This is the German coastguard: What are you sinking about?
Thursday, May 7, 2009 at 01:41PM Sometimes I believe that I should be spared of ever feeling badly. That there is something wrong with me when I feel certain things that don’t feel good: blah, scared, lonely, loopy…
Basically, it’s a setup, because, as life would have it, I do feel those things sometimes. Like today, in which I went the way of all happy meals and snowballs:
Down. Last night Scared started dredging up memories and then the whole thing started rolling down the hill, and this morning it picked up blah, and let’s not forget loopy, until the whole freaking ball crashed into a tree and melted into a puddle of lonely. Not pretty.
How to stay in a swampy bad place:
Step 1. Believe every thought that flits across the screen of your mind
Step 2. Don’t do anything differently.
Byron Katie says that thoughts are like raindrops. They appear. She asks: Would you argue with a raindrop?
Me to Byron Katie: Well, duh, of course not.
Enter curiosity, a.k.a: Playing Detective
But, truth be told, I do try to argue with raindrops. I glom on. As if!
It appears that I don’t let them just run down the window of my innocent mind, but rather I get all up in their face:
“you there! Yes you! How come you’re here today? Hunh, hunh? On no, not you! Something is wrong. What the hell is wrong! If you’re here there must be something terribly wrong.”
(What can I say. Panic is redundant.)
It’s like this: I lasso a thought and capture it. I don’t let it come and go freely anymore, as thoughts and raindrops, and anyone, really, would much prefer to do.
Right about now a bunch of stir-crazy thoughts are tied up in a corral: “I’ve ruined it… again… I always do… I’m too demanding… I’ll end up alone… I’m too fucked up to be with anyone… in any way…” And then, last but not least: “I’ll die old and alone, with nary a soul in sight. And loopy in the head to boot.” It’s getting a wee bit cramped in this thought-corral, not to mention the smell. Oh my.
This story? It’s been done. If I were a producer I’d be like: “Are you serious? Honey, I’ve read this screenplay a million times. You can’t really have thought this was original—”
Hmmmmm… could it be that I am onto it? Could it be that I don’t truly believe it anymore but that I’m so used to running that story and buckling under its weight that I’ve started believing that it’s the only story there is?
(The producer has now fallen asleep).
About Step 2. Don’t do anything differently.
On account of feeling trapped like some kind of Gulliver tied up with a million thought-threads, one of the hardest things to do in The Swamp of Same Old is Anything Different. So what’s a Gulliver-girl to do?
@TheGirlPie told me to write, so this is me writing to you:
Mayday, mayday…
But mind-in-a-panic has the attention span of a fruit fly. And now I am trailing off to write to my dear friend, the one I most want to be “gotten” by (as in “he gets me”):
“Can you throw me a life-line please, I’m sinking and just need a life-line.”
Enter a glimmer of insight:
I foresee in my magic 8 ball that by pressing “send” I will only worry him and make him feel helpless, because, if anyone knows this old story of mine mind, he does. And if anyone loves me, he does. And certainly I know and he knows he can’t save me from my thoughts. (Plus, he’s working. He’s in the middle of delivering a training. It wouldn’t be kind of me to send him a desperate note.)
Still writing, supposedly but not really to him: “Please give me simple direction.”
And supposedly but not really from him comes the wisest-ever, most-loving-ever, simplest-ever answer I can imagine, from my very own fingers:
Heidi, this is your simple direction:
1. Go outside. Get fresh air.
2. Run. Move. Make your heart beat hard.
P.S. I love you.
Willingness, the unexpected fruit of desperation.
I’m off to follow the simple direction of my wise fingers. But before I go, I leave you with this, just in case you, too, are having a trying–to-capture-raindrops kind of day:
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Reader Comments (9)
Mmm, I was listening to a call with Tama Kieves today and she was talking about this kind, encouraging loving voice. I so need, we all need to cultivate this voice. It's so wise, which means that we are so wise, if we only listen. xoxo
Hello Heidi,
I hope you have time today to go outside, get some fresh air, and perhaps run, so that your heart beats hard and strong.
(B)
P.S. I love you.
Oh, Heidi, what a funny, poignant, wise, tender post. Here's a big, round hug from me, and yes, I love you too! :-)
There's a song my kids and I would sing together when they were little. It goes something like this:
"Did you ever have a day, when smiles didn't come your way? There was no-one there to talk to or to pla-a-ay with. And Mister Pain grabs at your heart, the tears begin to smart. Well, here's a magic song I'd like to sing with you:
Just sing I'm beautiful, pum-pum, oh boy
I'm beautiful pum-pum gee whiz
I'm beautiful pum-pum
And you're beautiful too."'
@Bear, sweetest Bear, thanks for keeping it simple. P.S. I love you. ((((b))))
@leah_art mmmm... kind loving voices of ourselves... I feel like I'm developing an ear for it. I know the voice is there. It often comes through my fingers ;) I need to develop some good listening skills for it.
@hiroboga I love that song and one day I will ask you to sing it for me. I just know it. I can see it in my magic 8 ball.
Oh, Hiro, your song made me cry! I want to hear the tune.
Such a beautiful description of being kind to yourself. And allowing your Self to tell you what She needs. And listening to what you heard. I'm so proud of you. Big hugs.
I'm so happy your fingers could give you the simple directions you needed! The capacity to hear the answers coming from within ourselves is something I'm thinking about these days, hoping I'll get better at it.
Did you have the opportunity, by now, to go out and enjoy fresh air? I hope so, and I also hope you're feeling better. {hug}
@kate I'm working on it!
@victoria thank you so much! You know how much I love hearing that last part! ;)
@josiane my fingers are wise! they blow me away! And yes, I've gotten a good bit of fresh air.
Hello Sweet Heidi and thank you so much for sharing this with me. I have indeed enjoyed it/you very much. I love living The Work and it's a practice isn't it? There's so much joy when we don't argue with raindrops and in my experience... I do until I don't! There's no wrong way. I delight in your tweets. I love how you love you and I love you too. xo