so…. what now?

We received word this past week that the buyer's financing was approved. The sale of the house is looking pretty darn solid. Come August 15th, we'll be without a home. I'll lack an office space for my private practice. Bradford will be giving up his full-time work as a sub-contracting carpenter. By then, we'll have sold off most or all of our furniture, have downsized our possessions to some clothing, toiletries, a few books, and a couple of dog beds. I'll keep my laptop. We'll keep one or both trucks for moving around the world.

Feels weird. Feels surreal. Feels good. All of it.

I'm much more in contact with the unknown, the can't-be-known. So much of my life I've devoted tremendous energy to figuring out what's next. First this, then this, then that. Now, I sit wondering and waiting to see what arises. As previously mentioned, in the past I've offered my current experience precious little in the way of true attention, everything simply leading to the next thing. A hope that by anticipating the next thing, chaos won't ensue - life won't tumble out of control into tragic consequences (or even uncomfortable scenarios).

A consequence of this habit was that I found Life somewhat uninspiring. I had my schedule, my systems and my structures in place and little room was left for surprise to seep in. Many people can relate to the premise of the movie "Groundhog Day," I'm no exception. I'd wake up most mornings and go searching in my mind for the day of the week. As soon as I found it, the space of awareness was filled with my understanding of what lay ahead of me.

I did everything in my power to make these pre-programmed routines as wonderful and comfortable as possible. I reduced my work schedule to 3 days a week, 6 hour days. I incorporated reading, meditation, running, kayaking, time in the woods, cooking, photography and writing. All sorts of 'good stuff.' Very little surprise outside of the occasional client canceling their session or the unexpected interface with a large mammal in the woods.

In my core, I felt alive. On the surface, I felt asleep.

I didn't see anything very different reflected in the people around me. Most of us migrate to schedules and predictable living. I noticed some people however, appearing to call up energy, albeit unconsciously by fabricating drama. I saw people exhausted by the 'unexpected' conflicts and dilemmas in their lives; nonstop demands to put out fires, draw swords, or wrestle tigers in the form of co-workers, relatives, and neighbors. And I wanted to avoid that way of feeling energized believing that most of it was self-created and kind of toxic.

I see that I have a fear of the unknown and this fear was snuffing out many possibilities and directions in my life. If an idea or experience fell too far outside of my idea of comfort, I backed off, reaching for my blankie in the form of this comfortable existence, this beautiful space. At the same time, I felt deeply disconnected from living.

I'm not interested in taking up sword-swallowing or busking on the streets of Boston (but, then again, I've never considered it). I'm interested in letting go of the shore that my boat has been anchored on for decades. I'm interested in what the currents are doing, how they're moving and where I could go.

From a practical perspective (I'm still Martha after all), Bradford and I are exploring professional caretaking as a transitional experience, one that would provide a roof over our heads and a place to land. I've built a small webpage to articulate our offerings as two middle-aged, somewhat skillful and overly-educated people who are wanting to be of service to others. We'll see what comes of throwing this fishing line out into the sea.

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live like Finn

I'm dedicating a post to Finn because of the unquantifiable joy he brought to me and to others on retreat. Here he is as I see him…

undone

I returned from a wonder-filled week with 75-plus beings on retreat. I say "plus" because I recognize that my experience went beyond the participants and included the people who supported the process in various ways and also included the physical spaces which held me through my experience.

Yesterday morning, as I prepared for our final gathering, there was such a weight pushing or pulling on my chest. I couldn't quite put my finger on what was happening for me. I didn't feel sad as much as deeply moved. But again, my mind couldn't wrap itself around the cause of being so moved. I went about the routine that took shape in my mornings at Wisdom House; picking up Finn from Ken at 6:30am so he could accompany me on my morning exploration in Topsmead Park (Finn or Finnegan is Ken's seeing-eye companion). I showered, packed up my stuff, ate some breakfast, enjoyed short conversations with others getting ready to depart. But each time I breathed into the sensation in my chest, I began to cry, feeling deep fullness, feeling deep movement.

As Rupert's morning talk was coming to a close, I began to sense what might be happening for me. The experience with the teachings, with this community of people, in this space was culminating in the experience of becoming 'undone.' The sense of self that I have developed over 43 years on the planet was beginning to unwind and I was sinking into the heart of being. Maybe for most of us, a sense of self forms in armoring - it doesn't have to be particularly rigid armor, even a subtle sense of being separate creates a shield around the heart. Everything that is seen to be 'not me' (the world, people, animals, events, experiences) become 'other.' And the 'me' gets more seemingly solid. It also gets more fragile, more fearful.

"She comes undone" - a phrase generally associated with falling apart, losing one's grip on reality. Well, that's what  was happening to me during our last meeting yesterday morning. I could hardly breathe. I felt like my solar plexus were being wrenched from my body. I couldn't stop crying. I had a vision of a prize fighter getting the shit kicked out of him in the ring. My sense of being a separate self within this community, this experience, with these teachings couldn't stand up to the truth of my being, the oneness of being.

I know that no one thing was responsible for this unwinding. There is no one thing. There's the possibility of opening to the All of it without the tendency to judge and manage and organize it within my thoughts. I show here a picture of Ken with Finn. On the surface of it, Ken and Finn seem like two. But my experience from the first moment of seeing Ken and Finn during our first night on retreat was a total melting of my heart. Something in the experience of seeing Ken put his forehead to Finn's face as we waited for the retreat to begin simply unhinged me. I saw truth in the seamless intimacy of these two and how they move in the world together as one, with the world. More with vision from connection than with the power of eyesight. I feel immensely grateful that Ken-Finn put a thorn in the armoring around my heart so that something else could come through and shine out. I also feel immense gratitude that Ken allowed me to be Finn-Martha each morning, moving through the woods and fields, noses to the air and to the ground.

And immense gratitude to each seeming 'part' as represented by all the beautiful and shining faces that continue to melt 'me' as I recall my time with them.

Coming home last night and getting settled, Bradford out on a nearby lake reintegrating in his own way, I looked in the fridge and found a bottle of opened white wine. I giggled, seeing the name of the wine - "undone" - perfect. Welcome home.

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happy wandering

My morning travels found me getting lost in a breathtaking place. From the retreat center, Wisdom House in Litchfield, CT, I wandered up the road and in 15 minutes arrived at Topsmead State Forest. 

Stumbling into this experience without any planning was part of its breathtaking nature. Too often, I get lost in planning instead of getting lost in discovering. So tense do I get about the idea of not knowing what I'm doing or where I'm going, that I waste unbelievable time and energy organizing the projected experience in my mind in hopes of increasing the potential for joy (or just satisfaction) for my senses. The thing I notice about this habit is that even when I finally get to the experience, I'm already on the other side of it, I'm not actually present - I've already lived the experience in the virtual reality of my imagination.

Wandering into and through life as it's unfolding invites me to open my senses rather than think that I already 'know' the experience in my mind. I am alive, more engaged in real time. I have a child-like innocence and enthusiasm for the revelation.

What I discovered this morning was aliveness throughout the forest and meadows, aliveness in the buzzing of creatures, aliveness in the invisible strands of spider webs suspended with the great weight of water, aliveness in the damp earth pulsing with potential, and aliveness in my ankles as the dew tickled my skin.

Without planning, Life may reveal itself to me and I may reveal myself to Life. Such revelation can only happen if I'm willing to be alive, awake, and risk being lost. Here's a poem for my morning wandering from Mary Oliver.

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth

remembered me, she

took me back so tenderly, arranging

her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds. I slept

as never before, a stone

on the riverbed, nothing

between me and the white fire of the stars

but my thoughts, and they floated

light as moths among the branches

of the perfect trees. All night

I heard the small kingdoms breathing

around me, the insects, and the birds

who do their work in the darkness. All night

I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling

with a luminous doom. By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.

retreating

This morning, Bradford and I are heading off to 'spirit camp' as he calls it. For the next 7 days we'll be giving ourselves over to a different kind of structure. For the last year or so, we've both become quite enamored with a writer and teacher, Rupert Spira, who hails from across the Atlantic. Rupert will be facilitating the retreat through blending hours of meditation, contemplation, discussion, silence and words. The gathering is not religious in nature, more a collection of folks coming together who have begun to wonder if the truth of life isn't something different from what most, if not all, of us are taught. If you're curious for a bit of primer on Rupert you can check out this YouTube clip.

Bradford has loaded his boat and fishing gear into the truck, anticipating that he will spend his down time out on the water lost in hide and seek with bass. I originally planned on taking my boat for exploring the waters around Litchfield, CT but last night decided to leave my boat home and consider using my down time to deepen the silence and further my own exploration. I've packed my running shoes as well as my camera so I have at my disposal some of my favorite ways to be in the world but I realized that part of the invitation, for me, is to lean into the novelty of emptiness without distraction.

Last year, we participated in a meditation retreat in September with another amazing speaker and writer, Adyashanti. Adya's week-long retreat was structured around silence and, to put it mildly, I went a little crazy after only a day or so. It wasn't the silence that unhinged me as much as it was the lack of projects on which I could focus. I was dying to do some baking, clean something, build or fix something, accomplish something…. anything! There's a humorous story about our attempt to escape from the compound on day 3 but perhaps that can wait for another post. In the end, I surrendered. I gave into the discomfort of being still, being unproductive, and sinking into the moment. In the end, it was a delicious experience where time and space and 'me' disappeared.

I don't anticipate having a gentle and fluid experience during this week on retreat, at least not until we're nearing the end. In general, I kick and scream. I resist. A lot of my self-protective strategies storm the gates of my psyche to take me away from the discomfort of being so close to the truth of my being.

Isn't that funny? So many of us are engaged in seeking to discover who or what we really are and what Life is truly about. So many of us are seeking to wake up from what we instinctively know to be delusion. But what I find in my contemplative practice is a really agitated beast in there who will pull no punches when it comes to the notion of really letting go, disappearing, dissolving into the All. There is a self-preserving energy in me that does not want to be exposed for the nothing-ness it is, the Emptiness that I Am.

Stay tuned. Here's to discovering the latest and greatest tricks my false sense of self has for avoiding the all-consuming fire of Being.

flabby living

….I'm feeling rather flabby. The size and softness of my physical body reflects a life too soft and too large. In her wonderful personal exploration, "the not so big life," Sarah Susanka describes a similar phenomenon she observes:

Today, in our culture, we are doing the equivalent of eating too much sugar, but our sweets are stuff and speed. We are consuming at an incredible pace, simply because it’s there and we can, and because we believe it will somehow fill our inner emptiness if we can just consume enough. (chapter 13 of the not so big life)

pondering dogs

In my sleepy, unconscious existence, I have been settling into habits that anesthetize my inner disquiet. Rather than look at and feel the unsettling questions which arise about the way I'm living, I'm finding ways to distract myself and go back to sleep. I calm the uncomfortable questions with food, alcohol, entertainment, books, new renovation projects, buying more stuff, cleaning, eating out, even paddling, running and hiking. And none of these habits is intrinsically wrong - nothing is wrong except I'm slumbering away like a cow in the herd of humanity ignoring some pretty big doubts about what this is all about, choosing instead to chew my cud and wait to die.

Okay, that's a bit dramatic. But I am distracting myself and continuously migrating away from the unknown, staying close to normal, avoiding too much uncertainty or discomfort.  I have traded aliveness for comfort, awakeness for slumber, pungent for saccharine sweet, and spareness for filler.

Both me and my life are FLABBY!
Too much weight, not enough movement. Too much soothing, not enough edge.

sleeping boys

My life is excessive. My body is excessive. And it seems that most of the excess is geared at keeping my own inner wonderings drugged out. I'm masterful at finding ways to bring comfort, familiarity, and stability to my life while neutralizing aliveness.

Why so much energy towards hiding? Why so much time, money, and activity geared at keeping things familiar and comfortable? What am I afraid of?

Why so much chocolate and beer? Why so little dancing and exploring? Why so much rest and so few orgasms? Why such a tidy and well-organized space around me? Why so little chaos and uncertainty? Why so much security and so little risk?

How did my sleep become so deep?

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