More Yin, please...

It’s supposed to be Yin/Yang.  I feel like my life is Yang/Yin/Yang.  There’s a whole lotta Yang with a little Yin thrown in sometimes.  Yin and Yang being abstract concepts, I’ll offer my own interpretation here.  I have always learned that Yin is the softer, more feminine, receptive and passive side of experience.  Some say it is darker.  Yang is the active, strong, masculine and productive side. 

To me, meditation feels more Yin and prayer feels more Yang.  When I pray, I talk to God, often out loud.  When I meditate (far less often these days) I am quiet and still. 

With my two young sons and my boisterous husband, I feel like I am constantly surrounded by the Yang element.  So far, I am also an aunt to boys only.  I grew up with sisters.  Fortunately one of them is pregnant with a girl!  Until I was 15, I saw my sisters part time since they have a different Mom.  When I was not at their house, I was living with my Mom.  I had my own prissy little room.  I daydreamed a lot.  I spent time by myself.  My life was more Yin than Yang.  When I was with my sisters, we were active and playful…but we were girls. 

This past weekend one of my sisters visited me (the unmarried one).  She arrived with her little white Maltese dog.  She stayed to help our family celebrate my son’s third birthday and Father’s Day.  With all of the Yang that surrounds me, I was very grateful to have that extra Yin thrown into the mix! Interspersed with the excited squeals of boys running up and down the house and yard, the excitement of a kid’s party, the presence of my two year old nephews—I got to enjoy talking with my sister about hair, clothes, shoes, men from a woman’s perspective, memories of our teen years and the crushes we had then…it seemed magical.  We did yoga in the living room, oblivious to the shouts of my sons.  We sat on a blanket outside drinking rosé and listening to women folk artists sing about love.  Some of that may sound active to you, but to me it was blissfully Yin. 

This week I am back to my familiar Yang fest.  Just today, I took my boys out for lunch at the local diner.  It wasn’t much of a lunch for me.  Just after we sat down, my youngest asked me in a loud, screechy voice, “Mommy, do you have a tiny penis?” Of course my other son found that riotously funny and laughed his new hearty, guttural laugh that he uses to impress his friends.  The remainder of the lunch I heard a number of loud penis jokes and was repeatedly asked why I do not have a penis and told that I must have a very tiny one.  Of course, the table was a drum and when they weren’t talking about genitalia they were banging on the table with the toy cars they brought inside.  When I took those away, they used their forks.  When I took those away… you get the picture. 

I know they love me, these males who share my home.  They can be sweet.  The little ones are affectionate.  But all three of them are loud.  Their humor doesn’t always suit me.  And while 90% of the time it’s funny to see them running circles around my bed with my underwear on their heads and dragging my sundress behind them—10% of the time I really wish they had vaginas.  Then in a few years we could really share the dresses…but probably not the underwear. 

I’d like more Yin, please.  

Team Jesus: My Kind of Sangha

The name of this blog, Meta Vie, means “a life in transformation.”  Used as a prefix, “meta” means change or transformation, hence the word, “metamorphosis.”  Vie is, of course, the French word for life.  When I originally named the blog I liked the more current definition of meta: self-referential.  By blogging, I am engaging in a writing process that is nothing more than the written reference of my own ongoing transformation. 

Writing is an amazing tool for growth; we can record and track our progress along life’s journey.  My grandparents kept written journals, some of which I have shared here.  This is my electronic journal.  As I look back at entries from 2009, I am entertained and inspired by the changes that have taken place within me since that time.  I am sometimes equally amused when I see entries from just a few months ago. 

I wrote a post last September about reconciling my Christianity with my other spiritual inclinations and practices.  It was called, “My Nebulous Spirituality.” http://meta-vie.blogspot.com/2010/09/my-nebulous-spirituality.html  I was moved to write it after getting embroiled in an argument about Christians and the supposed bad rap they get—and about what it means to be a Christian.  I found myself disclaiming Christianity as a cultural label and at a real loss for what to call myself and my path.  I never disclaimed that Jesus Christ is my master.  I simply wanted some distance between myself and the common modern portrait of a Christian.  I am rethinking that now. 

Spiritual practice on one’s own is a good thing.  Spiritual practice within a community is even better.  After many years of going it alone, I have decided that I need the support of other believers… and I need it consistently.   

Since moving to a new town with my family, I have been regularly attending services at the Lutheran church down the street from us.  I have found great comfort in participating in the rituals I was raised with: praying as a congregation, taking communion, reciting the mass, singing hymns and scripture.  Regularly seeing and talking with other people of faith brings me contentment.  In yoga and in Buddhism, practitioners use the Sanskrit words, “Sukha” and “Santosha”, which roughly translate as comfort and contentment.  Consistent spiritual practice brings us sukha and santosha.  In Buddhism, the spiritual community is referenced as the “Sangha.” In Yoga, the community is called a “Kula.”  In the US of A, we like to call it “Church” or “Temple.”

Yoga practice will always be a part of my life.  Buddhist meditation is a refuge for me, always.  Jesus is still my favorite teacher and the divine incarnation that I choose to worship.  I needed a real Sangha and I found one, within a community of other Christian believers.  This is a huge step for me.  I plan to follow it through and have volunteered to act as the church Treasurer to affirm my commitment.  As my pastor wrote to me, “Lutherans have a tendency to enter into a new church slowly and build up to greater involvement; or not. This is in rather stark contrast to the urgency expressed by Jesus in the gospel of Mark, the call to discipleship throughout the gospels, and the cost of discipleship spelled out in Matthew's gospel.”  The time has come in my life to consider what it means to believe in Jesus; if I believe, then am I also a follower?  If I am a follower, does that make me a disciple?  Within my Sangha, it does.  My Pastor continued, “The Christian vocation leads us to new areas of commitment where called.”  The Sangha asked me to serve as Treasurer.  I think that means I am called.  So… yes, Lord, send me!

I am grateful to have found a Christian Sangha and the strength of conviction to actively participate in it.  

Meeting Fear with Acceptance-Teach it to Your Child

My meditation practice and my parenting are beginning to intersect in exciting ways that I want to share.  Specifically I have been able to apply lessons I am learning about responding to negative thoughts and emotions with acceptance to alleviate my son’s bedtime fears. 

My four year old son Alec has recently been talking to me about “scary” things he sees in his mind.  Since his verbal skills have advanced, he is now able to voice his fears to me.  Since we moved into our new house, he has been talking about the “scary birds” he sees when he closes his eyes or tries to go to sleep.  The first time he talked to me about the scary birds, I asked him if they were right there in the room with us and if I could see them too.  He said, “You can’t see them, Mom.”  I replied, “Can you see the birds in your mind?”  He nodded.  I asked, “Where are they?  Are they out here or in your mind?”  He hesitated before answering, “In my mind.”  I asked what they looked like, how many of them he could see and what noises they were making.  As his imagination filled in the details of the scary birds and he was able to describe them, his fear diminished.  I then asked him to talk to the scary birds and tell them what he wanted them to do.  He said, “Get out of here!”  This worked the first time, and since then he has been asking me about the best way to deal with the scary birds when they appear. 

Last night, we had a breakthrough moment with the scary birds.  After our bedtime story, Alec said, “Mom, those scary birds are back and I can’t make them go away!”  I asked, “What do you think they want?”  He answered, “I don’t know!”  I then said, “What if you tell the scary birds that you love them? Maybe they are looking for some love and have come to you to find it.”  He replied, “I think the scary birds want me to be mean to them.  If I am mean that will make them go away.” So I told him to try that next and see what happened.  He yelled and thrashed in his covers and then told me the birds were still there.  I said, “So if being mean isn’t working, see what happens if you talk nicely to the birds.”  After a few seconds, he said, “I love you, birds! I love you.”  Then he giggled and said, “Oh, they went away! How did you know that, Mom, that the scary birds wanted me to say that?”

We have a Chinese Buddha statue in our house that belonged to my husband’s grandparents who lived in China.  Alec particularly likes the statue and the image of Buddha.  So when he asked me how I knew to greet the scary birds with love, I told him to think of Buddha.  I asked, “Do you know what Buddha teaches us to do?” “No, Mom,” Alec replied.  “Well, Buddha helps us to understand and work with our mind so we can be happy and free.  Remember how you said the birds live in your mind?” “Yes,” he answered. I explained, “Buddha teaches that if you fight against the ugly and scary things in your mind, you will make them stay longer.  But if you are calm and loving to those things, like the scary birds, they will go away on their own.  Like just now, when you told the birds you loved them and you waited, they went away, right? Are the birds still there?”  Alec waited a moment before saying, “No.  I don’t see them now.” 

I was happier than usual when I left the room after Alec fell asleep.  I don’t know if he understood everything I tried to convey, but I do know that he is starting to learn about acceptance vs. resistance, something I have only begun to explore in recent years.  My children are my teachers and provide an inexhaustible supply of motivation for my continued spiritual growth.  

2011: The New Now

Opening the yoga class I attended today, our teacher Elizabeth Cooke asked if any of us had New Year’s resolutions. A silent class of yogis stared back at Elizabeth; not a single hand was raised. She seemed pleasantly surprised. I smiled as I listened to her describe our tendency to “lean into the future” at the beginning of every new year, promising to lose weight, save more money, or find one more way to improve ourselves or our lives. Lately I have been thinking a lot about acceptance and presence and where those words are pointing me. I agree with Elizabeth that those wonderful intentions we have to make new things happen this time of year can pull us away from what is. As she put it, we are here now and we are fully embodied. We have everything we need to be in the present moment.


What if the present moment is unpleasant? Does that mean we need to change it? How do we react to unpleasant circumstances and sensations? Elizabeth said, “This moment might be really crappy for you. And you may just have to be OK with feeling crappy for a while. How hard is that?” It is hard. But it is part of this experience we are having as spiritual beings in human bodies. Many of us fervently strive to avoid pain and to eliminate all suffering from our lives. How does it feel to strive that way? Does it work? Are we getting everything that we want? Is it harder to accept suffering when it comes, or to strive away from suffering?

Each moment brings a new experience, a new sensation. Naturally we love the sweeter and easier sensations. When it is time to enjoy a delicious meal, a beautiful day, making love, watching the sun set or listening to a symphony, we readily accept the experience. And we are thankful that these pleasures grace our lives. When we are in the midst of an illness, an ice storm, the loss of a loved one or a time of financial constraint, what do we do? What “should” we do? Personally, I used to pull away. Often I still do. When I am starting to get sick, I swallow Chinese herbs and vitamins, I drink a lot of tea and I try to “fight it off.” Usually I get sick anyway. Recently I have experimented with accepting sickness as its own unique experience. Sometimes it is an enforced break from business. Sometimes it brings vivid dreams due to more time spent in bed. Sometimes feeling crappy is wonderful because…it is still feeling! I am still in a body, alive and aware in the present moment.

When we accept what is, we cultivate patience. When we accept what is, we are not pulling away from the present moment, or suggesting that it needs to change. One of my sons is two years old. He is uninhibited. When he covers me with kisses and yells, “Mommy, I really love you!” in public, I happily accept his authentic behavior. When he throws a tantrum, screaming, kicking and writhing on the floor, I begrudgingly accept it. If he is in danger, I pick him up and move him. Otherwise, I let him cry it out. I find my two year old son to be a great spiritual teacher.

A great place to begin practicing unconditional acceptance is within our precious human body. Ironically, the sooner we accept something, the sooner it can change, if it needs to. If we truly need to lose weight, first we must accept the condition of being overweight. If we are sick and need to get better, first we must accept that our body is ill. Approaching the body with unconditional acceptance, we are better able to care for it enough to make it stronger and healthier. I have learned this through experience. In 2006 I contracted Lyme disease when I was pregnant. As a result, I developed permanent nerve damage in my seventh cranial nerve. Over the past four years I have gradually approached my body with more love. My recovery has been slow, but I can truthfully say that I love my body more than ever before. My smile looks a little different. One eye is a little smaller. I still believe that I am beautiful. My energy levels have been lower, but I have more physical strength than at any time in my life. Through yoga, I have learned to nurture my body. Through this nurturance, I have gained strength. Through illness, I have learned to feel well.

Through approaching all experience with acceptance, we live life more fully. Instead of leaning toward the future or leaning away from the past, we fully inhabit the now. I have nothing to say about 2011, other than: here it is, and let it be.

"Will I Have Feet When I Die?" Discussing Death with Preschoolers

“What does die mean?”  My son Alec, who is soon turning four, has been asking about death quite a lot.  Unexpectedly, he initiates conversations about his fear of dying.  My two year old echoes him, yelling, “I don’t wanna die!”  Nothing seems to trigger these interjections.  During a recent bath, Alec declared, “When I die, you and Daddy and Rhys are gonna die too, so our family will stay together.”  On another occasion, he asked if he would still have feet when he dies. 

Since death is such a hot discussion topic in my household these days, I am prompted to share how we are handling it.  As a person who is spiritual but not religious, it is of great importance to me to handle this subject with care.  As a mother, I want to encourage in my sons a healthy and open approach to death.  I don’t want to overdo it and feed a growing preoccupation, but at the same time I don’t want to play it down. 

Our family had just finished dinner when Alec’s father launched into a mini-dissertation on the meaning of death.  “Dad, I just don’t want to die!”  My husband, who was born in Scotland, reached for this William Wallace quote: “Every man dies. Not every man really lives.”  He continued, “Here is how I see it, Alec.  Because you know you are going to die one day, you do your very best in all that you do each day of your life.”  He then explained that working hard and doing a good job in every endeavor defines one’s life and gives it meaning.  I was thinking to myself, “This is pretty heavy for a preschooler.  And I’m not sure that striving is the answer to the problem of impermanence.”  I thought about busting out some lines from the Kansas song, Dust in the Wind.  I refrained, not wanting to be left alone in the dining room.

When Alec first asked me what death is, I replied spontaneously, “Death means losing your body.  When a person or animal dies, their body stops working.  Dying means that you don’t have a body anymore.”  He went on to inquire, “Will I die?”  I told him that he would, and that everyone else will, too.  Naturally, he asked, “Why?”  I told him that is the way things work in our world.  We come and go and we are always changing.  And so it is.  I was thankful when he fell asleep thereafter, giving me time to prepare for the next inquisition.

I have been told by psychologists and early childhood education experts that children go through phases where they think and talk a lot about death.  Last year, when Alec’s class pet died, his teachers sent home an article providing tips for discussing death with preschoolers.  Alec’s school director lent us a wonderful book, Lifetimes: The beautiful way to explain death to children.  While I respect this input, it is essential for me to develop my own approach.  I strongly believe that the way we think about death informs the way we live life. 

It is possible to convey peace and confidence when discussing death with children.  Our little ones can tell when we’re being honest and when we ourselves are comfortable.  What we tell our kids about death is a reflection of our core beliefs.  Our culture, our religion and our education present us with standard notions of death and what it means.  Nonetheless, we’re not obligated to take all of that at face value.  According to our own wisdom, we can bring authenticity and integrity to the discussion.  Below are some foundational questions for articulating your beliefs about death.  Based on your unique and truthful answers, find the approach that works best for your family.  

1. Do you believe that there is more to humans than a physical body? If not, then be honest about the finality of death.  One comforting and truthful phrase in this situation could be, “What matters is that we are here now and I love you now.”  A discussion of memories that survive in the minds of loved ones is also a possibility.  If you do believe in a soul that lives on, this is the perfect time to open up about that belief to your child.  We tell our children, “The love and the light in you will always be alive.”
2. Do you have specific beliefs about an afterlife? If you do believe in a Heaven or Hell, think about how to frame these concepts for a small child.  I remember a dream from early childhood about masked robbers celebrating in Heaven.  This was how I made sense of what I heard in Sunday School.  If you think your child is not ready to hear about Hell, dig deeper into the origins of your belief.  Seek guidance from a clergy member.  If it feels wrong to you to talk about something to your child, take a look at that.  Don’t distrust your own feelings on the matter. 
3. What is your view of reincarnation? If your tradition or your personal convictions uphold reincarnation, this belief has a very rich history.  There are beautiful examples of the natural cycle of life, death and renewal in nature as well as in religious texts.  My son has hinted at reincarnation asking if he can live a new life someplace else after he dies.  I have responded that I like that idea but I’m not sure how true it is.  For me, honesty feels best.  We are all growing together. 
4. Does death have implications for the way we live now? Are you a carpe diem sort of person, or does vanitas vanitatum better capture your philosophy?  In my example above, my husband took a discussion about death as an opportunity to explain his work ethic to my son.  According to your own values, does death move us to accomplish more, to give more of ourselves or to fully enjoy each moment?  Your child will see you exemplify these values, but the words you say still have a big impact. 

My Nebulous Spirituality

“Kind prince, many people are pleased and satisfied with the various limited religious doctrines existing in the world today. They all hope to live in the kingdom of Heaven someday and sit sublimely at the side of their personal deity, but by entertaining such hopes and beliefs they only foster concepts of self and others, longevity and brevity, life and death, and so on without end. With such conceptual entanglements they cannot even listen to the truth, much less study, practice and embrace it or explain it to others. In this case, how can they ever uplift themselves to the subtle, central realm to be with the Universal One of One Universal Life?” –Hua Hu Ching, as taught by Lao Tzu, translation and elucidation by Hua Ching Ni.

I follow a spiritual path. Some people call it a spiritual journey. Either way, there is an implication of motion. I am not standing still. I am traveling. On my journey I meet other travelers. We exchange experiences and impressions. We encourage one another in our growth. We may walk together for brief intervals, but mostly we travel alone.

Just as in a literal journey, some of us carry heavy baggage. Others pack light. Sometimes we pack our suitcase with souvenirs, only to arrive home with some of them broken. Our heaviest bags are usually the preconceived ideas and judgments we carry with us. As I progress, I am dropping a lot of this excess poundage.

When I started down this road, my heaviest bag was Christianity. For most of my life, I had considered myself a Christian. I needed to adhere to a defined belief system. As I grow, I no longer need a clearly defined structure for my beliefs. In fact, my spirituality could be called nebulous.

The word nebulous can take on a negative connotation, as in “unclear” or “weak.” Nebulous means cloud-like; misty; hazy; lacking a definite form. I think the formless is beautiful. I like to go that formless part of my mind where new ideas emerge. I love the romantic image of mist covering the mountains. A crystal clear sky is not always the most beautiful. Mist and clouds reflect and refract light creating beautiful sunsets.

I need to let go of the concepts and doctrines of Christianity. I cannot claim to know what will happen after my death. I know nothing about an afterlife. I do not know where mind or consciousness goes after death and I believe that the body succumbs to physical decay. I do not believe in “the resurrection of the body,” as Christians do. There is very little concrete definition to my spiritual beliefs, and I see that as progress. I feel unburdened by shedding my “Christianity.”

I still read and wish to follow the teachings of Jesus. I still pray. But now, I don’t have any predetermined agenda. I can respect Christianity as a tradition and want my children to learn about it, but I don’t want us to be hindered by notions of Heaven or Hell, the judgment to come, the life everlasting, original sin or any other Christian precepts or concepts. For example, I will never tell my sons, as I was told as a child, “If you have premarital sex God will not bless your marriage,” or “Satan is always lurking nearby to defeat you.”

Jesus said, “You will know them by their fruit,” and the fruit that distinguishes Christians from other faiths is not charity. Jews, Buddhists, Muslims, Hindus and Taoists are also charitable, as are atheists. Christians are not the only ones giving aid to the sick and poor. Christians are also not distinguished by their message of hope. In fact, many preach about the end of the world and the great destruction to come. The main distinguishing feature of Christianity that I can see is its evangelism. Christians have traditionally worked hard to convert others to their faith.

In disclaiming my Christianity, I am not singling out the Christian faith as worse than the other alternatives. In general, religious doctrine is a burden to people. I simply prefer spiritual development to religious indoctrination. This has been my viewpoint for a long time, but I have persisted in calling myself a Christian when asked about my faith. Usually, it comes out as, “I am a Christian, but…” If I need to qualify my Christianity, then it is probably not serving me well as a belief system. Other Christians will undoubtedly agree with me. We all have the right to claim our beliefs with joy and confidence.

I joyfully claim my nebulous spirituality. I embrace my own values. The cultivation and pursuit of the following values form my spiritual practice: 1) Love, 2) Awareness, 3) Compassion and 4) Equanimity. There are certainly aspects of the Christian faith that are at odds with these values, for example: an emphasis on sin and the need for redemption; the concept of salvation; a focus on the afterlife rather than the here and now. There are many more opposing concepts, but those three alone are enough motivation for me to disengage from Christian faith.

How will I practice going forward? I will continue to pray. I will continue to meditate. I will continue to read the Bible along with religious texts from other faiths. I will practice yoga. I will acquaint myself more and more with presence.

Am I still a cultural Christian? Of course. I will still put up a Christmas tree. I will attend religious services with other family members who request that I do so. I will educate my sons in the tradition of their ancestors and culture. But instead of teaching them that “Jesus is the Reason for the Season,” I will tell them how Christmas was conceived. They will learn about the pagan traditions that influenced Christian holidays and the development of the Gregorian calendar. They will also learn about the unique and life changing teachings of Jesus Christ, whether or not they choose to adopt Christianity as a belief system. After all, they will be free to choose their own values as they grow. Although I cannot know this now, perhaps one day our individual paths will dissect.

Resilience Through Connection

"This moment for you really is resilient, because you are facing [the legacy of bipolar] it and letting it in.  Otherwise it would be fake resilience.  You can slide away from things and use quasi denial, and not want to face it, and that looks resilient to the world, but that starts to crack.  If you have been through this kind of shit, there’s stuff to face.  If you are reacting when you hear and read this stuff, that is good.  That means your inner self is waking up and saying, 'Me, me!  I know about that.'  Giving yourself a season to pay attention to that takes strength.  I think humility is very big.  Doing what looks strong on the outside isn’t always real strength.  In the end, everyone has to face real emotions."  - Dr. Ellen Luborsky, Psychotherapist

I interviewed Dr. Ellen Luborsky in connection with the book I am writing about the adult offspring of depressed parents.  Dr. Luborsky has written professionally about depression and has worked with many grown children of the depressed. 

I have taken a three month break from writing about resilience and depression.  I am finding that this work brings up a lot of emotions for me.  Coincidentally, my mother's struggle with bipolar disorder has taken a negative turn during this period.  Facing this topic forcefully and directly is often painful. 

My major obstacle in completing this work is affirming my own resilience.  Fortunately, interviewing psychology experts and working with my own therapist has reinforced my confidence.  The quote above illustrates the kind of encouragement I have received as a result of reaching out. 

The ability to reach out and connect is actually the major predictor for psychological resilience.  I am a big communicator and have thrived through connection all of my life.  I use social networking and blogging not so that I can live in a fish bowl, but so that I can consistently reach out to others in the midst of parenting two young children and self-motivating on my own project. 

I am decidedly resuming work on my book, and also on this blog.  I haven't stopped reaching out, and I don't plan to.  An integral part of this practice is my spritual column for Patch.com.  Patch is local news, and I love that, because it is a way to work on a smaller scale, and to do, as Mother Teresa said, "small things with great love."  For each column I connect with an individual or group in my community.  Global begins with local. 

In addition to the column, I am going to post regular entries here.  I am excited about coming out of a reflective and nurturing period and sharing the benefits I am gaining with anyone who is interested.