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The blue, blue butterfly really loved ‘cozy’: Bread making, nest making, decorations, and scents that feel like safety and home. In her young youth she looked about and innocently equated being married as her only way to create this dream, perhaps to a capable, male monarch. This way she could play her warm, fuzzy part and make and admire art all around the world! This, she knew, would feed her Soul.
The butterfly had two blue babies and time with her mate, succumbing to his temper, losing herself, while he was in control. She felt trapped in second place, merged in subservience, tolerant of his endless charades and winged patrol. But her second place was not to her monarch; it was in denial of her full adult butterfly self. The child butterfly who wanted a fantasy of dreams had led her life in full flight long enough, and the burdens were now too great. For one day, through her blue butterfly anger she saw that it was easier to be mad at him than herself! She saw her projection and turned inward sensing the anger as a call for a great need. The need for a greater perspective! The need to move beyond her tenaciously persistent and younger dream. Not angry at her male monarch but welcoming of innocent fantasy for a sacred sort of safety. In Blue’s story it is helpful to know that when she was a little one, her Daddy monarch could not show up for her nomad family. She and her Mama lived a life of poverty and wishful thinking, wanting to be higher on the social ladder, cultured and smart. They created a way out from, and a denial of, the nagging lack of warmth or luxury. Her best friends’ parents were married, and they went on big trips together, coming home to share their memories and mementos. How blue longed for a depth of beauty in life. So much that she would absolutely be willing to trade in independence and authenticity for a taste of such richness. She did not leave her mate for as the Monarch experienced blue’s shift, shift so did he! He no longer felt responsible for his wife’s younger parts subservience, and he could relax too, appreciating her soulful love of art. He loved that she could fly with their two blue, blue babies all the way to Italy to admire classical art and architecture. He loved that they would fly back home too and share their adventures with him. The Work: Merging is real in the dance of subservience and dominance, one lending itself to the other in equal doses. This can be played out in extremes in the complex realm of sex, communities, governments, and our own living room. Below the fight for independence and authenticity are layers of unconscious, complex agreements made and kept so to maintain safety and belonging often coupled with a deep need for appreciation. This too plays out in the larger world in ways that render disbelief. In this work, rather than keeping the unconscious agreement fighting in defense, demanding honor, celebration, or appreciation we boldly meet each layer with open curiosity allowing a deeper rest and release. And we may need to visit these layers a hundred times or more. And it would be completely worth it. I have seen this prideful form of demanding in couples for example, where honor is lost in waves of resentment, easier to be angry at the partner than to face our own conditioning. However, in knowing this, do I choose to take a personal interest in releasing layers of unconscious beliefs so I may vibrate with an uncomplicated, pure sense of honor and power? Or do I remain loyal to a mishandled range of contempt or rage? I say, do it for ‘you’ first because that means doing it for all.
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A real bad ass in the ‘not safe to relax’ department. Get going now, and do not stop. I will protect you from the grip of insecurity in your throat, in your chest. Do not see me, allow me, judge me, or appreciate me because I have an agenda. A hidden agenda. I get you places, big places in the world. Top notch, high paying places that give you safety, right? That is my job.
Only now you don’t feel safe. That cannot be. The maverick, strong, independent thinker, becomes impatient, tense, sleepless and alert. What hides behind the ever-mighty Maverick? Those sneaky beliefs that smack of never enough. Too this and not enough that. Tongue tied and small. Muted. Silenced. Threatened. The holy rule is ‘never speak of this.’ NEVER SPEAK OF THIS. The maverick knows that this is no game. She protects the one who lives in a crisis of honor, shamed by those who do shameful things, impure by those who carry the stench of disgust. Confused and in deep need of security, free of vigilance, especially when she needs to speak. Because that is the job that the Maverick earned her. Speaking is not only her job, but her nemesis. Sharing passion while betraying the holy rule is such a double bind. Frozen breath. Collapsed body. Foggy mind. There is only one way out. She felt the little one protected by the Maverick hiding in plain sight and gleam- beamed her with loving eyes and saw. Allowed her without an agenda. Compassioned her without judgement and most of all, appreciated her just as she is. She relaxed. For a moment. It is a start, and it was enough. And damn, the Maverick spoke and put the silencer in jail. The Irish Viking Bear Clan left unwillingly for the new world. They were already renowned for their barbarism, looting, trading, and their uncanny ability to write poetry before they landed abroad. They took little with them save their frustration that marked their status and fame.
Once they landed by boat they did not travel far by paw, remaining near the shore and finding refuge in the swamps and wetlands. The whole clan came together, which meant there were many mouths to feed. Now, the Viking warrior bear has many strengths such as toughness, courage, heightened intuitive abilities, discipline, determination, skill, and invincibility. These attributes were so needed to survive in their new home range. But their shadow side weaknesses include brutality, ruthlessness, fear of impotence, arrogance, and mostly, dominance. In the Bear Clan the warrior had become the villain using their skill for personal gain, without a thought for morality, ethics, or the good of the whole group. They loved to get their way, maintaining control, and responding to each other as if they were a threat. This devastated the baby bear Viking who grew up with extreme violence and soul crushing manipulation. Learning to normalize her bear clans’ ways, she too became a mama bear with three male cubs to raise. All three babies carried the old traits in their blood fortified by their papa bears ways which led to increased chaos and inexcusable behavior. The mama bear was blindsided by the juxtaposition of the villain in her and the need to give care and nurture. She found herself saying things to make her big, male cubs feel guilty using her care taking to control or smother her sons. The guilt was unbearable. Literally. She felt broken, hopelessly funneling her ancestry through her words and actions, a victim of the shadow side from the lineages of her own mama and papa. The mama bear began to give up. You could see it in her eyes. Absolute helplessness and hatred for the shadow in her family, she hid in her silence, aggressively lashing out at her sons in the most innocent of moments. And this would only position her sons more perfectly as villains too. And she knew it. Now, I am a mama bear too. I came from the next range over and one day dared to enter her territory. Mama bear to mama bear I asked her to call her entire clan to a meeting. They agreed, with a lot of sotto voce grumbling. She stood next to me as I requested, in front of all the bears and we looked them in the eye, warrior to warrior. We honored their virtues for skill and care, letting them know that we see their pitfalls too. We know because we carry them. We looked kindly upon them in their ways and asked for permission to live life differently, an Irish blessing for a new way in a new world. Every bear looked at us with incredulous eyes. How dare we leave their world of violence and cruelty. Nonetheless we waited and finally one clan member, a great grandmother, slowly stepped forward on all fours. She bowed her head to us and muttered, “Do it for me. Do it for us. Do what we could not and look forward with my blessing.” My friend the mama bear fell to all fours and walked up to her grandmother, forehead to forehead and cried. They stayed in this auspicious position long enough for mama bear to receive a true transmission of love and care. Grandmother and mama bear stood up on hind legs facing their clan. Grandmother walked back to her big family and left mama to see. Really see that her clan had lost meaning fighting battles unwisely. That they had lost compassion and generosity, harming each other in the wake of their selfishness. And, somehow, she loved them, recognizing their hidden strengths and disguised care. Her heart ached knowing that she might have to leave her sons with their clans shadowed ways as she made her way out of the family code into a different way of being in this new, new world. I promised her that doing what she needed to do came first and the rest we leave to mystery and faith, her sons securely in her heart. She agreed, emboldened by the blessing she received and ready to proclaim, “I am new, I am, a warrior and a lover!” The cater who waited enabled all her guests. She tirelessly waited for them to show up, time and time again, even if they would make a reservation, reschedule, reschedule again, and ultimately cancel. Frankly, this went on for decades and she continuously catered to their scattered inconsistencies. This fortified the waiter, evolving a poise of niceness and uber flexibility.
Secure in her perky roles, she hid the grief she might have felt for those who never showed. And commensurate to each and every time her guests did not show up was to equal degree the distance from her heart. Waiting became a skill and a virtue. During all this time, however, there was one potential guest that she consistently neglected. A guest who was always ready to make a reservation and to show up. But the cater saved her tables for guests who could not, so this guest was forgotten and denied. Now the cater/waiter could only mildly complain about her would-be guests. She saw nothing wrong with her waiting and the need to ‘do’ for others. Afterall, complaining gave her more to focus on and fix and her whole demeanor had adapted perfectly for this job. “My guests are so unreliable” she quipped. “What is wrong with them! I will just stay available for that magical moment when they finally keep their word.” And of course, they never did. Then, on one gloomy day, alone in her empty restaurant, the cater/waiter thought about the one guest that had never been received. Typically, when he called, she would share “I am busy. Busy waiting. Sorry, no tables.” Well, that guest waited too, and for a very long time. Patiently waited for her readiness to receive his presence and his commitment to really, really show up. But what a shock that would be because now the cater/waiter would be resolved of enabling and forced to receive and engage. Ready to try, the next time he called, the wavering waiter said with courage, “I have the perfect table for you, yes, right at 4:00. See you then!” And she received her very first guest, an elderly man. One who waited a lifetime to be included in some pitifully minimal way that could not measure up to the care he felt all those years. But he took what he could get with love. I am your body, and I am functionally designed to provide several magical foundations for physical, emotional, and spiritual support. Perhaps the most revered is my pelvic bowl or the chalice, a physical design I proudly feature for your global support.
When my deep belly and pelvic space is free and open, I feel your deeper breath and your free mind open to its silence so that a sense of timeless Being resides once again, just like when you were a child. This brings me tensionless joy! My hara, the lowest locus of consciousness that I possess, is the dimension through which the emptiness of Being is known as Itself. The awake, pristine unqualified Being beyond and through which any experiential content from the sensory organs and mind are felt. Through my chalice you can experience the empty cosmos and likewise experience the full content of your personal story; the infinite holding the finite. I am of the stars bowing to your Soul and I promise that you can be spiritually grounded no matter where you live, the forest or the 27th floor of a building in a big city. It is Source energy descending from the top floor of the crown to the bottom floor of the pelvis. A vertical down descent that transforms all experiences from the personal to the collective to the universal! Alas, my pelvic area has been a challenging one. I have been constantly adjusting from years of crossed legs, tense muscles, held breath, surgeries, and foreign invasions. I am trying to restore harmony and health, but I need help. I am not only carrying tension, but ancestral dis-ease and unfelt emotions. I would ask you, please, please give me your attention to release tension from these layers of history so that I can feel, move, breathe, and celebrate. For I am the vehicle of a forlorn intimacy that is longing to share sacred security and flow. The northern hemisphere has the history of the Norse and islands of volcanic rock. These people and their feathered friends have thrived together for thousands of years, their ways mingled in blood and bones, water, and Earth. The sweet little bird would return to her beginnings if she could, but it is too late. There is not enough time, would take too much physical effort, and there remain too few connections after all the years that have passed.
She is very comfortable in her present nest yet knows that she cannot make the same daily flights through jigs and jogs for the rest of her life. She has not migrated for 23 years and feels the ancient call to find warmer weather and different food sources even though she is leaving her family. Now this feels justified as the details of such a move puts her offspring in good favor, something she has taken great care to secure. And there is no doubt in her mind that moving South to Vieques will provide the rebirth she needs while reasons to move away feel woven in just as deeply. There are sad, irreparable dynamics that have left a sore spot in her heart. Leaving an atmosphere of polarized loyalties for a unified feeling of connection sounds so heartwarming. She already knows that life will be harder on the new island of rock, but simpler, quieter, and full of new friends and sunshine in her last years to enjoy. Little birds of her sort never actually retire, they just move. It is that rajasic, fired by momentum inspiration that propels change with no regrets. She is accustomed to generating ideas and movement, just not so recently of this size and measure, so she takes her time. Every item in her nest must be evaluated for its meaning and purpose. In the end, she decides to leave everything behind, save her two travel outfits and a suitcase of books. This makes the move even more of a quest for it is truly a new beginning. She flew once to this island and has already made feathered friends. All kinds of birds, some who make art, float atop the warm ocean waters, and others who watch the sunset go down every evening before early bed. From afar she already feels welcomed, occasionally shadowing the sadness she feels for the end of her long nesting cycle. She remembers all the birds before her, migrating, adapting, and courageously risk taking to meet the calling for one last adventure. There was a pair of two wild tigers living on one side of the river banks deep in central India with their tigress cub. As part of their quotidian routine, they walked their baby riverside taking that time to train and teach her. She discovered her silent and stealth tiger ways on these walks as she periodically turned her head toward her parents for approval. In unison, both parents would slowly nod ‘yes’ so that she would grow to know her place and power.
One day during their walk there was a streak of tigers on the other side of the river. A family with two cubs vocalizing these terrifying noises like grunting, growling, snarling and roaring! And more terrifying still when they ran toward the bank of the river to fiercely protect their side. Mama tigress heard these noises like a cacophony of deafening threats and began to shake. Her greatest fear would be to witness her young being mauled by other tigers with nothing she could do. The helplessness was beyond frightening and all she could do was quicken the pace on her side of the river to get ahead of the crew on the other side. Her male escort became super irritated with her fear, knowing that he could protect them if need be and secretly knowing that the litter across the way would not cross the water. As this was something the tigress knew nothing of, her fearful response seemed unnecessary to him, and annoying. But he, in turn, did not know that she had witnessed a deadly mauling years before their union that crept out of her memories in moments like these. Memories that made her shake to the core. The prey, predator response is big in these animals as the possibility of being prey meant doing something to survive or else. So, the tiger reproached the tigress for her reactive fear diminishing her to a freeze response, silent and quasi- immobile. She could still quicken her pace, enough to short cut their way back to the lair with her young. She remained like this for several hours, the length of time it takes to flush the adrenaline and all the physical changes that happen from deep inside her tiger brain to the muscles of her strong legs. Only after all were safely home in their den could she speak without fear or the biological shame of the shutdown response. The conversation between the tiger and his tigress was a small snippet of predator prey too: ‘You should have done this, I did not know how, and you could have done that, to why should I have to.’ This was just as distressing as the threat to her young whelp’s life. She shook none-the-less allowing her body to release the fear response in its most natural way, then took a big yawn, a long rest, and returned to her normal demeanor. She concluded that there is no escape from these predator prey relationships. The tiger could not see the dilemma of his tigress without judgement and the tigress could not understand why her mate was so uncaring. Stale mate. Stale. Mate. Perhaps the tigers’ ways are more about form and function than emotional intelligence, the tigress lamented. Meanwhile, the baby girl cub felt and watched this impasse, feeling empathy for her mama and papa. She made a silent and bold claim to do at least one thing differently in her mature lifetime. “You just watch and see she roared.” The teeny tiny little monkey was a seasoned performer, recognized at an unusually young age for her delightful talents. She was accustomed to seeing her image in a mirror when she practiced relying on the feedback of her well-intended family, agents, and directors. When she was young, it was easy. She could easily access the inner dimensions of characters, sing, dance and express herself freely. But as she grew, she straddled a thin line between hiding her expressiveness due to critical pointers and the horrible feeling of being on display. It felt as if her whole life had backfired.
The monkey was indeed no longer free. And to make things just a bit more complicated, she desired to be wanted so much that the hypercritical inner head voice had a mission. That voice made her feel sterile, critical, and fearful in contrast to simultaneously endeavoring to express herself through her body and her music. She longed for ease, authority, and authenticity. That is how she wanted and needed the audience to perceive her! Performing felt more like sandpaper than the smoothness of clarified butter! She has basked in the realm of the creative process for years accompanied by this double bind of caring. She cared how people saw her and never wanted to be misunderstood as that was the equivalent of rejection, as if they were only zooming in on her ‘flaws’ instead of getting the realness of her performance and message. She so wanted to be free to express her creativity and talents while simultaneously having some guarantee that her people would understand her, no matter what. One evening, after a particularly restricted performance, she realized that her desire to feel free, authentic, connected, and unconcerned about what her followers’ thought was paramount. She could not fake this. It was either real or she continued with the façade as it was. So, in response, the aging little monkey developed a taste for Sake! Two small ‘ochokos’ that helped her to relax her expectations, but she knew well enough – that too felt fake. Certain that her neural pathways were set, yet lamenting a new perspective, the little monkey finally felt big enough to openly, inwardly, inquire into her own self-perception. Her deepest longing was to be understood and her greatest fear was to be misunderstood. She could see that a feeling of urgency, shame, and apologizing were an effect of her dilemma. The little monkey imagined herself embodying this bind directly and knew that her whole persona developed to protect her from the angst of being misunderstood. This had pros and cons, yet the burdens were too great now, so she negotiated her confidence with the fearful part in charge, thanking it too for all the skills she had acquired. She had a big, big performance coming up soon and she really wanted to feel open and free in her musical delivery. She focused gently on the parts that felt misunderstood, holding them with care and grace. All she needed to do was appreciate the feelings of confusion and hurt to melt the projected concerns onto her audience. She felt brave for that performance and picked out an extra special outfit. Her inner work did not necessitate a need for positive affirmations like “I am confident,” so she could relax instead knowing that the part that seeks validation would probably show up and that she would welcome that part with care giving it a place in her heart. As many times as it takes. She would have preferred an on/off switch so that she would not have to deal with the rejection of being misunderstood, but alas, recognized it is more like a dimmer switch. Lessening with each performance, the fearful parts quieted, and she grew to be expressive and beautifully unrestrained on and off the stage! The two found themselves incapable of marrying all the parts of themselves, or better their psyche, into a peaceful whole relationship. Each had their disowned shadows that they were comfortable projecting onto the other and frankly neither had a clue. It came as a shock that the one they called ‘soul mate’ was not at all who they believed them to be. Someone had shared with them, perhaps as a warning, that the first marriage is often like that: After a suitable amount of time the unhealed core wounds of both individuals begin to emerge as an expectation of the other. One hurt against the others diminishing the lovers into warring children.
Some couples were willing to explore the dynamics of their own personality structure, but most preferred to blame, shame, fight or flee, and this went on for thousands and thousands of years! Out of these years of unresolved conflict and unclaimed polarity that existed in a sea of litigation, a solution slowly emerged. The need for wholeness was so deep, so real that the new humans being born expressed an emergent way to negotiate a peace treaty; a propensity to heal that split in connection with another by healing it within themselves. It developed as an outward expression of fluidity in gender and masculine/feminine expression. Now this all came about without the sage introspect gleaned from exploring the internal shadows of the feminine and masculine essence. The projected feminine unconscious of the male or more masculine partner is projected upon the more feminine partner and the masculine unconscious of a woman/feminine is projected upon the male or masculine partner. In simple terms, the masculine partner blamed the feminine for being too chaotic and the feminine partner blamed the masculine for being too unfeeling. The displaced anima and animus retracted from expectations in a relationship, attempting first an inward potential for unity. And it felt so very good to freely express both aspects to whatever degree the individual preferred. This practically promised that a whole, individuated human could meet another whole without the complications of the shadow, right? But alas it did not work as expected. Somehow the original inadequacy stories persisted, and the unmet needs of the child were still projected onto their now partner. Gravitas yet again slipped out of the hands of the great event called marriage, internally or externally, and disappointment perplexed both parties. Claiming the shadows of polarity within is necessary if we are to survive. Not just the masculine and feminine which holds the promise of wholeness but also of the self and other promising unity. Many strategies have been devised for the experience of unity and wholeness from religions to war to therapy to a life filled with checking off a well-researched bucket list. Unfortunately, what still seems illusive is that we are all each other’s mirror, reflecting shadow parts from our personal and collective unconscious. We seem to miss the gifts that mature in our collective psyche when we willingly explore our reflections for this would naturally develop into a capacity for real, not imagined, interdependence; a leaning in towards another with the utmost respect without losing our sense of self. " I can remember admiring my grandma so much, most especially when I was 15 years old," he shared. "I could feel her justified position of dominance in the family, and I longed for that superior demeanor too. Angry and ornery, grandma would hold her head high letting us know that everyone else had it easier than she did. She did not want things to be as they were and I quietly observed her denying her immediate reality, inside and out with her ‘me against the world’ attitude."
" “I don’t want my life to be this way and I don’t want to be spending my time doing what I must” she would snarl. She tried very hard to secret away her rage, but her body would reveal these feelings in milli-moments that looked quasi demonic and equally as strong." He shared that suppressing rage for her was like holding a beach ball underwater, all day and all night so it pinched, poked, and pulled within her body. His grandma grew to hate her tense body and all its tiring effort to obey her mind’s beliefs and control. She began to limp and walk with a cane. "In truth, she would rather have a life of safety and freedom and especially, one in which she could really appreciate her body." Instead, she passed these positions of mental and physical posturing to her daughter and her children too. "Now I, her proud grandson, was especially tuned in to the unacknowledged rage in the women of the house. It tasted of pain and revenge, and it felt vaguely reminiscent and familiar of a time that I know not of. I was happy to betray anger’s silence and express this hostility where it seemed safe to do so. This gave me power, a way to perpetrate and express this secret vow of the victim. I did it for them and I did it for me. Proudly. Happily. Only it really got me in trouble." " I began to crumble under the weight of punishment, feeling guilty for what mom had to do to cover my tracks," he continued." I could feel my heart sink as I morphed into a victim too watching the women of the house turn into proud guardians of my life. We switched roles and now it was my body and my ego that began to wither." He was aware that pure power was too illusive, that it had not been expressed in his family for many generations. Instead,they experienced power by intertwining the inferior victim and the arrogant bully. He was stymied, hurt, and unable to find a way forward. No one was there to show him a different way to be in his world. So, as he grew he experienced many obstacles that revolved around this impenetrable pattern. One day he married and naturally the pattern continued between him and his new wife. It dawned on him that should they have children, this way of being would continue. Deep in thought, right there and right then he realized; I am the way and the way I am. He repeated it quite a few times, taking it in as a new and inspired revelation. "I am the way and the way I am!" For him it was that simple. In a moment of grace he surrendered to the mystery, saw that he could discipline his mind, and learn to live from his deepest knowing. That is the power of true power. In just a short time he overcame the temptation to dominate others becoming wholly responsible for order and honor. This feeling of power aligned with his Soul from a time and a place that he knew not of, but he felt truly grateful. "Now grandma and mom were a bit befuddled at my new ways" he continued. "They preferred the old way and kept their distance, skeptical of my new life. So much distance that holidays passed without invitations, just cards filled with updates and a picture or two. And that would have to do." |
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