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His inaccessibility drives my wanting deeper
Just one night, I imagine, and I can rest
Three years after falling and I am still seeking
Knowing that the fire would burn me alive
I listen to songs about jealousy
And torture myself with his fantasies
Absent of me
To drink his soul before It claims me
And taste his skin with oceans raging
The thought of the Dark reminds
I’m viewing maya from behind barred windows
He sees bars too
And it’s time to allow him this
Absent of me.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Glimpses
He hurries down the steps with presence and purpose, a few garbage bags in hand, greeting his new visitor as they pass on the stairway leading up to his home. It is as though he’s in pursuit of his own thoughts, racing to keep up with their pace… to grab hold of these energy-particles, which are quick, original, and- like him- seem to emerge from nowhere, though their substance reveal a history—as well as his story.
I see a man in love with the challenge of tracking his mind.
Back from depositing the trash, he meets his client, this time at the top of the stairs, and ushers her into the chaotic-looking space. Papers, equipment, books and photos, which are scattered across the kitchen table and flowing over onto the floor, hide his laptop from view. I imagine he didn’t sleep much the previous evening, even as I observe his energetic greeting of the clutter, in search of the lost item. His ease negotiating the chaos reflects that the scene is not uncommon.
He is at-home.
And in the classroom: Wearing khakis, a button-down, and a vest which belies his affinity for the 60’s, he is ready to play the role of teacher…only it isn’t a role at all. Too grounded for role-play, rooted in the contours of his body, knowledge and offerings. Rooted in earth. He radiates calm, care and an endearing openness. There is spaciousness. The teacher is the man and the man, the teacher.
Inevitably, his students fall in love.
The intensity rises when his attention turns to the conspiracy theory. His voice grows louder. He asserts himself with both aggression and playfulness. Paces back and forth, in full command of the classroom, speaking with an authority that mesmerizes. All Mars Now. And the tone of the room becomes almost solemn, even as his eyes sparkle with the enjoyment of this authority, confidence and power of persuasion.
I imagine that he’s aware, in this moment, of his desirability.
I know he is aware of hers, as his camera offers her the space to be. How miraculous is the opening he creates, momentarily eclipsing that which burns within so that she can find her fire! The lens extends he-as-palette. He is red and Blue and the absence of color as well as them all, and she feels herself coming to life within this prism of light.
Desire swells now, and he is left to drink himself.
EVER PRESENT INTENSITY: Just for a moment it seems to dissipate with the arrival of a hearty, earthy laugh—the sort that originates deep in the belly. A laugh so full of presence that it carries its own passionate force…and I realize it never really goes away. So I imagine him surrendering to sleep. And my fantasy holds his body still, though his psyche continues its motion, politely and appropriately ignoring my desire to bring him rest.
He is at home, here, too, in the deep, beautifully chaotic recesses of (un)consciousness.
Oh… and as a young boy: His face is so soft and his eyes, large, curious and wanting. The desire is already there. So, too, is the surrender. Longing for the embrace that proves he is loved. It’s an embrace I experience when he holds me with his eyes. He is there, with me, completely. In me, even; leaving me yearning to dance.
His compassion swaddles and heats and melts.
And in that moment, I am aware of the man and the boy; the love and aggression; desire and surrendr; the presence and dissolution.
The All and the one.
I see a man in love with the challenge of tracking his mind.
Back from depositing the trash, he meets his client, this time at the top of the stairs, and ushers her into the chaotic-looking space. Papers, equipment, books and photos, which are scattered across the kitchen table and flowing over onto the floor, hide his laptop from view. I imagine he didn’t sleep much the previous evening, even as I observe his energetic greeting of the clutter, in search of the lost item. His ease negotiating the chaos reflects that the scene is not uncommon.
He is at-home.
And in the classroom: Wearing khakis, a button-down, and a vest which belies his affinity for the 60’s, he is ready to play the role of teacher…only it isn’t a role at all. Too grounded for role-play, rooted in the contours of his body, knowledge and offerings. Rooted in earth. He radiates calm, care and an endearing openness. There is spaciousness. The teacher is the man and the man, the teacher.
Inevitably, his students fall in love.
The intensity rises when his attention turns to the conspiracy theory. His voice grows louder. He asserts himself with both aggression and playfulness. Paces back and forth, in full command of the classroom, speaking with an authority that mesmerizes. All Mars Now. And the tone of the room becomes almost solemn, even as his eyes sparkle with the enjoyment of this authority, confidence and power of persuasion.
I imagine that he’s aware, in this moment, of his desirability.
I know he is aware of hers, as his camera offers her the space to be. How miraculous is the opening he creates, momentarily eclipsing that which burns within so that she can find her fire! The lens extends he-as-palette. He is red and Blue and the absence of color as well as them all, and she feels herself coming to life within this prism of light.
Desire swells now, and he is left to drink himself.
EVER PRESENT INTENSITY: Just for a moment it seems to dissipate with the arrival of a hearty, earthy laugh—the sort that originates deep in the belly. A laugh so full of presence that it carries its own passionate force…and I realize it never really goes away. So I imagine him surrendering to sleep. And my fantasy holds his body still, though his psyche continues its motion, politely and appropriately ignoring my desire to bring him rest.
He is at home, here, too, in the deep, beautifully chaotic recesses of (un)consciousness.
Oh… and as a young boy: His face is so soft and his eyes, large, curious and wanting. The desire is already there. So, too, is the surrender. Longing for the embrace that proves he is loved. It’s an embrace I experience when he holds me with his eyes. He is there, with me, completely. In me, even; leaving me yearning to dance.
His compassion swaddles and heats and melts.
And in that moment, I am aware of the man and the boy; the love and aggression; desire and surrendr; the presence and dissolution.
The All and the one.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Another Love Story
I found Taylor Swift’s Love Story within the iTunes library that I share with my husband. More a fan of folk- and/or alternative- rock, I’m frequently teasing him about his poor taste in music and how surprising this is to me given that he originally taught me much of what I now know and appreciate about music. He introduced me to classic rock over 20 years ago, and now he listens to pop! “The student surpasses the teacher,” I only half joke and arrogantly assert as I hold to my conviction that good music is an objective fact and not just a matter of taste. And that I’m the judge and jury when it comes to such objective facts, despite the fact that I don’t believe in objectivity.
Anyway, in spite of myself, I love Swift’s song. Feminist that I can be, I hesitate to admit that this girl called me longs for her version of Romeo. I think many of us do, unless of course one is apt to dream about her version of Juliet. For me, it’s Romeo I find myself somewhat shamelessly wanting. My version is the type with a strong, solid exterior alongside a sensitive, wounded heart that is almost inaccessible.
On one specific occasion many years ago, my husband was my Romeo. I had fallen on an icy patch of an isolated part of the private school campus where he and I lived at the time. I hit my head on a brick wall and blacked out, just for a moment, as I lay alone on the concrete unable to get myself up. Not too long after, a student passed by and got help; but when the “help” arrived, no one wanted to touch me. I think they were thrown off by my inability to get myself up and concerned about a spinal cord injury, as we’re all taught to be in those basic-life-saving-skills classes which teach us to administer CPR with dummies. As I lay on the ground of ice, pleading with my coworkers not to call an ambulance, my husband appeared. He might as well have been riding a white horse. He ran over, pushed everyone out of the way, and swept me off the ground—into his arms—and away from that terrible scene. Then he took me home.
This is the one clear memory I have of him being that strong, solid man coming to my rescue. There is only one memory, not because he wouldn’t do it again in a heartbeat, but because these aren’t the usual roles we play for each other. My default mode is to be the strong one: I don’t need, or allow, rescuing. Though, as I reflect on my role as the damsel-in-distress, I know that there is something relieving for me in receiving help—and in having a Romeo to turn toward.
Today, I needed a Romeo again. Yesterday’s battle with a huge pothole threw off the alignment in my car and affected the tire pressure. Still, the car seemed drivable, and I was determined to get to my shamanic healing appointment this morning. On my way, the affected tire blew—on the highway. The scent of burning rubber accompanied a blinking engine light before I was quite cognizant of what was happening. Still, always one to be calm under pressure, I managed to get the car onto an off-ramp. After nearly driving one of the rims off its axel, that was as far as my reliable Subaru was going. So I sat in the car, contacted AAA, and then called my Romeo.
Before he showed up, I met two other Shakespearian characters, each ready to save me from the tragic circumstances of this bitterly cold winter morning. The first was the son of a state trooper—also driving a Subaru—who was kind enough to stop and make sure I was okay. He offered to call in a trooper to sit behind my car until all was safe; and he reminded me, with a smile, that I should not have been driving on a rim. The second strapping young prince was the tow-truck driver, who, when we initially spoke by phone, assured me that he would find me even though I couldn't tell him quite where I was. Once on the scene, he invited me into his truck to keep warm; and when he discovered that a muscle-related disability made it impossible for me to step into that sexy but very-far-off-the-ground truck of his, he took charge of ensuring that I’d be safely escorted from the scene. Prince Eric later called back to make sure I knew exactly where he had taken my car, leaving me feeling a bit like a princess.
As this hero of a man was saving me from a potential highway tragedy, my third Romeo entered the picture, quickly moving toward me from the thru-street at the end of the off-ramp—where I was now standing with a huge tow-truck and state trooper nearby. This time my husband took my hand, leading me over the treacherous ice, across the traffic-full street, and into the safety and warmth of his not-so-high-off-the-ground car. He then claimed full responsibility for the incident—claiming that he should have never let me drive the car after the pothole war—and tended to all of the practical details, leaving me free to transform this mini, road-side crisis into a Taylor Swift Love Story complete with three leading men.
He would be happy to know he was cast as the hero in this based-in-reality fantasy of mine. And I was happy enough to be in need of rescuing. Politically incorrect and offensive as this story-weaving may be to some, I think it illustrates the usefulness of fantasy, which is to help us recognize the rigidity of the roles we usually play… and the lives we usually lead. My fantasies of late have led me closer to surrender. This has come in the form of asking for help, giving up control, not having to be so strong, and relaxing into receiving. Plus, it’s fun to transform a tow-truck driver into Romeo with a sexy truck, staring in a role-play of a pop song.
Anyway, in spite of myself, I love Swift’s song. Feminist that I can be, I hesitate to admit that this girl called me longs for her version of Romeo. I think many of us do, unless of course one is apt to dream about her version of Juliet. For me, it’s Romeo I find myself somewhat shamelessly wanting. My version is the type with a strong, solid exterior alongside a sensitive, wounded heart that is almost inaccessible.
On one specific occasion many years ago, my husband was my Romeo. I had fallen on an icy patch of an isolated part of the private school campus where he and I lived at the time. I hit my head on a brick wall and blacked out, just for a moment, as I lay alone on the concrete unable to get myself up. Not too long after, a student passed by and got help; but when the “help” arrived, no one wanted to touch me. I think they were thrown off by my inability to get myself up and concerned about a spinal cord injury, as we’re all taught to be in those basic-life-saving-skills classes which teach us to administer CPR with dummies. As I lay on the ground of ice, pleading with my coworkers not to call an ambulance, my husband appeared. He might as well have been riding a white horse. He ran over, pushed everyone out of the way, and swept me off the ground—into his arms—and away from that terrible scene. Then he took me home.
This is the one clear memory I have of him being that strong, solid man coming to my rescue. There is only one memory, not because he wouldn’t do it again in a heartbeat, but because these aren’t the usual roles we play for each other. My default mode is to be the strong one: I don’t need, or allow, rescuing. Though, as I reflect on my role as the damsel-in-distress, I know that there is something relieving for me in receiving help—and in having a Romeo to turn toward.
Today, I needed a Romeo again. Yesterday’s battle with a huge pothole threw off the alignment in my car and affected the tire pressure. Still, the car seemed drivable, and I was determined to get to my shamanic healing appointment this morning. On my way, the affected tire blew—on the highway. The scent of burning rubber accompanied a blinking engine light before I was quite cognizant of what was happening. Still, always one to be calm under pressure, I managed to get the car onto an off-ramp. After nearly driving one of the rims off its axel, that was as far as my reliable Subaru was going. So I sat in the car, contacted AAA, and then called my Romeo.
Before he showed up, I met two other Shakespearian characters, each ready to save me from the tragic circumstances of this bitterly cold winter morning. The first was the son of a state trooper—also driving a Subaru—who was kind enough to stop and make sure I was okay. He offered to call in a trooper to sit behind my car until all was safe; and he reminded me, with a smile, that I should not have been driving on a rim. The second strapping young prince was the tow-truck driver, who, when we initially spoke by phone, assured me that he would find me even though I couldn't tell him quite where I was. Once on the scene, he invited me into his truck to keep warm; and when he discovered that a muscle-related disability made it impossible for me to step into that sexy but very-far-off-the-ground truck of his, he took charge of ensuring that I’d be safely escorted from the scene. Prince Eric later called back to make sure I knew exactly where he had taken my car, leaving me feeling a bit like a princess.
As this hero of a man was saving me from a potential highway tragedy, my third Romeo entered the picture, quickly moving toward me from the thru-street at the end of the off-ramp—where I was now standing with a huge tow-truck and state trooper nearby. This time my husband took my hand, leading me over the treacherous ice, across the traffic-full street, and into the safety and warmth of his not-so-high-off-the-ground car. He then claimed full responsibility for the incident—claiming that he should have never let me drive the car after the pothole war—and tended to all of the practical details, leaving me free to transform this mini, road-side crisis into a Taylor Swift Love Story complete with three leading men.
He would be happy to know he was cast as the hero in this based-in-reality fantasy of mine. And I was happy enough to be in need of rescuing. Politically incorrect and offensive as this story-weaving may be to some, I think it illustrates the usefulness of fantasy, which is to help us recognize the rigidity of the roles we usually play… and the lives we usually lead. My fantasies of late have led me closer to surrender. This has come in the form of asking for help, giving up control, not having to be so strong, and relaxing into receiving. Plus, it’s fun to transform a tow-truck driver into Romeo with a sexy truck, staring in a role-play of a pop song.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
House of Bliss
What do children, play, gambling, love affairs, and creativity all have in common?
For one thing, these are all themes related to the 5th House of Astrology. An astrology chart, often represented pictorially as a circle, shows the position of planets and other celestial bodies at any given moment in time. The circle is divided into 12 houses, of roughly 30 degrees each, totaling 360 degrees of zodaical territory. What this means is that each planet or asteroid finds itself located in one of 12 houses. The 5th house is my favorite and happens to be where my Pisces-Sun finds its home in my own birth chart. So, I decided to write about it this month—which, by the way, is a very 5th house thing to do: To follow your bliss.
Before I’m accused of circuitous arguments, though, I need to introduce the question again. Why are activities such as child’s play, creating art, gambling, and romance grouped together in an astrological house in the first place? Or, stated another way, what is the 5th House really about? What is its essence?
Jeremy Neal, life-long astrologer and blogger (http://chirotic.wordpress.com/), once said that astrology is about pattern recognition. I believe it was he who also advocated for distilling such patterns and themes to their essence. If you are at all interested in Astrology, it would be a worthwhile activity to pause and answer for yourself the questions posed above. What do these 5th House activities have in common?
To begin with, the 5th House is about taking risks. Gambling is the most obvious example of this, though we are not talking only about such concrete illustrations of risk. Taking risks in life involves moving through our fears and walking into unknown territory. It is about moving toward the unknown, even though it may be scary. It is about desiring and sometimes acting on that desire even though we cannot predict or guarantee or control the outcome. When we can do this, really do it, we usually discover a sense of joy.
I recently had the pleasure of witnessing the following scene:
Two children, about 4 and 6 years of age approached a large, ground-level water fountain located in the middle of an outdoor shopping center. It was closer to a park-like setting, and the fountain was a landscape feature, not a drinking fountain. The sun seemed to be blessing the fountain with its abundant light, so that the water glistened with its own joy.
The fountain consisted of about forty different spouts located on the pavement in the shape of a circle. The various spouts would give life to their respective eruptions of water according to a host of patterns that would repeat over time. Every third spout would erupt with a certain height of water spraying into the air, while every forth spout would remain silent, and every fifth erupt slightly after the third with a higher column of water. Suddenly, the pattern would change, over and over again, until all the spouts were operating at full blast creating an explosion of water that had the effect of liquid fireworks. Meanwhile, the two children, fully-clothed, found their way into the fountain and were squealing with delight. They seemed to love the unpredictability of it. And they were totally in the moment—not thinking about the previous pattern of water or what they ate for breakfast that morning, and not needing anything specific to happen next. They were not worried about their dad putting an end to their fun or the fact that their clothes were wet. They were staying with their desire in that moment, and found what I can only describe as pure bliss.
This is the 5th House incarnate. It’s about being in the moment, letting go of our expectations and our need to control the outcome, saying yes to our desire, and following our bliss. All of this involves risk, and being open to hurt or to disappointment. Children do this well. Love affairs jolt us into this space. Creativity requires this attitude—art moves through us, we do not control it.
As the two children were enjoying their shared moment of eternity, another younger girl—wearing what looked to be an expensive, brightly-colored dress-- approached with her mom. I’m not sure if it was spoken directly, but it was clear that this girl was not allowed in the fountain. Her momentary sad look broke my heart. There may have been very good reasons for this. In life, we cannot always follow our heart’s desire. Still, as a 5th House person, I was devastated for her. Regardless of the reasons for her specific prohibition to enter the fountain, what this leads me to think about is how often we shut down our 5th House attitudes for no good reason at all. I remember, back in the 7th grade, thinking about how ridiculous it was that my friend and I would get kicked out of class for laughing. I could understand wanting to remove us from the classroom so as not to disrupt the learning, but it was how upset some adults seemed to get that I could never fully understand. Why not celebrate such laughter?!
In any event, I think we are a culture of people who for the most part live in the 6th House of work and routine much more than the 5th House of Risk and Bliss. Everything has its place, which is part of the beauty of astrology. We may just be a bit off balance. So, whereas the purpose of my writing this is nothing other than the joy I experience in writing, I would not at all mind if it has the effect of inspiring someone to follow their version of bliss. And this is another lesson of the 5th: When we follow our own desires, it is not only good for us, but also for those around us.
For one thing, these are all themes related to the 5th House of Astrology. An astrology chart, often represented pictorially as a circle, shows the position of planets and other celestial bodies at any given moment in time. The circle is divided into 12 houses, of roughly 30 degrees each, totaling 360 degrees of zodaical territory. What this means is that each planet or asteroid finds itself located in one of 12 houses. The 5th house is my favorite and happens to be where my Pisces-Sun finds its home in my own birth chart. So, I decided to write about it this month—which, by the way, is a very 5th house thing to do: To follow your bliss.
Before I’m accused of circuitous arguments, though, I need to introduce the question again. Why are activities such as child’s play, creating art, gambling, and romance grouped together in an astrological house in the first place? Or, stated another way, what is the 5th House really about? What is its essence?
Jeremy Neal, life-long astrologer and blogger (http://chirotic.wordpress.com/), once said that astrology is about pattern recognition. I believe it was he who also advocated for distilling such patterns and themes to their essence. If you are at all interested in Astrology, it would be a worthwhile activity to pause and answer for yourself the questions posed above. What do these 5th House activities have in common?
To begin with, the 5th House is about taking risks. Gambling is the most obvious example of this, though we are not talking only about such concrete illustrations of risk. Taking risks in life involves moving through our fears and walking into unknown territory. It is about moving toward the unknown, even though it may be scary. It is about desiring and sometimes acting on that desire even though we cannot predict or guarantee or control the outcome. When we can do this, really do it, we usually discover a sense of joy.
I recently had the pleasure of witnessing the following scene:
Two children, about 4 and 6 years of age approached a large, ground-level water fountain located in the middle of an outdoor shopping center. It was closer to a park-like setting, and the fountain was a landscape feature, not a drinking fountain. The sun seemed to be blessing the fountain with its abundant light, so that the water glistened with its own joy.
The fountain consisted of about forty different spouts located on the pavement in the shape of a circle. The various spouts would give life to their respective eruptions of water according to a host of patterns that would repeat over time. Every third spout would erupt with a certain height of water spraying into the air, while every forth spout would remain silent, and every fifth erupt slightly after the third with a higher column of water. Suddenly, the pattern would change, over and over again, until all the spouts were operating at full blast creating an explosion of water that had the effect of liquid fireworks. Meanwhile, the two children, fully-clothed, found their way into the fountain and were squealing with delight. They seemed to love the unpredictability of it. And they were totally in the moment—not thinking about the previous pattern of water or what they ate for breakfast that morning, and not needing anything specific to happen next. They were not worried about their dad putting an end to their fun or the fact that their clothes were wet. They were staying with their desire in that moment, and found what I can only describe as pure bliss.
This is the 5th House incarnate. It’s about being in the moment, letting go of our expectations and our need to control the outcome, saying yes to our desire, and following our bliss. All of this involves risk, and being open to hurt or to disappointment. Children do this well. Love affairs jolt us into this space. Creativity requires this attitude—art moves through us, we do not control it.
As the two children were enjoying their shared moment of eternity, another younger girl—wearing what looked to be an expensive, brightly-colored dress-- approached with her mom. I’m not sure if it was spoken directly, but it was clear that this girl was not allowed in the fountain. Her momentary sad look broke my heart. There may have been very good reasons for this. In life, we cannot always follow our heart’s desire. Still, as a 5th House person, I was devastated for her. Regardless of the reasons for her specific prohibition to enter the fountain, what this leads me to think about is how often we shut down our 5th House attitudes for no good reason at all. I remember, back in the 7th grade, thinking about how ridiculous it was that my friend and I would get kicked out of class for laughing. I could understand wanting to remove us from the classroom so as not to disrupt the learning, but it was how upset some adults seemed to get that I could never fully understand. Why not celebrate such laughter?!
In any event, I think we are a culture of people who for the most part live in the 6th House of work and routine much more than the 5th House of Risk and Bliss. Everything has its place, which is part of the beauty of astrology. We may just be a bit off balance. So, whereas the purpose of my writing this is nothing other than the joy I experience in writing, I would not at all mind if it has the effect of inspiring someone to follow their version of bliss. And this is another lesson of the 5th: When we follow our own desires, it is not only good for us, but also for those around us.
Opening Up Perspective
A revision of Miami: Day Three--
I was away on vacation recently. As is always the case for me, it was only once I was boarded onto my plane and up in the air that I realized how important it was to take some form of vacation. Travel seems to bring me perspective. Once the plane literally began moving me away from my home and work, my mind cleared. I felt space opening up within me; and in that space, thoughts, fantasies, and memories came rolling in, one after another.
This is what I noticed during my warm January week: I didn’t have to be anything or anyone in Miami. The simple feat of being transported from a very familiar place to one less so had the effect of the dissolution of my ego—at least one of the outer layers of it. In other words, I was much less attached to a certain identity, to those beliefs that I am this, or ought to be that. And without that attachment, I responded more spontaneously, meaning that my responses arose in the moment, unconditioned by my past history, future expectations, and the attachment to identity that these can create.
This is freedom.
And what does this freedom have to do with relationships?
The nature of being human is to fall into limited perspectives (as much as it is also about always being much more than this). In relationships, this “falling” happens almost naturally, and easily. When we relate to the Other, we begin to form an image of them- a sense of who they are; just as we have an image of ourselves. My friend Jane is ---, fill-in the blank: Funny, outgoing, caring, abrasive, optimistic, and so on. What then happens is that when we are with Jane, we pay most attention to the information that confirms this image and less to anything contrary to it. Over time, and if we are not careful, we begin relating to an image rather than a living, breathing human being.
We do this with ourselves as well. Rather than relating to ourselves as human beings who are open to all possibilities in any moment, we close down these possibilities by believing I am only this. For example, we may have an image of ourselves that goes something like, “I am responsible to my family.” Then, when the opportunity arises to do something for oneself, and that opportunity seems in contrast with one’s family’s needs, that person may turn away from it- even though he really desires it.
What this looks like in relationships is: Mr. I am only this begins a relationship with Ms. She is this way, and the two living, breathing human beings almost disappear. Conflicts exist between the potential of each person and of the relationship in general with the images that each believes must be upheld. No wonder so many long-term relationships grow stale! Our way of relating to one another, and to ourselves, closes down possibilities. If you are feeling trapped, bored, apathetic, or unfree, this is a clue that you may be over-attached to an image or identity. It is also an opportunity to begin to live a juicier life.
How can we begin to discover that juicier life?
We need to embody the spirit of children, who are much less conditioned than adults into these fixed identities. We need to try to approach the world with a naïve vision—as though we are seeing things for the first time. Watch a child explore the world, and try to emulate this attitude.
On a more concrete level, there are things we can do to break-up our fixed patterns and images.
1. Try to observe this happening in your life. Notice the images or identities that you have crafted for your self and for others and notice those places where they may interfere with what is possible.
2. Take a vacation from usual routines. Drive to work using a different route. Eat something different for lunch. Have dinner out instead of in, or in instead of out.
3. Take a real vacation from work and home obligations. Even if you cannot go away, turn off the TV, phone, or computer. Stop you mail for two days. Indulge in a long bath or your favorite dinner, or sleeping-in.
4. In your long-term relationships—with friends, partners, or family members—challenge yourself to notice something different about the other person.
5. Hang out with a child, or an adult with a child-like spirit, for a whole day. Meet them where they are, and spend the day being playful, exploring, and experimenting—without expectation.
6. Fantasize about what your juicier life would look like. How do you feel within the fantasy? What is different about you? Others?
7. Finally, plan your vacation, play-date, or fantasy-time. Mark it on your calendar for at least one day this month. And honor the date!
I was away on vacation recently. As is always the case for me, it was only once I was boarded onto my plane and up in the air that I realized how important it was to take some form of vacation. Travel seems to bring me perspective. Once the plane literally began moving me away from my home and work, my mind cleared. I felt space opening up within me; and in that space, thoughts, fantasies, and memories came rolling in, one after another.
This is what I noticed during my warm January week: I didn’t have to be anything or anyone in Miami. The simple feat of being transported from a very familiar place to one less so had the effect of the dissolution of my ego—at least one of the outer layers of it. In other words, I was much less attached to a certain identity, to those beliefs that I am this, or ought to be that. And without that attachment, I responded more spontaneously, meaning that my responses arose in the moment, unconditioned by my past history, future expectations, and the attachment to identity that these can create.
This is freedom.
And what does this freedom have to do with relationships?
The nature of being human is to fall into limited perspectives (as much as it is also about always being much more than this). In relationships, this “falling” happens almost naturally, and easily. When we relate to the Other, we begin to form an image of them- a sense of who they are; just as we have an image of ourselves. My friend Jane is ---, fill-in the blank: Funny, outgoing, caring, abrasive, optimistic, and so on. What then happens is that when we are with Jane, we pay most attention to the information that confirms this image and less to anything contrary to it. Over time, and if we are not careful, we begin relating to an image rather than a living, breathing human being.
We do this with ourselves as well. Rather than relating to ourselves as human beings who are open to all possibilities in any moment, we close down these possibilities by believing I am only this. For example, we may have an image of ourselves that goes something like, “I am responsible to my family.” Then, when the opportunity arises to do something for oneself, and that opportunity seems in contrast with one’s family’s needs, that person may turn away from it- even though he really desires it.
What this looks like in relationships is: Mr. I am only this begins a relationship with Ms. She is this way, and the two living, breathing human beings almost disappear. Conflicts exist between the potential of each person and of the relationship in general with the images that each believes must be upheld. No wonder so many long-term relationships grow stale! Our way of relating to one another, and to ourselves, closes down possibilities. If you are feeling trapped, bored, apathetic, or unfree, this is a clue that you may be over-attached to an image or identity. It is also an opportunity to begin to live a juicier life.
How can we begin to discover that juicier life?
We need to embody the spirit of children, who are much less conditioned than adults into these fixed identities. We need to try to approach the world with a naïve vision—as though we are seeing things for the first time. Watch a child explore the world, and try to emulate this attitude.
On a more concrete level, there are things we can do to break-up our fixed patterns and images.
1. Try to observe this happening in your life. Notice the images or identities that you have crafted for your self and for others and notice those places where they may interfere with what is possible.
2. Take a vacation from usual routines. Drive to work using a different route. Eat something different for lunch. Have dinner out instead of in, or in instead of out.
3. Take a real vacation from work and home obligations. Even if you cannot go away, turn off the TV, phone, or computer. Stop you mail for two days. Indulge in a long bath or your favorite dinner, or sleeping-in.
4. In your long-term relationships—with friends, partners, or family members—challenge yourself to notice something different about the other person.
5. Hang out with a child, or an adult with a child-like spirit, for a whole day. Meet them where they are, and spend the day being playful, exploring, and experimenting—without expectation.
6. Fantasize about what your juicier life would look like. How do you feel within the fantasy? What is different about you? Others?
7. Finally, plan your vacation, play-date, or fantasy-time. Mark it on your calendar for at least one day this month. And honor the date!
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