Thursday, October 13, 2022

Vivid Dreams of Arrival





My last meal before leaving the country was an Eggs Benedict.






I chose to not have the coffee because I was already so nervous.




We had a four hour layover in LAX after flying out of PDX.



The overall hum of my travel experience was a caffeine headache fuzzybuzzyssswirl.

Sitting on the plane, arms wrapped around all my games, books, journals, ways to pass the time and anchor in the change, but I just fell asleep in our anxious octopus-arm-embrace.

I can hear my friend’s voice playing in the back of my mind, “This lake we’re going to be living on is a really spiritually intense place. Everyone who I know that comes here has had this really intense adjustment period, just be fair warned, it would be good to budget for a breakdown.”


There’s Guatemala.



Landed.

“There’s the bathroom. Remember to put your toilet paper in the trash, not the toilet. Also, I wouldn’t drink from that water fountain.”

Noticing my empty water bottle, wondering where the next drink would come from, I took a deep breath and felt a flush of thirst wash through me.

“We should stay in the airport until our driver arrives because if we go outside we’ll get swarmed by drivers.”

We sat in the airport lobby, comfortable chairs near the “Explore Guatemala” sign.



“Our driver is here, let’s go.”

Walking to the car and loading all these bags and boxes into the car. Every pound of it is the kindling to keep my homesick heart warm in this faraway place. We’re driving and I’m in shock. I’m a child, a little brother, suckling on the perception of my guide and her driver who is holding both of us.

It’s important to have a good driver.

The air is musky with the sweat of drivers and gasoline, we round the corner to a road full of cars threading lanes like a broken loom.

“Welcome to the mess”

We’re driving on a pretty typical four-lane highway at first, but the cars are weaving in and out chaotically. There’s motorcycles humming down the lane divider. There’s two lanes going each direction. That is, until we see some cones and jolt into the next lane. Sometimes we’re on the left side of the road, sometimes the right, most of the time both lanes are going both directions. The only rules of the road seem to be get where you’re going as quickly as possible, and don’t clip anybody else with your car and send the whole river of commuters into a death spiral.

I feel my wobbling belly held in a glass jar of shock in the smog, dismayed, awkward, tensed up. My heart yearning for beauty, arrival, a sigh of relief, my home-to-be, what I came to see:

[We’re going to the lake, el lago, Atitlan]



Finally out of the rush-hour in town (I'm told that isn’t even the worst of traffic) and at speed, the mudslides along the roads make the road treacherous to traverse on its own. Where there isn’t fallen debris, there are potholes in the concrete, primed for consuming the souls of tires which are unskilled enough to be kissed by their undercarriage-rending maw.

As we dodge, duck, dip, dive, dodge through the Trans-Panama highway, our driver muses on the names of places, the history, the trips and plans to make and take, all in his skillful dance between traffic and the road. The road itself seems to be a living being, an extension of the land tended to not by the government, but by neighbors with enough heart and strength and immediate benefit to tend the lanes themselves.

Guatemala is an agricultural country. Guatemala is the land.

I am an engineer, I work -?used to work?- in land development.

“How do the roads break down and who pays for them?”

We talk about politics and history of the country and its infrastructure.

“Tell the people you meet who you are and what you do” our driver says to me.

After he says that, our driver turns through a gap in the highway median to cross the oncoming lanes and we pull into a beautiful restaurant, a clearing, an escape. Perhaps the most thoughtfully cultivated spot I have ever seen.



This place sprung from a woman-run co-op on this side of the internal conflict (a conflict spanning 50 years, regarding control of land and agriculture).



Full bellies and more sudden lane changes later, I was caught reaching for a good photo out the window. Laughing at my feeble attempts, our driver pulls onto an overlook adorned with a darling set of swings peering over a valley.

“How about this for a photo?”



Perfect. Here’s my sigh of relief, my first peek at Lake Atitlán. (you can see it on the top left of that photo above). I’m only now beginning to arrive.

Traffic, potholes, debris, road, road, road, we pull into another town, so we can take a boat.

I see my first street dogs.

“Look! A dog.”

“Ha! Yes, it is Guatemala, there are so many dogs here.”



The next steps are a blur

We stopped in town at the bank to get cash.



We hauled our stuff down to a private boat, we crossed the lake and landed at the dock of our final destination. We fire-bucket carried our heavy bags up the street, we heaved our stuff into my travel companion’s house so we could take a load off our shoulders to walk around time and start up my wi-fi, pick up my keys.

We stopped by a fruit stand and I’m handed a new fruit I don’t recognize, I peeled nervously and my hands are sticky.



Mind spinning from the whole day, suddenly having arrived at my destination, nowhere to wash my hands, my whole system is stiff just getting from one place to the next. I must be with my sticky hands until I can return home. My first lesson from the welcome wagon.

“I can smell the rain coming. I’m going to get us some soup before the rain comes.”

As soon as she left, the sky wept for my arrival, a greeting, lamenting, grieving what was to clear space for what is here for me right now. The rain really came down hard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...budget for a breakdown.

“They we’re out of soup”
She returned, soaked, I’m just sitting in shock, waiting in the dry house.

“I think it would be good for us to take some of our own space to settle in. You want to go get some burgers together first?”

We walked to the burger place, just a couple minutes down the road. We walk onto a sizable patio with a number of tables and a large white sofa for lounging.

Inside it’s poker night, on a big round table to my left. Ahead there’s a long bar with stools, more tables to choose from, also. There’s a lot of wood and dark coloring, a speaker, we sit at the bar to order.

The man serving us is from Texas, he’s perfected his burger, he leans into me: “listen, I’m going to level with you. This place is an energy vortex. After some time here, you’ll feel your emotions more, all of them, heightened. At some point, you’ll be on the floor crying like a baby. I did. Either you make it through that and come through the other side, or you say enough and go home. I’ve seen it both ways.”

We step back out onto the patio. My shock eases to arrival slowly, rattled by his warning, almost identical to what I’ve been told. Ghost stories. I’m watching the most vast lightning storm I’ve ever seen, one after the other, a massive lighting lamp unto itself. My friend with her head on my lap, speaking softly about the day, both our voices rattled by all the movement, aching for stillness, safety, to spread out and set myself down.


I came home for the first time to this new place that evening.

Upstairs I was met at home by a grandmother spider, with long legs and a sprinting gait. I sink into this freeze experience with the spider. One last hurdle, a wave of panic ripples through me, Okay, I just need to take a deep breath, come back home to myself, I’m home, this is home now, now where are the cups so I can take this spider out? Where in this house is a place that I can sleep without thinking about spiders?

-deep breath-

Helping grandmother spider find her way to the yard, I toured the rest of the house, sensing into where a safe, settled feeling was, and decided to set my roots into the main floor room. It’s cozier, quieter, darker. I unpack and nest as much as I need to in order to fall asleep and it’s only moments after I wrap around a pillow that I sink into vivid dreams of arrival.


Friday, October 7, 2022

"So, what's in Guatemala?"

Leap!

 

I am in Guatemala.

 

Blinkspinblinkspin

{context context context}

Listen:

So: 

It starts here:

I am an                 engineer because

My father is an     engineer because

His uncle is an     engineer because

There wasn’t         enough food otherwise.

So, I get my degree

So I can have         enough food otherwise.

Years go by,

Work, work, work, 

Dull, dull, dull, 

but there's food,

Grind, grind, grind,

but there's a roof, 

Hump day, hump day, hump day,

and I write poems

Chug, chug, chSNAG?

s

n

AHHH

GARONAVIRUS?

snag? (covid) wait     COVID

I peek my head outside 

the cave (the grind - the dream - the real world)

I’ve been inside this cave,

Grinding away in this cave, 

Keep the fire lit,

(what if it goes out?)

wait,   

~ S U N B E A M  ~ 

~ S  P  E  A  K  S ~

Seek out the Light

Follow the Energy 

Speak your Truth

 

 ~~~~~~~>

 ~~~~~~~>

 ~~~~~~~>

 ~~~~~~~>

 ~~~~~~~>   

 

CRACKwaggleSHKKKKK

My mother is dead

My mother is dead

MY MOTHER IS DEAD

MY MOTHER IS DEAD 

M Y M O T H E R I S D E A D

work

M  Y   M  O  T  H  E  R   I  S   D  E  A  D

work

MY MOTHER IS DEAD 

work

WmOyRmKoWtOhReKrWiOsRdKeWaOdRk

I am home

working

I am back at work 

my mother is dead

I am in love again!

This is my Soul Mate! 

This is life!

I am okay, I can start a Family, 

My soulmate, She's perfect, She's just who I need her to be

This is my s!o!u!l m!a!t!e !



[F$%& YOU, RILEY!]

 

 

my soul mate is Dead,

Dead, like, I mean, 

I'm more than this:

 a wife, 2.5 kids, a dog, picket fence,

a hatchback station wagon with a car seat,

is dead 

I'm more than 

my mother is dead, she's more than,

Everything I (she) thought I (she) would be,

Everything I (she) thought I (she) needed to be,

in order to be considered enough.

I can't. won't. 

Because I am Enough Already.

My heart is broken,

I am Already Enough.

(I have Always been Good Enough)

I grieve all the reaching I've done to be

considered Good Enough

I have always been good enough

the dream of being good enough to be good enough,

the dream I was given is dead,

mymotherisdead

(((I stop working)))

h i b e r n a t i o n

    chrysalis

 

 ~

 

 ~

 

 ~

 

  chrysalis

I am adrift, asleep (sleeping?)

I am in Missoula, 

broken hearted, 

floating down the river,

my mother is holding my hand,

she is here with me,

My mother is dead, 

I am writing her eulogy, 

I am writing my mother's eulogy

I am at the pulpit,

my mother is dead

Reading her (my mother's) eulogy (eulogy, because she's dead):

(it's been a year since her death, did you know?)


Listen: 

My mother is dead

(the dream is dead)

I am (finally) living

I am (finally) in the wilderness                     

                               listening

 

. . . 


Halloween party visit to Portland:

"What are you dressed up as?"

mymotherisdeadyouknow

"I'm a wizard?"

shediedaroundhalloweenlastyear

"Who's your favorite wizard?" 

I'm moving to Seattle.

"Well there's lots of types of wizards like Harry Potter or Gandalf. And then there's Merlin!"

Life keeps going after death, you know?

"Ha! That's funny. You're funny. We can be friends."

I have to keep going. Keep working?

"We can be friends."

we call, (we talk on the phone)

my job, my mom, my job, my job, my job

she lives in Guatemala

I have to 

Work work work 

work work

work

L-I-F-E-G-O-E-S-O-N

Wake up! WAKE UP! WWAAKKEE UUPP!

T H I S  I S  R E A L  L I F E

I'm Moving to Seattle! for work work work

This is the way things are!!!

work work work

(phone calls: this work isn't working)

work work

(phone calls: I think I could build something else)

work 

(phone calls: I'm just getting by? I'm pent up? I'm so lucky. One of the lucky ones.)

work work

(phone calls: I'm comfortable, but...)

work work work

(phone calls: there has to be more?)

work work

(phone calls: I'm okay, fine, I'm fine, I'll be alright, this will get better)

work 

“I think you'd like it in Guatemala”

Work work work 

work work

work

work work

work {{My boss quits?}} work

Stomach work

d

r

o

p

s

 

My boss quit!

 

Abandon ship!

Back to Portland

Seattle was too far upstream 

Take me back, take me back,

"I think you'd like it in Guatemala" 

I'm back in Portland and I can breathe, I can finally

 

) ) ) b ~ r ~ e ~ a ~ t ~ h ~ e ( ( (


So,

it turns out I've been [u~n~d~e~r~w~a~t~e~r]

and    now

          now is the time to buy the tickets, 

          now is the time,
I am hanging over the edge 

I am looking over the

                            edge

                            and

                            what 

                            makes

                            me

                            JUMP

                            is

                            at

                            the

                            bottom 

                            there's THIS:

(and I am BRO/KEN open by THIS:)

 

I realize the JjOoYy I have found in the wake of my mothers passage.

My mother is dead and I can see now she is         so much more than I thought

Who I was around my mother is dead and I am    so much more than I thought 

This joy is unique to me

 

We all experience grief differently

I am broken open by the conviction to speak her death into life

With my words and my actions, 

I have to sing about who she IS NOW,

This living void carved by the Love of her Life Force in me, 

This void is magnetic, it takes an entire COMMUNITY to fill my heart again

(I am humbled by my community, thank you)

With my words and my actions,

Leap, leap, leap 

I have to (I am compelled) LIVE into what this LOVE is

 

I am in Guatemala.




Tuesday, February 15, 2022

Grief Part 3

October 5th, 2021. 

It's almost like I don't want to be okay again.





---

I have lived a year without my mother. One year becomes two. And before too long, you just can't believe how it's been so many years. 

One year holding a gong in one hand and a mallet in the other. The gong is heavy and sometimes I ring it, sometimes people look toward me and I feel seen, and then people look away and I feel alone, I am the only one carrying this specific weight.

Can I put this weight down and resume the pace from before? No, I can't shake the feeling that there's going to always be the ringing in my ears, that whenever the noise dims down I'll be left with the hum of the gong of the grief and nobody else will so I will strike the gong again with a mallet because it is there.

Here I strike my gong! My mother is dead! My mother is dead! Look and see! Know I am bereaved.

I invite my writing pattern to change a little bit, if I feel like it. I am grieving the old pattern of family gathering. My whole calendar year used to pivot around me working and living out "my life" until embarking on a pilgrimage back home, but now I am home, but it's not really here anymore. I am living with my dad and it is not really home, he and I are in the wilderness. We might as well be living in a jungle, comfortably mind you, but still just as far away and unsure of where to go next as the woods.

Perhaps this is enough, perhaps this is what my dad has been working for all his life and I get to sit atop his stoop with him and gaze on the horizon.

I do not wander much. I stick to my regular haunt. I am still shaking from 2020, the wildfires looming over Portland, the death of my mother, the collapse of my family into a new configuration, stopping work, and returning to work. Still, I am anxious to still feel the heat of my youth, and eager to make sure my young body has a chance to speak and express and dance and explore before even the rowdiest of songs cannot bring a rise out of me.

I am resting, recovering, and curious to know when I can reach out and touch the world around me again.

---

I stopped working for three months. Bereavement Leave. The whole time I asked myself the guiding question of "what am I doing with this time?" What will I look back on and say about these three months? What am I creating in myself by giving myself permission to rest in a busy world that's on fire? What seeds am I planting and what will I harvest? What will be harvested in me, if I am the soil? 

I entered into my time away from my job with the word "Alignment, Congruence, Integrity" inscribed above my door. I set an intent to enter into a chrysalis in Montana, to dissolve in Tacoma, and emerge in Seattle. 

I thought I would emerge in Seattle in September, but perhaps I am still simply dissolving for a later emergence. Spring, maybe.

One of the strange treasures I took away from this time was that perhaps there is a different kind of belief than I was taught about. Can the belief in science and belief in God be different SORTS of beliefs? Maybe there is a faith at the root of us which is always unshakable because it is always alive as long as we are. Does noticing different KINDS of belief supports a different WAY of being? A different way of relating to each other who believe things differently?

 When I think about my life today, after all I've worked through in my time off, I ask questions like:

  • Instead of a favorable outcome, can I adjust my ambitions to the purpose of setting a pace?
  • What are the elements of my "pace"?
  •  What are the knobs and throttles which are in my control?
  • What is the measure of "too fast" or "too slow"?
  • How much of my measure of "too fast" or "too slow" is rooted in beliefs formed around experiences I have in my body?
  • IF beliefs are related to values, how many of my beliefs are anchored to values I believe I SHOULD have, as opposed to beliefs that I have chosen because they align with my values?
  • What beliefs can I change?

All of this flitters and floats around me as I re-enter "the grind". I care about my work, I care that the clients come to our company with energy to build infrastructure that their clients and stakeholders will benefit from. I appreciate that I am entrusted with their livelihood in their process to the development of land. 

What is my intention? To wake, to snack, to love, to work, to grow, to hold space for those around me to grow, too. 

 On my walk today I consider this sentence:

"To close with integrity, to open with curiosity, and to boldly hold space for the integration of self-inquiry."



Wednesday, September 22, 2021

Eulogy for Mom


Dearest Beloved,

I want to start by acknowledging there are no words to completely express the feeling surrounding loss of my mother, Martha. Just this morning, a whole new eulogy came to me that started with “In the last days of my mother’s life, I saw her begin to see her own light in a way she hadn’t seen before. She was at an inflection point in her growth and she became fascinated by The Four Agreements. Always be impeccable with your word. Don’t take anything personally. Don’t make assumptions. Always do your best.”

No amount of new eulogies will be able to truly match the note of loss sounding in my heart. So here’s the tapestry I’ve been carrying in my phone all year. The sound it makes is the note which sounds like the simple fact o
f all our being here today in grief and in celebration of my mother Martha.

So, I will begin by lamenting that today, I am in the wilderness without a map. I am lost with no map and only a compass that does not point North.

I want to define this compass. I love to consider my heart a perceiving organ. An eye and an ear unto itself. It is a cathedral which holds space for the blood which has been all around the body. 

My heart holds my blood, it listens to the stories, confessions, longings, faith, prayers and celebration told by the chemistry of that blood which knows my organs. My heart responds mysteriously with hormones and electrical signals, adjustment to pressure. 

The heart is always hearing and speaking exactly what needs to be said to the body. A benevolent guide, the heart listens with absolute curiosity, the heart takes in, and the heart pumps out precisely what it means to say. The heart is never lost because it is always lost, the heart is always listening.

I want to begin with an invitation to listen to your heart which is always listening, always whispering what needs to be heard, which is different or all of us.

I say all this because when I said goodbye to my mother in her final hours, all she had to speak was a fragile heartbeat, amplified over a monitor. Her heartbeat is all I had to listen to, all I could speak into as I peered over the edge into the free fall of loss I am shouting from today.

I want to open by saying my mother M
artha taught me to lose, and that only when I’m lost, do I get to really listen. 

Every day I would wake up and walk down the stairs, my mom would have a mug of strong hot black coffee in my hand before I sat down. She’d keep my mug full and warm all the way until noon and then, when the morning couldn’t get stretched any further, she would ask what I would like for breakfast. She showed me how to have fun just getting lost in the morning.

My mom taught me how to lose a game of checkers, too. I lost to her at arm wrestling. She taught me how to lose a set of keys and how to improvise at a grocery store when you lose your shopping list. She taught me how to be lost in a car by losing the last page of MapQuest directions. 

She taught me I can be lost and still wake up early to watch the sunrise, that the wilderness is full of beauty to photograph, and that you can caption even the most dire moments with a joke, given the right timing.

When I was a young boy, my mother told me that if I ever lost control of my wheat truck and it started to flip over, I could say Shit as many times as I wanted. 

My mom taught me how to lose a part of myself when she lost her body. I thought that having a body was important for living, but now I believe my body is only a scaffolding, a chrysalis for who I really am. 

I want to close by saying that the thread I have followed in my grief is that loss is not the end, it is not something to be feared or corrected. That being lost is full of jokes and laughter and good music just like home. Losing is surrounded by love. Losing still offers the gift of life.

I want to close by saying, Mom, here I am lost in the wilderness. Here we all are. All our beating hearts. Taking in the sound of the wilderness of having lost the way you were and losing the way we all got to be around you. 

I want to close by inviting you to be lost with me. To be right here with me. To ask what is here today? To listen for the answer not with your ears, but your heart, see what it is you need to hear, and sing out what you find there is to say.


A photo taken by my mother of the view from
her favorite spot to drink her black coffee.


Wednesday, September 8, 2021

On 28, Intentions to Live

Dear Beloved,

I began writing intentions a few years back to create a reference point for embodying more conscious growth, rather than reacting to conditioned "growth". Last year, I published the intentions I kept in my journal at the time, and in tradition I am publishing the intentions I have in my journal today. 

Each intention is written in the present tense, given an energetically-affirming adverb (lovingly, gently, enthusiastically) to describe the way in which I am actively embodying my intentions. 

While these intentions are all written in the present-tense affirmative, I want to say for accountability that I often deviate from these commitments in order to tend to my process and conditioning, that I, of my own self-chosen values, have very intentionally built in self-compassion to this growth, rewiring, and reparenting process. 

I offer my gratitude for those who have supported the refinement of these intentions:

These are intentions, and they are written as a sort of vision-board for myself.

Each day, I consistently and with relief, return to these intentions whenever I feel listless or "between" obligations.

Each day, I am whimsically returning to the nature of the work, to imagine beyond what I am conditioned to believe.

Each day I cultivate faith lovingly as a garden by invoking the names YHWH (Yahweh), God, Christ, Spirit, Source, and the Holy Ghost to move behind, through, and in front of me, that I may see, realize, inspire, by the lamplight of Christ in all of us.

Each day I am generously offering my attention, time, and resources to build space in reverence to the Void, which I perceive to be Unconditional Love

Every day, I am lovingly disrupting the patriarchal and whiteness institutions within me, which I constructed in fear, and am dismantling with love, in pursuit of the restoration of my humanity

In each interaction, I am whimsically speaking clearly and firmly from a place of center.

Every day, I am gently investing my time, awareness, and abundance to the creation of connections, generation of gratitude, and the protection and reclamation of the commons.

I am always impeccable with my word. I speak and act in ways which are for Myself, my heart, my True Self, which is of Love and Interconnectedness. I take responsibility for my actions and realize I cannot hold blame or judgment without harming myself. 

Each day, I am releasing self importance by the easeful realization that others' Word is more about them, and not about me.

I am always gently and curiously seeking understanding, which I notice most when assumptions arise in me.

I am eagerly choosing actions which I would enjoy doing for their own sake. I understand this is how I do my best.

Each day, I am lovingly bearing witness to the dying institutions of "The Judge, The Victim, and Book of Law", (as defined by Miguel Ruiz in "The Four Agreements")

Each day, I am grieving the death of who I was and so am bearing witness in awe to the emergence of who I am.

Everything I consciously choose points me toward the path which leads to Mastery of Awareness, Mastery of Transformation, and Mastery of Intention, whcih are all Gifts from God to embody God's love.

Each day, I am patiently aware of when I refrain from expressing emotions, with the intention of expressing them in all their most benevolent timing. 

I skillfully and with delight recognize repression of emotions, I understand how repression goes against myself and so also others. I use emotion to take joyful loving action for its own sake. 

I gracefully recognize my core wound beliefs are part of me and will not simply go away, but are more energized when I am out of balance

I gently and firmly return to balance, name when I recognize being triggered, and plant seeds for naming boundaries to stay centered and resourced.

Each day I am choosing actions which joyfully manifest my intention to be authentic, aligned, and in congruence with my truest, highest, and most loving self.

Every morning, I wake up and take actions which most lovingly manifest my intention to be authentic, aligned, and in congruence with my truest, highest, and most loving self.

Every day, through writing, conversation, and thought, I am inventorying self-limiting and fear-based beliefs, with the intention to express myself, my light, and my gifts more fully. 

I am joyfully living into the incarnation of Love, which I believe to be the realization of the Truth of Interconnectedness.

I am graciously accepting the soveriegnty to choose to witness the riffles and eddies created by flow over the rocks and stones of my beliefs without judgment.

I am creating and gifting myself the space to witness and inhabit my center.

I am joyfully cultivating vocabulary and awareness of the transitions in and out of a state of playfulness. 

I am happily and easily aware of the state I am in, conscious of its capacity to transform, and be shaped by intention.

I attentively listen to the needs of my body so I can fulfill them and see what I create from a place of subsistence, safety, and consciousness. 

Each day, I am lovingly recognizing my fears and befriending them with curiosity.

Each day, I am imagining, envisioning a good life and then manifesting that life by embarking on treasure hunts which are worth pursuing for their own sake.

These intentions are a small altar forged in reverence to Christ (which is written here to mean the physical incarnation of God, which is the whole physical universe). These intentions are of Christ, for the sake of Christ in You and the sake of Christ in Me. These intentions are offered up freely in reverence to the eternal well of God, from which I drink.   

In Truth,

Riley

Thursday, August 26, 2021

This I Believe, 2020

To The Beloved Artful Conductor of Moments in Whom I Dwell:

You don't have to do anything with this letter. You are living a human life, which is a slow descent into something perfect, and so the descent itself is perfect. Relax into the frantic awareness of imperfection, this frantic awareness is itself of the perfectness! If you're reading this to know what to do next, know that you're already perfectly broken like you always will be. The illusion of brokenness is a function of expectation, which is always changing.

Your attention to this point in your life has been experiencing what I will call samsara, an endless wandering through all of creation, which you call The Valley, the intersectional shoreline of Void (the darkness) and Source (the light). For you, samsara is the unceasing awareness enraptured by unceasing change at the moment where light meets the dark.

You are here, re-reading this letter because you want to find the places along the way through the valley to your healing in preparation for the next breaking. Trust that, as you move, you will ALWAYS pass through a point of balance, and away, and back again. The departure teaches you how to recognize the arrival.

I want you to play and create and hold and be held. I am the sage who reads your journal and listens to your audio memos and sees that all of this life you have is precious and I really truly care about you as you already are, today, in this very minute, as you breathe this next breath. I invite you to breathe deeply, which means, of course, you can refuse the invitation and still be just as whole.

Today you are reading this just to watch yourself move, you are here to do The Work. I know you want to see The Work differently. The nature of the work you are engaged in right now is to see beyond what you are conditioned to believe, for the purpose of being yourself. 

You want to disrupt rhythms and patterns and notice what brings you back into the patterns, so you can choose whether or not to engage in the patterns, so you can choose to leave and choose to stay. Watch yourself move in and out. Just watch. Listen.

This is the garden where your future self sprouts. What are we growing here?

Stories

So I write to you this respite for your attention from a trusted source. You are skeptical if this will make any difference because you have experienced the flatness of Words. Words, as in the things made of letters, are flat on their own. Gongs in the void, but they are painting and directing attention, which paints experience. Experience has dimensionality. Your experience is what has dimension, and the telling (remembering) of your experience is the story. Words are the blankets in which stories are swaddled.

Stories are like clothes. They are not YOU, and you feel very exposed without them. There are times to wear clothes, and times to be naked! Every story is a shirt, a sock, a pant leg, each of them have textures and colors and prints and qualities made up by the stuff of this Earth. These clothes, these stories can be made by you and made by others. Some clothes you inherit. Some clothes you give away. You get to choose how much power to give yourself in choosing your own outfit. Some outfits are a disguise, an expression, a uniform, a poem. Different outfits change how you view yourself and how others see you. How others see you does affect how they treat you, but how they see you is a function of how they see themselves, not a function of what you are wearing. This letter is a garment you are weaving for yourself. You can put it on. You can take it off. 

Awareness

Remember you can choose to stop reading this at any time. Your choice to read this is an active choice, surrounded by motivations and beliefs, your choice to read this is in relationship with your choice of what clothes to wear, what stories to inhabit. You mostly believe your awareness is bigger than any experience you can have. You carry a small doubt about the vastness of your awareness, but you also doubt that doubt. You believe one day you will live in full belief that your awareness is bigger than any experience you can have, and this embodiment of full awareness is what you mean when you use the word freedom.

Freedom, the epiphany that your awareness is bigger than any experience. So long as you believe in an experience bigger than awareness, you are not free, you are in service to fear of this unimaginably enormous experience, which you yourself are imagining. The experience of imagining an experience is itself an experience. The experience of imagining, of visioning, is only a product of your decision to rest your awareness. Your awareness is bigger than the imagined experience. At some point, you forgot you have chosen to agree to pay attention to the imagined experience. You are immersed in the show.

Experiences have a felt sense which lives in your body. Experiences live there as a memory in your body, which words and so also stories can reignite, or "trigger". For instance, you've experienced a queasiness which was in sync with your awareness, you recognized the resonance between the queasiness and your attention, and as your attention shifted, so also did the queasiness. This lesson of watching your awareness and your experience move at the same time was profound for you. What's possible is a dance between your awareness and your experience. Your experience calls for the movement of your awareness, and your awareness can invoke a change in experience.

Marking this experience with sounds, letters, words, stories, naming it, is a method to leave waypoints and monuments as your awareness wanders through the vast stimuli of your whole body and mind. Your memories and your felt experience are both the same, both are experienced in the present moment. Monuments and markers create space for recognition of patterns, which is what changes patterns. I'll say that again, recognition of patterns changes patterns. The awareness is what recognizes patterns.

You are developing a map of the nonphysical stimuli within view and reach of your awareness. You are orienting in a landscape which you believe simply rests on the physical plane while also extending beyond. This letter is a map of this plane, which you also call The Valley.

Belief

You are beginning to pick up the pen which is scribing out this new story, weaving a new garment. You recognize there is a playfulness to this pen, its ink is of the light which is You, which is Your Awareness. You use the word "journey" as a name for this story, which is the felt experience of walking through this valley with a small lantern in your hand, which you call your "present awareness". You are beginning to recognize this lantern is also the tip of a pen. It shows you both what is in this nonphysical place, and also authors your understanding of what the nonphysical place is composed of. 

This journey is a story of awareness of pain, pinpointed in your body from movement of awareness can indicate a boundary, limit, obstacle of another realm. That navigating memories, stories, and beliefs is analogous to walking around a physical place. You sometimes feel like you're swinging your "awareness" limbs into walls that your eyes can't see. You call this place The Valley.

You fear The Valley's vastness in the dark, even though you are so touched by some parts of The Valley your lantern has revealed to you. The Valley's darkness embodies the fear of the unknown, and the unknown is uncontrollable because it is not predictable because it is not known. You believe the valley is real and vast, even though all you can see is what light returns to you from your lantern. You have named the dark night sky above the Valley "The Void", which is beyond even what your awareness will ever encounter, or even imagine.

You believe The Valley is made up of stuff from The Source of All Things, and is only experienced through Awareness. You believe that Source is pure light. You believe that The Valley is where Source meets Void. 

You like to flit between imagining The Valley is always there, and The Valley is only ever what you see. For instance, perhaps the past is real and has happened, and exists behind you as you walk, or perhaps the past does not exist except as a Present experience of memory. Both feel true to you and that tickles you to watch everything change as you adjust the focus of your attention. The experience is kaleidoscopic. 

In addition to the fear of the valley is a belief in another presence which you call by the name of God, YHWH, Love, Christ. You have a wonderfully woven quilt of this presence, and particulars aside, this presence is a guide who knows you and loves you and Calls You Deeper into the Valley. This Presence is the Energy which is the light which is You.

There is a quiet despair felt in your gut, in you throat, behind your throat, and on your head as you are called to step into the dark, when you imagine the valley is already there, and is unknown to you. This feeling softens when you believe you have Space. You have created an experience of Space by allotting yourself time to experience a low sense of consequence, in your bedroom, for instance, reading and writing without any sense of time.

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In crafting Space, you are trying to embody what you call your "most full self", your "authentic self", your "organic self". You believe this self is known and seen by your guide through The Valley. You are listening to this guide in pursuit of what They see in you. By identifying this desire, you are simultaneously separating yourself from this Truth in this moment, which is already you, and also creating a path to walk. You love this path, you are choosing this path every day.

It is as if you have forgotten who you are, and in forgetting, you have given yourself the gift of the Grand Adventure of finding Yourself again.

(Please know that the most integral part of your wholeness is the felt sense of unfulfilledness. You are beginning to realize the experience of incompleteness is the essence of your wholeness.)

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Mindfulness

Over the last couple of years, you have been entering relationship with the word "mindfulness", which has slowed or expanded your awareness to notice more nuanced Truths of yourself than you were taught to believe by those parents, teachers, neighbors, relatives, and friends who raised you. This mindfulness is like a fulcrum on a lever-arm for conscious, intentional transformation. The act of mindfulness is like listening to a garden asking for what it needs to grow.

One example is how you noticed that you made a decision to broadcast your shallow breaths, this is a translation to those around you (including yourself) that your nervous system has tightened up and is breathing shallow, a heady, reactive, cognitive state. How you interpret these breaths and how others interpret these breaths are always different. Every person uses their language to convey meanings. The words themselves are flat, the experiences and conveyance of meaning are vast and vibrant. The noticing and interpreting of felt experience, whether internal or external, is an act of translation.

Relationship - Language - Translation

You don't know if translating your experience is as important as being with your experience. How do you discern when to translate and when to be with any particular experience? For instance, there are different conversation patterns (look up "High Participatory/ High Considerate" communication styles). Imagine the whole country is talking to each other in different patterns without pausing to calibrate, and instead assumes what is intended by each word. 

You want to move forward with the understanding of differing conversational patterns by following your curiosity in new relationships and playing with your conversational patterns in your own relationships. Differing patterns make differing assumptions for how to translate. How to notice, identify, define, and redefine pace and tone to convey meaning and seek understanding in order to foster trust and presence. In fostering trust and presence, you create space for your most authentic, whole self to be broadcast through your body's words and actions. 

You also learned that when you physically move your body while in conversation, it changes what you have to say. This is important to consider when you feel frazzled or stuck. This goes farther to say if you are on the phone, describing your body language is one way to express wordless shares.

(The word Weird-Normal's relationship to co-regulation, which is balance manifest)

(You've noticed also how environmental elements are reference points for navigating relationship. Clocks are the most constant environmental element, a reference point for relationship. Having a drink, also, for instance, can be a way to set a localized sense of time and pace check from a safe distance.)

You have also come into relationship with the word "container". The container is relational scaffolding with a set of explicit agreements to adjust the pace and tone of a conversation by directing awareness and so also expectations in pursuit of some well-defined intention. 

You "craft" or "set" a container. You can create this by setting intentions, by invoking the names of influential forces of your life, by stating boundaries and limitations for yourself, and open opportunities for consent. It is a way to make space for participants to notice "edges" and "boundaries". You use the word "edges" to identify a discomfort you are willing to experience. Boundaries, however, protect both the discomforts you are NOT willing to feel, and energy you need to protect in order to stay resourced enough to avoid regressing into a state which is more easily triggered. 

You use the word Trigger to talk about the moment of transition from one set of assumptions into another. Different words, sounds, feelings, and ideas "trigger" different states, bushels of assumptions, and lenses of interpretation. You often do not realize you are being triggered in the moment, but you are learning to recognize when you ARE triggered. You'll also use the word "activated" to describe a heightened emotional state. A heightened emotional state makes you prone to quicker assumptions and less conscious reactions. You aspire to be conscious in your decision making. Recognizing your triggers is the way to set boundaries to maintain a state which is open, receptive, and present in relationship.

Relationship and Co-Regulation

You believe that to be in Relationship is to move and be moved. Touch and be touched. Hold and be held. Energetic Balance, (and perhaps energy itself) made manifest. This relationship exists first within you, and then between yourself and others. While your relationship with yourself affects how you interpret all the relationships around you, your external relationships show you parts of yourself in different light than you are capable of seeing on your own. Tending to both internal and external relationships tends to the whole system. You hold Relationship as Most High, it is the most tangible manifestation of Love, which you understand to mean Interconnectedness.

You care what other people think because it is a way for you to regulate your experience, wants, and needs with your environment. It's important for you to shape your environment. You are also a node by which others regulate themselves with their environment, which is why it is important for you to speak your Truth. You are speaking the Truth of your environment for others to hear, as well. There is always some element of the environment that only you can see.

You desire to be in relationship, almost for its own sake. You often forget that every relationship needs to create space for both yourself and the other. You forget that a relationship with yourself is a relationship with multitudes, with many parts, an ego layer cake. This relationship has often been called shamefully "selfish" to focus on. Yet, your relationship with yourself impacts all of your external relationships. 

Intimacy is a word you use to describe a relationship you have with another human which has access to vulnerability through trust or faith. Within the realm of vulnerability, there is access to Truth, which creates tension against Belief, and so Truth begets Change. You believe The Truth is Change, and the Interconnectedness of Change is Love.  

You believe the crafting of space for Truth is wrought with vulnerability and so also discomfort, a nakedness. You believe commitment always includes a conscious acceptance of discomfort, which carries with it a stink, like the taste of morning breath kisses. You believe that intimacy and commitment are interwoven because intimacy has an inherent human "stink" to it, and the commitment is the structure, the decision to remain in connection through the discomfort, the stink. 

Some of the stink is inherent in the commitment to the truth. This discomfort, at a certain magnitude crosses a threshold into a Trigger, an experience of overwhelm which has more to do with the experiencer than the one who trips the triggerwire. It is not the action, but the interpretation of the action which sends signals called reactions. It is only in relational safety that the pace can be adjusted to tend to these reactions. Boundaries are the tools which cultivate Safety which allows the discomfort which begets the Trust.

You recognize patterns within relationship. Your patterns in proximity to another person's patterns make new patterns of the relationship. You cause new patterns and reinforce old patterns in each other. The cultivation of awareness, the crafting of spaciousness and a slower pace is a way to calibrate language and so also redirect and reprogram awareness to cultivate understanding or relational attunement. 

You desire to cultivate a sense of safety within relationship so Truth has room to move, so both of you can experience each other in full Authenticity.

Relationship is what you view as most holy. Relationship with all the parts of yourself, extending to all the interpersonal relationships of your neighbors, the people who you are most immediately affecting and affected by. I do want you to know, every relationship is different. Every. single. one.  

It is easy to forget how different each relationship is because you are constantly using one relationship to understand other relationships by way of stories. Remember these stories are garments. Your relationship experiences you choose to remember are what fill your wardrobe. If stories are outfits, relationships are a ballroom dance.

You want your friendships to have consent baked in both ways the whole time. (How do you let yourself have crushes on your friends without either of you being coerced or have your attention be taken advantage of? What is it to be taken advantage of? There's some element of a lack of consent when one  is being taken advantage of.)

You worry so much about what it's like to fall out of connection with others because you know what it's like to fall out of connection with yourself. You are often out of connection with yourself because you choose to prioritize connection with others. It's hard to let others hold you because you're not letting yourself be held by you.

You want to make more space for coming back to connection with yourself. You want to be with the fear/discomfort of being yourself so you're not afraid of the discomfort of being yourself.

You see boundaries and consent as the CENTER of relationship. Once there's boundaries, there's consent! With that consent, there's so many dance moves you can come up with. Container-building, and so also trust-building are ways to scaffold these types of relationships to be intentional and balanced.

You see language as an access point to co-regulation of the self and the collective. (Or one part of the self with the whole self). Language is the stuff which sets containers, (which makes a container a Story) which is important because you want to know the "house rules" of each relationship. These "house rules" are informed by the greater societal rules of engagement, but each relationship has the sovereign power to adjust these rules. You want to know how to know house rules which, as a rule, go unspoken. How to identify them, adjust them, and give permission for others to identify and adjust. You believe the phrase "Safe Word" operates within the realm of this intention. 

You like to make the right assumption about people, and you like people to make the right assumptions about you. You do not like questions, there is a vulnerability, a squeemishness in expressing your desires, curiosities, or stating your assumptions. You fear being seen just as you desire to be seen.

The discomfort of making the space for the truths to come through. Receiving judgment and poison, there's patterning within you to receive others' experience before or ahead of your own. Understanding their experience first is a way to maintain connection and create a safe space for you to understand yours.

Society, Culture, and the Outward to the Collective

In a collective, you believe a Culture is the amalgamation of all the participants. Each new participant both changes the culture and is changed by the culture.

You believe the name of Society is simply a culture which acts in accordance with its fear of the unknown. Your actual role in the story of society is determined by your willingness and your capacity compared to the willingness and capacity of others. You are less interested in following the rules than you are curious to understand their origin story and that the rules are then expressed in terms of mutual respect, and acknowledgment of the others' complexity.

You believe plastic garbage bags embody the story of "away", which you believe is a part of the myth of separateness. In an interconnected universe, there is no "away". You aspire to choose what you consume based on what you want to create. Simply eating and drinking is an act of creation. You love the idea of spending money at a concert as a way of participating in an energetic co-creation just to find everyone else who wants to see this moment be created on stage and watch together.

You believe that all of these things, and all of these pieces all funnel into your intention and ultimately the co-created world which is Now, that this co-creation of a concert experience happens over and over again in the massive co-creation of "The World". 

Closing

This is what I have to write to you today.

You told me once you want a life where all your sounds, asks, desires, are contributions to the song of your surroundings. To be one in the music of it. Just getting ready for the day makes the music. Doing. Resting. Work to get to know the part of me resistant to you changes for the part of me pushing for change all meeting in my body, the joyful process.

You told me you want to learn to both recognize and cultivate safe paths to change as you identify parts which are dying and ready to change. To recognize and construct safe channels to move energy from the Source within you to the Void around you.

What will happen to your life if you continue to focus on refining your questions? What if your beliefs are made in pursuit of crafting a cathedral of yourself, made up of energy channels, carved by the divine, so you can see how the divine sees you?

Create a beautiful dream. Let it come from you, who are already a gift from God, of the Divine. Already one with the Christ. Give yourself permission to create a beautiful dream to enjoy. It is all there is to do.