Breaking Through the Self

I celebrate Earth Day coming from the inside out.  Like the hatchling, I break out first.  You may see it as a crack or a hole.

My specialized egg tooth is meditation; well equipped on the inside. Breathing the air deeply I ready myself to break free; the air that is within the egg.  Like the egg tooth itself, all dissolves.

Then I have to peck to break out. This takes consistent effort. Rajas – passion, energy and motion. Not just when my butt is on the cushion or the mat is rolled out; daily with self-love and discipline; striving toward my goal. The yolk that sustains me is tapas – the fire of desire.

Working in circles, using its wings for propulsion and feet to kick, the chick takes rest in between pipping. Permission to spend more time on the inside to strengthen when what is outside is hard. I cannot break out until I land.

Some chicks are preoccupied with the pecking itself…always trying to do, learn, expectations, accumulations, letting busy be a distraction.  Mistaking grace for boredom. Release and allow.

My tendency is to let the shell become armor for the Self. I will not let it harden ever again. Rest and peck the way nature intended. Too much substance breeds self-doubt. Tamas – complete darkness holding and limiting me.  Engage in outer activity. Break that shell.

Be open to the forces coming from the outside. Who breaks into me? Teachers? Loved ones? Difficult neighbors? View them all with a non-rejecting mind. They are here to help me find freedom. Agitations and affirmations coax me out equally. They peck in as I peck out.

My pecking out.  Their pecking in. They lead to the same place – life history, experiences, stories, all that is in my shell. In me, but not me.  I will break out.

Mother Earth supports transformation in spring. This chick will decide for herself when she is ready. My only goal is to break out. The final push, with no urgency to fly.

Love and Light,
Megan

The Heather Tree

There is a pine tree on the golf course across the road where I live. I remember the day it was planted over 35 years ago. I was 9 years old with a new golden retriever puppy and given the grown up responsibly of walking her. I would take her to that tree and let her off the leash to swim in the river while I rested my body on the wobbly trunk. Eventually, the branches made a good perch. This is how life flew though my childhood summers…walking to that tree with my dog and a smile in my heart.

Now I am older with 3 dogs and the wacky Wisconsin seasons test the hearty winter lover in me. Some days the walk is a chore. However, a small miracle occurs at that pine tree.  It is too large to climb, but instinctively, my hand reaches out to touch the trunk; a warm flow of energy goes up my arm to my heart, and I smile unintentionally.

You see, that tree is me.

The once flexible branches, are no longer able to bend on a whim with the wind. Where the outside was once smooth and soft, weathered lines appear on the thickening bark. Yet in the harshest of winters, the roots have been nurtured, growing deep and strong. As the tree grew bigger, it took on more responsibility; providing a warm shelter, restful shade, and happiness for the creatures who come in contact with it. If we could see the rings, we would know the inside has not died or changed; it still radiates with pure childlike love.

In memory of my first 4 legged love, Heather.

Peace, Megan

Post-Election Grief

Warning: Don’t read this if you are in a good place today.

I need you…one of you…any of you…my spiritual leaders, to tell me how to let this go and choose love; to be non-judgmental, but without enabling or accepting fear or hatred. I need someone to hold my hand this morning.   No, wrap me tight in their arms and tell me it will all be ok. Then I can look at my teenage daughters and say the same to them with sincerity when I wake them.   They can still be anything they want and are respected. They are old enough and know right from wrong, unlike half of our country.

Grief is the second most prevalent feeling in the human heart but we don’t discuss it in relation to something like this. Grief is the normal response to loss. What do I think I lost? The belief in the goodness of human nature. “A peaceful place or so it looks from space.   A closer look reveals the human race.”

The familiarity of the physical pain of grief: upset stomach, no appetite, headache, insomnia, spaciness.

Reminder of the stages of grief: First, accept the reality of the loss – I need to do this without seeing any more maps colored in fear red or an acceptance speech.

Proceed to the emotions: that is easy for the moment – sadness and anxiety.

Eventually, adjust to the new reality; redirect love.

But how can I when hatred hijacked our election?

Some think grief is the price we pay for love, but love has no price. Fear and hate do. Remind myself that love is the most prevalent feeling.

My meditation was full of tears; and now my mat is. Is there a mudra to stop tears? No, and they need to flow.   Along with the pen.

The upside down smile in down dog.   I realize I did 15 minutes of yoga in peace without thinking about it.

I catch myself floating back to finding blame.   Blame loved ones who voted for third party candidates.   Blame egos who only want what is theirs and forget the rest.   Blame my ass-backward state. Blame single issue voters.   The last one feels a little better because at least for them it was about an actual issue; not fear or retaliation.

Please, someone more spiritually advanced than me tell me, how can I choose love when the majority hates? Someone give me the strength and faith to learn the lesson and move forward.   This one got me. Big. Instagram telling me I should bleed bliss or find light in the darkness is crass. I can’t fake it. I live here and am too busy feeling sorry for myself and all those good people who will fall in his path.

The consequences of repressing feelings are much worse than feeling them.   Numbness is a feeling. Social isolation is the desire.   Hibernation is not an option. Work. School conferences. Feeding myself. I know I have to feel to heal.   And move my body to feel. On my own terms. And in this red town, likely alone.

In yoga, love is the opposite of attachment, which is suffering. What is it I am attached to?Fairness? Compassion? Human decency?   Thinking the popular vote should be enough?

I chant along to the music in a broken voice.   My body organically sways like I’m rocking a child. Trigger. Back to the sobering reality…my children, all the children – will this behavior continue and will they grow to think it is acceptable? How do we protect them from bigotry and mistrust? Will relationships with other nations be different for future generations? fourfuckyears

If you voted for him and you know, come forward and teach the cowards and bullies who hide their racism and sexism behind curtains.   White Wisconsin, you mask your hatred well. You are not “shy voters”.   You are Slytherins – mistrusting serpents of cunning and self-preservation.

Press the send button.   Don’t press the send button. Call me a sore loser. Grief will not breed hatred. But I recognize that I still have a lot of work to do on myself. Maybe that is the lesson.

Namaste, Megan

Choose Love

Raw and scared and hopeless and unsure and angry and revengeful: Hatred is a result of all of these faces. There is no need to see photos of victims, know their names or hear their stories; I choose not to know so please don’t talk details.  My protective cover is on. The sensational story lines are for the primitive brain where we chose to attack or hide.  My heart already knows them as me.

Each time it happens, being alone is where I release.  How do I know how long to keep the band-aide on? As long as the wound is healing, it needs to be in the dark where all filters are off. In daylight, I walk a line between not suppressing my emotions and trying to hold space.  One morning I don’t want to leave meditation because that may be the only place all day I don’t feel guilty for smiling and not attaching to the madness.   And the next day I want to scream at the top of my voice “I am tired of all this shit you hateful pricks”.  I also cry unobstructed without needing to explain why.  “Stop your crying.  Act like a big girl.” That is the bad advice I heard the mother tell her child last week. I am a big girl and I do cry. I allow myself all this and more.  Each emotion has it’s own energy. I feel their sensations in my body and give permission to go there. I can hold myself in sacred space. And whatever they may be, I make peace with my thoughts.

Somewhere along the way, I learned it is not in my job description to tell others who I am. No matter how long or how well you know someone, you never truly know them. People are not put in my path so I can tell them about myself.  They are here to teach me about mySelf.  They expose my difficult parts so I can grow spiritually.  What makes me weak, angry, judgmental? Please push those trigger points.  I will embody a stronger vibration.  But when the world feels this broken, part of me feels the need to explain myself – that I am like a bear and my method of self-nurturing is hibernation. It doesn’t mean I don’t care or am in denial or avoidance. Solitude is where I dig deepest into my heart space beyond all that is black and dead.

“Don’t look for the light to find me, become the light.” The first glimpse is not going to come from the evening news, on social media or in an emotional discussion on current events.  I find it alone in my wounds.  If I let myself get caught up in the stories and conversation, even with the best of intentions, I stay in the dark. The wounds become universal wounds – my wounds.  Evil prevails and too much energy goes toward trying to fathom the despise in another soul. I am my thoughts.  Why do I want them to repeatedly be of hateful humans and tragedy? They want me to be scared and judgmental. Protect yourself. Don’t trust each other. Instead I will be stronger in my resolve to see myself in others; because it is not death I fear – it is a world of better people living IN fear.

Hatred is a small child throwing a tantrum.  It has limitations and will exhaust itself.  It is only satisfied when it gets attention and recognition; Enter the Aquarian Age of information where Mass Media nurtures hate.  Love knows no boundaries, has no agenda and tiptoes quietly through the human madness. The energy of the heart heals.  The mind judges.  The heart is empathetic and compassionate.  The mind wants revenge and justice.  Nothing sinks us into survival behavior faster than allowing hatred to gloat; or it sends us into an emotional upheaval that society then tells us to restrain; or into the ego where anger lives.  We are certain we are better than the perpetrator.  I tell myself my hands are not weapons of hate.  But what are the small ways that my words and thoughts harm others?

Today is a full moon.  I choose to magnify love.

Namaste, Megan