Coming out......

People often say tell a story.

When I came to my blog this morning, acknowledging that the last time I had written was back in December, I was startled. I knew it had been a while. It made sense to me. There have been stories I haven't been ready or willing to tell.

The journey into finding yoga as a Christian, challenged me to the core of all I was. Not the yoga and not Christ. It took me a while to separate the later. So very many tears. So much struggle. My body ripped from my ownership at such a young age, was being given back to me and yet, at the same time I was being told I was deceived, demonized, back slidden, wayward, leading the faithful astray.

Was I going to do what I have done? Would the voices of others triumph and trump my own?

People connect to story.

But a story needs to be lived out.

A life needs to be discovered.

I've lived my life telling stories.

Sharing from my past, opening up my mouth so that others could learn.

There are times I want my mouth to close.

When the journey of living the life that brings forth the story seems too long, too complicated, too hard.

People often use the word, courage.

The reality is that I don't know if as each step was taken I felt courageous.

Matter of fact, I know I didn't.

I felt fear.

Learning to live a season of life without allowing fear to hinder, saying yes to life and what it brings, has been one of the most challenging seasons of my life.

My life.

My family.

My faith.

My journey.

The realities most precious to me, felt up for grabs.

Fundamental questions of who I am, and what I believe raged deeply in my heart.

Clinging to the prayers of St. Francis of Assisi, Lord, my God who are you? And who am I?

Death and loss and pain seemed as if they would overtake me.

Determined to not give in, I kept putting one foot in front of the other.

People asked me often, “What does your husband say about this?” We even got a message that expressed disappointment in him as a Christian leader, how could he “let his wife do yoga?”

Oh there is so much within that statement, that grieves my heart deeply.

Beyond what anyone can know, and beyond anything else that our lives entail, his support upon my yoga journey and spiritual journey into becoming me as been strong and true and real.

For which I have immense gratitude.

Yoga connected me to me in ways nothing else had ever done. It gave me a practice that was mine and empowered me into my body. A place I hated, I could now abide within. I would acknowledge that trauma had caved my shoulders in, hindering the flowing of breath of life. As I stood and sat and moved and breathed, an invitation to inhabit my body and my life was flooding over my soul.

I've grown in many ways through the last year and some time, my soul has been deeply quieted. Rest and compassion filtered in, thundering in at times, determined to have their affects.

I didn't have to choose Christ or Yoga. I don't have to choose Christ or (fill in the blank.) That is His beauty. He loves. He transforms.

My story in the months of quiet. I have seen a God, walk with me into places and be my God and I, one who loves Him walk with Him. I wasn't sure I would ever touch places of spiritual intimacy again, communities had made it clear that within their paradigm choices of “either or” had to be made. Except that was never God's intention, just the intention of men. There would be others who would teach me “both and,” and for all of you who know that that is you, immense gratitude for holding my hand and walking with me and teaching me well.

Namaste

Being asked instead of Being told.

The Ten Words That Challenged My Soul... And Rocked My World

“Who are you, Lord my God, and who am I?”

A question the majority of humanity utters at one point or another.

Pause for a moment.

Maybe the words have been different.

Maybe the emotions have been raw as a fist shook the heavens.

Maybe there were tears.

Maybe there was peace and stillness and time to wait.

Maybe there is always time to wait.

Those words are a prayer often attributed to St. Francis of Assisi.

A most heart felt struggle.

A deep desire for connection.

Who is the Divine?

What is the Divine?

Who am I in relationship to the Divine?

Who am I?

It is a prayer that has changed my life, torn me apart and put me back together again, granted me courage, and helped me find my way.

It wasn't that I didn't have my ideas.

It wasn't that the decades of training hadn't formulated opinions.

It wasn't that I hadn't been trained and equipped by very capable people.

It was that I was tired.

Tired of the show of a Sunday morning.

Tired of the pretense and exterior forms.

Tired of the pat answers that aren't answers.

After a car accident landed me in bed for ten weeks, I went back to my roots.

Back to a more contemplative searching.

Back to the proverbial drawing board.

I do believe firmly in Spirit. I believe in the spiritual realm, the reality of God as Source, Creator and I believe in the reality that humanity is deeply and passionately loved. All of humanity is deeply and passionately loved. I am deeply and passionately loved. YOU are deeply and passionately loved. Not because we can get it, (whatever “it” is), right. Just because we are...

As a spiritual director, I often ask people to tell me what their experience of Spirit is? I listen to struggles of faith and of personhood. I think about the nature and character, the qualities of Spirit. I ask people about that too. Let me know your ideas of what God is like?

I have sat with that question myself.

What is God like?

Who are you, Lord my God?

Not the pat answers that I've been trained to speak, and instruct with. But gone face to face, toe to proverbial toe. Told the One I know to be Light, to F&%* Off. I got real. Spirit got even more real. It took those moments of dropping all pretense. It took those moments of turning around and facing what I really do believe, what I know and what I don't know. It took those moments of not knowing, where no answer stands and there is no answer to give, that changed my life.

Who are you, Lord my God, and Who am I?

I recently sat with a young woman, who because of fundamental upbringing didn't believe the God of her childhood would love her.

We sat. I listened. She talked. We sat. I listened. She talked. We sat. I listened. She talked. My heart ached for her, my heart raged at religion, my heart wanted to express the truths of God and who He hung out with while He was upon the Earth.

It didn't matter what I wanted. What mattered was her heart. What mattered was her experience. What mattered was what she could or would hear. That became the question in my heart. What could she hear? What would she hear? What would Spirit do in that moment? Not telling but allowing space for discovery, is a powerful component of Spiritual Direction.

I sat. I listened. She talked. I listened. I took words she had been using, questions were formulated and asked. Space for her was being created. Light was entering and clarifying. Space for her to see what her eyes desired to see, space for her heart to find rest and be nurtured, space for her to be empowered to hear what Spirit was saying to her.

Who are you, Lord my God, and who am I?

It is a question.

What's your answer?

 

Want to know more about Spiritual Direction? What can it look like for you, in your life as you walk upon your journey?   

Email....  Mimsdriscoll@gmail.com 

 

The ache of loss

It isn't how I expected to spend the first hours of Thanksgiving morning.

I had set my alarm. I had planned to get up before the household, finish cleaning, and begin prepping the food.  As my eyes opened, I pictured him running in fields of grass so green. My heart sunk. He hadn't been feeling well. I had been waking up to check on him. I dreaded the next moments.

 There were other times where he had lingered between life and death. He had always pulled through. A champion for our family. He had been there through births, deaths, graduations, moves, sadness, joys. A fixture upon every memory. There he was, making every moment better. He had loved me. He had loved me and my kids with a beautiful faithfulness.

Thanksgiving morning 2015 would change it all, forever.

My heart sunk as the picture in my mind's eye registered the reality of what I dreaded to be true.  I had stayed up with him. I had set my alarm to check on him. I had found him in the hallway earlier. I pat his large lovely head.  His big tail swooshed. I leaned over him. "It's ok, boy.... It's ok."  That would be the last interaction I would have with him while breath still warmed his body.

I fell asleep. I fell asleep, only to wake abruptly twenty minutes later. My heart full of a picture of him running.  I knew he was gone. I got up. He had moved only slightly. From the black tile entry way to the carpet.  My eyes fell upon him.  A quick assessment (avoiding the details for you), one look.. I knew my intuition was right.

My hand fell upon his hardened side. One who had been full of so much warmth was cold.
Older kids would be awoken.
My oldest daughter given the task to keep the younger two busy in their bedroom.
Phone calls and decisions made.
My husband lifting this magnificent being as to transport his body to the animal hospital.

Thanksgiving is a blur. Most of it anyway. But my mother coming up earlier because of the events rolling out, the meal would have been stunted.  She kept everything moving forward, she created space for me to nap, to grieve.  Food would be served. Our youngest son's heart would give way needing an escape from the meal.  He and I would go on a walk. We would feel the fresh air upon our face. We would hold hands. We would walk and walk and walk and walk.  He would keep saying, "just to that stop sign," then he would need more time. I was grateful. I needed more time. 

Today.. the ache has come and gone. Moments lived only then to remember that he is gone. Reality crashing in.

This evening as I tried to work on editing my book, The Girl Next Door, tears kept streaming down my face. I expect to see his big golden body lying across the living room floor. I expect his head upon my knee to be resting there and for his paw to come up if I dared stopped petting him.  He has been  the one to absorb the pain of previous losses. Now I just feel lost.

It has been a serious of large losses that have filled this season of life. 
A disorientation of sorts fills my soul.
Loss will do that.
Loss upon loss will do that to a depth that takes one's breath away.

Losing Lincoln yesterday won't be the period upon this season either.
Losing Lincoln yesterday puts a tangible marker upon the pain.
Losing Lincoln yesterday takes away my consistent companion through the rest of the journey.
The ache of loss has another step, has more now to the story.


The reality of the journey of this season of life has a lot of disorientation upon it.  I listened to my soul. I listened when everything in me was saying, "I can't do this anymore."  The last couple years have been the discovery portion of what that meant.   In feeling that I needed to allow myself time of discovery to emerge into life, I hadn't realized the immense amount of change that would roll out.

There's this quote attributed to Thomas Merton, If the you of five years ago doesn’t consider the you of today a heretic, you are not growing spiritually.”  I think upon that very often these days. The ache and disorientation of loss continues to reverberate through my being at somewhat alarming rates.  Losing Lincoln upon this season was just the punch to the gut I didn't need.

He was the consistency. He was the unconditional love. He was the warm welcome on cold, sad days when all that I once knew and held close was gone.

The ache of loss rolls out and today I've felt the world shift and tilt and move.
The ache of loss is real
The ache of loss transforms
The ache of loss grows and dims and lingers

There is beauty and pain and transformation.
There is breath and life and growth and death..

In every season there is a time to grieve and a time to mourn, and there will be a time to dance and sing and celebrate once again.. The two intertwine... It wouldn't be life if they didn't...

 I hold close the memories of that first waking moment of Lincoln running upon the greenest grass and know he watches over us all now from a higher place.............

My response to trauma.... Restoration

Maybe it is audacious of me to speak and act in the ways in which I do. I will still speak and act in the ways in which I do.  Maybe it is unrealistic of me to look at circumstances and situations that humanity finds itself in, both on a local and  larger level and stay determined to  see hopefully.
Maybe one could say it is naive of me to hold the beliefs I do in regards to humanity and restoration. But I do still hold them.
Maybe it is easier when seeing a valley of dry bones, to despair.
Seeing children suffering
Seeing adults not knowing how to adult (whatever that is...)
Seeing so much, maybe too much
Maybe it is easier when seeing a valley of dry bones, to allow those dry bones to dictate and determine the realities of life and living.
Maybe more than naught the world gets to have its way of terror, pain, suffering.
Maybe it is hard to see the glass half full.
Maybe the glass is beyond empty, if that would be possible.
Maybe the screams of lack of resources and tired people get to drown out the whispers of hope.
Maybe we see the glass and want to break it.

It isn't that there aren't the days where I don't agree.
It isn't that there aren't the days where the realities of living upon this earthen soil do their best to weary my soul.
I am not so optimistic as to think that the glass is always half full, certainly not usually the person who says F%*& half full, we are overflowing.
I am painfully realistic at times
I am sorrowful
I am pained
I am doubtful
I grieve
I lost
Maybe those realities get to darken out the sun.

Maybe it is a beaten dog that comes back for more and more, not knowing when to retreat.
Maybe it is that one just doesn't know when to throw in the towel.
Maybe it is the lack of wisdom that doesn't allow for the call of "uncle," to come forward.

Or maybe it is curiousity.
For most days it doesn't feel like resiliency or hope.
Most days it feels like stupidity to not just give up, give in, wave the white flag...

My response to trauma does not come from learning in a book.
My response to trauma hasn't been gathered from lecture or text.
My response to trauma isn't because I have studied.
My response to trauma is because I have lived.

I have lived days that have screamed surrender
I have touched moments where my soul did just that

I  have laid my head down not knowing how to pick it back up
I have swallowed that which life handed me and despaired of the very breath.

Maybe the landscapes that are covered, with dry bones, serve to remind us all of the brutality of human kind towards one another. Maybe greed and Darwinian theory of the survival of the fittest get to rule the manner in which we step towards one another. Maybe acquiring and consuming not just goods but lives empower the powerful to rest securely.

My response to trauma was not forged sitting in the seats of lecture halls.
My response to trauma was found in dark rooms and scary places.
My response to trauma was not formed as a thesis, an idea,a suggestion
My response to trauma was formed out of a need to find that life after trauma is possible, that it can be more then just surviving.
My response to trauma was formed because I needed to see the valley of dry bones more as the exceedingly great grouping of people then a pile of thrown away parts of humanity.

What does it mean to live and live a mangaliso life?

First and foremost it means you get to live.
You've already survived.
It isn't so much thriving, while that is my hope I will hold space for for all.
It is living.
It means that restoration is possible.
It means restoration is possible because there is a people who see you already as a member of an exceedingly great population, that once was aware of depths of dryness, sorrow and lack but now gets to know breath renewed and bones made strong.
It means this isn't hype, or selling you an empty bill of goods.
I wouldn't sell you short like that.
Too much already has.
It is realisitic.
That I promise.

Why Living Mangaliso?

Because I had to find a way forward that was beyond surviving. Because I wanted to hope against hope that it wasn't because I was resilient enough or hopeful enough. Maybe it is that I am just that stupid enough to not know when I've been beat. But you see, I am convinced that that is who you are too! You've survived already more than what should ever be asked of any human being.  Now human beings gather around together to say, survival isn't enough for you. I want you to touch life.

RECOVERY

My response to trauma is that upon each day, sometimes only upon each step within the day there is hope. That darkness must flee when light comes rising above the horizon. That life and breath and beauty and movement comes and restores the soul into places of peace.

My response to trauma comes against all those that said I should not become a wife or a mom. My response to trauma comes against all those that said I would live drooling sitting in some corner locked away. My response to trauma comes against all those that said I can't. I respond to trauma's whispers and shouts, au contraire I most certainly can. I can and I will.... Once a pile of dry bones, I am now standing on my feet. Body and breath are being restored through the words of creator and prophet.

Living Mangaliso...

It is your life
It is your body
It is your breath
This is your restoration...
This is your moment
This is the fact that YOU ARE AN AMAZEMENT!


And it is time you lived!!!!

 

The Sounds of Change...

I was sitting on the stoop.

Wow.

That word throws me back to the days when we lived in Brooklyn.  An amazing neighborhood. One way street, two streets up from the harbor. Our kids were young. We were young. Down the block or over a few lived opportunity galore; bagels, pizza, Chinese food, parks, aquarium, botanical garden, zoo. The City (Manhattan for those of you that think when someone says, "The City," its referring to LA :)  ) was just the crossing of a bridge or the going through the tunnel and it was there. That magnificent sky line, the FDR, the parks, the museums, Times Square. I can close my eyes and be back there in a heart beat. 

I was young. Did I mention that? I was young.

Hungry to learn. Wanting mentors. Wanting people to speak into my life.  Never to speak for me per se, but to speak into my life, to help guide me, to give me opportunities; honestly to ride behind their wake and not have to drive. Maybe that's a part of being young. Maybe its a necessity at certain ages.  Maybe.  Maybe if the mentors care more about the person then they care about growing their project, their ego, their thing.  I've met some of those people. 

How do you know the difference? Sometimes you can't. Sometimes it is actually in the ending, in the parting where you will see.  I have been with those and worked side by side day and night on conferences, events, projects. Spending so much time together, one thinks there is friendship there. In some communities relationship and job lines get blurry.  I let them get blurry.  I own that.  Even when, maybe especially when it is ministry, I wished I had get those lines straighter.  Projects are projects and events are events. Life is a whole other realm.  If you are perceived as the project or on the other side a key note speaker, there are roles to be played and things to be done.  When they are done.... they are done.

Boundaries. 
I didn't learn about them soon enough.
I'm glad I am learning about them now. 

It isn't that we can't have people that walk with us, we just can't have people that walk for us... While you might bawk at that idea and yell, "I don't do that." I didn't think I did that either.  It is hard to look at. It is hard to acknowledge. We really do want "Moses," to go into the scary places alone and bring out the chewed contents for us to then have, as if we were baby birds waiting in a nest.. never wanting to fly.

When  that shifts in a person, lots break loose. Within the person, within the community around the person.  I  am aware of what previous mentors of mine felt about tattoos, felt about yoga, felt about many things. I abided by them. When someone didn't, aka a dear friend got tattoos, I saw the most unchrist like behavior.  I'm not sorry.  I think Christ would say it doesn't matter what you put in or on your flesh, what matters is your heart. I saw a lot that was wrong in the name of law and conformity. I saw a lot of people not thinking for themselves. Buying hook, line and sinker into  the quid pro quo of the institution, else be thrown out.. thrown away.

Too many people stuffing their own thoughts, their own voices. Too many people contorting their life as to fit into the narrow perimeters set down by others. Recently it came to my attention that a client of mine for yoga therapy was told not to work with me. Not because I lack proficiency at what I do or anything like that, simply because I do yoga. This modality was bringing freedom to said person.  Said person was in conflict.  It is this person's conflict to work out. I can not work that out for them. 

Living Mangaliso is about Restoration, Discovery, Exploration, Expression, and Explosion.  Finding restoration into the places where harm occurred. Discovery and it's journey into who you are; your preferences, your passions, your desires.  Exploration, stepping into those places. Seeing which are really a part of you and which are residue from others that needs to be washed off.  Finding YOUR voice, the song that vibrates forth from YOUR life equals expression! Through all that process, we are then brought to the place that we explode into and take over our own lives. We explode into our own lives and out into the world.  That is the Living Mangaliso.  You are the amazement. Not because someone tells you you are, but because you learn that its the truth for you!


Back to me sitting on the stoop.  A child of mine was processing life.  She was processing how comments were being made about me and yoga. She was processing the source of the comments. She was processing how people were talking about her parents.  She was struggling with faith.

This human being, while my daughter, is a phenomenal human being. While I'm her mother, it doesn't take long when talking to her for anyone to realize that.  This one afternoon, as I was letting the warmth of the sun cascade over my tired body; she came down and sat next to me.  There were two songs she wanted to share with me. The first was sweet. The second has changed my life.  Leave it to a fifteen year old to be able to see things clearly. 

I love this song. It's true. There will always be people who will knock down. Let them. They can't really knock you down. Keep standing your ground. Keep Recovering. Keep Discovering. Keep Exploring. Keep Expressing. Keep Exploding.  Keeping Living. Keep Living Mangaliso.

 Lyrics to Sounds of Change (Click Title to Hear Song)

I see you've been chasing your monsters
And they've been driving you bonkers
Just blinded with drunken launches
Of lights and blowin they conscience
If you really want to juxtapose
And take a darker color with a blush of rose
And then you put it in your ink and watch it grow
Your mind is always open when your eyes are closed
Because your blind to color and your blind to greed
Blind to all the things you don't need
Then you find a minor and then you plant a seed
Then you nourish it a little and let it free

You're building it up
They're breaking it down
Want to give up
Keep holding your ground
You're turning it up
They're deaf to the sound
Oh the sound, the sound of change

Here and now, the horns are playing
The victory sound, I live in the now
The sky is my home, and I live in the clouds
Now or never, bound forever
Making the change, making it better
I live for this shit, I love the pain
It's part if the journey, it's part of the game
I've been alone in the dark and the rain
I've seen the end and I wasn't afraid
I've been in tears and I wasn't ashamed
I hear a sound and the sound that I'm hearing is change

You're building it up
They're breaking it down
Want to give up
Keep holding your ground
You're turning it up
They're deaf to the sound
Oh the sound, the sound of change

You're building it up
They're breaking it down
Want to give up
Keep holding your ground
You're turning it up
They're deaf to the sound
Oh the sound, the sound of change

Well they try to put hands on my ears
Ooh the sound
In my heart I'm still hearing it clear
Ooh the sound
Tell me why do they fear what is real
Ooh the sound
You can't stop what is already here
Ooh the sound

You're building it up
They're breaking it down
Want to give up
Keep holding your ground
You're turning it up
They're deaf to the sound
Oh the sound, the sound of change

You're building it up
They're breaking it down
Want to give up
Keep holding your ground
You're turning it up
They're deaf to the sound
Oh the sound, the sound of change

Ooh oh oh oh oh
Ooh oh oh oh oh
Ooh oh oh oh oh
Ooh the sound, the sound of change

Ooh oh oh oh oh
Ooh oh oh oh oh
Ooh oh oh oh oh
Ooh the sound, the sound of change

 

You owe it to yourself.... 3 months in (How fast time flies)

How fast time flies...

A quarter of year has been lived. I started, A Year Without Fear, twelve weeks ago.  I let out one of those puff smiles. A puff of air releases forth from my lips. My soul saying, "Wow."

When I think of twelve weeks ago, when I think of today; I marvel.  I marvel at the life I have lived.  I marvel that I have lived. I have lived much life in the last twelve weeks.  I have stepped forward again and again. I have been thrown back only then to pick myself back up, stepping forward even if the rate was infinitesimal.

I started thinking I would make lists each week of what this year was like each week.  Except I then didn't want this project to be about me, my list.  Standing one quarter of the way through it isn't lists I want to give you.  It isn't my experience I want to give you. 

What I want to say is this... Time will pass.  We will all live another quarter of a year. We will all live another twelve weeks.  I have lived many sequences of twelve weeks.  August 16, 2015; my oldest daughter was turning 15. That's enough to put fear into the heart of anyone.  I had been doing soul work. I had been seeing all the places fear hindered me, I didn't want that hindrance any more. 

Standing under a tree I began my first private yoga therapy session with two new clients.  I didn't know what I was doing.  I mean I knew the yoga poses. I knew what I wanted for these individuals. I was also meeting them for the first time. I was also finding my way onto new territory for the first time.  I am now over a dozen sessions in, I don't feel the same way.  I taught chair yoga for the first time. I taught gentle yoga for the first time. I had yoga students for the first time. First times equal one thing more than anything else. First times are just that first times. 

I had been used to standing upon the strength, experience and expertise of two plus decades. I had been used to being the teacher and director. I had been used to knowing what I was doing. You know how terrifying it is to give that up? What it feels like to start all over again, without the assurance or certainty that there really is something to start, can truly produce fears of all sort. Fear of looking foolish. Fear of failing. Fear of doing something wrong. Fear of humiliation. Fear of not knowing the way. Fear of being asked a question and knowing that the answer doesn't lie confidently within.

These twelve weeks I have had more firsts then maybe in the last twelve years. While I might be exaggerating, I don't think I am.  So here's the deal. When you step into a project such as mine, making either a private or public agreement that there will be journaling, that there will be blogging; that there will be some form, however loose, of marking time.  That there will be a taking of the temperature if you will. There will be a constant motivation towards overcoming fear. There will be acknowledgements of failure, success, times of petering out. 

I have set before myself that this year will be different. There are things I want out of life. Time will never come to start, if we just don't start... jump in, begin! Time moves onward and onward. How many times have I said I will do this, I will read that book, I will start that program, I will learn, I will, I will, I will and fill in the million blanks that never get done. 

I wanted this year to be different. I wanted to begin to do and become all of those things that I've wanted to do and become.  I wanted to stop thinking that I would begin tomorrow, because that tomorrow never comes.  So I started today. I made every day the day I start. 

I found a new place to do chair yoga this past week. I simply saw the place. I had fliers for a chair yoga class I was already doing. I drove up the driveway. I parked my car. I grabbed fliers and business cards and what I needed. I walked in. I asked to talk to the programs manager. I shook hands. I opened my mouth. I talked about the chair yoga class I was already teaching. I was asked would I be willing to teach one weekly at said location. 

If I had never driven up the driveway. Heck, before that if I had killed the thought. If I hadn't allowed the thought to go and ask and give them a flier. If I had allowed the voices of fear to say any number of things, I wouldn't have driven up that drive, extended a handshake, opened my mouth.. gotten the job.  There is nothing I am doing that anyone of you can't do... It might not be yoga, it might not be spiritual direction, it might not be yoga therapy. Those are my things. But what is yours? Might you fail? YES.. that is a given.
I promise you that if you try what your heart dreams of you will fail here and you will fail there, but I will also tell you that as long as that failure or "no, thank you," doesn't get the best of you you CAN'T FAIL. 

I have laughed more, loved more, cried more, accomplished more, known myself more, challenged myself more, asked more questions, met more people and this list could go on and on for the last twelve weeks then in any other sequencing of twelve weeks.  This is your day. This is your time. What will your Year Without Fear look like?  Take the first step.

Commit to taking an assessment of your life...
Where are you?
Where do you want to be?
What do you want in a week? A month? Three months? A half of a year? 3/4 of a year? A year?
Can you let yourself dream? Why? Why not?
Assess your strengths? Know your weaknesses.  Where do you need help?
What are your fears? What are the things that you think will hinder you?
What are your desires?
Begin to talk about them. Begin to journal. Begin... simply that... JUST BEGIN...

You will be telling me in twelve weeks all the amazing things that have happened for you!  Just take the step... Take the assessment. Take a walk. Get real honest with yourself. No one else is looking. Get the help you need. Begin.  Don't wait for tomorrow. That age old adage is true. The tomorrow that you will begin will never come. Start today.

When religious fear cripples the heart, the life, the breath.. When religious fear suffocates what do you do?

A comment I got today hit home.

A fear of making a religious mistake, was the utterance.

I flashed back to months ago, to a year ago, to a lifetime ago.
I have lived a life time knowing fear all to well...
Those same sentiments filled my heart.
Religious fear.

You know what cured it?

Me, the yoga mat, an Episcopal Priest, some new friends, and the Spirit of the Living God.

Let's just start with what finished that last sentence.  Maybe that's where I should have begun. Where the Spirit of the Lord is there is freedom! Not fear. There is permission not restriction. There is internal change not an external adherence of religious criteria and standards. There is beauty. There is wonder. There is power. There is life. Where the Spirit of the Lord actually is, there is LIFE! Light, joy, peace, kindness, compassion... That is the Spirit of the Lord.

I've lived a life time, decades;  living with  discernment, intuition, knowings. I was taught by others  how to hone that which was within me. I teach others how to understand what is within them. I was shown how to trust that which I felt, saw, heard, knew. I show people how to trust that which is within them and beyond them.

 Beyond any of my training. Beyond any of my education. My favorite teacher has been Holy Spirit. It is the Spirit's job to lead into all truth. Not the role of a man or a woman. Not my role and not yours. To know the Spirit is to know the nature and character of spirit.  The Spirit is whole. Lacking in nothing. Kind and generous and true. Capable and beautiful. If one of Christ's last promises to humanity was that the One who would be sent back to earth had a job to do. That job was to lead into all truth. ALL. Not American, white, heterosexual, name a denomination's preferences for theology, etc...TRUTH.. BUT TRUTH
 The Spirit's job is to lead all of humanity into all truth.  WHAT AN IMMENSE and COMPLEX JOB!  Only suited for the Spirit of the Living God.  Not for me. Not for you.

So how dare we take a whole practice that is 1000s of years old and deem it unworthy, deem it demonic, deem it 100% dangerous regardless of the practitioner.  I won't go into the arrogance of that. Because the reality that keeps me grounded and full of joy and able to hold the tensions and questions that come, is that when Christ appeared on the religious scene the religious were afraid.  He was new. His message tore at their insides. His message compelled humanity to reach higher and beyond human flesh into the heart of divinity and to become higher, and more like the very one who had created them.

 His teachings threatened the status quo of centuries. His teachings brought the religious face to face with God and the religious hated it so much that they killed the very God that had come to save them. His teachings opened up access to the leper, to the woman, to the Samaritan, to the child, to the hurting, to the sick, to those that were deemed untouchable, unclean. God came down and pronounced that there was no human being unclean, unable to touch the hem of the garments of God, none unlovable, none unacceptable.

God came down to earth.  There is no place on earth God wouldn't go.  So ask the questions. Admit your afraid. Admit you don't know. Admit that there are things in the world of spirit and light and liberty and joy that we don't let ourselves touch. AND THAT IS SAD!  Out of fear we call something that is holy and beautiful demonic.  They did, we do.. it hasn't changed.  Religious human beings called the Christ demonic.  Let that set in.  Fear... Fear of change,  fear of being led wrong, lack of control.. FEAR.. fear... fear kills. Fear breaks up friendships and creates 1000s of denominations.  We like what we like and we want to have an us and a them. BUT CHRIST made humanity the US.

It took me and takes me deliberate energy to overcome religious fear.  I was paralyzed. Enter an Episcopal priest who had nothing to lose and nothing to gain from my life.  My religious community had lots to lose.  My religious community had to face that one of them was changing. One of them didn't want to have an "us," a "them." But that man, that priest.. had nothing to lose by being my friend. Nothing to gain because of who my husband was, or who we had been trained by, or any number of things.  (Just as a side note... next time any of you think to ask me what John Paul Jackson would say about yoga realize that I know! I know because I heard him myself, say what he personally felt about yoga. Don't you remember? My husband was on staff. We graduated and taught for the ISD. So of course  I know what JP would say.  Do you want my truest answer? Not polite. Not reverent of the dead. Honoring yes.. I honor that man. You have no idea, how much he changed my life.  BUT GUESS WHAT?!?! He was just a man. AND HE COULD BE WRONG! He was wrong about things. Why? Because he was a man.  No ONE man can lead ALL of humanity into ALL truth, unless that man was God. And while some treated that man like a god! HE WASN'T. We can all be wrong.

So how do we know if we are right? What do we do when fear comes crashing in? What do we do when someone says God is going into Samaria and allowing lepers and women and children to touch Him. What do we do? Do we crucify? Do we kill? Or do we realize that this God is so much bigger, so much more capable, so much more full of love!  What do we do when religious fear comes to suffocate?

Pause.
Breathe.
Remember.
Pause.
Breathe.
Remember.

Call to mind the nature and character of Spirit.

Pause
Breathe
Remember

Allow love to come in... WE all pontificate that perfect love casts out fear. Maybe we can close our mouths for a while and walk it out.... There are utterances all over the place in the culture I have been a part of, desires for the new thing, hunger for more of the Spirit,  need for an "outpouring."  I guess my question is, NO.. I know my question would be when that presence comes if it is on the yoga mat would you scream crucify? Yoga mat.. Samria?  Woman with the issue of blood.. Yogi in white? Tongues... Kundalini?

Religious fear comes and says there is danger because actually there is danger... and religious fear knows it... There is danger because there is power, light, love and liberty.  Religious fear and people recognized Christ and were threatened. Religious fear wanted the source of light and love and liberty dead, so that light and liberty and life would die.  BUT the thing I know about religious fear.. is that if we pause, breathe, remember.. maybe we can touch the hem of the garment of perfect love and cast it out.

That is me.. that is the ME part of my equation.  It was me, a yoga mat, an Episcopal priest, some new friends and the Spirit of the Living God.  It was all of that and so much more. I touched perfect love, I touched a love so true, so real, so magnificent and in its perfection I have begun to cast out fear.... So ask your questions and take your steps BUT don't crucify all over again the one who walked into Samaria...