Organic Wisdom: Understanding Through Compassion

Yogi Tea Wisdom

True understanding is found through compassion. – my Yogi teabag

For some godawful reason, Northern Michigan has confused August with a season to get cold.

Coming from Nevada, it makes no sense to my body to wake up shivering, but I do love any excuse to make hot tea in the morning.

There’s just something about it, the routine maybe…filling the teapot, lighting the stove, warming my hands by the flame and then with my hot mug. Sipping until it’s cool enough to drink. Slowing down. Not jumping into my day.

I also love my Yogi tea nuggets of wisdom, just a tiny phrase to meditate on while I roll my hot mug between my cold hands. This morning’s wisdom was the one above.

Compassion.

It’s been a word on my tongue a lot lately.

Compassion.

And how often it’s lacking in our words, our thoughts (judgments), our reactions (especially the knee-jerk kind).

When I am connected to compassion I see deeper, feel deeper, connect to others and to Truth deeper.

When my focus is not on compassion I’m absorbed in my own thoughts (judgments), my own reactions, my own sense of victimhood, my own ego.

But compassion takes me out of those things.

Camera + Compassion + My Son

In case you didn’t notice I’m taking a lot of shoddy photos with my phone lately.

I haven’t mentioned it to anyone but my other camera isn’t in the best shape right now.

A couple weeks ago, I took it to the pool and in an effort to keep it dry wrapped it in a towel. Not knowing this and while I was back at the RV, Zeb picked up said towel and my camera fell several feet to the cement.

Thank goodness for an already residing sense of compassion.

I didn’t see the look on his face when it happened but I saw the look when he came up to tell me. It was a mixture of remorse and uncertainty. He knew how much I loved my camera, love to take photos, loved to capture expressions and moments from funny angles. And in my less-than-compassionate moments, he knew that my initial reaction could be the knee-jerk variety.

“Mom, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know your camera was there and I picked up the towel to dry off and…well, it fell and Dad has been trying but it’s not taking pictures now.”

But in that moment, I was fully connected to my own Truth, my own wisdom, my own Bigger Picture.

I was centered and felt content. And so my reaction was one of compassion.

“Really? You’re not upset? Because Spirit in the Sky was playing on the radio when it happened and I thought for sure it was an omen that you were gonna kill me,” he said with a grin. My son, he’s a funny one. :)

Don’t get me wrong…I felt my own disappointment and sadness over losing something I love.

But I felt a stronger sense of compassion for my son’s disappointment and concern for me.

But Compassion Isn’t Really The Answer

Okay, I really don’t believe compassion is the answer, even if the word is on my tongue a lot lately.

I didn’t take it in stride because I wanted to be compassionate. I didn’t keep my perspective because I focused on what would be the most compassionate.

I was compassionate because I already felt that deep sense of Connection within myself.

And by already being connected to my own Organic Wisdom, I could see with compassion. I could see that he cared deeply for me. I could see his worry. I could see that it was only a cheap lens that broke. And that it was just a camera anyway, a thing. I could see that I hadn’t even been taking many pictures lately. And I could even see my own accountability: I had wrapped it up in a towel and not told anyone after all.

Compassion didn’t allow me to see or understand those things. Being able to see those things without the fogginess of my emotions or knee-jerk reactions allowed me to respond with compassion.

And because hindsight is all a beautiful thing, I can see just how nice it is to only have my cell phone to take pictures – convenient, lightweight and good enough to capture the moment, save time in editing and get back to what really matters. :)

Why You SHOULD Focus On Being Perfect (And It’s Not What You Think)

The Majestic Redwoods

Ah, perfect. That word is a hot one. Especially for us women.

Most of us strive so hard to be perfect: the perfect mother, perfect partner, the perfect person with a perfect purpose. We try to create the perfect home and the perfect world with perfect hair and perfect kids.

And then we hear the messages that perfection is a myth, that it can’t be obtained and that striving for it is a maddening and pointless attempt to be something we’ll never be.

After all no one is perfect, right?

This is where I get all Big and Philosophical on you…

Both are wrong.

Zoom out with me – way out – and take in the Big Picture of your life, your journey of self-discovery and growth, your contribution to and purpose in the world.

The entire purpose of your life is to learn, to grow, to experience this human experience and make sense of it the best way you can.

You don’t need to strive for perfection and you don’t need to give up the idea of perfection…Because you are already perfect.

Where you are is already perfect. What you are experiencing, doing and thus learning is absolutely perfect.

You are the perfect mother for your children. You are the perfect person for your purpose. Everything you’re doing and experiencing is perfect.

Stay with me here.

It’s perfect that you make mistakes. It’s perfect that you beat yourself up for them. It’s perfect when you don’t do either.

It’s absolutely perfect when you wake up one day to realize something totally new and life-changing and it’s perfect when nothing ever seems to change.

It’s all perfect because it’s all purposeful, because when we zoom way out the little details that we stress over and complain about and push against blur together, and we see the process, the journey, the contrast that teaches us, the resistance that strengthens us, the meaning at the end of the story, the light at the end of the tunnel and the Magic that brought it all together, that connected the cosmic dots and created something amazing.

If our purpose in life is to learn, and if we learn best through our experiences, then yes, it’s all actually perfect.

And only by acknowledging that it’s perfect can we embrace it, learn from it and expand because of it.

Your mistakes have value. Your journey is oh-so-valuable.

But you won’t get that, you won’t experience that value, until you accept it as perfect, as exactly as it gets to be.

Yes, this applies to everyone – you and your kids, your partner and THAT one frustrating person you would rather not talk about. No matter what you all are doing or experiencing in your lives, you are all in the same perfect place.

Acknowledging that you are exactly where you need to be, and that everything you are experiencing or doing is perfect is not license to be an asshole, hit your children or just quit trying, anymore than the lack of a posted warning is license to shoplift.

On the contrary, and perhaps paradoxically, embracing the seemingly imperfect as perfect will take off that heavy weight of Not-Good-Enough, Less-Than, Doomed-To-Mess-Up, and leave you only with desire to move forward into seeking more….more Love, more connection, more experiences, more compassion, more beauty, more peace, more learning.

You cannot create your Life from a place of imperfection, unworthiness, brokenness, less-than. You can’t. Whatever you see this moment as being, you will notice and create more of the same.

But when you can connect to the fact that this moment is perfect – that it is here for you to experience and learn from, that’s it’s all opportunity, all of value – you can connect to the fact that you can create something more, better, and beautiful from it.

Only by stopping the fight against what is can we give ourselves the clarity and power to create what can be.

Look for it: What about that one frustrating thing is actually perfect?

“There is only one world, the world pressing against you at this minute. There is only one minute in which you are alive, this minute here and now. The only way to live is by accepting each minute as an unrepeatable miracle.” – Storm Jameson

Life, Learning and Dark Parking Lots

as the parking lot empties for the night the bokey fairies come out to play

I remember the first time I drove a car. It was with my best friend, Hilary, and we were both underage, as we were with many things we did together. Hilary had snuck the keys to her mother’s car and she ever so  s l o w l y and cautiously drove us across the street to an empty parking lot.

There we took turn practicing: driving in circles, experimenting with going faster and slower, gassing it, stopping quickly, and attempting to park as we discovered the fluidity of our feet, the pedals and the movement of the vehicle.

Hilary’s mom’s car was a monster.

I’m not sure of the make or model but it reminds me of a Cadillac – wide and long. And we felt safe in it. We knew we couldn’t roll it, and it wouldn’t be easily dented, either.

That night in the parking lot gave us the feeling of uninhibited freedom.

We could move and explore the feeling of control without fear of mistake, condemnation or danger, except for a random light pole.

These were things we didn’t feel we could explore at home. We didn’t always feel the freedom to press our limits and test our abilities. We were loved. More than most. But we didn’t feel completely understood or accepted.

But out in the dimly lit parking lot, with only our friendship to know what we were attempting, we could find our rhythm, our own speed.

We could learn our capabilities without any doubt, fear or criticism to slow us down.

When I think back to that night and I look at my son quickly approaching teen-hood, I’m reminded what that parking lot and my best friend taught me:

Every person of every age and every background has the same basics needs and the same basic desire to fill those needs.

We didn’t take the car to be difficult or dangerous. We took it to fulfill a need we didn’t know any other way to fulfill. We needed to experience the freedom and sense of accomplishment that dark lot provided us and we needed to experience it in an environment of encouragement and appreciation.

We needed to feel as if the person sitting next to us trusted us, encouraged us and laughed with us over our jerky attempts to move forward – in life and in the undentable beast that was her mom’s car.

photo

A Week in Transition (Or Surrender and Acceptance)

We’re aiming to make this our last week off the road. By Friday, we will be heading toward Southern California; Disneyland to be exact.

Transition is always emotionally and spiritually full. We get filled with thoughts of what needs to be done, timelines and deadlines and regret. We scurry, we ebb and flow, we forget and remember and forget again.

And we oscillate, between looking back and looking forward, and all the world conspires to compound the dichotomy of here and there by pouring on the rain, piling up the hurdles, throwing in a little more madness.

I think there are two reasons Murphy’s Law is real and true:

  1. Because madness creates or attracts more madness.
  2. And because life loves to test our resolve.

I used to confront these maddening times of resolve-testing with a strong mix of doubt and added resolve. Was I on the wrong path? And what did I need to change?

My approach was one of sheer will and barreling through.

Today, as I sit with a mind full of tasks and exasperating challenges, piles and piles of paperwork to scan, a fender-bender to contest and repair, and an old friend demanding more than I will give, my approach is different.

No task lists, no sense of urgency, no feeling of obligation, no impending deadline.

My approach now is one of surrender.

Of savoring.

Of slow, methodical movement.

Of earphones and blueberry muffins.

Of trust.

Of quiet and breath and acceptance.

Instead of frenetic energy, of compiling and pushing, of resistance or fixing or spiritual darting…

I’m allowing.

Allowing the emotions to sweep through me, observing the place where I am, feeling peace as things go undone, as they remain imperfect, and being whole in that imperfection.

Something funny happens when you allow your world to be imperfect and messy.

It ceases to be imperfect or messy.

Perhaps it’s the people whose lives have taken sudden new twists – people who have learned to embrace the creative possibilities of change – who stand the best chance of penetrating life’s mysteries. – Hugh Mackay

It’s Not You, It’s Me (Except When It’s Not Me)

Shadows

Most people think that shadows follow, precede or surround beings or objects. The truth is that they also surround words, ideas, desires, deeds, impulses and memories. – Elie Wiesel

Have you written or said something and been surprised by how others reacted? Maybe they took offense or took defense, maybe they were hurt or angered.

Or maybe something you read or heard felt like a slap to the face. Maybe it was about you and maybe it wasn’t, but you responded quickly and strongly.

I think we’ve all seen this happen. Dealing with emotions and reactions is a fact of life. We all have opinions and beliefs and that’s usually a good thing. :) But sometimes the shit hits the fan and those emotions begin flying all over the place. Feelings are hurt or arguments start because we can’t see two simple facts through all the drama.

  1. The fanned shit isn’t based on reality; it’s based on our stories, shadows of our perspectives. Stories are the things we’ve come to believe based on our experiences or the experiences of others. They aren’t 100% real because other people don’t always experience them, but they are real to us.
  2. It’s not always about you.

It’s Not You, It’s Me (Except When It’s Not Me and Is You)

I live a life based on my own beliefs. These beliefs have been shaped by my experiences and the stories I’ve developed. I speak from what I know, from my own understanding and from my own authenticity, moment to moment. I live, act and react in ways that make sense to me.

It’s about me.

Likewise, I know anything I feel about or however I react to someone else is also about me. It’s based on my own stories, my own beliefs, my own perspective. Even when I feel snappy or defensive or offended, I know it’s about me.

It’s not about you.

Moving from a place of authenticity about our own stories irons out most of the wrinkles in our messier interactions.

But even when we move from our own authenticity, we’re still bound to hurt someone’s feelings at some point, we’re likely to find ourselves within misunderstandings and despite our best intentions, and especially when we’re at our most authentic, we are going to offend others.

This doesn’t mean what you said was about them. It means how they responded isn’t about you.

Reactions are always about the reactor. Even when someone is intentionally trying to hurt or offend us, our feelings speak more about our stories than the facts of the situation. And this is true in regards to every single emotion: love, jealousy, anger, loneliness, excitement.

Beneath every reaction is a story.

Stories aren’t bad until they hold back, keep down or hurt you or others. As soon as someone feels hindered or hurt, it’s time to recognize the stories so that we can overcome them.

I’m constantly overcoming my stories. In fact the more you move toward living an organic life, the more inorganic stories you’ll be challenged to remove. (Seriously. I feel like I’m recognizing and overcoming my stories Every. Freaking. Day.)

Mine is a process with two parts:

1. Recognize Who Owns It

Every time the emotions start flying, the very first step I take is back. Before I can do anything I have to sort out my response from the other components. Walking away or holding onto my response gives me space to understand it.

Then I have to admit that my reaction is mine to own. I can’t blame or point fingers. I can’t play the victim role. I have to own it.

The same applies if someone responds to me with an exaggerated response: I have to recognize it’s not always about me, own my own reaction and allow the other person to have whatever experience they choose (by allowing them to own it or not).

Note to Self: You can’t make them own it. That’s their business. Meaning it’s not about you so butt out!

2. Dig Into It

When something virtually unrelated to me (or maybe totally related to me) rubs me the wrong way I know it’s time to question it and listen to the answers.

I know, even if I’m not ready to admit it, that it’s speaking to me (not about me) and with some truth I’m apparently resisting. Asking myself a few questions always opens me up to what is really going on:

  • Why does this bother me?
  • What other emotions is this triggering for me?
  • What is this reminding me of or what memories are associated with this?
  • What do I need to acknowledge in myself here?

Something similar can be done for others: Without judgment or assumptions we can try to understand their perspective and what shapes it. With compassion we can acknowledge where they are, have empathy for their experience and validate their reaction…all without owning it and without allowing it to own us.

Yes, owning our own stuff is uncomfortable. Digging into it can be downright excruciating. It can be a long, sometimes frustrating, process.

But knowing what makes us tick – knowing who we are and why – is crucial to liberating ourselves from the drama that surrounds us.

Keep this in mind the next time you get frustrated by your child’s words or hurt by your partner’s actions or when you read something you perceive as offensive or rude:

Only after we judge our emotions can we judge a situation.

Once you know who owns it, once you have some understanding or empathy for why it exists, only then can you move forward into finding the best way to handle it. (And that’s a process too.)

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