Trying to Build a Container

If there was ever a time that I needed a container it would be now.

If there was ever a time that I could pinpoint my creative energy freaking out on me, it would be now.

There's nothing like that moment when you catch yourself moving toward patterned responses to change, shifts, and new ideas.

I could feel the moment it started to happen.  I was walking around Victor, feeling energized and excited to have this experience.  I was able to explore the town on foot and take pictures of the places in which my family lived. This was building on the excitement I had last night as I watched a Victorian Olio in the Elks Lodge. It was a world that my grandma experienced as a girl. It was a world that my great grandfather experienced as a boy.  It was an unfamiliar feeling. As a person who grew up with movement, change, and uprootedness, the idea of locating the rhizomatic fits and starts of my family linked me into something I had not felt before.  It was awesome.

But as I sat on the train for a tour of some of the area's mines, I started to feel overwhelmed by the energy.  It emerged in the form of self-doubt. I am so different from this place, why did  I ever think I could research family I never really knew? What kind of research would this really be? What kind of story could I really tell?  Who do I think I am?  You've been wanting to do this for years and here you are, freaking out.  I could feel it start to soak into other parts of my life.  I started to crave all the comforts and strategies I use to silence those voices. I didn't want to feel the uncomfortable voices.



The voices sort of waned, but then I got back to my room and as I sat on my bed, I started to panic.  I pulled out my notes, the booklets I collected from the day.  I set down my digital camera, ready to log the photographs and fill in all the notes from the day.  But I sat there, frozen.  I felt how much I wanted to stuff away the self-doubt, but looking at my materials strewn across my bed, the self-doubt increased.  Normally, I would do something, anything, to take me away from those feelings.

This was the moment I knew I needed a container, because this is the moment in my research and writing that I generally start to pull in all my procrastination patterns. The things I do to shut out the self-doubt.  Unfortunately, it does not just shut down the self-doubt; it also shuts down the creative process. I lose too much.  I let all the creative energy dissipate off into self-doubt and fear.  The difference this time is that I had no access to those patterns--at least most of them.

There is no cleaning that needs to happen.  There are no silly phone games to play.  I can't call Matt and try to find something to do with him.  I can't ride my bike.  I can't go to my favorite coffee shop.  I can't seek out comfort food.  I can't take Max for a walk.  I can't putz around the house.

I am in this small room in a bed and breakfast that is more like a hostel. I'm in a town that has no coffee shops. It has no real distractions for me.  My work is all that I have around me. So what did I do? After I called Matt to actually express some of how I was feeling, I sat and I filled in my notes for the day.  I did it as I felt the panic wax and wane within my body.  I kept writing.  And now I write a blog entry.  I will then go on to notate my photographs.

None of this feels like a container, but it is containing my energy. I'm getting it down on paper. I'm getting it down digitally.  I'm making space for the self-doubt to co-exist with my work.  I have been letting self-doubt win lately.  And that has caused me to lose some of my creative drive.

Yes, I'm feeling isolated. Yes, I'm feeling ungrounded. Yes, I'm searching for my container. No, I don't know what it is yet. But I do know that I'm building it right now.

Snippets, Sparks, Containers

As of late, I've been experiencing a great deal of inspirational sparks and creative snippets, but I've been struggling with maintaining those flashes. They have been dissipating into the crazy ether of my vata energy.  So much so, that I have not even made it to the blog in a few weeks.  I experience these great moments of inspiration and it's like I have no idea what to do with them.  I feel overwhelmed and excited and ready to sit down and let it all pour out, but then all my focus disperses and I become agitated and unable to even sit still.  I just want to move, or worse, I want to shut it all down with some great numbing activities.  It is becoming clear to me that I need to learn how to contain these sparks and snippets without numbing and drowning them out into nothingness.

Containers

Methuselah

I know what I need is a container.  When I explained how I was feeling to a fellow yogi, she asked me what that container might look like. I was blank.  That is part of my problem.  I have no idea what my container would look like.  Nor what it might feel like.  Nothing. The idea of containers agitates me further.  Yet, I know I need to sit down and think about it.  So here I am.  What does it look like? It would have to be a strong, yet porous container.  Things would need to be able to enter and leave when it was time.  Like much of what I teach about social structures, they need to be solid, long-lasting, firm, yet for that to happen, they must be flexible. My container must be able to sway in the wind.  Yet, it must be something I can hold onto when I feel my internal winds picking up.  The image of the redwood keeps returning for me.  It is a flexible structure.  Methuselah.  An 1800 year old tree. She has survived the elements because she is strong, yet able to take in her surroundings and thrive. She has the ability to expand into the elements even as she protects herself from the harsher aspects of nature.  That is what I want my container to do.

Buildings and bridges
are made to bend in the wind
to withstand the world,
that's what it takes
--Ani DiFranco, "Buildings and Bridges"

Interestingly enough, I'm building a container for my yard.  It didn't fully hit me how the metaphor of the container was working in a very tangible way for me until now. This container will enable me to plant and grow things in a yard that is filled with an extensive root system that limits growth and my ability to find depth. The large trees behind my yard have grown and expanded into my yard.  I refuse to cut the roots and am set on working with the reality of my yard. Matt and I built this container and it wasn't easy. It's not easy to work with and around what nature (life) hands us.  But that is life. This labor of love is very much like the metaphorical container I envision for myself--my creative sparks and energetic snippets. I had not connected the dots between this container and the one I've been struggling to envision within myself. But just now, right here, writing this entry, it has crystallized with a sharp and focused clarity. This container is my container--both in the tangible wood that defines the boundaries of the dirt that will fill it, and in the metaphorical sphere of my internal life. It's not easy to build a container for a life that is filled with ether, randomness, chaos.  The tangible garden container had to be cut in a way that allowed the roots to not throw off the balance of the container and the roots.  The container is by no means linear or perfectly straight.  It had to propped up with small boards in some places and there are some gaps in other places.  Imperfect.  Perfect.  My metaphorical container needs to be similarly developed.  To be open, yet boundaried.  To hold, yet know when to give in to the extensive root system that is my heart and tricky self that often emerges and escapes before I have a chance to know it was alive within me.  I don't want to trap it, I want to capture it for a moment.  Have a chance to hold it and understand it before I let it loose in my world. Like the plants I want to grow in my garden container, I want my sparks and snippets to have their own space to develop, yet connect to the ground below, mingling with the life of those roots and rhizomes beneath the surface.  I want them to have the space to grow and develop on their own and then find their way down deeper.  Then I want to see them draw up and out into the world. To bloom.  To release.  To disperse.  To bask in the sunshine.  That is my internal container.  Although I'm still not sure what it looks like, I am clear now on what it needs to do.  I am clearer about how a container is not to confine but to provide intentional and meaningful space for my best self to create, develop, emerge, love, find joy, and thrive in a world full of roots and rhizomes that I can't control.  It starting to feel more like a step toward freedom rather than a trap.

we get a little further from perfection

each year on the road

I guess that's what they call character

I guess that's just the way it goes

better to be dusty than polished

like some store window mannequin

why don't you touch me where I'm rusty

let me stain your hands...

...let's show them how it's done

let's do it all imperfectly

--Ani DiFranco, "Imperfectly"

Release...Constrict...Transform

I have been at a loss as to what to write about this week.  I think I have been working between a number of tensions that reflect aspects of the season.  One of the biggest is the balance between release and constriction.  I have been reflecting on the necessity of both of these and realize now that my focus has been on holding in, protecting, and building energy and heat in my body. So focused, in fact, that the ability to enjoy, let go, and release have been, sadly, ignored.  The joy of blooming and dispersing all of that heat and energy that I worked so hard to build has been pushed aside. In some ways it is the result of my fear of slipping into old spaces and places. In other ways, I fear it will sidetrack me from the real work I need to do.  Yet, I'm seeing now how essential that is to the creative process. Its importance to transformation.  And it is probably why I have been experiencing blockage and anxiety about how much I want and need to do. 

Release: 

• to set someone or something free
• to stop holding someone or something
• to allow a substance to enter the air, water, soil, etc.

Constrict:

• to become narrower, small, tighter
• to prevent or keep from developing freely
• to hold tight and contain the soil, water, air, etc.

REDwoods: When I think of release, I think of the beautiful and expansive branches of the redwood. The way the sunlight sneaks in between the foliage, letting in just the right amount of light.  I can look up and up forever into those branches and never see everything.  Yet, those beautiful branches flourish because of the deep roots that hold tight, constrict, and find nourishment and vitality in the ground. They burrow deeply and expand proudly. But there is no shame, no hesitation to let go, release. They find a beautiful balance between release and constriction.

Ocean Waves:  When I think of release, I think of the ocean. The waves pushing and pulling their way through the sand.  They succumb to the tide.  Powerful as it it, they surrender with purpose.  The tide is this awesome balance between release and constriction.  The waves let go and penetrate the sand as the water makes its way closer to the coastline.  Then it pulls back and draws back into the deeper ocean water.   The waves pull back with them sand, sea life, and even garbage.  Then they return to the coast,  releasing sand, sea life, and garbage. But it's never quite the same as it was.  It transforms.

It transforms.

It transforms.

Boundaries

Tomorrow is the last day of juncture.  Tomorrow is also the summer solstice. The longest day of sunlight of the year. I wanted to use this week's entry to think about the goals and focus of the juncture and how those goals have developed and transformed over the past month.


When I started the juncture there were three things that came into focus for me.

• To delve into the darker feelings of shame that I hold around intimacy and my body.
• Examine my boundaries.
• Make time and space to think about what it will mean to have my adult life away from my family come into contact with my family and the life I lived in California. 

It has been a juncture in which I was clear about the focus but could not follow all the routines of juncture that I would have liked. This was an opposite experience from previous junctures.  The last few I have been able to dedicate time to the routines, but I struggled to find points of focus.  What happened, though, was that I found a way to engage in the juncture practices that were abbreviated and irregular, but nonetheless kept me in contact with those focal points.  But these issues came to me in unexpected, and frequently scary, ways.

The boundary work came in and through all of my juncture work.  Boundaries with my family. Boundaries with my work. Boundaries with my personal relationships.  While boundaries might have been the underlying theme tying together my work in the juncture, the match that sparked that work was my visit to California and the convergence of my adult life and the life I left behind in California.  In a variety of different ways, I was forced to see how I struggle to be adult about the way I handle my relationships with my family.  I know I struggle to not revert to some girl who tries to please and accommodate.   The boundaries I keep in my adult world in North Dakota slipped and blurred as I shifted them into my family life in California.  The boundaries I manage with my parents when I'm geographically remote melted and smudged as I tried to accommodate them and be open to adjusting to their needs.  But what I realized is that my flexibility opened me up to some tough decisions about my relationship with my family.

At the same time, I started reading the book, Red Hot and Holy: A Heretic's Love Story by Sera Beak. This has been a book that keeps bringing me back to the most challenging aspect of my juncture work to write about in a space such as this blog--the darker feelings of shame that I hold around intimacy and my body.  The book has been a cathartic revelation in ways I cannot yet articulate.  Beak writes: 

"An interesting side note: apocalypse in Greek means revealing the truth or lifting the veil--a disclosure of something hidden from humanity during a time of falsehood. So a bright Red way to read the Holy Whore's description is that She is a truth that has been hidden from us. In Conscious Femininity, Marion Woodman tells us, 'The feminine, however disguised, is always naked, in the sense of "seeing through" in order to reveal. Apocalypse means unveiling.' In other words, you gotta take it all off (all external ideas, stories, and beliefs about Her) in order to truly see Her."

This juncture has made it clear to me that when I feel exposed, vulnerable, and out of control of a situation, I spiral into a variety of strategies to try to regain control of... I'm not even sure what.  But as I have been reading this book, I'm gaining a newfound connection to those feelings of vulnerability. The passage above struck a chord with me.  The idea of revealing truth.  The idea of seeing through in order to reveal.  And some of that includes the stories I tell myself about my past and how often I take those stories into present situations.  It's just when I let go of those stories, I feel lost. Reading this book, I can relate to her feeling lost and searching and searching and searching from something that is her story.  I am searching for something that is my story.  And I know that my story is buried within that boundary work.  I am so scared, yet so close, to grabbing onto my story and I know the answer is in those boundaries.  A boundary apocalypse. 

Fire and Agni: Igniting Creativity

Fire: 
"an important process that affects ecological systems across the globe. The positive effects of fire include stimulating growth and maintaining various ecological systems. Fire has been used by humans for cooking, generating heat, light, signaling, and propulsion purposes. The negative effects of fire include water contamination, soil erosion, atmospheric pollution and hazard to life and property." (Wikipedia)

Agni: 

"the 'digestive fire,' is one of the most important principles in the ancient science of ayurveda. It refers broadly to our ability to process all aspects of life, including food, experiences, memories, and sensory impressions. Agni is responsible for absorbing the nutrients and essential elements the body needs while burning off waste products (agni is the root of the English word 'ignite').

"If our agni is strong, we’re able to digest food efficiently and easily assimilate our daily experiences. On the other hand, if agni is weak, our body won’t digest well, creating toxic residue or ama that lodges deep in our cells." (http://www.chopra.com/community/online-library/terms/agni-ojas-ama)

Fire and agni represent destruction and then creation.  The fire makes room for something new to emerge.  The Hindu god, Agni, represents the fierceness of fire and victory over ignorance. There was an interesting descriptor of Agni's imagery.  "He is depicted with two heads and three legs....In each head he has seven fiery tongues by which he licks the Ghee" (http://hindoe.eu/index.php?c=4&p=15&l=en).  Oh, how I love metaphors. I am starting to understand agni as a clearing process.  It happens in stages, but it builds into an incredible fire that burns out what is no longer needed in order to make room for new growth that the fire energy produces.

Ojas: 

"A Sanskrit term meaning 'vigor,' ojas is the pure and subtle substance that’s extracted from food that has been completely digested. Ojas circulates throughout the bodily tissues and heart, sustaining the physical self, bringing clarity to the mind and balancing the emotions. In short, when the body produces ojas, the vital nectar of life, we feel blissful. The cells sing with happiness because both the mind and the body are receiving the nourishment they need." (http://www.chopra.com/community/online-library/terms/agni-ojas-ama)

The Relationship between Fire and Water: 

"Fire and water are nearly perfect opposites.  If we study the basic polarities of hot and cold, dry and wet, and light and heavy, we see instantly that fire is hot, dry, and light whereas water is cold, wet, and heavy.  These forces work in every body to maintain equilibrium and good metabolism." (http://www.doshabalance.com/articles/fire-water_balance.html)

There is a necessity for balance between water and fire.  Burning everything down leaves nothing from which to generate something new.  Drowning everything leaves no mechanism to be and do in the world. Moving from spring to summer, I have found the pendulum swing back and forth between destruction of some old habits and the clinging and dissolving into the comfort of other old habits.   In meditation today, I found the imagery of that dark dank world from previous meditations.  That strange fleshy structure that I was working to calm and sooth.  If you recall, it had slowly started to dissolve, but remainder a resolute presence in my unconsciousness.  In meditation today, though, a fire emerged. It was as though all that balm was some sort of flammable oil (perhaps ghee?) that embraced the fire and flames and cleared out an enormous space within me. That structure was still there, but I realized why it was so black and sooty.  It was the cyclical process of destruction that was taking place.  It was an odd thing to witness in meditation. It felt like my unconscious was finally revealing to my conscious self what was happening beneath the surface. It was a revealing moment for me. All that balm I was rubbing on that structure to sooth and calm it down was the conduit of the fire and flames.  And I stayed with the fire.  I sat and watched the structure burn, but I seemed to know it was going to be okay. It was necessary.  I kept wondering where all the stink that I was cleaning up in that space was it was going.  And I could see right then and there that it was storing up and finally ready to burn off into the ether. It was freeing.

Creativity Stack
 [http://www.karmicblessings.com/shop/creativity-stack/]

Ready for Creativity:

It was this morning that I knew I had cleared space and was ready for the creative work of the summer. I have been laying the groundwork--writing room nearly complete, organizing projects, setting up dates and deadlines, exploring the pieces I needed (books, articles, archives), basically all the productive procrastination needed to energize and bring to life the creative juices that have been percolating beneath the surface.  

I even bought myself a set of beads to wear as a constant reminder that my creativity is the priority. It is front and center. It is a creativity stack for my wrist with three types of stones: 

Sodalite: the stone of the wise.  Rainbow Fluorite: promotes positivity and joy. Fire Crackle Agate: inspires free expression to overcome creative blocks.  

Joy and Gratitude: Beyond a Puppy Practice

I told myself all week that this last post for May would focus on joy.  But everything over the course of the week kept getting in the way of me actually experiencing joy. So, how can I write about it if I'm not experiencing it?  How can I write about it, not only when I'm not experiencing it, but when I'm feeling an enormous amount of anger and anti-joy?  

Yet, as I was writing this morning, I knew I had to do a gratitude practice. I could feel how much I needed something to ground me in positive and uplifting energy.  But what I wrote was this:  

The whole time I wrote down what I held gratitude for, my mind kept slipping back into the things that stress me out. I kept thinking about how my heart hurts and then I feel disingenuous about the whole gratitude practice.  I sit with thoughts about how I'm lazy and scared and I struggle to get myself back to a place where I really truly feel grateful for my life--and truly feel joyous.  It just seems so false.  Like I'm trying to pretend to be happy.

I write this now with a sweet puppy in my lap and Pearl Jam's "Faithfull" playing in the background. And in these moments, I can feel real joy and gratitude. It comes at the most unexpected of times.

But joy can't be only found in puppy moments.

But what struck me earlier this morning when I was writing about the practice of gratitude was the word practice.  It was a strange moment that was both an epiphany and a feeling of 'duh'...  If I treat it like my practices of meditation and yoga, it starts to make much more sense when it doesn't always feel real. When I sit in meditation my mind frequently wanders. It can be a chore to keep myself from dwelling on a single thought in meditation. But even if I come back to my breath and body only for a moment, I know it was a valuable practice.  In fact, the more difficult the meditation, the more I realize I need to be engaged in the practice.  Until this morning, this point did not resonate at all with my work on gratitude.  What struck me is when the practice feels least genuine and most forced--that is when it is the most important for me to keep practicing. It is not phony or disingenuous; that is the work. Digging past those negative voices that distract me from the actual experience.  It takes work to feel and experience joy.  Sure, sometimes I'm lucky enough to experience it in the sweet softness of a puppy, but for a sustained experience of joy in a life of difference, disagreement, inequality, and suffering, finding joy and gratitude takes real concerted effort.  At least for me.  Do the puppy moments help? Of course they do. They can be important moments of respite, but we can't live in those puppy moments all the time.  We have to emerge in the world and feel joy when we are surrounded with rocky and treacherous terrain that can hurt. Joy has to be accessed when we know we've pissed people off or feel betrayed or have to watch people treat each other in terrible and hurtful ways. Those are the moments in which joy takes on a deeper meaning. For me, it is finding it in those moments that helps me realize how far I have come and that I can find joy within myself.  It reminds me that joy isn't simply about good things happening to me.  

Merriam-Webster defines joy as:  "the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of possessing what one desires." What is key for me in that definition is the emotion evoked by well-being.  It is about how healthy I am feeling inside and not so much about what is happening to me from the outside.  Or rather, it is when I have the strength and resiliency to experience joy even when everything around me feels like it is going to shit.


As the song, "Faithfull," continues on in my thoughts, one particular line continues to run through my mind:

M.Y.T.H. is belief in the game controls that keeps us in a box of fear; we never listen; voice inside so drowned out; drowned you are, you are, you are everything; and everything is you; me you, you me, it's all related...  --Pearl Jam

Perhaps joy is not only hearing that drowned out voice, but moving through fear and into a place where joy is not a reaction to the world, but the internal shaping of ourselves in a world that, unfortunately, feeds on fear and negativity. A world that pushes an organic experience of joy deeper and deeper beneath the surface, making it harder and harder to access.  Perhaps that is why Merriam-Webster focuses their definition of joy, not so much on the emotion experienced by well-being, as on the stuff we possess and achieve, and other external measures of ourselves in the world. But I find that limiting and a set up for failure.  The practice of gratitude, at least for me, is a way of trying to move through those superficial experiences and find a deeper experience of joy.  Even if for only a moment. 

Dark Spaces: Finding Healing at the Start of Summer Juncture

For almost a week, I have been meditating on the darker spaces of myself.  It hasn't been particularly enjoyable, but it has been a necessary practice for me.  I have so much fear of those dark spaces. But each morning I take my meditation seat and I'm pulled into it.  The best way to describe that space is a cave.  It is a dark cave with this large growth inside of it. The growth had nearly taken over the cave and it was alive, pulsing, and rancid.  It contains everything that makes me unhappy about myself.  I am including a drawing of the closest approximation of that space and myself in meditation. My drawing is much lighter than in my experience of that space.  It is so dark that it takes time to get my bearings and understand my surroundings.  But once I was able to fine tune my sight, I spent my time in meditation touching and then scraping off the layers of soot and ick that just covered the entire.. whatever it was inside of me.  It was red and irritated and angry and hurting.  I spent so much time imagining myself cleaning what seemed like a large open infected wound, that I became obsessed with curing it and ridding myself of it.  I had the putrid stink all over me, but I kept staying focused on fixing this wound.  The ooze coming off of it was black. Some kind of viscous fluid. It was sticky and oily and didn't want to come off of my hands.  I did finally wipe them clean and started placing some sort of balm or salve on the entire wound.  

Day 1

The last several days of meditation have consisted of me placing this salve all over the wound and repeatedly.  I also kept cleaning it. I suddenly had some sort of scraping tool and kept trying to scrape off all of the shit that kept accumulating all over it.  I was obsessed with getting rid of all the stinky yucky stuff. 

It was in my meditation yesterday, though, that I realized that it wasn't about ridding myself of all of the shit. Something in that dark wound started talking to me.  It was telling me that this meditation exercise was not to encourage me to eliminate it from my unconscious.  It drew me here to learn to listen and accept this dark part of myself as a real and necessary part of me.  I realized that by scraping all that viscous fluid off, I kept opening the wound, making it more irritated and painful.  I was making it worse.  It was flaring up and I was no closer to making sense of this...whatever it is.  I could feel my shame flaring and that all I wanted to do was hide from everything. I didn't want people to see this gash. I didn't want them to see me make mistakes. I don't want to look stupid.  I don't want to be mean.  I want to be liked.  I want to be perfect.  To hell with vulnerability.  What does it get me? I could feel myself in that dark cave of my unconscious freaking out like a caged tiger.  I was not comfortable at all.  I could see how much I hide in the comfort of my victim stories (not to be confused with victories).  I stand up for things, but then I obsess and get upset and angry when my actions are not responded to the way I want.  So, then it gives me more ammunition to burrow deeper and pick at all those old wounds that haven't had time to scar within my unconscious.  I keep them awake and ready.  I don't allow myself to be okay with unfinished business, nor do I find joy in the small victories of my ability to speak my truth, to stay standing and resilient and clear that my actions were right, even if the results are not.  

Day 6

So I decided to draw another picture of myself and what I was seeing in my unconscious world after I sat in meditation this morning with this new revelation. I stopped trying to fix it and I sat with it.  I touched it.  I soothed it with my hands. It was a different sort of meditation.  I could relax in that space even if I didn't know exactly what I was touching. Even though it didn't feel very good. Even though it smelled awful.  I reminded myself that curiosity is not about curing. It's about understanding.  So, I sat with it.  I saw it as part of me.  And then something happened.  The growth didn't look as big.  It wasn't as red and irritated.  It was still dark and sooty, but it didn't feel so hot and aggravated.  I didn't feel so desperate to get out. Nor did I feel so desperate to control the healing process.

As much as I try to convince myself that I love the ugly parts of myself and that I don't want to hide those parts, I realized this week how much I am so attached to keeping that dark part of myself apart from any image I hold of myself. I also realized how alienating and exhausting it is to try to keep that part of myself in some separate hidden little corner of my unconscious.   I will continue to meditate on this space, because I know there is much learning and healing and acceptance still necessary for me.  I can see how much I hold back and how much I need to let go. If I want to tap into the deeper creative and loving parts of myself, I need to stay here and witness this part of myself. Although it is not something I long to do, I know it is the right time for me to stay in this.  This extended juncture is clearly calling me to the depths of myself and I need to actually take the time to listen.