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To get to the other side
and earn my wings…
The mantra kept me going.
Through the dark night
I dreamt of what colors would decorate my wings
after the transformation
What might it feel like
to fly…
And land on a flower?
I will stay in my cocoon
Until the moment arrives
for the transformation.
I can be patient
and earn my wings…
I tell myself as the tears fall.
And when the tears stopped falling
And the night in fact ended,
I looked for the transformation.
But no color was found
and I still couldn’t fly…
Or glimpse an other side.
Always a caterpillar
And never a butterfly
I now get used to saying.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
DEATH, ART, LOVE, & SEX
“Letting go is one of the sexiest and most pleasurable things known to humanity.”
--- Eric Francis; writer, photographer, astrologer (see planetwaves.com)
I woke up from a really good dream this morning, full of all of my favorite dream themes—a handsome man, feelings of desire, sexual tension, a feeling of being truly loved, and images of myself being free and spontaneous. The dream was so pleasurable that waking up brought a sense of profound sorrow. I wanted to hold on to it. To make it my reality. And then to hold on to that reality and never let it go.
This is one of the reasons I write: To capture an experience in an attempt to give it some form and permanence, even though I know that the most the words can do is to point to something that can never be captured fully, something that disappears just as quickly as the words hit page. Still, it’s all I have, and I therefore accept that this is enough. I woke up feeling as though I wanted to hold on to my dream forever. Writing about it, though, will have to be enough. And this further requires a letting-go. Still, the longing remains.
I have often thought about writing, and art more generally, as a form of making love with the world. This is not an original idea, likening creativity to sexuality. Many, many others have made this link before me. One way of understanding this widely-made observation is that making love, like making art, can be about this oscillation of holding-on and letting-go. The passion of some sexual encounters is fueled by a desire to hold on to a feeling, to embody it, to ex-press it, and to give it form. The desire that rages within needs expression, which in turn offers it a reality, a form, a sort-of place within the world which then, just as it’s expressed, disappears. Moreover, the very act of expression (i.e., what we do in an attempt to hold on to the feeling in the first place) itself requires a letting go or giving-over to the experience itself.
I wonder if life is “just” a series of moments of embodying something and then letting go. Embodying something and then letting go. The impulse to hold on to something, to embody it, is an essential part of creating one’s life and giving it a particular form. Letting go is equally essential. Imagine, if you will, not having the letting-go part. Imagine having to have the same experience continuously. In truth, holding on to an experience continuously, however pleasurable it may be in a moment, is a sure form of torture, though it’s what many of us try to do, in a way. Imagine always eating chocolate cake, a never-ending kiss, or a runner’s high that goes on forever. The person eating the cake would never get to have the kiss. And the runner couldn’t eat chocolate cake, while the kisser couldn’t run. It is the letting go which allows us to be open to the next experience: The next… sexy dream, tender moment, encounter with another, feeling, thought, walk outside, accomplishment, failure, piece of art, trip to the post office, day, season, phase of life….
Letting go is what allows life to move. The French word for orgasm translates as “little death.” Sex and death are the ultimate in letting go. Living life as a series of letting-go moments is then akin to making love to the world, with the full experience of orgasm; or of dying to the world, with the full potential for rebirth. Eric’s quote, above, captures this well. So, too, do tantric philosophies which espouse beginning with one’s desire and making love to the world, each on the way toward a kind-of metaphorical rebirth. Springtime is ripe for such a way of living. In certain parts of the world right now, rebirth is all around us, as are opportunities to desire the world. I encourage us all to try to grasp these opportunities, even as we let them go.
--- Eric Francis; writer, photographer, astrologer (see planetwaves.com)
I woke up from a really good dream this morning, full of all of my favorite dream themes—a handsome man, feelings of desire, sexual tension, a feeling of being truly loved, and images of myself being free and spontaneous. The dream was so pleasurable that waking up brought a sense of profound sorrow. I wanted to hold on to it. To make it my reality. And then to hold on to that reality and never let it go.
This is one of the reasons I write: To capture an experience in an attempt to give it some form and permanence, even though I know that the most the words can do is to point to something that can never be captured fully, something that disappears just as quickly as the words hit page. Still, it’s all I have, and I therefore accept that this is enough. I woke up feeling as though I wanted to hold on to my dream forever. Writing about it, though, will have to be enough. And this further requires a letting-go. Still, the longing remains.
I have often thought about writing, and art more generally, as a form of making love with the world. This is not an original idea, likening creativity to sexuality. Many, many others have made this link before me. One way of understanding this widely-made observation is that making love, like making art, can be about this oscillation of holding-on and letting-go. The passion of some sexual encounters is fueled by a desire to hold on to a feeling, to embody it, to ex-press it, and to give it form. The desire that rages within needs expression, which in turn offers it a reality, a form, a sort-of place within the world which then, just as it’s expressed, disappears. Moreover, the very act of expression (i.e., what we do in an attempt to hold on to the feeling in the first place) itself requires a letting go or giving-over to the experience itself.
I wonder if life is “just” a series of moments of embodying something and then letting go. Embodying something and then letting go. The impulse to hold on to something, to embody it, is an essential part of creating one’s life and giving it a particular form. Letting go is equally essential. Imagine, if you will, not having the letting-go part. Imagine having to have the same experience continuously. In truth, holding on to an experience continuously, however pleasurable it may be in a moment, is a sure form of torture, though it’s what many of us try to do, in a way. Imagine always eating chocolate cake, a never-ending kiss, or a runner’s high that goes on forever. The person eating the cake would never get to have the kiss. And the runner couldn’t eat chocolate cake, while the kisser couldn’t run. It is the letting go which allows us to be open to the next experience: The next… sexy dream, tender moment, encounter with another, feeling, thought, walk outside, accomplishment, failure, piece of art, trip to the post office, day, season, phase of life….
Letting go is what allows life to move. The French word for orgasm translates as “little death.” Sex and death are the ultimate in letting go. Living life as a series of letting-go moments is then akin to making love to the world, with the full experience of orgasm; or of dying to the world, with the full potential for rebirth. Eric’s quote, above, captures this well. So, too, do tantric philosophies which espouse beginning with one’s desire and making love to the world, each on the way toward a kind-of metaphorical rebirth. Springtime is ripe for such a way of living. In certain parts of the world right now, rebirth is all around us, as are opportunities to desire the world. I encourage us all to try to grasp these opportunities, even as we let them go.
LETTING GO IN LONG TERM RELATIONSHIPS
Half of all marriages end in divorce. This is now a well known statistic.
I often wonder: Of those marriages that survive, how many are generally happy ones? How many are healthy? And what defines a healthy relationship in the first place?
I believe that all long-term relationships—be they romantic, friendly, collegiate, or familial, as well as relationships within and between groups and organizations—can be vessels for profound transformation. I believe these same relationships can also be dangerous, which I realize is a strange description for all long-term relationships. The potential danger, it seems to me, is that long-term relationships tempt us to be stagnant. The mark of a healthy and happy relationship, then, is the extent to which the parties involved can face this danger head-on, thereby creating a vessel that is strong enough for transformation.
Easier said than done.
Letting go is what allows life to move. It is also what allows relationships to move. But they can stop moving, and when things become stagnant, the individuals within the relationship are in danger-- in danger of resentment, bitterness, boredom, depression, anxiety, apathy, and not fully living.
Like with many things in life, the positive benefits of something are one side of a coin, the opposite-side of which is the potential danger. When a relationship exists over time, we slip into patterns, which themselves may be marked by an easiness and comfort. In relationships with established patterns, we can take for granted that he’ll always do x, y, or z, and this allows us to do A, B, or C. If these arrangements work for both people (or both organizations/ groups), then we achieve a welcome sense of security, comfort, and peace. Human beings find security in knowing what to expect; we experience comfort when we can depend on someone else; we are often peaceful when things are calm and predictable. At best, these kinds of interactions are like a beautiful dance in which two or more people move fluidly with one another, creating something that feels familiar and spontaneous all at the same time. The experience of such a dance is one of the many benefits of long-term relationships. Before we know it, though,—and, if we’re not vigilant, just outside of our awareness—the other side of this coin shows itself. This same dance can become rote, empty, and lifeless. We wake up one day to the realization that patterns within our relationships, which we’ve helped to create, hold us back. And worse, that these arrangements are similar to the patterns that have always characterized our lives, from the time we were very young.
This is where the relationship’s potential as a healing vessel enters the picture. We can use the relationship, with the comfort and security that has been established thus far, to work through these patterns. To change. To transform. Instead of running away, we stick with the difficulties and develop an awareness about how they have been created and what we can do differently in the future to prevent the same difficulties from arising, again and again.
Easier said than done.
Therapy for the individuals involved and for the relationship itself can be very helpful. Transformation within relationship requires at least several elements, all of which can benefit from the support of ongoing therapy. Respect for oneself and for the other person is necessary. Assuming responsibility for one’s own part in the patterns is also a key element of potential transformation. It is never one person’s fault. Stepping away from blame and replacing it with compassion and understanding for how the relationship got to be where it is now is usually helpful. Perhaps most importantly, the capacity for courage and the willingness to take some risks are essential.
The greatest risk is that of awareness, and so the first question of risk goes something like this: Am I willing to open my eyes (and heart) wide enough to acknowledge that certain patterns are not working? If you get this far, the next questions might be: Am I willing to let go of some of the safety, security, and ease that my patterns offer in order to gain back the life and spontaneity that has been lost? And am I willing to risk losing the relationship as it exists now and maybe altogether, in order to possibly experience its rebirth? I am willing to risk letting go of something of who the other person is to me in order to allow him the freedom to become something more? Finally, am I willing to risk losing something of who I am in the relationship in order to possibly become something more? More simply: Am I willing to let go in order to create something new?
In truth, letting go is one of the most challenging experiences many human beings face, and the reason for this is fear. We tend to repeat the same patters and have the same experiences because we cannot trust in something new. Because we’re holding on to what we know. Because we cannot tolerate the not-knowing. Because we fear letting go, and changing, and the discoveries we might make in this process.
If you are feeling stuck in life, stagnant in your relationships, or fearful of an intimate relationship in the first place, it might be helpful to ask:
What might you need to let go of?
Where do you need more trust?
What are you most afraid of losing?
What goals are you willing to take risks for?
What you are holding on to, and why?
What is the price of holding-on and is it worth it?
Can you allow yourself to die to one experience in order to birth another?
What feels most scary about this?
Can you die to one identity so that you can experience others?
What is your biggest fear around losing that identity?
These are admittedly very difficult questions. They are, though, the questions we need to ask if we wish to risk changing for a fuller life. The important place to begin is asking these questions in the first place, and then thought-fully answering them. There are many reasons that a person would not want to take such risks, and sometimes not risking is the right answer for a particular person or situation. Likewise, not all relationships can be saved or renewed. What is essential, though, for anyone who wants to avoid the many dangers listed above, is to dare to ask the questions and to then answer honestly, rather than avoiding ever facing them in the first place.
I often wonder: Of those marriages that survive, how many are generally happy ones? How many are healthy? And what defines a healthy relationship in the first place?
I believe that all long-term relationships—be they romantic, friendly, collegiate, or familial, as well as relationships within and between groups and organizations—can be vessels for profound transformation. I believe these same relationships can also be dangerous, which I realize is a strange description for all long-term relationships. The potential danger, it seems to me, is that long-term relationships tempt us to be stagnant. The mark of a healthy and happy relationship, then, is the extent to which the parties involved can face this danger head-on, thereby creating a vessel that is strong enough for transformation.
Easier said than done.
Letting go is what allows life to move. It is also what allows relationships to move. But they can stop moving, and when things become stagnant, the individuals within the relationship are in danger-- in danger of resentment, bitterness, boredom, depression, anxiety, apathy, and not fully living.
Like with many things in life, the positive benefits of something are one side of a coin, the opposite-side of which is the potential danger. When a relationship exists over time, we slip into patterns, which themselves may be marked by an easiness and comfort. In relationships with established patterns, we can take for granted that he’ll always do x, y, or z, and this allows us to do A, B, or C. If these arrangements work for both people (or both organizations/ groups), then we achieve a welcome sense of security, comfort, and peace. Human beings find security in knowing what to expect; we experience comfort when we can depend on someone else; we are often peaceful when things are calm and predictable. At best, these kinds of interactions are like a beautiful dance in which two or more people move fluidly with one another, creating something that feels familiar and spontaneous all at the same time. The experience of such a dance is one of the many benefits of long-term relationships. Before we know it, though,—and, if we’re not vigilant, just outside of our awareness—the other side of this coin shows itself. This same dance can become rote, empty, and lifeless. We wake up one day to the realization that patterns within our relationships, which we’ve helped to create, hold us back. And worse, that these arrangements are similar to the patterns that have always characterized our lives, from the time we were very young.
This is where the relationship’s potential as a healing vessel enters the picture. We can use the relationship, with the comfort and security that has been established thus far, to work through these patterns. To change. To transform. Instead of running away, we stick with the difficulties and develop an awareness about how they have been created and what we can do differently in the future to prevent the same difficulties from arising, again and again.
Easier said than done.
Therapy for the individuals involved and for the relationship itself can be very helpful. Transformation within relationship requires at least several elements, all of which can benefit from the support of ongoing therapy. Respect for oneself and for the other person is necessary. Assuming responsibility for one’s own part in the patterns is also a key element of potential transformation. It is never one person’s fault. Stepping away from blame and replacing it with compassion and understanding for how the relationship got to be where it is now is usually helpful. Perhaps most importantly, the capacity for courage and the willingness to take some risks are essential.
The greatest risk is that of awareness, and so the first question of risk goes something like this: Am I willing to open my eyes (and heart) wide enough to acknowledge that certain patterns are not working? If you get this far, the next questions might be: Am I willing to let go of some of the safety, security, and ease that my patterns offer in order to gain back the life and spontaneity that has been lost? And am I willing to risk losing the relationship as it exists now and maybe altogether, in order to possibly experience its rebirth? I am willing to risk letting go of something of who the other person is to me in order to allow him the freedom to become something more? Finally, am I willing to risk losing something of who I am in the relationship in order to possibly become something more? More simply: Am I willing to let go in order to create something new?
In truth, letting go is one of the most challenging experiences many human beings face, and the reason for this is fear. We tend to repeat the same patters and have the same experiences because we cannot trust in something new. Because we’re holding on to what we know. Because we cannot tolerate the not-knowing. Because we fear letting go, and changing, and the discoveries we might make in this process.
If you are feeling stuck in life, stagnant in your relationships, or fearful of an intimate relationship in the first place, it might be helpful to ask:
What might you need to let go of?
Where do you need more trust?
What are you most afraid of losing?
What goals are you willing to take risks for?
What you are holding on to, and why?
What is the price of holding-on and is it worth it?
Can you allow yourself to die to one experience in order to birth another?
What feels most scary about this?
Can you die to one identity so that you can experience others?
What is your biggest fear around losing that identity?
These are admittedly very difficult questions. They are, though, the questions we need to ask if we wish to risk changing for a fuller life. The important place to begin is asking these questions in the first place, and then thought-fully answering them. There are many reasons that a person would not want to take such risks, and sometimes not risking is the right answer for a particular person or situation. Likewise, not all relationships can be saved or renewed. What is essential, though, for anyone who wants to avoid the many dangers listed above, is to dare to ask the questions and to then answer honestly, rather than avoiding ever facing them in the first place.
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