Archive for May, 2010

Journey into the Shadows: Emotions of Menopause

Emotions are part of the process.

It is written, someplace in a book by Suzanne Somers or Christiane Northrup, or maybe it’s in the Akashic Records. Unresolved emotions flare up in middle age with great intensity, particularly during menopause. If you haven’t read about it, you can certainly see it in “Sex and the City 2,” when one of the girls becomes overwhelmed with her 52-year-old menopausal symptoms. Without giving away the story, the frequent rawness of menopause is brilliantly portrayed by the incredible and colorful character, Samantha. As always, she enacts what many women have wanted to express at some point or another yet have been reluctant to expose that level of angst and urgency in themselves until the gift of uncensored spontaneity was offered up during menopause.

Much like a long Saturn Return, menopause humbles us by reflecting to us what society has held true for much of the known time line: our mortality and our limitations. It forces us to acknowledge and create boundaries; we even become more effective and reactive. We begin to consciously excavate emotions we thought had long since disappeared; and if we don’t do this consciously, it comes up anyway. Not everyone experiences this emotional phenomenon–maybe women who choose HRT; women who aren’t in a state of expanded awareness, soul completion and heart opening; women in total control, or women who were born before the baby boom era–so yes, there may be a concentration of these a-symptomatic women who don’t have emotional symptoms.

And, they must be living on Mars.

On the other side of things, there are also very tender, loving and powerfully vulnerable states of being that well-up during this cycle of life. It’s a time of heart opening and self-acceptance, a time to learn about unconditional compassion as opposed to the ungrounded and spun-out sensations of the overly sweet and the caretakers of others.

Over the last several years, I’ve spent some time polling and interviewing women about menopause, and according to that pack of facts, one thing is clear, many women experience emotional surges and heat surges simultaneously. The only way to live through a dance with one of these beasts is to breathe, open shirt collars, drop any attachment to image, and drum up the courage to fully expose our brightness and the shadowy side of ourselves.

I am one of those women.

Some say old, stagnant feelings are expressed through the heat as it flushes upward and outward. Some say the heat itself creates the fiery emotions of anger, frustration, rage and irritability. Some say they are excited about being outspoken and are simply less tolerant to inanities and social mores. Others take no prisoners and feel the communication swords they carry not only weed out those who aren’t actively seeking transformation and personal truth, they quickly cut off any ties and energy drains with people who want a free ride. No matter what the source, or causes and effects, it certainly makes sense that emotions and actions formerly relegated to basement living now want to come up for a bit of sunshine, and at times rear their ugly heads when everyone in the world is watching.

If you are currently flying under radar or are loathe to expose any part of your secret self, you might want to turn back the clock, re-entering as a man or a reptile this time around. You also could become a hermit, or, you could just sit on your virtual veranda all afternoon fanning and sipping wine disguised as mint julep tea, happy you weren’t born in the deep South before 1860.

Women in menopause, at least a large percentage of the 6 million U.S. baby boomer women who are now in menopause, were raised with some built-in guidelines for acceptable female behavior and femininity. More important, there were very clear social rules of acceptance, things you do, and things you don’t do. Standing in a market, surrounded by men, yelling and stripping off your clothes while in a panic of hot flashing would have been on the “don’t” list 10 years ago; now, who knows, it might be respectfully applauded.

Are any of these circumstances familiar?

1. Children were to be seen and not heard, and girls were made of “…everything nice.”

2. We were encouraged by our mothers to never go out unless we looked good and we definitely had to be good. Many of our Mom’s stayed at home, wore pearls, tight-waisted skirts or dresses, corseted upper bodices, and heels all day long. My Mom posted a label on the refrigerator; “think thin,” it said.

3. At the onset of our menstrual cycles we began to keep everything a secret, especially hiding our new status from our Fathers and brothers. If we were lucky enough to have a conversation with an elder about this part of womanhood, we weren’t quite as surprised when it showed up that first time. Usually it was very embarrassing to be a young girl whose life suddenly wound out of control becoming bloodied with the inner war of puberty.

4. When we were young, we focused on what was most important: to be sexy and acceptable to men. Some of us even went away to college just to meet a man, or 20.

5. We were dismissed right along with our emotions as non-human and often untouchable, especially when we had menstrual symptoms. Messiness and rogue emotions were at the top of the list.

6. As we started working, being a woman was still second to men and we fought to obtain higher paying jobs. Once we got those jobs, we suppressed our feminine sides to play in the male paradigm. What else is suppressed within that basket of masculinity?

7. Only victim states were acceptable and notable. We often used this state, sandwiched between tears, to manipulate our circumstances.

8. Menopause was never discussed and our Mothers often said they didn’t notice anything unusual nor did they have any symptoms. At least they didn’t want to share these things with us, creating yet another secret for the lineage bearers to keep.

This is our foundation, for the most part, and it is our life’s journey, our soul mission to clear this piece of our lineage.

Part Two coming soon.

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Heart of Sorrow

In the middle of a week filled with sorrow and unknown emotions, I am consistently releasing old memories–patterns of self-doubt and hatred, pixel by pixel. In one moment I’m comfortably doing my work or driving to do an errand, and suddenly I am filled with emotion. Coupled with intense heat, these feelings are so overwhelming, I am dizzy. It all feels unbearably heavy and stuck in my chest and solar plexus. I breathe and it just won’t release. I force an exhale and it still refuses to dislodge itself. I feel like I am dying, for brief moments that feel like hours at times.

Writing about this is even emotional. So much fear, so much sorrow and grief. So much tar that needs to be scraped away inside me. Gummy like the inside of a smoker’s windshield, I want to take a paint scraper to my insides. Even the vision and virtual experience of this scraping makes me twitch in aggravation. Each incident has it’s own timing and relative density. So much emotional pain and angst; I feel trapped in here as things begin to move out of the core of my bones where they’ve been stored and hiding for so very long, into more visible superficial places.

If I sit for another minute, breathing naturally, at least the heat passes. I cry, mostly sobbing without tears. The water must be re-directed through my sweat glands and all that nerve energy moving through my arms and legs. If I am patient and accepting, this warm energy becomes pleasant, not so, if I resist. Once the physical sensations begin to subside, I am able to catch glimpses of pixillated images, like a digital television screen breaking up from a poor signal. This is my way, I see things. When I see the picture, I know the emotion.

I am at a loss while in the midst of these emotions and physical sensations, though I feel that edgy, angst and unbelievable discomfort. That’s all I can say about it. When it’s over for the moment, all I want to do is keep scraping that old tar. I shiver with the thought of it, yet my obsessive compulsiveness pushes me to finish the job, layer by layer, color by color.

Will it ever be complete?

The voice inside my head is screaming. It’s so loud I believe the whole world is criticizing me. “You’ll never succeed. No one will ever respond to what you do, what you say isn’t important. Your business is a fraud and you don’t know anything. Why would anyone ever read, listen to or want the information you offer?”

How do I stop this incessant chatter and constantly self-sabotaging conversation? When I try, it becomes ever more impressive and oppressive. Only when I wait–and patience isn’t the easiest state of being for me by a long shot–does it actually move through and dissolve.

And there are faces that go with the voices too. Each one is a different person in my life and each face is yelling at me, ignoring me, avoiding me, judging me and generally dismissing and despising me. The faces are also in my dreams at night while I sleep. There was a time when I thought I was very open telepathically or severely empathic, so much so that I could read minds and feel every emotion on the planet from thousands of miles away. Now I know, at least in these instances, it’s all me talking, screaming, ignoring, dismissing, and judging myself. I believe they are all talking about me, yet really, I must be talking about them.

This is the hard fact I want to avoid and deny because if I truly know that I am the creator, I cannot blame anything outside of myself. To be responsible for all that craziness means I need to start digging myself out of this place and begin to create a new existence, as though I had not been digging already. If you’ve read this blog before, you know I am a proponent of “creating our own reality,” “exploring our subconscious and shadow material,” and I know I have been applying these precepts to my life for many years.

There is always something else to uncover, something lying deeper than all the other deep things I’ve found in my journey inward. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.

What was bubbling up in those situations, is the old feeling of being left out and my projection of that into present time. It comes out in interesting ways, not always as it was, yet familiar enough to connect the dots. My current-day friends frequently enjoy life without me, socializing with other people and in other situations. In my heart and my mind I have only neutrality about this and interest in their ever expanding life experiences, yet my emotional body and it’s physical body manifestations are still searing with memories of 7th grade.

One, in particular, was quite painful. It was a slumber party for my friend J’s birthday at S’s house. L and I were also invited, making it a foursome, better, I thought, than a triangle. Foolishly I believed they were my friends and was really excited about attending the party that Saturday night. At some point the three of them went into the bathroom, began fixing their hair and applying make-up, all the while gossiping and laughing, at me.

They’d actually locked me out! I knocked on the door several times saying, “Hey guys, let me in. Stop fooling around. I’d like to play too.” They wouldn’t open the door and made it very obvious I was unwanted; I could hear their whispers and giggles interspersed with loud annunciations of my name. Instead of going home and blowing off the whole event, I slept lonely on the floor that night as the other three 13-year-olds ate chips, drank sodas and talked all night about boys, this and that.

It wasn’t the first time something similar happened in my little world, yet it was one of the worst. The most recent was when I went to Sedona on retreat and we practiced duck walking each day. My knees are in pretty rough shape from skiing and other sports over the years and, needless to say, I am no duck walker! It wasn’t an altogether horrible experience at first until the day we did duck walk races when teams were chosen to perform relays.

I was the cause of our team’s loss. Yes, I was the worst duck walker out of 8 people and couldn’t improve because both knees were flared up with torn menisci, not to mention my legs are twice as long as my torso. No one seemed to care, not even the coaches and facilitators. I didn’t complain, nor could I speak to it’s existence beyond the initial health intake forms because this was a retreat designed to pull up the past, release it, and overcome preconceptions. Each time I was cautious about my knees through the week, I was chastised for not putting in enough effort. It was at least a twice daily occurrence during which I had to both watch and ignore my desire to tell them off in a very anatomically arrogant manner.

So, when I personally lost the relay for my team, the teacher reprimanded me in front of the whole group for not pushing myself and those old feelings of being an outsider came flying back in. I honestly thought my anchor in those memories had disappeared, changed, sunk to the bottom of the deep blue sea, or somehow been released, but it had not. I’d just made different choices along the way over the last 40 years or so. In the context I set up for myself, I could easily avoid these scenarios, these emotions of loneliness, and the pain of being an outsider.

Today, while I build a new life and a new business, one that is very essentially connected to my soul, as I follow this risky, jagged-edged trail, I am exposed and all this arises yet again. I’m so lucky!

And I’ve revisited all the same pain of these experiences again this week. Sometimes the tools I have for coping are readily available and seem to work. Other times, there is no resolution; even breath does not help the root of this creation. My new tool is trust, and that takes so much focus, more than I’ve ever had before; more even than racing a sailboat in light air, sails flapping, going nowhere against a 5 knot tide, the rocks almost within reach behind me. In fact, it’s a lot like that in all the possible ways, and I keep looking forward, feeling the wispy touch of the past at my back.

However slow the going may be, I seem to be getting to know my soul a bit more each day with these outward delays, and those rocks looming. I can see so many important aspects of myself that I’ve tossed aside to be in this world. Rather than knowing, being or acting, as if the world was inside me, I only reacted to what I saw out there. And everything out there is, and always has been, merely and so very grandly, my recipe for life and it’s span of projection.

Did I say trust is my new tool? Well, I mean trust and acceptance both, equally. Yep, I am lucky.

Heart Circulation Mechanics

Oh, and don’t forget your wonderful little calf muscles!

When we use our feet to walk, meaning rolling from heel to toe and actually propelling our bodies forward with the balls of the feet and toes, we engage our calf muscles.

And guess what?

The calf muscles pump blood back to the heart from the lower extremities. This is one of the most important jobs in our body!

So, walking benefits the body in so many ways, especially the heart which works so diligently, pumping away and sending blood out to distal locations. When we use our feet to activate the calf muscles, we help the heart do it’s job more efficiently.

And since energy is everything, compassion, acceptance and affinity for ourselves and others also circulate more easily, merely by walking.

The Heart Walk

I walked barefoot through the rain forest on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State a few years ago. It was a soggy November morning. I felt so incredibly free, directly connected to everything through the soil, the wind and the moisture around me. In water-soaked lands like these, I am able to turn up my heat, stoking the inner fire until the blue flame of transformation burns bright. This is most natural for me.

Cool, rainy days are my closest allies.

Outside the dense entangled entropy of dark vines, roots, stumps and trunks, the rain pours down like a jungle waterfall. Under the protected tent of those treetops though, the intermittent quarter-sized drops chuckle as they plop onto my head, splat over my face and feet.

Twigs and soggy dross, shiny little sand-like pebbles, a few bugs and worms, the mixture squishes like a cold slush between my toes. My tender human footings are wide and tentative here as they morph into shallow root beds like salamander’s feet. Widening with each plunge and grasp, the wet compost cements my toes into web-like flippers that propel my body forward. Heel down, toes up, ball down. Rolling through, toes curling, easily pushing off on the balls of my feet.

Inhaling the damp air, I feel a watery sheen slide under my gills and across the soles of my feet. Inspiration, grounding, swimming. Soon the water rises, a pulsing, bubbling spring, its mouth a gateway at my arches. It purposefully carves a river in my legs, pools deep in my pelvic bowl, awakening life in my kidneys which bravely ride the wave like kyaks on its fountainhead. Once the water soaks my spine all the way into my brain, I am filled with the kind of clarity only the mist and a brisk walk can bring, soon exhaling right back down to that soaked forest floor.

Feeling the earth’s heartbeat, I synchronize my own rhythm as I touch my heart. Breathing, anchoring and balancing, a cool head opens a warm heart. Disguised as rain drops, the orbs dance around me calling in the other little beings who hide in the depths of this sparkling density. My soul speaks a little louder now with each breath and I savor my spiritual freedom, like a drop of water on parched lips.

Walking is the most effective way to engage and balance our brain’s coordination patterns in the cerebellum. In reflexology, the balls of our feet are mirror images of the lungs and heart. Improper alignment, poor body mechanics and weakness lead to callouses and tissue build-up protecting the middle of the foot ball, right there over the heart and lungs. There are two potent gates of chi just below the mid point on the ball of the foot called Bubbling Springs. They are kidney points and also feet chakras.

When these points are open, Earth energy flows in. Our kidneys and life force awakens, sending cool energy up to the head and hot energy down to the lower abdomen, warming and opening the heart on the way down. This is the Taoist principle of Water Up, Fire Down; the key to health on all levels.

When we walk, especially barefoot, we stimulate contact with the planet. The engagement and opening of this area on our feet opens the chi passageways and our energy naturally balances itself. We begin to speak to our souls as our hearts open more and more. Breathe in, then breathe out.

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The Elements of an Open Heart

What is the feeling of an open heart? Can you describe this experience?

When I lived on a boat, I felt much more balanced than I do living in the heat and dryness of the desert, and I felt so much more available to people and the world. I’m naturally pretty fiery and water is my opposite, calming me, soothing me, reminding me to be more fluid. Is availability a component of an open heart?

When I taught skiing every winter, I was out in the elements every day. Here too, I embraced the wind, the snow, the sun and the smells of the fresh crisp air, the smells of the Ponderosa pine trees that lined the slopes and the ridges above me. I heard the sounds of my skis scraping and sliding as I moved rhythmically down the hill. We often skied through the trees, in powder so deep it touched our hearts. I was filled with joy every day when I worked on the ski hill. Is exhilaration a component of an open heart?

I also worked at a hiking retreat in the Northern California coastal redwood forest for a few years. Each day we guided people on walks through the redwoods and madrones, in massive white oak groves and bay trees that leaned away from the banks of the stream, reaching toward the trickling water. I always felt so safe while walking between those trees. Inside the forest a dank, musty smell wafted up from beneath our feet as we crunched the leaves and dried evergreen needles. Is safety a component of an open heart?

When we came out from under the canopy, we gasped as we encountered the Spring wildflowers blanketing the foothills for miles and miles.They spread all the way to the beaches, a combination of poppies so bright they smelled like oranges; wild iris and lupine so intense, they smelled purple and buttercups so yellow we made butter under our chins. What an expansive feeling it was to come out of the woods, into the sun, running along the ridge overlooking the beach. The rain, wind and sun beat down on our bodies, saturating us with pleasant reminders of our connection to this truly awesome planet. Are expansion and connection components of an open heart?

My heart never felt so comfortable, so enthusiastic as it did when I was in nature every day. Food never tasted so good and my smile never frowned. I felt connected to people without speaking, I was filled with wonder and curiosity when we shared our emergence with the elements, not a word nor a whisper were heard between us. Whether on a boat being rocked to sleep while looking up through the forward hatch at the moon and stars, sitting on a rock overlooking the coastline and the power of the waves crashing on the beach below, or walking silently through the forest steeped in the wisdom of those redwood emperors, I knew I was connected; no question in my mind.

Feathers, rocks, odd pieces of driftwood and shells, they were all part of my daily collections. I brought them home to my altar for a night, lit a candle placing it in the midst of all these talismans and looked at nature’s designs, into their souls. There I sat, breathing and journeying, deep inside myself, imaging, playing back the memories of the wild animals that had earlier flown over me or stepped ever so lightly on the same trails, over the stones and through the giant clovers.

I heard the cries of the hawks and eagles as they circled, dove and played overhead; one feather, if I was lucky, floated down just for me. I saw the bobcat mommy carrying all four kittens in her mouth, looking over her shoulder to make sure I wasn’t following too close; the coyote stalking, catching and eating the rabbit. I still have some of those feathers and also the rocks, the shells and driftwood, yet mostly I returned them the following day, grateful for the gifts of the night before.

It was heavenly and yet I was grounded. I was inspired, transformed, devoted and introspective. All the elements and their directional symbolism were part of me, my body, my mind and soul. My heart aches for precisely these sensations of pleasure and the smells of divinity, like an absent mate or a motherless child. Now they are memories. When I’m feeling lonely and my heart wants to shut, this best friend, my soul, softly nudges me to simply go outdoors.

Now, in a different place and time, I often duplicate the elements by taking luxurious baths, planting flowers in pots on the deck of my condo, with spiritual breathing practices, preparing raw whole foods, meditating and practicing yoga or creating a ceremony for the seasons. Sometimes I simply sit staring into the flame of a candle on my altar which is still adorned with nature’s treasures.

The Energetic Connection offers online programs and sacred journeys to the isles of Brighid, the Coastal Redwoods and the Rainforests of the Pacific Northwest.