This Way or That

I watched an encaenia address online by actor/comedian Jim Carrey in which he told the graduating class they would consistently have two choices moving forward in their lives: love or fear. It made me deeply uncomfortable.

Fear is my old buddy. My go-to companion when I face something new and scary. In the old days, it was before a date maybe. Or before starting a new job. Or traveling somewhere I’d never been before to do something I’d never tried.

I know fear intimately and had spent years building that relationship. It is comfortable like wearing a broken in pair of slippers is comfortable or slipping into a well-worn bathrobe.

Fear has not served me particularly well, however. It often scuppered new opportunities before they had a chance to develop. Bear in mind that younger me was pretty much an emotional basket case, somewhat beyond a normal young person’s insecurities.

I had a tiny, little suitcase full of tricks I pulled out regularly to get me through daily life. An innate intelligence. A strong survival instinct. A pleasing and mostly acquiescent personality.

What I tried to hide – unsuccessfully – was the trunk of insecurities that suitcase sat on top of. I could suss out negative perspectives and opinions people were going to have of me before I even met them. I was my own self-contained judge, jury and executioner in social and work situations before I even showed up.

For the most part, my little bag of tricks worked sufficiently to allow me to “get by” in life. My father explicitly expressed that as a reasonable expectation for me. For my Dad, “getting by” was sufficient. Happiness and success were unrealistic, and mostly unattainable, life goals.

I was one of those kids who was held in sway by parental neuroses and limitations for far longer than I am comfortable admitting. In retrospect, it is clear from their own failures that they had no authority to advise anyone on the ingredients for making a happy life.

At a point, I honestly believed taking advice from anyone other than them would have, in some weird way, meant disrespecting them. After all, they knew me best, I believed. Didn’t they? Over time, I came to realize that wasn’t true. How could they? I didn’t even know myself.

So choosing love as a starting point is something of a weird choice for me. My old buddy fear largely dictates the script. “They’ll hate me.” “They are out to get me.” “I won’t measure up.” And because I leaned into that mantra in the past, fear turned out to be most often correct.

What shook me out of it? Seeing my parents as they were and not as I conceived them to be was the starting point. Learning that love is an action and not just words was another. They loved me and said it often – in their own way and within their own limited view of what love was.

That turning point also came – a little later than I care to admit – when I realized my children did not need to hear me natter on or share my wisdom about avoiding life mistakes. All they needed from me was love and support.

Instead of absorbing my well-meaning but misplaced advice, they were and are completely capable of figuring out the rest for themselves. I’ve got two smart kids.

So the internal struggle between choosing love over fear is still at play within me. I have recently been choosing fear and revenge fantasies over acceptance and opening my heart to the consequences of a crushing disappointment.

All my spiritual readings tell me there is learning to be had here. To face disappointment as if you had actually chosen it. That the Universe is folding as it should.

Fear takes all together too much pleasure in the petty and picayune scenarios it is able to devise that are – I realize – completely and utterly within my own head. I am at a learning crossroads. And I hate it.

I appreciate the comfort and utility of my old bathrobe and slippers. Even though they embarrass me, I am loathe to cast them aside to see what better offerings might be out there for me.

I may be talking in circles because I am in the middle of one. Unsure of what to do next or what the best course of action is. The only comfort I take from this rumination is that at least I am still thinking about.

I have not acted on my petty revenge fantasies or anything similarly boneheaded. I believe I am being encouraged to let go, shed my fear, work through my disappointment and see what might be on the other side of this emotional mountain.

I will either sit at this dreary way station and fester in a misery I am electing to hang on to. Or I can put on my hiking boots and start walking. The choice is – I realize -entirely up to me.

Fear or love. What’s it going to be?

Better Than This

I habitually make broad unclear distinctions between “little me” and “mature me.” The distinctions are often blurry and hard for me to act on in the moment.

I want to be a paragon of peace and tranquillity. I really do. However my troublesome and messy human tendencies frequently get in the way and foul up my plans.

I would love to spend the holidays awash in feelings of unlimited love and kindness that the season promotes. I really would.

So when an offhand remark hits me right in the gut and tears well up in my eyes, I am not at all good at dismissing the insult. I will, of course. But it will take time.

I have learned to manage disappointments in this way. I prepare to receive what I am pretty sure is bad news. The bad news lands. I absorb it and try not to react right away. That gives me time to feel and work through my uncomfortable reactions.

Sometimes I play a game in my head of timing how long it will take to for the negative feelings to subside and go away completely. I think about how I am likely going to feel the next day and in the coming days and calculate whether the insult has had sufficient impact to last until then.

Maybe it was an “it will only resolve next week” kind of insult. I am never 100% sure in the moment.

Whatever the time frame, I am forced to move through uncomfortable feelings with the hope and knowledge that they will eventually go away.

Part of me wonders why I can be so thin-skinned. A trauma history likely. My emotional boundaries often seem to be as strong as cheesecloth. Easy to penetrate.

Or maybe it’s because I missed the crucial development stage of learning self-regulation in my childhood. I’m working on it but like many other things taken up for the first time in adulthood, it is harder to learn and stick to.

It is Boxing Day. (When I was younger, I imagined that it was a special day when some sort of big and public pugilistic contest was regularly held.)

Since my day started off a bit rocky with a bit of an emotional boxing match, that minor altercation will define the day for me. I am still in deep insult processing mode.

The holidays are a special time of year certainly. They also take place in the midst of our regular day-to-day lives. The New Year approaches with its annual opportunity to think about the year gone by, let go of the old that we are happy to bid farewell to and welcome in the new… whatever we think awaits us.

I look forward to the annual changeover as I do every year.

I should be well past processing “little Margot’s” hissy fit of today by then.

Merry Festivus

A holiday for the rest of us. At least, that’s how George Costanza explained it on Seinfeld.

Look it is the Lord Jesus Christ’s Birthday and all that (if you are a believer. Some heathens just aren’t.)

And I know Festivus is “officially” celebrated on December 23.

Whatever. My blog. My rules.

Seriously, this is too funny. Besides, it’s Christmas Day. For some of us. Have you got nothing better to do than read blog posts? (Even though this one is pretty funny and worthwhile.)

If you don’t well, forgive me for being an insensitive lout. The holidays are a pretty complicated time of year for a whole lot of folks I know. Maybe you are one of them? So have a chuckle on Seinfeld’s dime.

I prefer to celebrate sanctity and spirituality as and when Spirit moves me to.

Here’s the article cribbed from CNN about how to best “ring in” this – if not august – then alternate holiday celebration. It’s funny. Because I say so. (But hope you agree.) Enjoy!!

Happy holidays, ya’ll.

If you hate tinsel and love “Seinfeld,” Festivus is already the perfect holiday for you.

Popularized by the show in 1997, the anti-consumerism holiday is celebrated by “Seinfeld” fans every December 23.

And it doesn’t take much to get into the Festivus mood. Just follow these five steps.

1. Get a Festivus pole

Search your home for an aluminum pole. It has to be aluminum because you want it to have “very high strength-to-weight ratio” as Frank Costanza says. Decorations are distracting, so leave the pole in its plain and unadorned beauty.

Sure, you can buy your own Festivus pole, from places such as FestivusPoles.com, but it’s really better if you make your own. Non-commercial is the true spirit of Festivus.

festivus pole garden

Jason Kravarik

2. Prepare a Festivus dinner

Meatloaf is key to stay true to the “Seinfeld” episode. It should rest on top of a bed of lettuce to celebrate Festivus in the appropriate fashion.

3. Air your grievances

At the beginning of the Festivus dinner, force all your guests to listen to all the times they’ve disappointed you this year. It’s a really healthy ritual. Even Sen. Rand Paul has tried it.

4. Join in the Feats of Strength

As the host, you’ll want to test your strength and wrestle one of your guests. After all, the two of you did just enjoy a very protein-filled dinner. 

Festivus is not considered over until the host is pinned to the floor. A guest can only decline the challenge if he or she has something more important to do, such as working a double shift.

5. Call all slightly non-routine events ‘Festivus miracles’

You carried all your groceries into the house in one trip. You took the subway for the first time, and it didn’t smell. You ran into your friend you’ve been meaning to call at a local coffee shop.

All these are excellent examples of “Festivus miracles.” Be sure to exclaim loudly and proudly when you realize it is such.

https://www.cnn.com/2019/12/23/living/festivus-5-ways-to-celebrate-trnd/index.html

On the Waterfront

I firmly believe we create happiness and today I have outdone myself.

I am at the oceanside in a houseboat in the Florida Keys. A gentle breeze is blowing off the water. The vibe is super chill and laid back. The biggest noises around me are water lapping on the edges of other houseboats, a floatplane passing by overhead and squawking seabirds.

I may take a boat ride today. Or not. Frankly, sitting out here on a mini-dock with a cup of coffee may be as much activity as I need to make this a perfect day.

Earlier, an earnest Chinese man with his young daughter strapped in the front of a kayak emerged from a stand of seagrass not far from me. He made his way into our area in the distance. He was clearly struggling. He paddled this way and the boat went that way.

He would dip the paddle in the water again and bumped up against another houseboat. This went on for quite some time.

The whole time his tiny little girl sat upfront in the boat completely relaxed. Dad grinned and struggled to get the strokes right. Eventually they disappeared back into the seagrass alley from which they emerged after about fifteen minutes in our little cove. The expression of Buddha-like calm on the little girl’s face never changed throughout.

A pelican just flew overhead. Yesterday driving down here to the Keys on the Tamiami Trail, I saw a flock of about twenty pure white pelicans roosting together in a tree. Very few pelicans where I live in Florida. No ocean nearby, you see. So these seabirds are a visual treat.

Sitting on my tiny deck to write, it has started to rain. Just a sprinkle but enough to send me back inside and freshen the air outside.

I brought with me the fixings for a nice Christmas Eve dinner. A tenderloin wrapped in bacon. A long russet potato to bake and have with sour cream. I’ll gently fry a serving of gourmet mixed mushrooms with sliced onions to complete the side dish.

For dessert, a fancified gourmet caramel apple.

A houseboat does not have much space to spare. The listing says it sleeps four but didn’t actually say comfortably. There is evidence of careful space planning aboard and an economy of amenities.

It reminds me of a much simpler time in my life when I was a regular traveler. With only a backpack and a pair of good hiking boots, I lit out for all sorts of places even less well equipped.

Places where the only potable water was in the fast running streams along the trail. Where I made coffee by throwing the grounds in an empty tin can over a thrown together fire of twigs and larger pieces of hardwood.

This houseboat reminds ever so slightly of those bygone days. Turns out I forgot the bag of coffee and teabags I thought I’d packed. I made do by breaking into a couple of Keurig coffee pods I liberated from the hotel I stayed in last night.

My Swiss Rosti breakfast was so generous it made a fine leftover breakfast this morning. The roll I couldn’t eat yesterday will be a mid-afternoon snack with the sliced ham and Swiss cheese the breakfast came with.

What I feel overall is safe, satisfied and self-sufficient. I often feel this way while traveling. There is aught to worry about except finding a safe place to sleep and meeting your basic needs. In my daily life, there is much too much busywork. The trick will be to transport the peaceful vibe here to my life at home.

It will start with lowering expectations. I have some fantasy in my head generated by fancy magazines of how life is supposed to look and be. I forget that those “ideal” environments are created by people whose entire focus – indeed their livelihood – is to make those places look as perfect as possible.

So others of us – okay, me – writhe in shame and feelings of insufficiency when a spoon is out of place in the cutlery drawer. Poppycock, say I.

I once thought I could happily live permanently in something like an RV or a houseboat or a boat, boat. I no longer think that is realistic. What I long for, I realize, is the simplicity and uncluttered surroundings that tight quarters require. I’ve learned that stuff expands to fill the amount of space available.

In truth, we don’t need all that much to live a happy life. Not as much as we think we do anyway. And by no means as much as the marketing geniuses in Manhattan and elsewhere want us to believe we do.

This morning, I made a camp coffee equivalent out of the two Keurig coffee pods, relished my leftover potato pancake with ham and eggs, listened to (and I am listening to) sweet South American flute music on my computer.

The birds glide continually and effortlessly overhead. Another party of houseboat renters across the cover have what appears to be about five dogs in tow. They are frolicking with abandon on the dock outside the floating houseboat.

I can feel the built-up stress of the past few months seeping out of the end of my toes and my body gently collapsing in relief. Happiness is this simple to achieve, my friends.

It is an important reminder on this Christmas Eve that the life and lifestyle you seek may only be a potent wish, some elbow grease and a few hundred miles away.

Or right on your own doorstep. It is all a question of attitude and perspective to achieve..

2024 will be a year of “deaccumulation” for me. A commitment to getting rid of excess to get back to the basics of happiness the hides underneath it.

Merry Christmas, ya’ll from the mostly sunny (but sometimes rainy) Florida Keys. Happiness on a houseboat for me this holiday.

On the Road

I awoke this morning enveloped in dead silence. Aaaah. So lovely.

I am in a hotel miles away from home in Osprey, Florida. At home, I realize, electronics run perpetually about me. The ceiling fan. The bathroom fan. The outdoor heater. The air purifier.

In this here hotel, there is none of that. My ears awoke this morning to nothing and I was struck by how different that is from my normal.

I am abed and luxuriating in this simple and peaceful environment. I am headed for a Christmas weekend adventure to stay in a houseboat overnight. Florida is unquestionably an odd state in the union.

Known for its weirdness and tackiness and Disney World. But Florida affords travelers unique water-based experiences that you would be unlikely to find, say, in Nebraska.

No doubt Nebraska has its own unique charms and surprises to discover. Houseboats on the ocean is definitely not one of them.

Isn’t odd how we end up living where we live? The possibilities are endless but eventually we must all decide on somewhere. Maybe we were born where we live. Most unusual these days but still, possible.

Or we transferred jobs or got a promotion. That planted us somewhere across the country to a place we have become deeply attached to and now call home. Or we retired, and deliberately sought out sun, sea and sand and zero personal income tax. Maybe John and Susan moved here first, talked it up, had you visit and now you live here, too.

I know people whose whole extended family has pulled up stakes and moved several thousand miles across the country to live around each other in retirement. I consider them lucky to have family relationships strong enough to merit that move.

So my intent this weekend is to see a little more of the surrounding countryside in the place I temporarily call home. Gathering me rosebuds while I may and all that.

There is something mentally refreshing about simply seeing different signage along the road or as you pass through small towns. Meandering down highways that are bordered by different landscapes than you are used to is visually interesting snd stimulating.

Last night, I ordered take-out from a Mexican food chain called Tomatillo’s that I had never heard of before. Mighty tasty steak tacos.

So soon I shall rise, eat a hearty breakfast and get back on the road. My chosen route is through a backcountry route where I hear alligators laze up on the side of the road. You can’t get a more extreme than that for a change of scenery.

What I like about travel is what awaits me when I go back home. I always see my home with fresh eyes after an outing, regardless if it is long or short.

We never travel any distance in reality in the long run. Wherever we go, there we are. But travel does stretch and educate us, if we’re lucky. I used to regard people with disdain who travelled in developing countries and spent little time outside their hotel and constantly complained and made disparaging comparisons to their living conditions at home. So why did they bother to leave home at all, I often wondered?

I have only another day of wandering around before I head back to my “permanent address” and pay my respects to the biggest day of the Christian calendar. Meanwhile, I am going to milk this day and tomorrow for all they are worth.

I hope to return home with a new perspective. And if I’m lucky, pictures and tales of alligators I encountered lying along the road.

Eventually we all come home again. To a physical one here on Earth or to our spiritual home. It’s just a matter of time. My responsibility on this planet is to suck as much of the marrow out of this earthly experience before I light off for a purely spiritual one.

At that point, I will live each timeless moment in all the silence I ever longed for.

Nada Christmas

I believe I have solved my Christmas ennui. This holiday comes after a very rocky and tumultuous pre-season. For the world at large and for me.

I honestly don’t think I can handle one more story about Gaza. Every time humanity survives a major global fiasco and declares “Never Again,” a new set of horrors rise up again.

I shake with mortification about the assumptions of younger me. To be fair, I think every 21 year old believes they can save the world. It is probably designed that way so we can continually relight the internal fires of ambition and hope as we struggle to get a toehold in life and on our feet.

Life changes us. All of us. One way or the other. Our ambitions don’t necessarily change but they narrow. We trade in our ambitions to save the world and focus on saving ourselves. We shift our focus away from helping faceless masses to supporting the individuals who are born or led to us.

I am not saying we should or do move away from sharing our wealth with causes that deserve our attention. It is just that it becomes necessary to make sure our own boat is solid and floating before we try to save the ill-fated Titanic.

I have done nothing for Christmas this year. And I want nothing. As I was dithering about this and wrestling with my old inner compulsions at this time of year, I came across a most helpful blog post.

Beloved writer Garrison Keillor of Prairie Home Companion on PBS fame published a post that popped up at just the right time for me. His stories about Christmases past resonated deeply with me as he recounted the fruitless hours he spent on finding “perfect gifts” that received an at-best lukewarm reception from the recipients.

He made a most convincing argument for escaping the commercial allure of the season. In his case, he will spend Christmas at sea with his wife and daughter and no presents. He is right about one thing.

At a certain stage we are all going to declutter the accumulated possessions of a lifetime. Either we take charge and see to that process while we are still able. Or, as many do, we leave the planet and foist the unwelcome task on obligated family members.

That lacks grace and consideration. A truly loving legacy is to leave behind clean closets and organized photo albums. Not shoeboxes full of unidentifiable and unwanted keepsakes that only you wanted to keep.

I took a page from Keillor’s blog post. Today we depart for parts south on a holiday road trip to places I have long wanted to see. Not a long holiday. Just the weekend and Christmas Day. But long enough and far away enough to temporarily sever ties with the weight of holiday expectations.

That’s good enough for me. It pleases me to consider that thousands and thousands of young families with small children out there to pick up the slack. Most children still shake with anticipation and excitement about Santa’s upcoming visit. It is a joyous, fleeting and delightful life stage. Until one day it isn’t.

Your kids choose to spend holidays with their lover’s family. Pals elect to get together and make Christmas their own way. Soon, you are planning a Christmas cruise with other girlfriends. Christmas, as we once knew it, is over.

It is not necessarily a bad thing. Christmas is a loaded season emotionally precisely for its history and traditions. I have newly widowed girlfriends facing their first Christmas without their husbands. Estranged parents make excuses or lie outright to peers about the amount of contact they have with their adult children.

I have one searingly honest friend who has never enjoyed the Christmas holidays and cannot wait until this “joyous” season is over. That joy is not universally shared by a long shot. Having to keep up appearances and fake feelings of joy at a difficult and emotional time of year can make it even worse.

So I am planting a new stake as a way to “celebrate” Christmas this year. Taking care of those nearest and dearest to me without much fanfare at all. Their company and outreach is all I hope for. I can say emphatically as I get older that truly is all that matters.

At the end of the day, holiday celebration is a deeply personal and individual choice. Rebel that I am I will be celebrating my own version of “holiday cheer” with my husband by leaving town.

Santa Claus is coming and, now that I’m all grown up, I don’t think there is room for both of us. If you’re lucky enough to have little ones in your life at this time of year, then enjoy them with gusto. It is a fleeting phase.

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate. Happy holidays to those who celebrate other mid-winter traditions.

Whatever you celebrate at this time of year, and however you choose to do it, focus on making it yours.

OPW

Sometimes OPW (other people’s wisdom) is too good not to share.

Especially when OPW is your wisdom and belief.

I’ve often thought a manual should come with every newborn baby.

That way, eager young parents would have the tools at hand to imbue their children with solid life lessons for building a happy life.

But no. Life doesn’t work like that. We are all given challenges and lessons to learn as we (hopefully) grow. Each life is individualistically designed to teach us what we need to know.

That said, this list is a pretty solid “go-to” for guiding you to better decisions and making better use of your time on the planet.

  1. Fix yourself before you try to fix anyone else. People are often very comfortable in their miserable lives.
  2. You’ll be 10 times happier if you forgive your parents and stop blaming them for your problems.
  3. Marry the right partner. The right one will help you build your physical, mental, and financial strength.
  4. Make friends who are ambitious, motivated, and strong where you are weak.
  5. Be old enough to realize no one cares. Chase what you believe is right and just.
  6. Seek zero advice from people who are not where you want to be in life.
  7. Your circle of friends should discuss business ideas, family, and success more.   Not politics, religion, and celebrity gossip.
  8. Spend a few hours every week working on your business and dreams. Working for someone will only get you enslaved forever.
  9. Invest in a home library. Nothing is more toxic than wasting your time watching the news, Netflix, or scrolling social media.
  10. Create opportunities for yourself. No one will ever come to save you from your problems.

Yoga

I went to a yoga class this morning for the first time in what feels like forever. Man, was it good to be back in a studio.

Yoga is often misunderstood as a mamby-pamby exercise routine characterized by weird and exotic names, pretzel twists and breathing work that is based on the philosophy of Eastern religions. It is marked by chanting and incense and all manner of distinctly un-athletic activity.

While parts of that are true, it could not be farther from the whole picture of what yoga is and offers practitioners. Of course, there are some pretzel twists if I’m honest. But they are sooo satisfying.

I reconnected this morning with muscles in my anatomy I had forgotten were there. Hamstring stretches. Spinal twists. Deep and focused belly breathing.

Speaking of flab, it flabbergasts me how easily once taut muscles can dissolve into lassitude.

I must compliment the yoga teacher for her gentle but rigorous teaching approach. This session was no walk in the park but neither was it boot camp for Navy SEALS. I had done a lot of yoga in my previous life.

I even completed a sixty day marathon once where I did one yoga class every day over two months. That took a little commitment. I got to explore a lot of different Yoga disciplines over that time period in the Rama Lotus Yoga studio: Vinyassa, Hatha, Iyengar, Vini, Ashtanga wore me out! Thankfully, there really is something for every age and fitness level.

I cheated once or twice (in my opinion) by taking part in a Yoga Nidra class. All we had to do for the entire class was lie prostrate on your back on the floor. I love Yoga Nidra.

I find it funny, though, how busy your body can be even when you are doing nothing. Every knot and pressure point and tensed up muscle makes its presence known when you’re simply lying on your back on the floor.

I came to love yoga for its health and energy benefits. Other than swimming, not many sports appeal to me. Competitive sports are for other brave souls.

Yoga kept me limber and flexible for a good long time. To me, that is one of yoga’s greatest gifts. Muscles need to move and yoga postures address all of them.

Don’t be put off by the weird posture names. Downward Dog. Sun Salutations. Tree Pose. I was put off by the names, at first, and I definitely have my favorite practices. Yoga is great in that it offers a diversity of choices so you can find and settle into the preferred practice you want to actively pursue.

I was once heavily into Bikram yoga. That is a special branch of “hot yoga” and is practiced in a very hot room. Its’ creator has since come into disrepute for the “touchy-feely” license he took with students.

But the foundations of Bikram yoga are solid. A steady progression through the twenty-six postures from start to finish that gently stretch every part of your body for a complete and deeply satisfying exercise routine.

I hope I started on a new path today. Day One of what I hope will be a revived weekly yoga practice. Baby steps however.

I don’t want to commit the familiar mistake I make of jumping into something with too much enthusiasm. That tends to burn me out and could threaten to put me off an otherwise engaging and beneficial activity pretty darn quick.

I was heartened to discover that by reengaging in a “first step” back to something I previously loved and was committed to, it may once again become a regular habit.

After today’s session, I am heartened and encouraged that a regular yoga practice may take root again in my life.

Time will tell, of course. But it was a decidedly promising start.

Insomnia Blues

Insomnia is a fairly common and most aggravating condition. We’ve all had bouts of it.

In my case, insomnia seems to be entirely held in sway by my brain. I am a ruminator. My mind latches on to things and won’t let go.

It may be an idea I am trying to process. Or plans for a room I am eager to decorate. Or a relationship problem I can’t seem to satisfactorily resolve. I feel stuck so I try to think my way out of the problem.

That is sort of what insomnia is. Getting stuck in wake mode. (I said wake not woke, not that there is anything wrong with that except it is a whole other blog post.)

I try all of my trusty “go-to” solutions. I eat a banana. Something about ingesting carbs at bedtime helps you sleep? Or I warm a cup of milk. If at hand, I throw in a little vanilla and nutmeg to jazz up the taste. In milk, I believe, is an enzyme called L-tryptophan and it aids sleep.

Maybe I just made that up. I know for sure there is L-tryptophan in turkey. You know that, too, if a huge turkey dinner has sent you off to la-la land for an hour or two. Even if you don’t sleep, you are hardly likely to jump tall buildings in a single bound.

Some families have deep and disturbing memories of Uncle Frank’s drifting off into sonorous snoozing at the holiday dinner table just after the dessert course. And the liqueurs.

Other tried and true methods include watching TV (preferably some unbearably predictable serial cop show where the plot is so formulaic, you can be put to – or called to – sleep without even starting the episode.)

Reading is another favorite insomnia slayer. If I’m lucky. It depends on the book. I usually select an interesting but not too riveting novel of some sort. Page by page, I feel my eyes getting heavier and heavier.

When I am at the point where I can barely keep them awake, it is time to close up the book and put it away. The novel’s work with me is done for the night.

I also play meditation videos but with only the sound on. I darken the computer screen. I slip on a stereo headband, zero in on some sleep meditation that will introduce me to my spirit guides or instantly cure my anxiety.

Tall orders. I have yet to meet any spirit guides personally and my anxiety is usually generated by my inability to get to sleep. So if a meditation video eventually does put me to sleep, problem solved. The anxiety gone.

So I faced that last night. Went through my mental Rolodex (remember those?) of quick and easy fixes. Warm milk? Check. Banana? Check. Reading a not-too-interesting novel? Also check.

They were moderately successful. The only evidence I have, of course, is that I did finally slip into sleep and have awoken feeling fairly refreshed and well-rested ready to face the day.

Take that, insomnia!

We have girded our loins and are ready, willing and able to do battle with you. And at any time you care to announce and intrude with your irritating – and blessedly infrequent in my case – presence.

Sacred Space and Place

The word “sacred” is done to death. The word is bandied about with what seems like very little spiritual ballast to help us access it these days.

As I have come to understand sacred space, it is a place we carve out to commune with ourselves and with Spirit. Or more accurately perhaps, the Spirit within ourselves. Or, as in some traditions, a Higher Power.

Now there’s a lot of assumption going on right there. “Communing with Spirit” is off-putting to many. You can’t taste it, hear it or see it. Not with our physical senses at any rate. But open yourself up and you can surely feel it.

There are two reasons why a call to sacred communion is off-putting, I believe. Connecting with “Spirit” assumes you believe there is “One.” You must also believe that “Spirit” is available to you and willing to spend time with you. (Who am I, we may ask, for Spirit to talk to lowly me?)

The second reason it is often off-putting is that notions of Spirit are fragmented and compartmentalized in our lives today. Where do we even go to connect with “Spirit” if we believe in one? Church? Or a synagogue or a mosque? Somewhere where someone in fancy clothes with elevated connections to “Spirit” grants us access?

Here’s the thing. What I believe is that Spirit is an inherent part of “who we are.” It is universal and inborn in every one of us and is included with membership in the human race. That other stuff – the fancy garments and learned sermons – is a form of religious theater.

It is vitally important to some people. The dogma of church and religious teachings grounds many people in their lives and guides their actions. I have no quarrel with that. But I will say it is likely a little narrow in terms of what Spirit actually is and does.

I don’t care how much one studies or learns or how old and wise they get, the fundamental mysteries of life remain fundamentally mysterious. No one to my knowledge has cracked the code of how Earth came to be in the form it is and what it does.

There are no answers to devolving the “miracle of birth,” except from a strictly scientific and biological perspective. And let’s admit it. That comes up a little short in the “explanation” department.

So today I was touched once again by the teachings of my dear old friend Joseph Campbell (in my mind’s eye only; I never met the man.) He talked about the crucial need to create a sacred space in our lives. His prescription was to carve out a space or even maybe an hour a day to do nothing.

No chores. No phone calls. No conversations. Nada. Just focused me time. To play your favorite music (no matter how bad it is in the opinion of others.) To go inward. To write perhaps. To just be. And see what comes up.

Hah. Nice try with a quasi-OCD, Type A, get ‘er done kinda gal. But I am working on it. And I have experienced sacred spaces and places before. Sustaining them seems to be an issue.

Joe Campbell says it is important to carve out sacred space for ourselves now because our capitalist system focusses almost exclusively on social and economic activities. When First Nations roamed North America, they inherently understood that everything about them was sacred. The land, the skies, all of nature.

They acted accordingly. No wonder they were such a threat to the invading white Europeans. Europeans “triumphed,” in fact, because, they had little to no sense of spiritual relationship to the land and nature. What a high price we have all paid for that disconnect.

Spirit lives in all of us. It may be dormant or temporarily absent or out dealing with some other poor schmuck who has appealed to it for succour. We can disconnect from “Spirit” through our deeds and words. But it is never dead, dead.

I believe Spirit supports and encourages life and loving. Our worldly pursuits may cause us to lose track of that fact. In my healing journey, I often said, I abandoned myself, but god (as I choose to call Spirit) never did. When I was acting contrary to the laws of love and connection, the disconnect was painfully evident.

It is how I understand clinical depression. A disconnect with the essence and vitality of who we really are. Sure, part of it may be brain chemistry. (Who devised that in the first place is the obvious question?) But Spirit heals from within.

Great spiritual leaders have always know that and preach about it. Religious leaders? Well, it depends on how spiritually driven their beliefs and actions are. Among the best I ever knew was Rev. John Hogman. John was half of the ministerial tag team at Fairfield United Church in Victoria, BC with his wife, Rev. Michelle.

John’s sermons were consistently marked by his ability to connect the relationship between the scripture Jesus Christ proselytized and our everyday life. A song that was popular when Rev. John was on the planet was Joan Osborne’s One of Us: “What if God was one of us … just a slob like one of us … just a stranger on the bus … tryin’ to make his way home.”

So it would appear I need to tune up my Spirit communion skills. To carve out serious “me time.” To move more into the camp of human “being” instead of human “doing.” To reacquaint myself with a sense of awe, joy and wonder.

Because after all the money has been earned, the lectures have been delivered, the books written or read, what else is there??

Spirit and the Great Mystery. Even if I don’t “know” what the heck it is.