I couldn't sleep last night. Who let me have 3 large caffeinated beverages yesterday? So I got up to read a bit after I'd been in bed about an hour last night. The book I am reading is called “Broken Open: how difficult times can help us grow” by Elizabeth Lesser. There were repeatedly notes and comments that aligned so perfectly with the work I’ve been doing the last 5 years, it was amazing.
You see, I've been working with a local counselor who does dreamwork. I've been patiently, methodically trying to pry open the heavy cellar door to my subconscious, my essence, my soul. In between, I've also found "Lexipro." You bet! I took Lexipro for the first time three years ago. After three days, I turned to Terri while we were standing in the living room and I said, "Wow. So this is how normal people feel isn't it?" Tears welled up in my eyes a moment because I felt so tender, so in awe of the moment. You could say I"m a bit of an anxious person and always have been. So now it's the work and the medicine. That moment of calm inside the storm that the medicine has created for me, allows me to do the work or "The Work" as those of us in-process call it. Eventually, I'll be off of the Lexipro.
So in this book I was reading, there was this quote from Chogyam Trungpa (Who first taught Tibetan Buddhism in the US).
“When we slow down, when we relax with our fear, we find sadness, which is calm and gentle. Sadness hits you in your heart... this is the first sign of real warriorship...Discovering fearlessness comes from working with the softness of the human heart."
My human heart has been feeling quite soft and vulnerable lately. It’s not a bad thing, it's something delicate I am balancing inside of, like the feeling of being fresh white linen hung on the line in a hurricane. I can feel the wind, feel the ‘phwup’ of material billowing, and feel most of all the tenuous, rough line I am hung on. On either side, the tight, splintered clothespins. Will the wind ever stop? Sometimes it does, and when it does it brings a fresh air like none other.
Remember spring mornings when you were a child, or the way the field outside your house smelled at dawn, when the dew was accompanied by the thick downy blanket of a fallen white thundercloud in the valley below, and the sound of the black crows, that moved incessantly back and forth across the empty baseball field, cawing out, first one, then another, calmly, methodically pecking at carcasses and dried grass seeds and bugs. They picked the land clean for their meal with such a calm you had to wonder, if you could live like a crow, feel the calm swell of death as it came slinking off of the surface of the earth, its cool dark shadow expanding silently, would you be fearful? Or fearless?
You see, I've been working with a local counselor who does dreamwork. I've been patiently, methodically trying to pry open the heavy cellar door to my subconscious, my essence, my soul. In between, I've also found "Lexipro." You bet! I took Lexipro for the first time three years ago. After three days, I turned to Terri while we were standing in the living room and I said, "Wow. So this is how normal people feel isn't it?" Tears welled up in my eyes a moment because I felt so tender, so in awe of the moment. You could say I"m a bit of an anxious person and always have been. So now it's the work and the medicine. That moment of calm inside the storm that the medicine has created for me, allows me to do the work or "The Work" as those of us in-process call it. Eventually, I'll be off of the Lexipro.
So in this book I was reading, there was this quote from Chogyam Trungpa (Who first taught Tibetan Buddhism in the US).
“When we slow down, when we relax with our fear, we find sadness, which is calm and gentle. Sadness hits you in your heart... this is the first sign of real warriorship...Discovering fearlessness comes from working with the softness of the human heart."
My human heart has been feeling quite soft and vulnerable lately. It’s not a bad thing, it's something delicate I am balancing inside of, like the feeling of being fresh white linen hung on the line in a hurricane. I can feel the wind, feel the ‘phwup’ of material billowing, and feel most of all the tenuous, rough line I am hung on. On either side, the tight, splintered clothespins. Will the wind ever stop? Sometimes it does, and when it does it brings a fresh air like none other.
Remember spring mornings when you were a child, or the way the field outside your house smelled at dawn, when the dew was accompanied by the thick downy blanket of a fallen white thundercloud in the valley below, and the sound of the black crows, that moved incessantly back and forth across the empty baseball field, cawing out, first one, then another, calmly, methodically pecking at carcasses and dried grass seeds and bugs. They picked the land clean for their meal with such a calm you had to wonder, if you could live like a crow, feel the calm swell of death as it came slinking off of the surface of the earth, its cool dark shadow expanding silently, would you be fearful? Or fearless?
