FIVE FIGURE FEAR AND FORGIVENESS Taking the Gentle Path

I got the email from our tax preparer and I looked at the back page.  “Fantastic!” I thought as the three digit number peeked out on the bottom of the Amount Due line.  I proudly closed the email and moved on.

But then I realized that the federal amount owing was always on the top, the state forms were on the bottom.  I reopened the email, downloaded the form, read the number on the federal amount due and felt my heart stop.  There had to be a mistake.  Five figures? I have never owed five figures in my life. 

My thoughts became frantic.

It had to be a misunderstanding of the IRA rollover – thinking it must be “real” income.

It had to be a mistaken reading of our VRBO numbers.

It had to be………………..it had to be………………….it had to be…………………

My God.  There goes our savings!

Contact with the tax preparer’s office did not help.  And no, there are no deductions for a vacation rental business.  The pension deductions were insufficient and the rest must be paid.

My heart didn’t stop again, but it did beat wildly against my rib cage.

I emailed the tax preparer and outlined the details of the VRBO, the Business Identification Number, the lodging taxes paid, etc. etc.  I was very formal and assuring in my professional manner.

The response I got back was not friendly.  Basically it said the following:

What you say doesn’t matter.

Nothing can be done about it.

It will be worse next year.

You are welcome to get a second opinion.  (Inferred to read “good luck with that”)

The stronghold in my solar plexus cracked and melted a little as my power base rolled into a fetal position.  I was helpless against rules and laws and experts who performed mechanical tasks every day and thought nothing of their impact on humanity.

I was beaten.  I was frightened. 

My first defensive act when I find myself helpless is to fight. 

I had referred this tax preparer to my daughter to help her with an estate issue.  Since I was writing to her about issues around that project, I brought up the email I’d just received.  She confirmed that she too had received abrupt and rude emails and had eventually fired this person and hired another. 

I got his name.  Maybe he could turn this around.  I placed a call and got him straight away.  He confirmed everything our current preparer said about the vacation rental.    He confirmed their reasoning on insufficient withholdings from our pension funds.  He did not assure me that the five figure would go away.  He advised us to pay it in full.  His reasoning made sense.

But he did assure me that he could help us plan for less of a “hit” next year.

I felt better, although I still was frightened about how I was going to pay the bill.  Even more insidious was the unresolved irritation and discontent I held with our current tax preparer.  I hated that feeling of unease that comes from a skirmish that festers into blame or judgment. 

When I am hurt, I choose flight.  I created my perfectly thought out rationale.  Certainly, I didn’t need to repair a relationship with someone who I’d seen only once.  I sure didn’t need to be around someone who could be so callous.  Like my daughter, I could simply pay the bill and walk away forever.  I was entitled to do just that.

I knew better. 

This was a spiritual lesson.  I had the choice of what I was going to do.  I had to take a different path then what I may have used a year or more ago.

So I went into my forgiveness practice.  I said the words, I felt the waves of cleansing wash into my solar plexus and finally I was ready to see her in her total humanity.  I knew that those kinds of emails come when there is a shaky foundation.  Perhaps compassion wasn’t an option because she was tired from too many returns due in a short timeline.  Perhaps she isn’t able to take in challenges to her work. 

Perhaps……………………….Perhaps…………………………Perhaps……………….

It doesn’t matter.  It isn’t my job to know.  It is my job to let it go and heal the rift.

So I wrote a new email.  I apologized for sounding contentious.  I told her of my fears and how much I needed help to know how to protect us from things getting worse next year.  I thanked her for her hard work.  I pressed “send”.  I was free of my negativity.  I moved on.

The next day I got an answer.  She apologized for being harsh.  She is frustrated that the vacation rental is not able to be a business deduction and she agrees that it should be.  She offered to put us in touch with financial advisors to help us build wealth.  She offered to change our vacation rental to a classification that would be a legitimate deduction. 

A later email indicated that next year’s tax hit would be four figures, a figure that was very doable.

The issue was cleaned.  There was no residual negativity on either side.  Knowing that, there was no residual negativity splashing into my dealings with other parts of my life, so there would be no toxic ripple effect. 

When I went into savings account and took stock.  I realized that the tax bill will be paid with ease.  Only my fear caused me to think we were lacking in abundance.  The truth was that when insufficient deductions from pension funds caused a large end of year dip in resources, the Resource of Spirit had the resources available.  We are abundant and we will be fine.  I left this situation feeling immense gratitude.

In retrospect, the lessons are also abundant. 

A fight response is good protection from deep fears but only on the intellectual level. 

A fear response is good only if recognized and addressed.  Removal of judgment and offering the heart to forgiveness and intent on healing is the long term salve to our individual and collective return to love. 

Awareness of our abundance brings us gratitude, which is a heart strengthener.  Staying in fear or judgment overworks the heart.

I gained more compassion through this experience for those who are surprised with financial challenges and who need their own type of spiritual and experiential support.  I send them my prayers for abundant opportunities. 

In all, this experience brought me more than five figures of learning and Grace.  There have been many times when I chose the fight response and charged through a situation because I thought it was what I had to do.  There have been many times when fear mobilized me to hide from my accusers and I did not think I had any way to address their attacks.  But forgiveness and compassion always leads to the gentle path. 

Learning to Listen Retake

Monday, April 01, 2013

Oracle card from The Map  

LISTENING:  “Now is the occasion for listening – to either the spoken word or for deeper messages.  Listen with your heart.  This card ensures greater understanding of your circumstances.” 

I drew this card this morning.  I wrote down the key sentences and then I began my day, complete with a to-do list of 45 items that I was sure I could manage.  The card and its meanings left my memory as I set about to be productive!
Unfortunately, there were some side tracks to my perfectly planned day:
I realized early that I was facing a potential loss of one or two beloved friends from a circle of women who have been together for over twenty years.  The loss comes from a complete difference in political perspectives and harsh words spoken.  I felt helpless, powerless, and afraid as I watched one of the women indicate that it was time for her to leave us. 
Another potential loss is my involvement in a local civic club. Since retiring, I am back in the club and actively looking to help by using my organizational skills.  However, I see how values and traditions have changed since I was there before.  I see that my ideas are actually insertion into territories long established and held in place with strong leaders who refuse to let go.  Everything I thought I could do to help is protected by barriers of long lasting ways of which “it’s always been done”.
I also had to challenge an invoice from the housecleaning service we have just begun to use.  The invoice indicate more time taken last week than we know was spent, and I had to point out areas of thick dust and unclean toilets as a reason why the bill was too high.  It meant that an employee got in trouble. She's a lovely woman.  I didn't like what I had to do.
Having this amount of contention in my day became exhausting. I highly value having good relationships. 
If I could quantify my take on the day, I would label it sad. 
As I began to journal tonight, I re-read the card. I get it.  In each situation, I was advised not to find reason and justification within each scenario for my own ego laden values, but to listen with my heart. 
I listened to my heart that was breaking because two women may leave our circle, and I love them both.  I “listened” to their emails and understand that they felt disrespected and hurt by each other.  I outlined my love for them and for the circle via email, and then I released the situation to its highest good, knowing my love will stay steadfast, no matter what.
I listened to my heart give me a perspective on the civic group leaders and I saw years of their doing so much work on their own that they feel absolute ownership over all that is being done to keep the club alive.  They are angry at the loss of volunteers, but don’t understand that their narrow offerings have resulted in those losses.  I have already removed myself from a leadership role in the club; it is my time to be of service to these men who care deeply about the history and mission of the club.  I will support them, I will remove my ego needs to provide a different type of leadership model.  It is their territory, I am a visitor.
And I sent an empathetic email to the owner of the cleaning service, who tried valiantly to find middle ground between our critique of the work done and the loud protests of the cleaner who believed she had done nothing wrong.  We were given a discount on our bill, but more importantly, the owner thanked me for understanding.  I sent forgiveness to the cleaner, knowing that her interests on the day she cleaned our house were really at her own home in which she had just moved the day before and she had much to do.
Listening with my heart meant that I stepped into compassion through forgiveness.  The sadness was my ego letting go.  I am ready to listen for that greater understanding just by opening to a higher view.

I am grateful.

Learning to Listen

Listening:  “Now is the occasion for listening – to either the spoken word or for deeper messages.  Listen with your heart.  This card ensures greater understanding of your circumstances.”  Oracle card from The Map.

I drew this card this morning.  I wrote down the key meanings and then I began my day, complete with a to-do list of 45 items that I was sure I could manage.  I didn't think about the card for a long while.  I set about to be productive!

There were some side tracks to my perfectly planned day:

A potential loss of beloved friends from a circle of women who have been together for over twenty years.  The loss comes from a complete difference in political perspectives and harsh words spoken.  I felt helpless, powerless, and afraid as I watched one of the women indicate that it was time for her to leave. 

Another potential loss is my involvement in a local civic club. Since retiring, I am back in the club and looking to help with my organizational skills.  However, I see how values and traditions have changed.  I see that my ideas are actually insertion into territories long established and held in place with strong leadership who refuse to let go.  Everything I thought I could do to help is protected by barriers of long lasting ways of which “it’s always been done”.

I had to challenge an invoice from the housecleaning service.  The invoice indicate more time taken last week than we know was spent, and I had to point out areas of thick dust and uncleaned toilets as a reason why the bill was too high.  It meant that an employee got in trouble. She's a lovely women.  I didn't like what I had to do.

Having this amount of contention in my day became exhausting. I highly value having good relationships.   

If I could quantify my take on the day, I would call it sad. 

I re-read the card tonight and I get it.  In each situation, I was advised not to find reason and justification within each scenario, but to listen with my heart.   

I listened to my heart that was breaking because two women may leave our circle, and I love them both.  I “listened” to their emails and understand that they felt disrespected and hurt by each other.  I outlined my love for them and for the circle, and then I released the situation to its highest good, knowing my love will stay steadfast, no matter what.

I listened to my heart give me a perspective on the civic group leaders and I saw years of their doing so much work by themselves that they feel absolute ownership over all that is being done to keep the club alive.  They are angry at the loss of volunteers, but don’t understand that the narrow offerings have resulted in those losses.  I have already removed myself from a leadership role in the club; it is my time to be of service to these men who care deeply about the history and mission of the club.  I will support them, I will remove my ego needs to provide a different type of leadership model.  It is their territory, I am a visitor.

And I sent an empathetic email to the owner of the cleaning service, who tried valiantly to find middle ground between our critique of the work done and the loud protests of the cleaner who believed she had done nothing wrong.  We were given a discount on our bill, but more importantly, the owner thanked me for understanding.  I sent forgiveness to the cleaner, knowing that her interests on the day she cleaned our house were really at her own home in which she had just moved the day before and she had much to do.

Listening with my heart meant that I stepped into compassion through forgiveness.  The sadness was my ego letting go.  I am ready to listen for that greater understanding just by opening to a higher view.

I am grateful.

When the sledgehammer no longer works (Sharing his story)

 by Brad Knabel

“Forgiveness is this world’s equivalent of Heaven’s justice.” ~ A Course in Miracles

When I was in my 20s I often imagined some kind of showdown with my parents in which I would nail them with their child-raising crimes and failures. After I’d read out all the charges and pronounced a guilty verdict, I would not allow them to escape from some kind of justice I would then exact—although that’s where the fantasy got fuzzy.
Their crimes were clear enough: my mother had been often hostile and punishing, undermining the well-being of my two sisters and myself instead of giving us the consistent loving support she should have. In between her undeniable acts of cruelty, she was either so depressed or so drugged with a wide array of prescription mood-altering substances that she was effectively absent for days or even weeks at a time.
For good measure, she often blamed her children for her own unhappiness. True, she had a “manic-depressive” diagnosis from her psychiatrist (nowadays called bipolar syndrome). But in my fantasy trial, that was rapidly brushed aside as just another failing of hers—a failure aided and abetted by my passive, quietly compliant father, who would rather see his own children suffer than stand up to his wife’s insanity. Even if she had some kind of disorder, they should have gotten it fixed before they had children.
(Yes, I was going to be a tough prosecutor.)
In my fantasy showdown, both parents had to face the music about their abysmal performances as parents, with no excuses allowed. Then I would bring down the iron hammer of justice… somehow or other.
When my showdown with my folks finally came to pass, the circumstances were not at all as I imagined. By age 32, I was seriously ill, with a phalanx of mystifying symptoms that had just received the equally mystifying diagnosis of “chronic fatigue syndrome” (CFS)—a malady that was even less understood than it is today. In a seemingly rare act of caring, my parents had flown 3,000 miles to see just what was the matter with me, although they’d already let me know that they suspected I had AIDS or a drug habit, and didn’t want to confess. (I did have to admit that “chronic fatigue syndrome” sounded like a classically Californian excuse for something else.)

On top of all that, even stranger things had been happening. Desperate for a cure and not finding one in either conventional or alternative medicine, I’d ventured into psychotherapy, and then into the even more questionable realm of spirituality. In my very vague cloud of unknowing, I’d picked up and begun to study an utterly bizarre modern teaching, self-contained in one book known as A Course in Miracles, which mixed a heavy-duty Christian terminology with Eastern metaphysics and proposed an extreme and relentless discipline of forgiveness.
The sum total of all these circumstances was that by the time I’d sat my parents down in the living room of my apartment for a big showdown, I had none of the righteousness that I’d always expected to bring to this encounter. In fact, I was in a totally opposite state, feeling physically weak, mentally confused and utterly uncertain of what to say.
First, I found myself thanking my parents for coming all the way across the country to look after my health, and said I hoped they’d been reassured by the explanation of my condition given to them by my physician (which, in fact, they were). Then I told them that while I thought my illness had probably been triggered by some kind of virus (which I still believe), I’d had to face some deeper questions about why I wasn’t getting better after months of steadily worsening symptoms, and what I could possibly do next in the absence of any effective medical approach to CFS.
I told them, briefly, about being in therapy, and then tentatively mentioned that I’d begun working with a spiritual teaching which suggested that forgiveness was a very good idea. Then I got to the hardest part, the part that I had always thought would be easiest: I told them that I had been very angry with them for a long time because I thought they’d failed as parents, and to be perfectly honest, I simply couldn’t imagine why they’d had kids at all, if they were only going to treat them the way they’d treated me and my sisters.
(The prosecution didn’t go on quite as long, with as much damning detail, as I’d once envisioned—I was chronically fatigued, after all.)
Finally, I told them that while I might well be losing my sanity along with my health, the Course had influenced me to consider that I’d be better off just giving up my anger, lock, stock and barrel… without conditions, without them saying or doing anything differently, without anything really changing, in fact, anything besides my attitude. I ended by sheepishly admitting, “Maybe I’m just too tired to be mad at you anymore.”
At that point I closed my eyes and waited for the hammer to fall on me. After all, what the hell was I saying? This was certainly not the capital case I’d outlined in my mind for so many years. Instead, this was little more than a craven admission of surrender. They’d won! They’d gotten away with everything, and now I was saying I wouldn’t even be mad anymore?!
With my eyes closed I could easily imagine my mother rolling her eyes, or harrumphing at my outrageous complaints, and my father looking hurt or confused, as he usually did in our family’s rare moments of open confrontation. I fully expected them to rise from their seats and walk out, shaking their heads. When I summoned the courage to open my eyes and peer across the room at them, my parents instead did what I would never have expected them to do.
They confessed.
My mother already had tears in her eyes as she said, very softly, “Son, I know I’ve always been eaten up with hatred inside, and I’ve taken it out on everybody I know. I’ve had lots of drugs and therapy and it doesn’t seem to do any good. I guess there’s just something wrong with my brain, but I can’t seem to help it.”
With a look of genuine compassion, and a steely tone in his voice that I’d never heard before, my father took my mother’s hand and said, “Janie, I’ve never understood why you had to be so hateful either. And I’ve never known what to do about it.”
Then they fell silent, and little more was said between us that day. The big showdown was over in less than 15 minutes. I was reeling inside, even more dizzy than usual, not quite able to believe what I’d just heard. My folks seemed beaten-down and sad. They left to return to their hotel, and I went out for a walk, hardly noticing that I suddenly had the energy to do so. In fact the walk consisted of little more than staggering from tree to tree in a semi-wild grove, weeping uncontrollably and trying to grasp what had just occurred.
Despite my parents’ confession of exactly the failings that I had always wanted to pin on them, I did not feel especially vindicated or victorious. Instead, I felt strangely shattered inside, as if an iron hammer of forgiveness had fallen on my own sense of self. Because at that moment I realized that the self I’d grown into was heavily identified with being a victim.
First I’d been the victim of my cruel and crazy parents, and then I’d become the victim of a cruel and crazy illness, and when you got right down to it, I was the victim of a cruel and crazy world. But if my first oppressors, my parents, had confessed, what was I going to do now? I knew I couldn’t go on identifying myself as their victim, but if that was not me anymore then who was I? Suddenly I didn’t have a clue, and the total effect was both frightening and disorienting.
“I am not a victim of the world I see,” suggests Workbook Lesson #31 in A Course in Miracles. I’d read that lesson before, but now it became the starting point for a new exploration of who I might actually be.
It would be nifty if I could report that I awoke the next day totally cured of CFS. In fact, I would get sicker for a few more months before beginning a slow, halting recovery that would require about five more years. But I did fully recover about seven years after onset, and today, I look back on that paradoxical showdown with my parents as the day I began healing.
I’ve since gone on to research and write extensively about forgiveness, and I’m always a little amused when I hear people dismiss this powerful discipline as a means of caving-in, letting other people off the hook, or just being spiritually correct. That’s when I know that these folks have not experienced the iron hammer of forgiveness smashing their old, sad self to smithereens.
To this day, that’s the only form of violence I can wholeheartedly recommend.

ENDLESS LOVE

GOD IN THE SOUL MATES

(THE GIFT OF ETERNITY)

A soul mate is someone to whom we feel profoundly connected, as though the communication and communing that take place between us were not the product or intentional efforts, but, rather a divine grace.  That kind of relationship is so important to the soul that many have said there is nothing more precious is life.          Thomas Moore

Grief is an awful thing.  Losing a partner, a best friend or anyone else that fit “just right” in our lives causes the heart to break, the throat to constrict and as Lynn Lauber describes so well, the “hot depleting brine of tears” that remind us of our helplessness in the finality of death.  My own memory of my first awful death was lying in a fetal position, crying uncontrollably and asking “how will I go on?”  But we do, and we need hope that there is a larger picture than what we small creatures understand.  And in the case of losing those partners, there is evidence of life beyond, and it is exemplified by soul mates.

The world of God seems like a vast, infinite electromagnetic field. It is filled with undulating charged pieces of response to prayer and focused thought.  It is magnetized by a cosmic pull that brings the right lessons, the right circumstances or the right person into our life.  That magnetic pull happens with soul mates.  There’s a loving cosmic hand that guides two souls to gravitate to each other.  When they connect, it’s just right.  There’s no question.  We all know it when we see it.  That energetic cord never loses its power.  It goes on forever.

My grandparents were like that.  Farr met Modie in a Danish farm town in Oregon.  Within a week they had fallen in love.  They bought the family farm and raised many children.  People came from all over the countryside for polkas in the barn. “Farr’s” blacksmith shop was the town center for gossip and coffee.  Modie tended the garden.  They played hard, they worked hard, and they loved hard. 

Farr died during a visit to Denmark, Modie lived many more years.  She lived a full life, but looked forward to the day when she would reconnect with Farr.  Well into her nineties, she lay dying.  Her nursing home roommate woke to hear her thrashing as she prepared to shed her mortal coil.  Suddenly, in the stillness of the early morning, she looked at the ceiling and lifted her arms in welcome.  And she died, ready for the eternal polka with her love.

And the infinite energy cord never lost its power.

Chris met Wilda on a passenger train headed south.  They shared the same row of seats and the same refreshments as they talked of their dreams and goals.  With much in common and a spark that ignited immediately, they fell in love.  They realized their dream of land and family, and shared sweet stories of life and love for many years.  Among many of their common bonds was their love of the coastal corridor that took travelers from the inland valley to the beach.

Wilda died with Chris by her side.  Her ashes were strewn on a part of that beloved corridor.  Chris, like Modie, lived many more years and even remarried, but Wilda was his heart.  When he lay dying in his home years later, he looked up and his face changed from a grimace to one of adoration and joy.  It was the same look, his daughter said, that he had whenever he saw Wilda.  “Go to her” his daughter encouraged him, and he died.

The family spread his ashes in the same area of that corridor.  His daughter and I hiked into that forest area one day, and found two trees that had wrapped around each other in loving embrace.

And the infinite energy cord goes on forever.

Joannie met Chuck on a cruise.  Learning that they loved to dance, dance they did.  They danced every night and soon fell in love. When they returned to their home towns, Chuck wooed her until she married him.  Chuck had cancer, and together they explored all sorts of treatments and spiritual retreats to augment his medical activities.  They learned about Hawaiian meditations, how to communicate in peaceful ways, and found many books and classes to keep them alive and searching for answers.  When Chuck died, he had grown in so many loving ways.  Joannie sat by his side as he moved on peacefully.  He promised to stay in touch.

In the midst of her grieving, Joannie waited for word from Chuck.  She continued life with her friends and mediated regularly, trying to find ways of healing the broken heart.

There was one magazine that Chuck loved and Joannie didn’t care for.  It was all about international travel; it was thick with heavy paper and glossy photos.  This cumbersome volume came in the mail one day and Joannie immediately bundled it with other unimportant papers to go to recycling.  As she carried the papers to the garage, the magazine slipped from the pile and landed, open, on the floor.  Chuck was in a picture taken years before, smiling at her.  The smile seemed to say, “I told you I’d be in touch”. 

Rollie and Hazel lived a solid family life for many years.  Hazel was a sweet soul who kept a wonderful home with fresh baked goods and the music from her beloved piano.  Rollie worked on the railroad.  He loved to play jokes, and he loved to play music. He played the guitar alongside Hazel’s piano. 

The years were good to Rollie, but Hazel developed brain tumors that, when removed, took a toll on her ability to recognize people or even connect with daily living.  Always sweet, always cheerful, she would greet anyone with great love and joy, but didn’t really know who they were.  Sadly, Hazel gradually lost any recognition of Rollie.  He visited her daily in her nursing home, loving her completely.  She was kind and cheerful, just as she was to anyone else who came to see her.  Each day, he hoped that she would acknowledge him and their love.

Rollie’s health eventually failed and he joined Hazel in her nursing home room.  He still cared and loved her; she still smiled her smile of undiscerning kindness.  As the months passed, Rollie became less able to walk or tend to Hazel.  He was failing, yet held on to be with his beloved wife.

One night, Hazel sat up and looked at Rollie.  “Rollie,” she said.  “I love you very, very much.”  With a smile, Rollie died. 

It is the eternal love that never ceases to fill those of us who watch with joy and humility. 

There are many gifts in the energetic ebb and flow that is God’s world.  In those times of grief, we ask for hope, peace and love.  Always, hope and peace come with those inspiring expressions of love.

Thor's Hammer

Lately I read a piece that described life changes and unanticipated events with the symbolism of Thor’s hammer.  In Norse mythology, Thor is the god associated with thunder.  His Hammer is one of the most “fearsome of weapons, capable of leveling mountains.”  The author goes on to say that in wielding his hammer, Thor “would be able to strike as firmly as he wanted, whatever his aim, and the hammer would never fail, and if he threw it at something, it would never miss…….”

I didn’t think much of it, until Thor threw his hammer at me and it didn’t miss.  It hit me square in the gut, the second blow reeled me around like a spindle and the third pass pulled me straight up and I landed with a thud.

I didn’t even see it coming. 

Sixteen months ago, I filed for retirement.  The purpose was to allow me to reduce costs to the state and help build the cash flow that was dwindling.  My salary was immediately reduced and the associated costs to of the retirement was erased.  Only four of us knew, our Chief Operating Officer, the Council Chair, Council Vice Chair and me.  Since I had no real retirement date set, it didn’t seem appropriate to announce something when I would be working for a long time to come without interrupted service to my staff or our constituents.

In February, I set a date of December 31, announced it to my staff and to the council.  One council member was upset at learning at a late date.  Another smiled internally because he wanted to find problems with the agency that would jeopardize our program base.  My staff was glum but shouldered on, unsure of the changes that would happen with agency leadership.

By April, I found out that not only was I dead wrong about the simplicity I had attributed to the May 2011 act, but the ensuing furor from auditors, other agencies and the Governor’s office was stunning.  My chair and vice chair were removed for “bad acts”.  I tried to talk to the auditors about the reasoning of financial savings, but that fell on deaf ears.  I had a report run in June that indicated I’d saved the agency close to $100,000 by getting off health insurance as well as the other measures.  I was told to bury it because one line item would be misconstrued as proving rumors that were being spread by gubernatorial staff. 

I left the agency in July instead of waiting for that December date.

Thor’s hammer was already lifting, Thor clenched his fists to get a good grip.

The audit was published this week and the only problem found was my “secret retirement”.  An article came on line from the Portland Business Journal.  I braced myself, hoping that it would be a fluke.  I’d been assured by my media guru that this was not a story of interest by the media.  Nevertheless, Thor’s hammer had tapped me on the elbow.

A reporter called that day from the local paper, giving me a chance to tell my story.  I felt empowered by that.  The resulting article was very fair.  I relaxed

Thor’s hammer raised itself that same day when I heard the story was now on the radio, and being shared on television broadcasts.    The hammer swung me sideways and I had trouble righting myself.

Today the local paper published an editorial about the issue, using me as an example of a flawed retirement system.  Thor’s hammer swung wide, hit me square in the chest and I lay prone gasping for breath and writhing in fear.

Twenty eight years of service was reduced to a single incident and I was personally named as a violator of good practices.  The phone had stopped ringing.  I received no emails or Facebook salutations.  I plummeted into well know reactions of the martyred victim.

But I’m lucky to have friends that are not impressed by victim mentality, nor do they want to nurture those behaviors.  “This does not define you,” my friend K. said.  “What you need to do is focus on the you that is good, and true, and has an open and caring heart.  That’s what matters.”  In my despair, all I could do was jot those words down for later use.

I pulled out the article on Thor’s hammer and read some more.  “…..if you find yourself flattened by Thor’s Hammer, it means you have become mired in the quicksand of fear and reactivity that has made you a target.  You will find that at this time you are…..blaming, attached…………..martyred……judgmental, self-deprecating, full of regret…………..  This is the place of feeling powerless to act.  You got triggered by something or someone and did not stay neutral.”

Stay neutral?  When 28 years of my life is reduced to finger pointing and lifted eyebrows and silent phones?  Stay neutral when I am worried that I will be tarred with this brush for the rest of my life?  Stay neutral when I am now only able to detach from that job that I loved because I have no choice?

Ah………………….there it is.

This event heralds the end of a life that fed my soul at times fed my ego at times, gave me uplifting joy when I could be creative and tremendous downs when I didn’t do things right.  Through it all, I carried the responsibility – sometimes well, sometimes not.

I knew that every single person who was fired from the agency was gobbling up the news stories and licking their lips with glee.

I knew that my ego was now squashed and pulled like silly putty, because instead of a retirement party where the celebration of good things done could happen with jovial camaraderie, I am walking away alone.

Yes, my friend K was right.  It is time to shed the CEO package and learn who I am underneath that entire persona that I developed over the years.

But first I had to grieve.

I am grieving the demise of those 28 years.  I am grieving the loss of the relationships I treasured.  I am grieving the joy of planning new ventures and watching key staff grow into amazing professionals.  I am grieving the death of me as a CEO, the most important persona I had.

I will grieve for a while but I will also begin to craft my own direction for the third trimester of my life.  I will use Thor’s hammer to stand in my truth about this situation, whether it is admitting that I had no idea about how to function as a state agency head around retirement issues, or informing about my intentions in doing it the way I did.  It could be that no one cares what I have to say.  I am a game piece in the reaction game to potential retirement fund misuse.  How I feel about how things have been done is of no concern to anyone.  That is another reason why my ego is stretched and pulled and flattened.  In politics, it isn’t the individual that matters; it’s the end result of the political issue.

In my neutrality, I get it.  Now I need to move forward toward acceptance.

The article goes on to say, “Become neutral as quickly as possible, observe that you always have a choice, reflect on what action you choose to take in your life and then do it.  Use the image of having a Thor’s Hammer as your own ability to choose, intend and take powerful action.  This is it.  Do it now.”

Thor’s hammer will swing again.  I am not fully ready, but I am ready to find out how to be ready.  For now I am working at staying away from blame.  The decisions made were done as best way possible based on everyone’s knowledge and mindset at any given time.  This hammer is swinging mightily for reasons beyond those made in May of 2011.

What is more important is that I learn to be in acceptance of those hammer swings and be as neutral as possible in my response.  It is important that I stand in my truth when I can, but take very good care of myself all of the time.  It is important to heal.  It is important to embrace with open arms the wisdom brought to me on a daily basis by friends who are steeped in the attitude of acceptance and spiritual high-mindedness.

It is important to see a future of new opportunities and not need to know what they are.  That’s the beauty of an ego that is slithering and squished.  It allows new thoughts to come in.  Like a blacksmith’s art, Thor’s Hammer will create the new life with magic and unanticipated beginnings.

A beautiful friend and I talked about those endings yesterday and she sent me this beautiful piece through Facebook.  It is true for so many. 

I give closure to the past
I cut the cords that bind me
I deserve to fulfill my destiny
I adjust to change in my life
I welcome change in my life
My future is full of possibilities
I invite new choices into my life
I live free from struggle and fear
My goals are becoming manifest
I seek and find what I need within me
I release my need to deaden my feelings
I release the past and welcome the future
Change in my life is a way for me to learn
The plan of my life reveals itself naturally
New realms of possibility gleam before me
I accept peace and joy in all aspects of my life
I learn valuable lessons from change in my life
I am in control of my life by the choices I make
I'm ready to live life to its fullest, and life's ready for me
I nurture my inner child, love her and have allowed her to heal
I make every act an act of love, freedom, mastery and hope

The Log and the Stars - Spirit Emerging in the Wilds

I loved my new backpack.  I had purchased all the right things for my wilderness adventure, and would carry that loaded red and black pack on my back.  I’d figured out the lotions, wipes, sunscreens, and other items that I felt would be invaluable for this trek into the Mount Jefferson Wilderness.  My friend Scott, a wilderness coach, was taking me on a journey into the forest under the mountain to teach me how to be in the wild and pristine beauty of Oregon’ forest land.  I had my Keen hiking boots and thick hiking socks.  I wrote about my upcoming journey on Facebook and had a host of “likes” and “You go girl” comments back.  I was all ready to step into the unknown, because I trusted Scott.  I saw it as an opening event, opening me to places in myself. 

About a week prior, Scott asked me to write him about my fears and concerns.  I wrote that I feared that I would not learn anything, or that I might learn too much, and that I would be vulnerable.  Above all, I was very unsure about bodily functions and how those inconveniences were handled in the wild.  He made no reply, I figured he was logging that information as part of his education to me.

Driving to the entry to the wilderness area, I told Scott that I was also concerned about nefarious strangers who prey on defenseless people in isolated areas.  I based those fears not so much on actual experience, but on my own fears and vulnerabilities (and a few movies that I would just as soon forget).  Scott assured me that he has tramped the terrains of Oregon public lands for many years, and has seen no evidence of criminal mischief.

 We parked the car and as we began to organize our things.  A pickup passed us and the driver waved as he drove passed us up the dusty, gravel road.  Within minutes he was back and parked along the road shoulder behind our car.  He got out of his pickup and we saw the pistol clearly affixed to his hip.  He asked where we were headed.  He said he was trying to find opportunities to locate a man who had been missing for over two weeks and could possibly be in the area where we were headed.  Scott made it clear that our destination was significantly further away from where the man was last seen, so the chances of finding him nearby were not good.  The man smiled and returned to his truck, drove it a few feet away, stopped it and did not move from that time until the time we entered the woods.  “Well, how’s that for a great way for you to face your fears?” Scott smiled.  I scowled.  I think I even muttered.

Scott emptied my nifty new backpack and evaluated every item for its utility, benefit and weight.  About 25% was removed and put back in my nifty new backpack.  The rest was transferred to something about half my height, with straps and pouches and a folded item on top that looked like a long, folded yellow waffle.  I bid my wipe and dipes, my face wash pads, my comb (kept a brush) and other items goodbye as they returned to the car  in that nifty backpack and I locked them in.  I left my comfortable car wearing my Capelli hat (supposedly filled with sunscreen), my designer sunglasses (Dolce and Gabana), Chico’s kahki shorts and my “Grow Peace” t-shirt to display my spiritual leanings. Of course, my water bottle was a designer bottle that said “I am peace” on its charcoal covered canister.  That was also left in the car.

 I was ready to get started on the adventure I had imagined.

Scott set the compass using the coordinates from the wilderness map and deemed me leader.  As long as I was able to keep the red pointer in the “doghouse”, we were headed to the lake.  My job was to use the compass at obvious turning points to ensure that we were headed toward our destination.  “Always seek the paths of least resistance,”  he advised me.  I learned that orange or red marks on tree trunks or rocks helped guide us along the right direction. 

 We began to walk through a forest of fallen trees, plant life so strong that it could curtail your journey via “bushwhacking”, large boulders and other varied items that forests rely on but are not built for easy walking.

Then I met the log.  This long and massive trunk was deemed the only way to continue the journey.  It was the size of a large tree, with some parts filled with bark (good traction) and some smooth (not so good in the traction department.)  I estimated that the log bridged a creek that was about twenty feet below.  Scott took my backpack and his own and flitted across the log as though it was a small bridge close to the water.  I knew that others had traversed the log by sitting on it and moving their bodies forward, one scoot at a time.  I also knew that neither was an option for me.  It wasn’t a deal breaker, but I was not going to put myself on that log.  I had to find a way.  It had to be through the creek.

Scott identified the best place possible to ford the creek.  The slope was very steep and slick; the other side was covered with Rhododendrons that guarded the ground against the best of human marauders.  Using ski poles, I slid down that vertical and slippery slope with as much of a foothold as I could muster, and I walked resolutely but quickly in the mid-calf deep water on loose and wobbly rocks.  My shoes and socks soaked up the water like dry sponges, and my feet hailed a huge “thank you!” for the coolness of the water.  “I’d found my way around logs that scared me,” I thought, “that’s how I roll.” 

The pack on my back was cumbersome and heavy.  I found myself hunched over, trying to ignore the weight.  Climbing over logs and scaling slippery slopes was more difficult as the pack weighed me down.  My hips hurt from the burden, my back felt like fire.  I became frustrated and angry, partly at myself for being so out of shape, partly at this heavy, unwieldy mass that was attached to me.  As I tried to find a way to comfortably traverse the rough terrain, I felt my face begin to burn, my legs begin to weaken and my breath become shallow and rapid.  “What the hell is an unfit woman my age doing out here?” I said to myself.  It was the first time I’d questioned myself as someone that was maybe too old.  As those thoughts entered my head, my breath became shallower, my back pain more severe. 

 For most of my life, physical exertion was something to think about, try once in a while and discard to the wiles of thought and plan.  If it got too hard, I had good reasons not to continue, work being the best of all justifications. This situation put me in a “no choice” position that I wasn’t used to. 

“Do you want me to take your pack?” Scott asked.  I hesitated, feeling the failure and the relief.  I weighed martyrdom versus failure.  Then I looked at him with all the resoluteness I could muster in that beet red face.  “Get it off me” I said.  And he did.

As I lumbered through the woods using my ski poles for balance, I watched Scott move ahead with one very large pack on his back, carrying the other in his hand.  My heart sank as I watched him shoulder more than his share of the burden.  I’d let him down.  Coming on this trip was a very wrong decision.  Once in a while Scott would move so fast that he disappeared from my sight.  I figured he just wanted to hurry up and get to our camp so that he could loosen his load.  Abashed, I kept to my journey, seeking ways to speed up and finding none.  I would finally see Scott again up ahead, waiting.  I abashedly forged on.

We entered an area that was less wild, with small scrub pines and tufts of grass along hard ground.  “We’re almost there”, Scott said, and I don’t know which one of us were more relieved.

The camp was amazing, a very wide open area with a smooth rock surface.  Small trees surrounded the perimeter; larger trees provided small oasis spots just a few feet beyond.  A fire pit built inside boulders had been well used.  It was surrounded by stools made from large boulders; a flatter stone provided a comfortable seat.  Other boulder chairs adorned the site.  There were nooks of respite where large piles of rocks gave way to an open space for sitting among small stands of scrub trees.  The ambient noise of the rushing creek gave it the perfect feel of the wilds, yet the peace of the water noises.  Overhead, Mount Jefferson loomed in its black wonder, small patches of snow adorning crannies that held on to the coat of winter.

 Scott set up camp.  I sat in silence, feeling very sad and disconnected.  I was especially sure that Scott was regretting this trip.  My inner being was hunched over in shame.  I should have been stronger.  I should have been faster.  I should have been lither, more svelte and limber, all those attributes that would have made forging the forest effortless. 

 Regardless of how quiet and withdrawn I felt, I could not have kept quiet about the bodily functions that were becoming an important topic to me.  Scott gave me a primer of how to use the outdoors respectfully and I ventured off to find my own place of relief.  I found a beautiful nook in a set of trees about ten feet from camp.  A circle of rocks had just the right décor of brush, the smaller rocks lined around the trees.  It was beautiful.  It became the perfect boudoir.  It was mine.

Once the camp was set up, Scott invited me to visit the lake, explore other creeks and we would return with our water.

We walked to the creek closest to the camp, divided by ground into separate tributaries.  Once again I was able to splash my feet in the cool water.  Beneath the water were masses of earth toned pebbles.  I wondered how such a beautiful array of hues can happen with those lovely rocks.  The water had white hues similar to tiny whitecaps that indicated something was swimming within its depths.  Scott explained that it was the silt from the mountain.

 After crossing the creek, another log came into view that moved across a deeper stream .  It was unavoidable.  I thought of the scene from dirty dancing where Johnny and Baby practiced dance steps on the log over a river.  Suppose Scott and I did the same thing? It was a wonderful thought, and ridiculous.  Instead, I held on to Scott’s shoulders as we cautiously used baby steps along the log.  One part of the log turned out to be a compacted piece of dirt.  It broke off when I stepped on it.  There was a bush in the middle of the log that had to be flattened a bit as we teetered through it.  We were soon off the log and facing the lake.

The lake was a deep green and still.  Small waves of sun sparkle floated in parts of its body.  Along the edges, curry colored earth gave a colorful contrast to the greens.  Around the lake were stands of old trees, once alive with foliage and now gray and smooth from the years of wear.  I called it “the neighborhood”. 

 Further down to the end of the lake were more members of the neighborhood, but they stood tall and proud within the lake itself.  The trunks were the warriors, the guardians.  They made age look beautiful.

 “Notice the entry to this next area” Scott said, pointing to a length of land that was a myriad of brush, fallen logs, stumps, scrub and unyielding limbs.  It was vastly different from the meadow lands by the lake, dotted with lush green plants and brilliantly pink Indian Paint Brush.  “This is called a transition area” he said.  The land where change begins is the land of the most challenge. If you can get through the transition, you can find the beauty beyond.

We scrambled through the messiness and walked along another creek.  This one was clean and pure.  It raced noisily over rocks and babbled its way into pools along the shore.

Scott left me to journal next to a tree trunk covered with moss in the creek.  I was mesmerized by a patch of wood that stood firm alongside the trunk, stopping the flow of water from perfectly cascading through the spaces of the trunk roots laying sideways and re-entering the creek below.  As I scooted closer to the trunk, I noted that the wood had an etching on it that resembled a face.  It looked to me as though it was a feminine face with large eyes looking upward and a hooked nose separating the eyes.  On the top of the trunk was a wood sculpture with a square base and a single pinnacle on top – all covered with moss.  The face looked to me like me.  The structure on top looked like the state capitol, and in that etched wood I was focused on it with a rapturous look.  I equated it to my life over the past two years, my strict attention to the capitol and how my singular focus had stopped my own flow.  I had been hanging on to an imperfect place, stopping the good for my life in order to attach to the political world that had me held with fascination. 

I grabbed my journal and realized I had no pen.  So I reflected on the change of life I had given myself by leaving the world of politics and now sat in a wooded area with clean pure water undulating by me, feeling the presence of wood spirits and again knowing I had done the right thing.  I will work through the grief of leaving twenty-eight years of juicy life, and I will create a new juicy life that flows without strategy and Machiavellian moves.

Scott came back so that we could return to camp.  As we walked by the meadow he showed me coyote and bear tracks, and I thrilled at knowing that they had this wonderful place to enjoy their fall and winters.  We traversed the log and gathered water in the creek.  We filtered the water and boiled it.  We sat in the shade and relaxed.  At one point I asked Scott how long it had taken us to get from the road to the camp, and he said it was approximately two and one half hours.  The total distance was three-quarters of a mile.  Scott said it usually takes him thirty minutes.  I was again saddened and ashamed.

Scott laid a fire with the care and respect given to nature.  He used alternate means of lighting the fire besides a quick swipe of a match or lighter.  He gently laid pieces of the forest within the twigs and built the fire from there.  Then he turned to the practices of the Native Americans, using sage and tobacco and special stones.  It was done in reverence as the sky began to turn an indigo blue and the flames crackled and lit the area with gold and copper hues. 

God put out his jewelers cloth as a canopy over the earth and then filled it with glistening white gems.  There were incredible groupings, the familiar constellations, a planet that seemed to have found its own place right above me in a field of concentric circles, and once in a while faint satellites floated by.  I laid there in my sleeping bag covered with protection garb and watched the sky watch me.  I could hear the wilderness, small crackles, rushing water, the silence only found when the earth is still and all of it, including me, looked up at that starry sky.

I woke to a clap of thunder and then felt the rain splatter on me.  I pulled the gear over my head and listened to the rain hit the tarp like material.  The rain would stop; I’d peek out and see that stars had come forth through the black hole that was the rain cloud.  On through the night, the sky doused me with pure water, and then shone its light on me.  I slept intermittently, not once caring if I got sufficient sleep.  I was ebbing and flowing with the earth’s movements – sometimes decorating with the stellar diamond sky, sometimes cleansing with the pure rainwater. 

As the sun began to rise, I asked for help.  “Scott can’t have to carry my pack back” I said.  “Please help me make this work.”

 I was up the next morning disassembling my bedding and laying it out to dry.  I visited my boudoir and then visited the terrain around the camp.  Scott offered me granola and blueberries and I ate it down.  I was ready to face my demons.  I told him that I was embarrassed about my actions yesterday, and about how much work I’d put on him.  He told me that I had naturally expected trails and facing wild country wasn’t something I could ever have been prepared for.  We talked about my need to learn to be physically fit, now that I’ve left a world where I worked on being mentally fit.  I agreed with him, and admitted that I don’t push on through physical challenge.  It was time I did.

Scott helped me put the pack on my back and strap it at the hips and then the chest.  It was heavier on the right side.  Instead of resisting that heaviness, I leaned into it.  I grabbed the ski poles and put my hat on and followed Scott out of the camp.

There were logs that I had to sit on and swing myself over to traverse.  I would ask Scott if I did those yesterday and he said, “Yes, you didn’t like them”.

There were places of dead wood, moss, and steep places with no foothold that I had to negotiate using my poles and Scott’s suggestions.  I asked if I had done those yesterday and he said “yes, you didn’t like it”. 

Again Scott disappeared and this time I knew that it wasn’t because he wanted to hurry, it was because he wanted to let me find my own way without dependency on him.

We reached that danged log.  I clamored down to my special place through the fibrous trunks of the Rhododendrons and slippery banks of moss and rock.  “Don’t trust the poles” Scott said, “trust your feet”.  And I did.  And I slapped my feet with relish in the cool water once I reached it.  I gratefully accepted when Scott helped me up the other slope. 

We continued our walk, I felt light and wonderful.  I was still beet red; I was still struggling with my breath, but that pack never left me.  And then Scott said, “Look over there.”  And there was my car.  We made it in 55 minutes.

And now I knew what it was like to push through the fear and the hard stuff.  I knew that my body could do so much more than I thought it could.  I was not the pathetic person struggling plaintively the day before, I was an energetic and tenacious woman determined to do the right thing.  I felt lighter, more at peace.

My night with the stars, my time with that piece of obstinate wood determined to stay glued to a place that no longer served, the grace of the guide who understood and showed only compassion and no judgment – gave me the gift of awareness of my connection to the Mother earth that I’ve taken for granted for so long.

It is no accident that I drew a card from a Wisdom Deck named “Earth Song” the day before we left.  It encouraged me to hear the earth, feel the earth and honor the earth.  A friend sent me a poem that turned out to be the embodiment of my experience:

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 river bed,

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.

© Mary Oliver

I returned home and walked out into the woods behind my house.  I saw them differently, and vowed to offer them to others for respite and meditation.  I saw a sign I purchased at a local art fair last week:  Let your soul hear the earth song.  I sat in the chaise lounge in a special part of the garden to read, and looked up to see an eagle fly gently overhead. 

I received another email before I left:

So Long its been good to know you ---------   because you will come back a different person. I admire your courage and determination.  You touch my heart with your willingness to find the truth.  Go Girl!!!!!!! 

The only item I inadvertently left on the mountain was my Dolce and Gabana sunglasses.  I figure it is because I needed to see things differently. 

It is a very good start.