the foreign and the familiar

Where do I start today?

It's a little after 9am on Sunday morning. I just 'hoovered' my first cup of coffee (espresso with milk) in 2 weeks, one of the most delicious experiences I've had for awhile. It was a necessary step to sitting at this cafe and working away at a computer; good to purchase something when accessing otherwise free internet services. The sea is to my right. I sit by the window of the cafe so that I can plug my housemate's MacBook into the wall. I can hear the occasional seagull, the low rhythm of the waves, behind the staccato of the locals around me waking up with their own liquid caffeine (and nicotine). I wonder how many espressos I can afford (physiologically and financially) as I enjoy a light breeze through the window and the space to type something genuine, something true.

Breathe. I drop into myself, bring some awareness to my ever changing system of thoughts, feelings, impulses, and sensations. My morning writings (pen and paper) have been a torrent of words, encompassing angst, struggle, peace, quiet, and lightness. This morning I wrestled with the juxtaposition between life as both familiar and foreign. Perhaps at any given moment during a human experience there is a tango, a pull towards keeping things familiar and a simultaneous inclination to exploring the unknown. I feel this tension, this dance in my body.

When I put my body down in bed at the end of each day, there remains a low hum of vigilance, a part of me is unwilling to sleep because it remains attuned to the environment around me. Only through waking meditation do I consciously invite myself to sink in, to rest, to feel into the space below the surface. As I sink deeper, I find the location in the universe that is unchanging, unchangeable. Regardless of place, regardless of events, activities, surroundings, language, physical being, emotions, or thoughts, this place is constant. And yet, even in its constancy it's constantly moving - not the quality of moving each of us knows living on the surface of life but moving that is pulsing with colour and life, pure breath.

Unfortunately, I don't choose to anchor myself this way very often. I am highly susceptible to slipping into the more surface currents of the water and getting tossed around like debris. I get to a place of exhaustion and complete disorientation and then I react with a need to control - a kind of false grounding built on the illusion of individual will. And then I become more disconnected from my body, more depleted, until I collapse. At the end of my rope, there's nothing left to do but drop. With grace through exhaustion, I find myself with nothing left to do but, once again, find solace through surrender, through finding the quality of peace which is not dependent on circumstances but which finds its source in the ground of being.

And so it goes. Over the last two weeks, I've repeated this cycle many times. Sadly, most mornings I find myself trying to 'redo.' I forget how futile it is to muscle my way into the world through better management of the surface waves (schedule, expectations, physical space, circumstances, individual energy level) and I return to my familiar habits - the way most of us get through. After two weeks of this cycling, my mind recognizes the futility but my body still knows the dance so well, so mindlessly. Funny how 'familiar' then reveals itself as a cage, a system of movements I can't seem to easily alter and 'foreign' emerges as the quality of my human existence that has always been with me and has never wavered in its invitation to 'return.'

So, how am I? I'm tired. Exhausted really. Not the type of exhaustion which comes from too much activity or exercise. Different. There is a fairytale called "The Red Shoes." In it, a young girl is given a pair of beautiful red shoes and she is so enraptured with their shinyness and shimmer and she puts them on her feet. She begins to dance, and dance, and dance, and she can't stop dancing. Her feet are moving on their own power and she can neither stop nor get them off her feet. Ultimately, she meets a woodsmen who uses his axe to chop off her feet. The story goes on with continued insights and wisdoms. The meanings are woven into the archetypes. I am the girl, the shoes, the woodsmen, and the axe.

I know that the dancing I am doing right now is a necessary and vital part of my growth. I know that in this dancing I am meeting new ways that I move, I feel more than see how this way of moving in the world has always been in me. The difference is that due to my current circumstances, the dancing is gruelling and my patterning is louder, revealing my habits as unsustainable. I can't find more energy to fuel the dance. I must find my own way to chop off the shiny red shoes.

My salvation, I think, lies in finding a way to sink to the bottom of the sea, finding a way to the timeless and spaceless space, the spot on the ocean floor which is directionless and eternal.

Ironic that I have finished my second cup of coffee and am considering a third. Funny how we have created rituals in our busy lives to help us maintain a good 'on', other rituals which assist us to turn 'off.'

I'm not sure I would have been so aware of this patterning had I not spent the last year or so of my life living a life of great solitude in a moldy, cold cottage in the woods of northern New England. And so, as I sit here in this beautiful land, beside the constant rhythm of the ocean, and under the rays of the unchangeable sun, I am deeply grateful for the ways that life is guiding me and teaching me always, inviting me to wake up and drop in.

My gratitude goes out also to those of you who have reached out to me in various ways in the last two weeks - your words and presence in my life have been tethers, connecting me to another (maybe the same) abiding source of unconditional energy, Love.

That's it for now. A third cup of espresso would definitely disconnect me from any kind of authentic ground.

12 students, 12 weeks

Okay, where to begin.

I'll start with some of the simpler stuff. I'm just finishing up my first week of training with GMI (Green Mountain Institute) in Portugal. The name of the founders and trainers are Judith and Michael Jamieson, a married couple who split their time between Bennington, VT and somewhere outside of London, England. Michael is of British ancestry, Judith from New York/Vermont area originally. There are 12 students in the program whom I am slowing getting to know, some better and faster than others. Many of the students come from across the US, one from Mexico, one originates from France, one lives here in the Algarve region of Portugal, though he lived the first 40 years in Germany (immigrated to Portugal 20+ years ago).

I live with 4 others; 2 women, 2 men. I would have to say that thus far, communal living has been the source of my greatest angst. Those of you who have known me or spent much time with me in my home know that I'm obsessive about neatness, organization, and order. I also have a relatively quiet existence, preferring to read rather than socialize or make small talk, preferring to rise early and retire early. Now, my housemates are doing everything in their conscious power to be kind and accommodating to my preferences. They have been very considerate and responsive to my expressed desires. I, too, am trying to let go and relax, recognize that 'my way' is not the way - just a way.

The apartment is,..... how can I describe it? Traditional southern Portugese, well-worn, and quirky. My housemates and I describe it as living in the ghetto. There are some electrical wiring issues; if a heater is on and too much other power is drawn, the electrical system becomes overwhelmed and shuts down. The first few days we were noticing that the gas stove was pooling a clear liquid. While it didn't smell, it did become alight when we held a match to it. Alas, a few issues with the stove but a secondary source of heat was discovered which came in handy when the electrical units shut down! The location is just one road off the main beach in town so I can hear the ocean waves from my bedroom. Unfortunately, we are discouraged from opening the metal grates when we are sleeping or away from the apartment as it's a 'call' to would-be burglars to scavenge our contents for goodies. Alas, there are still the preverbial mosquitoes in paradise.

I am most enamoured with the people in the program. I have known myself, historically, to be someone who can be too easily annoyed with others but I'm genuinely smitten when I look into the eyes of any one of them. We are different, unique, have varying levels of training and education, and still we come with a wish to learn how to skillfully put our hands on others and be of service. I have gravitated to one very wonderful woman, in particular, who feels like a sister from another life. My connection with her feels effortless and easy, familiar. Laressa and her partner, Ali, share an apartment nearby - while she is in training with me, he works via phone/internet and some travel. She has been so kind as to make available her internet connection so that I type in comfort, without being on the clock at a smokey internet diner. Thank you, Laressa - I will repay your kindness in good chocolate and the occasional beer.

Speaking of beer, I enjoyed my first brew in a week last night as we came out of our 5th day of class. We are not to combine alcohol and massaging so my opportunities to imbibe are few. We went to a British-styled pub where rugby played on one TV and football (soccer) played on another. Also, no coffee for over a week now. I've shifted to herbal tea without too much pain or anguish. The diet for me is centered on fruit (the oranges are mindblowing, grown locally) and bread (baked fresh daily just a 2 minute walk from the ghetto). The kitchen is a challenge for my culinary habits; the storage space for each of us is limited and the utensils sparse. But I am well-fed and don't go without.

The class schedule is a little more rugged than I anticipated. We attend Monday through Friday, approximately 8:30am to 7pm with a 2 hour break for lunch. Every 2nd Saturday is also a class day but generally shorter. I'm pleased with this as my funds for exploring further afield in Portugal are limited. I walk a lot and because I am close to the beach and cliffs at the east end of Luz it's easy to access some nature. Outside of class and basic life habits (eating, shopping, sleeping, personal hygiene), I read and walk and stay near the water.

Class time is split between theory and practice, maybe 1/3 theory and 2/3 practice. We work on each other as students, switching between giving and receiving a massage. I know it's likely tough to summon up any kind of sympathy for this new grueling schedule considering that I spend an hour or so each day receiving a massage but it's surprisingly intense - particularly because the content is so new to me. Anatomy and Physiology are strange new subjects for me and I've never been at ease with Biology or the other sciences. My head spins a little when I try to get a handle on the names of the 4 gabillion body parts.

Even considering my experience of feeling a little over my head and overwhelmed, I'm orienting myself to the space, the place, the people, the practice, and the schedule. I find myself wondering how I will one day 'connect the dots' between my history/training/passion for psychotherapy and this new frontier. Today, as part of meeting the course requirements, I had a 1 and 1/2 hour massage with Michael. I imagine they would like each of us as students to develop a sense of what a good massage feels like and how their structures and system fall into place as a whole. There were many times during the unbelievable bodywork that I could feel the easy overlap between working the mind/body/heart bridge in massage. While not clear, I still trust that the pieces will fall into place and the mystery will reveal itself, magnificent as always.

I miss home some. I miss Bradford and Ben greatly. I find myself sometimes wishing the time away, counting the weeks or days. But as I lay on the massage table under Michael's masterful hands this morning, I felt so alive with the experience and the possibility of learning how to be so skillful, so supportive as a practitioner with the ability to 'touch' someone so profoundly, well, I found myself thinking that another 11 weeks will never be enough time to absorb and learn all that awaits me.

That's the thing with me, I need to remember to be awake where I am rather than traversing the wilderness of my mind and missing the moment that lies before me.

I am taking pictures as I wander through my days and explore this new place. I have yet to figure out how or if I can somehow connect my camera to a computer and link my pictures to the internet. I hope to write a weekly update by blog so this is the way I can translate my experience for now.

Sending you my love.

whew!

Okay. Iºm here. The keyboard is different here on the Portugese computers so there might be some new and interesting symbols to show up in my upcoming blogs.

The travel day was both smooth and long. My bag was overweight (56lbs) but the kind woman just told me to take something out and sheºd look the other way. I was awake for what felt like 2 days, travelling for 25 hours plus a few hours of preparation and settling in on opposite ends of departing and arriving.

Portugese is not like Spanish, not like Italian, not like French, certainly different from English. I canºt seem to understand it in writing nor speaking. Alas, itºs only day 2 ~ Iºll give myself a little more time. Iºve brought my uptight, rigid, and controlling ways with me. As such, Iºm running up against my tendencies to take over, organize, and make things more efficient. Both the culture and the program itself are dialed differently ~ less concerned with things being on time, smooth, productive, effective, and intense. Did you know that they actually take a 2 hour break in the middle of the freaking day in parts of the world!? Unbelieveable.

In case my making fun of myself is too subtle, I am finding myself shaking my head and laughing at me and how driven I am for things to be efficient, organized, planned, orchestrated and executed. Case in point, the flight from Boston to Heathrow was on time. My flight from Heathrow to Lisbon left early. My 30 minute flight from Lisbon to Faro (1/2 hour flight) was an hour late. FYI ~ my new favourite airline is definitely British Airways - generous, efficient, polite, and on-time. I find myself looking around me and coming up with all sorts of ways that life as it is could be improved. Brilliant! Wherever you go, there you are.

There are 12 of us in the 3 month course. Seems to be equal males and females ranging in age from 19 to 60 years. While it appears I might be in the mathematical middle of ages, Iºm likely in the top 10 percentile. The group seems great. Again, kind, open, enthusiastic, energetic. Maybe Iºm already setting myself out as the grumpy old woman who likes to intimidate others into their acquiescence.

The land is beautiful. The sea is breathtaking. The oranges are mindblowing! I know outside of class and study, I will spend a great deal of time walking and exploring the coastline, in and out of the water. Iºm still a bit overwhelmed, at times wondering what Iºve got myself into. Iºm still a little travel-lagged and tired and disoriented. Ultimately, I know Iºm in the right place and that Iºll find my feet before too long (and my hands!).

hope youºre well, my love to you.

beautiful blue

Watching the weather. It's a very grey day today. The cottage is shrouded in fog. The temperatures have warmed and the smaller snowbanks are giving way to puddles. Living in this part of the country, different from Colorado, lends itself to watching the weather, rolling with the weather, letting go.

I noticed an internal fog this morning as I got up, moved into the morning rituals - filling the kettle, taking Ben out for his morning constitution, checking out the temperature and the feel of the air outside. I noticed my internal landscape was similarly shrouded with a sense of blue. Blue, to me, feels not exactly like sadness, not despair, nor discontent - just 'blue'.

With hot coffee and the morning blank pages before me I considered jumping into a dialogue with myself about what was arising, a discovery of the root of my blue. Nothing came. I could feel the texture and colour of my internal weight, I could touch its rhythm - slow, pulsing, methodical but I could find no source for its arrival to the horizon of my experience. In fact, my mind could only conjure a poignant sense of gratitude and yet this gratitude was cloaked in a melancholic blue.

I consider myself someone who enjoys the arrival of a 'new year' because it's a culturally accepted and recognized form of a collective birthday. I am not geared towards resolutions as much as I relish an obvious opportunity to get more clear on this human path I'm walking. One of my aspirations is to be better attuned to and aligned with my body. In talking with friends over the last week I've been exploring how much intelligence I have been discovering in the form of im-pulse; impulses are constantly arising through my body and directing me towards certain movements, awarenesses, and choices. I was born with impulses - I knew when I was hungry, felt clearly when I was tired, moved without self-consciousness when pulled to do so.

The years and life indeed impacted this knowingness. My impulses became confused by noise in myriad ways - I swallowed beliefs about what I needed to do to be lovable. I inhaled messages around the importance of avoiding certain outcomes (abandonment, destitution, aloneness, failure). I slowly, steadily shifted away from organismic wisdom and connection to the whole as I came to believe I was a fragile, separate, broken, and dependent self. This phenomenon is compounded by the collective belief system that Nature (human nature and the great outdoors) is to be managed rather than allowed to run free. Humanity prefers to see itself as separate from the whole because of our intellect and we mistrust our basic drives, viewing them as primal and lacking morality. Downright dangerous.

Perhaps collectively we are dissociated. I know that individually, I have been rather disconnected and dissociated and the potential I see that lies each moment in this body is to wake up.

And so this morning, I felt blue. And out of the habit of disliking uncomfortable emotions and not trusting my body, I felt compelled to clear out this weather pattern either by analyzing it and applying a treatment (hello psychotherapy) or by overriding it by forcing away the fog and greyness so that my natural light could shine through.

Taking a breath, I noticed a wave of sadness rising up. Tears flowed as I held my journal in my lap. It was simply a wave. I had named the feelings which were happening and they began to move. I didn't need a storyline to anchor my experience in so-called reality. I didn't need to fear that this internal weather pattern would wipe me out. I just needed to relax and trust and let go.

As I've alluded to a number of times in my entries, I'm torn by working in a field which pathologizes pain and seeks to remedy that which appears to be broken. Perhaps depression and anxiety and addiction are running rampant because we fear that we cannot tolerate the waves and so the suppression, distraction, and dissociation are compounding the force of energy - that which we do not embrace becomes our master. With a deeper connection to the rhythms of our physical selves and more faith in this innate intelligence that expresses itself through the body - through sound, through movement, through choices - wouldn't we be remarkable? And wouldn't this remarkable quality include the brilliance of all kinds of weather?

"How are you?"

"I'm blue."

"Oh, I'm sorry. What can I do?"

"See my beautiful blue."