Take a seat. Close your eyes and imagine how much you will regret if you keep living your life exactly the same way you are right now. How do these thoughts make you feel? Is your body tense? Does your mind feel imprisoned? Feel it as clearly as you can. And then ask yourself: is it time to toss your broken record?
So the next man you will love... differently. Perhaps the love you felt with your ex was like bubbly champagne and the next guy will be that deep velvety red with a lovely oak finish. There is no less or more but just... different.
I sit there and hold myself, often literally. I reach out and touch my hand on the mirror, on my reflection, and I tell myself, "You're safe, you're okay, I'm not leaving you, you've got this, I'm with you, I'm here."
Watch out for the good things coming your way. Watch out for opportunities springing into your path. Say Hello to people who are awesome like you, who may cross your path to join you for those special moments. Enjoy, enjoy enjoy the spring in your step, as you skip with flowers and butterflies in your hands towards your epic life.
I wasn't entirely surprised when my child joined us at that bewitching hour, the alchemy of dark turning to light. The alchemy of my darkest hour in my deepest mystery, when my own beating heart washed up onto dry land. When my tiny merman made his brave voyage from his watery nest, onto this side of consciousness. When my body died another death -- from girl to woman; from woman to mother -- and rose from the ash like a phoenix to claim its righteous place as a giver of life.
She knows this threat, this danger, is coming, and she needs to keep my body ready and alert for this. Sort of like waiting for a hurricane to come that you've heard about on the news. Because if it came and I wasn't ready, I'd be fucked. If the threat came -- the one that is seemingly going to hit any second -- and I wasn't prepared to deal with it or to attack back or to hold on to my protective armor that this part holds up for me, then I'd be screwed.
Metta is the Pali word for loving-kindness or friendliness. It literally means fat with friendship. Along with karuna (compassion), mudita (sympathetic joy), and upekkha (equanimity), it's considered one of the brahmaviharas (divine abodes) in Buddhism. In my experience, it's one of the most rapid routes to exquisite happiness that there is.
Certain things hurt, it's true. If someone deliberately hurts you by actions or nasty words, it stings. But still other people are not the problem. Ultimately your own reaction to their words and actions is what leads you to freedom or a dead end.
By Brittany Connors
“You know you have bear in you too,”he said.“And otterand wolfand eagle and fox.”But I didn’t hear him.I shifted one more timefeet stumblingever the newborn foal that I was.I’d shiver at the sunand twitch from actionand cloak myself in a shadowor the nightor someone else’s luminescent lightjust to get out of the way of it all.When my voice came out, it was a rasp –wind creaking through battered trees,and if I left footprintsanywhereyou were soon to find me quicklysweeping them uppreserving the ground the way it wasbefore I came along.He said it again.Later in life.Then later again:“You know you have bear in you too,And otterand wolfand eagle and fox.”Luckily little foal had chance to grow.My life wasn’t over yet.Yes.I had bear in me too.And otter.And wolf.And eagle and fox.And me, among...
Forgive myself for fucking up? Forgive myself for doing things that caused, or cause, myself pain and greater sorrow or heartbreak or turmoil or struggle? Forgive myself for neglecting my needs and depriving myself of things I enjoy? Forgive myself for failing, for saying or doing the wrong thing? Forgive myself for being selfish or being mean? Forgive myself for having qualities I hate about myself? Forgive myself for having patterns that Piss. Me. Off.?
When I cautiously shared the pain in my heart with a group of my trusted religious friends, one of them fled to the opposite side of the room for the rest of the evening. My vulnerability was standing naked center stage. Had I done enough to try and save my marriage? What if I had worked just a little bit harder, or settled for just a little bit more of what I was being given?
I need to feel independent from you, and most importantly, I need to feel myself. I need to go on dates with Vitality, and have naked morning cuddles with Energy. I need to write poetry with Freedom and sing rap songs with Life.
Oh, hell, yes. I want to look back and see a juicy, balls-to-the-wall, no-stone-unturned, bittersweet, handmade life. I want to say, "Yes," when I'm on my deathbed. I want to see that, "hell, yes" sketched onto my face as I shuttle through the coming years. I want to write that yes, nothing-but-yes, across an azure sky.
When she died, that light imploded in on itself, scattering far and wide to moments in the future that I've been finding sporadically in the wake of her absence. Her being is laced in the falling snow and the twinkle of my eye. Her blessing is in every pleasant surprise, and her soothing words still console every setback, even if I have to call them up by memory.
... are we not, therefore, the product of all of our positive experiences too? Are we not carrying around the satisfaction of every heartfelt compliment and word of encouragement? Are we not resonating with every kind smile, every yet-to-be-realized dream and every moment of pure joy which linger inside of us, waiting to be recalled and re-lived to remind us of how amazing we really are? I believe that for every breakdown, there is a breakthrough. For every put-down, there is a great big hoist-up, and for every thunderstorm, there is a rainbow that follows.
As life progresses, there is this proclivity to toil with the recollection of our sadness, leaving us amidst a talus of strife. I asked myself, could it be that the altar of happiness is built on the ruins of sorrow?
But I want them to know well the Selfish and the Selfless that lives within each of us, and the delicate dance between the two. To experience the wilderness of reclamation and the surrender of relinquishment that is a part of every negotiation we will walk as women who burn and ask and risk.
Our busyness, after all, is just a cover, an existential numbing agent, a cloak we use against emptiness. It allows us cover up the realization that a life unexamined, one without joy, love or beauty is meaningless.
It is a very powerful practice to journal with positivity and gratitude. When I write this way, I am writing affirmations for myself each time I write. The more I tell myself these positive messages, the more I see their truth emerge in my life – the power of positive thought and intention.
The world seems to be absorbed in a hedonistic rush to a more comfortable place with a more beautiful view occupied by more attractive people dressed in more expensive clothes and driving a more elite model car to a more private club to meet their friends who are just, well, better than yours.
Lying in a hospital bed, having just tried to kill myself, with the nurses setting up a private phone-line to cater for all the love flooding in for me from friends, showed me that I deserved to know a different way of being in the world.
I thought for a while about whether it was possible for me to sit and talk to her without really saying anything. I have been so good at this in the past, and I am still a master at it with so many others.
What if we didn't have to dive all the way in to full silence? What if we were allowed to approximate silence in a way that feels like a paper cut or a brush-burn, instead of a stabbing wound in the gut? Why must it be Total Silence, as though that's the only way magic happens?
There are many that believe when we leave this earth we go to heaven. Maybe we do. Maybe we don’t. Maybe we return as a rabbit. Let me show you my magic hat as I attempt to pull a rabbit out for you, and offer some thoughts that may change the direction you take as you review your travel plans.
Even my sadness is not permanent, in fact constantly changing the degrees, shapes, and tastes, moment by moment. If I am not able to notice the subtle changes of my grief, I must be simply dreaming unconsciously and unconscious dreaming is neither productive nor graceful.
She had lost her branch, the place of her perch, where a small bird feels mighty. Now, the giant leaves swarmed around her, and crunched beneath her little feet. She missed their rustling. She missed many things.