Surrendering to Solitude

Hello Fellow Earthlings,

I've been out here in the woods for about nine days. Other than my boyfriend who has come over a few times, I haven't had any visitors or met many people. I realize, without the regular distractions, so much comes up for me to confront. There's nowhere to hide out here. In Seattle, my old stomping grounds, I could easily pick up the phone and meet a friend within an hour. If I was bored or restless, I could go to a movie, the gym, a restaurant, shopping, etc. Out here, there are those distractions, but I'm further away from everything. It's seems like the land beckons me to stay with the uncomfortableness and not runaway.

But it's hard! There's some deep-rooted sorrow and sadness coming up. Here I am alone with a dog out in the woods. I don't have a family or pets or a home to call my own even. I just have a small storage unit, my car and that's about it. I have my boyfriend, but sometimes I feel so far away from him too. I love him, but there's so much change going on on the inside and it's hard to express what I'm going through. Instead of feeling surrounded by love and friends, I have been feeling quite alone and, well, LONELY!

Yet, I keep putting myself in these situations. I chose to go to the woods alone. Last January, I chose to go to upcountry Maui to housesit alone on 17 acres, far from any people, for two months. Continuously, I have been choosing to remove myself from the world and go inward.

Strangely, what I've discovered, is that I want community, a lover, a life with pets in a sanctuary that I can call my own. I don't know where that home will be. Maybe, by uprooting myself, I am opening myself up to finding those things. I feel like I should not be in a hurry to plunk myself down again. I feel, as unsettling as it is, I am meant to go with the wind for awhile. I'm meant to discover what the world has in store for me without forcing it all to fall into place. I am meant to be with the unknown for a while, however unsettling that is.

Right now, I'm upstairs at my writing desk in the mandala house (round house) in Port Townsend. The dog, Indio, is asleep on the rug next to me. I'm looking out at the tops of pine trees, the last bit of blue sky and glowing pink clouds from the sun that has set.

 The silence is sometimes deafening out here. I'm not used to it. It calls me to stop and be still, but there's a fear in that too. I have done lots of meditation in my past, but I don't know why I fight being still and doing nothing. To be alone with myself for days without any interaction with other fellow humans is challenging.

Nothingness.

What is it about that word that is frightening? It almost feels that if I'm always in motion and do-ing, my life has meaning. If I stop and do nothing, there's a feeling of not having a purpose or point. I fear that I could just disappear out here.

And I still have twenty days to go! Whoa.

So what was my purpose in coming out here? I wanted this solitude. I wanted to be alone to write and tune in. I chose this. My body, mind and spirit were on overdrive in the city. I was teaching 60 students at the community college and trying to move out of my home of twelve years.

There was no BALANCE. I craved nothingness. I craved an endless stretch of time to do nothing.

And now I have it!

Isn't it strange? Humans always want what they don't have. As soon as they have it, they want something else.

So instead of running away from or changing or distracting myself from where I am right now, I am choosing to surrender to it.

What happens if I surrender to this moment right now? What happens if I accept it and even enjoy it? What happens if I forgive myself for saying or doing things I regret? What happens if I love myself and realize that this moment is perfect as it is—that nothing needs to be added or subtracted from what is happening now? It is perfect in it's own way. This is easy when things are going smoothly, but so hard when things aren't. I spent years practicing Vipassana meditation and learning to accept things as they are, not as I'd like them to be. My teacher S. N. Goenka used to say, "As it is, not as you want it to be!" Yet, I'm still working on this. I still fall down, act badly, lose my footing, fall on my face and then berate myself for these things, rather than accepting that everything is okay just as it is.

I AM OKAY JUST AS I AM.

I know this is my challenge out here: To accept things as they are and to accept myself as I am. To love myself and my life right now. To surrender to the solitude.

Physically I have been feeling a lot of burning in my body and mind. It's been going on for awhile. It's no wonder I'm writing a book called Venus on Fire. The burning shows up as burning, irritated skin on my body and anger, lots of fiery anger, in my mind. My spirit, or oversoul as I liked to call it sometimes, is clear. I am clear in my higher purpose: To follow my heart and share with others what I discover. It feels like I'm waiting for my body and mind to catch up with my spirit.

Maybe my skin burns or itches because I'm literally in need of shedding my skin. I can't fit in it anymore. And maybe the anger is a part of being afraid to let go and let things be as they are, even if others don't accept them or me.

What if I allowed my skin to shed and my mind to release this pressure? What if I gave myself permission to remain as an empty vessel, open to receiving new information? What if I let myself be who I am right now?

I'm going to give it a try....

A New Life

Universal Love by Anyes Barber

"I've learned that fear limits you and your vision. It serves as blinders to what may be just a few steps down the road for you. The journey is valuable, but believing in your talents, your abilities, and your self-worth can empower you to walk down an even brighter path. Transforming fear into freedom— how great is that?"—Soledad O'Brien

 Dear fellow Earthlings,

It's been so long. I haven't written since February when I was on Maui. Earth THINGS got in my way of corresponding. It was harder to hear the messages from my heart as I was being tossed and turned in a more active phase of my life. There was so much I wanted to share with you, but I hardly had time to catch my breath. Within the space of 4 months, I attended a week-long shamanic workshop with Hank Wesselman at Breitenbush Hotsprings in Oregon, traveled to Australia down The Great Ocean Road with fellow blogger sisters, slept in the outback under a blanket of stars near Uluru, and toured the North Island of New Zealand immersing myself in Maori culture. It was a whirlwind and I so wanted to write about it while it was happening. There were so many messages to convey, but, instead, I just absorbed it all like a sponge. I promise you, I will share it in my next book Venus on Fire. It is what I'm working on right now.

I touched down on American soil from New Zealand near the end of March on a Friday. I could feel the heaviness and busyness of being back in Seattle, in the city, where everyone had an agenda and things to do and places to go. There was a heaviness in the air. I wondered how far it had spread. Had it infected all of the United States? I wasn't sure. People weren't LISTENING. They weren't dropping down inside to hear. They were just moving. Cars were like ants and everyone was following what the others were doing. No one was questioning this way of life. It felt destructive. The image I had was of rats in a maze running around in circles but not finding any way out. Everyone was bumping into each other and the stress was enormous. Just beyond the maze there was a vast ocean and there were forests with towering trees that stood like ancient grandfathers. They beckoned these rat-like people to step back or step out of the maze. "Step off the path and look up at the moon," a voice seemed to say.

But I didn't do that. By Monday, I was back in the classroom at the community college where I've taught for the past 12 years or so. I went from attending a Maori Hangi (feast) out on the North Island of New Zealand, to teaching small business and ESL classes to 60 students. The transition was jarring. The journey of my spirit, which was deep and expansive, was cut short as I was abruptly transported back to the maze where it seemed I too was running in circles forgetting everything I had learned—forgetting to breath, to stop, to connect, TO SEE.

I bounced through my classes and life like a car that had just gotten a flat on a dirt road. I kept trying to roll that car along, but it was a rough ride. On top of the teaching load, I had to move out of my house of 12 years during finals week. My body gave up. I acquired new illnesses. I went to doctors, counselors, psychics. The message was that I needed to slow down and remove ALL STRESS from my life right away. I was not to put myself in stressful situations until my physical body had healed. Yet, the reality was there. I had to finish teaching and I had to move out. I asked for help and many people came and pitched in. There's a little unfinished business that others are helping out with, but other than that, I'm on to a NEW LIFE. One that better suits my heart and allows me to hear and honor the messages it's been sending out.

Life is not always logical. We don't always go from point A to point B. In fact, I'd be surprised if anyone's life has flowed along in a neat little package with no challenges, woes or battle scars. Of course, the pictures tell a different story. Social Media makes us believe that everyone besides us leads a perfect life with perfect children, spouse, parents, family, etc. In The USA, we are a country of doing and acquiring. There are certain rites of passage that are considered "normal" and if we are in the maze, we'd better do them so that traffic will flow along more smoothly. But the very things we agree to do and believe we SHOULD do, aren't always the things our hearts call us to do. And those rites of passage, as important as they seem, will not SAVE us. We can have a neat little life on the outside, but it's the inside work, the work no one can see, that will make the biggest difference. It's the practice of BE-ING rather than DO-ING. All the messages we need to hear are in the practice of be-ing.

My heart is calling me to take a different path. My heart is calling me to a new life. I'm scared as shit. That's the truth. I've always been the good girl. I've been a good citizen. I've tried to do the right things and follow along in the maze of life, but I'm being called to step off this well-trodden path. I no longer have a home. I left all that I previously knew. It was a dark tunnel getting here, one where I painstakingly sorted through pictures and memorabilia of a life now gone. I sold, donated or tossed most of my belongings. A small pile of things I couldn't part with yet are now in a storage unit. I am FREE.

FREE

I left my home at 9:30am yesterday and got on the 10:30 ferry to Kingston. On the ferry, I sat across from a Native American Artist's painting called The Raven's Journey about a raven who turns into a boy and searches for a box of light. I feel that's my journey too. After disembarking the ferry, I drove on through a dense forest and thick green vegetation to Port Townsend. The Sound opened up on my left as I turned onto Cape George Road. My car was packed with what I needed for a month. I am petsitting and writing for the month of July in a mandala house (round house). It's just me and Indio, the sweet dog I'm taking care of.

My room is the whole upper floor of the mandala house and it sits high up like a tree house. Last night the strawberry full moon shone through the portal window above my bed and filled the entire room. It felt like angels had entered. It lit up all the trees around the house. It was divine.

I'm listening now. I've stepped out of the maze and I'm out with the trees and the moon. My heart is rejoicing. It's showing me things I've overlooked— little things like wild strawberries, fox glove, the smell of pine, a chorus of birds. This is the life my heart wants. Slow, mindful,

FREE

Namaste sweet humans. More soon.....