God's Opinion Matters

The funny thing about thinking that you know who you are, is that when you start observing how you actually are versus how you think you are, you just might end up not only surprised but perhaps even horrified by what you find! So for a person (and I do mean me) who has believed all of her life that she doesn't really care what people think about her. . . .lol. . . .it's a bit of a shock to find that it actually matters what other people are thinking (and saying) about me.

But here's the thing. . . .I can't really control what people think about me. People are going to think whatever they're going to think about me, so it's not really about me, at all. It's really about how they interpret what they observe about me, which is really about them. We all want the proverbial "thumbs up" from the world. . . .but we don't always get it.

The reason why this is an issue for me, is because I am observing how anxious I feel when I really allow myself to acknowledge how other people respond to me. I notice things like how an attitidue changes. . . .or the tone in the voice changes. . . .or the look on someone's face changes. . . and I wonder why.

And I have been finding myself fantasizing (a lot) about being a spy fly on the wall so that I can know what people are saying about me (and not just wonder or worry about it), things I know they are not saying in front of me. I'm not a glutton for punishment, but I am finding myself just very curious about how "the other" really thinks about me. . . .and deeply bothered by how much it actually matters to me. . . .lol.

Intellectually I can tell myself that it doesn't really matter what people think about me, but it does. We're not isolated automatons functioning by ourselves. People don't want to be your friend (or date you) when they have negative thoughts about you. Places don't hire you (or allow you to stay working for them) when they have negative thoughts about you. And even family doesn't want to interact or spend time with you when they have negative thoughts about you. So, yes. . . .it actually DOES matter what people think about me.

Life is such a wonderful social experiment. I love learning things about myself that horrify me, because it keeps me human and ever on my toes, and makes me real within myself. If I always lived up to my own expectations, what kind of surprise would that be? And when I can observe myself and embrace the inconsistency of my own being, then it widens my world and makes me more aware of the inconsistencies that surround me. And right now, the biggest inconsistency in my life is my relationship with God.

The only opinion that really matters is the opinion that God has about me.

Each time I become aware of how anxious I feel about how other people are thinking about me, I ask myself what God would think of me. And I don't mean in a superficial "God loves me unconditionally" kind of way. I mean in a real way that makes me cringe and turn away from myself because I'm not sure that I could handle the truth of how God really thinks of me. God may love me unconditionally. . . .and God may forgive me. . . .but that doesn't really address the deeper spiritual question of what God actually thinks about me in spite of the forgiveness and unconditional love.

God must certainly have an opinion about me and the way I live my life in spite of the forgiveness and unconditional love. . . .I'm just not sure I can handle this truth. I want to be able to handle it. . . .I'm just not sure that I actually can. But I need to find out. . . .I really do need to find out.

Sharilla

I may not enjoy every single aspect of life here, but it is a great gift that my job allows time for me to do what I choose when there's not much else going on. . . .so tonight I was able to organize the information from the book (about the heroes within) into the structure of the PTSD treatment group I just completed (since this is the form of deconstruction I have continued to use). . . .and some interesting pieces of information about my process revealed themselves to me.

The Innocent is actually a strong archetype for me, although it tends to manifest in the invisible "shadow" aspects. When I experience an environment as being toxic or unsafe in some way, my warrior self kicks in to slay the dragons, I isolate myself from people, avoid confrontation, then make plans to "escape" to the next environment that is a more hopeful prospect of meeting my needs. It may be my process. . . .lol. . . .but I didn't say it was a helpful process :) But one of the reflective questions at the end of this section asks about friends or other people we can identify as having a stong Innocent archetype, and I immediately remembered the story of Sharilla. . . .

Once upon a time I lived in this wonderful little house in Riverside just down the street from one of my very best friends, ever. And one day Tikki stopped by with Cody (her dog) asking if Shadow and I wanted to go for a walk. So I saddled up Shadow, and the four of us went for a walk around Fairmount Park (which was just a few blocks from where we both lived).

It was a beautiful day, and as we made our way on the far side of the lake with the dogs we noticed a swan just off the shore that was calling out to us for help. (Keep in mind that it was actually only a pekin duck, but to us on that day's adventure, it was definitely a swan :) So we were immediately engaged with the swan as she made her way toward us, telling us her tragic story as she struggled to paddle on her own. Tikki and I were able to help the wounded swan out of the water, and I took hold of the dogs' leashes while she carried Sharilla. (And, yes, the swan told us that her name was Sharilla :)

Sharilla was an amazing swan who actually shed a single tear of gratitude in Tikki's arms as we made our way around the lake, but she had been injured in some way that we never really found out why, so Tikki and I unquestioningly accepted our roles as Sharilla's guardians charged with the delivery of her to safety. And so began the mystical adventure of the day, as we also made our way through the dragons and obstacles that impeded our efforts to save the frightened, but grateful Sharilla.

What happened on that amazing day was that our predominant archetypes had been activated. Tikki was amazing. She glowed with the purity of innocence, and almost floated rather than walked as she carried Sharilla around the lake. Me? My warrior self was definitely activated, and I served as the defender and protector of both Sharilla and the graceful innocence of Tikki's archetype.

Before we found the park ranger, we encounted a very shady character that to me appeared as a thug-like bad-guy that I was ready to kick his ass. . . .lol. . . .but Tikki walked right up to him and asked him for help with the pure innocence of a child. I was actually angry with her for what I felt had put us both at risk, but we survived just fine. We eventually found the park ranger who was very helpful, and he allowed us to take Sharilla with us to the animal rescue place that Tikki knew of somewhere down in San Diego.

Our friendship survived just fine the conflict generated by the different archetypes that were activated that day, and we still talk fondly about the day we saved Sharilla from certain demise. But what I see tonight is that Tikki embodied the pure essence of The Innocent that day, completely and absolutely trusting every single person we came in contact with, and trusting that we would be both protected and supported in our charge by Sharilla the enchanted swan.

I actually really love this quality about my dear friend, even if I don't always understand this nature about her, as I get irritated with her when she goes to that place of absolute trust and archetypal innocence. . . .lol. But I get irritated precisely because my initial reaction is not a stance of trust, but rather to prepare for battle with the dragons that surround me as I flee the kingdom in flame and ruins :) And I may never develop the kind of absolute trust the way that Tikki does so automatically, but I do think that it would be a very good thing for me to empower the more productive aspects of The Innocent. . . .

. . . .but trust is not something that comes naturally or easily for me. . . .which is why this kind of work is called work :)

The Irony of Transparency

Walking home from work this morning, I was reflecting on the irony of my blog. During my fifth grade year my brothers and I lived with relatives while my mom fought to regain enough strength to walk after she came down with MS, and my only outlet for what I was feeling was the diary my mom had bought me for Christmas that year. Five months later my aunt came to believe that my diary held the deep dark truth that she somehow felt entitled to know, so she had my cousin search my room to find it. . . .which she did. . . .and I returned from school that day to find my diary in my aunt's possession. . . .with  my soul bared in a way that I was just not prepared for at ten.

The worst thing in my diary was the fact that I had called my aunt a bitch, but I was only ten years old, and it was my private diary. Perhaps it wasn't the most elequent entry I have ever made, but she had no right to search for it OR read it, and she certainly didn't have the right to read it to my other aunts and uncles who had come over that following weekend. . . .but it happened.

It wasn't until my poetry classes as an adult at UCR that I began to understand what kind of impact that series of events had on me, and through some wonderful dialogs with a professor who hated my poems, I came to understand that my poetry was written so abstractly that it functioned as if it were written in a secret code. . . .anyone could read the poem, but it was so dry and symbolic that no one could ever know what I was actually writing about or trying to say (unless, of course, I "decoded" the poem and explained the veiled truth so cleverly hidden behind the word mask). I have gone back and reread some of this early poetry, and it actually hurts my brain to do so. But it was that class--and, more specifically, the dialogs with the professor about my coded poems--that first started to change the way I write.

So here I am, all of these years later, writing openly and honestly about the struggle for wholeness in my life and posting them publicly on my Facebook page. I may embed them within posts upon my wall (rather than post directly on Facebook), but it's still posted publicly. And I have no idea who reads them. . . .perhaps they are people who are simply curious, or people who genuinely care about me and my journey, or maybe those who don't know any better and stumble upon it to unsuspectingly find what I've written. In any case, my struggle and my journey is transparent and posted for viewing by people who don't really know me otherwise.

You've come a long way, baby!

This book that I'm reading about the twelve archetypes has been so very helpful, and the information about The Innocent has been amazingly well timed, because the ultimate journey of the Innocent is the "fall" from innocence through some kind of life experience that disillusions, disappoints, betrays, or any other number of ways causes our innocence to be lost. But at the end of that process, the goal is to return to Innocence, although in an experience, more wisened form.

So I'm just finding it wonderfully interesting how I have spiraled through the layers of healing from the stolen diary and the resultant encripted abstract poems to posting about my journey with a transparency and honesty that would most assuredly surprise anyone who had the mispleasure of having to read those early poems. And what I realized this morning is that writing and posting my blog in this transparent way is the journey of my return as the Wisened Innocent, because I am transparent in direct opposition to  life experience that has taught me that people can not be trusted with my personal information. . . .and yet I post.

My therapist tells me that I continue to have night mares because I don't have a place to talk about "the stuff." So if the writing of my blog helps me to eventually be able to sleep at night, then the writing of my blog is precisely what I'm going to do, because I want to sleep and dream without being awakened in panic by the nightmares. And if other people don't understand my need to blog, then that is just part of the complexity of human nature. And, yes, it is true that there are a lot of ways that people could hurt me with the information they read about my journey (especially the people I live with and work with here at the canyon), but that is between them and their relationship with God, and (quite honestly) is simply none of my business.

My business is with God, and my blog is so much more than an ironic transformation from a top-secret-coded abstract poet into a writer blogging what's painfully real and genuine as she journeys in search of her self in such a public and  transparent way. My blog is also the every day living evidence that I am not defined by my past or the traumatic events that may have changed the course and nature of my journey. So whether anyone else can ever understand my need to write and post my blog, I know that God does. . . . and this is the only truth that really and truly matters.

As for me. . . .I need to speak my truth, and so I write. . . .and I also need to trust and have faith again in people. . . .and so I post.

There's No Place Like Home

Home. That wonderful place where we are loved and accepted unconditionally. . . .that place where we can trust that we will be cared for and nurtured. . . .that safe haven that shelters and protects us from the cold and frightening storms of life. And all we have to do is click our heels three times, while reciting the magic magic words, "There's no place like home," and you will find yourself back in Kansas embraced by love and warmth you seek.

If only. . . .lol.

I'm reading a book about twelve archetypes of the hero's journey. It's a fascinating read, and I am processing through the first archetype right now. . . . The Innocent. This is the part of our human psyche that is first developed, that part of our collective experience that has need for safe environments where unconditional love and acceptance create peace and harmony for all. It's an archetypal idyllic environment, so it doesn't exist in the real world, but that fact doesn't change the basic human need to experience it. . . . or long for it.

Many grew up with this type of idyllic home life, but for others it's a life journey to find or create this for ourselves. But what I think is most amazing about this process, actually, is precisely how even if we've never really experienced that kind of environment for ourselves, we still have the capacity to believe in its possibility. . . .and experience such an undying faith in its existence. Some may call it "utopia" or "paradise." Others find it in the realities of "Heaven." But regardless where we find it as individuals, the point is that we believe in and have undying faith in the  reality of its existence, even if we've never really experienced it ourselves.

This single fact of human experience is evidence enough for me to believe in the existence of a Heaven where God embraces everyone equally with unconditional love and acceptance. I may not understand exactly how that all works, but I have absolute faith that Heaven and God exist, because I can not have a thought that is outside of God or what God has the capacity to create.

There are twelve archetypes to be processed through in this book, so I have roughly structured out the course of my year as doing some depth work with each archetype and apply it to my life to see what emerges. I love that the Innocent's needs are about environments, because it's also a major life theme for me right now, so it's a perfect tool for some process projection.

Bernie Siegel uses this concept of the safe place filled with unconditional love and acceptance in his guided imageries for exceptional cancer patients. In fact, it's the cornerstone of his healing-centered guided-imagery meditations, only he calls this safe place "your corner of the universe." And one of the first tasks is done as he guides the listener to create is this "perfect" place in there universe where we are surrounded by unconditional love and warm beauty, that place where healing on the spiritual level can be achieved.

With God, all things are possible.

The part of the world where I have control over how I create my corner of the universe is in the spaces I create, whether that be my home, or my office, or my studio. Clients used to tell me that my office felt like a prayer closet, which was the most amazing compliment for me, personally. Maybe I have a higher or more activated need for a space where I can feel safe and accepted unconditionally, but that fact (if it is one) is irrelevent, really. I am human, so I was born with an inherent need to feel safe, to trust, to feel loved and accepted unconditionally, and to believe in the possibility that life can always be better.

These are the gifts of The Innocent.

So my focus this month is on that primal experience of innocence with which we are all born, and on the continued creation of that safe place where I am unconditionally loved and accepted. My home is the place where I have the most control over how I create it, but it's not just a physical creation, as much as it is a spiritual creation, so I will also continue to seek God in all things and all people, as that's where I have always found the unconditional love and acceptance I need.

And maybe it's not quite as simple as clicking my heels together three times while reciting the magic words, but I do believe that the "Home" of God can be found where ever we are. . . .when ever we ask.. . .so click on, little spirit warrior. . . .click on.

Great Expectations

Everytime I think about the expedition of John Wesley Powell down the uncharted Colorado River I am filled with amazement and huge respect. We take for granted how we can expect to know where things are or where we will end up at the end of a journey, but to travel down an uncharted river? Like I said, HUGE respect.

Expectations are a funny thing, how they shape our lives like the canyon walls shape the course and direction of the river flowing through it.

One of the most powerful memories from my childhood is the morning I found the nearly full tub of popcorn on the counter. I was five years old, and the night before my mom had taken all of us (me, my brothers, and Judy's two kids) to the local drive-in. By intermission everyone was asleep, except for me, and since I was only five, I was tired too! But I was sitting "shotgun," so my mom tried to "bribe" me to stay awake with her for the second movie by buying the tub of popcorn during intermission. And apparently I had fallen asleep pretty quickly, because I found that tub of popcorn on the counter the next morning with only a small indent of popcorn I had eaten before falling asleep.

That tub of popcorn (to my five year old self) represented just how desperately and miserably I had failed and disappointed my mom, so I sat up on that counter top sobbing for more than 45 minutes with some of the deepest grief of my life. For me, it is one of the quintessential self-defining moments. My mom, on the other hand, never said a word to me about it, and probably never thought twice about how her five year old had fallen asleep at the drive-in. But I was the kind of kid who all you had to do was look at me funny and I modified my behavior, so to find that tub of popcorn after my mom had bought it specifically for me? So that I would stay awake with her? Yeah, I had definitely let my mom down. . . .and here was the giant tub of evidence to prove it.

When expectations exceed reality, disappointment inevitably sinks in.

At five, I didn't really disappoint my mom as much as I had disappointed that internalized self-expectation that I had created for and about myself, that set of "great expectations" that shaped the canyon walls of my own life journey. In a perfect world I would have been able to tell my mom how I had felt, and she would have "corrected" these skewed expectations before I had permanently internalized them. . . .but I didn't grow up in a perfect world. And we don't know (as children) that we are internalizing skewed and unrealistic expectations about our selves, so it can sometimes take an entire life time for the river to erode enough of the sediments of time and experience to expose these expectations for what they are, and how they have not only defined but limited the course and direction of a life.

But internalized expectations aren't always expectations of greatness and the resultant disappointment, as the shadow set of expections that children can internalize are the expectations of failure. And these expectations hold the power to make us feel like no matter what we do, or how well we may actually do it, we will never, ever, be good enough. This set of expectations is not the expectations of greatness to which we aspire, but the expectations that we do everything within our power to avoid. This is the set of expectations I find myself unexpectedly working through now, because I am confronted (both day and night) with how I am perceiving and anticipating other people's response to my return to work after a leave of absence that leaves even me questioning my place in the world.

The only expectations that really matter are the ones that we have internalized about our self, because these are the ones that we take with us no matter where the journey flows.

There are some who do not survive the river, but rather succomb to its unrelenting force against the canyon walls, and I often wonder if this isn't what happened to my mom, but there is no way to know, for sure. But one thing is certain, and that is that you can't always tell by looking from the outside what a person is experiencing on the inside.

I have a friend who believes that we invite into our life exactly what we don't want, if that is what we remain focused on. So, is this what I'm doing? Is my focus on not disappointing people and not failing shaping the way other people are responding to me? I wonder how my experience would be different if I could just "go with the flow" like John Wesley Powell, with no expectation of the journey or the destination, to let go of the need to control this outcome and just let the river carve the canyon.

Being Human

I don't do TV, but one of my fellow coworkers was recently telling me about a TV show called "Being Human." It's about three "people". . . a Vampire, a Werewolf, and a Ghost who was murdered by the person who owns the house they all live in together. . . .and the basic plot of the show is about how they help each other to fight and overcome their monstrous natures (like how when it's a full moon they lock the Werewolf up so that he can't harm anyone). I'm generally not into underworld things, but what I love about the idea of these characters is how they accept one another's darkest nature and become allies in each other's fight against their inner demons.

In my experience, it is rare to find this kind of compassion and unconditional acceptance, because it's such a natural (human) response to turn away from the dark truth of another person's life. But to turn back around and love that person in spite of their darkness? Now, that is a rare gift of humanity. And I am very fortunate to have such people in my life, but they're not always the people that I have wanted or "expected" to turn back around and love me in spite of myself.

I relate to these underworld characters, although not because I identify with the "evil" nature of their dark characters, but rather because their dark character is not who they are or who they were born to be. First of all, something happened during their life time that changed them into the Werewolf, Vampire, and Ghost, so their spirits certainly weren't created this way. Secondly, there are very clear triggers that activate their dark behavior: the Werewolf only hunts when the moon is full, just as it's not until the "bloodthirst" kicks in that the Vampire needs to be restrained in some way. In the absence of the full moon and the bloodthirst, they are able to fight and resist the dark forces in their struggle to be human. And perhaps most importanly, they can't do it alone. . . .they need each other in order to successfully resist the dark forces that oppress and bind up their true spirit.

This is exactly how it is with my panic. There are triggers (some more clear than others) for the high-maintenance frantic behaviors that get activated with the panic, but that is precisely the point. . . .they get activated, so they are not my inherent nature, not who I am, but rather something that I experience because of the out-of-control biochemical systems within the flawness of my very human flesh. My spirit does not create the chaotic panic, but rather it is my body that cycles chaotically out of control.

The moment of truth is not, panicko ergo sum. . . .lol. . . .my deepest truth is, spiritus ergo sum.

OK, so my Latin needs some work. . . .lol. . . .but all joking aside, this is a very important distinction for me, because it means that the deepest truth of who I am is not the panic and the chaos that ensues, but rather the spirit of God that flows through all things, including me. And it is this fact alone that opens the door to compassion, because the people who love me are the ones who can see the truth of my spirit shining through in spite of my very human experience.

As for me, I do what I can to grow and evolve as a human being, and to find the strength to pick up and carry the cross I have to bear. But I also know that I am not alone in this stuggle, for each of us has our own cross to bear, our own human suffering, our own personal passion. But that's all compassion really is. . . .the ability to walk with the passion of another spirit in search of its deepest truth.

Too Much of a Good Thing

Whether or not I have planned this out, I am learning how to become an "expert" on understanding panic disorder and PTSD. . . .not because I want to, mind you. . . .but because I have to. . . .if I want to have any functionality in my life at all. This is my journey, and I embrace it fully, dive head first into the terrifying darkness of the unknown, then emerge (hopefully) the wiser for having done so.

Today I am emerging from two days of having my body and mind taken hostage by chemical peptides that were originally designed by God to help me to survive. It's called the Fight or Flight reaction, and it's that part of our instinctual survival mechanism that is intended to happen outside of our awareness, because if we had to stop and make a cognitive assessment of a dangerous situation before we responded, we would probably end up dead.

God made the Fight or Flight process. . . .to help us survive the dangers of our world.

There is a third aspect to this process, a third face to this survival mechanism, and that's called the Freeze part. If you are unable to fight or flee, then God has designed it so that the mind and body become paralyzed and immobile. It happens a lot in nature when an animal "accepts" that it's about to die, it will sort of just sit there waiting for the inevitable. It also happens when a person is unable to fight or flee. . . and so they freeze up, not knowing what to do. (This actually happens a LOT with me.)

God may have designed this process to help us survive, but Panic Disorder (and PTSD) is absolutely the Fight, Flight, or Freeze process gone wild and completely out of control.

I don't know if we're born with certain proclivities toward one reaction or the other, but what I have learned about my own process is that I don't like to "scruff" with people, so I'm typically not a fighter, but I will when backed hard enough into a situation. Although there are ways that I fight, my predominant method of response is the flight part, only I call it my "escape plan." And I am just starting to learn about this third way and how it affects me, how the "Freeze" part manifests in terms of every day process.

It's just interesting to me (sitting here safe and sane) that I have just lived through all three responses. Going to Prescott for the last of the PTSD treatment groups on Friday, the part that kicked in was the Fight response. . . .not fighting other people, but the fight against the PTSD, making plans and hoping for a better life, renting space for my creative artist to thrive on the other side of a relocation into an environment that IS better suited to meet my needs. That was the warrior in me. . . .fighting against the odds. . . .lol. . . fighting against what oppresses my creative spirit. I love this warrior self. . . .she is, quite honestly, the only reason why I am alive to this day.

And I left Prescott fueled with hope and excitement. . . .until about halfway between Prescott and Ashfork, and that's when the fear-induced creeping toxic panic begain to take hold causing a very frantic 24 hours of dealing with the trailer incidents that ended up with me spending a whole lot of money for nothing. This was the Flee part of the reaction. . . .the "it's now or never" part of the belief that helps to fuel the panic, and when it couldn't happen, the next layer invisibly kicked in, the part of my process that is much less understood.

When I returned from Flagstaff yesterday, I felt completely immobilized, both psycholigically and physically, like how even folding my laundry and putting it away felt like an unnatural act that required the sheer will of a saint just to fold one pair of socks. My brain ached, and my body just didn't move. . . .so I sat there staring off into space feeling like a failure as a human being, wondering what the hell was wrong with me, and trying to figure out what I needed to do next. Am I not praying hard enough or correctly? Am I not doing something else well enough or right? And then I had to pull myself together and go to work. . . . lol, but not until after I was able to spend the evening with a friend who understands the effects of stress, so she helped to normalize the effects the stress were having on me, and we laughed and enjoyed a wonderful evening together.

By the time I drove home this morning, my brain no longer ached, my body was trembling, and when I lay down to sleep I could feel the tension release, finally cry and feel the truth of my very young self all curled up in the darkness of her closet unable to fight or escape what was happening in the next room. And so it was that patience and compassion filled my spirit so that I could soothe the young me whom God had helped  to survive unnatural events by immobilizing both my mind and body. Feeling the truth of this and releasing the grip allowed me to sleep, even if for a short while.

This is the process I am learning to embrace in an environment that micro-manages every single aspect of our lives, so it's humbling and humiliating on a level that the average person can't really understand. There is no privacy here, no personal moments where a flawed humanity has a chance to heal behind the veil of a pulled together projected self-image of strength and confidence. So be it. . . .if people judge me here, then that is honestly their issue, not mine. I am doing the absolute best that I can, and if that's good enough for God, then it's good enough for me.

If I were a parent with a child who responded to the world in this way after having survived the chaotic environment she grew up in, I would protect this child fiercely from the judgments of well meaning, but ill informed bystanders, which is exactly what a good parent does. Maybe people don't always understand me, or the way I go through life, but I am learning how to navigate my way through an unnatural terrain created by an unnatural environment filled by unexpected wolves with rules that just no longer make sense. And I am also finding unexpected allies in healing here at the canyon (and elsewhere). So for these brave and compassionate souls, I am eternally grateful for the hugs and FBcomments of support when I feel the most ashamed and at my utter worst.

I don't think my life is any more or less stressful than anyone else's, but I do find that the way I respond to that stress is skewed and screwed. Some people drink, some hunt elk, some jump out of airplanes or blow things up as a way of "releasing" the stress caused by everyday life, but me? I fight against the panic by creating escape plans, and when they don't work, I become immobilized for a while until this toxic torrent of biochemical process releases my body and mind back to the rational, reasonable me.

I am learning, albeit slowing and painfully, how to change the way I invisibly respond to the stressors in the world, but it's the way God made me so that I could survive, even if it is, at times, way too much of even a good thing.

Designer Genes

Last night I watched testimony before a Senate Committee on C-SPAN. According to the testimony, scientific research is now showing that the human genome can be altered by trauma during childhood. The research also indicates that biological diseases, including cancer, are more prevalent in adults who experienced trauma in their childhood.

A child's genes are actually altered through the experience of trauma!

So I have continued to research this, and other research shows that trauma (such as car accidents and the like) turns on certain gene pathways, and the mortality rate of the person is affected by the specific gene pathways that are activated by the trauma. This means that if certain gene pathways are activated, the person is either more or less likely to survive! Amazing! I don't really understand the specific gene pathways discussed, but it's amazing to me just how dynamic these genes are.

These research findings are like believing that the world is flat, only to discover that it is actually round!

There is so much more to the body and mind than we ever thought possible. We can now look at PET scans and SPECT scans of the brain of a child growing up in "chaotic" environments and actually see that their brain functions differently (and abnormally). And now, this addition to the body of scientific knowledge that a child's genome can actually be altered by a traumatic experience. . . .it just changes everything!

We used to think of the human brain and genes as these generally static things. A person was born with a certain number of brain cells, and that remained the same throughout a person's life. We also used to believe that a traumatic spinal cord injury meant a life-time of paralysis. And we used to believe that genes remained the same (unless mutated by some kind of unnatural force, such as radiation exposure). But none of this, as it turns out, is scientifically factual, at all.

So my question is this: If trauma affects the genome, does that mean that the human genome is affected by all environmental conditions to which we are exposed?

I have believed for many years that the possibility exists for genes to be changed for the positive, because each and every time a cell divides, there exists an opportunity for some kind of mutation occur, but why does this mutation always have to result in a "negative" change or outcome? Why can't a genetic mutation yield a "positive" change in some aspect of the human's developmental evolution?

This new scientific knowledge only serves to confirm what I have always believed, and that is that we are ultimately not defined by our genetic code. In fact, I believe that we are always in a constant state of genetic flux. Which means that even though traumatic events may, in fact, alter our genetic pool of information, I also believe that we can create positive change in this genome through conscious connection and focused intention.

And we see the effects of this every day, only we call it healing.

Line Dance

I have a lot of experience with conformity to social expectations, and also the lack thereof. We human beings write books and poems about the road less traveled, and how taking these roads will somehow make all the difference. We create posters that dare us to be square pegs in the round holes. We sing about dreaming the impossible dream, and remind each other how what other people think of us is just none of our business.

So why are we still so afraid to step out of line?

What I'm finding interesting tonight is how even though I've pretty much spent my whole life stepping out of line, I am still affected by what other people think about the way that I live my life. It doesn't stop me necessarily from turning my whole life upside down, but I am still affected by what other people think about me and the choices that I make. It's just interesting...because I would think that a person with such a long history of gypsy living would be more immune to the thoughts of others. . . .but she's not :)

Since 1998, I've had a very strong vision of the way I want my life to be structured, and while I've made several attempts to create this vision, I have not (yet) succeeded. Sitting here tonight, I see very clearly how that incomplete success is caused by the lack of a complete commitment to the creation of the vision. And, interestingly, the lack of commitment is informed by my anticipation of how other people will think about me and the life I have structured. It just surprises me. . . .to find this lurking within me.

Ham or eggs?

I love this line from one of the Gray's Anatomy shows where the husband of a wife shares the wisdom of commitment as "ham or eggs." The chicken is involved, he says (because the chicken DOES provide the eggs), but the pig, ah, the pig is committed to the project. So, which is it. . . .ham or eggs? Am I going to remain involved with my life, or am I going to make a committment to it? Ham or eggs? It's that simple.

The Shiny Gift

I received a wonderful gift this holiday, a box of assorted chocolate truffles wrapped up in the most amazing blue irridescent paper like winter delight wrapped magically around this package. I don't even want to unwrap this gift, so beautiful is the package! But this unsuspecting gift is yielding something so much more important than the potential delightment of my tastebuds that calls to me with the same magical taunt of a Narnian turkish delight!

But some gifts, perhaps, should just never be unwrapped.

On a symbolic level, this gift embodies my life here at the canyon. During my two years here, I have fallen completely in love with the canyon, especially during the winter wonderland time of the year when my path to work in the wee hours of the night can feel like God has sprinkled magic dust of enlightenment (just for me) through the frozen crystals upon the grounded ice and snow...which is what this wrapping paper reminds me of....that magical sparkle that draws me in and guides my way along the darkness of the path.

But there's something inside this box that is not good for me, and I know it. Yes, of course, we're talking about a few chocoloate truffles...lol...but it doesn't change the fact that these chocolates are still not good for me, just like how there are certain parts of my life here that are specifically and fundamentally just not good for me. . . .and that's not ever going to be any different. . . .ever.

Do I open and eat them anyway when I know full well that doing so is not good for me?

I feel like the heroine/victim in the Blue Beard story, how she can't wipe the blood clean from the key once she has discovered the truth of what lies behind the door unlocked by this simple little key. So I love these little nuggets of spirit disguised as chocolate truffles that have made their way into my life, because they enlighten my path in deeper wisdom than anything my human mind could ever communicate to my self. Because sitting here looking at this package I just can not deny the awareness that as pretty as the package may be, the tiny little truffles that lie lurking beneath the irridescent wrapping are never, ever going to be good for me. . . .

There is a reason why they say, "Ignorance is bliss," because how, now, will I ever be able to eat these tiny little nuggets of chocolate, when they have been symbolically filled with the denial-piercing wisdom of spirit?

Roots

I don't know why I need to be reminded of this truth (over and over again), but we don't just wake up one day as who we are. . . .we have become the person we are because of everything that has happened before today.

Life is a journey, not a destination.

So today I am reminded that there are roots to everything, roots that are not always easy to discern. I needed to cry today, but didn't know why. And, yes, sometimes I do need to understand why I feel what I feel, because there are roots to every thought and every feeling, even if I don't have conscious awareness of them.

I didn't just feel like crying today for no good reason.

I hesitate to write the words. . . .words that belong to an eight-year old, and not really me. This is her story to tell, not mine. Today she shared her story with me, and I listened. I know this is vague, but that's the way the roots of feelings are. . . .vague and indistinct.

I think that's why feelings can sometimes be hard to understand. . . .because the roots of what we feel run so deep and underground. Or maybe we're just not ready to hear what the feelings are trying to say, and so we escape or avoid until we're ready listen. . . .or until the roots have been  exposed for exactly what they are.

Today, the roots were exposed. . . .

I went to mass tonight, my first time here at the canyon, in search of something to help me move beyond the roots, beyond the feelings, beyond this ever pervasive sense of disconnection and isolation. Maybe not so much to move beyond the roots, but perhaps to find a way for my roots to feel connected to those roots that run deeper than me and ground me to something more than just the smallness of my life.

Location, Location, Location

Some lessons need to be relearned at each new layer of my personal evolution, and today's insight is no different. I am reminded this day how the environment in which a choice is made must be considered when trying to understand how that choice came to be made. Just as a developing fetus can not be viewed as a distinct being away from its womb, the developing human being can also not be understood as separate from its environment.

Every story has a location, a context, an environment, that geographical and psychological real estate which contains the experiences of the story.

Family therapy is built upon the foundation of systems theory, a theory that postulates that the behavioral symptoms of an individual  (i.e., the "identified patient") can not be understood outside of the context of its system (which, in family therapy is the family). Therefore, the family context becomes the corner stone of family therapy because the family creates the system, or environment, that contains each family member. And each family member thus responds to what's happening within that family system. The other foundational cornerstone of family systems theory is that the entire theory was formulated by psychiatrists seeking to understand how schizophrenia develops within a family context. . . .lol. . . .hence the term schizophrenogenic. But I digress. . . .

Systems theory is not just about the family as a system, but any system such as work, school, church, family, social groups, etc. These environments are structured by some kind of unifying system of values, beliefs, rules, regulations, or even laws, but these codes shape and inform the way that people behave and make choices within that system. (I did not say cause, I said shape and inform.)

I love personal therapy, but I did not enjoy the part of my training that mandated that I diagnose mental illness or family dysfuntion after a 40 minute conversation so that the clinic could be paid for said servies. My only saving grace in grad school was a tiny paragraph of the introduction to the DSM, which very clearly stated that a diagnosis of mental illness (or family dysfunction) was not appropriate if there were circumstances in the client's environment that better explained the behavioral symptoms. My work as a social worker always made more sense, because the environmental factors were not just considered, but became a source of restorative intervention.

Why is this important for me today? Because today I am reminded that my panic attacks did not just happen "out of the blue." They were contained within a specific environment, with a specific code of expected behavior, and in response to a specific series of events. They (the panic attacks) have evolved into a habitual way my body communicates when it is stressed by an apparent endless list of circumstances (both identifiable and not). But the choices that I made in how to respond to all of this were absolutely informed and shaped by the extremely restrictive environment I was in at the time.

I am thinking right now about the Sandusky scandal. . . .or the endless scandels that have ever taken place because people do not speak up in response to something that "shouldn't" be happening. It's very easy for outsiders to observe the events after the scandal has emerged and wonder why these otherwise caring, intelligent people didn't speak up in the face of what they witnesses or experienced.

But it's not just about self esteem, self confidence, personal power, or personal agency. . . .and it's also not about how intelligent a person is, or how caring they may otherwise be. It's also about the environment that contains the self and the person. . . .so I need to remember this fact the next time I beat myself up for the choices that I made. . . .and also when I start to question why someone else did not speak up, because people can only speak up when they feel safe and free to do so. . . .

Happy as a Cow

I was sitting in my car last night waiting for the keyholder to arrive and unlock the building door of the meeting I was attending, so I had a little bit of time on my hands. This particular church is on the outskirts of town, so there was nothing but open space past the parking lot where I waited. It was just hitting sunset, and the Arizona scrub backdropped with distant mountains made for a wonderful sight, but that's not what caught my attention.

In the middle of all of that Arizona scrub was a small cluster of cows just walking around eating grass, and I wondered if they even noticed the beauty of the sunset, which was sort of the point of what intrigued me. They may not have noticed the sunset, but they also weren't worried about the economy or their housing status. They weren't angrily mooing in protest of bovine stock market abuse crying out, "Occupy Arizona Fields!" And they certainly weren't having panic attacks because there might not be enough grass to eat tomorrow. For all they knew, tomorrow would be the day the rancher scurried them off to market, but they weren't chewing their cud anxiously worried about how unfair it was that they were going to become someone's dinner. No, they were perfectly content to just mull around munching on the grass as the sky darkened around them, and whatever else was going on in the world was just not something that was going to disturb their inner peace.

What does that say about me, that I envy the cows with their apparent bovine bliss?

I don't know, but I'm thinking about the cows again, the cows and their perfect example of how to live in the now of the moment. Maybe that's where the phrase, "How, now, brown cow" comes from. . . . .lol.

Seeing What's Real

Children learn what they are taught. You show a child a cup, you call it "cup," and thus they learn what a cup is. That's the way God made us. But when it comes to other things in life, things that are perhaps not as tangible as "cup," sometimes this way of learning gets things all mixed, such as when a child is shown one thing, but it's called something else. Like how you can't beat the crap out of someone and call it love. . . .yeah, stuff like that. Because when a person learns about life in this "crazy-making" way, it can make it very hard to look through the deception and illusion to see what's real.

I have always found it interesting how Satan is described as the weaver of deception and illusion. . . .

I think this is one of the hardest parts about life. . . .to see things as they really are. . . .and then name it for what it is. . . . especially when we are being told something other than what we are knowing or experiencing. Which is why I also believe that what we "know" is so much more than simply the accumulation of what is written upon the human being's tabula rasa by other human beings. Because no matter how skewed the world may be presented to us, there is always something inside of us that whispers to our mind, "Something's not right," and it is this inner truth that gives us the courage to see things as they really are, and then to name them, even when that makes other people uncomfortable.

I Am Not Alone

I had an interesting dream last night. In the dream, I am traveling with a group of soldiers, and we stop for food. The driver is an ass, and starts driving so recklessly as we leave the restaurant that he almost hits an elk, so I decide to get out and walk the rest of the way on my own. As I put on my backpack, I take a hard look down the long road ahead and wonder if I will have enough food and water to make it on my own. Then I look over, and one of the other soldiers is putting on his pack and he says to me, "I'm going with you." And in this moment I know that I am the reason he has volunteered for this mission, that he is my personal guardian, and he was going to walk along with me to whatever end.

The funny thing is that I hadn't even really noticed his presence, because he had been so quiet and unassuming, and because I was so focused on the ass of a driver and his erratic and reckless driving and how scared the driver was making me feel. But the solder never even thought twice about picking up his pack and walking on with me. . . .just to make sure that I made it safely back home.

In the Army, we are trained from day one of basic training to never leave your buddy's side, especially when they're down. We weren't even allowed to go anywhere without our buddy, which had it's good points and bad. But life isn't always like that, outside of the Army, at least not the way that I have experienced life. There is a solidarity that I have never found anywhere outside of the Army, that sense of  "we're in this together" instant comradery. I miss that. . . .and I needed to feel that again.

This dream has stayed with me all day, and comforted my anxiety about feeling so alone and isolated down here in Prescott. . . .and I think the soldier in my dream last night was just God's way of reminding me that even though I feel like it right now, I am not alone. . . .not now. . . .not ever :)

The Path of Purpose

Every path has a purpose, but for every purpose there are many paths. I have walked many paths in the course of my life, but I feel like I am just begining to walk the path of my purpose. The problem has been that I didn't understand what that purpose is.

Does purpose mean the same thing as goal?

A part of my anxiety is that I remain focused on a specific goal. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. . . .that kind of fixation on an end point is what kept me on the path of education through a lot of chaos that could have very easily detoured me, but it didn't. . . .because I remained focused on the goal. But was obtaining an associate's degree, a bachelor's degree, and a master's degree my life purpose? God, I hope not.

Purpose is about that reason why you get up everyday, and while I I may not ever "know" why I was put on this earth, I do know that what makes me get up on most days is that I want to be the best person I can be. So I get up and suit up because I am constantly in a process of personal growth and evolution, which is why I actually enjoy the process of therapy and self-reflection, and why I do things like choosing the hardest professors in college because I know that I will learn the most from them.

I had one math instructor whose tests were so hard I used to joke that I looked like Albert Einstein after taking a test because I felt like my hair was literally standing up on end when I left the room from all of the stress wiping. His tests were desiged to not just test the pieces of knowledge the book had presented, but also how you could then take that knowledge and apply it to situations we hadn't yet encountered. People who failed every test could still get an A in his classes, because his tests were about achieving a higher level of understanding, and not just regurgitating what had been learned. I hated that man, but I took math classes from him every chance I could. . . .and I was the better person for having done so.

Life is hard right now because I haven't (yet) learned how to navigate the obstacles before me. . . .that's all.

Yesterday's homework dug up an important insight about the difference between purpose and goals. A great deal of my anxiety right now is enmeshed in the focus on a specific outcome with respect to something I have been battling at the canyon, a fight about a quality of life based on certain and specific pieces. But last night I realized that my purpose isn't successfully fighting for these certain and specific goals. . . .my purpose is successflly learning how to speak up and advocate for my self.

I am not in control of the outcome of my battle at the canyon, but one thing is definitely certain: I will fail to fulfil my purpose if I continue to believe that I don't matter, or that my needs don't matter. So the fulfilment of my purpose requires that I grow strong enough in the belief that I matter enough to advocate for my own needs to be met. Which means that the obstacles that are making their way into my journey provide me with exactly the right circumstances in order for me to develop that strength.

Just for today I can feel grateful for the obstacles, because they give me exactly what I need in order to grow strong enough to fulfil my purpose.

Yes, it's hard. Yes, I feel defeated some days. Yes, I feel like the stress of this "test" has caused my hair to stand on end. . .lol. But my needs do matter enough to fight for them. . . .that's why I'm here in Prescott. . . .that's why I've taken this leave of absence to participate in the VA's treatment group. . . .and that's why I continue to fight for my right to have a quality of life that best meets my needs in an environment that is making that extremely dificult.

So there are some days when I feel like my ass just got kicked, but that's because I still choose the hardest teacher available, because that's still how I learn the most. . . .

A Life Examined

According to Socrates, "The unexamined life is not worth living," but we're also told that "Ignorance is bliss," so which one do we believe? Who knows! As for me, I tend to side with Socrates on this one, which is why I believe that the therapeutic process is such a good thing, and probably at least one of the reasons why my graduate work took the path of therapy in the first place.

This week's "homework" involves the Socratic method of examining the beliefs that are the real underlying reason for why we do things, or why we feel the way we do about the things we do. It can be a tedious process, of course, but the work to trace the path of choices back to the source can yield some very interesting and helpful insights.

I'm still processing yesterday's insight about the metaphor of "the door" and the fear that I have about finding out what's on the other side. Some insights are merely interesting, while others are life changing. . . .and the insight about the door is definitely falling into the latter category. Knowing this truth about myself has motivated me to confront the fear and anxiety in so many different ways already.

Last night I asked the hard question of a friend that has been gnawing in my gut for several weeks, and I'm so glad that I asked, because the assumptions that I had been making were so far from the mark it makes me laugh at myself (and not necessarily in a good way :) The misunderstanding was my lack of clarification and nothing that she did, but the positive news is that the anxiety about it is gone. Such a simple fix. . . . just ask. . . .but when you are a person who avoids conflict in your personal relationships, asking the hard questions generally isn't the first choice on your list of options. . . .lol.

As I continue to process the asking of the hard questions, what I realize is that more often than not, the question isn't an overt question that simply needs to be asked, but rather an implied question. What I mean by this is that I don't always speak my truth (either in words or actions) in my personal relationshps because I am afraid of the answer to the following question, "If I say or do what I need to say or do for me, will you still like or love me enough to stay in relationship with me?" And my fear of knowing what's on the other side of this question then invites me to say or do something that I really don't want to say or do at all, but I do it anyway. . . .because I am secretly and invisibly afraid of the person walking out of my life.

Yeah, powerful stuff this examination of a life.

It's not always easy to see these invisible questions lurking behind the choices that I make in my personal relationships, but I know that there will be a hell of a lot less anxiety once I examine the things I do and say that I don't really want to do or say. And maybe finding out what's on the other side of these questions won't always be warm and fuzzy, but at least I will know. . . .and will no longer need to live with anxiety about the not knowing. . . .or do things I don't really want to do.

Socrates can be a big pain in the ass sometimes. . . .but so worth the pain :)

What's Behind Door #2

Today in group one of my ABCs was processed. It doesn't matter so much what that means, as much as it matters what I discovered about myself in the process.

The activating event (A) is the creaking sound I hear in the house at night, generally as I'm trying to go to sleep. Of course I think there's someone in the house (B), which makes me feel vulnerable and powerless (C). . . . but then the discovery occurred.

I feel vulnerable and powerless because my room is at the end of a long house, and even though there is a lock on the door, I am terrified about opening up that door to see if there is actually someone on the other side of that door. Talk about symbolic of just about everything in my life!

I feel vulnerable and powerless because I am afraid to find out what's on the other side of the door. And not just the door, that's the obvious piece. But there are questions that I avoid asking people in my life because I'm afraid to find out what's on the other side.

Awareness and Acceptance aren't enough. . . .it takes ACTION to rewire the brain.

So, no more fear! Tonight, when I hear the creaking, I'm going to open up that door no matter how afraid I might be of what I find, because it's not appropriate to lie in bed terrified that someone might be walking through the house and then just force myself to go to sleep! Someone might actually BE walking through the house, and knowing proactively is a whole lot better than finding out in other ways!

Proactive knowing is better than waiting in terror of what might happen. . . .

I'm also starting to ask the hard questions of the people in my life, because I'm no longer going to make assumptions about why someone has done something (or not done something). I'd rather know, than live with that ball of anxiety in my stomach from worrying and not knowing. It seems so simple, but I'm no longer going to let my fear of what's behind door #2 stop me from asking the hard questions.

Because once I know.. . . then I don't have to worry about it any more. . . .and I can then deal with "what is" rather than the endless possibilities of "what if."

The Beauty of the Fear

I spent the morning walking around Lynx Lake, trying to reconnect with the world around me and detox from yesterday's ordeal with the non-stop panic attacks. It's shocking just how much fear I live with in my body! These panic attacks are all about the fear, a fear gone wild, a level of fear that is completely out of control and unmanageable, like a wild fire burning everything in its path and filling the air with toxic fumes.

Can I find beauty amidst all of that out of control fear?

God is amazing; everything at that lake was created by God, the one creator. So what if God created me exactly the way that I am, even though that predisposes me to having panic attacks? What if I'm supposed to be this way? What if God created me this way? I watched everything at that lake today as an interconnected whole, that everything had its purpose, and everything was created exactly as God intended it to be.

What if God created me exactly the way that I am, even if that means that I have panic attacks?

If this is how God created me, then the fear is not something outside of me, it's a part of me, it IS me. I fight the fear. I resent the fear. I am disempowered by the fear. But that's because the fear feels completely out of control, but what if that's only because I am fighting it and resenting it?

Something happened today that I can't explain. It's as if by connecting in spirit with all things created by the same creator of me, that God was able to show me that everything was created just as its supposed to be, even if I can't understand why. I'm not the only person who was created with panic attacks, so maybe it's not that I'm damaged and broken. . . .maybe I'm exactly the way that God created me to be, and I need to find the beauty in the middle of all of that fear.

I think there is a hidden beauty in the middle of the fear. . . .which also means that there is a beauty about me in the way that God created me to be, a beauty that I disown by being afraid of all of that fear.

This is such a different way for me to think about the panic attacks, but I feel like I need to sit with the fear in a new way, like looking at those three-dimensional pictures where all you see is this chaotic patterning of color and shape, but then when you look through it this unexpected picture sort of pops out at you.

I never thought I'd say this, but I want to find the beauty in the fear. . . .because I just know that when I do, I will no longer be afraid of the fear. . . .

Love and War

When a turtle gets turned upside down, there are generally two reasons: Love and War. It's either because they are mating (and the male has slid off), or it's because they have been fighting (and one of them has either been flipped over intentionally by the other, or inadvertantly gets flipped upside down in the natural course of the battle).

I supposed everything boils down to something involving Love and War.

So that's all this is. . . .I've been turned upside down by the battle. . . .and it's certainly not the worst thing that could happen, especially when I have many friends and resources to help me get turned upside right. So I'm going to be just fine. . . .I just need to keep flapping until I grab hold of something solid.

And that "something solid" is nothing more than simply accepting that I've been turned upside down by the battle. That's it. That, and remembering that I'm not alone. . . .so, I'm going to be just fine. . . .because I'm not alone in this struggle to get myself turned upside right :)