Feed a Cold, Starve a Limiting Belief

I have a cold. I hate spring colds. Just when the weather is finally getting better and you yearn to be outdoors with the birds and the bees, you suddenly start sneezing about 15 times in a row and your eyes start feeling like they are sinking under water. “Maybe it’s just my allergies,” you try to reassure yourself, except you know don’t have any spring allergies. You have fall allergies. Then the headache and the urge for a blanket, a cup of tea and endless reruns of Columbo all converge on you and you know without a doubt – you have a cold.

At this point we remember that old tried and true saying passed down from mother to daughter for generations: “Feed a cold, starve a fever.” So you brew a pot of herbal tea and make sure you have OJ and soup on hand. Actually, what you’re doing is making sure that you stay hydrated in order to flush the cold virus out of your system.

It occurred to me as I curled up on the recliner with lemon ginger tea at my side and my journal on my lap that it would be lovely if we could stretch this idea to include starving those bad habits and beliefs that no longer serve us and flushing them right out of our system. If we don’t feed them, or encourage them, they die. For example, how many times do we criticize ourselves, judge ourselves, speak harshly to ourselves and buy into what other people say about us? We spend hours being bombarded by ads that tell us that we’re not acceptable unless we lose 30 pounds, use certain make-up, wear designer clothes or drive a certain car. We believe people who tell us we’re not smart enough, pretty enough, worth loving or capable of achieving our dreams. All of that can add up to a pretty heft case of unhappiness fever. 

So how do we flush all those nasty defeating behaviors out of our system? By filling ourselves up with positive beliefs every minute of every day. Like a cup full of nasty tasting medicine, if we just keep pouring sweet nectar into the cup, eventually it will push the nasty stuff out and the cup will overflow with nectar. I am a big fan of Louise Hay’s Mirror Work and I can’t think of a better brand of nectar to use to flush out what is making us heart sick. For example, every time you pass a mirror, you look into your eyes and say something positive, like: “I love you, I really love you.” Coach and author Cheryl Richardson keeps a mirror on her desk and has a whole litany of positive affirmations she uses, such as: “You’re the smartest woman I know,” or, “I always have your back,” and, my favorite, “How’d you get so cute?” The ones I personally use are: “You are perfectly capable for every situation”,” I am enough,”  “Only good lies before me,” and “All is well.”

When we take the time to treat ourselves like we would treat our best friend, we flush out everything that no longer serves us, or is making our lives “sick,” and create a beautiful and healthy relationship with ourselves, the most important relationship we’ll ever have. If we don’t “feel well” when we’re alone with ourselves, how are we supposed to build healthy relationships with others? We have to make ourselves a priority and treat ourselves in healthy and healing ways.

So today I am giving myself the gift of extreme self-care. I am keeping the fluids going, making sure to flush out the bad stuff to make room for good health. I am eating healthy foods, popping my vitamin C and curling up with a good book. I may even allow myself a nap later. Hopefully by tomorrow I’ll feel better. What a nice way to care for my BFF!

And so it is. 

If At First You Don't Succeed ... Or, At Second, Or At Third ....

So here's the good news for today: all humans are born precious and perfect. The bad news is that, being human, we all make mistakes. Sometimes, we make a lot of them. We make a decision without thinking things through, or looking at the big picture, and then we realize, often too late, that the picture was a lot bigger than we thought. In fact, the big picture doesn't look anything like what we thought it would. So we try to change it by making another decision, and another, all of them intended to create the picture that we want to see, that we demand to see, only to witness our mistakes taking on a life of their own and running downhill, out of control, until they crash at the bottom. 

I have to admit that retirement isn't as easy as I thought it would be. I pictured this idyllic scene with me sitting outside under a tree, watching the birds sail by and listening to my neighbors, the cows, mooing happily to one another as they graze peacefully on the hillside while I sit, notebook and pen in hand, creating deep and profound literary masterpieces. While there have truly been some moments just like that, quite a few in fact, sitting under a tree writing wears thin after a while. Even my excitement over being able to have a real garden as opposed to growing things in pots proved to be another picture that didn't quite pan out, like a paint-by-number picture where the numbers and colors are all mixed up. The truth is that you can't sit outside under a tree and write in the dead of a northeast country winter, and a "real" garden (what does that even mean?) requires a certain physical prowess that I no longer possess. However, rather than let this whole thing snowball into one great big "elephant in the room" called Bad Mistake, I took pen in hand and journaled my way to a more realistic picture.

The Buddhists teach that one of the biggest causes of suffering is our addiction to desire, to wanting things the way we want them rather than the way they are. Impermanence is the name of the game, folks. Nothing stays the same in the physical world,  not even us. What does stay the same is who we are inside, our true, authentic self. So it was to that self that I journaled, asking it what I missed about my old life, what I could do to either rectify that or let go and move on, and what I was learning from all of this. What I discovered was that despite feeling disenchanted at times with my big move, the biggest take-away from all of it was that I had learned more about myself in less than 2 years than I had throughout my entire life, and that in coming closer to the true essence of who I am, I kinda liked who I found there. In fact, she's a pretty cool and awesome lady. I'd pick her for a friend in a heartbeat, and I have. 

So what is the outcome of all of this? I wish I could write that I found the right numbers and the right colors for my picture and it all turned out fine in the end, except that it's not the end yet and I have many more colors and numbers to explore. What I won't let myself get stuck in is regret. I've said it before - we are all doing the best we can, from where we are, with what we have, and as Maya Angelou was fond of saying, "And when you knew better, you did better." So pardon me while I dig out my paints and start playing around with the colors, only this time there will be no magic numbers to follow. This time, I'm letting Spirit mix the colors and move my hand across the page. 

And so it is. 

Still Rooted

I write about trees a lot. Of all the symbols in nature that speak to me, trees speak the loudest. They are the one thing that stands firm and tall regardless of what is going on around them. They are rooted in their truth. They willingly give up their leaves in the fall, withstand the cold and storms of winter, and still put forth buds of new life in the spring. They welcome all who want to live in the protective shelter of their branches, from birds to insects (even the ones who peck at them). All are welcome. They help to clean the air so we can breathe. If they could speak, they would have centuries of history to share with us, and when one of them comes down in a storm, I always feel as if I have lost a member of my family.

When we look at our own lives, how do we compare with the unconditional love that a tree offers us? Do we stand firmly rooted in our truth, in unconditional love, no matter what life throws at us? Are we willing to make sacrifices in order to grow? Do we accept change gracefully? Do we welcome one and all into our world regardless of who they are or where they come from? And when we suffer losses in the storms of our lives, do we stand tall until the storm passes and continue to reach for the sun to renew and sustain us?

I'm not talking about staying rooted in a belief that was never ours to begin with and that no longer serves us, because that would not be our truth, it would be someone else's truth, or our culture's truth. I'm talking about standing firm when it's not always the most popular thing to do, but when we know that it is in our best interest and serves to help us grow as humans into the best version of ourselves that we are capable of being. Often we have to lose people that are dear to us because they cannot accept the changes that are happening to us. They want us to stay the same, but that does not serve us. If the tree did not lose it's leaves in the fall, they would whither and die from the cold anyway. Better to give from our hearts in gratitude for the new and beautiful buds that will come to us in the next stage of our lives.

There are some tall and beautiful spruce trees that stand at the side of our driveway. They have some dents and gaps where branches have taken a hit and become dead wood. Yet every time I stand at the window and look out at those trees, I am filled with a sense of connection to the very foundation on which I build my life. If those beautiful creatures can remain rooted in their purpose, then so can I. It's what the One Who Planted US here had in mind all along. 

And so it is. 

The Adventures of Flower Bear in the Park - Part Two: Excuse Me, Can We Talk?

One of my favorite things about sitting in the park last week was my chance to participate in squirrel watching in addition to people watching. Back at my old apartment I had a feeder right outside the window of my office where I wrote and I spent many hours watching the antics of the squirrels, as well as the birds. I even wrote a few blog posts about some of them, immortalizing them in print. Alas, since I have moved way out to the country and am, indeed, surrounded by trees, I have yet to see a squirrel. I’m told that it might be because there are so many predators around. I have seen for myself the hawks that make their rounds twice a day right over the fields that surround where I live, not to mention the parade of barn cats, plus the eagles that hang out just down the hill from me. So it does my heart good to be able to spend some time in their presence by watching them in the park when I go to town. They are industrious little creatures, very focused and determined as anyone who has ever watched one at a bird feeder can attest to. They are also awesome to watch at play, with such abandon and joy.

On the day that I was last there (the day of the famous adventure of the girl, the guy, the tree and the note from last week’s post) it was apparent as I watched my little furry friends at work and play that they are quite used to having humans around. With the courthouse right there and all those benches to sit on, I can imagine people feeding them, or dropping food for them to find. One squirrel in particular was sitting very quietly a short distance from me chewing on what looked like a branch. It certainly looked like he was watching me as intently as I was watching him even though I had long finished my lunch. So I started a conversation with him. I told him I was sorry to bother him while he was having his lunch, but I was wondering if squirrels had a way of contacting relatives who lived in other towns, sort of like squirrel tweeting or something. I told him how I missed my squirrels back home and that I wanted them to know that I thought about them often and hoped they were well.

   

I looked around to make sure no one had actually heard that exchange and thought security should be called. It’s just that, being a very creative and whimsical kind of girl, in addition to all of my Native American studies, it never occurred to me that I couldn’t communicate with my relatives in the animal kingdom. So I just did.

I took out my phone to check the time and when I looked up, that very same squirrel had come right over to me and was sitting in front of me, as if it wanted to continue the conversation. Suddenly I felt all Dr. Doolittle, as if I could actually talk to an animal – well, besides my cats who are way too human, if you know what I mean. So I continued, and the squirrel moved closer.

He sat looking at me for a few more moments as I shared this and that with him. When I was done he ran around behind the bench I was sitting on and scurried up the nearest tree where he sat at a junction of branches and continued to simply keep me company for the duration of my visit.

 How many times in our day-to-day lives do we not allow ourselves to communicate with someone because we believe they are different from us? How often do we tell ourselves that someone’s race/religion/ethnic origin/gender/politics puts them in one half of the “them or us” equation and ourselves in the other, thus making us unwilling to overlook the differences and, instead, look for common ground with which to get the conversation started? We make assumptions about people based on these categories, or hold on to long held beliefs about “those people” that probably weren’t even ours to begin with but were passed down by family and culture. Why don’t we take the time to actually test the waters with a moment of kindness and attention? Even a simple thing like, “Good Morning,” or, “Nice weather, isn’t it?” can begin to open doors to new and myth-changing conversations. Kindness and compassion, together with a willingness to simply be open to listen, doesn’t cost us anything but can reward us many times over with new friends, new ideas and beliefs that are our own creation and not someone else’s.

As for my belief that I can actually talk to animals, I had another occasion to test that the other day when a very short and very fat robin landed on the branch of a tree in the garden. I was out for my morning stroll where it is my custom to greet the day and say good morning to the birds, the cows and anyone else who is within ear shot. I told the robin that he looked very much like a character in a story that I am working on. I invited him to come and visit me often so that I could learn all about robins from him as part of my research. He sang the prettiest song for me before he took off. He’s been back every day since. Communication is a beautiful thing.

And so it is. 

The Adventures of Flower Bear in the Park - Part One: The Secret Tree

Spring has finally put in an appearance and seems to be serious about sticking around this time. Unfortunately, it is still way too early to do any serious gardening up my way just yet. So I took advantage of a beautiful, sunny day recently and hopped the bus into town to do a little shopping and visit my favorite health food store (they make these decadent chocolate cookies with avocado that are to die for).

Around lunch time I got a veggie pita sandwich, and some pineapple coconut water to-go, and walked over to the sweet little park that surrounds the county court house. As I sat on a bench munching away and enjoying the antics of the resident squirrels, my attention was drawn to a young woman in her late 20’s who had stopped beside one of the giant maple trees adjacent to the gazebo.  She was digging something out of the wallet she was carrying. That something turned out to be a folded piece of paper. With her head down as if she did not want to be seen, she wedged the paper into a crack in the trunk of the tree, then simply walked away. She had sunglasses on so I could not see if she was happy or sad. She never looked back.

I have to admit that I love watching people and have often assigned myself the task of making up stories about complete strangers that intrigue me for one reason or another. Sometimes they are mystery stories, sometimes love stories, sometimes tales of sadness or of renewal. This time, however, I was seriously hooked. What was in that note? The time and place of a secret meeting? A illicit love affair? A break up? Had she said yes or no? I wondered how long I would be able to hang around to see if someone actually came to pick up the note before I had to leave to catch the bus home? Who knew that when I went out in search of sunshine and chocolate cookies that I would stumble on an adventure!

Sometimes our best adventures are the ones we don’t plan in advance. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to be more spontaneous and more flexible, with my time. There are some areas in my life where I have regular time set aside for things that are really important to me like morning prayers and meditation. For anything else that doesn’t require me to be somewhere or do something specific, like a doctor’s appointment or a family gathering, I like to take some time in the morning and ask myself, “What can I do today to make myself happy?” I can’t begin to tell you what a difference that has made in my life since I started doing it. I could never have imagined doing this when I was younger and so caught up in the dreaded “should’s” that I kept putting myself last instead of first in my life. Now I put myself first and every day is Adventure Day if that’s what I decide to choose.

So, back to our mystery. Checking my phone I saw that it was just about time to head on over to the bus stop to catch my ride home. As I was gathering up my lunch mess to toss in the trash can on the way out of the park, I saw a young man approach the Secret Tree, as I had decided to call it. He was about the same age as the young woman who had left the note. He was obviously a hard- working man which was evident from the worn work clothes he wore, his soiled baseball cap and the lunch box he was carrying. Looking around to see if anyone was watching him, he stepped up and took the note out of the tree. He stood there for a moment reading it, and then a smile spread across his face. It was a look of pure joy. Had she said yes?  He folded the note back up and put it in his breast pocket, then stepped back on the path and made his way along the same route the young woman had taken earlier. Whatever the note said, it had certainly made his day. Another mystery to work on! Don’t you just love a good adventure?

And so it is.

Live Long and Prosper

I admit to being something of a Star Trek snob. It is my personal belief that the only true Star Trek was the first TV series with William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy. The rest were just copy cats. Not only was it decades ahead of its time, but it opened up the discussion about the human condition with all of its frailties for the first time on national television at a time when such things were rarely spoken of outside of a therapist's office. Such was the case with one of my very favorite episodes. 

During one of the many malfunctions with the machine that made "Beam me up, Scotty" a part of our everyday speech, Capt. Kirk, played brilliantly by William Shatner, has his personality split in two. One half is kind and gentle, but also weak and easily frightened. The other side is strong, forceful, decisive and also capable of violence. This second side is what we would come to define in later years, according to the work of the great psychiatrist and psychotherapist Carl Jung, as our Shadow Self. This is the side of our personalities that we tend to hide from the world, the self that houses our darkest desires and impulses, the place where our ego resides. However in this instance, Capt. Kirk was unable to lead and command with only his kind but fragile self in charge because it was those very qualities of his Shadow Self, the strength, courage and dynamic forcefulness. that, combined with the other half, made him who he truly was, a capable, brave, yet compassionate leader.

We don't like to admit to ourselves that we occasionally lose control of our Shadow Self when it pops out in stressful situations. I have been made uncomfortably aware of my own "other side" recently. There is once again major construction going on in the house where I rent a ground floor apartment. There has been constant, heavy duty noise over my head, sporadic internet interruption that puts my work schedule into a tailspin, freaked out cats (mine) who, like their owner prefers the peace and quiet of country life, and a crying dog (my landlord's) who doesn't understand why she can't come out and play with the construction workers. There have been moments when my Shadow Self not only popped out under duress, but refused to leave ... for days ... causing me headaches and a pattern of whining to anyone who would listen that was definitely not my most attractive side. The fact that this construction work is expected to go on for some time did nothing to lift the dark cloud hanging over my head. So I did what I have been trained to do by my most trusted teachers: I meditated on it.

What came out of several heavy-duty meditation sessions, plus some wise advice from my meditation teacher (whose new video just "happened" to be all about handling a grudge or difficult situations), was to acknowledge that what was going on was not all about me, that it was not personal, and that I could choose how I reacted to it, knowing full well that a negative reaction would just produce more negativity - and more headaches - while a positive, affirming response would open up other possibilities for growth and understanding. I was led to remember how many times I had thrown a hissy fit whenever I would try to grow roses and failed miserably, only to discover that my talents did not lie with roses but with other varieties of plants that proved to be some of my favorite success stories. The point is that I needed both sides of my personality, my kind, gentle, lover-of-nature self, plus my determined, persevering, driven self, to find positive solutions to my everyday challenges without making enemies with myself or others. It is a daily practice to keep the two in balance but when we do, our lives are richer, less stressful, and more rewarding.

As Spock would say: "Live long and prosper." And so it is. 

The Beauty in Imperfection

When I first started gardening some 20 odd years ago, I had no clue what I was doing other than a few pots on the window sill, little more than when we were in elementary school and started seeds in paper cups. So, being the academic type, I decided to learn from the experts. At first it was all PBS and Victory Garden, and subscriptions to gardening magazines. Then cable finally came to my neck of the woods where I discovered HGTV (Home and Garden Television) and I was hooked. Back then there were gardening shows with prominent, accomplished, and very English gardeners, taking you on tours of their always perfect borders and beds. All the planting was done so that as one season's blooms died back, the next would pop up as if on cue, and then the next and the next. First came the snow drops, then the pussywillows, then the tulips, daffodils and crocus, followed by lilacs, hydrangea, roses, etc, etc. Something was always in bloom, there was always color and, most of all, order. 

Alas, my first attempts fell way short of the standard I had laid down for myself. Then I began to pick my head up out of my own garden, and started looking at Mother Nature's garden. Along the river bank the pussy willows came out on cue all by themselves. Wild flowers of every kind, first purple and white, then pink, then yellow, all put in an appearance when they were ready. There was a profusion of color, greenery and beauty in the randomness of what, left to their own devices, the plants and trees had been doing quite successfully from the beginning of time. 

So, the following year, I waited to see what my garden would surprise me with. What would come up from last year, and what wouldn't? Where had the birds and squirrels dropped seeds and what would come up from their handiwork? Pansies bloomed in random abandon all over the yard. Blue bells and Queen Anne's Lace appeared in the barrels I was using as planters. It was lovely, and wild, and totally without order ... and it was beautiful. The annuals I added complemented the colors already there and provided a different look with each year's new plantings. It wasn't as perfect as the English lady's garden on TV, but to me it was the most beautiful garden I had ever seen. 

We are so hard on ourselves over what we perceive to be our own imperfections whether they concern how we look, where we live, how we dress, if we went to college, and if we are living by our culture's pre-planned design. Yet the beauty in each and every one of us is our uniqueness, our one-of-a-kind spirit and our overwhelming need to grow, expand, learn, and bloom. How dreary the world would be look if there were no wildflowers, no splash of color in our lives and no surprises in our discoveries. If it's the fear of not "fitting in" that keeps us from seeing the beauty in our imperfections, we need to take a page out of Mother Nature's gardening book and realize that it all works perfectly, both the weeds and the flowers, living in harmony. 

I cannot wait to see what pops up in the garden this year, or what new surprises will show up along the river bank. Whatever blooms this year will be just perfect. There are no imperfections in nature, and we are all as much a part of nature as the lilac tree or the pussy willows. You, dear friend, are perfect just as you are. 

And so it is.