Tag: silence

Presence/Poetry

/ Lanae / Leave a comment Featured

I haven’t forgotten I have a blog, nor have I forgotten the joy weaving words together brings me, but I have been seeking to discern where and how writing fits into this full to the brim season of my life – the career season, I guess! I still, and always will, consider writing as one of my first loves and one of my deepest callings. Sometimes, though, it’s been a neglected love, one that I needed to pick up from a shelf and dust off, rediscover anew. Or it’s a calling that’s gotten swamped amidst the multitude of other time and commitment choices I’ve made. Or it’s a gift I have too often left unopened or unshared …

I love the therapeutic work that I am engaged in, and it’s part of my life’s work, my calling – to listen, teach, serve, guide, counsel, be present, help people find the healing power within them – but writing has never stopped feeling as though it belongs in my life’s work too. The form and expression it takes just seems to keep evolving … and so the form it seems to be taking right now is journaling and poetry, putting my journaling into poem/prose form (free form, that is, free from any conventional style of rhythm and rhyme!). Somehow, poetry seems simpler to manage right now than a thought-piece or essay, too. And since I wrote multitudes of poems in my teens and twenties, returning to poem-form feels like coming home.

So, this blog offering is a poem drawn from more of my January retreat (at St. Benedict) journaling. A poem that feels like it weaves together the mosaic of intentions that shapes the deepest essence of  who and how I want to be in the work I do, the life I live … deep listening, loving speech, healing words, learning stillness, practicing the pause, holding presence, being present with Presence. Mindful speech, mindful silence.

These intentions are like vows – my ‘Presence in communication’ vows – vows that are sacred to me. And these are also vows offered to myself, my children, my friends, colleagues, clients, everyone I meet. I’m still only beginning to learn how to practice them and be them with mindful consistency across the many situations and interactions that come my way, but I am keeping them close at heart!

(And if you look in the wayback of my blog archives, I’ve carried these intentions, these vows – or they’ve carried me – for a while now, and they’ve only taken deeper root. They’re home, where they belong! I’m home in them …)

I think, too, that this poem just opened my eyes to something – that my calling is itself a mosaic, many parts of whole, as one! The intentions of belovedness and Presence hold this mosaic together.

Presence in Communication

The intention of my every day communication:
To carry silence with my communication,
to allow silence the place in my communication –
pauses before my words, rests while listening
whole listening
my own thoughts stilled
open to the silence behind the other’s words
the unspoken notes clear to my ear

My policy toward the spoken word:
Use only the words that are most necessary
With care, choose them well
Take a breath, take a sacred pause
better to enter into a space –
a space that allows the liberty to feel
into the right intent
from which the right words will
flow –
Right words will come
from the letting go of over-thinking
the search for them
surrendering into the flow
of Presence

Best of all, in all
tend presence, tend Presence
Presence speaks the best, says the most
and needs no words
to convey the meaning of love
to show another they are heard and known
If and when words fail –
for they do and will
accept this truth with grace –
If and when words fail –
remain present
With or without words
your presence is your
communication
of your essence

Deepen presence, deepen into it
become
intimate
with silence, stillness, sacred pauses, rests
deep listening
whole-soul listening not only to the words
but beyond the words
to the whole being of another

Listening with deep presence, quiet mind
from this well of deep Presence
mindful healing words
can be drawn to offer
like living water
But it is your presence still
that makes the water
of your words
Living

Retreat reflections: Mindfulness vows to myself

/ Lanae / Leave a comment Featured

I began 2019 with a silent retreat at a lovely, serene spiritual oasis in northeast Nebraska (St Benedict Center). It was a time of deeply mindful, sacred rest – exactly what my body and soul needed after a busy, intense, revolutionary year full of some pretty powerful learning and growing experiences! 

When I arrived, my soul felt it was home. I knew, my body and soul knew, here was a place of deep peace safe to rest and be – and all I had to do here was rest and be. Lay down burdens, step into another world, set aside the phone and the watch, re-connect to and follow the rhythms of nature and my own body. What a delight and relief!

For me, this retreat was like a spiritual pilgrimage, a journey within, to see what I could find and learn in the silence and to see what gifts and news silence would bring me. I came with some deep desires. What I hungered for was to find and learn what would help me live my purpose to be more present in my life and with others. What I thirsted for was to immerse myself in Presence and know deeper healing and wholeness.

After arriving and settling in, I thought, to find what I’m seeking I need to set intention(s) that will give me clear direction. Oh, yes, I sought space for my soul to wander free … but I also didn’t want my mind to wander lost either!

I sat in the solarium that first afternoon with pen and notebook, surrounded by books and light and spacious quiet, soaking in the peaceful ambience, a still quiet at ease with itself. I reflected on how I could act with deliberate intention in physical and spiritual ways to support and deepen my purpose and practice of presence, to embody mindfulness.

In this quietness, these words came to be my guide and companion on my retreat journey. And they’ve stayed! I decided they weren’t just retreat vows, but life vows. I printed out and framed a copy I keep in my bedroom, and another I put on my desk in my (new!) office space, to keep my purpose ever before my eyes, engraved on my mind, nurtured in my heart, informing my words and my work, flourishing in my whole being.

There were many rich lessons, wild and precious moments of pure joy and aliveness, profound healing experiences, and other gifts I’d love to share down the road perhaps (some feel like they are only meant to be told in how I live but the ones meant to be told here will tell me, I’m sure!). But for now, just this seems enough and more:

Guiding Mindfulness Vows

(My Vows to myself on my Retreat and for Life)

When I walk, I will walk
When I sit, I will sit
When I eat, I will eat
When I write, I will write
When I read, I will read
When I rest, I will rest
When I listen, I will listen
When I observe, I will observe

When I look, I will look deeply
            into myself
            into what is present

When a feeling arises, I will feel it as it is
            and then set it free
            chaining to it no story

I will be with my body
                       my heart
                       my mind
                       my soul

When I notice myself in distraction  
          I will redirect myself with a gentle grace
When I notice myself in rumination and self-recrimination
            I will give thanks for my awareness and
            return my body and mind to the one act
                        of presence

            of walking
            of sitting
            of eating
            of writing
            of reading
            of resting
            of listening
            of observing

Above all and in all
            of experiencing this moment
           of being and inter-being

With my presence, I will be present
With Presence, I will be present

Voiceless

/ Lanae / 1 Comment Featured

Voiceless
On some things
I feel
my voice is
silence
silenced?
Silence my voice
voice my silence

Sometimes
silence
is the voice of grace
grace the voice
in silence
Is silence sometimes
the greater grace?

I’m not sure what sense this little collection of words makes, and I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say.
What I know is this: I’m feeling voiceless, and from my voiceless feeling comes the question, Is silence sometimes the greater grace? Or, when is silence the greater grace?

Why am I feeling voiceless?
Because in the matter of traumatic sexual experiences, I too have a story/stories. One I can tell, one(s) I cannot.

My first sexual experience with a woman – really, my first true sexual experience – involved deceit, manipulation, and a lack of consent. 21 and I had never been drunk before, but a couple coworkers thought being 21 should be celebrated. One of them took me to her home later. The experience itself was unsettling in its emptiness, but it was the aftermath of harassment that was truly chilling – having the two of them confront me at work “We knew you were gay, you can’t hide it,” the two of them waiting for me outside my apartment when I got off work at 3 am, or the time I came home to find the yard decorated with toilet paper and apparently stolen road signs. It felt evil.

It also left me wondering, what does a consensual, joyful, soulful sexual experience feel like? Will I ever know?
When I went into celibate ministry later, I figured I’d never know and that would be okay.

But there’s another story, too.

It’s not that I lack courage to tell this story. I do have a voice, I know my voice, and I have lifted my voice to share other parts of my story – spirituality, sexuality, identity, the journey toward becoming a whole, beloved person.
There are other parts of my whole story I have left in silence, especially aspects of distressing sexual experiences – at least online silence. Because is it always the highest good, the most right thing, to bare deeply intimate things to the light of the [online] world? Does it always help with healing? No …
Do I entirely feel the liberty to share those intimate bits of my story, which is intermingled with another’s story, and in considering reverberations it could bring into my life or my children’s life? No …
But – do I want to be heard? Yes, absolutely.
And I have been heard. Heard by friends, heard in private conversations. Heard in even the stillness of my meditations  – the Spirit has heard me. And so there has been healing.

The main reason I’m writing is for myself, to process my thoughts and feelings, to wrestle with nuances. Perhaps another reason I’m writing is to put a little light on why some stories may not get told, some voices remain silent, or why this silence is sometimes a valid choice. These things deserve voice and understanding too …

All the stories and experiences matter. All the voices matter; all our voices matter!

I do think it’s important to consider that there are many forms and contexts in which traumatizing sexual experiences can occur, and there are demoralizing, dehumanizing sexual experiences women – anyone – go through that may not necessarily arise to the level of criminality or legal reckoning. That doesn’t mean there isn’t, or shouldn’t be, a spiritual, social, or moral reckoning of some kind.

Perhaps these experiences could or should be called assault or rape; perhaps in the technical legal definition, some would be considered neither rape nor assault. But where there was not consent, or consent was coerced, what should it be called? These experiences fall into a psychologically – as well as physically and physiologically – valid experience of being raped, feeling and being deeply, humiliatingly violated and intimately disrespected. Emotionally and spiritually raped.

All the stories and experiences matter!

All the voices matter, whether they roar or whisper, or are veiled in a fierce silence of grace or a fearful, shamed silence.

And sometimes, perhaps there’s genuinely a lack of intent to have caused someone to feel sexually degraded or demoralized, or a terrible awakening and striking pain when realizing this has been the other person’s experience. Lack of intention, lack of awareness, does not absolve the need for accountability, however, in whatever form.  In my situation, something about understanding this lack of intention has absolved me from carrying the weight of blame and shame, and created space for compassion (and self-compassion) that has ultimately been so healing for me.

To return to the question, I think sometimes [public] silence can be an act of grace that preserves peace in interactions that must continue – I feel that way for myself, anyway. Yet, while it’s okay for me to be [publically] silent about this piece of my story, and valid for me to feel that this kind of silence is grace in my experience, I feel that the greater grace in general now is the breaking of the silence, the outpouring of stories, the undoing of shame.

Indeed, it is well beyond the time for silence on sexual violence and the structures that enable it to be broken, the time for things that have been hidden, cloaked in unjust shame, to be unveiled – truths should be seen and heard and known. For the sake of women and the sake of all human beings who have experienced sexual violence.

After all, does change ever happen without stories, uplifted voices, narrating it?

But yet – though it’s okay to choose privacy on pieces of my story, and let others speak who can speak freely and whom the Spirit is moving to speak –
Something in me still feels voiceless. But at least I’ve given the voiceless feeling I’ve struggled with a voice here … it helps.
It’s been sharply uncomfortable. I want to have a voice, and I want it to roar and be heard, with fierce grace and belovedness!

But it helps to remember that I’m not truly voiceless … because my voice is joined with my sisters’ voices. And their voices are rising strong, perhaps shaking and perhaps with tears, but rising strong.
My spirit is joined with their spirit, our collective spirit rising strong – Spirit rising strong through us, through many.

Together, we all rise.

 

Awake

/ Lanae / Leave a comment Featured

Every year, my church holds an Easter vigil, beginning on Good Friday evening and extending through Easter Sunday morning. I’ve discovered I quite love the midnight to 4 a.m. hours – how quiet the church is at those hours! The little chapel area becomes a place set apart in space and time, with darkness and stillness of the night draped around …. a cocoon of calm.

I feel a fondness for that chapel – it has often been a retreat place for me, even in the midst of busy days, to come and find a bit of respite, to re-center. Not only to pray or meditate, but to think, to write, even to engage in an activity as mundane (and non-sacred seeming!) as work documentation – or to play the piano (which is one way I re-center). For me, it is a ‘thin place’ – places infused with the sense of the sacred, places that offer an invitation into reverence and renewal, places where the veil that often lies between everyday existence and Ultimate reality lifts or even dissolves …

The saying ‘thin place’ comes from Celtic wisdom tradition, where it is said that heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in thin places that distance narrows. The boundaries between heaven and earth collapse, dissolve … or, perhaps more accurately, our sense of those boundaries collapses, dissolves. Our perceptions change, deepen – or we see beyond our usual perceptions, see beyond our illusions …

It seems to me that not only are there ‘thin places’, there are ‘thin people’ (no, I don’t mean physically thin!), ‘thin friendships’ – people and relationships that are like spiritual conduits, that help us come closer to the sacred, that invite us to go deeper in our spiritual journeys, that support and enrich, challenge and teach us.

And … ‘thin times’. Those midnight hours seem like ‘thin times’ to me … hours where I can let go of time, hours that become timeless, because the rush of the world is stilled. Hours where the sacred feels wide open to me and I feel wide open to it, hours where the boundaries and barriers fall away, and this world/Ultimate reality blend together. (Not that they don’t anyway, but there are times and places it’s more discernable or we’re more open and prepared to discern it).

So the midnight vigil hours in the chapel are the profoundly holy convergence of a ‘thin time’ with a ‘thin place’!

For my vigil time, I brought along with me my old ‘spiritual journal’ (which has received little attention from my pen for a long time) in case the Spirit brought me words. And as I played the piano, words indeed came … “May we not be afraid to be awake … May I not be afraid to be awake”

I have always loved the times when I sat down to write and the words wrote themselves … coming to my hand not from my mind but from somewhere deeper, from the soul, and coming into my soul from a yet deeper Source.

I share these words here just as they came to me then at 4 a.m., without revision, these words that are truly not mine. And whatever they might mean to you is yours!

May we not be afraid to be awake

                awake to ourselves, our pain, our need

                awake to one another

                awake to our own suffering

                             to others’ suffering

May we not be afraid to be awake

                to see the crosses that are present

                                                                in the world

                            the crosses of suffering

                            the crosses of injustice

May we not be afraid to see

                to see the crosses we bear

                the crosses others bear

                the crosses we have given others to bear

May we not be afraid to take

                to take up our crosses and walk

                to take away our crosses and walk

                to take away the crosses of injustice

                                           the crosses we have given others

                take away these crosses so that others

                                           may walk

                              We may walk together

May we not be afraid to see the suffering

                to be with the suffering

                to be awake to the suffering

                                            to be there

                                            present

                                            awake

                                            seeing

May we not be afraid to feel

                to feel the pain

                                our own pain

                to feel the pain

                                our neighbors often feel

                the pain of their crosses

May we not be afraid to be

                to be there

                to be with ourselves in our own Gethsemane

                to be with others in their Gethsemane

 

May we not be afraid to bear a cross of love

 

May we not be afraid

                to be there

                where there are crosses

May we not be afraid to be love

                where there are crosses

So that only love, only Love

                may be where there have been crosses

It’s so powerfully real to me that we must be willing to be with the pain, our own and others, in order to move through it and heal the suffering.

This thought, I think, has broad applicability, across many personal situations and relationships, across many societal issues.

Do we want healing? Justice? If so, are we invested in what the process means?

Because it does mean being willing to be awake, wide awake, to the pain of others – to say, the grief from relationship loss, the distress of poverty, the pain from accumulated wounds of racial injustices – before we can begin to understand better the suffering others have endured. To not be afraid to be feel the pain and discomfort that the awakening of deeper understanding and compassion can bring. To not be afraid to feel, to see, to be – to be humble, to be love.

To be wide awake to the pain, suffering, brokenness in the world is also to be wide awake to Love, to belovedness. Love is also in the world … but Love needs us to be awake to it so that we can embody it in the world.

May we not be afraid to be awake, to be wide awake in love to Love!

Lessons in belonging (or, what my grad school group class taught me)

/ Lanae / Leave a comment Featured

Today is the final day of my latest session of classes, and am I ever looking forward to a week off before the next round of classes starts – one whole week homework-free! Every time I make it to the end of a session of classes, it’s such a sweet feeling of triumph and relief, a mingled sense of accomplishment and emancipation … and maybe this time, more so, because of the particular challenges and obstacles that tagged along for the journey this time.

For one, I have a job in which I travel a lot, and while I truly enjoy my work, care deeply for the people with whom I work, and don’t mind driving, extra time on the road means time not available for schoolwork – and means creativity in finding time for schoolwork!

For another, I’ve gotten quite the lesson in the complex dance it is to balance full-time graduate school, work, parenting, teaching yoga/meditation … it’s been, frankly, often exhausting and sometimes overwhelming (but rewarding too!). Somewhere in there, my sleep/rest quotient decreased, which meant that balance sometimes felt wobbly, and the whole school/work/parenting/life dance got a bit out of rhythm (okay, maybe my emotional equilibrium occasionally did too)!

For one other, one of my classes presented a special challenge for me, which is really what this post is about. It was a group class, about group methods and facilitating groups, and as part of it, the class met through Adobe Connect. Actually, it was thoroughly delightful to see my classmates’ faces, hear their voices, and experience who they are, because in online classes, usually your classmates are names without faces, people you only meet through discussion posts!

But anyway, those who know me well know I feel much more comfortable in one on one interactions over group interactions, so I felt sort of apprehensive about this class, because I wasn’t sure what it would like, what would be expected. Plus, I was thinking, 2 1/2 hours every Thursday, whoa, that’s a long time to be in group!

And … I was concerned about how the technology might behave for me. With good reason, as it turned out! I missed the first class due to another obligation, and then technical difficulties disrupted four of the next five classes. I did everything I could to resolve the issues, and still there was a signal bottleneck that meant sound transmissions didn’t come through.  So – I spent most of those four classes as a silent observer, watching my classmates on the screen, unable to hear most of what they said, unable to be heard. Ugh!

I thought I might have to withdraw from the class … but a dear friend came to the rescue and graciously let me borrow her home office for the remaining 6 weeks of class. An act of abundance that not only rescued me but redeemed my whole group class experience!

Sitting in silence was painfully frustrating, because I wanted desperately be a part of what was going on – until I simply surrendered to the situation as it was, and determined to look for whatever good there was to draw out of it.  For one, it was a chance to practice maintaining presence and equanimity – what else was there to do, sitting there in silence! An extended meditation opportunity, really!

The piquant irony of it all though (I’m convinced the universe has a weird sense of humor and brought it to me purposefully!) is that my outsider experience in this case so neatly aligned with the outsider perception I have often experienced or felt – a sense of both belonging and not belonging in some way in many groups (as I discussed in my previous post ).

I’ve often felt outsidered – or, maybe more precisely – have often outsidered myself. Although sometimes I’ve most definitely been outsidered, because I failed in some way to conform to expectations about what I should think, believe, or be … and because I was/am different in some ways. For instance, I’ve experienced being outsidered for being gay in one way or another over the years … and now as a single (divorced) person, I sometimes feel a little outsidered amongst my married friends.

However, I see now that mostly, it became my pattern to outsider myself, to believe that being the outsider, or being the quiet observer, was my role in a group – my role in life, pretty much! The odd one, the odd one out … beloved, but still the odd one out.

And so the gift of this disconcerting group experience was that it forced me to confront that core idea. After all, it was technology, a neutral party, that outsidered me, not the group or myself … so that gave the chance to look deeply into it from a whole new perspective, a liberating perspective!

I learned to let go of my attachment to an outsider role, or more precisely, my attachment to the expectation or perception that I often end up playing an outsider role … well, honestly, I’d have to say I’m still working on that! I still kind of like some parts of choosing the outsider role … but I also like belonging (so maybe there’s a way they fit together, eh?!).

Even though it was hard to feel like I belonged to the class group after my silent time, I learned that they still felt I belonged, if for no other reason than that I had persevered and remained present. I wasn’t an outsider, I wasn’t outsidered! What a wonder that was to me!

What I discovered within this experience is that I can be who I am and while my authenticity might mean that I don’t quite conform, yet I can still belong, and belong more so because of my authenticity.

The experience of outsidering has helped me know the value of the experience of belongingness!

Belongingness means more to me because I understand feeling or being outsidered … and I want, I intend, to share the gift of belongingness with those who feel, or are, outsidered!

(So, yes, this was quite the 12 weeks! I’m just glad I made it safely, sanely, through – and found the good in it all 😀 )

sorrowfulness, a sacred part of belovedness

/ Lanae / 2 Comments Featured

Yes, this little space has been echoing silence  …

As it’s said, there’s a time to be silent and a time to speak.

When it was a time to speak, I spoke boldly and passionately about what was deep in my heart and soul, about mindfulness and justice, about owning the truth and living the truth.  About Belovedness, as not just ‘my truth,’ but a deep Truth, a Truth for all!

But then it was a time for silence … and as I’ve learned, knowing when to hold space for silence is an important – perhaps the most important – part of finding your voice and knowing how to use it well, with love and truth.

It’s a time of sorrowfulness, of grief, both personally and communally, and silence, stillness, seemed the most necessary for the healing and health of my heart and soul …

So I embarked on what has felt like a lonely journey, practicing silence, speaking, writing less. It has felt like being in exile, a chosen exile and a redeeming one, but still …

I thought, why should I write/share these days, anyway? When sorrowfulness is so strong in me … I cannot write of belovedness in the same way, and if I write of sorrowfulness and grief, doesn’t that seem contrary to belovedness, to the message of belovedness? When I write of saying “YES!” to belovedness, but then I write of knowing sorrowfulness and feeling intense grief, being in deep mourning, doesn’t that sound like a “NO!”?

Does it seem joy-making, gratitude-inspiring, hope-spreading? Which truly is what I want to do and be!

But here is a truth I cannot deny about myself:

I am one well acquainted with sorrow, with grief. One who knows suffering. Who knows the suffering of others, feels it in her bones, in the inward marrow, in the heart-center. Yes,  I have an apprenticeship with sorrow … yet I also now have an apprenticeship with belovedness.

Oh yes, wild sorrow and wild belovedness, I know these both.  I know the darkness of sorrow, but also its light; the light of Belovedness, but also its darkness. I know this wildness, and if there is any edge on which I live, it is this edge.

It is not quite a safe wildness, no, but yet – I am secure, because I am anchored, I am grounded in belovedness. My soul is safe, my ego is not, and this is as it should be.

The wildness of being fully alive … fully, deeply, intensely, powerfully alive in, with, and through sorrowfulness and Belovedness both!

And another truth:

The other part of Belovedness, is this sorrowfulness, this grief-fullness – the yin/yang, the both/and.

Sorrowfulness IS another part of belovedness! Grief and mourning ARE a part of belovedness.

They are a part of a full, deep, rich “Yes!” to belovedness.

What is belovedness without sorrowfulness? What is belovedness without honoring and holding sorrowfulness? Sorrowfulness is a part of the wholeness of belovedness, part of its wholeness and richness of meaning.

Belovedness contains joy and sorrow. Goodness and suffering. Grace and grief. Peace and pain. Hope and  despair.  Abundance and loss. Groundedness and uncertainty. Wholeness and brokenness.

Having awareness of them all within us, within each other, is important, vitally important. Knowing how to give space to and to hold space for them is fundamental to knowing our own both/andness, our completeness, our aliveness as human beings.

It’s not about embracing either belovedness or sorrowfulness … it’s about embracing both and being taught by both.

Belovedness teaches compassion, empathy … it can crack your heart wide open, to feel and know the sorrow and the suffering in the world, to make it a real rather than an abstract understanding … and move you to loving action.

Sorrowfulness, grief, loss, exile. Belovedness gives the grace and strength to face them. They must be allowed, respected, honored, given space … if there is to be a full healing of the body and soul, heart and mind.

So much soul-sickness and suffering comes when grief and sorrow are not given space to be, to be known, to be tended. Not only to individuals, but also to communities and nations.

Here is our country, our society, its psyche deeply, gravely wounded, reeling from profound losses and traumas,  facing and fearing change …  fear seems to be a common ground we share, wherever we stand.

Underlying it all, I sense the vastness of an unheeded sorrow, an untended grief, feeding the fear, the anger, the despair; giving root to the seeds of violence and suffering.

I see a society that doesn’t know how to grieve, give space for sorrow.  That doesn’t have a healthy relationship with pain, grief, or sorrow – and thus perhaps not a healthy relationship with grace, goodness, or belovedness either, then.

What is happening in our society (in our world?) is a breaking wide open … there is so much pain pouring out. It overwhelms me with sorrow and grief, a sense of deep spiritual loss, death, darkness.

And yet, in this breaking open, belovedness teaches me to see hope – that with all the pain and sorrow rising so visibly to the surface, perhaps we will learn, together, how to give space to sorrow and pain. Perhaps we can learn together the gift and the grace of grief …

I know that Belovedness is teaching me how to have a healthy relationship with sorrow, to bind grief with grace, to give space to mourning   … the gift of great losses and heart-rending choices and experiences is that I am being given the opportunity and the space to learn how to grieve, how to see and know the grace in grief.

A gift that perhaps I can learn how to share, even to fashion into part of my life’s work  … the blessedness in sorrowfulness and the sacred work of grief, and their beautiful oneness with Belovedness.

************************************************************

What if we allowed ourselves to be better acquainted with grief, with sorrow, to not fear or shame them, but to welcome them? To work with and through them, to find meaning and hope in them? Would restoration and renewal come? Would we become whole, in ourselves, as a nation, as a world?

 

 

Finding my voice, becoming my voice

/ Lanae / Leave a comment

I can’t, I won’t, hide behind silence anymore …

I’ve been finding my voice and learning to speak my truth, to speak truth with as much love and grace as I can. To live truthfully, with as much peace and grace and belovedness as I can – one of my deepest purposes.

However, a realization about finding and expressing my authentic voice arose during my most recent yoga teacher training weekend.

As often happens, the  physical movements of yoga reveal where there’s emotional distress or spiritual need, by how those things are reflected in the body. Certain poses can bring deep things to the surface, shine insight into some source of pain or struggle …

Poses in yoga are often meant to open an area of the body, to release tension or blocked energy or emotion associated with the tension. On several occasions, we held poses intended to open the throat area, with the head lifted up, the throat exposed. Instead of feeling openness, I still felt constriction, a lumpy tightness in my throat. I noticed and I wondered, with a sense of compassionate curiosity, why is that there?

The throat area is connected to voice, to self-expression, to being able to speak with liberty and with authenticity. Voice and self-expression means more than words, writing and speaking. It means also spirit, actions, choices made and opportunities taken, living fully and wholly, not closed but wide open to possibility and opportunity, to risk and growth …

… and so the closed, constricted feeling showed me that I’m still struggling to find clarity and to let go of inhibition and constriction in my self-expression, my soul-expression. That somehow, I was feeling stifled … or was stifling myself. But why, and how?

This message struck softly but deeply:

When I choose to constrain or confine my true voice, my silence is like a sacrifice … sacrificing my voice, sacrificing my truth.

Sometimes, silence is a right sacrifice … the kind that spares others in love, or in love recognizes that this is the time for other voices to be lifted up, to be heard. But that’s a silence that comes from stillness, a letting go of the ego-voice. An active silence, one that listens and loves and stands in solidarity and unity.

Sometimes, silence is a sacrifice made in fear, in pride … like an act of self-oppression, conscious or unconscious. Not a silence emerging from centered stillness, but from an unquiet ego or restive heart.

Then, the understanding sounded in my mind like a mindfulness bell:

I’m seeking to find my voice, yet still sacrificing or stifling it … still choosing silence or inaction in moments of opportunity, choosing self-oppression instead of self-expression, soul-expression.

Because I still wonder sometimes, who wants to hear my voice … who will hear it? And will people hear integrity, truthfulness, and belovedness in my voice? And will they hear them not just in my words, but see them in my soul … will they see and hear my soul in my voice?

And so the questions, because I feel uncertain of the answers, cause me to silence or stifle my voice. Sometimes, that’s good and right; sometimes, not.

Yoga, its movements and meditation, are helping me become more deeply aware of spiritual, mental, emotional ways in which I still silence or stifle myself, because it’s been a long-standing pattern of being.  Because it’s been routine to question and to silence my voice …

And because I still have attachments to old self-images, self-concepts, self-judgments …

Such as the notion that I’m not good at teaching, not meant to be a teacher! A writer or a speaker, yes. A counselor, perhaps. But a teacher … me?!

And yet, here I am in a yoga teacher training class! Why was I led to be there? Clearly because I needed to learn how to be a teacher … that I can be a teacher … that I am already a teacher. So that I could discover and honor my voice as a teacher … and find a richer, more authentic, wholly alive voice as a writer, speaker, counselor, parent, human and spiritual being, too!

So that I could see the ways in which I have still kept myself bound by fears, doubts, unbelief … and let those bonds unfurl, fall away. Explore the possibility that some, or many, of my ideas about myself and my truth and my potential have been limiting or not even accurate! See how they’ve constricted my voice, my soul-expression …

Let go of those self-limiting, soul-limiting, ideas, beliefs, choices … one way to find my voice. One way for you to find your voice!

Let go … and become more aware of the voice that is already there. Set it free! Let go of fear, doubt, shame … let the voice that is in the soul flow forth. Set it free!

But perhaps the deepest, truest thing I have learned, is that it’s less about finding my voice … and more about becoming and being my voice. About knowing my soul. Hearing its beautiful, true voice. Speaking, living, being that voice, in whatever I am or do .. or teach!