Lessons in Receiving

To take into one's possession; to have something bestowed, conferred upon you; to have delivered or brought to you; to be burdened with; sustain; to hold, bear, or contain.

My Gnome Home

These are definitions of receiving. I have been thinking about receiving a lot over the past couple of weeks.  The holidays heighten gift-giving and gift-receiving rituals.  I love exchanging gifts. I love giving in all ways. But I find a particular tension with receiving. Receiving, from one vantage point and level of intentionality, leaves me feeling loved, thought about, considered, a part of the world.  From other vantage points and levels of intentionality,  receiving leaves me feeling at a disadvantage, indebted to others, unable to live up to expectations, separated from the world.  It is a terrible feeling, because it exposes all my insecurities.  A beautiful and loving gift triggers shame for me. This beautiful and thoughtful gift from Matt made me realize how hard it is for me to receive something so loving.  What did I do to deserve this beautiful gift? Did I give/do/be enough to earn such a gift?  What do I need to do to level the playing field? 

My Gift

In my typical fashion, I needed to deconstruct, pull apart the meaning to create a new line of entry. A rhizomatic line of entry that enables me to find joy where most of my life I have learned shame, guilt, conditionality.

To take into one's possession. To have something given to me out of kindness and thought. The idea that this gnome home is now mine. The idea that somebody would think of me enough to give me something so meaningful.  But I didn't earn it, did I?  Did I earn it because I gave something to him or did I earn it for some future expectation of my allegiance?  This is so cynical of me. But I honestly struggle to feel deserving. Yet, what in this definition says anything about having to be deserving? Or to have earned it? Nothing. 

To have something bestowed, conferred upon you. To be given something as an honor.  My doctoral degree was conferred upon me. I earned this.  I worked hard for six years to receive my degree. How does one earn honors?  Through hard work, right?  How else would I have something bestowed upon me?

To have delivered or brought to you. I have things I bought delivered to me: books, furniture, teas.  I earn them (so to speak) because I could afford to purchase these items. 

To be burdened with. This one I understand.  I often feel burdened when I receive. Burdened because I wonder what I did to earn this gift. I wonder what I'll have to do to make sure he knows how much I appreciate it.  I wonder what I can get them that is as meaningful and caring.  Of course, worrying about all of that strips me of any ability to act out of love and grace and to give back in an organic and meaningful way.  I'm so worried about relieving the burden, in other words, equalizing and quantifying the relationship, that the quality dissipates. 

I think back to when I was in about the 2nd or 3rd grade.  Our class had a secret Santa gift exchange for Christmas and so each of us had to buy a gift for some unknown other student. My family had such little money that I was immediately rapt in fear over asking my parents to buy a gift. That fear shifted to whether or not my gift would be nice enough to bring to class.  

I found a stocking with a mix of things--coloring book, puzzle book and a few trinkets--that my mom said we could afford.  It was one of those plastic mesh stockings that you can buy with an assortment of cheap toys and items.  I chose that particular one because it seemed the most interesting.  But I worried it was too cheap for anybody to really enjoy and I felt guilty bringing it to school. I secretly hoped I would draw my own gift to spare myself any embarrassment.  But I went to school with it all wrapped up. 

Sustain. This definition, at first, did not make sense to me.  What does receiving have to do with sustaining?  But I can't help but think about how receiving is sustenance.  It is what sustains us as humans in relation to ourselves and one another. I am sure this is not the intended definition, but it is what touches me deeply in my struggle to receive and it is something I know I need to learn to do gracefully, lovingly, and with humility. 

When we traded, I ended up with a fun toy from a friend in class, but I watched the look on the face of the boy who received my gift.  I could see he was underwhelmed.  The kids in class started to compare and trade gifts to get the things they wanted, so I decided to trade what I received for the gift I wrapped so carefully.  I went to him and asked if he wanted to trade. Puzzled, he looked at what I had and asked if I was sure and I said confidently, "Yes. I really like all that stuff." 

We traded, but when my friend came over to ask how I liked her gift, I vainly tried to hide the fact that I traded her gift away.  I could see her crestfallen face when she saw I had traded it.  I felt so guilty and I didn't know what to say.  I had disappointed my friend out of my own shame.  I couldn't receive even in the 3rd grade.  Where did I learn this? 

To hold, bear, or contain. This definition gets deeper into the core of my struggles with receiving.  To hold space for the relationship, the space to nourish, foster, develop something filled with joy and life. It scares me. Receiving shouldn't be a burden. It should be a responsibility born out of love and respect.  Not a burden born out of fear and expectation. Receiving is part of the larger practice of friendship, love, intimacy.  Much of my life receiving has been a burden.  It usually came with expectations, unquestioned loyalty, forgiveness for unforgivable actions, amelioration of guilt.  It was almost always conditional.  I have been trying to feel, really feel, unconditional love. But it scares me. It feels like a responsibility that I can't live up to. I worry that if I don't return in kind I will fail to live up to whatever it was that initiated the giving.  I don't know how to contain. I get so scared of failing to meet expectations that those beautiful thoughtful gifts sit like hot potatoes burning through my hands and so I must quickly pass it back in kind or everything will fall apart in the relationship--the love, respect, all of it.  And as I reflect, I feel sad that this is how I think about receiving.  I get angry that I have not learned the skill of receiving by this stage of my life. Resentful. 

When I got home with my own gift, my mom asked me how that happened.  I told her I wanted this gift and that it was by chance that I ended up with it.  I never told her that I traded to get my own gift back. Until now, I never fully understood why I had traded to get my own gift.  But in light of my exploration of receiving, it is clear how deeply this rhizomatic shame runs within me.  The funny thing about a rhizome, though, is that I can dig in the dirt a bit more and find a new direction.  I so much want to find the thread to joyful receiving. 

I am a lucky person.  Full of wonderful people.  I have a life that is meaningful and awake.  And this is reflected in the beautiful gifts I receive day in and day out not only from those wonderful people in my life, but also myself and the universe. I look at this gnome home and I see it as an exploration in receiving. It is a practice in seeing myself as something more than my childhood self.  This gnome home feels like the conglomeration of all the missteps and victories in my life. The intricate little pieces, each thoughtfully placed with incredible detail. Thought and intention. That somebody would do something for me so rich in thought and cost is beyond my comprehension.  It was the trigger I needed to delve into. Matt has given me a gnome home that is filled with hidden treasures to explore.  Our relationship always provides the space to grow and reflect and now there is a tangible reflection of our relationship. Receive, Christina. Joyfully receive. 

Gnome Home Full View

Resistance Revisited

It is a curious thing.  I have been intermittent with my entries to the blog over the past month or so and I know it is resistance.  More than a month ago, I gave myself the assignment that Maya Tiwari calls "Ancestral Journal-Keeping."   I journaled on my parents for over a month and it was a trying time throughout. Intense sadness and anger kept rising to the surface. Part of the assignment is to return to what I wrote and read and reflect on it.  I know I have been avoiding reading those entries.  I have been creating busyness for myself, focusing on the drama of my work life and allowing things to get in the way.  This is such a pattern for me.  I could have been writing about other things, but since I was avoiding the reflection, all writing ground to a halt. 

"If anger or any other emotion prevents you from being able to write, put down your journal and practice a food, breath, or sound sadhana...." --Maya Tiwari

I know I need to reflect. I can feel it all the way down to my bones. But I also feel the fear of doing that reflection exercise all the way down to my bones.  Competing feelings—one of fear and one of trust--leave me frozen and agitated.  Hence, the focus of the last blog post (November 29th).  Fear and trust are so deeply intertwined their entanglement clog my creative fire.  Sitting here writing this I am overpowered by the fear.  Yet I am still writing.  I’m staying. 

"...When you engage in the practice you move energy and breath through your body, which allows the rhythms of your thought processes to become more fluid...." --Maya Tiwari

Malasana. That is why I took the challenge of doing malasana each day (see November 8th entry). And I did it. I sat in malasana for five minutes each day for a week—and it felt amazing. Energy was moving. I could feel the pose grounding me—bringing me to earth gently and with love.  My hips are often the place I hold intense emotions and I could feel the muscles simultaneously fighting and succumbing.  But I allowed curiosity to settle into those spaces.   I found a way into the dense and complex musculature of that region of my body.  No, I have not mastered malasana.  Each day with the pose is different.  Some days it’s easy to sit there; other days it feels like I’m going to freak out.  But I realized how much I love the pose and how much my vata nature needs the pose.  I haven’t been doing it everyday, but I do it often. 

"...You may find positive solutions to problems or emotional issues that seem insurmountable and have made you feel stuck." --Maya Tiwari

Although I'm less stuck as a result of the malasana practice, I'm still struggling to write and reflect. One thing that arose for me today is how much I am struggling with vata. Usually kapha is a wonderful place to lay blame during this time of year for my general lack of energy.  I have felt tired and creatively drained over the past month or more, but this morning I realized it's not out of the lethargy and the heaviness of kapha.  I had a deep sleep last night and awoke refreshed and alive.  It was glorious. Reflecting in meditation, I realized I was drained because I have not been sleeping well.  My mind has been busy at night, waking me up, spinning around my thoughts. Vata-mind.  Often, I am afraid that if I indulge vata too much, I will push kapha into imbalance. It's as though I prefer to be in vata-excess out of fear that kapha will stomp her way into my life.  She will dominate me with her wet, heavy, earthiness, leaving me lost in her darkness. Yet sometimes we need that darkness.  Seeds must grow in the wet, heavy, earthiness. Yet we need light air and space to keep energy moving. But as my yoga teacher reminds me, winter is the time of opposites. That means our work is to find balance, and since I am a vata-kapha, that is a big task.  I’ve struggled with kapha imbalances in the past. It is a difficult energy to get moving when it gets too heavy.

Although vata and kapha are largely opposites, there are things about these two doshas that make them complementary. And not always in the greatest ways.  They both lean to the cold side of things.  They both thrive on fear.  And they both can be tremendous roadblocks to creativity: kapha for its pull to stasis and lethargy; vata for its pull to frantic lack of focus. Sitting in meditation this morning with my mind jumping from one thing to the next, I realized that vata has been frantically unraveling my creative focus.

I found this picture online and I couldn't stop looking at it. It mirrors my internal state.  The frenetic flight of the bird's wings on a crumbling facade.  There is part of me that knows some of the facade does need to break down and crumble. I sense the reflection process will lead to crumbling.  Hence, the resistance. The frantic bird shuttering to hold onto that facade.  I look at the picture and keep thinking, "Why can't I just let go?"