by Connie Habash | Sep 16, 2021 | Articles, Create, Intention, Manifestation, Surrender, Trust
If your life were a book, what would its title be? What chapter are you on now? Impact your next phase of life by creating it intently as you would craft a book.
Some people believe in past lives, but my experience is that we have many lives in this one life. Isn’t your life quite different than it was in your childhood? Perhaps even vastly changed just in the last couple of years. We all go through life phases based on our age, family circumstance, where we live, our occupation, school or college, our health, our relationships, and so much more.
It’s helpful to reflect on your past as a means of gaining wisdom and understanding, completion, and crafting your next phase of life. Each period of our journey through this lifetime is like a chapter in a book. Not only can you reflect on the past by writing your story, but you can impact the future by writing your next chapter (or at least its title) now.
The Past: A Conscious Re-writing of His or Herstory
Looking at our lives as a book gives us the opportunity to write, or rewrite, our history. After all, history is told by those who write the history books, and you are the author of your own life. You may not be able to change the events that have happened, but you can change how you tell their story.
Think about the earlier chapters in your life. You may have characterized them in a certain way – maybe a very painful or disempowering way. But when we reflect on those experiences from a bit of distance, we frequently find what we learned, gained, or developed through those experiences. If we experienced a trauma, for example, we don’t whitewash the events. But we also can discern how they turned us away from a certain lifestyle, initiated a path of healing, or gave us skills that allowed us to help others.
As we consider what titles we would give chapters in our lives, think about the transformation that came from both the joy and the pain. If you had a loss or a painful breakup, you could call it “When My World Ended”, or you could call it “Breaking Up, Breaking Down, and Breaking Open” – into a new understanding of yourself.
Take a moment to pen a few chapter titles – what you would have called your childhood, teen years, college, early career or parenthood, etc. Sort out as many chapters as you can up to just before where you are now. Write the title you would have called it without conscious consideration, and then the more empowering, transformative, revealing title of what you gained from those times.
Your Current Chapter
Alright, now it’s time to sit back and feel into the now… into the present time in your life. You may feel you’re right at the start of a new chapter, smack in the middle, or nearing the end. What is this chapter in your life called? Perhaps you have felt stuck for a while, or it’s been a time of inner struggle. Or you could be riding high on the pinnacle of success. Either way, there’s gifts and insights in this chapter.
Reflect again on where you are now, and how you would typically characterize it. Then go a level deeper. If you’re feeling “Mired in the Mud”, you might consider a rewrite: “The Mud that Stuck Me Until I Awoke” or “Stopping, Stillness, Awaiting the Divine Shift.”
Don’t gloss over an easy or successful chapter, either. We don’t want to take those for granted! Dive in more deeply than just “My Great Success” – what insights are you having? What new vistas are appearing for you? How have you accessed a deeper level of joy or fulfillment? Your chapter might have an even better title, like “How I Up-leveled from Great to Magical”.
Your Next Chapter
Now that you’re more clear about where you are and how you want to tell the story of both your past and your present, what do you want to create next? Imagining the title of your next chapter and its theme can set up the vision and conditions for how it unfolds.
Before you charge into coming up with your next chapter title, though, pause for a moment. Give this a little time. Let go of trying to “figure it out”. I invite you to sit in meditation just a bit, with your mind quiet and your heart open. Open to receive the title from your Higher Self, the Divine.
Ask Spirit about what is unfolding next. This is a co-creation of what you’d like to manifest and what the Divine is guiding you towards. Usually what we are called to, what longs to be expressed from within us is not only personal desire, but also a nudge from Spirit.
Then, allow some titles for that next chapter to come to you. Write down everything – give yourself several titles to choose from. Get creative, playful, and most of all, let the title capture the feeling of what you want to experience rather than the specifics. If you’re in a tough time right now, it can be the light at the end of your tunnel, a rebirth, or a healing process. Some examples: “Finding Myself Again”, “Emerging from the Murky Waters”, or “Stepping Back into Joy”.
Write – or Let It Be Written
When you have the title for your next chapter, you may feel inspired to actually write out some of the story. You can tell a story that supports your intentions for growth, expression, or ease. It can be a time when you’re relaxing and enjoying the fruits of your labors, too – it doesn’t always have to be up-leveling. What vision would you like to put into words for the next part of your journey?
Alternatively, you can let the Divine be the author. Set your intent with the chapter title, capturing the feeling of what you’d like to experience, but surrender the story. Allow Spirit to chart your course and determine the way that the feeling you desire shows up in your life. If we become too attached to a particular form, circumstance, or outcome, we can be disappointed. But if we focus on the feeling we want to have – peace, aliveness, meaning, strength, etc. – and allow the Divine to work out the details, there are a myriad of ways that we can receive what we are asking for.
You are creating the book of your life through the mental stories you tell yourself in every moment. If you aren’t happy with the story you’re telling, you can rewrite from a new perspective. Set your intent of what you want to experience in the next chapter. And if you’re ready, the most powerful practice is simply holding the vision of your desired inner state and release story-telling altogether. Come into the present moment with a quiet mind and open heart, and trust in the Divine to guide you through the next chapter.
by Connie Habash | Apr 13, 2021 | Nature, Patience, Presence, Trust
If you’re willing to be patient and present – to wait a bit in the unknown – you’ll perceive the blessings showing up. No matter where you live, you can find life and inspiration; even on a busy urban street!. Here’s a snapshot from a couple years ago of a simple treasure that brought a beautiful insight.
One of my favorite practices to find my center and my inner peace is sitting outdoors, being present with nature. It’s called “sit spot,” as taught to me by Jon Young, author of What the Robin Knows.
I had some time before my next client at my office, so I decided to step outside and enjoy the benches under an olive tree in the complex I sublet in. In front of me was a lovely little bed of colorful flowers – red zinnias, pink cosmos, some daisies and mums among a couple other plants I couldn’t identify. It was a warm spring day, and the shade of the tree was the perfect balance to the bright sun overhead.
I wanted to happily settle in, but this wasn’t a quiet place. The complex is right on a major 4-lane road, with high-rises across the street and a lot of noisy traffic coming and going. OK, I’ll accept that. Then, another airplane soared over. Hrmpf. Letting go into that, a leaf blower started up on the lawn in the complex next door. This is definitely ruining my peaceful sit spot.
I couldn’t find any sign of birds, my usual companions for these outdoor practices. There are no creatures here, in this noisy, traffic-laden spot, I exclaimed to myself! I was used to listening for birdsong and seeing chickadees high in the trees on my front lawn. I felt dismayed that nothing seemed to be around us – how could it, in this urban area?
I was about to give up my garden relaxation (which wasn’t so relaxing) and head back indoors, when I noticed the bees. Yes, there were certainly insects around here. There is life. A couple flies hovered around, and I saw another bee zip by to the white flowers across the sidewalk from me. The first signs of creatures began to emerge.
I waited a bit longer, opening up my eyes to broader vision. With my peripheral vision, I could take in more of the scene and detect movement, which would give me clues to what might actually live in this less-than-wild environment. What else might I notice, if I am more patient and give this some time?
A shadow darted overhead; as I turned to follow its trail, I saw a grey bird flying across the boulevard to the trees next to the high-rises. My first bird sign – but actually, that wasn’t true. I had seen seagulls and probably pigeons, but discounted those automatically. Those aren’t really nature, I thought – they’re always around, pooping on the traffic lights and gobbling up crumbs from tossed potato chip bags. But they, indeed, are part of our natural world here in suburbia, and worthy of my noticing. I had not realized that I was discounting some obvious life around me.
Again, I softened my eyes and let them take in a broader scope of my vision, rather than the hard-focused, directive way that we humans look at things (as do other predators). Off to my left, I saw movement on the brick pathway, going around to the grass. It was a bird! A small bird, that likes to hang out on the ground, searching for seeds, perhaps. Suddenly, I was filled with joy and enthusiasm about a bird friend in the vicinity.
I stood up and looked over at the grass, but it was hiding somewhere in the bushes. It must have seen my movement – so I will need to sit back down and be still. The movement of some magenta flowers clued me in as to its location. Then I saw it hopping through the bushes towards the ivy. A sweet, gentle, dark-eyed junco! Charcoal on its head and neck, coffee-colored through the bodice and wings. It sifted through the compost and snatched up seeds, quietly and cautiously hopping away to disappear in the shiny green leaves of the ground cover.
For me, patience and presence gave me a little treasure. I was delighted and filled with hope that even in this place of mostly concrete and steel, there was life. I may have missed it, had I not been willing to be patient. To wait and see. Waiting with trust of what may show up, and with the eyes to be able to look around and notice what is happening, rather than focusing on what isn’t there.
Often, we become impatient with life, because we aren’t receiving what we want right now. But the Universe has its own timing. Waiting in the space of trust, while being alert and observing what shows up, puts us in alignment with something greater in our lives. Alignment with the Divine – or our Higher Self if you prefer – opens up the possibility for more to flow into our life.
So next time, when you’re not seeing what you expected or hoped for, remember to wait and see. Practice patience, trust, and open your eyes to perceive all that is available now. It will reveal much that you might otherwise miss.
What treasure or insight did you discover from patience and presence? Share it here!
Want to learn more about Presence and the other 6 keys to awakening from your emotions? Check out Awakening from Anxiety: A Spiritual Guide to Living a More Calm, Confident, Courageous Life!
by Connie Habash | Sep 4, 2019 | Acceptance, Nature, Presence, Resilience, Trust
A challenging hike (for me, that day!) to a pristine alpine meadow teaches me the power of presence, trust, and reveals my inner resilience.
The whole day was in front of us, and we decided to take a hike that I hadn’t been on in over 20 years. I barely even remembered it; just where the trailhead was and that we had to ascend and cross over the ridge to the east. Everyone told us that it was just 2 miles, and not very far. My memory suggested it was longer. But I believed them instead of myself.
The call of Mount Shasta’s South Gate Meadows (what I remembered as Squaw Meadow) was enticing for all of us. A lush, Japanese garden-like paradise, with abundant wildflowers and a stunning cascade above it. We had to see it!
I had gotten in the habit of carrying the load for the 3 of us. My husband used to have a sensitive low back, and my daughter was too young for many years to be able to carry much. So I hefted our 3 water bottles, lunches, and snacks (plus her epi-pen for emergencies) myself.
Ascending the First Hill
We were at 7,800 feet to begin. Since we had only been in the Mount Shasta area for a day and a half, we weren’t quite acclimated to the elevation yet. Not to mention that the city level was only a little over 3,500 feet. Quite different hiking up at nearly 8,000.
So, you can guess, that shortly after we started up the rocky incline to the ridge above the treeline, I realized pretty quick that I would have to go slow. And rest a lot. I had about 20 extra pounds on my back. I felt like my 9th trimeseter of pregnancy; I had to request 2 stops in just the first 20 minutes. My mind began its story – this is gonna be hard. I’m already tired – how will I make it? Why am I out of breath?
But we finally made it to the peak, where we stopped for a photo op at the Mount Shasta Wilderness sign. Yay – we were heading into the wild! And I was heading into the wild of my mind.
Down Into the First Valley
Looking down the trail lifted my spirits. Downhill, hurrah! Now my mind played the easy stories, hopeful that it would be downhill the rest of the time. A small oasis appeared in the midst of the volcanic rock landscape. A little preview of the meadow to come; water trickling out of a fissure and allowing heather and little white flowers to abound for about 20 yards down the trail.
As we departed the mini-meadow, the land of puff-balls emerged. Remember the wild, swirly “hair” of the Truffula trees in The Lorax by Dr. Seuss? Or perhaps the crazy hair of Thing 1 and Thing 2 in The Cat in the Hat? Well, these little white puff-balls looked just like tiny Truffula trees, dotting the landscape. I called it puff-ball city. We were quite enamored with them and terribly tempted to pick one to take home – but didn’t.
As we passed by this alien-looking landscape, we ascended a small hill, up to where some trees were eeking out an existence. I was thankful for a rest in some shade, while my daughter happily climbed into their branches. There was another long descent ahead of us into a valley, around the bend of a large outcropping with a sheer cliff-face dotted with a few trees that somehow clung to their lives.
I was briefly delighted at the descent, until the thought crossed my mind; the return trip. We are going down, and down, and down. At the end of the day, how will I fare on the return ascent? I began to feel dejected. But I remembered to return to the present moment. Enjoy the view. Count puff-balls. Appreciate the little pink flowers that occasionally shared the barren landscape with the mini-Truffula trees. And trust the process, of course!
Another Incline Bites the Dust
After meandering down around the butte, we reached a steady climb into an area forested with pine, fir, and perhaps spruce (how do you tell the difference, anyway?). I was back to huffing and puffing.
My ego had to sit on the sidelines as I asked for another break. The thoughts rolled in: how much further? The marker sign we saw a ways back said only half a mile more – it can’t be! We descended for at least a quarter mile, and now we’ve been ascending for more than that. Pairs and small groups of millenials, even some with children, would charge past us, while I was the slow caboose about 20 paces behind my husband and daughter.
My mind wanted to compare myself, to feel sub-par as everyone else seemed to be just fine with this hike. I enjoyed it, but my body was protesting. Again and again, I reminded myself to return to the present moment. I have what I need within me to make it to the meadow. Stay here and now, I’d tell myself. One step, then the next; one breath, and another.
At long last, we leveled off and began to descend slightly. Were my ears correct? The sound of running water, indeed, was up ahead. We stepped over a small stream cut into the earth around more pines and continued on the trail around the south side of a slope. The meadow stretched out ahead of us. No more incline – for now!
The Magic of South Gate Meadow
Ambling down into the base of South Gate Meadow, we were greeted by lush green grasses and leaves unfolding from yellow arnica flowers, delicate white blooms, and the last of pink heather. Fiery patches of Indian Paintbrush set the meadow ablaze here and there, and if you looked carefully, you’d also find tiny blue flowers as well.
Tiny waterfall after tiny waterfall emerged as we walked up the narrow trail, careful not to step on the precious meadow foliage. We knew that it took a long time for it to become this lush, and trampling by humans sets a meadow back years. Exhausted, I was relieved to sit down on some large rocks under the shade of a fir (?) tree, and release the pack from my back. We broke out the lunches and ate heartily by the sound of the trickling stream. We had earned it!
My daughter and I meandered around the meadow, marveling at the abundance of life growing on this harsh mountainside. Bright orange and brown Painted Lady butterflies and bumblebees occasionally visited us as we paused to listen to the sound of the stream or to touch our fingertips into the ice-cold water. My husband was happy to meditate back at the rock, while we ventured further up the slope.
The Cascade
The forest ranger told us that if we followed the stream on the right hand side up above the meadow, we’d discover the cascade out of which it was born. Should we go? I was already tired, and well aware that the majority of our return hike was uphill. Would I have enough energy? But here was an opportunity I didn’t know if we would have again for some time. I trusted that somehow, my body would carry me. I put aside my thoughts and focused on this presence; being here in this moment. The Divine would provide the energy, and my job was not to waste it in unnecessary thought.
Sure enough, climbing higher to the upper reaches of the greenery, a stunning array of tiny waterfalls spilled down the rocks. We hiked higher and higher, up through muddy terrain on a steep ascent, attempting to reach the source from which the water emerged from the mountain.
My energy was sapped. Although we had refueled and rested, and I had left my pack back with my husband on the rock, my heart raced and I struggled to breathe through my nose. Just when it seemed that we had finally reached the top, we looked ahead of the illusionary summit to see that the cascades continued indefinitely up the mountain in the distance. It was time to stop.
My daughter and I reveled in the beauty of this vista, looking down upon the meadow and off into the valleys below, a seemingly unending sea of forests. She sat on a large rock in the middle of the stream, radiant in the majesty of the scene.
I,however, found myself flipping back and forth between presence with the rushing sound of the waters and my monkey mind, worrying about getting down this muddy slope and the return trip. As I brought myself back again to this moment, I saw my husband lugging the backpack over his right shoulder to catch up with us. We all enjoyed some time in this magical place.
A Return in 1st Gear
Carefully making my way back down to the meadow (while almost sinking one foot completely into a mudhole!), we prepared for our return trip. My husband’s back already was bothering him from carrying the pack up the cascade. So I hefted the backpack again and we headed back up the trail.
It only took about 10 minutes and a few rest stops for me to acknowledge that I didn’t have the energy to carry our gear myself. But I worried about my 14 year old daughter. The pack was a bit too large for her – would it hurt her back? Would she find it too heavy? She had spent a week last summer backpacking, and she happily put it on her back and took off ahead. Relieved, I ambled along as we crossed the mountainside to the first part of the long ascent.
I dragged myself at times. Really, Connie? But it just was what it was. Again and again, I reminded myself to be present, rather than think of what was ahead, or feel despair at the slowness of my progress. I had to downshift into 1st gear and keep it there to get through this hike.
My family was quite patient with me as I would beg for rests. I gave thanks to my strong heart, as it beat resoundingly in my chest. We rested under shady limbs and on rocks along the way. I’d tell myself, just up to that next crest, or just up to that large red rock, and then I can stop for a bit.
The Final Ascent, and the Emergence of Resilience
One more short downhill, past the small group of trees, and into the land of the puff-balls. The big, long uphill trail lie ahead before we crested at the ridge and could glide downhill to the parking lot. By now, my legs felt like lead. It didn’t feel that they weren’t strong enough, but that my heart and lungs couldn’t seem to replenish them fast enough.
I fell further behind. We stopped talking, as it simply wasted my energy. My daughter seemed unaffected by the weight of the pack, but I was fighting a battle without any extra at all. Fear arose about my heart – could it really take this much? Why did I feel out of shape? Was I dehydrated? By this time, my husband had drank all of his water, my daughter was nearly out, and I was sharing my last bit with them.
I moved ahead, step by step. Resting often, but carrying on. My family encouraged me to go just a little further before a break. My heart, though it seemed to race, was steady; my mind needed to catch up. I had to realize that I was more resilient than my mind wanted me to believe. I just needed to turn away from thinking and keep going. My resilience emerged and strengthened with each step. It didn’t matter if families with toddlers were passing me. I am making it up the hill however I am able.
The Top of the Ridge
After 30 minutes of slowly trudging uphill, stopping to touch puff-balls, resting by the mini-meadow, and catching a butterfly on my finger (it wouldn’t be a trip to Mount Shasta if I didn’t!), the last few steps to the top arrived. We paused at the summit, looking over the Old Ski Bowl parking lot, down the mountain and far off across the valley to Lake Siskyou. I was grateful.
I didn’t skip down the mountain (although my husband joyfully ran). I plodded along slowly, but with more lightness in my step. Still catching my breath, I plopped down into the car seat and heaved a sigh.
The memory of the pristine meadow was deeply imprinted in us. And perhaps moreso, for me, was the memory of the hike itself. Not only the vistas, but the challenges with my body and mind. I was able to keep the mental drama at a minimum, and go past what I thought I could do. It didn’t matter how slowly I moved or how fast my heart raced. It didn’t matter why I seemed to struggle. I made it.
On some level, I not only needed that meadow, but I needed that challenge. By staying present, having faith, and persisting, I discovered my resilience.
by Connie Habash | Jul 16, 2019 | Acceptance, Contentment, Resilience, Trust
Several years ago, I began to study with a teacher named Leslie Temple-Thurston of CoreLight. She had a funny teaching that has become a big part of my life: OK with Whatever.
The Lesson of Mercury Retrograde
I hadn’t realized how much impact this simply philosophy had made until this recent Mercury retrograde cycle that we’re now going through. If you don’t know what Mercury Retrograde is all about, here’s a brief summary: Mercury, the planet of communication and short distance travel appears, from our perspective on the Earth, to be moving backwards. This can indicate delays and stumbling blocks with communication, contracts (not a good time to sign them), electronics, commutes, and travel. It’s also a good time to go inward and reflect, review, and release old patterns, thoughts, etc. (all the re- words!)
Well, Mercury went Retrograde on July 7th, and it has been teaching me the art of OK with Whatever.
First, I had planned quite an extensive trip with my daughter during this period. Probably should have researched those dates, huh? She ended up getting a nasty cough and I decided to cancel most of our plans, turning a 13 day trip into 5 days, to give her time to rest and recover. (hmmm, more re- words).
I felt some disappointment in not being able to see my relatives on the east coast, the new places we were going to explore, and missing out on a visit to a dear friend. But mostly, I was OK with Whatever. I would have been happy to go, but I’m also happy staying here, having more time to relax, do yoga and meditate, write, hike, and spend quality time with my daughter anyway.
Santosha
It ties into a principle that I talk about in my book, Awakening from Anxiety, and that my students over the years have known is my favorite concept from yoga philosophy: Santosha.
Santosha translates as “contentment”. It’s quite a different idea than happiness. Happiness is based on external circumstances. It is founded in getting what we want, and then we feel happy. Santosha, on the other hand, is based on our internal Self within, which is beyond happy and sad.
The practice of contentment involves finding within us where we are OK, no matter what the circumstances. Where we can feel at peace with what is, and maybe even find appreciation for what the moment offers. When we’re embodying Santosha, we find that the present moment fills us as it is. Life is enough and we feel inner fulfillment.
Santosha gives us resilience. It helps us through whatever is happening by accessing the unchanging steadiness we have within us, from the infinite presence of the Divine. From the chapter on resilience in Awakening from Anxiety: “We let go of looking for conditions in our life to be completely safe, and find that our essence within provides us with the feeling of ease we’re looking for.”
The Second Retrograde Event
This attitude of relying on my inner essence for my ease came in handy when the 2nd mercury retrograde event happened: my computer died. I had the signs for a few weeks, but I kept putting it off: slow performance, trouble starting it, little weird things happening. Then one night it died – just a black screen. I couldn’t get it to turn back on properly. The next morning, I was able to start it, but I took it right away into the computer mechanic (after I made sure to back up the data!).
Luckily, I had a laptop to use… and then it started acting weird, the mouse flying all over the screen out of control.
Ten years ago, I probably would have freaked out and blown my top. I have deadlines to meet! I have important data that could be lost if I didn’t recover all of it. There were blog posts that needed to be written and emails to read. What if a new client emailed me and I couldn’t respond to it???
But I just couldn’t drum up the drama and upset I used to. I had contentment – I was OK with whatever. I knew that I’d adjust and find a way to deal with the situation, and that I’d figure things out or get them fixed (and luckily, installing an update took care of my laptop). I also had perspective: in light of the possibilities in life, this wasn’t so bad and I knew I’d get through it.
Trust
The attitude of OK with Whatever helps me through much of life, because much of life isn’t that big of a deal. I used to make huge deals out of things that didn’t go my way. If I was turned down for something I wanted, I’d despair.
But the foundation under OK with Whatever is Trust. Trust in the Divine, and Trust in the Process. I have a solid establishment of this trust within me now, that I didn’t years ago.
I know that if I don’t get that speaking gig at the church in SF that I reached out to, that there will be another one that I will. One rejection or one door closing simply means another one opens. At times, that door may be opening to the simplicity of doing less and allowing myself to receive more from what is already here. I trust that the divine flow of life will bring me what I truly need.
I’m so much less reactive from the practice of Santosha and feeling OK with Whatever. If there’s a true crisis, sure, I’ll need to mobilize and it will be more stressful. But I’ll still know within that I have some part of me that’s alright through the upset.
As I recognize it’s time to call the store and check up on the well-being of my desktop computer, I’m still OK with Whatever. I can have it fixed, or buy a new one. I can earn the money to pay for it. It’s OK, and more importantly, I know that I’m OK within.
What has happened during Mercury Retrograde for you? What are you learning to be OK with Whatever about (or challenged by)? Share it here and I’ll respond. 🙂
by Connie Habash | Mar 15, 2018 | Animals, Beauty, Hiking, journey, Joy, Life, Nature, Openness, Seasons, Trust
A couple weeks ago, I had planned to hike on a Thursday morning with a friend I hadn’t seen in months. We were looking forward to being together and venturing into one of my favorite forests at nearby Huddart Park. The forecast was for rain – not just a little drizzle. Did we want to venture beyond our comfort zone, even if it was pouring?
I was game, and so was she – what an adventure! Going outdoors brings me great joy, but there’s always an element of being uncomfortable. Will I get muddy? Will my new rain pants truly hold up? What if I slip and fall? How about the cold? Being in nature mirrors to us the fact that life is unpredictable and uncomfortable sometimes.
We met up and drove together through the windy road to the park entrance, then on to the grassy field near the trailhead. On with the jackets, hiking books, and mittens (yep, it was chilly!), and off we went into the redwood forest.
It’s hard to describe the sensations of joy I feel in the forest. It’s a physical sensation of heightened senses, elation, and ease all at once. The rain only served to intensify it, especially the feeling of ease. The soft patter of drops falling from branches and contacting redwood sorrel and other greenery below the canopy contrasted with the deep silence behind it. Peace spread through the woods, enveloping me in a gentle embrace that quieted my mind.
Oh, the smells! The rich, wet earth, blended with moist wood and decomposing bay laurel leaves intoxicates me. I instinctively inhale deeply, as if trying to taste the rich scent by drawing in more of the wonderful scents of the forest. It feels so fresh and clean, and deeply alive. I, too, feel deeply alive as we journey further down the trail.
Our hope was to spy a bunch of banana slugs – one of my favorite creatures to spy here in our local ecosystem – but much to our surprise, they were nowhere to be found, even in this very wet weather. But guess what was out in droves in their place: newts! We counted 5 California newts at various times on our adventure. They waddled across the leafy compost the way a toddler ambles across the living room floor, but on 4 legs instead of two. It was fun to catch a well-concealed newt in the act amongst the camouflage, like picking out Waldo from an eye-boggling scene.
And the earthworms! 10, 20, more… I lost count over our 2 hour jaunt. We took care to avoid stepping on them, sometimes 4-5 littered across the trail like long strings of confetti. I imagined they came out for a party from their underground cover, enjoying the newfound freedom in the rain’s shower.
At the bottom of the hill I was greeted by the creek, which was delightfully full, rushing over river stones large and small, tan oak branches, past fallen Douglas firs, and downward to join many spontaneous rivulets racing to merge in union. After crossing the stream, we chose a trail I had not ventured onto before to follow up the other slope.
It was rare that I saw birds in this forest – usually I only heard whispers of them high above us, atop the redwoods. But today we were treated with a dark-eyed junco couple directly ahead of us on the path. We stopped to watch in silence; and to await how close they would approach us. One hopped towards us, then paused to peck at the group; the second would then take a few cautious hops in our direction. Chit-chit, chit-chit they called to each other, contrasting with the soft sound of the rain. They came within 9 feet or so, then worked their way back in the other direction, eventually off into the brush.
Two hours passes in timelessness. We had put our cells on airplane mode, happily walking without distraction, without checking watches or thinking about “the world”. This was the world. This was alive, abundant, vibrant. Full of surprises and delights. Pausing for occasional downpours so that we could watch, hear, feel, and smell the gift of the rain. We didn’t need more than what nature offered us with every step, around every corner.
Kindly, my friend had packed some lunch for us, and we found a decent picnic table to sit down and eat, enjoying conversation and the drops that landed on our hoods and in our salads. Fresh food never tasted so good out on the land. I appreciated every fruit and vegetable, marveling at what nature provides.
My clothes? The rain pants were fantastic; my legs were cool but not wet. Water dripped off my rainjacket harmlessly onto the ground. My hiking boots held up fine. Just my fingerless mittens were soaked, easily rectified in the dryer back at home.
As we drove away and back into “civilization”, I was filled with gratitude. Nature fills me in ways that nothing else can. I feel Spirit alive in every rock, tree, and raindrop. I recognize that my needs are truly simple. What more do we truly need than this precious beauty, this flowing water, this bushy-tailed squirrel that eyes me as she eats seeds from a cone? The more present we are in nature, the more the mind becomes serene and we experience the Oneness with life that truly fulfills us.
Returning home, the aliveness of the forest was alive in me. I stood in the driveway and turned my face up to the clouds, feeling the drops on my cheeks and forehead. I am a leaf catching the rain, and nothing feels more grand. I was OK being a little wet, a little cold, and stepping into the unknown. Going past my comfort zone opened me to new joys that I hadn’t experienced before.
Feeling the call to immerse in the beauty of nature? Join me at my upcoming Women’s Spring One-Day Retreat or this fall for Mindful Hiking (coming this October)!
by Connie Habash | Jul 20, 2017 | Courage, Fear, True Self, Trust
I have a confession to make – I have struggled with the fear of flying for over 12 years, since the birth of my daughter. Seems that bringing a new being into the world and being responsible for her created a deeper reverence for life… and an intensified fear of death.
For many years, I avoided flying at all costs. If I had to fly, my palms would break out into a cold sweat anytime we came upon even mild turbulence. I’d shiver and white knuckle my way through it, trying to hide any signs from my daughter if she was with me.
But after several years of being limited to the ground, the mental and physical decline of my mother on the east coast necessitated more visits – and more flights. It was time to deal with my fear of flying head-on.
About six years ago, I discovered the Fear of Flying Clinic at San Francisco International Airport. I was grateful that one of the best programs to treat flight anxiety was right in my backyard! I took the course and was able to complete the flight to Seattle at its conclusion – a great way to celebrate my new courage.
However, my fear of flying didn’t disappear. And flights didn’t magically become perfectly smooth. No, my fear was still there, but something else was also there – my determination that the fear wasn’t going to keep me imprisoned anymore. I knew there was something within me that was bigger than the fear.
Although my fear of flying hasn’t gone away, it has improved significantly. I have taken 4 trips in the last 9 months, all of them involving air transportation. It gets easier and easier. Yet, there’s not a “happily ever after” here – I still face this anxiety every time I plan a trip. This last flight in June was a doozy, and brought new insights about the gifts of fear.
My daughter and I were returning from a trip down to Southern California, flying out of Burbank airport, just outside LA. It was a very hot day – we didn’t realize how hot, sitting inside the pleasantly air-conditioned terminal. Burbank, as most of Southern California, is a semi-desert area, and the temperatures can soar in the summer months.
We boarded our flight and settled into our seats. I was so relaxed that I wasn’t even thinking about my fear of flying – a huge success for me. The flight into LA was fine 5 days earlier, and I was looking forward to another short, uneventful return home. After sitting on the runway for 20 mintutes, the captain announced over the speakers that the temperature was 107°F, and that the take-off had to be recalculated based on the heat. I had heard of flights in Arizona being delayed for hours the previous week, so it wasn’t terribly surprising. Back to the gate we taxied to sit for another hour and a half.
Finally, we got the go-ahead to take-off! Hurray! I was delighted and enthusiastic to get home. We taxied and set up for take-off, and soon we were airborne. And that’s when my fear of flying rose from the grave.
As we took off, I felt the familiar upward suctioning of our aircraft. Then a few seconds later, a lurch. The plane began jostling around like a jerky amusement park ride. My daughter let out a startled response and looked at me with concern.
Oh no. I forgot about updrafts.
Updrafts happen often over deserts and near mountainous areas – ahem, like Burbank? – on hot days. They can cause serious turbulence. Uh oh.
My body immediately manifested fear – I felt the trembling inside, my palms breaking into the familiar cold sweat. I saw a couple huddled together across the aisle, and another one holding hands in front of them. I wasn’t the only one nervous. One brave soul several rows ahead had her arms in the air, squealing as if she were on a roller coaster. How can she laugh and giggle and think this was fun, when I was terrified?
Yep, I was scared, but two things helped me. One, I understood what was going on and the fact that the pilot knows what is happening and has plenty of experience with it (learned that from the Fear of Flying Clinic!). I could counteract my fearful thoughts with that knowledge. And the other was that my daughter was sitting next to me.
My daughter was counting on me to protect her, support her, and reassure her. So that’s what I did. I was able to witness my fear in my body’s reactions and my fearful thoughts, but I kept my face and voice calm. “It’s OK, sweetie. The pilot is used to this. She takes off in the heat of summer at this airport all the time and knows exactly what to do. The turbulence will stop when we reach a higher elevation.”
At least I hoped. That’s what was supposed to happen, but my fear wasn’t too sure. I was praying hard. Please let this stop. Soon.
I also prayed to be given the courage, patience, and trust to withstand this, for however long the turbulence lasts. I can’t control the turbulence, but if I can be with my anxiety and learn from it, then my fear of flying wouldn’t stop me from going the places I wish to go.
In the moment, fear feels consuming, as if it could destroy me. But it doesn’t. When I am present with the fear and let it teach me, it reveals parts of myself that would lie in obscurity otherwise. I become aware of my Self, that is larger than the fear.
My larger Self steps forward, even in the midst of my anxiety, and comforts my daughter. It keeps some part of me calm while my body wildly reacts. It reminds me that my thoughts aren’t real, even though I’m having real sensations in my body. Fear teaches me that I’m capable of responding rather than reacting, even when I’m terrified.
Fear shows me how to move through it to a larger experience of life. It tells me, yes, I’m stepping into unfamiliar, uncomfortable, uncontrollable territory, but I have courage, patience, and trust to sustain me, and I’m OK. By my willingness to learn from fear, I free myself from its grip.
The turbulence indeed stopped in a few minutes when we reached cruising altitude. Although I’d rather not repeat the experience, I thanked fear for what it taught me.
What are you learning from fear? Share it here. Let it bring out something Greater in you!
copyright © 2017 by Rev. Connie L. Habash
by Connie Habash | Apr 5, 2017 | Faith, Patience, Perception, Practice, Seasons, Trust
It’s spring, and I’ve returned to my practice of sitting outside upon rising. Most mornings, just as the sun peeks over the trees behind my neighbor’s house across the street, I go outdoors and sit for a few minutes. My hot tea in hand warms me as I sip, holding both hands around the mug. I feel the firm earth beneath me, supporting me on my journey through the day. It is a time that I attempt to quiet my mind and listen to Spirit speak to me through nature.
Some days, the juncos are busy scavenging for seeds; others I just hear the hidden birdsong of others breeds hidden in the oaks trees and pine needles above. Often, a black squirrel will scuttle along the top of the fence, his super-highway to the yard nextdoor. This is my favorite time of the year to be doing this practice, as I can see the changes that spring brings almost from day to day. I watch our California poppies change from just 3 blossoms to 8 in 24 hours.
I ask for a message, some guidance, from the Divine, and then wait. It’s not that I expect something magical and stupendous to occur. It’s more that I wait for my perception to be guided to what I need to see in order to receive my message.
This morning, my gaze turned to the apple tree on the other side of the fence to my right. It was still mostly barren from winter, but leaves were definitely beginning to unfurl, showing the return of life and portending the lush foliage to come.
It reminded me that we have everything we need inside ourselves – all the potential to awaken, to unfold, to blossom into who we’re here to be. It simply requires the right season.
The buds can’t open until the springtime. We have to wait through the cold, dark winter for these potentialities to awaken. For us, on the spiritual path, it’s a combination of making the effort to grow and letting go, allowing things to unfold.
The apple tree’s effort happens through the winter. I may not be noticed by our eyes, but the tree draws its energy more to its center and down into its roots. It draws nourishment from those roots through the winter. It waits and trusts that spring will arrive.
Then, Grace comes – the temperatures begin to increase, the light brightens, the snow melts, and slowly the inner potential of the tree is released.
We never know when Grace, the unmerited blessings from the Divine, may shower upon us. Just like spring, it could come early or late – we may be waiting through long months of bitter cold before the frost melts, or come February the thaw quickly arrives. We may need to be patient in our lives before we see the fruits of our labors.
The apple tree reminds me to keep sending my roots down, receive my nourishment, stay in my center, and prepare myself for when the opportunities, the blessings, the gifts arrive. I will continue to act “as-if”, trusting that, indeed, spring will arrive.
Whether or spring has shown up in your neck of the woods – and whether or not your blessings are yet apparent – keep up the faith, and keep up your inner work. You are growing and unfolding in ways you cannot yet see. Trust that process. Before you know it, your blossoms will open and you’ll see the transformation in your peace of mind, your opened heart, and new vistas spreading out before you.
by Connie Habash | Apr 8, 2014 | Control, Patience, Trust
It’s been 4 weeks now that I’ve been dealing with this. The first two weeks were a sinus infection; the last two have been an ear infection. Everyday, I wake up and wonder when my ears will feel normal again, and when I’ll hear clearly out of my left ear.
Sometimes when things aren’t going as I expect, I start to get a little panicky. When will it be healed? Is it OK? Is there something wrong? Should I be concerned that it hasn’t healed yet? I’m not the most patient patient.
We all want to be in control. We want to KNOW what is happening, and how long. But as I have learned lately (again), we can’t always know. Sometimes, we just have to be patient.
This is not an easy thing to do for most of us. Especially because our society is oriented towards quick results. We Americans (and probably a lot of other nations), in this speedy internet age, aren’t a patient culture.
It’s time that we learn to be.
For patience is what gets us through the hard times. Patience keeps us in the present moment. Patience is the practice of trust in something greater. Everyday, we trust that the sun will rise. We allow ourselves to go to sleep, and if we wake before dawn, we await the sunrise without question – we know it will come up.
Patience is waiting with that kind of trust – with knowing that, like the sunrise, what we long for will arrive. It’s that kind of inner knowing that powerfully manifests what we intend. It just may ask us to practice some patience and trust in the process.
I’ve had to be patient in more ways than one, as I’m sure you have. For over a year, I’ve wanted to write a weekly blog. I’ve attempted in fits and starts. And suddenly, during the course of this illness, it has come together. Something clicked, and now blogs are rolling off my fingers at the keyboard joyfully and effortlessly! Who would have known?
So, sometimes, your patience may pay off in ways you don’t expect.
If I can be patient, so can you… and maybe like my ear, it will be worth the wait to hear clearly again.
by Connie Habash | Mar 14, 2014 | Acceptance, Appreciation, Challenges, Gratitude, Healing, Patience, Trust
I was lying on a treatment table at my acupuncturist’s office, with a painful ear infection. I had felt mentally, emotionally, and energetically better since the first treatment two days ago, but the ears continued to feel blocked, and I still was spitting up yellow phlegm.
Nalinee, my acupuncturist, talked about how much my energy field had improved. In her Thai accent, she reminded me of the power of the mind, and how harnessing that would facilitate healing.
I knew that, of course, but had been humbled. I had been struggling with my emotions for several days, feeling fearful and sometimes depressed, and had not been able to make the full shift in my consciousness to a true healing mentality. I wasn’t practicing what I knew.
I confessed that I had not been drinking enough water the last couple of days and had begun upping the intake that morning. She talked about the importance of the blood in the body, and water.
I felt a shift in myself. My mind turned over – water… thoughts…
“It makes me think of Dr. Emoto’s work – how the energy of the word would change the formation of the water crystals,” I said.
“Oh, yes, you read Dr. Emoto’s work? Very powerful. Very good,” Nalinee said.
A spark lit somewhere within me – “Wow… I can change all of my blood with my thoughts, because it’s water – most of my body is water!” She smiled at me, as if saying “ah-ha! Yes!.”
She relayed a story to me about water and her body’s healing reaction. “I had a glass of water sitting on the counter, next to a glass of water that I had put flowers in from my garden. The flowers had been there for a few days, and I took them out of the water. Then, I picked up my glass to drink from, and took some water from it. But then I saw the other glass on the counter and realized that I didn’t know which glass I had drank from – my water glass, or the glass that had the flowers in it. A few hours later, I threw up. And I expressed gratitude to my body for its ability to know what was bad for it and to get it out. You know how much better you feel after you throw up? I was very grateful for throwing up.”
I pondered this – to be grateful for vomiting. How many people would consider that, eh?! I don’t often think of it that way, but yes, there were times when I got sick to my stomach and I was so relieved after vomiting. The body relaxed and said, yes, you’re OK now. Throwing up is a blessing when it saves you from harm.
Then, she brought her hands to her solar plexus, closed her eyes, and said, “You can say this: I am so very grateful for my body. I am so very grateful to the earth. I am grateful for all of creation. And may all other beings also feel this gratitude, and this healing.”
The last of the needles had been placed in my feet, legs, chest, ears, and head, and she left the room to allow me to rest.
Deep from within my heart, the gratitude welled up. I felt so very grateful for healing from this infection. I felt gratitude to my body for its ability to heal. I went through every part of my body I could think of – the organs, the tissues, the structure, the fluids – and one by one, expressed my deep gratitude for them. The energy of the gratitude was like a radiant sun, shining from my heart out into every cell of my being. I then thanked my chakras, one by one, and felt them all fill my being with their light. Tears streamed down my cheeks towards my ears – my ears that are receiving this healing.
While I rested, my body vibrated with this deep appreciation, which was like a joyful stream of radiance, shining out from my center in waves, again and again. It was ecstasy. I wanted to cling to it, to keep it, but I knew it would do what it did and clinging only made it dissipate. So I breathed deeply and rode the waves, building at times, and other times just quietly blessing me with ease.
I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I would heal. My ears would heal. I had been doubtful since the ear infection started 4 days ago. Now I was certain, and I relaxed.
After lunch back at home, I went outside in my garden. As I had been feeling the deep gratitude for everything on the acupuncture table, I wanted to come home and touch the earth. Feel the grass between my fingers. Listen blissfully to the birds in the oak tree, and delight in the squirrels digging for their acorns. There was so much to be grateful for, and I wanted to drink it all in.
Thank you, Nalinee, for re-awakening the power of Gratitude within me.
by Connie Habash | Apr 7, 2013 | Action, Choices, Courage, Empowerment, Fear, Illusion, Right Action, Tolerance, Transformation, Trust
facing down fear
Everyone deals with difficulties in life. Sooner or later, something scares us. It may be the aging process, a snake, the fear of rejection, or a dwindling bank account.
Gone are the days when we have to worry about lions chasing us (unless, of course, you live in Kenya). Fear has become more subtle. In the words of Kristin Neff, PhD, author of Self-Compassion, now our fears arise not just from dark alleys or sounds that go bump in the night, but from “threats to our self-concept” – the idea of who we think we are. Yet, they end up causing similar levels of stress in the body as that lion chasing us. The fear that runs us, day in and day out, is the fear that we’re unlovable, of being bad, wrong, or a failure.
React or Respond
When we are faced with fear, we have two possible choices: react or respond. When we react, we allow fear to run us, to control our emotions, our actions, our words. But when we respond, we transform a moment of fear into a moment of empowerment.
What is a fear reaction? When we are exposed to a traumatic situation, there are three reactions that occur: fight, flight, and freeze (see Waking the Tiger by Peter Levine). The kind of fear I’m referring to, however, isn’t life or death situations, although learning how to respond rather than react in those is very helpful. In our day-to-day lives, it is the little fears – the perceived threats to our self-concept – that disempower us and cause us to react.
It is in these little fears that we have the opportunity to change our lives. And we see three similar reactions to those little fears: fight, flight, and freeze.
Fight
When we fight the fear, we attack as if it were a danger to us. This makes sense if it’s a lion after us, but most of the time our fears are subtle. We fear ridicule, failure, rejection, and when it’s that kind of fear, we often react by attacking ourselves. And if we’re not attacking ourselves, we’re attacking our partners, friends, or a stranger for things that often are imaginary affronts. In either case, we only defeat ourselves.
Flight
When we flee a fear, we do everything we can to run away and avoid it. This leaves us powerless in the face of anything that frightens us. It also can severely limit our freedom, for when we define our life by what we must avoid, it cuts off our choices.
I once knew an actor who had a reasonably successful career but had to turn down many of the best roles that came his way because he was afraid to fly to other locations. This fear not only limited his leisure time but his opportunities and prosperity.
Freeze
When we freeze in the face of a fear, we become immobilized, feeling like we can’t take any action one way or the other. We may not even realize we’re afraid, but we become indecisive, unable to discern which way to go or what to do. We can lose relationships by our uncertainty about commitment or promotions by clinging to what is familiar and being unwilling to make any move.
The other path – respond
Fear reactions may be all too familiar to us, but how do we respond instead of react? This is actually two questions in one. First, we wonder how to gain the capacity to respond, how to develop those inner muscles to overcome the reaction. The question also begs what way do we respond, for there are choices of response, too.
We actually don’t have to worry about gaining the capacity to respond. We all have the capacity to respond, to overcome fear or any other negative reaction. It is part of the inner equipment we come with as human beings.
The problem is that we rarely use it. Sometimes we use that capacity so little we don’t even think we have it, or have no idea how to use if it we did. But it’s there.
Some discover it in a crisis situation, where we spontaneously jump into action and help someone pinned under a car or caught in a house on fire. Occasionally, mothers discover it during child birth, and still others become aware of this innate ability to override a fear reaction when we know it is important not to show it to our children lest they become scared. We become brave for their benefit.
Lifting the heavy weights
Like any other capacity, learning to respond rather than react requires practice to develop it. It’s like a muscle – we have biceps, but do we really use them? How strong are they? If you aren’t lifting some sort of weight, whether at the gym or carrying logs to the wood pile, they won’t get very strong.
So in order to become good at responding to fear rather than reacting, we must be willing to lift the heavy weights: to face our fears, investigate them, and find alternatives to reacting. Life gives us plenty of opportunities to practice.
Responsibility
Responding to fear rather than reacting means we have a choice about the way we behave. When we react, we are unconscious, like a knee-jerk reaction. We may feel we are conscious about it because we can actually observe ourselves in the process of it. We watch as we become speechless in front of a group. We are fully present to the fact that we have just consumed an entire box of cookies, because we can’t stand feeling alone. But these are unconscious reactions nevertheless.
Responding means we choose an action that is more helpful to ourselves and the situation, regardless of how uncomfortable it is. We take responsibility for our life and the situation, and therefore we affect how it affects us. Responsibility means the ability to respond.
Three choices
What paths are there to take when we want to develop our responsibility in the face of fear, our ability to respond? There are three main responses (and possibly more) to fear that can truly transform your experience of the fearful situation: tolerance, courage, and fearlessness.
Tolerance
Tolerance is the ability to withstand something. We learn to accept what is when we are tolerant. Tolerance is a word used regarding cross-cultural relationships – to become fair towards and accepting of cultures and customs that are different than our own. It is also used to describe a person’s physical capacity to endure a substance such as alcohol or pain killers. A person with high tolerance can drink a lot of booze before showing signs of intoxication.
But tolerance also is defined as “the capacity to endure pain or hardship.” Rather than react, we can learn to endure what is. My eight year old daughter is learning this concept the hard way right now – with a flu bug and pink eye, she’s pretty uncomfortable and unhappy about it. But as we mature, we learn to accept that sometimes we get sick, it will pass, and we can tolerate it.
It’s the same with fears. They arise, they feel scary, but most of the time we can be with that fear and know it will pass. We can learn to tolerate the situation rather than run from it, and each time it gets a little better. This is one aspect of a traditional therapy for phobias, known as systematic desensitization. The patient is exposed to the fear-inducing situation a little bit at a time, and they slowly become desensitized – more tolerant – towards the phobia, until it no longer runs their life (or at least no longer severely limits them).
Courage
The second response to engage when faced with fear is courage. Courage is distinctively different from fearlessness. It is the act of being afraid and going ahead with the right action anyway.
We become courageous when we walk through the park instead of buying more stuff to feel better; when we take a deep breath instead of screaming at our child or partner; when we raise our hand and speak up at a meeting even though we are terrified of being judged; when we sit still in meditation even though something screams for us to fidget just once more. We do the right thing even though it’s uncomfortable or downright frightening.
As Lao Tzu, author of the ancient text, The Tao Te Ching, said, “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” One of the most powerful ways to build courage is to love, whether or not someone loves you. To love in the face of rejection or not getting what you want. To love when you don’t feel like it, or even when you think someone doesn’t deserve it. That includes loving yourself. When we love without limitations or conditions, we recognize that there isn’t anything anyone can say or do that will hurt our sense of self. Love is its own reward, and love overcomes fear.
Fearlessness
Which leads me to the third response you can choose in the face of fear – fearlessness. To be truly free of fear is to be full of love. Obviously, this is not a beginner’s practice, and it’s not for the faint-hearted. In fact, this isn’t something you can make happen, but something that results from many years of spiritual practice – of lifting the heavy weights.
The greatest spiritual adepts, such as Jesus or Mahatma Gandhi, were masters of this kind of love, and it gave them the greatest inner strength there is. They could face down the most threatening, frightening, and painful of situations and meet them with grace and power.
We become without fear when we completely trust in something greater. In yoga philosophy, this practice is called Ishvara Pranidhana – surrender to the Divine. This is a powerful practice. It is letting go of our attempts to control what we fear and the acknowledgement that something beyond us, the Source of the cosmos and all life, is much better at running the show.
Overcoming Avidya
More importantly than that, we become fearless when we overcome Avidya – ignorance of our True Nature. When we realize that our true Self (not our limited self of the body, mind, or personality) is Divine and eternal, that has no beginning nor end, and is unchanging, not subject to conditions or experiences, then what is there to fear?
This is not something we can simply intellectually grasp, for if we could, most of us would be there. This is something that, in order to truly become fearless, we must become. This is enlightenment.
The next time you are faced with a fear, which path will you take? Will you notice your reaction? Will you consider how you could respond? Let yourself become more tolerant of the discomfort, while developing the courage to take right action even while feeling the fear. Practice connecting in your heart to the source of love and feel love and compassion for yourself and the other. As you walk down this path, you will someday know that your true Self cannot be touched by anything that you fear.
Copyright © 2013 by Rev. Connie L. Habash
If your life were a book, what would its title be? What chapter are you on now? Impact your next phase of life by creating it intently as you would craft a book.
If you’re willing to be patient and present – to wait a bit in the unknown – you’ll perceive the blessings showing up. No matter where you live, you can find life and inspiration; even on a busy urban street!. Here’s a snapshot from a couple years ago of a simple treasure that brought a beautiful insight.
A challenging hike (for me, that day!) to a pristine alpine meadow teaches me the power of presence, trust, and reveals my inner resilience.
As we departed the mini-meadow, the land of puff-balls emerged. Remember the wild, swirly “hair” of the 
Ambling down into the base of South Gate Meadow, we were greeted by lush green grasses and leaves unfolding from yellow arnica flowers, delicate white blooms, and the last of pink heather. Fiery patches of Indian Paintbrush set the meadow ablaze here and there, and if you looked carefully, you’d also find tiny blue flowers as well.
Sure enough, climbing higher to the upper reaches of the greenery, a stunning array of tiny waterfalls spilled down the rocks. We hiked higher and higher, up through muddy terrain on a steep ascent, attempting to reach the source from which the water emerged from the mountain.
Several years ago, I began to study with a teacher named Leslie Temple-Thurston of 
I have a confession to make – I have struggled with the fear of flying for over 12 years, since the birth of my daughter. Seems that bringing a new being into the world and being responsible for her created a deeper reverence for life… and an intensified fear of death.
Some days, the juncos are busy scavenging for seeds; others I just hear the hidden birdsong of others breeds hidden in the oaks trees and pine needles above. Often, a black squirrel will scuttle along the top of the fence, his super-highway to the yard nextdoor. This is my favorite time of the year to be doing this practice, as I can see the changes that spring brings almost from day to day. I watch our California poppies change from just 3 blossoms to 8 in 24 hours.
It’s been 4 weeks now that I’ve been dealing with this. The first two weeks were a sinus infection; the last two have been an ear infection. Everyday, I wake up and wonder when my ears will feel normal again, and when I’ll hear clearly out of my left ear.
I was lying on a treatment table at my acupuncturist’s office, with a painful ear infection. I had felt mentally, emotionally, and energetically better since the first treatment two days ago, but the ears continued to feel blocked, and I still was spitting up yellow phlegm.
