Our personal flexibility increases while our malleability to the whims of others decreases. We experience a heightened sense of autonomy and possibility.” —Julia Cameron

Whewwww.

I remember reading those lines many years ago in Cameron's The Artist's Way and being stopped in my tracks. At that point I don't think I'd ever made the connection between my exaggerated sense of responsibility for others and what that cost me creatively.

But Julia lays out the price really clearly. And it sounds like she knows this truth from personal experience, as do I. 

And yes, it is a detox or "withdrawal" process. And I've found there's also a lot of grieving to do about what we've given away. 

And yes, as we consolidate a core, we begin to foster a sturdier sense of who we are and what we're about, which, I think, is a prerequisite for our creative work (and one that so many of us skip over). 

And yes, "our personal flexibility increases while our malleability to the whims of others decreases." Addiction specialist Pia Mellody says this is how we experience "functional power" aka "living in action rather than reaction to other people."

Have you experienced the correlation between over-responsibility for others and what that costs you creatively? What's it been like to withdraw and consolidate your core?

With care,
Brianna

photo by @gervele

finding our teachers via bafflement + fascination

As I’ve shared here in the past, I’ve been re-examining my relationship with money. A couple years ago I read the book It’s Not Your Money by Tosha Silver.

I read a lot of psycho-spiritual books and I'm an editor for these kinds of books, too. So, usually I'm pretty good at synthesizing the concepts and finding my key takeaways. With Tosha's book, I was really into it but I could not hold onto what I was reading. 

I remember trying to tell a friend about the book (this is one of my favorite hobbies—and bless my dear friends for listening to my book reports!), and I literally drew a blank. All I could tell them was that I was fascinated by the book and really drawn to it. My friend commented on how odd it was that I couldn't tell her anything more specific and I agreed! 

But I just kept plugging away and I've re-read It's Not Your Money three or four more times since.

And I think it's finally starting to sink in! Ha. I'm completely smitten with the process of offering and receiving/giving that Tosha teaches in her book. 

But zooming out more, I know I've also had this kind of bewildering/powerful experience over the years with other teachers/lessons/books—I'm really drawn to something...and it completely baffles me.

I've learned to trust this feeling and now see it as one of the mystical breadcrumbs I follow to bring me to the books I need to study or the teachers I need to find. 

What do you think? Has this simultaneous attraction/confusion ever happened with you and a book or teacher?  

With care,
Brianna

photo by @alexmoliski

ebb and flow

I've been integrating a lot of new change and growth over here and am feeling pretty quiet these days on the newsletter/blog front (and thankgod I've learned to trust these rhythms and the ebb and flow).

But I wanted to share a few links and updates with you!

First off, a new teaching from Cynthia Bourgeault on ten practical guidelines for conscious aging. 

This song by Fiona Apple and Iron and Wine. 

The lost art of making plans (I found this via Anne Helen Peterson's very good newsletter)

I'm forever trying to figure out how to take care of a home and all the things in it. Your House Machine and "systems thinking" has been helpful. 

Reading If you lived here I'd know your name and really enjoyed Sure, I'll Join Your Cult

Just made this zucchini bread—don't skip the turbanado sugar on top (or add more than it calls for, like me) and enjoy a very good crust. 

With lots of care,
Brianna

P.S. We got two kittens—and now I wish we had named them ebb and flow! :)

it's true!

During the training I attended last week with Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés (it was incredible!) she said something that really shifted an old belief for me. 

Many of the students were asking similar questions around how to heal these kinds of thoughts:
I feel like I'm too intense, too sensitive, etc
My presence doesn't matter (this is my old belief)
I'm not enough
and also I'm too much

And Dr. Estés noted the pattern of all these thoughts and then she said she wanted to share something important. She paused and cleared her throat and then she said:
It's true!

The room was silent and you could feel the shock and surprise coming from the students.

She continued
It's true. You are too intense...for some people. 
It's true. Your presence doesn't matter...to some people. 
Yep, it's true. You aren't enough...for some people. 
It's true. You're too much...for some people. 

And then she said
Those are not your people.
Leave.
And go toward those who have good will for you. 

Whew. It was so powerful and I keep thinking about the energetic shift when she said yep, it's true. 

I actually felt my shoulders drop with relief and I could feel a similar shift in the people sitting around me. 

I think so many of us have only ever tried to resist/change these kinds of thoughts and beliefs. We "fight" them with positive affirmations of you are enough! and replies about how that just isn't true, etc. 

But what a shift when we stop fighting (and gaslighting ourselves) and turn and say it's true! And honor the part that knows it's been true in the past for us around certain key people in our lives.

For me, my old belief softened. 

And then I loved her phrase of "go toward those who have good will for you."

To them, you are not too much.

What do you think? I'd love to hear. 

With care,
Brianna

Photo by Aziz Acharki