TrueHeartWork | Carolyn Myss
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Carolyn Myss Tag

Who By Fire

Fire-Hands-Screensaver_1One size does not fit all. Our bodies, our minds, our souls have a fragile grace that is matchless. We are beautiful originals, with a journey to take that will be uniquely ours. Yet so many still cleave to centuries of congested conditioning which has congealed our minds. We have learnt by fire, by water, by high ordeal, by common trial that it is very dangerous to leave the protection and the tyranny of the religious, social, corporate, familial tribe. One size fits all. New or unique thinking and behaviour have historically been brutally silenced.  We have learnt that it is death-defyingly dangerous to be the sacrificial scapegoat. We have learnt by someone’s command or by our own assent how very lonely it can be in exile. Our brave hearts, our strong bones reverberate with the burnings, the crucifixions, the be-headings, the stonings and the suffocating clods of damp soil that silenced our ancestors who were buried alive, expunged from memory. They did not fit the tyrant’s mould. Heresy, blasphemy, treason! They asked for too much. Too soon. They were cut down to size.

Still we lop off those parts of ourselves that do not fit the standard norm of what is good, physically attractive, socially or politically correct. Still we sit in silence. Afraid to speak. Afraid to ask. We squeeze through the eye of the needle to find ourselves in Dante’s circle of Hell as we dance in the searing flames of pretence.

Alt-rock icon Amanda Palmer has gained acclaim and worn the fool’s cap of infamy as she has dared to ride the sacred cow of her truth. Giving voice to her uniqueness as a performer, a woman, a member of this human tribe, she dares to question, to challenge, to expose and to open her arms and her heart. She raises the Art of Asking to a sacred exchange between herself and her fans. She speaks of a world where one size does not fit all. Where people live surrounded by strangers in a vacuum of isolation and  loneliness. And where it is possible to meet, to connect with a simple gesture and meet each other in a tender gaze.b16537922d8c4547e298fa8c6d5ea50f5dcda21b_389x292

So, as we silence our voices in the Medusa stare of self-doubt, fear of ridicule or reprisal, we must trust that by exposing our vulnerability, asking for what we need, exchanging what we can give, we will eventually find our flock of swans and learn to fly.

We must promise ourselves that we will keep an oracle eye on our own agenda. We must promise ourselves not to break our vows to ourselves or betray another when we lose congruence of head and heart. We must promise ourselves that we will try to speak our truth from that place in our heart which is generous and wise and loving.

 “Consciousness is tough work,” says Carolyn Myss. It is tough work to be awake, aware, truly in our authentic internal power. It requires an act of will and spiritual discipline to pulverise our past in the pestle and mortar that contains the mustard seed of hope for each new day.

We alone are the custodians of our integrity. The setting aside of one’s integrity is not required to win someone’s heart,” Neale Donald Walsch says. “But the setting aside of one’s anger may be. It is possible to make a point without making an enemy. It is possible to be right without being righteous.”

At the equinox today, let us celebrate another turning in the Great Wheel of the year, and dare to speak, sing, shout our own personal truth. Carpe Diem!fire-heart

 

Leonard Cohen asks at O2 in Dublin, And who shall I say is calling?… Who By Fire?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I want you but I don’t need you

3470549444_075c8ceb0eI have a friend who has perfected The Art of The Brush-Off.

He is a Vermeer, a van Gogh of seduction.

Relationships, his blank canvas. He blends his pigments on a palette of politeness. With panache he delivers the final flick of the brush.  Perplexed friends and lovers wait for the visit, the call, the email. The “why”, which like the Second Coming, never comes.  His septic self-loathing aches beneath the gauze of a white-toothed smile. His arsenal of languorous pleasantries conceal the immensity of his attachment to beliefs which bind him to his past – it is dangerous to need, to love, to be vulnerable. He leaves before he can feel the pain of rejection or the obliteration of loving.  He unilaterally severs communication because the pain of self-enquiry is too excruciating. Like the Emperor who is wearing no clothes, he parades proudly wearing his assumptions about love and loss wrapped around him tightly.

Psychology proposes that we learn about love in the cradle of our source – our original family. That encased in our adult’s bodies is the child, the adolescent. That each one of us has lei-lines of feelings, associations, punitive judgements and an emotional resonance which underpin our adult relationships. That we drag our family complexes through the passage of time and meet them again and again in our relationships with our lovers, our children, our colleagues and our friends.  il_fullxfull_227594205

Yet we live at the dawn of a new paradigm of energy wisdom heralded by teachers like Carolyn Myss in her ground-breaking work in the ‘90s. This is the wisdom of the mystics and the shamans. A wisdom that has slumbered for centuries under the perfectly cloudless skies of rationalism.  A wisdom that now stretches into the concrete canals of mainstream thinking: Everything is energy. Our thought are energy. Our thoughts speak through the mother tongues of our bodies. Our thoughts leak into our childhood time line, our previous parasitical relationship, our betrayal, our unfair dismissal from our last job.

So many of us define ourselves by our physical, emotional, or social wounds. These wounds (my mother was depressed, my parents divorced, my husband was an alcoholic, my family died in the holocaust, we were victims of apartheid ) create an archetypal bonding and security within our relationships. They colour our attitudes and beliefs. They are our  “wounded child” that ties us to the thred-bare blue blanket of the past and communicates through the illnesses that manifest in our bodies and our neurotic behaviours. Wounds become a form of higly valued currency to control others subtly in socially accepted ways. When we pull out our wounds nobody challenges us anymore and we find a sense of tribal belonging with others who plug in, just like us. We don’t do this consciously. It is the stream of our inner dialogue that loops around the same stuck places where we ache and lose our connection to our core aliveness. Carolyn Myss posited that healing is as frightening to us as forgiveness.

“One may not reach the dawn, save by the path of night,” said Kahil Gibran. So often it is in the velvety darkness of  despair that we glimpse the radiance of the morning star and draw our energy back to present time. So often it is in our pain that synapses cross and we finally have the courage and the will to unplug our energy circuits from our tangled perceptions of events.  So often it is in the dawn of the new day that we embrace the jettisoned parts of ourselves and disembark from the leaky boats of relationships we once built with bent timbers. Loving ourselves enough may mean we walk away from lovers and friends who remain plugged into their own matrix of suffering and expect us to stay there with them.

We walk across the stepping stones of challenge  to return to the warm welcome of our home coming, tempered by the heat of the fire that has burnt us black. We emerge more pliable, more resilient, more compassionate, and more attuned to the heroic strength of our own spirit. It takes enormous discipline and discrimination to hold on to ourselves and know that we alone are capable of reversing, re-framing events from the past.

Intimate relationships offer us opportunity become artists in the poetics of the soul. From the crushed bud of loss, from our own perception of rejection, seeps life-giving moisture to nourish the fragrant flower of our own authentic power. We can grow and flourish through forgiveness and love, which burns away hatred and fear in its blue flame. We can value ourselves enough to simply mirror the pain of those that scratch and claw at life, and not to take it on as ours. We allow our hearts to bloom as we hold on tightly to ourselves and don’t become entangled in assumptions or stories that we make up in the dark hours just before dawn. “Thoughts become things … “says Mike Dooley, “choose the good ones!” flower

Amanda Palmer sings poignantly I want you but I don’t need you

 

 

 

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True Colours

Dido’s raw and deeply evocative lyrics from “See you when you’re 40” surged through my earphones this morning, as I read an email from a dear friend, who lives in Ireland.  “He’s shown his true colours!” she wrote.

Betrayal, disillusionment, heart-break. Motifs I have woven into the warp and weft of my own life story.

People aren’t always what we think they are. And when they aren’t, we feel let down. Disappointed. Misunderstood.  

In love and loss, our lives so often resemble the plaintive lyrics of a Country and Western song.  Time after time, we barricade our fortress hearts, cauterise  haemorrhaging emotions.  Until, one new day, someone new comes along to kiss us awake… and with new hope, new bravado, we dare to love again, to shine brightly in our full aliveness in our True Colours.

Medical intuitive Carolyn Myss says that each one of us, in our life time will experience a betrayal. “One of the main reasons for the on-going trauma of relentless personal suffering is self-betrayal. Betrayal is one of life’s unavoidable experiences.”

I believe that betrayal is a soul contract we have with someone. A very special soul who comes to teach us forgiveness, to show us Who we really are.  A betrayal wound has a putrid odour, and seeps for years, until we are willing to notice the intricate design of the interlocked patterns that imprison us in the chains of our own unconsciousness. Only when we have really enter the quiet sanctury of self- love and forgiveness, can we shed  constricting chains, the straight-jacket of self denial,  to discover that as we joyfully cry “freedom! “ the Old Ways of behaving will not work for us anymore.  The Lovers that lured us into the fragrant arbour of juicy delights in our youth, just do not have the mettle and endurance to hold our attention in mid-life.

“Been there, got the mug and the T-shirt!” my heart-sore friend lamented. “I will not settle for a man encased in cement anymore!   He is not willing to do the self-growth work, or to hold me through mine.  I just don’t want to be with someone who stays is stuck on the hamster wheel!  I guess the gift for me in all of this is, that I have to look once again, at  how I love and value myself.”

And so, the screeching Valkyries swoop down upon us once more, and we realise that we are like wooden actors on the stage, going through Act 1 again. The lines are the same, though the actor might be someone new. We suddenly confront our own shadow in the mirror of the Bitch or Dick-head who let us down. We suddenly realise that the Unforgiven One is Innocent. They have come into our lives at the perfect moment – to show us our True Colours.  It is we who have betrayed ourselves – by distrusting our gut feel.  By settling for the crumbs. By agreeing to do those things that do not feel in our integrity. By ignoring the dream,  the sudden shock that wakes us in the dark of the  night with a strange sense of dis-ease.

Then we begin to observe that  we can run but we cannot hide. We can end relationships, angrily walk out our marriages, and still the odour of our terror and resistance follows us, like the stench of a putrid corpse. We will encounter more men and women encased in concrete – just like us – who will teach us the futility of going through the motions, acting out of our integrity.

Another friend, who has just ended a relationship, shared with me how sex without true intimacy and safety felt tawdry once the novelty of the new body had dissipated.

“It just felt so empty. A parody, ” she said.

Within our physical expression of Love, sex without a deep heart and limbic connection, feels  desperately lonely as we gaze into the granite eyes of our Lover.

In my own life, it was an awakening to find more truth and balance and integration in my own life triggered by the solar eclipse on July 1st. I knew, I had to dig deeper to discover the hidden treasure and refine my spiritual container. To dedicate an hour each day for meditation.

Astrologically, this is a perfect time for  introspection. Mercury, planet of communication and thought, turns  retrograde from August 4th until August 28th.

Use this month of August, to show up for your own spiritual practice.  Journal, pray, meditate, walk in nature.  Consciously become more aware of your inner world.  What wakes you at 2am? Try to see the issues and challenges in your life from a higher perspective, as part of the whole. Look at the people around you. They reflect your own True Colours.

I dedicate Dido’s beautiful song to my beloved friend, and to men and women everywhere, who want Something More…

“See You When You’re 40”

I’ve driven round in circles for three hours
It was bound to happen that I’d end up at yours
I temporarily forgot there’s better days to come
I thought that I would give it just one more chance

Cos’ I want, tonight, what I’ve been waiting for
But I found, tonight, what I’d been warned about

“You think that you are complicated, deep mystery to all
Well it’s taken me a while to see, you’re not so special
All energy no meaning, with a lot of words
So paper thin that one real feeling, could knock you down

And I’ve seen, tonight, what I’d been warned about
I’m gonna leave, tonight, before I change my mind

So see you when your 40, lost and all alone
being comforted by strangers you’ll never need to know
not sad because you lost me
but sad because you thought it was cool to be sad

You think misery will make you stand apart from the crowd
well if you had walked past me today I wouldn’t have picked you out
I wouldn’t have picked you out

Now I’ve seen, tonight, how could I waste my time?
and I’ll be on my way, and I won’t be back
cos I’ve seen, tonight, what I’ve been warned about
your just a boy, not a man, and I’m not coming back. “

Dido.

 

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