I sat in the grass on the weekend, in the wet, duck-poop graced grass, and couldn't have been happier. I soaked up the beauty of a park, the laughter of children, the love of friends. The sun was warm and the slight breeze cleansing. I felt joy.

I got a ride on the back of a motorcycle for the first time since I was 18 years old and living in France. Then, I was surrounded by a new country, new language, new everything, so why not a new mode of transportation? I loved that time in my life. And how cool, now, more than 25 years later, I got the gift of remembering what it was like to have the air on my face, be touched by a soft mist, and feel the thrill of freedom, one more time. I felt young.

In the last two weeks, I danced, cried, asked for help, got mad, got sad, found some balance, lost my way, rallied, flirted, and stood back up after falling down. That's the short list.

Now it's your turn.  Just for tomorrow, find a chance to sing, or do a little gig just for you, or sit down and tell a story, or be silent with someone.

Watch how you feel. Revel in it. Get soaked in the experience.  Let it fill all of your senses. Be a child, kinda like hugging sunshine.

And I'm talking about all kinds of love.  The teaching here is not mine, so I am student as well and I'm struggling fiercely, but I think I just lost the battle.  Or won depending on your view. 

Too many things have happened in the last two weeks for me to question my teacher on this anymore.  She says that to love someone it is really important to never ever try to understand them.

Yeah, I know.  Stopped me cold too.  My ego mind was screaming, why?  How come?  But I wanna...

And then some other part of me kicked in and recognized the wisdom.  To even begin to understand another human being, to be so arrogant to think that it's even possible, destroys their freedom to choose and yours. This is the root cause of unwritten agreements and of interference, (both previous posts) knocking us off balance because we think we've got something figured out.

Forget it. You're either wrong, or, you're right, but you will be wrong after the person changes.

For now, until this teaching becomes second nature, here's a phrase a colleague used in a meeting not too long ago, "I am not burdened by knowledge, so I can give you an answer."

Cut your relationships a break, and stop trying to understand them

"Forgiveness is the scent of the violet that clings to the boot that crushed it."

Read it again.

Will you see someone in the next week that needs forgiving? Can you do it? Are you the one who needs forgiveness? Can you ask for it, even in the quietness of your own heart?

If it'll help, forgiveness is not a ceremony.  There is no ritual practice to perform.  Forgiveness walks in step with letting go.  How then is forgiveness bestowed?  Think about the quote.  Forgiveness happens the moment the wound is created.  It is instanteous, it requires a mighty heart, and it forever changes the violet and the boot.

Cut yourself some slack, let it go, whatever IT is. 

Last thought, it is only a mighty heart that beats at the threshold of peace.

Turns out, pretty damn hard.

Here's what it might look like:  Over the Holidays, you will be asked to drive to four different relative's houses all on Thanksgiving Day and 'no one is taking no for an answer.'  Or you will be pressured to eat meat even though you're a vegan. Or you will be introduced to new family friends using that oh-so-very cute nickname that you asked everybody never to use again.

Being impeccable with your word starts with using the hardest word in the English language to master:  no. 

Saying 'no' is not any different than saying the word 'marshmallow.'  (PS. You should be yelling at your screen right now.  Are you?)  Of course it's different. 'No' carries weight, it feels heavy, like we actually said more than no.  It feels like we actually said, 'no, I'm rejecting you.'  Or 'no, you're not right.'

And that's why it gets us into trouble. We imply meaning when someone tells us no. We think they're making a statement about something else, something deeper. If you really want to know what 'no' means, it is only a statement of a limit or boundary. That's it.  You can give it deeper meaning, but on it's surface, it just means, I'll pass.

That's when I discovered what 'impeccable' really means - 'without fault or blame.' So to speak impeccably is to say what you really mean without blame, without the deeper layers of implied meaning.

Our culture has taught us to fear the outcome of no. So we have learned to cleverly skirt the issue with intentionally vague language that looks and feels alot like a jedi mind trick.  

Bad choice. Make a commitment to impeccable words. Say what you mean, do what you say.

In this way, you keep your personal power, and maybe your sanity, too!

I could give you a post about moderation.  Or one about patience.  I'm really tempted to write about understanding (which, btw, has no place in a relationship!, but more on this in another post).

Nah.

Today, I'm looking forward to a fun weekend.  I have a picnic planned, checking out a tattoo artist, and some dog park action. 

So I will steal from my freinds down at the Pike Place Market and share with you a quote I found there...

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving in a well-preserved body, but rather, to slide in sideways, thoroughly exhausted, totally used up, and with your very last breathe, exclaiming, "Wow, what a ride!"

I hope your weekend feels like this and that on Sunday night as you settle into your bed, you have a smile on your face, and in a child's voice you whisper, "Let's go again!"

See you on Monday!

A Grandfather and grandson were walking in the forest.  The Elder began pointing out bits and pieces of nature, small glimpses of the wonders of the forest.  He asked his grandson to carry 'a few' things for him and without hesitation the grandson agreed.  They walked for hours.  The Elder saw much he prized and picked up one item after another, asking permission, giving thanks, and handing it over to be carried.  Soon, his grandson was stuffing his pockets, his back pack, and juggling as  many of these prize articles as he could. The Elder finally exclaimed joy over finding a special but large rock and bent to examine it.  Once again asking permission and giving thanks, he bid his grandson to carry it too.

"But Grandfather my hands are full."

The Elder smiled and looked deeply at his grandson and said, "I guess you'll just have to drop something."

This is the way of letting go.  We gather so much to ourselves, we think we have to or need to have more.  We think we will let someone else down because we can not carry any more.  Or, and this one is the worst, we think we will miss out on something, so we hold on to more and more.

Letting go is the beating heart of lion.  It is patience and wisdom and courage.  Simple and complex.

Letting go is not something you practice, you do it.  Or you don't.

As a woman I am a nurturer by design, I care for others, sometimes making sacrifices that my body, heart, and mind have trouble navigating.  That got me thinking about the masculine form of nurturing - to be tender, to show care and affection. 

I recently attended a retreat where I had the amazing experience of watching one person after another transform their thinking at the DNA level.  I'm talking re-writing the whole software package - years and years of thoughts and beliefs about self and other dissolving in a moment of courage and risk.

One male friend of mine at the retreat so impressed me.  When I first got to know him, he seemed angry, hardened, abrupt.  It made me want to steer clear of him. I learned though that he was not the sum of his external expressions when I struggled that very first night, lost my voice, and started silently crying.

Do you know what he did without any warning, or prompting, or seemingly very little awareness of my distress?

He came over to me, sat down, looked me square in the eyes, nodded, and then, he did nothing.  He just sat with me. In silence, as long as I wanted to sit.  It was very tender.

I am learning that the masculine and the feminine can also be expressed as the dynamic and the magnetic.

I think it must be hard to be male in this society today. My friend redefined male for me, dynamic and tender, both.

Walls are heavy brick structures, they protect, they restrict, they keep out.  They are erected by an individual as a modern day version of 'beyond here, thar be dragons!' 

We all have walls a-plenty, thus the expression, 'running into a brick wall.'  Even Freud's definition of insanity, doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different outcome, smacks of wall wounds. 

It's really helpful when clients come to me and say, "I keep hitting a brick wall."  This is prescriptive language.  It is - I can't, shouldn't, won't.

Boundaries on the other hand are lovely.  They are fluid, and like their owner they flow with the moment. One moment's 'no' can be the next moment's 'yes.'  It all just depends. The language of a boundary is 'I might, maybe, possibly.' It's funny and ironic because boundaries sound an awful lot like walls.  Most people hear 'no' first, particularly when they are walled off.

The difference between a boundary and a wall is the difference betweeen a lightening bug and lightening. If you pause, breathe, and remain still, a lightening bug is one of the most pleasurable sights to behold.  Gentle, fascinating, and singular.  So too is lightening, well not the gentle part, but fascinating, singular, and if you're in it, you need to run for cover.  But still, a wonder to behold.

When people break down walls, it is like lightening.  It is amazing to watch. The light in that momemt can blind; it casts a warmth into crevices of the heart and mind that were dark and shadowy and the ripples outward are magnetic and dynamic, feminine and masculine.

Boundaries are markers of the healthy mind, guard rails, sometimes physical, sometimes virtual.  They show us the Way, they mark a beginning and herald a transition.  They delineate a choice.  They are flexible and adjust at will.

A boundary is freedom.

Walls are solid, rock solid.  They do not move, except under the most extreme conditions. They are intentional spaces to either keep something out or someone in. 

We all have them. Think about yours.  Ask yourself, "what won't I do?" This will give you a hint about your own walls.

After you have a bit of fun by listing all the easy ones like 'I won't rob a bank', "I won't wear fleece' and 'I won't swear or speed,' (ooops, I do swear and speed!) get to the ones that start with, I won't forgive...... I won't go see ..... I won't tell her....... Finally, if you do this long enough, you'll get to The One, Granddaddy of all Walls:  'I won't heal this because I need it.'

Now that's a helluva wall.

The gift of walls is realizing that the thing you run from or run to, the thing you think you want - security, protection, love, stability, or freedom - is the thing that makes you realize who you are, where you are right now, and what you really desire beyond all else.

Walls are wounds and they need to be healed.

He told me, "You do know exactly what respect feels like because I have respected you."

What a simple statement, packed with a ton of wisdom.  I wondered after this conversation what other simple truths had I ignored, failed to really pay attention to, allowed to slip through my consciousness. And why?

It occurred to me that the challenge of being present and available to our world and to each other, being 'in relation', is really a problem with filters, boundaries and walls. Through what filter do I create my world? What walls hem me in and which boundaries are healthy and useful?  How does each limit my perception?

In the Cherokee tradition, there is a process called 'opening up' and is opposite from a 'catharsis', which is stirring up that which needs healing, our unresolved issues or unfinished business; opening up means to settle in, in a calm way, to acknowledge your surroundings, not change or master them, but be in harmony with them. In this way, filters, walls and boundaries become transparent.

I recognize that day I had a filter on which only allowed me to see respect in a certain way.  And I was reminded that the world shows up in lots of ways for us, mostly in ways we don't expect and therefore may not acknowledge. 

Today, be grateful to friends who show up for you.  I am.