Not sure that I'm quite one yet. But here are more lovely poppies.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Love.
I can't stop painting. That's OK. I heard a song about "love's old song". I'm thinking that love is banging its pots and pans in my heart again.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Painty Painterson. That's me these days.
I can't get enough of painting flowers these days.
I was walking around a public garden today, taking photos, an I ended up with so many pictures of gorgeous flowers... It made me so happy to see how much these beautiful plants love to turn their little faces to the sun.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Well, I've done a few paintings lately, with much thanks to Karen M Schmidt, and the time she took to write me an e-mail about her process, and the amazing step-by-step photos on her blog.
I think I'll try to do one per day. All are for sale. Unless I fall in love with them too much to let them go... Funny how that occasionally happens.
I'm trying to be "in the moment" when I do them. To ignore the voices that say "this looks terrible" when I've hardly begun. Trust the process. And even if the process produces something I'm not nuts about, to have compassion for myself. I'm still learning. With any lucky, I always will be.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Numbing the pain of parenting
Sometimes it's really hard not to reward myself with a drink at dinner, especially after the day with the kids has been difficult.
Today was one of those days. Finn, who's three, was ignoring me. I told him not to eat something, and not only did he keep eating it when I thought he'd put it back, he refused to do a "time out" on the stairs.
Some days are tougher than others.
I felt my chest hurt. I felt my stomach go a bit tense. I wanted to shout. I felt pushed too far. As soon as my husband walked in the door, I got Finn to "tell Daddy" what he did. And I wanted to pour myself a drink. I could hear my brain making a million excuses why I "deserved" this drink, why I needed a little luxury at the end of a rough parenting day.
I didn't pour it. I got out a wine glass and filled it with juice. I sat down to eat with my family. Halfway through dinner, it seemed the situation had dissipated, so I found myself thinking "OK, I could have a drink now, and it would be OK. It wouldn't be because I'm too stressed." I sat with it. I even envisioned how much I'd have -- just about a quarter of a glass, that's all. Wasn't that OK? I wasn't feeling upset any more, so wouldn't it be all right?
I knew I had to sit with these thoughts before doing anything. A tiny, tiny part of me suggested what might really be going on here: perhaps the pain is still there. And perhaps the part of me that's saying it's OK to have a drink, that the stress is gone, is an unhealthy, frightened part that doesn't want to feel the pain of powerlessness.
I don't want to deal with things by numbing the pain I'm in. I'll never figure out what's under that pain, and how I can best challenge it, unless I feel it fully first. Sit with it. Figure out what parts of my body are feeling out of wack. And just feel those things before deciding to do something different, to do something from a healthy part of me.
So the kids are in bed, my husband's gone into work for a few hours, and the wine bottle's on the counter.
It will stay there. Unopened.
Today was one of those days. Finn, who's three, was ignoring me. I told him not to eat something, and not only did he keep eating it when I thought he'd put it back, he refused to do a "time out" on the stairs.
Some days are tougher than others.
I felt my chest hurt. I felt my stomach go a bit tense. I wanted to shout. I felt pushed too far. As soon as my husband walked in the door, I got Finn to "tell Daddy" what he did. And I wanted to pour myself a drink. I could hear my brain making a million excuses why I "deserved" this drink, why I needed a little luxury at the end of a rough parenting day.
I didn't pour it. I got out a wine glass and filled it with juice. I sat down to eat with my family. Halfway through dinner, it seemed the situation had dissipated, so I found myself thinking "OK, I could have a drink now, and it would be OK. It wouldn't be because I'm too stressed." I sat with it. I even envisioned how much I'd have -- just about a quarter of a glass, that's all. Wasn't that OK? I wasn't feeling upset any more, so wouldn't it be all right?
I knew I had to sit with these thoughts before doing anything. A tiny, tiny part of me suggested what might really be going on here: perhaps the pain is still there. And perhaps the part of me that's saying it's OK to have a drink, that the stress is gone, is an unhealthy, frightened part that doesn't want to feel the pain of powerlessness.
I don't want to deal with things by numbing the pain I'm in. I'll never figure out what's under that pain, and how I can best challenge it, unless I feel it fully first. Sit with it. Figure out what parts of my body are feeling out of wack. And just feel those things before deciding to do something different, to do something from a healthy part of me.
So the kids are in bed, my husband's gone into work for a few hours, and the wine bottle's on the counter.
It will stay there. Unopened.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Bringing Finn to nursery school
As I was bringing my three-year-old, Finn, to school this morning, I noticed he was resisting going. I also noticed that when I let go of my attachment to him putting his coat on, eating his breakfast, getting dressed, stopping playing, etc., and just concentrate on communicating love, things seem to fall into place much better. Perhaps not perfectly, but that's OK.
I also know if I practise being fully present with my children, as I did when I brought them to the park today, I enjoy myself more. Instead of letting my frightened parts think about what to make for dinner, how my morning went, what my frightened parts are not looking forward to, I let my healthy parts choose love. I just wanted to have fun, enjoy being outside, enjoy laughing, enjoy their joy. And now I'm tired, but I'm not letting my frightened parts tell my I'm exhausted, or get into some story about how I wish I could nap. I'm just enjoying the pleasant tired sensations that come after a good, solid play. I played hard. And it was (and is) wonderful.
I also know if I practise being fully present with my children, as I did when I brought them to the park today, I enjoy myself more. Instead of letting my frightened parts think about what to make for dinner, how my morning went, what my frightened parts are not looking forward to, I let my healthy parts choose love. I just wanted to have fun, enjoy being outside, enjoy laughing, enjoy their joy. And now I'm tired, but I'm not letting my frightened parts tell my I'm exhausted, or get into some story about how I wish I could nap. I'm just enjoying the pleasant tired sensations that come after a good, solid play. I played hard. And it was (and is) wonderful.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
What I noticed during the February 2010 retreat
This reatreat's theme was about choosing love.
So I wonder -- am I choosing love whenever I am faced with a frightened part of my personality? (To me, a frightened part of my personality can be defined as an "unhealthy" part that is housing a negative emotion. It is something I can often feel in my body, thanks to sensations such as a tightness in my chest or throat or other similar pains).
So I've come up with a few areas where I intend to choose love when I get home: Not keeping the computer in the kitchen. Sitting with my children more often when they eat. Supporting my children's spiritual growth by asking them to look at their intentions ("What do you want mummy to feel when you say that?") I also intend to choose love by feeling the pain in my body when I am in a negative reaction and seeing the pain as a sign, as an opportunity to choose love. I intend to see my family -- my husband, my children and others -- as souls who sometimes act from fear. And see everyone I encounter that same way. I intend to cultivate compassion for the people I see who are in fear and showing it through negative, painful actions.
(I even notice the different between using the words "want" and "intend". I feel like when I say "want", my frightened parts are still trying to shirk what I can do to bring about a healthy result. When I say "intend", it means I will take action. Or at least do my best to take action.)
What I noticed about myself on this trip? I still tend to get locked up in fear about people possibly thinking I am a "bad person". My frightened parts grab on to the possibility like a dog with a toy -- I can't pry it out of the dog's jaws. My frightened parts won't let it go. And, of course, 99 percent of the time, my frightened parts are wrong about what they think a person has understood or taken away from what I have said to them (at least when I allow my frightened parts to get obsessed with the possibility that they've misunderstood and are judging me.)
I also noticed that my resistance to reading what my frightened parts see as "sad" or "depressing" books, or seeing sad movies is possibly connected with the plateau I seem to have hit with my spiritual growth. I stood up at the event and spoke about this. My healthy parts know that my frightened parts have always labeled me as "too sensitive" for these types of entertainment. I see that it was an easy way for me to avoid feeling pain, the pain that helps me dig deeper and heal what I am alive to heal. (This came up for me when the 8.8 earthquake that hit Chile while I was at the event. When I was told about the quake, I felt like I'd been kicked in the chest. I noticed that these frightened parts were stopping me from really being present at the event. They would also prevent me from really helping anyone affected by the earthquake, because my fears would convince me I couldn't help because I was too sensitive, because it would hurt too much to see people in that much pain.)
I can't really help anyone in pain if I allow my frightened parts to lock on to the drama and not let go. The fact that I avoid things that trigger these deep, dramatic and unhealthy responses (so extreme they essentially cripple me and prevent any kind of healthy response, even simply learning about myself) means that I can never really master these helpless, frightened responses. I intend to challenge this by feeling deeply these intensely painful responses, then choose to cultivate a healthy, loving response, one that could support both me and my spiritual growth, and the people in pain around me. I can see that, for a long time, I have been in a story where I am "too sensitive", and I don't want to be telling myself and others that story any more. I am not my story. My soul is not my story.
With my husband, I intend to choose love more often by trying to come from a gentle, loving, non-judgmental place of love when I support him in looking at the fear-based parts of his personality. When he does something that is based in fear -- like complaining, for example (something I know I do myself which is why I react so strongly to it in him) -- it usually triggers my frightened parts. I "help" him by pointing out that his frightened parts are active, but it's not real support because I am often attached to him changing his actions as a result. This is not choosing love. This is not support.
I want to offer my husband love and support that doesn't come from my frightened parts that are irritated by his actions, or are attached to what he does with my support, or are judging him. When realize I may have a frightened part that is activated by his frightened parts (like getting irritated by his complaining), I have two options: One -- to say nothing because my healthy parts know that I won't be coming from a healthy, loving place, or Two -- Experiment and try something new, despite my frightened parts that are in reaction. To do the latter, I can ask myself before I speak if my statement will come across as loving and supportive as I tell him what I am noticing about his actions or energy. I think that by experimenting with this even when I'm experiencing an active, frightened part, I will cultivate loving responses in myself, making it easier (slowly but surely) for me to support him, regardless of what he does with what I am saying. I can even start by saying to him "I intend what I am about to say to be supportive and loving" -- just to help me choose my words better, and help myself let go of attachment to the outcome. And I want to cultivate compassion for him when I see he's in the grip of a frightened part, to see him as a soul with active, frightened parts that are not who he (his soul) is, but rather signposts that help him align his soul with his personality. And I can choose to feel gratitude that his pain is directing him to something he has the opportunity to challenge and heal.
Choosing love,
Tara
So I wonder -- am I choosing love whenever I am faced with a frightened part of my personality? (To me, a frightened part of my personality can be defined as an "unhealthy" part that is housing a negative emotion. It is something I can often feel in my body, thanks to sensations such as a tightness in my chest or throat or other similar pains).
So I've come up with a few areas where I intend to choose love when I get home: Not keeping the computer in the kitchen. Sitting with my children more often when they eat. Supporting my children's spiritual growth by asking them to look at their intentions ("What do you want mummy to feel when you say that?") I also intend to choose love by feeling the pain in my body when I am in a negative reaction and seeing the pain as a sign, as an opportunity to choose love. I intend to see my family -- my husband, my children and others -- as souls who sometimes act from fear. And see everyone I encounter that same way. I intend to cultivate compassion for the people I see who are in fear and showing it through negative, painful actions.
(I even notice the different between using the words "want" and "intend". I feel like when I say "want", my frightened parts are still trying to shirk what I can do to bring about a healthy result. When I say "intend", it means I will take action. Or at least do my best to take action.)
What I noticed about myself on this trip? I still tend to get locked up in fear about people possibly thinking I am a "bad person". My frightened parts grab on to the possibility like a dog with a toy -- I can't pry it out of the dog's jaws. My frightened parts won't let it go. And, of course, 99 percent of the time, my frightened parts are wrong about what they think a person has understood or taken away from what I have said to them (at least when I allow my frightened parts to get obsessed with the possibility that they've misunderstood and are judging me.)
I also noticed that my resistance to reading what my frightened parts see as "sad" or "depressing" books, or seeing sad movies is possibly connected with the plateau I seem to have hit with my spiritual growth. I stood up at the event and spoke about this. My healthy parts know that my frightened parts have always labeled me as "too sensitive" for these types of entertainment. I see that it was an easy way for me to avoid feeling pain, the pain that helps me dig deeper and heal what I am alive to heal. (This came up for me when the 8.8 earthquake that hit Chile while I was at the event. When I was told about the quake, I felt like I'd been kicked in the chest. I noticed that these frightened parts were stopping me from really being present at the event. They would also prevent me from really helping anyone affected by the earthquake, because my fears would convince me I couldn't help because I was too sensitive, because it would hurt too much to see people in that much pain.)
I can't really help anyone in pain if I allow my frightened parts to lock on to the drama and not let go. The fact that I avoid things that trigger these deep, dramatic and unhealthy responses (so extreme they essentially cripple me and prevent any kind of healthy response, even simply learning about myself) means that I can never really master these helpless, frightened responses. I intend to challenge this by feeling deeply these intensely painful responses, then choose to cultivate a healthy, loving response, one that could support both me and my spiritual growth, and the people in pain around me. I can see that, for a long time, I have been in a story where I am "too sensitive", and I don't want to be telling myself and others that story any more. I am not my story. My soul is not my story.
With my husband, I intend to choose love more often by trying to come from a gentle, loving, non-judgmental place of love when I support him in looking at the fear-based parts of his personality. When he does something that is based in fear -- like complaining, for example (something I know I do myself which is why I react so strongly to it in him) -- it usually triggers my frightened parts. I "help" him by pointing out that his frightened parts are active, but it's not real support because I am often attached to him changing his actions as a result. This is not choosing love. This is not support.
I want to offer my husband love and support that doesn't come from my frightened parts that are irritated by his actions, or are attached to what he does with my support, or are judging him. When realize I may have a frightened part that is activated by his frightened parts (like getting irritated by his complaining), I have two options: One -- to say nothing because my healthy parts know that I won't be coming from a healthy, loving place, or Two -- Experiment and try something new, despite my frightened parts that are in reaction. To do the latter, I can ask myself before I speak if my statement will come across as loving and supportive as I tell him what I am noticing about his actions or energy. I think that by experimenting with this even when I'm experiencing an active, frightened part, I will cultivate loving responses in myself, making it easier (slowly but surely) for me to support him, regardless of what he does with what I am saying. I can even start by saying to him "I intend what I am about to say to be supportive and loving" -- just to help me choose my words better, and help myself let go of attachment to the outcome. And I want to cultivate compassion for him when I see he's in the grip of a frightened part, to see him as a soul with active, frightened parts that are not who he (his soul) is, but rather signposts that help him align his soul with his personality. And I can choose to feel gratitude that his pain is directing him to something he has the opportunity to challenge and heal.
Choosing love,
Tara
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