For Fear of …

* What do you do when you fear you will hurt? When you first sense the ripples of a drama effect inside you, bouncing uncontrollably to the surface of your experience?

* What do you hold on to?

* Which feeling/ story/ role do you play out?

I’ve been having multitudes lately. It’s not that I’m not used to them, I am. In fact, when it comes to relationships, drama turns out to be the only thing that I’m really used to. Multitudes … of one day smiling my arse off at the idea of all of us just playing out our roles for one another’s growth … and the very next day acting out my good old drama when I need an excuse, a justification, grounds to judge. I feel vulnerable. It seems that I only feel comfortable inside a relationship when there’s drama.

I remember vividly when I decided upon that. We were having a family vacation somewhere at the seaside when I was about seven. I don’t recall the event, but I do remember a dark seaside cottage in the best uniform Yugoslavian style. I don’t recall what I was doing, but I do remember my parents snapping at each other. I don’t remember what the tension was about, because they always managed to find something when they were doomed to spend hours on end in the same room, but I do remember what I thought to myself.

“If this is what being married looks like, I don’t want it.”

I used to despise the fighting. I used to know that fighting is the result of someone’s current inability of not being able to relate to a fellow human.

I was right. But then I became the fight. I became it by closing my heart.

Whenever I feel like I might get hurt – I close my heart, I step back, and I shut up. I do all of that although I know that I’m closing up both to the light and the shadows. I close my heart to fear of being hurt, but I close it to love, too. I step back from what my conditioning calls good, and what my conditioning calls bad. I shut up not only to the cry of a harpy, but to angelic healing melodies, too. There is nothing coming in and nothing going out. This basically means I’m stagnating and could really use a flush.

One thing that I really learned at Sara’s Saturday SoulSpa is that us humans need flushing regularly. We need to be open, we really do. That way the world can enter us, our soul can experience it, and then we can flush it back out into the world, but keep the wisdom that we gained along the way.

So, my dearest heart, open up and smile to the world today. All is well. Everything loves and takes care of you.

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Indecisiveness

“What happened to you?” he asks me, munching on his dinner, while I’m holding the computer in my hands and letting myself be receptive to today’s story.

“What do you mean?” I ask, totally knowing what he meant.

“What happened so that you can finally be relaxed?”

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t gotten to the end of tonight’s story.” It so happens that I often realize things after I’ve written them down right here on this blog.

I have this ongoing story with somebody. He is a man and I love him. I never doubted that. What I do doubt, though, is the ability of the two of us to make a life together. Being with him always feels like I’m stealing sweet moments from my real life; the life of money and work and bills to pay. The part of life I haven’t been willing to observe in detail yet, but I really feel I ought to now. And because I have had the abovementioned fear (and many others), I have been indecisive with him. It’s a severe degree of indecisiveness that borders on bipolarity. I love you – I love you not – I want to be with you – I want to be with you not. Except from my personal experience of a fundamental deep-seated restlessness, I didn’t know what this must feel like from a perspective outside of me. I wondered and the answer was given. Ask, and you shall be given, right?

Remember when I said parenting is the spiritual practice for the bold? My son has once again shown me the mirror. I knew I could count on him.

The day we left home, I gave him a choice of either staying at home with my father or going with me to our dearest Soča river valley, where we’ve had our second home for the past year and a half. I was O.K. with both outcomes, so I thought making a decision might be a good practice for a weighing libra. This turned out to be a bad idea in terms of practice, but a good one for me to see what indecisiveness looks like in action. Whoa! Svarun couldn’t decide. Not only could he not decide, he would make up his mind ten times in a minute then break up, change and repeat. This went on for more than half an hour, including me already taking him over to my parents’ and saying goodbye for a dozen times. Every time we’d said goodbye and I sat in the car, he would stop me to climb in, and when I’d try to help him put on the seat belt, he would start climbing back down, telling me he has changed his mind. I was looking at him, but could only see myself in him. And every time I thought must be the last time to bounce, he would bounce again and again. The bouncing was unstoppable.

Such is therefore our indecisiveness, when we are unstoppably bouncing from fear to love, and back?

We are here to recognize that each and every little thing we do holds sponsorship from either love or fear. Once we conceptually know this, the rest of the world seems easy peasy. Is easy peasy. If we know where we stand, and we know that everything we create we in fact cocreate with the Universe, we can take care of our part, right?

So, yeah … indecisiveness. It’s time to fear the fears and surrender them to love. Mmmm, took any decisions lately? The one decision I have made so far is to ask myself every single time before undertaking any kind of task or emotional endeavour:

Am I acting out of love, or out of fear?

I ask and the answer is given.

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Commitment Yes, Commitment No?

Svarun is finally home! Boy, oh boy, did I ever miss that golden, fiery, talkative boy. Today we had an amazing day together; long and full, but amazing.

But after he’s gone to bed, the things that challenged me throughout the day surfaced. The things were many. I’m in the midst of my period. My mind is scattered all over, trying to figure a way out of what I would call “a mess”. I feel cranky and tired. I feel like there are things happening against my will. And I feel everything would be just fine if there were someone here to pat me on back. If there were someone here to say “there, there” or grab the reins when I need a nap.

Basically, what I’m feeling is very sorry for myself and just realizing it now. Whoa! Hello again, you, feeling. Feeling sorry for myself used to be my dominant way of feeling. It’s what I was brought up with. It goes something like this: I’ll take it if I get to complain about it. If I get to complain, I’m not happy. Not being happy is normal, so I’m in my comfort zone. All is well.

Being in the “poor me” is the easiest thing you could do, but it brings the least joy, if any at all. As my dear teacher Sara always says: “When nothing depends upon you, you needn’t take any responsibility for your life.”  Easy? Sure. Happy? Doubt it.

For example, me and Sara were talking for quite some time today. In the meantime Svarun found a two cups’ worth of oat flakes and got the inspiration to bake something on his own. He gathered oat flakes, organic baking powder, rice syrup, and water and came asking for permission to use each of the ingredients. I was like “yeah, yeah”, trying to divide my attention between the phone call and my son. Now, this may not have been the first time he decided to bake something, but it was the first time he committed to it. His commitment to pull it off, find a baking tray, put it into the oven and wait patiently for it to be done resulted in the very first time we got to eat his cake and, more importantly, a very excited and proud young man! It’s entirely edible and beyond – it’s delicious. But for me to see that took some strength. I could have stayed in the “poor me” and stick to my moth cashew tragedy, I could. But if I did, I wouldn’t realize how big this moment was for him. Seeing the victimhood game for what it was, I could shift the focus to the present moment and commit to being happy for my son’s rite of passage.

How do we take responsibility for our lives, then? By committing.

The other day somebody was asking me about my constant frequent updates here on the blog. I was asked about commitment and I remember using physics to explain my feelings. Now, I’m not a physicist or a left-brainer per se (two of my best friends are, though), but I swear I couldn’t find a more understandable explanation of what it feels like to commit than using centrifugal and centripetal forces to illustrate. Before you commit to your calling, you’re further away from the centre of the curve. You’re in the outskirts of the curve and don’t take responsibility for your life and your being. You have a job that doesn’t fulfil you and you complain about it, but feel you can’t do anything to change it. You don’t live your life, your life lives you. Then, once you realize you can’t afford such mediocre existence in this astonishing time-space reality, you commit to do whatever it takes to feel good and be the boss of your own life. You are then stepping on a whole new frequency, my friend. You’re coming closer to the centre of the circle, the rolling circle being you, your path and your calling. The closer you get to the centre, the more centripetal force you feel. The centripetal force stands for good feelings in the inertia that result from your decision to commit: fulfilment, calmness, happiness, feeling of being taken care of, and feeling of a cooperative Universe. Once you’ve had a sip of the fulfilment that you get when you carry out your soul’s desire, you want more and more of it because it just feels good. However, the more centripetal force you feel, the more centrifugal force there is. The latter is said to result from inertia and is “the tendency of an object to resist any change in its state of rest or motion”. There we have it, the perfect explanation of … fear. Right? The more you’re giving yourself in, the more fear you are feeling. Fear accompanies every creative venture, pushing us to either give in and commit, or give up and go back to the outskirts until we decide it’s time to commit to the inertia.

What will we do? What will ye do? Can you find something to commit to?

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Light and Dark

Life is a balance of light and dark. Everyone gets to choose how much of each he’s willing to put up with … until he or she realizes that what we call dark is really just a cry for more light.

I have always been into experimenting with the darkness. I was drawn to people with a certain shadow quality that I wanted to … experience. I fell in love with boys and men with addictive patterns of damaging themselves because I wanted to … observe it. And I was delving deep into my insecurities, fears, anger. Although I was very intrigued by the darkness, I never feared it. It thought that darkness was just a good place to hide, and so I wanted to lift the veil for everyone, including me, to come out – shamelessly, painlessly, fearlessly. I learned the hard way that I couldn’t lift the veil for others; it’s not mine to lift. That was then. That was me as a Maiden.

Now, as a woman, I came to know that darkness is not just a good place to hide, it’s also a good place to rest, to restore, to meditate, to dream, and to be. It’s a good place. As we speak I’m sinking into my menstrual mode, the time of truth. The time to face my darkness and my light; to face what tools I’ve got in my hands to work with. Menstruation is the time of barren winter fields, the time of Death. I’m lifting the veil of that, which the rest of the month doesn’t get to see.

I said that darkness was just a cry for more light. We are the ones to shine that light. Darkness is a place where your fears reside, but when you shine your light of truth upon them, they disappear. The same way as a dark room is no longer dark when you turn on the light.

That is what happens during our menstruation. We delve deep into the underworld to nest the fears and once ready, we shine the light of understanding, of experience, of knowing upon them and they become transformed. It’s called alchemy and it’s what’s calling me to face it.

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