Traveling on 287

     Super Soul Saturday was the retreat I attended last week in Princeton, NJ.  The east coast contingent of Service Space met for a day of mindfulness, meditation, and rich conversations.  It was so perfect!  We were all swimming in an ocean of love and support, so it was effortless and comforting to share stories with each other about life's challenges and rewards.  The theme was service in everyday life.  How do we show up for it?  Surrender to it?  What happens when our fears conflict with the desire to trust that what we are doing is right and necessary though conventional wisdom would tell us otherwise?  The day was full of such stories, and with it the laughter, hugs, knowing glances that assure us that we are in this together; and the road we travel is taking us home to our highest consciousness.
     I stayed later than I intended to so I could spend time with Bela who'd be moving across the country days later.  In hindsight, I'm so glad I did and would not have chosen differently.  It was a gorgeous time of sharing.  And this meant leaving at 8:15pm for a two and a half hour trip back home.  It would be a long, dark drive.  
     Things started to go quirky when I made two turns out of the neighborhood and immediately lost my bearings.  Darn!  I should have printed out the reverse directions rather than try to think backwards, a talent that is not in my repertoire.  But I made it to my first service station and got my bearings again from the attendant.  The streets were obviously unfamiliar, but the darkness made it difficult to read the signs, compounding my dilemma.  I made it another few miles, but no signs were evident.  I backtracked once again to a second service station to get confirmation of the route I needed to travel, and was gratified that my intuition was correct.  I then needed to travel up route 1 to the Garden State Parkway.  The trip was longer than it was coming down.  Did I miss a sign?  I began to panic about how the sign might read.  Would it tell me north or south?  Or would it just say To Trenton or Newark?  I have no idea where those places are in relationship to me!  I pulled into a third service station for yet more confirmation.  I was assured the sign would indicate north.  Whew!  On the road again, counting all the miles I thought I needed to be aware of when the sign might appear.  In a moment of doubt I saw a GSP sign tacked onto an exit, thinking that was the exit I needed to take.  Instead it was just a cheap way of posting that the turnoff was yet to come.  I stuffed my heart back down into my chest.  There!  Ahead of me was the easy turn off to the road I wanted.  Now, on to 287 and Westchester Avenue.  As a blessing along the way, I had the good fortune to pay a toll to an attendant with a warm, enveloping smile.  "Good evening, sister!  How are you?"  He got back as good as he gave.  I thanked God for sending me a highway angel.  I was heartened.
     These two roads converge for a small span before hooking up to the Tappan Zee Bridge and the Hutchinson River Parkway.  That would seamlessly meld into the Merritt Parkway which I knew like the back of my hand.  The Hutch meant I was safe and on my way home.  So I carefully counted the miles to where I'd see the signs for 287.  There it was right on time, and with it Westchester Ave.  I took the exit.  But wait.  Something was wrong.  The road I took coming down was a highway.  This was a secondary street with traffic lights.  The signs kept saying 287 with a forward arrow, but the road was not the one I remembered this morning.  Where was I?!?!  The road went on and on.  It was now 10pm, and it would be difficult to find places to drive into and ask for directions.  Light after light I traveled, doubting the signs that promised what I needed but conflicted with what I had known before.  I saw a bus pulled over to the side.  I wondered if I should ask the driver for directions.  But the light changed, and I chose to move forward...up over a rise...and FINALLY!  There before me was the exit for 287, and with it one that broadcast the coming of the Tappan Zee Bridge.  I knew just over the bridge I'd connect with the Hutch, and it would be a straight shot home.  
     The relief was overwhelming because the panic had been so persistent.  I relaxed my shoulders and loosened my white-knuckled fingers on the steering wheel.  Why did this have to happen right after such a magical day at the retreat?  I was annoyed that all those good vibes went right out the window.  A high had been replaced by fear.  But then I realized this trip home was a perfect metaphor for everything we had talked about that day:  traveling an unknown road, in the dark, hoping to get "home."  So frequently during my week, I strain to see signs that the way I am choosing to live is "right," that it will lead me to my destination, the fulfillment of my purpose.  Home.  I talk with others to compare notes and get confirmation.  "Did you have to pass through this challenge?  Good, so did I!"  My life is just like traveling on 287.  And the only way I got through it was on faith.  Sure, I have help along the way, but some stretches it's just me, doubt and faith battling it out, and the road.  Worst case scenario, I could have just driven around all night or stayed at a hotel.  But eventually I would have made it home.  I believe we all do.  It's just that some routes are harder than others.
     Anyway, one piece of advice.  Make sure your tolls are in quarters in case you get into the wrong toll lane.  It didn't happen to me, but it'll be one less thing for you to worry about on your path!

Pax tecum.

Fading Away

     It feels a little bit like death when I think about moving in with John.  For the second time in my life, I am letting go of almost everything to move into a new phase of my life.  The move will not happen soon; heaven knows there is still much to prepare for and do, selling the house is but one thing.  But I'm aware of yet another James Taylor lyric that I often sing:  "What do I do when my dream comes true?"  
     After 15 years in a difficult marriage, I pursued singlehood with a vengeance.  I had to be able to do it all myself, or find trustworthy people to do it for me.  I had to remake an identity.  Who was I when I was no longer in a relationship?  I pretty much figured that out.  For 15 years I've been living that life, and it has been a wow!  Every bit of it.
     But a year ago, something inside me said it's time to learn how to be in a relationship--a great relationship!  And so I stepped into the world of online dating, something one should do only if one's sense of humor is fully developed.  Eight months later, there was John, the Unicorn!  Thank you God!  And I could not have envisioned a more perfect partner.  We are not completely alike.  Where we differ, it is instructive for both of us.  And where we are alike it is effortless.  But it means surrendering this life for another.  Already I'm having to do laundry differently, walk more, and eat graham crackers.  John is having to let me pick out new colors for the house (good riddance harvest gold!), cook more interesting foods, and throw out 30 years of accumulated non-essentials.  These changes bring us closer together and help us to form a "we."  But there will be more changes to come.  When I sell the house, I will grieve.  It is not in great shape, but it is 93 years old and full of character.  The arts and crafts style front door.  The stained-glass window.  The two porches.  The soothing light and openness.  It holds so many memories.  And then there are my neighbors; ugh, I don't even want to think of leaving them!  But the other aspect of my life I'll be surrendering is struggle.  I've been engaged in struggle for a very long time.  This feels like my life, my identity.  And moving into a place where the house is in far better repair and someone is in my life to share decisions and sorrows will make my life easier.  For a few days surrendering to this new life felt like a cop out, and I'll be writing more on this to be sure.  But what I realized is that finally I have what I desired.  One of my dreams has come true.  It just threw me off center for a while before I understood that.
     As I learned the last time I did this, my life is more fluid and permeable than my environment.  Even more than my thoughts and notions.  If I stay open remarkable things happen.  I grow.  And this time I get to grow with another.  So the next year will be tricky.  Like a traveler in Star Trek's transporter, part of me will be here and part of me there until I materialize in one place.  It will not be comfortable or easy.  But I wanted you to be aware in case I started to look fuzzy to you.

Pax tecum.

Faith over Fear Part 2

     When last I wrote about this, I was grasping the greater meaning of what I was doing with my life.  My family's concerns to the contrary, I am living this way on purpose.  I am living without predictable income and tasks to do.  But I do have a goal:  To learn if God/The Universe does interact with us if we get our ego out of the way enough to receive It.  But let me go a bit deeper here.
     This is not easy, believe me.  My days are pretty good.  Nighttime evokes terror every time I go to bed.  "What the hell am I doing?!?!  This is madness!  GET A JOB!"  But I don't want a job; I want my work.  There's a difference.  The distinction is something I feel very keenly, and an inner voice keeps driving me to trust more and more, against all logic.  This terror then drives me to prayer.  But I started to pay attention to the heart of all my prayers regardless of how I couched them.  I'm begging for certainty.  It's why I go to the weather reports.  I want certainty--now--that it will get above freezing next week.  I'm asking God to promise me that everything will be fine, and that it will always be fine over long spans of time.  But I every time I ask God, "Will you take care of me?" God responds with another question: "Do you love your life?"  I'm tempted to think that's a cop out.  Then I realize, no, it is my question that is the cop out.  
     What if we are here to love, and out of love the only thing we can do is create?  Not apologize, not beg, not demand.  Create.  Out of what we are and what sets us afire.  Maybe our life is a direct connection with the Universe.  Maybe we are taking care of ourselves when we love how we live--not necessarily in comfort or predictability, but in service, appreciation, awe.  Maybe we are taken care of when we reflect these things rather than the fear of not being certain what's in store for us.  That's what I am actively pursuing in this experiment of living.  How does our inner world--faith, love, gratitude, wonder--intertwine with the outer world--relationships, work, sustenance, opportunities?   It feels daily like walking on the edge.  But my inner voice persists in doing this mad thing.  A bit as John Francis walked everywhere for 22 years or Jerry Wennstrom destroyed his art, gave away all he owned, and lived 17 years without ego and only in the moment, I'm following an imperative, testing the limits of my faith and pushing through the fear of uncertainty...although hardly in the dramatic way these chaps did; I am not in their league!
     In the film, "I Am" Desmond Tutu is being interviewed about what is right with the world.  He smiles a boyish, innocent smile, and in that warm, musical voice he remarks, "God says, 'You know what?  I don't have anybody else...except you.' "  
     Kinda hard to say "no," dontcha think?

Pax tecum.
    

Accepting Angels as We Find Them

    Today's theme harkens back to previous ones on giving and receiving.  But this time it's with an uncomfortable twist.
     You may recall Maria and her husband Luis (the Latino Thich Nhat Hanh).  It is so easy to love them.  They are quiet, generous, and the language barrier creates a boundary we can step in and out of, but it is a boundary just the same.  I've always said, boundaries are my friends.  I love boundaries.  They give me control.  Like floodgates, when I need watering I open them; when I'm drowning I close them.
     On the other side of my house is "Jack."  Jack is an elderly man with an alcohol problem and few friends.  I've seen a couple of what look like social workers, family members, and fellow alcoholics.  But even their visits are infrequent.  His eyes are perpetually glazed over, he can be coherent but more often than not he isn't, and he is often seen in his bathrobe.  He lives next door one floor above me.  It is important for you to understand this.  This photo is taken from my second floor porch.  My car is ground level...obviously.  But it is from this porch that Jack makes his presence known to me in the most unnerving manner.
     "HEY LADY!!! HOW YA DOIN'?"  The size of the font does not do justice to the sound of his voice blaring out from above me when I least expect it, from dawn to black of night.  If he is sitting on his porch when he sees me, he'll treat me to this most upsetting greeting.  It's upsetting because a) I can't see him, so it catches me off guard, b) my mind is generally on something else, and I'm jarred out of my thoughts, and c) there's no privacy from him.  I spent half the summer trying to catch a glimpse of his porch before heading out.  If I saw him, I'd wait for a more opportune moment to dash to my car and beat it out of the driveway.  I felt like an escapee from my own home.
     But being on Service Space has opened my mind to being in the world in different ways.  So when Thanksgiving came with Maria's 20-pound apples, John and I decided to share some with Jack.  John volunteered to go up to his apartment and deliver them.  Jack was so appreciative that he reciprocated an hour later by showing up at my front door barefoot and in his bathrobe with a carton of Borden's--Borden's--egg nog.  "I don't buy no cheap stuff," Jack assured me, and insisted we join him for a fortified glass of it.  We thanked him but made our excuses.
     And that's when I started to thaw a bit.  I realized that in his own way, Jack wants to be a part of our neighborhood.  He wants friends.  I still want boundaries, but I can be open to his greetings now without jumping out of my skin.  The scales really tipped just last week when he called out to me again, this time adding, "I'm always looking out for you!"  And in that moment, I was deeply touched.  Jack makes me uncomfortable because he breaches my boundaries, but he is looking out for me just the same.  He is another neighborhood angel who cares about me and wants to be cared about in return, even if I can only do it for a moment or two.  Angels may be drunk or dirty or noisy, but they are still angels.
     As I was taking my walk past his house yesterday, he yelled out to me, "I got it!"
     "What, Jack?" I asked.
     "It's a secret!"
     "Ok, I'll talk to you later."  And later, he showed up at my door, decked out in his bathrobe with two cartons of Borden's egg nog!  He mumbled something sotto voce that made no sense to me at all, but I genuinely smiled and thanked him; and he went on his way.
     So, egg nog anyone?

Pax tecum.

Faith over Fear Part One

     What is your life about?  What are the core values?  What do you want it to mean when it is done?  I ask myself these questions on a daily basis.  The answers are easy:  I want to be of service, I want to lead a more prayerful, mindful life, and I want to be wildly philanthropic.  I can't think of a more delightful way to pass my mortal hours than making someone's life a little lighter, putting more wholesome energy into the world, and supporting the work of others to make the world a better place.  This is no Miss America acceptance speech;  I mean it, down in the bones of my soul.  My life is about service through writing, teaching, facilitating, speaking, prayer, and philanthropy.  I want to use these gifts so much it hurts.
     At the same time, I have to pay bills; I want to participate in society.  That takes money.  Problem is I've never been comfortable holding down a job.  Nine to five, office politics, commuting--all of this just drains me, and it never really allows me to fulfill my mission unless I do that in my spare time.  Such a life is not for me, despite the fact that I have spent years doing it.  It seems such a waste.  I love "working."  I want to be supported through my work. I hate holding down "jobs."  But I've sacrificed my gifts and desires in order to make money.  I've given up my Life to do life.  
     Exactly two years ago I quit my job, expecting my dream to come true in a flash.  Instead my life went haywire.  The paid work I intended to do did not pan out.  Money was running short.  I was swinging from inspiration to abject terror on a regular basis.  I knew what I wanted to do, but how could I pull in the money?  Stay the course...no, get a job...no, stay the course....  I drove myself to distraction and anguish.  How do I get this to sync up?  But in that chaos and pain, here's what I learned:  When I was able to still the fear, things began to flow.  While the "jobs" I pursued evaded me, money came to me in the nick of time in the form of gifts and unexpected work.  
     Another such financial precipice was looming before me recently.  Not knowing how I would get through the next few months, I finally surrendered and sent up a prayer a few days ago saying, "I'm going to trust that things will work out.  I've got my passions for a reason, and holding down a job I don't really want interferes with fulfilling my mission even if it is taking care of me financially.  God, you have to figure this out for me, because I cannot."  And despite not knowing how this would play out, I let go of the fear, the confusion, the waffling, and I trusted.  I chose to live my Life on my terms.  I chose to be at peace.  A few days later, I unexpectedly received some inheritance money that will allow me to do all of the above for the next three months!
   This is the fifth time some work or monetary gift has come out of nowhere to help me.  Once is an interesting phenomenon.  Twice is a coincidence.  But five is a pattern, and it's trustworthy.  I don't know what will happen three months from now, and I am beginning to believe that's not my problem.  Until the end of February, I will be living my dream life, serving wherever I can, being philanthropic, developing a deeper contemplative and prayer-filled life. Because when God answers a prayer, I am obliged to fulfill my end of the bargain.
     To lead the life of our heart's desire requires us to let go of fear in order for the Universe to work with us.  We read this in many different spiritual traditions:

• In Zen Buddhism we find in the Five Mindfulness Trainings - I will practice coming back to the present moment to be in touch with the refreshing, healing and nourishing elements in me and around me, not letting regrets and sorrow drag me back into the past nor letting anxieties, fear, or craving pull me out of the present moment. 
• From the Christ's Sermon on the Mount - Do not be anxious about your life, what you shall eat or what you shall drink, nor about your body, what you shall put on.  Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 
• From the Five Precepts of Reiki - Just for today I will be free from worry.  
• In Mary Baker Eddy's "Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures" - Always begin your treatment by allaying the fear of the patients.  Silently reassure them as to their exemption from disease and danger.  Watch the result of this simple rule of Christian Science, and you will find that it alleviates the symptoms of every disease.  If you succeed in wholly removing the fear your patient is healed.

This fascinates me.  These very different traditions all point to fear as that which separates us from our higher self, from wholeness, from fulfilling our purpose, from God.  So now I want to live my life as an experiment.  If I follow my heart's desire to be of service, to be philanthropic, to lead a more contemplative and prayerful life, does God provide the means?  It certainly seems so.  I deeply believe it is time to let go of my faith as an intellectual construct and give it breath and blood.  One does not live an extraordinary life by being conventional or buying into fears.  I don't know what my prospects will look like three months from now.  I no longer have to.  In the next three months, I will live the life I have longed for, in service, in peace, in congruence with my beliefs and values.  I'll let you know how it goes.

     If you could reduce your fear, how would you spend your life's energy, your gifts, your time?  I'd love to know.  Let me invite you to comment here, and share support and inspiration with others.

Pax tecum.

Reflections in Fur: Part Deux

     Okay.  I succumbed to feline mind control.  Larry decided he'd had it with outdoor living, so he just barged into my house one day and wouldn't leave.  He is endearing, affectionate, and absolutely infatuated with me, but he's gunning for Bucky.  As I feared, Larry is an unneutered male.  Territorial with a capital "T."  It has been a trying three weeks as I attempt to keep the two at bay.  When I took Larry to the vet for his shots, it was discovered that he has the feline version of HIV.  While Bucky has had his shot for this, it is not 100% effective against the disease, especially since it is transmitted by blood.  And what better way to transmit blood than by fighting tooth and claw?  So not only must I keep the two of them apart for Bucky's sake, I cannot let Larry outdoors anymore.  He is forever under quarantine.
     The vet suggested I put Larry up for adoption with someone who might take a special-needs cat.  I called animal rescue shelters and sent out gobs of emails, but to no avail.  Thankfully Bucky loves the outdoors and is being a good sport about this, but it's getting cold and wet out there.  So I put Larry in the laundry room when I go to sleep or leave for a few hours so that Bucky can sneak in, eat, drink, and relax a bit.
     So what was Larry reflecting for me?  Trust.  When faced with intractable problems, I send up a prayer:  "Make a way out of no way."  I was having major fears.  Would I need to give Bucky up for adoption for his health's sake?  Would I make myself crazy trying to keep two cats apart for the rest of their lives?  Could I afford his upkeep?  But through it all, the Still Small Voice just said, "Wait.  Give this time.  There's a solution."  And so, I put my fears aside and trusted; what else was I to do?
     A few days later my vet called to inquire if I had found a placement for Larry.  I told her no.  "Well, I just had a client come in who's looking for a companion for his quarantined FIV cat.  Here's his number.  He'd like to talk to you."  Colin and I spoke for a good long time.  This man is serious about cats; he has eight!  And his home is set up to accommodate each of them with their varying needs.  After his family visited here, they all decided that Larry would be a good match for Skittles.  To top it off, they graciously offered to take the neutering responsibility off my hands, saving me a bundle of money!
     Larry will go to his new home November 2nd.  Bucky can return to the comfort of his home, and I can relax...with some tears to be sure.  Larry is a dear and I do love him.  But I know two things:  he'll be in good hands, and I can trust a Loving Power greater than my fears and limited resources to bring about a perfect solution.  I hope this inspires you to trust more, too.

Pax tecum.
    

Pray to the Moon

O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,

That monthly changes in her circled orb

Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, II,ii 

 

     Poor Juliet.  Not wanting Romeo to swear on what is changeable she insists on the certainty of her new-found love lest she feel betrayed and broken if he prove fickle.  It is a lovely and understandable wish, especially when we are young and untempered.  As we grow older, we discover that  change is the only constant in life.  Change is life.  And while it can hold sorrows, so can living in stagnation.  When we risk our hearts and egos, we have so much to learn and share.

     During the summer I had an inspiration to teach a course called "I'm No Pigeon: A Career Workshop for the Unconventional," the namesake of this blog.  I imagined that, like me, there were others out there who were pursuing unconventional lives or desired to follow an unconventional career path.  I spent hours developing the curriculum, loving every minute of it, believing it would be useful and inspiring.  Our Adult Education program accepted the proposal, and it was launched.

     Imagine my surprise when one student wanted to learn how to start dating again and another wanted to stay in his current line of work but move to a new company.  This is not what I had planned.  I could have gotten annoyed if I believed they were not giving me what I wanted (the satisfaction of seeing my opus come to life).  Instead I chose to change the curriculum.  I had a few hours of doubt and anxiety; would this be anywhere near as good as my other program?  Would it be helpful?  Can I make this change successfully in my own mind--which is code for can I check my ego at the door and make this course about them instead of me?  But I listened for the common thread in their three goals.  Fear of change!  Well, whaddya know?  With this in mind, I pulled out a trusted book on the subject (Barbara Sher's Wishcraft.  Get it!), sent them pertinent chapters, and hoped for the best when the class met again.

     Fascinating commonalities surfaced for all of us.  Change is terrifying, but being stuck in paralysis is no longer tenable.  We must acknowledge our fears with deep compassion, a lot of good humor, and supportive companions.  My participants were inspired, reluctant, confused, pensive, on fire, laughing--anything but passive.  They were alive!  These good people are helping and inspiring each other--and me--to take more risks.  The course is not yet over, neither are their endeavors.  This is a continuing story, but one that is so satisfying to be a part of. 

     We all want the constancy of happiness and comfort, or at least the constancy of what we are accustomed to.  "The devil you know...." It is also the potential for a rut.  And when we change internally, what may once have been comfortable now makes us chafe.  Change can be sweet, challenging, breathtaking, heartbreaking.  But it engages us all the time.  So what better goddess to invoke than the Moon?  She changes but is constantly there, even if she is obscured by clouds or dips below our vision.  Pray to the Moon that you may face change with an open heart, an open mind, and open hands. 

Pax tecum.