Posts Tagged ‘ups and downs’

Food and the Life Force

Thursday, February 11th, 2010
rainbow carrots

rainbow carrots

Wow!  Have you seen these rainbow carrots? I thought they were so lovely that I decided to buy them no matter what the high-end grocery store was charging. They would be so fun to cut up! I couldn’t wait to see how much they held their color when cooked.  And would the purple ones taste any different from the plain ol’ carrots I’ve been eating all my life?

I love it when something fairly simple and completely natural takes my breath away. Somehow it’s proof of persistent innocence. And of the real things that tend to give us the  most pleasure.

It occured to me when I roasted these carrots with garlic and good olive oil, rosemary potatoes next to them, that food we consider beautiful probably gives us extra nourishment. All the research being done about the mind/body and about the body’s propensity to open with pleasure and close with fear on all its levels of functioning–well, the facts are a blur. But the impression I have is that when we take time, when we choose foods that are beautiful and pleasurable, our body breaks out into a big purr and is able to use the nutrients in the food to bolster the life force. And life force is what we want.

I had a client the other day who has been through such a major trauma that I feared she might be in a depression too deep for me to handle. I asked her how big she pictured the life force inside her to be.  I asked her to picture it in the form of a flame, figuring she might tell me it was the size of a pilot light.  She floored me by telling me it was as big as a house. I’m not worried about her now. Sure, I’m empathetic about the grief and the pain she has to go through, but I’m not worried about her in the long run because she has a life force as big as a house.  She has rainbow carrots inside her.

Know Where You’re Going to Land

Thursday, February 4th, 2010
Flying Lessons

Flying Lessons

Want to fly?  Especially if you’ve seen Avatar, you know what I mean. Don’t we all long to soar in that free, powerful way that connects us to everyone and everything? It’s an image as old as humankind–soaring above our earthly cares and the solidity of the material world.

There’s only one catch–the one I learned when I was in flight training, earning my private pilot’s license back in the late ’90’s.  The catch is that the scariest part of flying isn’t taking off or soaring or looking down on the little ant houses below. It’s getting that heavy piece of machinery back on the ground in one piece. It’s landing.

And yet we have to address that catch, because it’s basic. That is, who would be crazy enough to take off and soar if you didn’t think you could get back on solid ground? We are human, after all, and subject to gravity. So sooner or later we have to come home.

When I was learning to fly, and especially through the years that have followed my training, I’ve chewed on the metaphor of flight and on the many lessons for life my female flight instructor, Clio, taught me. Clio didn’t intend on being a spiritual teacher or the “aviation therapist” I called her, but I thought the spiritual training I got was pretty cheap at $65 per hour.

So now I’m writing a book:  Flying Lessons for Life. And as I work on Lesson #1, Know Where You’re Going to Land, I’m full of thoughts about how important this concept is to me and to the clients I see. Almost everyone these days is “in transition–” a polite word for deep doo-doo in some area of life. The economy is hard, relationships and systems are falling apart, and the universe seems intent on decomposing anything that isn’t sustainable for the new future it must have in mind. So knowing where we’re going to land is more than just a handy skill; it’s a basic necessity.

Where do you go when everything falls apart?  How do you find solid ground? Do you go to outer things?  To family and friends?  To substances? Activities?  Or do you go inward?  If so, how do you find center, that place where you can stand no matter what is going on around you?

I’m working on some ideas around these questions, but I’d love to hear from you.  How do you know where and how you’ll land?

Happy flying!

Stormy Weather

Thursday, January 21st, 2010

stormy ocean

I am lucky enough right this minute to be sitting by a large window looking out to a very stormy sea. You may have read about the series of big storms hitting the Santa Barbara area of California, and that’s where I am, on my yearly retreat with a women’s group I’ve known for 30 years.

We’ve had to rush out of the house every time the rain clears for a quick walk before diving back into the warmth of the fire. Not what we had planned. But does this qualify as BAD weather?

This group of women ranges from mid-50’s to almost 70, and we’ve seen some stormy times. Eight lives, eight stories, eight sets of weather that could make the hardiest person shiver. Three bouts of cancer in the group. Four divorces. One death of a child. Traumas with all the children who lived. Many tests of faith. And yet, as we listen to each other, we wonder: were these storms in our lives BAD?

Not one of us relishes or courts drama, and not one would wish suffering on another. But each time a roaring wind has struck us it has dragged gifts along with it. The learning and growth in this group is stunning. Maybe stormy weather isn’t bad, but just stormy.

The wind sweeps long rooster tails from the crest of each grey and white wave. Mud swirls at the shoreline, where a creek is depositing debris from the mountains. Gulls venture out to scout for surprises, new life deposited on the shore, fuel for whatever weather comes next. And I sit in comfort, just watching the drama, the wonder, the life force.

Solstice images

Wednesday, December 9th, 2009

Desert Solstice

Golden grasses,
brittle branches breaking underfoot,
hidden water,
last leaves gripping black mesquites.
In this desert
things are dying.

Quail bedded down
burst forth as I pass.
Surprising red plants flow along the wash.
The thrill of my own breath moves faster,
echoing the rising wind.
In this desert
something new is coming.

Cells fall away in me,
brittle old ideas breaking apart.
Old juices lay hidden away, reserved for drought.
I change every day, now faster and
in the dry, arid places of me
things are dying.

An explosion of wings breaks through my soul.
Colors appear, flowing through my center.
My life force quickens
as a storm gathers within me, promising flow.
In this desert within,
dark with winter,
light is coming.
                          Pamela Hale, 2009

Desert solstice_opt

And you?  How do you experience winter and solstice time in your outer landscape?  How about your inner one?  Does nature act as a mirror for you?

Teeter totter

Wednesday, December 2nd, 2009

Ever been on a seesaw? I’m not just talking about when you were little. How about in a relationship where one minute you’re up and the next you’re oh-so-down? How about in our economy where a couple of years ago you were way up there on Easy Street and now you’re wondering if you could end up down on Skid Row?

Every spiritual tradition teaches that when we can give up our attachment to these conditions, these poles of up and down, we are freed and enlightened. Easy for “them” to say when you’re on the seesaw! How do you do it?

Today it occurred to me (dizzy from the descent from up to down) that the only way to find stability on a seesaw is to go toward center. The center is the fulcrum, the support, the still point. It must be sturdy and securely positioned in the earth for the seesaw to be safe. It is what needs to be maintained first.

How do you maintain the center support? Well, for one thing, you have to just pay attention to it. I forget sometimes to just ask how my center support is and whether it needs maintenance.

Then I ask myself what kind of maintenance it needs. One day it might be meditation. At other times a walk on the earth works best. For me, solitude is essential. Yet there are those days when there’s nothing like a good friend to reminds you you’re not crazy. Finding my sense of humor is always a relief. Spiritual practices are meant for maintaining the center.

So when you’re up, that’s great—and we know that we will eventually come down. And, being down is also a temporary state. Being human, it seems we are a seesaw and are influenced to a degree by the changing “weather” outside us.

And, we are the center. We are the fulcrum, the still point. We are the essence and we are connected to the earth.

When we find our center, we can tolerate ups and downs and keep our balance. At least we can as long as we keep the part of us alive that is forever the child—and remember that this journey is really play.

Maggie