Category: Pain, Sickness and Death

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I am NOT this body, I AM this body–the dance of inquiry here, now!

Lately, I’ve been doing The Work with many people on this body.

It seems like it’s our personal vehicle, it takes us everywhere, it is a living contained organism that’s only ours, no one else’s, this body.

This body.

We’ll move out of it one day, appearing to leave the world (who knows for sure), perhaps having the chance to say goodbye (maybe or maybe not).

And yet, even with all this individuality and independence and solo journeying through life (and some of us enjoy it that way)….

….there’s nothing like gathering with others and sharing the process, the mystery, the stories, the tick-tock of time passing.

Something so very precious about noticing how very Not Alone we are.

There’s a chair, a wall, a rug on the floor. There’s a tiny spider lowering itself from the ceiling.

In my particular environment at the moment of writing these words, there are two other human beings sleeping behind closed doors in bedrooms, on this early morning.

Last night I gathered with eleven other people for a Full Moon circle. A medicine circle.

An important component or structure of this particular circle (as for many circles), every single time, is each person speaking with a talking stick. There may or may not be a topic. You can speak, or not speak. The one holding the stick has the floor, with no interruptions.

Just like on retreats in gatherings to inquire into our thoughts with others, sharing happens out loud. We come together and listen.

What struck me last night, as it has before, is how we don’t know what others will say…and we don’t even know what WE will say.

There can be planning, organizing thoughts, changing our minds, “deciding” on a topic, or no planning at all.

I believe I am the one sharing. This person I am, this voice, this mouth, this “me” with this body.

But I get surprised every time.

During this time of year, we’re moving into winter where I live. The season is growing dark and colder, all the leaves falling from the trees, the heater in the house whirring, a sweater coming on over the head upon rising out of bed.

At this time, I feel the deep contentment of sharing with others in these inquiry circles that appear to have come together with Year of Inquiry and Eating Peace Process, where we are simply, deeply, regularly moving into exploring What Is over and over again with the four questions.

We’re watching this magnificent mind (or, OK, this torturous mind), and sharing it in writing or out loud. We’re listening.

I notice the mind LOVES asking and answering questions. It likes searching for answers, it likes investigating and learning so much, and making natural shifts or adjustments out of asking whether or not something is really true.

I also notice the mind loves doing this with other people. Otherwise, it can go down worm holes and wild goose chases and side bars and mazes and perhaps get lost there for weeks (years) without a flashlight.

So back to the body inquiries I’ve been privileged to be a part of lately.

We all see how we’re assigned to this particular body, and then at least if you’re like me, I wind up believing “it’s mine” and then….I’m all alone, really.

It can sometimes be quite stressful.

How do I react when I believe I’m all on my own? Self-contained? Unique? Independent? By Myself? Special? The One with This Problem (physically, emotionally, relationally)?

I see myself as vulnerable and isolated. I feel nervous that “my” body is a unique organism or vehicle, especially if it has illness, or pain or something damaged, or by comparison it’s not as good as it once was in history, or not as good as other bodies I see.

I FEEL alone when I believe the thought I’m on my own.

So who would I be without this thought that I’m all on my own, self-contained, unique, independent, by myself, special, the One with this problem?

Relieved. Sharing. Connected to other humans. Putting myself in the company of others on purpose for sharing circles (even if my mind criticizes other people or things that happen there sometimes).

Without this story, I notice the cushions in the rooms so soft and available for support, and the four walls of the room standing strong for apparently many years, long before the body I seem to live in even existed.

Without this story I notice how this mind can open up to so much more than this body–it sees other visions, places, items in the environment. It gives attention to other people. It joins with things.

Turning the thought around: I am NOT all alone. I am surrounded, merged, connected. I get in a vehicle (which puts me in the company of a machine called a car) and drive to a gathering of people with a bright moon overhead in the night sky.

I am not all alone.

On telecalls almost every day, doing The Work, I share with people wondering about their behavior with food and eating, or with their thoughts, or with the people in their lives.

I read peoples’ words as they consider their minds, from their writing online, our questions, our puzzlement. I read their answers to the four questions….so dear. I hear the voices of a whole group on the phone gathered to study this human experience, together. I read other peoples’ comments in the Eating Peace group or the Year of Inquiry group and we’re together.

Turning around the thought again: My thinking is all alone.

Sure. The mind is running, just like my heart is beating. It’s doing its thing.

And the minute I connect with other beings to ponder an idea or a concept, this isn’t even true anymore.

What I notice is how often I have had the thought I’m all alone when the world seems threatening and I’m scared.

I never have been. Only the mind says so.

Otherwise, there’s stuff, mugs, tea, furniture, grass, trees, sky, activity, animals, sounds, humans, leg, arm, computer.

I notice the surprise of what comes out of the mouth when I’m in a sharing circle. So, even the words or this writing is not “mine”!

I have this body, it is “mine”—is it true?

Can I hold this contemplation with the deepest joy of mystery?

What if it’s a good thing that nothing belongs to me….not even this body, not even this mind?

I notice, there’s something very exciting about not being able to identify For Sure that this body, this thought, these words are “mine”….and yet still be here, noticing.

What a thrilling mystery.

“A man who knows that he is neither body
nor mind cannot be selfish, for he has nothing to be selfish for. Or, you may say, he is equally ‘selfish’ on behalf of everybody he meets; everybody’s welfare is his own. The feeling ‘I am the world, the world is myself’ becomes quite natural….

“Wisdom is knowing I am nothing, Love is knowing I am everything, and between the two my life moves.” ~ Nisargadatta in I Am That

Today, I thank you for being here and reading these words.

I love you, being here in whatever way you are.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Your presence matters. How do I know? Because you’re here.

Much love,
Grace
P.S. In two weeks I’ll be at Breitenbush and my husband Jon will be in the retreat group with us all (he loves The Work). The forecast calls for very cold rain. Dark, cold, fresh, exquisite woods with cozy warm cabins, and optional hot springs soaking if you like, and a circle of wonderful investigating human beings all interested in looking at their stressful thinking. Dec. 6-9 (Thurs evening through Sunday lunch). Call to make your reservations 503-854-3320. Only a few spots left.

P.P.S. If you deeply desire to join one of the groups underway, there’s always room for those who want to share with others in inquiry. You could jump on the inquiry train. We’ll welcome you with open arms (in either eating peace or year of inquiry, if you have some experience in The Work). Hit reply to ask.

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Is there any joy possible in this complaint-worthy moment? (+ Breitenbush in a month!)

I am sooooo excited today to learn that the Breitenbush Winter Retreat in The Work of Byron Katie is filling up beautifully. We have plenty of folks registered.

That’s not always the case. Last year the winter retreat got switched from Breitenbush to my house in Seattle with seven people attending.

What?!

But it’s not always an easy time of year to travel, and the resort is deep in the woods of the Oregon Cascades. One has to fly to Portland, then rent a car. It will take us six hours to drive there from Seattle. There’s no cell phone service, nor internet.

Perfect.

My husband Jon will be accompanying me. We made a little introductory video we shared on facebook. Sending it to you now with our joyful invitation to you to join us in this somewhat odd time (is it true?) for retreat, December 6-9.

And, there will be dancing on Saturday night.

See our video share here.

Sometimes, I’m so happy an event with The Work is on the horizon, my hands are clapping.

I forget, there’s also a part of the mind that’s so full of moaning and groaning, wailing and lamenting that says “Do I have to? I don’t wanna! Waaaaaah!”

That voice or resistant part of mind will complain about anything, even doing The Work. Even having such an amazing job as doing The Work.

It loves to complain.

Which happens to be our third month topic in Year of Inquiry: complaining.

I love looking up words, and their etymology.

Com is Latin for bringing together, merging, intensifying, pressing together. It shows up in the beginning of so many words, to emphasize the intensity of whatever follows.

And then “plaint” meant to beat one’s chest. Grieve, moan, bewail.

It’s quite dramatic, and yet we refer to complaints often as things we shouldn’t bother bringing up. Irritants. Unimportant. Unaccepting.

“Stop complaining about the weather!” we might say. As if there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, so stop. Pull it together and try to enjoy yourself for a change!

At least, this is what I discovered when I realized my complaints were most of all about……complainers.

Yup.

They’re so negative. Why don’t they stop?

I couldn’t see the plank (or is that “plaint”) in my own eye.

So here’s an exercise we all did in Year of Inquiry that you might find very helpful if you find yourself complaining, whether inside your own head or verbally speaking it to others:

What’s wrong with this thing you’re complaining about, for real? What don’t you like about it? What bothers you? What’s the very absolute worst that could happen if it never stops?

Traffic, lateness, time, work, money, weather, procrastination, mess, family, dirty dishes, tone of voice, inefficiency, taxes.

What’s one of your most common, persistent complaints?

The thing I love about The Work, and looking directly at this “problem” we perceive in reality, is instead of brushing it aside and trying to ignore it, we’re treating this complaint with some respect.

We’re turning towards it, to understand this predicament better.

As I looked at my old co-worker (the one I thought was the star complainer) I could see that as she spoke I became worried too. Her complaining was so discouraging.

I was upset about all the things she mentioned: her neighbor, her car, her health, the environment, her upbringing, poverty, this organization we worked for, mean people, liars, eating troubles.

It was like a big balloon within me let all the air out and I felt defeated, and unable to solve any of the terrible problems she shared. Sad, sad, sad. Bringing me down.

Bewailing! Groaning!

Underneath my belief she shouldn’t keep complaining all the time, was another more serious story to question: Reality is tough, life is hard, bad things happen, the world is harsh, people suffer terribly, you have to watch out.

Ah, but can I absolutely know that it’s true?

If I think these fearful thoughts, if I notice I keep saying the same upsetting comment to myself, if I keep feeling bothered by some life activity or a person I encounter….

….then the moment is worthy of inquiry. I want to investigate.

Is it really as bad as I think?

“I discovered that when I believed my thoughts, I suffered, but that when I didn’t believe them, I didn’t suffer, and that this is true for every human being. Freedom is as simple as that. I found that suffering is optional. I found a joy within me that has never disappeared, not for a single moment. That joy is in everyone, always.” ~ Byron Katie

That joy is in everyone, always?

Really? Hmmm.

But let’s see: the moment you’ve been complaining about, you know, that one?

There is no joy anywhere to be found in that moment, anywhere. It doesn’t exist. It’s not possible. No Joy. Ever.

Can you absolutely know that’s true?

Are you sure your perspective is the ONLY perspective in this complaint-worthy moment?

Are there other things in the environment, like a relaxed rug, a comfy chair, a quiet soft sofa? Is there oxygen dancing everywhere? Is there a pillow, a book, a happy mug of hot tea? Is there a desk ready to serve 24/7, a bright computer, a smooth cool notebook?

Are you sure every story is sad in this moment? Or is it just a thought?

Much love,
Grace

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The Work of Byron Katie Free First Friday – ending our own suffering

First Friday Inquiry Hour is 7:45 am – 9:15 am Pacific Time.

Join me live right here. Audio only. Use phone or WebCall to connect for free and be heard (should you decide to share). If you prefer to be listen-only then connect using Broadcast.

The options for joining First Friday sometimes don’t appear until 15 minutes before the call. Come at 7:30 to take your virtual seat on the call.

Can’t wait to do The Work with you.

This past week, in the very same format as First Friday,(everyone gathering via teleconference) a profoundly stressful thought appeared from one of our group members in Year of Inquiry.

About mother.

She should have stopped the suffering.

I witnessed precisely this same thought a few weeks ago on retreat, and the same thought in a retreat last year.

I’ve sat individually with others investigating at this thought.

I’ve felt the rage of wanting Someone Else to fix it, and believing I was unable–but they were.

They should stop the suffering!

She should take us to safety. He shouldn’t have let this happen. They shouldn’t have taken such risks.

I remember believing this about my father and mother.

We’re driving in our van on a dirt road through tall yellow grasses. My mother is looking tensely at a map and speaking sharply to my father who is driving and saying “this has to be the right road, there aren’t any other roads!”

The sun is getting low.

I sense we were supposed to be somewhere by now, wherever our destination is for the night. My three sisters and I have been playing word games and looking out the window at the African landscape.

We hear gun shots.

In the distance I see a lone house begin to come into view in the orange light. Someone is standing and waving their arms back and forth above their head in the way that appears to be a universal sign for “Look here! Over here!”

We bump down the dirt road, my dad stops the van, and grown ups are talking to one another while we four kids are still in the car. My parents come back to say we’re not staying here, we still have a ways to go to get to the peanut farm.

Nothing more happened. Nothing terrible occurred.

But there was so much tension in the air, I still remember it quite vividly. The fear, the sharp words, the not knowing what was happening or where we were exactly (a country called Rhodesia).

When we get to the peanut farm, the white family greets us (we are also white) and there are whispers about the dangers, but we’re ushered into comfortable bedrooms with mosquito netting.

I look back and learn of that year we were on the road, and all the insane political events happening very close. I wonder about my parents taking us to dangerous places.

Is it true they should have stopped?

No.

The situation I describe was nothing compared to the other painful situations I’ve explored with brave inquirers looking at the violence in their childhoods.

You might answer “yes” to this question. The one I trusted, the one who was supposed to look after me should have taken me away from that danger.

Can you absolutely know it’s true?

This is never about condoning or passively accepting an awful situation, or saying it was good when it was not.

But what a profound question: Is it absolutely true–is the entire story true–is everything I think about this situation actually true?

For me, no.

For the inquirer in our group, even though the answer was initially “yes, it’s true”….

….we kept going.

How do you react when you believe the thought that someone (mother, father, anyone) should have protected you, done something, stopped the suffering?

Who would you be without this belief?

As I’ve heard others answer this question, the compassion that arises for the one who couldn’t protect is astonishing. The compassion and sadness for the whole situation. The heart-break for humanity.

To touch into the power of this kind of love for what we thought was dangerous, frightening, intolerable, someone-else’s-fault….what a gift.

I hope you’ll join me for First Friday in a few hours. Let’s do The Work.

Connect with us here.

No one is guilty of anything other than believing their thoughts. ~ Byron Katie

Much love,
Grace

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Do The Work, wake up to reality, amaze yourself (Year of Inquiry starts Orientation next week)

The worker-bees are buzzing and working behind the scenes to get Year of Inquiry participants on board. (And, those buzzing bees would all be me–haha)!

It’s quite the undertaking to join a whole year program primarily online. Holy smokes, what a commitment.

Fortunately, the effort it takes mostly is marking your calendar and dialing a phone or clicking a link to join live calls, and also connect with partners in The Work.

But the other day, when an acquaintance learned I’m about to start another Year of Inquiry again, he asked me why on earth I’ve done The Work for so many years, week in and week out, and with a whole group of people?

He said it sounded a bit boring (he actually made the ‘yawn’ motion with his hand over his mouth).

Hmmm. I might have to do The Work on him.

But meanwhile, I also thought about what a good question he asked me:

Why ask, and then answer, the very same four questions over and over, and find our turnarounds….about events, people, situations that have disturbed us?

What I’ve noticed as someone who has returned over and over to The Work as a regular practice, is how interesting my answers are. How educational.

How enlightening.

And how sometimes, doing The Work is really the only thing that ever helped calm me down.

Byron Katie calls the inner life we experience “The School of You”.

But it’s not ever about only ourselves–it’s about our relationship to reality, to life, to the world, to how we see and feel this astonishing experience of being alive.

There’s so much I’ve called “boring” in my life (as if I need all those boring things to be entertaining or large), but The Work is certainly not one of them.

Every time I sit with someone else or the four questions, a contemplation and inquiry moves in a liberating way.

This work is about working with feelings, and the thoughts that tend to produce them.

One of my favorite things about The Work is that instead of my old go-to of attacking my feelings and myself for being the one who feels upset or troubled, I look at what I’m thinking and believing, and question it. I used to berate myself horribly for feeling (and acting) angry or afraid, or even depressed.

When we do The Work, there’s no judgment or attack in it….or even if there is, we pause and simply answer the questions.

We get to use our imagination wondering what it would be like without our current perspective (often a viewpoint that was set in place long ago).

When I used to feel anxious or upset or furious, I’d eat, smoke, screen time, plan, obsess, daydream, and try to think about how to fix myself or the situation ASAP.

Now, it seems I more often get to look at myself with great compassion, ask for help, share with others, connect and inquire. Usually inquiring needs to happen first.

The, transformation happens all on it’s own, gently unfolding naturally. Hooray for The Work.

Hooray for the simplicity of coming back to four questions.

What a relief.

If you’d like to read more about Year of Inquiry, and even watch an information session about what’s specifically included for the entire year, please visit this link : HERE.

We start with Orientation next week (!). We’ll get to know one another, and step into a life of self-inquiry, wondering who we’d be without our thoughts, using our own brilliance for insight, not condemnation and criticism.

Would you like to join us?

Head here to read more. Write me if you need to talk first, or you have questions.

Much love,
Grace

P.S. check out my little video I made with this same post on facebook right HERE. (Scroll down a wee bit and you’ll see the post that reads “Why do The Work?”)
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Who would we be without our thoughts about death?

It’s been the most days in between Grace Notes writing I’ve had since I began them five years ago.

I was working on what felt like one of the most important speeches of my life–so all writing focused on that, every day.

I spoke this past weekend at the memorial services for my first husband and father of my children.

I’m so glad I spent the contemplative time coming back to what I wanted to say at his service, almost daily, for over a week.

It came out good.

It really was the best speech (not that I’ve given a whole lot of them) I’ve ever done in my entire life.

And now, today, it’s been a month since this man died.

Death is an amazing contemplation and inquiry. We don’t know really what happens to consciousness or awareness of a person when they move through death. Often, we’ve been curious our entire lives about it.

We’ve known other people who move into this thing called death, but we’ll only experience it once ourselves, fully, in this lifetime. (And yes, there are a gazillion little deaths along the way in the form of change).

One of the first more profound self-inquiries I ever did using The Work was on my father’s death from cancer, which happened many years earlier in my life.

To sit and write down the concepts about his passing brought up all kinds of emotions and feelings, heartbreaking images, longing, wondering “what if” all over again.

Sometimes just writing the first step, our agonizing thoughts about this very painful situation involving death, feels too much to bear.

It’s worth it. 

Death is the ultimate separation, it seems. Something in my mind defined it as permanent, loss, cut off, absence of love and connection, forever, dread, empty silence, gone-ness.

But can I absolutely know that’s true?

Am I sure about what death is?

No.

Who would I be without my story, my thoughts, my ideas, my fears, my worries, my definitions of death?

If you’ve suffered from the death or loss of someone in your life, doing The Work never means you don’t cry or feel the most massive heart breaking open, or forget about them, or stop missing them….

….but it can mean you stop feeling like a victim of this process called death.

It can mean, like it has unexpectedly for me, that you’re OK with not knowing what death really is, and that you notice all is well and this person who has died has brought you a most immense gift in both their living and their dying.

It can mean the feeling of true, deep love. Even joy.

Who would we be without the thought “they died”?

Full of the most beautiful appreciation for them imaginable, for their image in my mind, for the peace of this moment.

Much love,

Grace

P.S. I’m preparing behind the scenes for a wonderful new Year of Inquiry starting in September. An entire year of practicing The Work in a small group. This year, for those who are interested, there will be even more in-depth practice, sharing and training in facilitation for all those wanting to coach others in The Work. Enrollment begins August 21st: Learn more here.

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Can this be love? (+ summer camp opening day recording link for you)

Summer Camp for The Mind starts on Monday, July 9th. Anyone who joins and decides at the end of the summer to continue on into Year of Inquiry will receive a credit of their Summer Camp contribution towards YOI. Pay what you can for Summer Camp. Nothing is required. CLICK the image to join us.

I’m so touched by the online mini-retreat just shared by many this morning. It was magical and heart-breaking.

To get the link of the recording and listen-in, visit this Summer Camp information page HERE. Scroll down to the Opening Day recording link.

I was so moved by the beautiful, genuine inquiry and sharing people brought–from the people who spoke, but also from those who commented in the chat and shared their thoughts and questions.

Those who listen are also a significant part of this inquiry. The energy is alive and somehow palpable, like when a whole hall of people sit in meditative silence together.

Words are not required.

The inquiries brought to the call today were such beautiful examples of human awareness of change, loss, agony, feeling left or criticized….and working with these hurt feelings, opening up to understanding our pain and suffering.

Oddly, we’re not trying to get to any special place, or find that one missing answer, or figure out exactly what to do about this predicament….we’re bringing clear awareness to the story we’re telling ourselves. We’re not looking for advice.

We’re looking at the pain through the mind, the one that “thinks”, that sees pictures and images of loss or fear or anger or disappointment and never-ending unhappiness.

Strange, but it’s as if the inquiries brought to the Opening Day First Friday mini-retreat were perfectly placed, in just the right order, for opening up the story of separation.

I could relate to each and every story. I’ve done The Work on all three. All so painful. All incredibly powerful moments to question.

First, someone shared about a moment with someone close where the relationship was uncertainly defined. Are we friends or more than friends? Where is this going? I wanted something more. This is disappointing. I feel so hurt.

Next, a longer-term partnership (marriage) potentially moving into divorce. One person is moving out into another place to live. We feel crushed. He’s constantly criticizing me. He focuses on my flaws. I need him to say loving, kind things to me and notice what’s wonderful about me.

Finally, a family member has died tragically from cancer. So many people suffering, missing him. I want him to live. He shouldn’t die.

What is this suffering we’re experiencing in these situations? Does it mean, if I don’t suffer, that I won’t care about this person, or recall them? I won’t be close, or love? I won’t cry?

For me, this never turned out to be true.

In fact, as I’ve done The Work and even do The Work today with all these beautiful inquirers on the call, I find that without my thought that I should be with this person, or they should be alive….

….I stop resisting my thoughts of them. I talk to them, even out loud.

I might even listen to them when I ask “Why are you leaving? Why did you go? Do you know how much I love you?” 

I hear their answers, with inquiry, even in my own head. I feel it all. I’m not holding back anymore.

NOT suffering does not mean my heart isn’t breaking and swelling into a million pieces. NOT suffering doesn’t mean being numb, or disconnected, or never thinking of them. NOT suffering doesn’t mean pretending things are OK when they actually aren’t, or trying to be a different person with a different reaction.

For me, what I find NOT Suffering actually looks like is being more connected with these people I adore than ever. At least that’s what I keep finding with The Work.

Instead of repeating the exact same painful thoughts about what’s happening with that person over and over again, I’m sitting with the difficult thought and looking at it from every possible angle.

I’m realizing, by doing this Q and A with my story, that I actually can’t confirm or deny that love is not present in this relationship, in this situation.

Most recently, in fact, when my former husband died, I felt the most strong, big, wide love for him I’ve felt in a long time.

I’ve reflected (and still am reflecting) on some of the unfinished wonderings not taken to the deepest inquiry yet about our parting, and separation, and divorce, and continued connection and friendship and co-parenting and deep support for one another through all these 31 years since we met.

These moments of having the heart pierced with grief and love (they are both there) can only happen with people who are significant and important to us.

“Your story is your identity, and you’d do almost anything to prove that it’s true. Inquiry into self is the only thing that has the power to penetrate such ancient concepts….When I learned to meet my thinking as a friend, I noticed that I could meet every human as a friend. The end of the war with myself and my thinking is the end of the war with you.” ~ Byron Katie in Loving What Is pg. 294

Someone asked today on the call how long registration is open for Summer Camp and I responded…Oh wow, I don’t know. LOL.

You can really join any time, and my thought is, you’ll probably enjoy more time, attention, practice and care for yourself and your thinking if you come on board sooner than later. Plus you’ll get to participate in our Pop-Up private summer camp forum for a greater amount of time. I’d suggest joining this weekend sometime.

But does longer mean better? Do you really have to attend all seven weeks to get the best results? Does more minutes in inquiry add up to more clarity in the mind? Is it better to spend more time in a marriage? Is it better to be partnered than not? Is more life better than less life? Is it better to live until age 95 than 35?

I can’t absolutely know that it’s true.

Maybe one profoundly powerful inquiry can open us to unknown worlds we never thought possible. Maybe asking ourselves “is that really true?” just once about a thought that something shouldn’t happen….can end our suffering and angst about life.

What I notice is that life is passionately, profoundly on the move in the form of people coming, and then going. When there is this experience called loss, or disappointment, or sadness, or rage about people coming or going, perhaps it is not as terrible as I am thinking and believing is it.

I notice I am filled with a startling sense of feeling when these incidents happen. I’m brought to my knees in the present moment. Tears flow. Heart breaks open. Is it not the ordinary. It brings me to The Work.

Could this be true love?

Much love,

Grace

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Opening Day Free First Friday July 6th 7:45-9:45 am PT….and Unexpected Death

Summer Camp for The Mind starts in a week.

But actually, there’s Opening Day this coming Friday July 6th for everyone and anyone. You don’t have to sign up for Summer Camp until the weekend, if you like.

By attending only on Opening Day, you can get a taste of an online inquiry group, or use it as a stand-alone experience of The Work.

In other words, you can attend Friday’s Opening Day from 7:45-9:45 am Pacific Time, and then decide over the weekend if you want to jump on board for all summer through August 17th.

For Opening Day of Summer Camp, head to the Summer Camp webpage and find the direct link right there. Opening Day will be recorded. You can listen later if that works better for you.

Read more details about Summer Camp, or go ahead and sign up, right HERE.

ITW folks: If you’re getting credits in Institute for The Work of Byron Katie, you’ll need to commit to attending 7 sessions live during the summer to make sure you get 10 hours credit. I’ll take attendance.

Speaking of Summer Camp, it’s actually kind of odd and supportive and wonderful and strange for me to get ready for this Summer Camp program.

Because a huge and major transition has just occurred in my life and the lives of my children and extended family: the passing of my first husband, loving father of our two young-adults children (ages 21 and 24). He died early Saturday morning, June 30th.

He had not been considered well for 8 years, tackling cancer, treatments, stem cell transplant, chemo rounds and finally….death.

Sitting with someone I love and know for so long as they navigate through illness and dying, gazing at a familiar face in permanent sleep, feeling the body grow cold, is not new for me.

But this time there was a deep melancholy within and heart-breaking tears, watching the children we had together sob their eyes out. My father also died at the very same age, almost exactly to the day.

My former husband’s sweet and supportive companion of five years, (and they just got married in the hospital), was incredible through the last several years of his journey with cancer. She’s been there for him in a most remarkable way.

Not long ago, when my current husband and I visited her and my former husband bringing pizza, she shook her head “no” when Tom suggested the hardship she’s been through in taking care of him.

“It’s a privilege” she said.

I’m so grateful for being so included in any part of this journey of relating to the man who just died, and all the chapters of being in relationship with him. Any and every heart-breaking part.

If I had been able to see 15 years ago, before divorce, a picture of June 30, 2018….I would have been shocked beyond belief. Stunned.

How do you react when you believe a story of the way it should be….and it doesn’t turn out the way you hoped or planned or expected?

I agonize. I feel sad. I have images of regret, missed conversations, confusion. I have anxiety within. I can’t sleep. I feel ungrounded, shaky. I might feel like I don’t belong. Discouraged.

Who would you be without this very stressful thought that the way it’s gone is horrible, worse than expected? Without the thought that it should be different than it is?

Without the belief, I notice I’m lying here on my soft bed, typing, and I’ve done this 1000 times without worrying about the way the future should go, will go, must go.

Without the thought it should have gone differently….

….I’m able to notice the precious space of this moment here, and that I have no idea of the entire picture or story.

I notice how well I’m doing here now, and how well I’ve done so, so, so often in life without someone being around or without something going as I expected or dreamed.

Without the thought “it shouldn’t be like this” there is no regret. There are tears flowing, and they feel like immense love and gratitude.

Turning the thought around: It should have gone this way. 

As Byron Katie asks: How is it good for you that it went the way it did? How is it good for the other person, or the community? How is it good for the world?

Wow. I know this doesn’t mean I have to love it, or wish for it, or say thumbs-up to it, or vote for it.

I notice, I didn’t get a vote.

Reality went the way it did. Can I find something supportive about that? Can I find the love, the care? Can I be willing to see with more expansive eyes and heart?

It’s not to make something fake sweet and easy, that isn’t.

It’s an invitation to give weight to this other side of duality, the one I often miss when I’m upset or troubled. The side that says “maybe you’ve missed something” rather than assuming what’s happened absolutely shouldn’t have.

I begin to find turnaround examples for it being OK, interesting, beautiful or supportive that it went way it did:

  • I found an internal power of willing-to-do-what-it-takes, after the divorce from this man who has now died, that I never thought was possible when it comes to career, earning, ability to pay my monthly mortgage and not foreclose on my house
  • I learned I can love, even if I rarely see someone, and appreciate sharing their life with me
  • my children and I were laughing and joking as we took a little road trip together yesterday, the day after their dad died. I was amazed and touched by seeing what life looks like when it’s not filled with constant desperate suffering. It looks like people playing the road-trip games we’ve always played. “Those are my cows!”
  • we’ve spent the last three winter holiday seasons doing blended family things which were super fun, loving, joyful and abundant
  • I’m getting to spend many hours with my kids, hear from friends I haven’t heard from in many years, share deep conversations with others who loved my former husband, replay amazing memories
  • A sense of openness to Reality comes alive in this work on death. Isn’t that what I always dreamed of? Feeling friendly about the world, life, reality?
The list goes on. And will keep going on.
Who would I be without my story of endings?

Someone able to write this Grace Note today, and feel very excited about sharing inquiry with other people in the world as we dial in together Friday, and into Summer Camp next week.

Someone who can still imagine summer within, even through tears and a swelling heart.

“Until we know that death is as good as life, and that it always comes at just the right time, we’re going to take on the role of God without the awareness of it, and it’s always going to hurt. Whenever you mentally oppose what is, when you think that you know what should and shouldn’t happen, you’re going to experience sadness and apparent separation. There’s no sadness without an unquestioned story. What is is, because it is. You are it.” ~ Byron Katie

Much love,

Grace

P.S. To find out more about Summer Camp, click the photo here.

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My body should be different!

I’ve just returned from five blissful days of The Work of Byron Katie with participants, and the lovely certified facilitator Todd Smith, all gathered to learn and practice questioning our stressful thoughts.

Breitenbush Hotspring Resort was our venue. We were surrounded by forest, the most glorious fresh air smelling of northwest pine and moss, three lovely vegetarian meals per day made from scratch….

….and separate mineral water pools with clothing-optional use.

Dit-dit-dit-dom. Did you say clothing-optional?(Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony opening line just played in the background).

The mineral pools are there for those who wish to soak on their own time during our program.

Some people have frightening thoughts about seeing naked bodies (which happens only right at the soaking pools–nowhere else). Some choose never to go near the pools or natural sauna for this very reason. Some happily wear bathing suits on their own bodies, but may be sitting in a pool with someone else who’s nude.

Not soaking in the waters is a perfectly fabulous way to be at Breitenbush. (I’m usually one of those people who doesn’t, as I spend my down-time writing, meditating, hiking and reading).

In our workshop sessions, we’re gathered in a special building called the River Yurt where we have three sessions per day, so in some ways, there’s a lot going on besides free time for soaking in between our workshop sessions.

But because of this lush, beautiful location that happens to also include hot springs with some people doing it in the buff….we invited people to do The Work on our bodies at this retreat, if so moved.

No one ever has to go in the pools, or go naked, or soak in the waters while spending time at Breitenbush, but the very fact that nudity is allowed on the land somewhere can make people nervous.

So yeah. We did The Work on the body.

Participants in the retreat brought up their concerns about how they looked in the world, or how they felt: too many scars, hips too big, weight too heavy, belly too large, skin too sagging or old, too out of shape, pain in the knee, too awkward in movement, skin tone wrong, cellulite too disgusting, burned skin too ugly.

People noticed how these thoughts can rule our lives when we assume them to be true, rather than inquiring.

What do you imagine people would think, if they saw your body, or body part, or shape or size or anything at all about that body you live in?

What do you think you’re unable to accomplish or enjoy or do or be, unless this body function or body part changes (like an injured leg)?

What would you have, if you had a body appearing or being that OTHER way–the better way?

I remember thinking my body was horrible when I was only 14. It’s too thick. I should be light as a feather, I should reduce my eating, I should be skinny. Skinny is better. Skinny is powerful, attractive, right, sexy, and shows I’m someone who has it together, accomplished, desirable, winning, a force of nature, strong.

Right?

Um, no.

Believing those thoughts was very stressful. I didn’t even realize where it would go at the time when I was so young. I didn’t realize my quest for a perfect and thin body would drive me literally crazy. Crazed with thinking only about this goal, and concentrating on the effort to Not Eat nearly all the time.

Let’s just say, it backfired.

My life was miserable.

I felt the need to control myself constantly. The desire to eat grew bigger, not smaller. I wanted to consume everything in sight sometimes. I felt desperately hungry….for more than just food, it seemed.

I was fighting, punching, hitting, kicking and At War with reality one hundred percent of the time when it came to the need for thinness, eating, food, perfect health and dangers looming just around the corner (like a piece of cake, or a trip to the beach).

What a nightmare.

Who would we be without our thoughts that this body, or body part, or body condition should be different than it is? Or that it needs to be maintained as it is at all costs?

(Wow. You’re allowed to question that thought? Aren’t we all supposed to be trying everything we can to be healthy, perfect, balanced, thin, pain-free, anti-aging, etc, etc?)

If I question the thought I should be thin and perfect, won’t that mean I’ll stop being motivated to be thin, and eat from one end of the country to the other without restraint?

My answer was “no”.

I never found this to be true. When I was “motivated” to be thin, I wound up eating in a frenzy at times. It was not peaceful at all. It was chaotic and painful. I got excessively full, then tried to starve myself. I felt angry and rebellious and then even more frightened. I felt completely out of control. Then swung to IN control (or trying to be).

The command to get thin and remain in control caused an equal and opposite desire to break out of prison and eat whatever the hell I wanted (which I didn’t actually want).

So who would you be without the story of your body needing to be different in order to be happy? Who would you be without the story of other people’s opinions mattering for you, when it comes to this body you live in?

What if you could relax and be still on the inside, focusing only on the inside to discover what is truly, truly wanted and needed in this very moment when it comes to nourishment, rest, movement, activity, sensations, and being in this body exactly the way it is?

I have found, as I question my thinking about body image, body pain, body function, body health….I am free to make changes without fear, or learn about new ways to be with the body, or to not eat too much or too little. I’m relaxed.

Without the nightmare story of “this body MUST be different in order for me to be happy” I’m so much lighter within.

Turning the thoughts around: I do not need this body to be different. Could this be just as true, or truer?

  • My thinking is shallow about these scars
  • These hips are supportive, my thinking is too wide (about these hips especially)
  • My weight just right, my thinking is too heavy
  • This belly is beautiful, my thinking is ugly
  • My thinking is too sagging or old, out of shape, awkward, wrong, disgusting

This body, I notice, is doing what it does.

Can I support the one I have, without attacking judgment?

I notice with my old hamstring injury when I don’t fight against the belief “it hurts”, then I take it to the body worker, I take it to yoga, I study this thing called “pain” without going to war with it. I take time to stretch and attend to this organism called a body, a hamstring, with loving care and attention.

I notice there’s a mind watching it all, conscious of this body, being with the body but not actually the body itself.

Something is here looking, observing, aware of it all.

Most important of all, I feel kind and soft and loving towards whatever’s happening in the body–relaxed and free from agonizing about it mentally, even if it “hurts” or doesn’t look right, in my opinion.

“Every story is about body-identification. Without a story, there’s no body.” ~ Byron Katie

Wheeeeeeeeee!

Much love,

Grace

P.S. Summer Camp for The Mind is coming. A blitz of live inquiry sessions for 7 weeks. Read about it here.

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There are two ways to live this summer; one is loving what is, the other is to be at war with it.

Speaking of summer camp, I’m off to Breitenbush for the annual retreat there.

Time out for really digging in to The Work. No tasks, chores, laundry, admin, cooking, or doing anything else with the exception of coming to three gatherings each day with sincere people deepening self-inquiry, together.

In some ways…it’s not exactly “retreat” as we tend to call these times away.

It’s a “charge!” 

(As the brilliant Stephen Jenkinson, one of my favorite mentors and authors, likes to say about group gatherings filled with questioning out loud).

I notice both Retreat and Charge seem to come from war references, as many of our communications do.

Funny to consider when we go on “retreat” that it’s our daily regular normal life we’re retreating from. We get away from it like it’s the front line, then regroup, plan, assess, rest, reset…and head back to the life.

If we think of our time away as a “Charge!” (a turnaround) then this fits for me when it comes to The Work.

As Byron Katie says herself: ‘I call it The Work because….it’s work.’

The other day I found myself having some defeated thoughts about the moment. Another “war” term, I notice, in this word “defeated”.

I felt tired, like doing very little, yet the mind was commenting about how if I give up I’ll never cross the finish line.

“Go, Go, Go!” shouts the mind. Never stop! Give it your all! Do the thing!

What finish line? Good grief.

So today, noticing the thoughts or sounds in the mind that suggest there’s something to fight, win, push against, grasp for, beat, crush, give-it-your-all, finish.

And noticing they are not ever true, not forever, not even now.

There are five birds in my cherry tree right outside my window, eating my cherries.

Those are MY cherries. The birds shouldn’t be eating them! Fight the birds!

Is that true?

LOL.

Who would I be without the thought I “have to” make them go away. I “have to” do the thing. I “have to” keep my nose to the grindstone. I “have to” get it done.

I’d be laughing.

This really is an incredible amusing, joy-filled life with craziness and zaniness and misery and cherry-eating-birds and lists that are never quite done.

And, I notice, time for doing something that shouts, gleefully….CHARGE!!! Then other moments that say RETREAT.

Without attacking anything or needing to go to war about any of This, or seeing any of what happens day to day as a problem. Simply questioning stressful stories. And loving life.

Turning it all around: No one has to do anything, or make anything happen, or accomplish, push, grab, press, finish, or get anything done, or stop birds from eating cherries.

Could that be just as true or truer?

Well it’s certainly entertaining and exciting, for me, to notice the examples I see in the world of this being true.

I notice there are at least five species and sizes of birds out there pecking and hopping and flying and eating away. Plus a squirrel.

What entertainment!

“Who would you be without the thought you want him to get up and do something more constructive? [And you can do this on wanting yourself to be more constructive.] There are two ways to live this out; one is loving what is, and the other is to be at war with it.” ~ Byron Katie

Much love,

Grace

P.S. I made a video on facebook about doing The Work on FEAR and what I’ve found very helpful for starters when wanting to question and understand anxiety-producing, or very traumatic and fearful events. Watch HERE. Leave a comment or question and “like” the page if you haven’t already.

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It’s not as if you have a choice….and there’s never too much or too little

There’s nothing so difficult as missing a person, or longing for them (especially if they’ve died or are no longer speaking to you).

The mind will think about all the ways it used to be, when it was “good” or “fun” or “loving”.

This absence is NOT loving, we think.

I’ve written about a friend who enacted a great betrayal once, according to me of course. She never spoke to me again.

This can happen with family members, parents, siblings, children, lovers.

They’re gone, and we’re hurt.

It’s fascinating, however, to study why we feel “hurt” and what exactly IS hurt, and why it occurs to us to feel upset and troubled when the body and presence of that person apparently is not in our vicinity.

Are we feeling useless? Unwanted? Betrayed? Rejected? Guilty? All of the above?

Ahhhh….what a good time for inquiry.

Who would we be without our story of their departure filled with the meaning “I am hurt” (because they’re gone)?

I talked about it in the most recent Peace Talk Episode 143, so join me there to question “they hurt me”.

I’ll also be heading to Facebook Live today to ponder with you the experience of questioning this sometimes profoundly painful story called They Left Me and I’m Hurting.

If you’d like to join me on Facebook live, come on over here at 10:15 am Pacific Time today (May 23) or watch the replay later.

Much love,

Grace

June 3rd East West Books on healing eating issues with self-inquiry 1-4 pm. Also June 10th last half-day retreat of the year Living Inquiries Group 2-6 pm (last one of the year).