Soul-Searching, and Writing as Catharsis and Exploration

This blog has laid dormant for some years, as I entered a phase of life where it felt like I was just "too busy" to keep up with it. Or I simply couldn't justify keeping up with it.

I have long been using writing as a healing tool; as a catharsis of sorts.

I was never particularly adept at expressing myself verbally; although I see myself as well-meaning, I tend to have a bad case of "Foot-in-Mouth Disease." I call it a "bad" case because not only do I end up saying all the wrong things, I end up saying more wrong things when I try to correct my previous misstatements.

So I often use writing to "work through things," because it seems to move at the same pace as my thought patterns, and I have the opportunity to backspace over something that really didn't come out the way I had intended... and I get both a second, third and more chances to double check my work.

So what does all that have to do with bringing this blog back from the dead?

Well, as more than a few of you are probably aware, Sarah and I recently closed our small local art and gift gallery called the Red Dragonfly. So there was an "ending" there, and I now find myself looking at the next phase of life.

Meanwhile (and not related) Sarah is away on an extended sabbatical/retreat. Although much of my time while she is away will be given over to catching up with yardwork and housework, I will also be spending time examining and taking inventory of this thing called "life," and specifically of what exactly it means to be authentically me. She left me with an excellent set of ideas and pointers, which I value because she has an outstanding grasp of human emotions... I have much gratitude.

I suppose a logical question might be to ask "Why put this out in a blog? Why not just keep a private journal? This seems pretty personal..."

A fair question.

The key here is authenticity. And I keep thinking of the old Danish expression "Bordet fanger," which is a card game expression that literally means that the table "catches."

Authenticity.

I worry that just keeping a private journal might push me over into my old bad habits of "going back and embroidering" what I have previously said, so that it seems "better" and "prettier."

If I commit to committing my words to be public space where others see it, the "table catches" and I don't get to go back and "prettify" what may not be so pretty.

So even though this is just a "pre-amble," I am already establishing personal truth number one: I don't entirely trust myself.

For all I know, this might not end up going anywhere, at all. But I feel... unusually committed... to the process this time, even though I have been through these cycles before.

So, there it is.

Still contemplating whether I should just do this as "Facebook Notes," but I prefer the more flexible format offered by Blogger, so I think I will stick with that.

Death... and Birth (redux)

Some weeks back, I contemplated "death," following the passing of my mother.

Typically, we associate death with the passing of a person, or perhaps of a beloved pet. But death can mean many things. Death of a company, death of an idea, death of a relationship, death of a habit, death of a paradigm, even death of an addiction. And death-- while often painful-- is not necessarily a bad thing.

In my family, the month of August was always a month of many birthdays. But it has also been a month of many deaths. This particular August has been a month of "deaths" for me.

As August ran out, time also ran out on my affiliation with a large web group I've been a part of, almost since its inception in 1996-- both as "just a member," and as "group management." On some level this symbolic "death" led me to a contemplation of exactly what this death was, and the circumstances surrounding "voluntary deaths." In a sense this was the death of a habit. In a different sense, it was the death of a pattern of not-growing; of not moving on. My point here being, that some things need to die, and should be allowed to die.

Sometimes we grow attached to things, in a not-so-healthy way. And we get stuck, and refuse to allow these things to "die." It could be the relationship we're in, going on year 18, even though the relationship "ended" five years ago, or it could be a habit we keep following, even though it is no longer relevant. Or, take therapy. The point of therapy is that we heal and move on, not that we remain in therapy, for 20 years.

Last night, I contemplated the issues of "moving on," compassion, and the hesitance we feel, when it comes to letting go. It led me to consider the problems we often face with patterns and habits, and how we keep doing the same toxic thing, over and over... somehow expecting a different result, next time around... driven, perhaps, by the belief that we can somehow find redemption "if only" it all works out. Often, there's a metaphorical process of running around in a circle going "The sky's gonna fall," while not actually doing anything to address the falling sky.

On a different level, we often stay in situations that involve others out of an alleged sense of compassion, for them, even though the issue at hand is actually about us. We "farm out" accountability for our stuckness by pointing out that were being "considerate" and "compassionate" towards someONE/someTHING outside ourselves. For me, it was often due to the fear of admitting that I simply wasn't able to make something "work." Each of us probably has a different "monster under the bed."

Pema Chödrön, one of my favorite spiritual Teachers, has written much on the topic of compassion. One of the misinterpretations of compassion seems to be that it somehow requires us to "blindly support" someone, in order to be "compassionate." We mistakenly believe that we must validate and underwrite every bad act and toxic habit, if we are to be truly compassionate. However, sometimes the most compassionate act requires us to be "the bad guy." We struggle with this, because how can it be "compassion," if someone gets hurt?

Sometimes a "house of cards" has to be allowed to fall. Perhaps the most compassionate act is to NOT protect someone from their self-destructive actions, but to allow them to actually fall into the black pit those patterns, so they will fully experience the consequences of their choices. Maybe it's a bit like parenting-- unless we actually take the training wheels OFF the bicycle, and thus expose the child to the possibility of falling, there can be no growth; they will never learn to ride the bike unassisted.

Perhaps part of what makes death (of the symbolic, rather than phsyical kind) "scary," is our tendency to forget that such deaths are more often "passages," than "endings." As one of my Teachers once pointed out: "When a door closes, you BY DEFINITION have stepped through, into a NEW space."

I'm by no means advocating that we should not respect, observe, remember and learn from the past... merely pointing out that sometimes we allow "mourning the old" to overshadow new opportunities to such a degree that we get stuck, unable to see and embrace the beauty and potential of what lies ahead.