“Everything you seek and everything you experience – everything– is inside you. If you want to change anything, you do it inside, not outside. The whole idea is total responsibility. There’s no one to blame. It’s all you.”-Joe Vitale
I’ve always been a fan of the film and book The Secret, created by Rhonda Byrne in collaboration with numerous other teachers. At the time, I was exposed to it, I was working at a homeless shelter in the Bronx. I was so inspired by it, I bought the DVD, and had a screening at the shelter with a mini workshop. I shared it with friends and parents, who implemented it into my life. And that was the initiation of vision boards in my life.
Manifestation is a tool I’ve continued to intentionally dabble with in my life, generally at this time of year. There had been some lashback over the years with the film, because of it’s focus on material things. I admit that it’s not always on the forefront of my mind of manifesting the life I want. I sometimes go by the mantra a client once said to me, “life just lifes.” Yet, over time what is becoming to become apparent is we are constant manifestors, although often unintentional.
The past several days, with preparation for the new year, with fresh goals and intentions I have been listening to interviews with manifesting teachers such as Emma Mumford, Joe Vitale, and Pam Oslie. There is a reminder that manifestation is a process, but also we are constantly manifesting without even being aware of this. Our thoughts create our reality. The reality we are living (even all that we are complaining about) we manifested this.
I had all this in my mind lately, prior to walking my dog Bella yesterday. A passing thought came of her poop bag by the side of the outside door. I kept it there and didn’t throw it away, because it was a small poop and thought I could add to it, by reusing the bag. As I opened the front door, the poop bag moved several feet to be on my doorstep waiting for me. I manifested it. It made me laughed but reminded me we manifest on all layers. However small or large. Our thoughts create reality.
Several weeks ago, I was in Santa Fe New Mexico, inspired by the communal creative vibe that exuded from that city. I went home, wanted create art, and was on the hunt to find a canvas. I stepped into various everything store shops, and couldn’t find the perfect size. After having lunch with a friend in Silverlake, in the parking lot was a new canvas and a chair, with a note from the previous owner offering his blessing of creative possibilities to the new owner. I manifested this!
If I can manifest canvases and poop bags, what else can I manifest?
I share this because the stories we hear of manifestation don’t just have to be big dramatic shifts and changes. They can, but they start with witnessing and acknowledging the small ways we manifest. It’s easy to get frustrated with what life seems to throw at us, we seem to be living the motto “life just lifes.” But we have the power to shift things. When we complain or act as the victim, we are simply bringing more energy to that situation and remain in it versus taking action. We do have the right to vent, but do we want to live in it?
And so as I write this, what will you manifest? I will end with a question one spiritual teacher Cynthia Sue Larson asks herself daily…
“A creative life is an amplified life. It’s a bigger life, a happier life, an expanded life, and a hell of a lot more interesting life. Living in this manner—continually and stubbornly bringing forth the jewels that are hidden within you—is a fine art, in and of itself.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert,Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear
Sometimes we seek out creativity without knowing what to expect. This was the case several weekends ago in Santa Fe, where my mom, friend, and I went to a free Denim painting workshop put on by the Site Santa Fe Museum (also free to visit) and 4Kinship, an indigenous owned clothing store in town. We didn’t know what we were in for, as I thought when we signed up that this would be a class to teach us how to paint indigenous designs. Instead the class offered permission and paint to design whatever your heart called for. The theme was joy.
But for before the class began the owner of 4Kinship shared a story of how she had partnered with an organization to build a skatepark on an indigenous reservation. On the inaugural day of the skate park opening, legend Tony Hawk was invited and came to skate in conjunction with all of the other skaters. The owner of 4Kinship recruited an individual Shawn, who had been skating for years, to serve as a mentor 2-3 times a week to teach and lead skating lessons. He offered through mentorship and skating, alternative ways of being and living could be discovered to indigenous youth. Another indigenous creative was there who created a bespoke skateboard company (he also happened to be half Filipino). As this story was told, the owner began to tear up, which made me want to cry out of the beauty of collaboration and commitment to community.
And here we were in a free denim workshop. She gave us permission in that moment to create for the sake of it. As we did, there was initial hesitation and trepidation, what if we paint something and it’s wrong? There’s no erasing…. But we began to follow our intuitive hits. My friend Crystal, had images of faded checkered lines on the back of her denim coat, and was advised a way to seek out those results. My mom free styled a Desigual-esque vibe, as I tried to mimic the essence of examples that were hung of denim with indigenous patterns. Beats played in the background, we all got in the zone, chatted, and painted. It didn’t matter what the results were, we temporarily were all being creative collectively. And there was such beauty in this…
Being in Santa Fe, at this workshop, then strolling down Canyon Drive with dozens of galleries, gave permission to step into my own creativity once again. It’s easy to get caught up in the everyday drama of life, focusing on the daily busy-ness of work and to dos. But to let your mind wander, let the paintbrush move on a canvas, there was freedom there. As someone who is a creativity coach, I am used to talking to people 1:1 about their creativity, but there is a sacredness in doing this in a group. Separate and connected.
As a devotee of romcoms, it seems the world is framed that the potential of romantic love is always a possibility. Fairytales mold young girls to feel as if their lives are not complete without their knight in shining armors. And so it’s easy to be feel one is always on the hunt for their other half, and as we go out and about in the world we are programmed to seek couples who exemplify this idealized standard. When we don’t find it, a sense of dissatisfaction and incompleteness can arise.
On this Saturday morning, at a chill café in Los Feliz, I did spot a handful of couples. But what I saw exemplified love to a greater intensity. It was not the cutesy couples kissing in a corner I saw. What I witnessed were tables of friendships, groups of men or groups of women meeting up to share their week’s joys, struggles, laughter, goals. And I realized this was who the majority of the customers were on a Saturday morning. This was real love. Love that is loyal, consistent, stable, kind, non-contingent, and long lasting. Friendship love.
So often we are in search of the essence of something that we may already have. Instead of worrying where one may find love, why not be love, or reside in love that is in one’s atmosphere? This could be one’s family, friends, or even pets.
As I write this, I am aware it seems Pollyanna-ish. Yet love is already all around. We may not label these interactions and relationships as such, but it offers the same warm feeling of being cared for and offers a sense of belonging. Love is a verb. Love is an action. It is not an elusive thing to grasp, and therein lies the problem. How we believe we should perceive and experience it. At the moment, we may view ourselves as lonely, but ultimately that is a choice in perception. Allow oneself to experience and feel all the way love shows up in your life this weekend. Then note how you feel. Instead of the sense of seeking, there may lie within a sense of satisfaction.
“Ultimately the bond of all companionship, whether in marriage or in friendship, is conversation.” — Oscar Wilde
Earlier this week, I gave a talk to a crowd of over 60 people on mental toughness. As I prepared for this presentation, I relished in it. I love talking about the power of the mind, leading people through visualization, meditation, and talking about daily discipline. These are the types of books I have read, podcasts I listen to, or presentations that I pay to attend. I’ve had the pleasure over the years to walk on fire with Tony Robbins or hear the eloquent words of the late Louise Hay say “How you start your day, is how you live your day, and how you live your day is how you live your life.” I’ve led retreats on exactly these topics and get fired up talking about it and love sharing it.
And yet when I did the presentation, the audience was lackluster. There was minimal engagement as I walked through the crowd, and tried to get them to interact with me and what we were discussing. It was a forced workshop for this group. They were not there due to choice but requirement. Although there was applause at the end, I didn’t know if this was part of the forced expectations in this type of environment. As I briefed my colleagues in the office afterwards in regards to how this went, I was quite disappointed with the results. I let that talk go and move forward with the next tasks at hand.
Something surprised me later in the week. I unexpectedly had to meet individually with some of the people that were in the crowd for other work related reasons. As I met with them, they brought up what I had discussed in my presentation. People in the audience who showed no emotion and boredom when I talked, were actually listening and taking it in. One brought up manifestation or another himself being mentally tough but having difficulty with his spouse who is overly sensitive. One resonated with the importance of reflecting on how to make changes in his choices they made throughout the day.
This experience in some ways humbled me. I have talked to large crowds the size of 600-800 people, who were engaged and buzzing during my presentation and gave workshops frequently to USAF Special Operations. I’ve sat in audiences with some of the worlds top speakers and felt through osmosis I could get these people I was talking to excited to change their lives. But I observed minimal response. Admittedly my ego was a bit bruised, was it how I delivered the material? Was I not powerful enough? Succinct or engaging? Was this material not relatable to their everyday lives?
But it was only through small whispers did I later realize they were listening. I didn’t get the automatic crowd response I had hoped for but heard the impact in private conversations days later. And this is enough. This is the work. Not the acclaim but the tiny quiet ripple effect.
What I began to realize is perhaps the lesson in all of this is not wisdom I shared to this group this week, but not to make assumptions on the impact we have on others. Just because the initial response doesn’t look like a favorable result, there may be residual impact that lingers and emerges at a later point. We may never know the impact we have on others. I was lucky to hear comments from several people later in the week, but if I never did I would have perceived that presentation was a flop. But it did land on them. They did hear the essence of the talk.
It reminds me that whatever way that we are looking to serve the world, we may not receive accolades for the work we do. But we do make a difference. Nobody may thank us or let us know, but we impact each other. How we offer to positively shifts the world has a resonance, and don’t give up because you don’t think anyone is listening. They are, in more ways than you know. There may not be thunderous applause, but there may be shifts made.
I had taken my first and only cruise with my family over 20 years ago, and had never stepped foot on one again until this past week. The reasons have changed, I wasn’t opting for solely relaxation, family reunion, and a getaway during the autumnal months. I was looking for ways to gain access to the Travel Century Club. The reason one joins is for bragging rights to claim that you have been to at least 100 territories in the world. On this one, I would add three more to the list: Puerto Rico, St. Kitts & Nevis, Sint Maarten (the Dutch side)/Saint Martin (the French side), Barbados. This was in addition to the US Virgin Islands, to which I had already been to (St. Thomas and St. Croix). This would put me at 80, and so on a cruise we go….
Cruises seem to be made for loving gatherings of large groups of friends and families exploring the world together without having to worry about cooking, cleaning, or driving. Entertainment and activities are provided, and all that is required of you is to get back onto the ship before departure time each day. On the first day, there was a massive balloon drop, which my friend and I managed to find ourselves in the front row of the dance floor. The band played Celebration by Kool and The Gang, as we counted down for the balloon drop. The crowd screamed as we tapped the balloons to others as they fell from the ceiling slowly, then picked them off the ground to keep them from popping and kept volleyballing them to others on the dance floor. My friend and I realized we were the only adults laughing with joy as we did this. The only other people doing the same thing were children, but we didn’t care. This was wonder in action.
Since my previous cruise departed from Florida, I had a bias that a majority of my fellow cruisers would be from middle America. Surprisingly this was not the case. We left from San Juan Puerto Rico, and nearly 75% of the guests were Puerto Rican. At our evening dining table, we were the only ones not from Puerto Rico. It truly felt we were part of the Caribbean. Dance and lip sync competitions had numerous participants that hailed from Puerto Rico, as the crowd cheered. Fellow mainlanders realized they were in the minority. A middle aged white man named Kirk even tried to claim he was from Puerto Rico to gain the audience’s love and votes as he competed doing pelvic thrusts and hip sways to Shakira, Ricky Martin, and the song Gasolina. The audience and host knew the truth, saying “alright Kirk from Puerto Rico” but laughed and clapped along anyways to the ridiculous over the top court jester archetype.
As we met other guests on this ship, there were people that were regulars in the cruise life. Whether they remained loyal with the same company and earned points or shopped around dependent on the regions explored. At some point, I realized we are all reflections of each other. Two older women sat next to us, whose husbands who opted for the buffet. They solely spoke French, and I listened in and internally translated bits of their conversation. Two other older Midwestern friends sat next to us, who resided in Ohio (my home state). One lady was British, and when I shared the towns, I lived in the UK (Cambridge, Epping, and Bury St. Edmunds), we were both shocked as she revealed her father was born in Bury St. Edmunds. We all exchanged names, and when I shared my name Tricia, the other woman noted she would remember this as her sister’s name was Patricia. Patricia Ann specifically (my name is Tricia Ann), who died at the age of 44 (I am 45). She teared up as she talked about her, and for a moment I thought how she may have needed me to serve as a mirror to her sister for a momentary reflection.
Staff members we engaged with hailed from India, Indonesia, Jamaica, Dominican Republic, Philippines, and numerous other locations. A flag dance party the last night of the cruise claimed 57 countries where staff on that specific ship resided from. One waiter asked if my friend and I (both of Asian descent) if we were married to Americans, wondering how we gained citizenship. We informed him that we were born in America. This exchange served as a reminder to be grateful for my family members that made sacrifices to come to America, the land of opportunity. I am not sure the exact amount staff are paid on cruise ships, but many waitstaff particularly come from low income or third world countries. These hardworking individuals work for at least 7 months a year, with minimal days off, in hopes of financially moving ahead in their lives. Some may enjoy the lifestyle, as I met one waiter from the Philippines who has worked for this same company for 20 years. The cruise life now is his home, and his homeland is a vacation. I overheard another staff member from India saying he was retiring after 30 years of working on these cruises. “Who will you work for now?” a guest asked him. “My wife,” he said with a smile, he was looking forward to spending time with her and his adult children.
There is poignancy in small moments. One of the nights, the waitstaff walked around the restaurant, as the guests clapped for their waiters and twirled their white cloth napkins in the air as a form of gratitude and appreciation to those who served them. We joined together in a large dance of the macarena. One port held 5 cruises on St. Martin, this meant 25,000 of us went ontp the island on that one day. As one cruise ship left, phone flashlights shone waving goodbye from both ships, as crowds do at concerts. Waving farewell to strangers via phones, or when we passed them on land, reminded me of the universal urge of wanting to connect.
And one begins to realize that we are mirrors for each other. We may not be as different as we expected. The characters we observed in our fellow cruise ship passengers were all archetypes, each who exhibit aspects of us. The court jester who hammed it up for the crowds in dance competitions, the lovers celebrating anniversaries or honeymoons, the bereft who still had residual grief , the royal court who complained about everything, the sick who needed to slow down their pace even on the cruise ship due to recent surgeries, the artists that performed each night, the salesmen who lured you to their stores with raffle prize wins and deals on art auctions or jewelry, the martyrs and wounded healers as staff who sacrificed so much as they served us to make money for people back home, the anxious ones who worried about this ship’s reliability as we swayed and rocked the waves on the boat, the gamblers who vowed to win more in the casinos, and the explorers who longed to step onto new lands, We have a desire to live for something more. We are here to celebrate, to cry, laugh, dance, and connect. For a brief period we were all unplugged from the everyday devices and linked with those around via conversation, laughter, song, travel, presence, and appreciation for one another. I’ve met so many types of characters on this ship, even some characters within myself that have been dormant.
The day after the election, half of America was in shock, the other half was in glory. In work environments, we’ve been encouraged to not discuss hot topics: politics, religion, and salaries. Therefore, this was minimized, but what did take our attention was the strong Santa Ana winds that prevailed, and the smell of smoke in the air. In and out of sessions with clients, I would hear chatter that the smoke was from fires happening in the outskirts of the nearby Camarillo area. 500 acres were on fire, which quickly jumped to 1000 within the hour. Individuals who lived close to the areas affected were being told to go home and get their valuables and evacuate. Someone said aloud “oh no, my fish.” My work cellphone offered a loud warning to evacuate.
We were encouraged to download an app to get updates of the fire, and see if you were located in the next evacuation target area. I looked at the app, it looked like fires were nearing the local animal shelters, and I worried what would be their fate. It was noted that the animals were brought to a temporary place for safety. My first thoughts were my dog Bella, she was my most valuable thing I owned at the moment. I wrote down on my hand the other necessity items I would need if I had to evacuate quickly: passport, computer, ipads. But that is it. I didn’t pack a getwaway bag, but it passed through my head. My colleagues reminded me I should be okay because I live two miles from the beach, but is anyone ever fully safe?
I thought of all the people who had to evacuate, including my brother’s future mother-in-law and her husband. They recently purchased a home with acres in this targeted area. How were they doing? I observed pictures online of people watching their homes go up in flames. Throughout the day the fire grew to 10,000 acres, not contained. Eventually most of the departments at my job site were to work the remainder of the day from home to be ready for any preparations that may have needed to be made. My 15 year old dog Bella was excited to see me at the house early, and I had to calm her down as I had a therapy session to conduct for the remaining hour. Colleagues sent multiple status updates of their safety.
All the while I thought, “How do we go about our day in a normal manner?” Kids were sent home from school and school was already cancelled for the following day. Cars line the streets, everyone is home waiting for further news. It was eerie walking outside. Bella and I went to grab a coffee, she was itching for a walk along a nearby harbor. A place that was generally full of people of all ages in pairs, getting their steps in with friends or their pets. It was empty, the only other dog walker came out of his home on a boat.
The sky had pastel colors as the orange sun shone through, and I was reminded a friend once told me when the sun looks as beautiful as this the air quality is bad. She was right. The hues were pink and purple, and although one couldn’t tell by the picturesque view, the fire continued to expand.
The morning after when I awoke, it was then 14,000 acres and counting later reaching 20,000 and eventually to a 7% containment. The air now appears clear but smells of an all night bonfire. All we can do now, is send loving kindness to those impacted and the firemen and women helping those in this emergent situation.
I listened to a Metta/Loving Kindness Meditation that morning.
May we be free from suffering
May we be free from internal and external enemies
May we be happy
May we live this life with healthy bodies and happy minds
What is the American dream? And can one still attain this? It seems that some people are still in search for this, and have ventured to the state of Alaska to attain it.
Inflation in the country, has made it difficult for the average person to afford rentals, and further the purchase of homes. But in Alaska a 3 bedroom home is still within reach. Over the first twenty four hours of arriving, we’ve met several people who have moved from different parts of America due to the affordability, opportunity, and promise of something more.
But there is also something else here that exuded… The kindness that emerged from the locals and the transplants, in offering suggestions of delicious cuisine to eat, stunning natural landscapes to witness, and warnings of what one may encounter during one’s visit.
I visited Anchorage Alaska mid-October, during Indigenous people’s weekend. To honor this, the Anchorage museum waived the $25 entrance fee for all visitors. A volunteer greeted us at the door, a young Indigenous female with a painted red hand over her face. I asked to take her photo, she said “I’d rather you not.” I honored her request, remembering that some people believe that if you take their photos, you are taking their souls. The red hand I observed was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. My friend reminded me that this was a symbol to bring awareness of missing and murdered Indigenous women in North America. They are 10 times more likely to be sexually assaulted or murdered than non-indigenous women. To read more https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_handprint#:~:text=A%20red%20handprint%2C%20usually%20painted,be%20murdered%20or%20sexually%20assaulted.
As I walked through the museum, I couldn’t help but be stunned by the controversial art pieces on display sharing the indigenous people’s stories throughout generations. Through imagery and storytelling, there were reminders of how the indigenous people were robbed of their heritage, appropriation was used as a platform for consumerism and capitalism, and the necessity of the new generations to discover, embrace, and share their heritage in their own native languages to ensure traditions are carried on. In addition, there was homage to other ethnic groups that make up pockets of Alaska, including Black Americans and Latin Americans.
(Nicholas Galanin: The Imaginary Indian, 2009)
Alaska is a complex entity, becoming the 49th state in 1959, but originally was purchased from Russia in 1867. Then came the Gold Rush, subsequently the search for oil.
It became a powerful place for America to own, “In 1935 General Billy Mitchell said to Congress “I believe that in the future, whoever holds Alaska will hold the world. I think it is the most important strategic place in the world.”
But with this cane the wipe out, erase, capitalize, appropriate the indigenous people and their customs. There were so many mixed feelings being here, that I may need to continue to reflect and chew on. The Anchorage museum held controversial conversational pieces, but what about the remnants diversity throughout the land? From what I explored, in the surrounding areas of Anchorage this was minimal. There are high rates of suicide, alcoholism, and ancestral trauma. And how do we serve and honor all those impacted by generations of colonialism?
There is so much to say about this, and I am aware I am only scratching the surface. But I am reminded, as we visit places even in our own country, it’s important to honor the land and the ancestors of the land, even if you are not a direct descendant. How can you be a responsible tourist and leave more than you take? This can be kindness, conversation, exploration, and discussions when one returns to your own neighborhood of the vastness you experienced. It’s an ever evolving reflection, and the more I travel to further vast corners of the world, the more questions arise. Thank you Alaska for what you shared, and I honor you and all that you contain.
“The unicursal path of the labyrinth is what differentiates it and sets it apart as a spiritual tool. The labyrinth does not engage our thinking minds. It invites our intuitive, pattern-seeking, symbolic mind to come forth. It presents us with only one, but profound, choice. To enter a labyrinth is to choose to walk a spiritual path.” ― Dr. Lauren Artress
Labyrinths often are confused with mazes. At a quick glance, they appear similar. Oftentimes a circular journey that appears to trick us as we walk towards the center. Yet there is one differences. Mazes have multiple options one can talk, a small form of choose your own adventure, filled with false pathways and dead-ends. But labyrinths do not trick us, there is only one way in and out.
Over the years, I’ve wandered through numerous labyrinths, but inside churches, buildings, and in gardens and retreat centers. Yet, the experience at Chartres Cathedral was profound. I had heard once that the labyrinths, particularly in France during the medieval times served as a metaphorical pilgrimage people could take if they did not have the time or physical strength to take the 500 plus mile walk via Camino de Santiago. This contemplative practice offered a piece of the reflection that could occur.
I was reminded that a pilgrimage begins with intention, often when one leaves the home. Last week, as we waited at Gare Montparnesse for our train track to be displayed to Chartres, we witnessed a staff member arguing with her boss. He didn’t seem to be understanding her as her voice elevated, at one point she screamed and hit the floor. Was it a panic attack, stress induced stress or a dramatic act? We couldn’t tell as a handsome passenger who also was a doctor, offered his help. As the fainting woman was sent away in a mini ambulance golf cart, I wondered had the pilgrimage begun. Each component played a part in the day: the heavy bags we carried, a miscommunication with the uber driver, the short but steep distance we walked from the train station to the hotel? A line of police vans drove by and small tents were getting set up. I couldn’t help but wonder what type of celebration was occurring or who was here. We queried our receptionist, who stated simply that someone important was in town. Thoughts immediately went to political importance. When I inquired if it was the president, she nodded her head, not wanting to verbally share who was here but not denying it either.
And so the pilgrimage really did begun. Each persona we met with during the day served as an archetype for the journey: the victim, the doctor, the police, the staff, and the president. We were prompt to arrive at Chartres Cathedral, as we were aware the labyrinth is only open for several hours on Fridays during some parts of the year. But as we walked to the Cathedral, we noticed crowds of students gathered outside and inside. Was it a massive field trip or something else? I later learned it was a photo op with President Macron. We were so in the zone of the moment that we didn’t seem to absorb he was in the Cathedral the same time as us. The labyrinth appeared before us, uncovered from the chairs that usually sit on top of it. I was curious how this labyrinth experience would compare to others I have done in the world.
One is to think of an intention as you enter a labyrinth. And so I did. As I meandered from one side of it to the other I reflected on this intention. Volunteers guarded the labyrinth, from tourists who stumbled unknowingly onto the labyrinth. They ensured that all who would grace the space offered their respect to what lay underneath them. If they were not going to walk it appropriately, they would have to leave the labyrinth and walk around the perimeter. The protector archetype was present, as was the fool, and the student. And as I walked the labyrinth, I would repeat my mantra. Pause. Repeat. Many of us were spread out, but as we entered the final stretch of the labyrinth, there was a bit of a human traffic jam. I wondered if I would feel frustrated with so many people there. Were people taking it seriously or was it just another quick tourist photo op?
But something shifted and changed. I dropped into this sentimental place observing my fellow pilgrims. And then I couldn’t stop crying for the beauty of the moment. This entire day was a metaphor of life. All the characters and interactions, and in the symbolism of this walk we were each headed for a moment in the center. The Chartres labyrinth is special in there are 6 petals in the center, for this particular walk, unspoken rules were created were our specific group. We were all strangers from different parts of the world momentarily gathered to embark on this contemplative tradition. As we walked into the entryway to the center, each of us would step to the left, as the person in the center stepped out. Some people had their hands to their hearts, bellies, both, or even palms open, ready to receive. As the person stood in the center, they faced the altar and infamous stained glass windows. It was as if it was there moment to shine, receive our quiet intentions and prayers, before stepping out. I couldn’t help but compare this specific part to one’s death, offerings, acknowledgement and prayers are made for a moment in time in one’s honor before you step out of the labyrinth.
Each time you walk the labyrinth it’s different but this specific moment will be etched in my mind. It served as a powerful reminder of meeting each part of ourselves on the journey of life. And having a moment of grace before one steps out of their path on earth. What are your stepping into? What are you leaving behind?
And so I challenge you to find a local labyrinth, make one, engage in a finger labyrinth and notice what metaphors arise on the journey.
As I write this, I am at the airport, awaiting my international flight to Paris. It’s my first international trip since I have begun a full time job 9 months ago. Although I’ve had mini holidays the past year, nothing of this extent. I will be gone for ten days. To the old free-spirited wanderluster, this amount of time is nothing, but to the me in a full time job, it’s a lengthy amount of time. There were so many little things that arose last minute to prepare for the weeks leading up to it: confirming with work, clients, fellow staff members, dog sitter, shuttle company, neighbors, family and friends.
I made the final touches to my luggage this morning. As I closed the zipper on my backpack, my Black Madonna keychain broke off. Automatically, it served as a reminder the journey was officially starting. There was no turning back.
Experiences are amplified when you take a long haul trip, and in this there is a realization you have to let go and allow the trip to unfold. Some things may go as planned, some may not. But in a time crunch, you must surrender that the travel guides and gods will protect you on your journey. You will be watched over and it will be what it will be.
There are mysteries that arise on journeys that may not be understood until reflection. Life will go on back home without you, but time will be stretched on your trip. Regardless of how much stress a trip may cause, the experiences gained are generally worth it.
There is an ancient zen myth, which discusses a farmer who has a series of fortunate and unfortunate events that arise throughout his life. Although the farmer does not judge these events, the neighbors do. They are quick to label the events as good luck or bad luck, the farmer always responds with the phrase: “bad luck, good luck, who knows?”
Oftentimes we are quick to judge when things happen if we are having a good or bad day, how the rest of the day will play out. We want to be like the neighbor and label it. But it’s important to not have judgmental thoughts of what is out there. These thoughts can become self-fulfilling prophecies, which is great if things are going well but can be a downward spiral if they are not.
This was the case last week when I awoke. I had a flight from Santa Barbara, I had a leisurely morning waking up an hour later than my usual work day: 545 am. My 15 ½ year old dog Bella was slightly overworked with her cough, I think her psychic abilities knew I was leaving. But I was able to calm her down. We both were relaxed, and I generally don’t check my messages before my spiritual practice is over, but this time I did. My dog sitter sent a message at 5am. She would not be able to be at her home on time, requesting I drop off my dog an hour later. This would have made me a bit late to the airport. It was 645 am. I started to freak out sending her several messages, but opted to call her to see if I could drop her off now. It was then 7am. I got to the house at 710, after a man was honking at me that I was in his parking spot. I reparked the car, yelling “I’m just going to be one minute,” dropped off Bella, and I found out her son would have left the house at 715. I went back home, showered, and went to my pending doctor’s appointment. I realized that since I didn’t have Bella, I didn’t have to run back home and would have an hour to spare in Santa Barbara before needing to get to the airport. Throughout the morning, it flowed like this. Something that could have been bad to something that balanced it out. I understood that life fluctuates like this. It’s not good, nor bad. It is. Could I go with the flow of what the world was giving me without labeling it?
And because I was able to, life continued to offer me the vissisitudes of the day. I could appreciate all that it was. Bad luck, good luck, who knows?
If you want to read a deeper version of the zen myth, check out this link below.
It Only Takes A Smile 