Habits
I have noticed that occasionally people will repeat what they are saying when they talk with me. I noticed that this often happens when I am quick to respond. It was as if they were not sure that I had actually heard them.
In my mind’s eye, I had heard the statement or question and was providing my response. They sometimes even interrupt my response in order to repeat their earlier statement. On Sunday, I finally stopped the person and said that if they would let me finish I would answer their query. But I could sense their frustration and it troubled me.
Later that same day as I read True Love, it hit me. Feeling heard is the response to deep listening – which is the focus of this week’s chapter. And that is what was missing; I was not deeply listening.
In my rush to respond, I had not truly heard them. I had heard the spoken words yes, but that is not enough. I had not heard their heart, their soul, I had not heard their entire being. And thus, they were repeating themselves in order to be truly heard.
Often my intellect will craft a response to what is actually a query aimed at my heart. And my fiery air self will zoom in quickly with just the right ordering of consonants and vowels, the specific collection of words and symbols … and I respond before my heart has had a chance to participate.
I think back to how I have been rewarded for this practice. My almost encyclopedic knowledge of telecommunications, technical protocols and system level design made me a success in my corporate career. And it was my rapid intellectual response that made me a rising star in academia. Even my intuitive, psychic responses are often so quick and specific, that I have to force myself to pause to see if in fact the person is ready to hear it.
I have never questioned this ability before now.
What would it be like to truly listen?
What would it be like to hear more than the spoken words and my inner response?
What would it be like … to listen … so that others felt heard?
Posted in
Submitted by katrina on Mon, 03/09/2009 - 2:00pm.
“…over at the Frankenstein place!”
So yeah, I watched Rocky Horror on TV over the weekend. It was not as nearly as much fun as I remembered it. [Although Tim Curry is still hot, thank the goddess! But I digress …]
So yes, there *is* a light. But it is coming from the eponymous daystar we call the Sun.
Okay, I can hear the D’oh zooming around the world. “But wait, I can explain.” [Inset giggles here because this phrase is the calling card of Julie, what then follows is a hysterically funny story. But again I digress …]
What I discovered was that the solar cycle may be a large part of the reason I am having such a tough time at the moment. And the light I am referring to is the bright sunshine that has been in short supply as of late. Which provided the light of insight when I realized that I might have a mild case of Seasonal Affective Disorder. After a sunny day improved my fatigue, brain fog and sugar cravings drastically, I became curious. So I replaced my living room lamp light bulbs, taking out the CFCs and replacing them with full spectrum bulbs. And the mood improvement was again drastic. Leaving the living room area also produced a noticeable energy drop. Wow! This is huge!
So I dragged out my journals for the last few falls and noticed that I always attributed the fall fatigue and diminished activity levels to external sources of stress and/or my own perceived lack of internal will. But what if this was simply a part of my natural energy pattern associated with the seasonal change?
I had already noted my Solstice dip, my corresponding downward slide of energy starting at about Thanksgiving culminating at the Solstice and then rising steadily through Spring. So why had I not noticed the effect earlier, say starting at the Equinox? And the answer is again revelatory. I had not noticed because I was too busy beating myself up as it became harder and harder to focus or keep up my routines.
Um yeah, that makes sense … beat myself up just as I begin waning in energy … NOT. So guess who will be researching light boxes in the not so distant future? And… guess who will now consider seasonal changes in her annual planning matrix?
Posted in
Submitted by katrina on Tue, 12/02/2008 - 4:51pm.
Where is my open sea with beckoning shores?
Where are my quiet, calm and silent nights?
And where is my quilted bliss and warming fire?
And oh goddess, where is my rest?
Less than a month from a respite and I have begun to feebly hope.
I am slogging through life this season with a tiredness that has been around so long, I can discern each subtle thread of exhaustion from another. Today, it is the worn out but literarily aware and conscious self instead of yesterday’s barely conscious and vegetative self.
Tomorrow will be the physical tiredness that lies yawning beneath the intellectual curiosity that fuels my technical work.
And although this coming long weekend is dedicated to rest, both physical and mental, I have several areas of my life that are begging for attention.
So I gaze toward the edges of the semester for true solace and comfort. Like a sailor longing for land, any glimpse of solidity to rest and recuperate, I scan the horizon. And just like in previous years, my expectations do not reflect reality. I actually only have about a week off if that long, but you’d think it was a yearlong sabbatical the way I dream and long for it.
What is happening is that my habit of “projecting into some predictably idyllic future” is running amok again. As I admitted to myself this past month, there is no period of openness, or rest or idleness in my life … because I purposefully do not allow it. I fill my time up with things to do because I crave the sense of urgency it engenders within me.
And my life is full because without it I wonder if I would feel lost and un-tethered to life itself. My life is over committed, full and urgent because … I do not trust my own air nature.
All this time bemoaning my earth challenges, only to discover that my problems come from not fully embracing my air gifts. I have been instead living and breathing in fire. My warrior gets more “air” time than my artist self. And she is burning me out.
And so I breathe, trying to discern the vagaries of my authentic self, my winged warrior of the air. I am not a being of fire, one who swallows embers, lifting into the air only for battle. I am a winged one, a denizen of air, one who soars, loves, dives, sings, dances, circles and spins in the windswept celestial temples of air, and only occasionally spirals down for the kill.
And it is she, my winged nature that I need to set free. So I will actually LOOK at my calendar and PLAN my time for this long weekend. And maybe I will find some CREATIVE ways to OPEN up my life and make SPACE for me.
So look up, because you never know, you might just catch sight of me soaring through the skies. Or you may find me resting at the very top of the tallest trees. Either way, I am on a journey of discovery, following an ancient trail into the labyrinth of my very own soul.
Posted in
Submitted by katrina on Tue, 11/25/2008 - 6:05pm.
Every morning without fail, I turn over in bed and announce to no one in particular, "There is no fricking way I am doing yoga today!" Body aches and stiffness are often my morning "weather report" as I cross from dreaming into waking. However, less than thirty minutes later, you will almost always find me on the mat.
How did I turn my sun salutations into a habit? Here is a hint, it was not simply an exercise of will.
I have been taking yoga classes for over seven years. I started out in a class titled, "Special Conditions & Injuries." Often the stroke victims, car accident survivors and those suffering from debilitating diseases were some of the most flexible folks in the class, at least in comparison to me.
I was being out posed by an old man who limped in using *two* canes fer petes sake. It was pretty demoralizing initially, but I stuck with it.
Over time, the joints started moving ever so slowly till one day, where previously there had been nothing but pain, there was suddenly movement. And I was hooked.
Session after session, I moved slowly from special conditions to gentle yoga, to gentle yoga 1. I now notice others peering at me like I use to envy the old gentleman. And I reassure them that they too can one day ... touch their toes.
The reality is that each morning when I start, I too cannot touch my toes. From my forward bend I need only tilt my head to be in flat back pose, I am that stiff initially. But by the end, my palms often touch the floor.
The key was in figuring out what was an actual limit that needed respecting. At every difficult juncture, I ask myself, "Is this an edge or a limit?" If it is an edge, I proceed with prayer, with breath and with an open heart. If it is a limit, I stop, breathe, pray and back the hell up.
And it is that question that turned my irregular practice into a daily routine. I decided that my growing edge was creating a habit out of self care. Radical self care is the water that makes all my fiery work possible. It counterbalances my predatory and visionary nature with some much needed nourishment and grounding.
Sometimes building a habit is not a testament to will, sometimes it is instead a testament to restraint.
blessings
Posted in
Submitted by katrina on Sat, 10/06/2007 - 2:57pm.
this post is giving me major chills.
Blessings.
A student of mysticism said to his teacher, "I'm confused. Yesterday you told me the way I should searchy. Today you told my friend a very different way. Which is correct?"
The teacher responded, "Some people veer off the path to the left and I tell them 'move to the right.' Others stray too far to the right, so I say 'move to the left."
I'm sorry to hear of Squeaky's passing. I know she and you had the very best that humans and their animal companions can have. May she live in your fond memories.
Love,
Macha
I'm so, so sorry to hear of Squeaky's passing. Much love and healing to you.
Hail Squeaky!
She was a very fine cat, indeed.