Tag: death

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Stop Your Nightmare With Understanding

A long time ago a beautiful inquirer began to work with me after she had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer.

At that time, she was one of the first people I worked with on painful thoughts born out of her experience.

I had cancer before myself. Also a rare type, mine was a sarcoma of the interstitial skin on my thigh…with a really weird medical name that I’ve never been able to pronounce.

I remember that moment when I had the most fear.

In the doctor’s office, having the stitches removed, when the doctor said “I’ll just take these stitches out from the biopsy and then you can get dressed and then we’ll talk about the results.”

She’s waiting to talk to me about the results she received from my biopsy?

Adrenaline rush.

The core belief “I’m going to die” and that is really frightening.

Later, when I began to work with people who had cancer, or had previously had it, I thought they’d immediately want to talk about the fear of death, the terror of losing health, deteriorating, feeling physical pain.

But almost everyone who has ever come to talk with me after having cancer (even if they currently have it) has had the very same thoughts that all of us have when we’re healthy.

  • What will people think?
  • Will the people I encounter on this journey be kind?
  • Will my kids, employees, neighbors, friends, partner be OK with this?
  • Did I do something wrong?
  • What will it be like when I die?

The mind seems to be concerned with these questions, and concerned with forgetting about them too. Since there aren’t any clear, known answers….the problem-solving mind really doesn’t like that very much.

But when a diagnosis enters your life, you don’t forget quite as easily. It’s in your face, it has more import somehow.

You look.

It’s an incredible opportunity. You can do this inquiry today no matter what kind of health condition you’re in…since we’re all eventually dying.

So….is it true that people may think poorly of you, or avoid you in life? Is it true that you need people to be kind? Do you have to worry about the people close to you if you leave?

Is it possible you did something wrong? Do you need to know what it will be like when you die?

Apparently not.

If you answered yes to anything, notice this one, and ask yourself if it is absolutely true.

My client long ago had the thought that other people judge her poorly, maybe avoid her, say fake nice things to her. She felt very alone. So painful!

How do you react when you believe the thought that people may think thoughts about you that are frightening or unfavorable? What happens when you worry about those you love and what will happen to them if you go away, or have a problem?

And that gripping thought that you must have done something wrong, yikes!

Who would you be without these thoughts?

Sit very still and feel that question. You can still hear the chatter, but imagine who you’d be without believing it.

Without any thoughts about what will happen in the future, even in two hours, or what other people are thinking that’s mean or frightening…

…you may feel a rest and relaxation that is unlike anything you’ve ever known.

You may notice that for this instant, you are OK. You can handle what’s happening, and something else is ultimately handling it and it’s not really up to you.

“Understand your nightmare for what it is, and it will stop; then you will wake up to reality. Understand your false beliefs and they will drop; then you will know the taste of happiness.” ~ Anthony De Mello

Turning the thoughts around:

  • Whatever people think is absolutely fine
  • Every person I encounter will contribute to my enlightenment
  • My kids, friends, employees, neighbors and partner will be completely OK
  • Did I do something right?
  • What is it like as I live?

What if these were exciting, and just as true, or truer?

“God, as I use the word, is another name for what is. I always know God’s intention: It’s exactly what is in every moment.” ~ Byron Katie

If you’re struggling with inquiry in your life and allowing what is, and would like guidance in doing it…

…I am here for you.

I love facilitating people through their situations, their painful beliefs.

Every person who arrives to do inquiry is a gift on my own path.

This summer, I’m giving ample opportunity to people who would love regular call-in times, open 90 minute sessions for inquiry, at pre-set hours all summer.

I’m calling it Summer Camp because it’s a time to rest in inquiry, relax, let the process unfold as a dance for you, answering the questions, following the un-doing.

I never took the time to really inquire into my own thoughts about life and death until I began to lose things I believed were really scary to lose.

You can start inquiring when things are terrifying, or long before, it doesn’t matter.

Someone just wrote to ask if Summer Camp will be crowded.

It is limited to 20 people per live session, so the answer is “no”. You will get facilitated time, focused attention, and find awesome partners to trade facilitation sessions.

Join fellow inquirers on a journey inward and you may find yourself becoming lighter, lighter, and lighter.

Even about things like cancer or dying.

Much love, Grace

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Death Has A Terrible Reputation

Last Tuesday in Year of Inquiry (YOI) we began our final twelfth month. Almost an entire year together investigating commonly painful topics.

We saved the best for last.

The investigation of our thoughts about something being OVER.

Death. Exits. Done. Asta la vista!

Although it sounds like I’m kidding around a little….the ideas, beliefs and orientation we have to endings, death, getting fired, break-ups are some of the most incredible concepts to examine and feel, ever.

When something is over whether it was fun, lousy, or complicated, there are all kinds of mixed feelings. Sometimes enormous suffering and pain come alive, almost unbearable.

It will never be like it was again. I can’t handle this. I need closure. I don’t want this to happen. 

But can you know that it’s true that it SHOULD be like it was and stay that way? Are you absolutely sure it was better before it was over, or that nothing good came after?

Are you positive you didn’t handle it well? 

My three sisters, my mother, my father’s close friend, and all my sister’s partners and my former husband are all gathered in a circle surrounding the deathbed of my father.

Outside the rain patters on the beautiful rectangle panes of 1920s window glass. It’s pitch dark as midnight, but only early evening. November in Seattle.

Ten people all alive and physically well. Ten kind souls, some of whom with potentially very long lives still to come, many of us in our 20s.

My mom was only about the age I am right now.

We are all touching my father’s body, still surprisingly solid looking, although his beard is sparse from chemotherapy.

He just took his last breath a while ago. I am holding his left hand. I felt it grow cooler and cooler. There is a deep, yet incredibly sacred silence pervading everything.

Then tears come through the body like a huge crashing wave.

We’re all riding it, engulfed in it. It feels like there is nothing but this very alive grief, shaking everything.

For the previous two months, I had been living with what feels like anxiety, visiting the hospital every day. Still in my first job after college, I dutifully came to work at the appointed hour, and one morning my boss said “Come and go as you need to. I’d be a basket case if I were in your shoes.”

I left immediately and went back to the hospital. My sisters and I rotated in and out of my father’s room for two months. Before he went home to die.

As I look back now, I realize I did not have to do anything to handle that situation.

Understanding my dad’s death is still underway, even over two decades later. I do not need closure.

When I believe that before the death/change was better, I feel sad, even bitter. When I believe I don’t want that to ever happen again, I feel terrified.

Who would you be without the thought that you don’t want it to go the way its going? Or the way it went? Or that it is all-horrible that this life is so temporary and things come and go?

Without the belief that it’s over?

“When you rest deeply in the Unknown without trying to escape, your experience becomes very vast. As the experience of the Unknown deepens, your boundaries begin to dissolve. You realize, not just intellectually but on a deep level, that you have no idea who or what you are.” ~ Adyashanti

Turning the thoughts around…..strange these ones are: It will never be like it was again, oh hooray! Everyone, including me, is handling this. I need it to remain unfinished, open. I want this to happen.

That last one, not so sure when it comes to to my father.

But this is just a simple exercise in inquiry.

“Is it true? Expect nothing. See these four questions as a gateway, a door into yourself. And continue. Move into that third question, and the fourth question. Turn it around. Expecting nothing other than the experience of what arises….Death has a terrible reputation, just like life. We think ‘when I die I don’t know what’s going to happen’. Well, in life, we think the same thoughts. Everything we believe about life, we project into death. If you loved every thought you think, welcome life, welcome death.” ~ Byron Katie

If my dad has gone on to have a compelling, fascinating, magical adventure (how could it be otherwise) then why would I ever want anything else for him?

I don’t.  

Much love, Grace

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Every Loss Has To Be A Gain

When a beloved furry pet dies, it can feel very sad.

Several people have written me lately about their animal friends dying, and feeling grief, depression, regret.

I haven’t had a pet as an adult…but I understand the welling up of tears and all the thoughts that start to churn that may turn out to feel stressful.

  • I miss him
  • I should have done more with her
  • If only I had known that was his last day
  • her life was too short
  • I could have done better

Funny how when something is “lost” and the life of that animal, or person even, is over….we sometimes want to reach back and grab for more.

More time, more cuddles, more conversations, more intimacy.

A dear inquirer who recently lost a little cat noticed thoughts of guilt entering her mind….

….if I had known she was going to die, I would have let her eat more food and enjoy more pleasures, not been so strict.

Let’s take a look at this difficult thought that can appear with loss of someone you love, whether a pet or a person.

I could have done better. 

Is that true?

Are you sure?

Because you only knew what you knew, in that previous moment. You know a little more now, here in this moment. What if you weren’t supposed to know it back then?

The mind may argue….“but I DID kind of know. I should have paid attention, I should have followed my intuition, I knew I could do better, I could have been more clear, honest, aware, trusting, astute, kind…”

Are you really sure you could have done better? Are you 100% positive that you should have known what you didn’t know, or decided what you didn’t decide?

Many years ago, I became pregnant, and after terrible agonizing, had an abortion.

When asked later in life what I believed to be the absolute worst thing I had ever done, the thing I felt most guilt about…..it was that.

I had never known prior to that experience what post-traumatic stress syndrome might be like. I was beside myself with grief and regret. I was sick for days. It stayed with me for a decade. I was shocked by my own dreadful thoughts towards myself. I couldn’t stop thinking about it for years.

One of the first Byron Katie events I ever went to, a woman stood up and said it out loud. She regretted having an abortion.

I still felt so much shame, I couldn’t believe this woman told the same story, publicly, holding a microphone!

But as Katie asked her to question her beliefs, to do The Work, something shifted inside about this thing called “regret”.

In the dictionary, regret is defined as the sorrow about the loss of opportunity.

Ah, there’s the rub.

The image of the future or past (which is actually false and does not exist) where opportunity lives, or used to live.

Now, not only is this life lost, but this imagined and vivid alternate opportunity. The one where the person or animal I care about is alive, or happy.

Over and over again, in the distant past, I imagined the birthdate, the gender, the life of this child that never was.

Deep torture.

Who would I be without that thought, that I could have done better?

“You can’t let go of a stressful thought, because you didn’t create it in the first place. A thought just appears. You’re not doing it. You can’t let go of what you have no control over. Once you’ve questioned the thought, you don’t let go of it, IT lets go of YOU. It no longer means what you thought it meant.” ~ Byron Katie

Imagine who you would be without the belief that you could have done better. Because it’s possible that what you’re thinking NOW is imagination, too.

Without that thought?

Freedom, acceptance for this self that is beyond knowing. Peace far, far past all the stuff I think.

A great feeling of everything being exceptionally well and very strange and mysterious.

I turn the thought around: I could not have done any better. I did the best I possibly could.  

How could that be truer?

I can find how that experience drew me into such suffering that the equal and opposite breaking-free became possible. I contemplated short lives, and noticed that every length of life you could ever imagine happens here on planet earth….from a few hours to over 100 years.

I don’t have three children to take care of, I can focus on two.

“Clinging creates the bricks and mortar with which we build a conceptual self.” ~ Michael Singer 

I gave that entity a gift of very little agonizing and suffering, and a return to a place without bodies…somewhere I’ll be again one day.

My life has been filled with so much, this life has not been empty because another life “left” it.

“Every loss has to be a gain, unless the loss is being judged by a confused mind….The simple truth of it is that what happens is the best thing that can happen.” ~ Byron Katie 

What is the gain, in your life?

Much love, Grace

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Not Wanting Death is A Recipe For Unhappiness

Deep in the middle of a dark, rainy day last winter, I noticed one of my neighbors limping.

We had many talks over the fence during summer lawn-mowing days. We took in each other’s mail if we were ever on vacation. I borrowed their ladder.

I had the thought at the time to joke with him because I myself was on crutches, not able to sit, and mostly lying in bed, healing.

I’ll talk with him once I’m back on my feet, I thought. 

He and his partner left their usual holiday goodies tin at our door. They made them together for everyone in the neighborhood every year. I had heard them knock, but couldn’t get up to answer. 

Then it just seemed quieter over there. Much quieter. I never saw my neighbor with the limp. I had the thought that he was gone.

Yesterday, I finally went over to their house to check in, say hello. No answer, so I left a card in their mailbox. 

It turned out, he recently died. 

His limp was cancer riddling his leg and then his whole body. 

I talked for a long time with his life partner, more than we ever have in 8 years of being neighbors. I heard about both their families, the story of the disease, the funeral. 

I can hear the mind get fired up, begin to make comments here and there in the background. 

I should have gone over there sooner. I could have had them come by for tea during the holidays. We never shared a meal. There’s nothing I can do now. I missed my chance. He’s gone. He was younger than me. Everything’s temporary.

I know its not true. But a melancholy sense of the briefness of life. 

How do I react when I believe he died and I’ll never get the chance to deepen the relationship, see him, do happy neighborly things, share more?

Sad, concerned, aware of how brief This all seems sometimes. Then I also have a voice that thinks it doesn’t matter, we weren’t very close. People die every day. 

The reactive mind sorts, categorizes, evaluates, chatters. Trying to reduce pain, manage information, protect, alert. 

So who would I be without the belief that I missed my chance to connect? Without the thought that it went less than the way it could have gone, that I should have gone over there sooner?

Here in the present, simply taking in this information. 

“Do you ever look in the mirror and wonder where the ‘younger you’ went? That is the unchanging sense of being noticing the changing world. Change can only be noticed against a background of stillness. There can be stillness without change, but there cannot be change without stillness.” ~ Fred Davis

Turning the thoughts around that my neighbor died, that it was a surprise, that it’s troubling to be unaware of when the ‘end’ will come, that I missed a chance for greater connection….

….an sense of the unknown fills the room, an alive pulsing mystery.

The wind blows a wind chime, the heater kicks on and hums, the lights glow. I look around and there are pictures, colors, shapes absolutely everywhere.

There is memory of my dear neighbors, one now without a body, one still in a body, also here in this present moment.

I shouldn’t have done anything sooner. It was perfect not to have them over for tea. We shared all that was needed to share. There’s anything and everything I can do now. I gained my chance for connection. He’s here. He was younger than me, how wonderful. 

Everything’s temporary.

Now, today, in this moment I notice the change in everything, every moment. The movement of all things. Energy and stillness. 

Today, I am here, tomorrow perhaps not. Halleluia.

“No argument in the world can make the slightest dent in what has already happened. Prayer can’t change it, begging and pleading can’t change it, punishing yourself can’t change it, your will has no power at all………nothing less than an open mind is creative enough to free you from the pain of arguing with what is. An open mind is the only way to peace. As long as you think that you know what should and shouldn’t happen, you’re trying to manipulate God. This is a recipe for unhappiness.” ~ Byron Katie

Today, I love being reminded through my dear neighbor’s passing, of even being willing to consider what is wonderful about everything being temporary, including my life.

What is wonderful about death for you, today? 

Much love, Grace

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You Can Handle Death

It was a light spring day with blossoms bursting everywhere in the city parks. I had been trading phone messages with a woman who was interested in finding out more about The Work.
She was in a distant time zone.
Today, I was walking through the university arboretum with fancy-named trees and gorgeous smells and rich green grass when her number appeared on my cell phone. Even though I didn’t recognize it, I thought “that number is really familiar, I need to pick it up”.
Even though she had sounded so light in our brief exchanges so far, without ever talking LIVE….it turned out she had cancer, and not necessarily a “good” prognosis.
I had worked with many people with cancer diagnoses before…but not anyone who may only have a few months to live.
I felt very moved for a moment.
I recognized in thirty seconds my own heart feeling full, and thoughts of something that looked at this whole human condition of life and death, noticing the beauty and the destruction all at once.
Blossoms everywhere, this woman apparently near her end-of-life moment.
That evening, after setting up a session with her on skype, I remembered my first hospice patient visit at my previous job.
At that time, I had received all my training in questioning patients about sensitive topics, I had finished my graduate degree in Applied Behavioral Science.
I had a laptop, I had arrived at the patient’s home, and I was ready for the task I was supposed to complete….a very extensive Quality of Life interview. This was “academic” work.
But the two requirements for people who enrolled in this research were 1) they had to be with it mentally, so they could answer questions, and 2) they had to be in hospice.
The patient I was visiting this very first time lived in a condo. I parked in the Visitors space. I knocked on her door with a little trepidation.
The woman I met was the same age as I was.

Feelings welled up inside my stomach and my throat, but I kept them hidden. I didn’t want to start crying!

This woman who was a total stranger to me answered many questions about her pain, how she felt…many personal questions about her life.

She was so brave.

When I left, I gave her a little hug, and then went to my car. In the driver’s seat, sitting in the big parking lot, I wept.

I thought “I’m not sure I can handle this job”.

But the next day, I drove to someone else’s home to interview THEM on their quality of life.

Some people had cancer, some had heart disease, some had ALS.

By the third patient, I relaxed. I didn’t have the simple version of inquiry we all know as The Work in my life yet, but I had other self-inquiry after quite a few years of really beginning to investigate the meaning of This.

And here was my next phase. Meeting people who knew they were on their way out, with limited time….people of all ages.

It was the gift of a lifetime. I started thinking I can’t believe I have such an amazing job, to be able to realize that everyone was the same as me, not different.

That day when the woman with only a little time left contacted me, I might have had thoughts like “this will be hard” or “this is sad” or “she is frightened (and I can’t help her)” but while they tried to arise….I knew they weren’t true.

Who would you be without the thought that if you only have two months left to live, it’s *terrible*?

Without the thought that this is an example of great suffering in a harsh world?

That she can’t handle….or I can’t handle…the body’s decline and death?

Who would I be without the thought that I couldn’t help her?

I’d be there. I’d do The Work with her.

Funny, her thoughts were no different than any of mine, or any I have heard before. “I’m going to die” and “I shouldn’t die” and “this is shameful” and “I can’t stand this” and “people feel sorry for me (and I hate that).”

I turn my own thoughts around, the ones trying to get some energy or some volume, the ones I used to think all the time before meeting so many people over the years who were in hospice…

….I can handle this. Because I’m the one here, I’m the one.

I can handle the body’s decline and death, because everyone handles it.

I can help her, and I don’t have to even do anything except show up (and another turnaround, I can’t help her.…and that’s the way of it, not really a problem).

“When you’re not thinking about death, you fully accept it. You’re not worrying about it at all. Think of your foot. Did you have a foot before you thought of it? Where was it? When there’s no thought, there’s no foot. When there’s no thought of death, there’s no death.” ~ Byron Katie

I can be here, with anyone, in any situation. So can you. You don’t need to know how to do it.

Love, Grace

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Death Seems Unfriendly

The other day I got an email from someone who recently had an enormous loss, the death of her beloved sister.

She had never heard of The Work and someone suggested she explore it.

We wrote back and forth, and she had wonderful questions and I could almost hear her mind cranking away at the ideas we discussed: the power to be able to ask if something really is true, especially when it seems like it IS absolutely true….the question of whether or not it is a friendly universe when it appears it is not.

Sometimes people have a puzzled response around questioning the mind….like…what are you talking about?!

It reminded me of how unusual it is, in many ways, for the mind to question itself. It feels like a thinking machine. It’s just busy, occupied with thoughts, which it mostly assumes to be true.

And out of these thoughts, feelings are born.

The space between thought and feeling is so so fast sometimes, almost impossible to catch. It seems like we just feel bad…and it’s either OBVIOUS why we feel bad, or MYSTERIOUS why we feel bad.

For this woman who was struggling, it felt obvious why she felt bad. The death of someone close.

That kind of loss when things appear to be entirely done, finished, over: death, or a major break-up, or a house burning down….these kinds of sudden losses can raise huge responses inside us.

Why even do The Work? 

The person is gone…me doing The Work won’t bring them back!

I remembered myself and how I’ve felt when I had that thought…how I still react sometimes with loss or change that appears sudden, quick and unexpected:

  • that person is gone
  • I will never get over this
  • life by myself, without that person, is horrible/sad/depressing
  • other people are happy, but not me
  • the universe is not friendly
  • God/Source/Reality has pulled the rug out from under me

Pulled The Rug Out.

What a great phrase to describe the shock. A person is standing on a carpet, and someone or something comes along, big and strong enough to grab the edge of the carpet and yank out that rug. Of course, the person standing on the rug topples over, they fall and land hard, they are confused, they are frightened, they feel hurt.

So let’s do The Work.

The rug has been pulled out, figuratively speaking….is it true?

Yes. I thought things were going differently, beautifully. I hate the way they went. I don’t like death and endings. The loss is tragic for me.

IT IS TRUE that my life will never be the same, and the universe is NOT friendly!!

You’re supposed to feel happy, like the universe is friendly, all the time…is THAT true? You’re supposed to feel different than you feel, really? 

Well…it seems like it would be better to NOT feel this way. But I’m not sure I’m supposed to feel differently than I feel.

The difficult part is when I believe that if things were different and this loss was not present, that would be much, much better….

….and then the jump to the conclusion, very speedy quick rapid, that un-doing the loss is the ONLY way I could feel better.

Since un-doing this loss is impossible…there is no way to feel better. Ever.

THAT is a huge, gigantic, deep, very painful trap.

Can I absolutely know I will never feel better, ever again?

Not at all. I’ve had death and loss and endings and it turns out….over time, it was better. It wasn’t up to me really.

Is it absolutely true that the rug was pulled out from under me? That the universe is not friendly? That the universe has mean, violent intentions?

No. I can’t absolutely know this. It seems true sometimes, especially about this whole Loss and Death stuff. But I’m not 100% sure. It seems sudden…but on the other hand, I’ve been aware that people die since I was a kid.

Death is not really NEW news.

How do you react when you believe this is too much for you to handle, and Reality is not kind?

Terrified, nervous, sleeping badly, comparing myself to other people who have it better than I do, angry, frustrated, mad. Staying home by myself. Wishing I could just die.

Not enjoying life, that’s for sure.

Deep breath.

So who would you be without the thought that the universe is mean, frightening, and unpredictable, and that you can’t handle this loss?

Without the thought that things will never be the same, that all is NOT well, or that the rug was pulled out from under you?

You may have to pause and think about it. What if you really didn’t believe this was 100% terrible, this situation you’ve experienced that hurts so very much, or that it is such a surprise?

What if there was some small part of you that could feel what it would be like, to not believe in a universe that plays mean tricks…like pulling the rug out from under you?

What if you are handling it? See if you are. “Are you breathing?” as Byron Katie says.

For me…I stop. I begin to wonder. I notice I AM breathing, my heart is beating and I am alive.

I didn’t actually DIE because of this event.

I look around the room I’m sitting in, and notice books, furniture, windows, ceiling…all intact. Everything quiet, waiting.

I notice a hum inside, some energy that is alive, here, in this body.

I turn the thoughts around to the opposite, to try them on, in this world of duality and opposites:

I am OK, I am handling this, the universe is safe, reality is not mean, there may be other ways I could feel better than only the one way I think would offer relief.

There may even be advantages, or something inviting me to see, after this experience. Perhaps something is calling me forward, inviting me to recognize something truer than I previously thought, to become aware.

Could there be anything, anything at all (even very small) that might be NOT terrible about this situation?

You don’t HAVE to see it as positive, friendly, lovely, sweet, kind and loving right away, especially when it really seems like it’s not.

This is simply finding the turnaround, a different way, a different FEELING about this whole thing.

  • that person is here, in my heart, forever
  • I will always get over this, everyone does eventually
  • life by myself, without that person, is wonderful/happy/enlightening
  • other people are happy, and so am I
  • the universe is friendly
  • God/Source/Reality has caught me and held me and supported me the whole time

“The whole notice of death is a beautiful and very potent spiritual awakening…The body will go, thoughts will go, imagination will go, self-image will go…death takes it all away, doesn’t it? And for the mind this is terrifying….But if you imagine; body gone, mind gone, feelings gone, memories gone, no past, no future, all falling away…what’s left? And what’s that LIKE? What’s the sense of that awareness? So death actually points towards awareness, towards consciousness. It takes everything away except what is essential. All form temporarily subsides. It reveals what you really, really, really are.” ~ Adyashanti

Is this really all terror and sadness, as I remember that person I love, who used to be here with me?

Or is this love, too?

Much love, Grace

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I Gotta Get Outta Here!

I was lying on a flat white slab in pale blue hospital scrubs. All jewelry, hair clip, rings removed.

The technicians put a strap around my ankles to bind them together, and something heavy and flat across my upper torso.

They asked me if I wanted to listen to music and when I nodded yes, they put a big earphone head set over my head. On top of the earplugs I already had inserted. 

Then with buzzing and whirrs and machine sounds, I was pushed into a white donut hole tube, with the wall only inches above my face. 

Suddenly, I had the feeling of going into a coffin….um, OK. Are you sure this thing is safe?

Jeez, is this really necessary, I mean, it’s not like this procedure taking pictures of my hip will actually STOP the injury pain, right?

Maybe, on second thought, I’m good. 

Nevermind! I don’t need an MRI afterall!

“To he who is in fear, everything russles.” ~ Sophocles

Heh heh.

Almost immediately as I went into the tube…..with my gut starting to clench with slight unexpected panic….something also reminded me of inquiry, like almost simultaneously.

I’m trapped, I need to get outta here, this is dangerous.

Is this true?

This is not the only time I’ve believed this thought. 

Have you ever been in a dark alley on a rainy night, a run-down warehouse on the edge of town, or an abandoned car on a remote highway? 

Like, you know, people in those scary movies? (That I will NEVER watch, by the way).

Or what about at a family holiday gathering? A huge too-loud concert? A really really boring meeting? Or when you just did something kind of embarrassing.

I’m trapped, I need to get outta here, this is dangerous. 

Right?

I love it when inquiry rises up to the moment.

Is it actually true? Seriously? Entirely true?

Am I really not safe, and trapped?

No.

How do I react when I believe it? When the thought shouts in my head?

A wave of adrenaline blasts through my system. I have pictures of not being able to move, of dying a slow death of suffocation, gasping desperately for air. 

I’m a victim. No way out. Really scary music starts playing in the back ground, or really sad music.

So who would I be without the thought that in this situation, I’m trapped, or that I have to get out, or that I’m in danger?

Pretty huge question. But very profound.

Without the thought that I am not safe, my whole entire body relaxes. 

I don’t know what’s in store for me, but just any sense of openness to what might happen next, there is a tinge of sweetness.

I don’t have to love it, I don’t have to be overjoyed about this situation…but I notice I’m not overwhelmed with fear. 

Even when I feel some fear. It’s not all of me.

In the big MRI machine, I hold really still so this doesn’t have to go any longer than necessary, and I fall asleep.

Without the thought that some location is unsafe, terrifying, dangerous….

….I look around and see space, shapes, light, absence of light, I hear sounds, quiet, silence, I feel air against my skin. 

I notice that nothing is happening to my actual body. 

I am free, I don’t need to go anywhere, this is safe. 

In this moment, this is entirely and completely true, just right in this exact short moment with no future. 

Everything very alive, pulsing, moving. Strong energy present.

In other words, I’m not turning passive, I’m not denying that things are alert, strong, and powerful in this organism. 

But I am looking very clearly at what is and what is NOT true.

“Fear and insecurity always wait for any and all who dare to probe the depths of the Unknown. The true seeker of liberation must have an uncompromising desire to discover Eternal Truth, a desire that outweighs any tendency to hesitate and contract in the face of fear. It is only when the fear of the Unknown is openly embraced that it begins to transform into the positive energy and intensity necessary to awaken from conditioned existence.” ~ Adyashanti

As I investigate even the smallest worry honestly….

…I may become accepting of my fear, fascinated with the insecurity that bubbles up. 

This is aliveness, desire, intensity!

I’m ready to bust out of all those conditioned beliefs about being trapped in coffins and what-not. 

It was only my thinking that was trapped, victimized, fearful, and dangerous!

Everything else was fine.

Woohoo!

If you’re wanting connection with others to examine fears that come forward around Pain, Sickness and Death….then what a wonderful time to do it. The PSD Teleclass starts next Tuesday, 5:15-6:45 pm Pacific time. Limited to 8 participants. 

Register Here now, or write if you have questions: grace@workwithgrace.com 

Love, Grace

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No One Can Leave Me, Even In Death – Happy Birthday Dad

I know LOTS of people tried to download the little parenting ebook. Go here to do it instead and click Download. Looking forward to your feedback (just hit reply any time and let me know what you like or don’t like about it): 

Get How To Be A Happy Parent Free Ebook.

****

Speaking of parents.

Today would be my dad’s 83rd birthday. But he died long ago in 1990 barely making age 60.

I think about him every year on this day, and many others. With immense gratitude.

He came to me immediately just now, after I woke up. I was sitting in a chair with a dark misty early morning all around through the windows, damp and green and very quiet, as it is often in the Pacific Northwest. 

I can see him in my mind standing near the front door, with his walking stick, his flat wool cap, his wire-rimmed glasses and gray speckled beard, asking “shall we go on a little walk?”

But the gratitude used to be all mixed up with despair, loss and missing him.

That was before doing The Work. Before time passed.

One of my very first realizations after beginning the questioning of my deep-seated beliefs was finding a sense of peace with death. 

One of my sisters had already attended The School for The Work. She shared with me two important things she learned from her experience there.

  1. Our dad did not actually die (say what?)
  2. A total stranger, another participant at the event, had accidentally caused the death of his own two year old child….and it didn’t kill HIM, emotionally

These two pieces of information jet-propelled me to the next School.

I wanted to understand, and face, death. So terrifying!

What on earth could this idea mean, that our dad did not actually die? I mean, I sat with him as he took his last breath. I felt his hand grow cold.

His body is no longer around. I haven’t seen him in over two decades. 

The most profound awareness came over time, gently investigating a pretty simple belief. 

What I mean by belief is something I repeated over and over to myself in my mind: my dad died.

Is it true? 

Yes. I was there. He’s gone. He never got older than sixty.

Right at this point is when I used to cry, feel such sadness I felt my throat close and my heart break. It felt horrible. 

But I kept going anyway, with this process of inquiry.

Can I absolutely know that it’s true that my dad died? 

It may sound odd, but can I absolutely know….beyond a shadow of a doubt….that he is gone, forever, that there is nothing at all left of him, anywhere?

No. I can’t know this at all. I remember him. This memory alone shows there is something here of him. 

I can have a conversation with my dad and get a real solid sense of what he’d tell me, how he’d answer a question I asked. I can see him in my mind vividly.

And as for physically, where bodies go, where cells and life and energy move, I definitely can’t know that this is dead. 

In fact, it’s unlikely, scientifically.

So, no, strangely enough….I can’t absolutely know it’s true that my dad died.

How did I always react when I believed that thought?

Devastated. Wishing he was here. Frightened. Wondering why it’s set up like this on planet earth, with such loss. 

How did I treat myself, internally, when I believed my dad died? 

Like something was missing that I couldn’t quite have, without him. Like I couldn’t make it as well in life. Like I was smaller somehow.

Then the great question: Who was I without the belief that my dad died?

Or, without the belief that I was missing something because he died, that it was devastating or terrible? 

Walking down the street, driving my car, doing laundry, reading a book, going to the gym, playing with my kids, buying groceries….hadn’t I actually done all these things hundreds of times WITHOUT my dad?

I mean, I had moved out of my parents house about 8 years before he “died”. 

I had done a lot on my own. Without sadness. Without thinking “oh this is so so so terrible and devastating that my dad isn’t here right now.” 

That’s what it would be like without the thought. I already knew what that was like. 

I would smile as his memory and image entered my mind. 

Or, I might sob and weep with love, feeling the bittersweet grief pouring out. All mixed with happiness. 

“I love to say, ‘No one can leave me. They don’t have that power.'” ~ Byron Katie

Turning the thought around, I find my dad lived, my dad is alive. 

It seems as true or truer, even if his body is no longer here. 

(Everyone’s body is eventually no longer here. What did I expect?)

I see his back go around a corner ahead of me down the block. He just drove by in a car. I saw him gardening at the pea patch from the bus window. My son just sounded exactly the same as my father, although they never met. Little glimpses.  

I don’t know any way to be with this than being with it. 

The final turnaround to my belief: I died (when my dad died).  

Something did die, but maybe that’s not so terrible. A dependence died. A clinging died. An expectation that I must have my dad. 

I’ve now had to stand on my own two feet, without having a father in this world. 

“If you’ve been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you — you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing was ever going to happen again.” ~ C.S. Lewis

If you’d like to explore pain, sickness and death in a small telegroup, we begin on Tuesday, October 29th, 5:15-6:45 pm pacific time.  Register Here. As always, ask me if you have concerns about the fee grace@workwithgrace.com.  

Love, Grace

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This Life Is Enough

Today I went to my very first open casket viewing of the death of the golden-hearted young man, a beautiful friend of mine, who suddenly died this past week.

It was a mild, soft, mid-summer afternoon. I parked and crossed the street with heavy city traffic moving by in all directions.

The very same funeral home where I sat over two decades ago at a large dark wooden table with my three sisters and my mother, as we received the ashes of my father’s body.

All these years later, and I knew right where to go, not one wrong turn. Even though I have only been inside once, it is there in a central part of my city, I see it and notice this funeral home from time to time.

I remembered the forest green trim, the carpet, the gentle hush inside.

This time I was guided to the right as I entered the home.

It is amazing to look upon the body which once held such a sweet friend, the face still intact, the hands folded gently across his waist.

I sat with his family, listening to them talk about their son/nephew/grandson, and then looking, looking again over at him….imagining him with laughing eyes open, like the photo on the stand nearby.

His body there, but not him.

The life force that moves and courses through us, that animates us…so very mysterious.

No clearly identifiable source, no socket we’re plugged into that we can see with our body eyes.

Yet, we all know when its there or not there. We feel it.

As I sat in the quiet place, with talk and movement of people, the ache in my heart was still heavy, the tears still there, caught in my throat in waves.

But I knew that this time of someone dying was a repeating experience.

I remembered that my mind wants to understand and KNOW. My heart, or something else that is not really the mind, is quiet. It only wants to be.

Those who have gone are apart, separated, far away, missing, lost, silent, absent, unfinished…..is that true?

Can I absolutely know that this is true?

I remember my father like it was yesterday that he was here. I see the face of my young friend with his adorable smile.

Even though my heart feels like it’s breaking open, I feel the Great Hum of something that knows this day, this moment, is part of all of this here.

Who would I be without the thought that death is a problem?

I’m not even sure.

It stops my mind short, to even imagine it…….Something happens that unfreezes a bit.

Something opens, quizzical, so uncertain, so strange….not the kind of thinking I’ve practiced when it comes to death.

What if this is all enough? What if that life was enough?

(Even though a voice protests that it wasn’t).

Even here, with the going and coming of the most profound level. The going of someone I love.

Suddenly, as inquiry washes through me, I realize that this very same day, only hours before I was sitting in the funeral home, I had run into a friend with his brand new baby only 12 weeks old. He was seeing her briefly during lunch hour at day care, before he returned to work.

A body just born to here, a body just left here.

Could it all be enough? Really?

That is the turnaround, the awareness of the opposite. Maybe this is enough, has been enough, will be enough.

“When you realize what you are now, the issue of death will solve itself.” ~ Adyashanti

Yes, perhaps this is enough, here. Perhaps my heart is full beyond comprehension. Perhaps All This is full beyond imagination.

I notice that NOW, I am going to put on my dancing clothes, and go dance. For now, this body is dancing on this planet, apparently, without needing to understand….without asking why. Even with tears, pouring down my own cheeks.

“If you realize that you have enough, you are truly rich. If you stay in the center and embrace death with your whole heart, you will endure forever.” ~ Tao Te Ching #33

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Letting Go In Grief

Yesterday morning I learned that a young man had died who I did not know extremely well. Not the details of his life, or what he was doing every day.

Whatever “knowing” someone extremely well means….

I had found him totally and completely delightful and sweet, like giving him a big huge hug, from the moment I met him. Like recognizing a long-lost friend.

He came to the dance I facilitate with my partner, and several other dances attended by many people who love to dance in Seattle.

When I learned he was gone, I began to weep.

He reminded me of my son from the very start….they look fairly similar, are close in age, and have a kind-hearted, joyful, unassuming energy.

Maybe this is why I felt so tender towards him.

Or maybe it was because he reminded me of myself.

Seeking answers, asking questions, craving understanding, observing the love and pain of this world and having a great hunger to know.

When I was 22, the age of this dear young man, I suffered deeply from my own thoughts about life and death.

Life actually felt very difficult at the time. I had dropped out of college. I wasn’t sure which direction to take. I wanted only to read philosophical works, spiritual scripture and sacred text, and talk about meaningful life-and-death matters.

Fortunately (I can now say it was fortunate) that never stopped.

And here today, learning of this death, I feel very contemplative and full of grief.

Almost like its too much to write about, and yet it is here, filling my consciousness.

Death feels so decisive, permanent. It feels like loss.

Every single one of us has known others who have died.

And what is this moment when the awareness that someone is gone occurs, and there is a powerful energy that moves like a great wave?

The temporary nature of everything presents itself.

Here again today….everything is temporary.

This past year I have encountered two other deaths of people I knew and loved. I still think about them. I still see them talking, smiling, in my mind. So vivid.

I still see my own father, gone so many years apparently, standing in the kitchen, cooking and wearing a big chef’s apron. Like it was yesterday.

Talking, smiling, his facial expressions, his wire-rimmed glasses.

The mind calls up the picture with such acute precision, so real.

Then the feeling enters, an expression of the thoughts and beliefs.

The grief pours in when I have the thought “I will never have that again” or “I want more of this image, this person, but more is impossible”.

Can I be with this memory, and allow it to live, in big-screen technicolor? Just let it be here, this full-blown memory of this wonderful person who I loved?

Because when I can let it live here in this present moment, when I take in my surroundings (oak table, green chairs, silver laptop computer, family baby photos, sound of airplane, white flower in vase, pink fingernails typing) then this is all here, as well as the internal image (his face, smiling, laughing, head tipped back, brown eyes, happiness).

All here. Things, pictures, memories, feelings, grief, appreciation, love.

Unknown, mysterious, impermanent, wild.

Letting go of the demand, the ache to have more of something….more time, more connection, more of that memory, that person, more, more, please more.

Even being with the feeling of wanting more.

Recently, a dear friend offered this poem on the anniversary of her husband’s passing.

Today, I share it with you, in honor of those who have gone before, whose images I hold in my mind and heart.

When the heart breaks open with letting go.

Walking Away
For Sean
C Day Lewis

It is eighteen years ago, almost to the day –
A sunny day with leaves just turning,
The touch-lines new-ruled – since I watched you play
Your first game of football, then, like a satellite
Wrenched from its orbit, go drifting away

Behind a scatter of boys. I can see
You walking away from me towards the school
With the pathos of a half-fledged thing set free
Into a wilderness, the gait of one
Who finds no path where the path should be.

That hesitant figure, eddying away
Like a winged seed loosened from its parent stem,
Has something I never quite grasp to convey
About nature’s give-and-take – the small, the scorching
Ordeals which fire one’s irresolute clay.

I have had worse partings, but none that so
Gnaws at my mind still. Perhaps it is roughly
Saying what God alone could perfectly show –
How selfhood begins with a walking away,
And love is proved in the letting go. 

Love, Grace