Tag Archives: The Wild Unknown

Day of Rest

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Being a dis-ordered eater sucks. Sometimes I get so sick of it, so tired of trying to change that I sink into feeling I will never ever ever be rid of this way of being. And to be clear, it isn’t even about the restricting and binging, isn’t about food at all, but rather my struggle to process the intensity of my experience, to control what is impossible to contain, to soothe myself, comfort the feeling of overwhelm, numb the sadness, the suffering caused by both too much and not enough.

I was really feeling this yesterday morning. In a few weeks, Andrea Scher is going to take some pictures for me, of me, and I am starting to feel a whole lot of anxiety around that. I’m not happy with how I look right now, have no idea what I’m going to wear, keep calculating how much weight I could lose if I starved myself and did extra cardio for the next few weeks, “you are obese” ringing in my head even though I am the same size as the average American woman. It’s exhausting.

When I pulled a card from my tarot deck, like I’ve been doing every morning, I asked for help, for clarity and guidance, asked how I can shift this situation. I pulled the Mother of Swords, “Sharp Perceptions,” with the warning that there’s “a potential for her criticism to soar.” Very clearly the message was that I have the power to heal myself through awareness but that I have to be gentle, practice self-compassion, not slip into smashing myself to bits — again, it’s not really about healing my relationship with food but rather with myself.

motherofswordsAnd this healing isn’t about restriction or control or change at all, it’s about renunciation. By that I mean the Buddhist concept of renunciation, which is not just rejection of something but rather a way of saying “yes” to life, to feeling, to the present moment and whatever it might bring. In her book The Wisdom of No Escape: How to Love Yourself and Your World, Pema Chödrön says,

Trungpa Rinpoche once said, “Renunciation is realizing that nostalgia for samsara is full of shit.” Renunciation is realizing that our nostalgia for wanting to stay in a protected, limited petty world is insane.

…that’s fundamentally renunciation: learning how to let go of holding on and holding back.

We don’t, out of fear of the unknown, have to put up these blocks, these dams, that basically say no to life and to feeling life.

The whole journey of renunciation, or starting to say yes to life, is first of all realizing that you’ve come up against your edge, that everything in you is saying no, and then at that point, softening. This is yet another opportunity to develop loving-kindness for yourself.

There is something in this concept of renunciation, this coming up against my edge, this shift from rejecting to letting the world touch me, allowing myself to be vulnerable, softening and opening, that makes me want to lean in.

compassionquoteSo there it is, the perfect example of how my sharp perceptions will facilitate healing. I got the card and in thinking about what it meant, I pretty immediately thought of renunciation, and knew the way Pema describes it would be the place to look, and it totally makes sense as the key and ties back to the card, how it says that there is the potential for criticism to soar and Pema says renunciation is about softening, being gentle. And as I was writing this in my journal, I notice the quote on the next page, “the body is your temple, keep it pure and clean for the soul to reside in,” and it’s from B.K.S. Iyengar, founder of Iyengar Yoga, considered one of the foremost yoga teachers in the world. I start yoga teacher training in a few months, which is another key part of my healing practice, because as Jen Lemen said recently, “a huge barrier to joy is the refusal to live in our actual bodies.” It’s like a “wink, wink, nudge, nudge” from the Universe — you are on the right track, Sugar.

And finally, in case I didn’t get it yet, my meditation practice is a video Susan Piver made for the Open Heart Project, Working with Self-Judgement.

The Universe does conspire to help you, if you show up. A leaf dropped in your path, a card, a line of poetry, a video, a kind word, help when you hadn’t even asked, the memory of an idea that you look for finding it to be the exact wisdom you needed in this very moment — the clear message that I can figure this out, can trust myself, but also to take care, be gentle and kind. Today, I am resting in this.

#augustbreak2013 Day 17

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Touch

wildunknownmailI bought my first tarot deck 20 years ago. I love all kinds of divination practice — I Ching, tarot, Q-Cards. I know there are those who consider it a dark art, of the devil, but I believe it’s a way of communicating directly with God (whatever name you use for this wise and compassionate energy). It’s like prayer, opening my heart and listening deeply for answers to my questions, a way of requesting guidance.

I spent a lot of time choosing my first deck, researching different styles, considering image and color, meaning and origins. It even mattered to me where I bought the deck, it had to be the right place. I ended up with a Rider-Waite Tarot Deck, drawn by illustrator Pamela Colman Smith from the instructions of academic and mystic A. E. Waite, one of the most popular decks, a good one for beginners. I bought it in Boulder, Colorado at the Lighthouse Bookstore on Pearl Street.

me with that first deck, maybe even the first reading, 20 years ago

me with that first deck, maybe even the first reading, meaningful enough that we took a picture

I only used them a few times before a friend asked to borrow them. Now I know better, that your deck has to be yours, that it’s a sacred relationship and you can’t loan that out. At the time, I said “okay,” and I never saw that deck again.

It’s taken 20 years to get another. In the meantime, I used the I Ching and my Q-Cards, or sometimes would even use a book — making a request for guidance, some kind of sign, opening the book to a random page, reading a line or paragraph and considering what truth it contained for me.

With my new deck, I’d seen it around for awhile. People I love and respect use it, and there was just something about it that spoke to me — the dark hand drawn lines, the bright colors, the story of the artist, The Wild Unknown, “founded on the belief that there is a place of wonder, gentle beauty, and clarity within each of us.”

wildunknownfirstcardI pulled my first card this morning. I asked the deck what message it had for me and took a card without even shuffling — because this was the card the deck came to me with, brought to me of its own accord, no shuffling necessary, it came ready to tell me what it had to tell. I pulled it, the Eight of Swords, and recognized it right away, felt a “yes” deep in my belly. This cocoon metaphor has been with me for awhile, the transformation from one manifestation to another that requires a complete melting of everything into a soup of nothing, eventually reconstructing as something beautiful with wings, tender and fragile but possessing the power of flight.

Even so, at first I was disappointed. The message is “trapped, powerless,” believing yourself a victim, “no way out, no available choices.” This touched a nerve, a raw and tender spot in me, and at first I resisted it — I am not a victim, I always take personal responsibility for my experience. I propped the card up on my desk and set my meditation timer for 15 minutes, contemplating what it might mean for me that “Your perceptions keep you from opening your wings and taking flight.”

The card asks if the suspension is because of you or others, and the more I looked at the card, the better I understood its message — I am the one holding myself still, the reason I am not free. This is why there is a Ganesh on my writing desk and why I sometimes chant his mantra, Remover of Obstacles, knowing that I am the only thing in my way. It is me creating the trap. I placed each of those swords, believing they would protect me. What I didn’t understand when I made that tight, sharp circle is that I’d also trapped myself. Any attempt to spread my wings, to move from that spot, and I’d slice my wings to bits. Stuck.

wildunknowneightofswordsUnderlying this desire to protect myself is a fundamental confusion, not just that THIS isn’t a safe place, but that safety is even possible. There is no safe place. No matter what I do, change is inevitable, impermanence is real. The only true freedom is to accept that, surrender to the truth that safety and control aren’t possible, to let go of certainty altogether. I can’t keep myself safe. I can’t keep Sam or Eric safe. I couldn’t keep Kelly or Obi or Dexter safe. I can’t keep anyone or anything I love safe, ever. I have no control, no power over what happens. There is no secret, no protection.

We have so much fear of not being in control, of not being able to hold on to things. Yet the true nature of things is that you’re never in control. You’re never in control. You can never hold on to anything. That’s the nature of how things are. ~Pema Chödrön

In allowing this truth, I’m able to see situations as workable, able to be of benefit, to do what I can to ease suffering. To do so requires a simple and yet almost impossible choice, “Real safety is your willingness to not run away from yourself,” (Pema Chödrön).