Walking the labyrinth.
I had a wonderful labyrinth walk today, and I thought I'd get it down here for your enjoyment and my perusal at a later date if I lose my way.
So, I still have some trouble with owning my emotional responses. I'm a crier, you see.. I cry when I'm joyful, cry when I'm sad, cry when I'm moved, cry when I need release. I love so much about my life and sometimes the beauty just overwhelms me. And what do I do when I feel deeply? I cry.
Today at the Bar Mitzvah service for one of the boys at my school, I found myself becoming overwhelmed with emotion, but feeling embarrassed to express it. I am very aware that crying makes people uncomfortable, and I didn't want to appear imbalanced. I'm also not terribly close with the young man, and so to an outside observer it might have looked strange. But what I was really responding to was the beauty of the morning, with the soft light coming through the lacy branches overhead, and the sound of birds holding the rhythm so that the leaves knew when was the right moment to fall. I was moved by the beauty of the ancient text that he was reading, the universal truth it represented. But instead of 'leaking' as I call it, I stifled my joy to conform. Nobody else was crying. Nobody else was responding this way - what was wrong with me?
When I stepped into the labyrinth today at Grace North Church in Berkeley, I decided that this was the issue upon which I wanted to meditate. Why was I scared of expressing my emotions? What about this trait of mine did I find shameful? Why was my joy something to hide?
As I walked, I doubted that by the end of it I would have a sense of how to proceed. Isn't that always how a lab walk begins? How can I solve this with just walking? Preposterous! But so much magic happens in that small space. It never ceases to amaze little monkey-brained me.
I went from asking why, to responding to myself.
Why do I fear the healthy expression of my emotions?
Because when I cry, I appear weak or broken.
Not weak - vulnerable. A baby is both strong and vulnerable at the same time. The energy coursing through a child's body, helping it grow, protecting it from harm, regenerating cells with hyper speed - these are not traits of weakness, but those of strength. The difference is their vulnerability. You fear vulnerability. Why?
Because I'm supposed to be impenetrable, firm, and grounded.
Why? That doesn't sound like much fun.
I don't know. I think that's what's expected. Emotions are something you have in private.
Can you hear what you're saying? Don't you value all of the balanced elements in your life? The destruction and passion of fire, the intellect of air, the stability and groundedness of earth.. why are you conveniently dismissing the deep importance of water? Without it the others can't cycle through and reach their full potential. Don't you value the unguarded perspective and authenticity of children?
{I get to the center of the lab}
Well, yeah. But...
But nothing. People's perceptions of you don't matter in the face of a life with the potential to be lived in balance. Your tears are your connection to the heart and to your world, they fall from you and nurture *everything*. Why do you fear them?
Because people don't understand.
Whose problem is that?
Clearly theirs. If it is coming from an authentic well inside me, and I'm looking to conduct my life with respect for all of my being, then it isn't fair to stifle myself. I need to accept that a childlike connection and response to beauty is something that people struggle to find when they've become jaded, and that this response is an incredible gift. Like an infant, I will not put up a wall between what is happening and what I feel. My tears are valid, and beautiful. My bliss can only enhance the lives of those around me, and their response isn't really my concern. And I'm sure some people will think "wow - I wish I could experience life as richly as she is right now. Maybe I can learn from her tears." And how incredible that would be.
And that was that.
Balance, innocence, authenticity. I choose not to fear any of these - and really, why would I?
Introducing your friend, Gwynne, the self-proclaimed bliss ninny.
So, I still have some trouble with owning my emotional responses. I'm a crier, you see.. I cry when I'm joyful, cry when I'm sad, cry when I'm moved, cry when I need release. I love so much about my life and sometimes the beauty just overwhelms me. And what do I do when I feel deeply? I cry.
Today at the Bar Mitzvah service for one of the boys at my school, I found myself becoming overwhelmed with emotion, but feeling embarrassed to express it. I am very aware that crying makes people uncomfortable, and I didn't want to appear imbalanced. I'm also not terribly close with the young man, and so to an outside observer it might have looked strange. But what I was really responding to was the beauty of the morning, with the soft light coming through the lacy branches overhead, and the sound of birds holding the rhythm so that the leaves knew when was the right moment to fall. I was moved by the beauty of the ancient text that he was reading, the universal truth it represented. But instead of 'leaking' as I call it, I stifled my joy to conform. Nobody else was crying. Nobody else was responding this way - what was wrong with me?
When I stepped into the labyrinth today at Grace North Church in Berkeley, I decided that this was the issue upon which I wanted to meditate. Why was I scared of expressing my emotions? What about this trait of mine did I find shameful? Why was my joy something to hide?
As I walked, I doubted that by the end of it I would have a sense of how to proceed. Isn't that always how a lab walk begins? How can I solve this with just walking? Preposterous! But so much magic happens in that small space. It never ceases to amaze little monkey-brained me.
I went from asking why, to responding to myself.
Why do I fear the healthy expression of my emotions?
Because when I cry, I appear weak or broken.
Not weak - vulnerable. A baby is both strong and vulnerable at the same time. The energy coursing through a child's body, helping it grow, protecting it from harm, regenerating cells with hyper speed - these are not traits of weakness, but those of strength. The difference is their vulnerability. You fear vulnerability. Why?
Because I'm supposed to be impenetrable, firm, and grounded.
Why? That doesn't sound like much fun.
I don't know. I think that's what's expected. Emotions are something you have in private.
Can you hear what you're saying? Don't you value all of the balanced elements in your life? The destruction and passion of fire, the intellect of air, the stability and groundedness of earth.. why are you conveniently dismissing the deep importance of water? Without it the others can't cycle through and reach their full potential. Don't you value the unguarded perspective and authenticity of children?
{I get to the center of the lab}
Well, yeah. But...
But nothing. People's perceptions of you don't matter in the face of a life with the potential to be lived in balance. Your tears are your connection to the heart and to your world, they fall from you and nurture *everything*. Why do you fear them?
Because people don't understand.
Whose problem is that?
Clearly theirs. If it is coming from an authentic well inside me, and I'm looking to conduct my life with respect for all of my being, then it isn't fair to stifle myself. I need to accept that a childlike connection and response to beauty is something that people struggle to find when they've become jaded, and that this response is an incredible gift. Like an infant, I will not put up a wall between what is happening and what I feel. My tears are valid, and beautiful. My bliss can only enhance the lives of those around me, and their response isn't really my concern. And I'm sure some people will think "wow - I wish I could experience life as richly as she is right now. Maybe I can learn from her tears." And how incredible that would be.
And that was that.
Balance, innocence, authenticity. I choose not to fear any of these - and really, why would I?
Introducing your friend, Gwynne, the self-proclaimed bliss ninny.