Desert Rivers That Look Like Trees
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Janet Dane
atomyriades
Being Too Nice
When we moved here 35 years ago, we got a dog, a lovely long-haired german shepherd with a sweet disposition. Shelly would do anything for my husband. She worshipped him and his friend. But she ignored me. Even though I fed her. Even though I walked her. Even though I was really nice to her.
When Tom and Jim swam out to the raft in the lake, Shelly was so devoted to the two of them that she learned how to swim right there and then, so she could be with them. I called her as she splashed awkwardly out to the raft, but she ignored me.
Finally after about three weeks of this, I got fed up. Once again, Shelly'd ignored me when I'd called her to come. That was enough. I growled at her in a no-nonsense voice and gestured to her, demanding that she come and sit down. She looked a bit surprised, but she came to me and sat down. From that day on, she was my dog.
My instinctive reaction to demand respect from her was exactly the signal that she could understand and appreciate. Being too nice gave her the wrong signal and only confused the issue.
Friends used to tell me that I was too nice with the people in my life. I used to hate saying "No," to even when the workload would be uneven. I like to help out. Often my mistake was in thinking that the ones I was helping would be just as generous with their time or energy. But it didn't work that way. They seemed to operate under a different set of rules. Being too nice gave them the wrong signal and confused the issue.
Dog to dog, communication is clear. The alpha demands respect by taking a specific posture. His stance and the straight way he looks at the other dog asserts his position. If the other dog doesn't respect the posture, he'll move ahead to a warning growl. This isn't anger, it's a signal that the other dog understands. If the other dog still doesn't get the message, the alpha will spell it out.
This sequence works in person to person interaction, too: First the confident posture. Then, if that is ignored, a warning growl like the one I gave Shelly.
At a special family celebration, every time Sarah was asked to help out in the kitchen, she ignored the request with a toss of her hand. "I'll be right there," she promised. "Janet, can you help out until I get there?" This was her pattern in the past. She'd promise to help and never show up. In the past, I would have stepped right in to fill the gap out because I'm nice. This time I decided not to be quite so nice. I had enough to do as it was. I kept busy and ignored her. Just like an alpha dog would go about his own business. Her inaction was not my concern. When I didn't jump, she said, "Janet, I'm just going to be held up for a couple of minutes." I turned straight to her with a confident stance and said, "No." No anger. No guilt. No resentment. Just a firm, soft-spoken, "No."
If my stance had been apologetic, she'd get a mixed message from me. If I allowed her to steamroller me, that would give her the message that my needs don't count. Kindness, fairness and compassion take an important role. But if I'm too nice, I risk being misunderstood.
It may be easier for dogs. It worked for Shelly and I. We had many happy years together - years when I was nice to her - but not so nice that she got the wrong message.
Back to Janet's website. Cellophane Wrappers
A silly little thing gave rise to some insight the other day. I was fighting to open the cellophane wrappers on a dozen audio cassettes, and I caught myself holding a huge amount of tension in my shoulders in the doing. I was fighting those silly things with a lot of energy. When I became aware of this, I took a breath and relaxed. And as I relaxed, I realized that relaxing also meant letting go of the annoyance I had been feeling alongside the effort.
Hmmm.
I wondered how many other little and big tensions I carry without awareness of them and how many of them I don't need to be carrying at all.
It struck me that we often carry tension to compensate. All kinds. We put greater muscle effort into opening the wrappers to compensate for the difficulty. We diffuse the pain of a hot appendix by tightening belly muscles. For the big things, like the appendix, the compensation works well as a stop-gap measure. If it can hold the pain until we can get to the doctor, then good. But when it is about annoyance, then the tension can be disproportionate to the job.
I guess the trick is to just notice every now and then. Stop and take stock. See what is happening. When we do, sometimes just naming it releases it. For the bigger things, naming it can lead to taking care of it. Some tensions help carry us through. Others are unnecessary. Awareness of them helps us to relax into whatever is there, a deeper issue that needs to be seen, or an easy joy in the moment.
(first published in my Starry Night Newsletter March 2006.)
Back to Janet's website.Picking Things Apart
I hate doing downward dog. Well, I used to hate doing it. I disliked it so much that some days it poisoned my pleasure in yoga altogether. But once I deconstructed the problem, it became easier to see what was really happening. Now, I like the old dog a bit better.
It takes awareness to pick a problem apart but it's not hard to do.
While holding the dog pose, my butt in the air, instead of spending my time spinning a story about how tough it was, I explored the move, looking to see what part was difficult. A little surprisingly, I discovered that most of the move was quite enjoyable. There was just this one little place where I felt a tendon pull painfully. By moving a bare inch in another direction, I could see how it changed the painful pull into a simple sensation of stretching. By moving an inch in another direction, I was amazed to discover that I could feel a difference in another spot. Dislike turned into curiosity. Resistance became interest.
Then I wondered which other areas of my life I could pick apart.
When I was irritated with the guy down the street, I deconstructed my feelings of irritation and discovered that there was just this one little thing about him that put me off. Just this one little thing in an otherwise quite pleasant fellow. By slightly adjusting the way I saw him, I found that it changed everything. I could respond to him from a better place. Irritation turned into curiosity. Resistance became interest.
The same process can work for an event or activity. A single wasp-sting at ten years of age can rob us of the fun of picnics for years. But if we deconstruct it, we may discover that the picnics themselves were okay, it was just that one little thing. If the habit of dislike isn't too deep, we may even begin to find a way to enjoy picnics again. It can be worth exploring. Aversion may turn into curiosity. Resistance may become interest.
Taking the time for awareness can show us that each person we meet or experience we have is not just one big solid thing - it's a compilation of zillions of little parts, all moving and changing right before our eyes. When we pick apart one of those constructs, we may discover that they were not at all what we'd thought they were. Maybe they were not even problems after all.
(Adapted from "Deconstructing Problems" first published in my Starry Night Newsletter June 2006.)Back to Janet's website. Nevertheless I will be Joyful
At a Zen Meditation seminar this last weekend, the teacher, Edward Espe Brown suggested a simple little thing to help us at the times when we might feel our thoughts spiralling downwards:
If we feel sad, acknowledge it but then follow that with an intention to feel joyful. He suggested we say "I feel sad right now. Nevertheless, I will be joyful and happy." If we are uncertain or scared or angry, we do the same. "I feel scared. Nevertheless I will be joyful and happy." Or phrase it like, "Even though I am angry right now, I will feel joyful and happy."
I've been using it on a sticky problem and it really helps lift my spirits.
(First published in my Starry Night Newsletter in September 2008.)
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Intention
Intention is like setting the stage.
It doesn't make any promises.
There may be bigger forces at work.
But it does increase our chances when we put an intention out there.
(From Starry Night 0706, June 2005)
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Redefining Ourselves
At a retirement seminar, the people attending were asked to list ten things they enjoyed about their jobs. Many grumbled that they hated their jobs and there was No Way they could find ten. But once they got going, they discovered that there were lots of pleasant aspects. Working outdoors, or meeting new people, or solving problems, or bringing order to chaos.
Then they were asked to list the top three things of those ten. Those were the things that mattered to them as people. For those who defined themselves as their job, it gave them a broader view of who they were. "I'm a truck driver" could become "I love driving heavy machines, being my own boss and being outdoors", "I'm a sales rep" could become "I love being with people and finding exactly the right thing for them" and "I'm an engineer" can become "I love designing things and making them work right."
It was brilliant.
(First published in November 2008 in my Starry Night Newsletter.)
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The Peace of Meditation
Many meditations are guided journeys for giving us a framework for a mental activity. This is great. It can lead our emotions and body to follow.
Others are designed to be more free flowing so that we can be aware of the habitual thought patterns that dominate our thinking lives. This deepens awareness of what we are - and what we are not, and opens us to more paradoxical thinking. This is great, too.
Most of us start to meditate because we just want to feel better. We start with guided journeys because they can help us relax, many for the first time in ages. But after a while, many of us yearn for something more - or we have seen things or experienced things in that relaxed state that are interesting or new or have opened us up spiritually. That's when we make the switch to the sitting, silent, watching-the-breath type of meditation, although most of us will bounce back and forth forever.
If we are lucky, at some point, the desire to sit so that we feel better falls away and we start to sit for the sake of sitting. Not because it feels good or feels bad, although being joyful helps to keep us sitting. But because we feel curiously at rest or peace when we do.
(First published July 2008, in my Starry Night Newsletter)
Back to Janet's website. Getting Ahead of Myself
I was annoyed. But only a little. That wasn't the main feeling. The main feeling was a deep body-sense of hurry, hurry, hurry. A weird, off-balance tension. Physical, more than emotional.
I noticed it the other morning while I was brewing coffee for my husband's breakfast. It felt intense but not particularly serious.
No longer annoyed, I paid attention to the intriguing sensation. As I did, the reason for it became clear.
Minutes before, I had been working at an interesting and complicated project at my desk in the other room. When the bell rang, telling me it was time to drop everything and make breakfast, I did, but a part of me still wanted to continue work on the project.
I found it fascinating to watch the body-sensation. I could actually feel a part of my energy straining to be elsewhere. I was literally "getting ahead of myself". It was intense. The sense of being off-balance was real, and the strain was noticeable.
But it was understandable. The project was demanding. As I put the water on to heat for the coffee, ideas were bouncing around in my head wanting my attention. I jotted them down on a slip of paper (I have slips of paper all over the house), and as I did, I noticed how the tension was easing - not so much from writing the note but from choosing to be present in the kitchen.
I took a deep breath and felt my energy re-integrate. The feeling of hurry hurry hurry was gone.
Right.
Coffee.
There's joy in coffee. Joy in being where I am and doing what I'm doing. I'm going to remember that.
No point in getting ahead of myself.
(first published in my Starry Night Newsletter, Nov, 2007)Back to Janet's website. Solitude
I like my solitude.
When I was a little kid, I liked to sit under a willow tree in the back yard. It was a quiet place that was uninteresting enough to the other kids that they didn't pester me and innocent enough to the adults that they wouldn't worry about what I was into. It was harder when I was a young mother to find moments of solitude. But I carved them out anyhow, even if it was just a moment alone in the bathroom. I knew I needed to withdraw. To dream. To reflect. To get perspective. To get a rest from myself. To be myself.
It can take practice to give ourselves those moments of aloneness. When we have decided to take a few minutes to sit in the garden among the flowers, enjoying the feel of the breeze on our face, we may find ourselves weeding instead - habitually needing to keep busy. Or we may turn a moment of quiet reflection into worry. We are so accustomed to the noise and busy-ness, that when we get a moment alone, we snap on the radio or TV for company.
Solitude is not lonely, though. It's just alone. When we give ourselves that space, we become aware that we are surrounded by Presence - supported by Presence. We see that our life is our own unique dance. We affirm our deeply felt truths. We develop clarity. We open intuition. We become more.
In her book, "The Hermit of Eyton Forest," Ellis Peters says it much better than I can. In this story, Cadfael, a monk from mediaeval times, was lingering in church after a service.
"The office had its beauty and its consolation, but the
solitude afterwards was also salutary in its silence, after
the echoes of the music had all died away, and to be here
alone in this evening hour had a special beneficence, whether
because of the soft, dove-coloured light or the sense of
enlargement that seemed to swell the soul to inhabit and fill
the vast arches of the vault, as a single drop of water
becomes the ocean into which it falls. There was no better
time for profound prayer."
When under the willow, I felt the Presence around me and let that Presence make me feel safe enough to dream there. Nowadays, I go out each morning to a cherry tree in the side yard to do my morning prayers and healings. While there, I feel the whole area alive with Presence - all taking part in my solitude. All taking part in the prayers and the healing and reflection.
I like my solitude. I may look like I'm alone. But I am not.
(first published in my Starry Night Newsletter, Oct. 2007)Back to Janet's website.
