Dispatches from a retreat

A lot of the time lately, I've been thinking that it would be healthy for me to be more present with my children on a moment-to-moment basis. I want to think less about what I need to be doing, or what we've just been doing, and instead just share some space with them in the moment.

I've realized this morning that I also want to be more connected and present with my children by really listening to them (particularly my three-year-old) when they talk. (OK, my 10-month-old really just babbles, but I can "listen" and feel his "talk" too.) I find that I often don't really listen to my older child -- I often just kind of "let" him talk, not really take it in and sit with it. If what he says doesn't jive with my agenda, then I often don't really internalize what he's saying. And that's not what I want. I want to listen. Really listen. With my ears and my heart.

I've also heard a few fellow retreaters talk about how most of their thoughts come from "frightened parts of their personality" (a phrase used to basically refer to unhealthy, unloving parts of ourselves -- parts we are on this earth to look at and heal.) I've been really identifying with their awareness of the unhealthy babble in their heads. How much of my thoughts are of the sort that start with something like "I should", "I wish", "I don't like", "I can't", "It makes me crazy that", "But what if" and the list goes on. These are all thoughts that don't serve me, that don't come from love, and instead come from the fear of powerlessness, or judgement, or anger, or impatience, etc.

I want to really look at these things and try and challenge them. Choose differently than I have in the past. Easy-ish to do at a retreat, harder back home in the real world. Fingers crossed.

Resisting the moment

Someone whom I love very dearly calls themself a "negative scanner". This means this person is always looking for the negative in everything, and often stating it out loud. I thought about writing who this person is -- the role they play in my life -- but it's really not important. What's important is what I can learn from them.

This person's negativity has worn me out -- at least the unhealthy parts of me feel worn out. I fear this will never change. I fear I will grow more depressed because I am surrounded by this person's negativity when I am with this person. And I fear that this will (and does) have an impact on my children.

But I have hope. I heard Eckhart Tolle say something today like "We are never upset about what we think we are upset about."

So perhaps I am not upset about this relentless negativity at all. Perhaps there is something beneath the pain I feel. I have learned that this person's negativity, this person's pain is a lot about resisting the moment, resisting what is. This person feels the pain of powerlessness so intensely that they are in agony almost all the time -- chest pains, as well as other physical and emotional pains.

I realized today that I, too am resisting the moment when I resist this person's words, when I wish they were different, when I wish they would stop. I realize that what is causing them great pain (resisting the moment) is causing me pain as well. The triggers are different, the pain is the same.

Now, I'm ready for the next step. Really, truly seeing this as an opportunity to stop resisting the moment. Being grateful for the opportunities to learn, even from the pain. How am I going to do this? I have no idea. I will try to focus on just being. Try to let go. Try to accept what is. Breathe. Slowly and carefully.

Easier said than done, but I'm still going to try. I have no choice -- not if I want to continue to grow. Not if I want to get back to the joy. And hoo-eee, do I ever.

Anything wonderful can happen

I love watching my 10-month-old, Liam, wake up. It never ceases to amaze me.

Even when it's me waking him up, he doesn't resist it. He opens his eyes and looks around, interested in life. His older brother has learned to resist waking up, and often cries when he's fallen asleep in the car and it's time to go in the house. When do we learn to resist waking up?

I have a choice, every morning, about how I wake up. With love, or with resistance. All too often -- almost every single morning (and often at night when my three-year-old comes into my room) -- it's with resistance. I want to work on this.

Here's how I want to wake up: With joy. With love. With excitement for the day. Because, as I once read on a sign in front of a church, anything wonderful can happen.

Then again, I'd like to move beyond that idea too. It's not that life can be wonderful -- it is. As one of my spiritual teachers sometimes says, every moment is a holy moment.

What wanting a bigger house really means

I had the pleasure of visiting my friend's new house yesterday. It was huge: four bedrooms, four bathrooms, walk-in closet, gorgeous kitchen, two fireplaces, yadda yadda yadda.

It was, in a word, fabbo.

I felt those old feelings creep up again -- I envisioned myself living there and thought it would make me happier. I saw myself cooking stew in the kitchen and drinking red wine. I saw my husband playing with the kids in front of the fireplace. I saw myself cuddling our children on the king-sized bed that actually looks a bit on the small side in their bedroom.

Then last night, my husband dropped a bit of a bomb: a part of our finances aren't doing well. Or not as well as we'd like. It was a bit scary.

So here's what I'm taking from all this: as long as I equate money with happiness, the universe will hold the money back. It will only be when I am fully aware, all the time, that money has nothing to do with happiness (I know! I know!), that the money will come easily. And I will be able to use it from a healthy, loving part of me, not a fearful part that thinks objects will somehow fill up the hole that my fears have dug out in my chest.

I was a bit in panic mode last night, but I'm not this morning. The sun is out despite a stern forecast for rain all day. Even better, corny as it sounds, the sun is out in my heart. I went to the grocery store and acted more frugally than I ever have. And it was kind of fun. And I had my 10-month-old sitting in the cart and smiling at me. Talk about an in-your-face reminder of how to live in the moment, how to be grateful just for life.

We'll be all right. We'll be all right.

My computer

I am wondering today how my computer affects my ability to be present with my children. It sits in the kitchen, and it's hard to resist. I check facebook. I check the news. My three-year-old is running around chattering, and I'm typing a blog. I am scanning my body and my stomach has butterflies and my chest hurts.

I am considering putting the computer back upstairs in my bedroom, where I spend very little time while the children are awake. I want to be more present for them.

With that in mind, I stop typing here.

My first post

Someone told me today that someone, somewhere, makes (and sells) chocolate-covered bacon. After only a few moments of consideration, I knew it was probably a good thing. I may only want a bite or two, but I'm game.

I guess I'm game for most things. Like this blogging thing. I haven't kept a diary in years, but I'd like to write a few things down. Like the fact that my three-year-old told me yesterday that he'll be my daddy when my father dies. Like the fact that my 10-month-old is still at the stage where he puts up with pretty much any amount of bossing around and smiles like a drunk through it. Like the fact that I love my husband, but we almost separated a few weeks ago. Like the fact that I am working hard on my spirituality, and it has allowed me to do things I wouldn't have imagined just two years ago.

I wonder what this blog will teach me? I wonder if I am open to the lessons it holds for me, or am I just looking for attention? Really, am I doing this out of love (openness) or fear (vanity)?

Let me set my intention for this blog right now: I intend to use it to record how I am learning from my children, how I'm learning from my relationship with my husband, from my extended family, my friends, and even strangers. I want to use this to talk about my spirituality, my fears, my hopes, my life. I'm scanning the sensations in my body right now, and my chest feels a little tight. I feel like I'm about to leap off a cliff. But screw it. Here we go. Time to sharpen up the ol' pencil and see what falls out of my brain.