How Christianity Screwed Up My Moral Compass

Christianity screwed up my moral compass.

Not only that, but the further I get away from organized religion and institutional spirituality, the more clear I get about what I REALLY want, and the cleaner and more reliable that moral compass inside of me becomes.

But let's back up.

Fact: when people act based on something besides their inner moral compass, they and others suffer.

Fact: the individual, part of a group who is setting the rules, is conditioned to act based on the morality of that institution.


Fact:  Institutionalized rules and codes of behavior keep those without moral compasses in check, as long as the religious/civically-obedient person is motivated, for one reason or another, to follow those rules.

Fact: throughout history, deplorable acts have been done and deemed "righteous," "what God wants," "holy," "good for the country," etc.

Fact: when people act based on their inner moral compass, even doing the opposite of what the religious or civic institution tells them is "good," some of the most courageous, the most humane and the most world-altering acts in history have been done (i.e. Jesus, Ghandi, the Buddha, the saints in the Christian tradition, Martin Luther King, Abraham Lincoln, Mother Theresa, etc. etc. etc.).

What does this look like in real life?

In my experience, being taught to do/not do certain things because that is what people are supposed to do, because that is what the Bible or another holy book says to do, or because that is what my culture put pressure on me to do (and I am talking about the spiritual/religious cultures, as well as the wider culture I grew up in) caused the moral compass I was born with to be underdeveloped, atrophy, and become rusty and inaccurate. I knew how to obey the rules.

But get this ... I wanted to obey the rules and my under-used, under-developed moral compass was a part of why. Some part of me (the real me) KNEW that I had that moral compass and recognized the "good" in the rules and standards I was taught. But the real me also allowed itself to be deceived into believing that the rules could become my moral compass.

That's right. Being a good Christian, being a good citizen, or being a good whatever REQUIRED me to silence/shut down/not act out of what my moral compass could have and would have told me to do. Of course that's not what I was taught.

I was taught that the real me, unleashed from the rules of my faith, would lead me into everything that was bad, immoral, hurtful to others, hurtful to myself, illegal and ugly. "The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked; who can know it," I recited as a child. I believed that my "natural" self was evil, degraded and not-to-be-trusted. If I wanted something, I immediately heard warning bells go off in my head. If I longed for something, I could be pretty sure that it was something I should not do or have. My instincts were human, after all, and being human was the state in which I needed deliverance from. I could do nothing good or right except when the Holy Spirit acted through me, and that would always be actions and behaviors called "good" by Christianity and the Bible.

The thing was: the moral compass in me would never quite DIE.

I cried because that "me" inside would not be silenced. I begged God to remove the desires of my heart that weren't in accordance with what he wanted for me. I hated that I could not do as the Bible taught and fully put my humanity to death. I was ashamed of the way my mind insisted on grappling with what I seemed to be the only Christian I knew who experienced as inconsistencies. Why could I not just have simple faith, I wondered? Why could I not suspend those questions and doubts? Others seemed to have no problem doing so. I felt like something was wrong with me.

Fast-forward.

Now, at 35, I'm a self-professed former-Christian. I haven't been to church in something like four years. My five-year-old thinks cross necklaces are "lowercase letter 't' necklaces." I am not sure if there's a God. I don't believe in or feel any fear about "going to hell." I admire Jesus' life, but don't think he was any more divine than I am. I am comfortable with the fact that I don't know if there's a God or not, and I am pretty sure I won't ever know while my spirit lives in my body. And (oh, yeah) I know I am more than this body. There is something I experience as being connected to others in a non-physical way. There is something solid and deep underneath my physical existence that I can feel the edges of sometimes. It's fun to talk about, read about, think about and wonder about what that is. I am confident that until I am not in a physical body any longer I will not have any answers. Just more questions. And that makes me happy and excited.

And here's the thing.

As the post-Christian me that I am today, I am not the greedy, never-satisfied, mean, vindictive or ego-centered person I was told I would become without God.  It's just not true that when I do what I "want to do" I want only that which hurts myself and others. I am more compassionate. I feel more empathy. I am more thoughtful. I act with more courage. I take more responsibility for my actions that hurt others. I do less rejecting and more accepting of others' differences. I am a more nurturing mother. I am more honest. I am kinder. I am a better friend. I feel less fear. I connect with people more and better than I ever did before. I am not perfect. But I desire to lessen others' suffering more than I ever did. I am more aware of my foibles. I have a greater desire to, when I hurt someone, make it right. I love more. I accept love more.

How is this possible?

The real me ... is ... well ....

GOOD.

There is a moral compass that I am learning to use and that is beginning to function more and more naturally. And as I learn to use that compass, I find that more and more, what I REALLY WANT, when I drill deep down, is GOOD. It is not always what someone else would call "good." And of course I can look back and see that even when I was trying to do what was right, I hurt someone and/or myself. This helps me do better the next time. But more often than I ever thought possible, when I do what I (the real me/the spirit in me) wants to do, my actions are more consistent with many, even most, of what the Bible says is morally "good."

And this takes more courage and energy than obeying rules. Any robot can do that. But when I give from that real, inside me, or I love from that real, inside me, or I act on someone else's behalf from that real, inside me, it is more sincere, more heartfelt and more brave than any actions or behaviors I did because I was supposed to, should, or must.

This means I'm learning to ask myself some questions that the Christian me would never have DREAMED of asking ...

What do you want?
Are you doing what you want to do?
What are you doing that you do not want to continue doing?
What are you doing/working on/lending energy to that makes you feel good?
What are you doing/working on/lending energy to that makes you feel bad, dishonest, anxious, sad, or frustrated?

Slowly, surely, one day at a time, I am learning to be ME. And that's good.

Another Reason Why I Am No Longer a Christian

image from here

For a few years now I have been unable to accept some of the doctrines I once held to as a Christian. In many ways, the initial "break-up" of me leaving Christianity was a very emotional and gut-level reaction. I knew that claiming to believe the core doctrines of Christianity was no longer my truth. To continue to pretend it was would be to compromise my own character and to participate falsely in something I could no longer be part of while being authentically me. Lots of people who were anywhere near my facebook, blog or mouth :) could tell you that I expressed a lot of anger and sadness toward God, Christianity, the evangelical churches I grew up in and the Bible. That was real. It was very like the sort of explosive emotions that refuse to be repressed that someone experiences before an actual "break-up," and it is the intensity of such emotions that provide the energy to remove oneself, cut oneself off from and leave behind that which one can no longer participate in honestly, authentically and with a whole heart.

The further I get from the initial "break-up" of me leaving Christianity, the less angry I am. As time has passed I have found I am more able to put what I was reacting to and rejecting into words that are logical and sober.  This is important for me, even if my thought processes and truths don't make sense to anyone else, or if others think they are based on flawed thinking. I don't need to prove to Christians that I am "right," but I do want to be able to communicate why I have personally rejected Christianity, if for no other audience but myself. The simple act of writing or talking helps me do that.

One of the Christian doctrines I have rejected for a couple of years now is that of human beings being inherently sinful and in need of God's intervention, without which they would not be capable of doing "good." You can read a another post about this here. Even more specifically, I no longer accept that good happens only when humans essentially die to their own natural way of living, speaking, acting and even loving, so that the Holy Spirit, a manifestation of God that Christians believe "indwells" them, can live, speak, act and love THROUGH them.

My experience is to the contrary and has led me to believe that there is inherent goodness in every person, and that the manifestation of that goodness (love, charity, kindness, empathy, compassion, forgiveness, courage, selflessness, etc.) is possible only when one draws on one's OWN spirit, which may or may not be connected to a kind of collective spirit. Of course there are those who do bad things; I am one. But I do not wrong myself or others because my spirit (I call it "knowing place") is by nature "bad," but because I am not, for whatever reason, acting or reacting through the lens of ego. That ego is not "evil/bad," and in fact has some very important usefulnesses, but when one only looks through ego's lens (as a young child does) one does not act from that "spirit" or "knowing place." Learning to listen to my spirit is a process and that, I believe, is the journey of life: learning to act from that place, supporting those around me in learning to act from that place and, in any way I can lessening the suffering of those around me.

What's the difference between "my" version of spirit and Christianity's version of "holy spirit?" My version of spirit is already IN you. Christianity's version comes from outside of you. Further, evangelical Christianity teaches that one must intellectually assent to its other core doctrines before that holy spirit can come into and begin to live through the flawed nature that evangelicals say we are born with. My version of spirit can not be taken away; Christianity's version is not mine unless and until I convert, ask Jesus in my heart, or a variety of other actions, depending on the denomination of Christianity you listen to. My version just IS; Christianity's version has a twist in that if you do NOT convert or what have you and invite that holy spirit to indwell you, you not only are incapable of doing anything good in this life, but will be thrown into eternal punishment and separation from God.

I have written quite a bit about my rejection of the Christian concept of eternal punishment/hell and the WAY the threat of that sort of punishment "if you don't...." hanging over a person makes love impossible. Here's one post about this. Basically, if I tell you to love me, or else, all I will be able to get from you is the love that is given out of fear, which is actually not love at all.

But it occurs to me today that there is another important reason for believing that human beings are "good" inside, rather than "evil." The idea that we are evil and that the only goodness we ever do is because God somehow has done it through the filter of us as willing conduits, doesn't just make authentic loving relationship with God impossible. It makes authentic, loving relationship with other human beings impossible, too.

In other words, if you are only as good as you are allowing God to be through you, then I can not even accept your most "ardent love" as authentic. If you are incapable of doing anything good, authentically and from your heart, apart from God, you are nothing more than a machine when you are loving me. You are nothing more than a conduit of God's love.

Likewise, the love that originates in God and comes through me to you is like the air blowing out of a heater. The heat is dependent upon the heating machine; in fact, the heat is a bi-product of a machine doing what a machine is designed to do. If my love is the heat and God is the heating machine, my loving you is not because there is anything about YOU that is inherently lovable or special. You are not chosen, picked or uniquely-loved. You are loved just the same way as everyone one else is, by God, through the machine of a human being. That is not from the heart. That is not a love that you INSPIRED in me.

Not only that, but this also means that if you aren't loving me perfectly, you are an imperfect filter of God's love. You aren't allowing God to love me through you well enough. Again, you are failing. There is no human emotion. There is no "being moved by" someone and love being an expression of that movement. There is only you and I as supine conduits. Willing pipes through which God's love can flow.

Call me crazy but that sounds not only painful, but boring as hell. How then to explain it when I am "moved by" someone or something? My heart and mind tell me that that very "movement" inside is evidence that I am more than a conduit of divine love. My own human feelings, emotions and inner movements betray that I am more than just a pipe. I am definitely not just part of a love machine.

Furthermore, if it were true that the ultimate goal is to become "less" (since, according to this doctrine, that is the only way my sinful nature con be overcome) so that God can more effectively use me as a conduit of his love, I would then feel more able to love when I become "less me." And that is not the case. If that were true, when I am "less me" others would feel more loved. And that's just not so, either.

When I FEEL and then I SEE in the eyes of another human being, the reflection of what they see when they experience me, I feel most loved. When another human being says, "This is what I see..." and I can feel that what they see is the "me" that only someone who really is LOOKING and really is GAZING DEEPLY with loving, adoring, tender eyes could see, I feel loved.

To see human beings as a conduit of God's love ignores the risk and the courage that it takes to love someone else, as well. When someone, in spite of the very real fear that their expressed love will not be returned by me, allows their feelings toward me and the beauty they see in me to float fearlessly into their eyes so I can see it there, and cares enough to put the things they see in me into their own words, I am changed utterly.

Not only that but when the person doing that courageous mirroring of me to myself has seen me at my worst...my "shadow," as Carl Jung called it...and can look past that to see the truth that I AM ONLY PARTLY THAT SHADOW... I feel loved. That kind of love is more intimate and more personal than the act of physical intimacy. Anyone who has been on the receving end of that kind of love knows the way that "I've seen you AND I love you" kind of love is more transforming than almost any other human experience.

The person who, without regard for whether their unconditional love will be returned, who STILL persists in loving someone in such an active way is not being a willing pipeline or conduit. This is an active love.
This sort of love is risky. This sort of love IS being alive. It requires a kind of standing in the fire of relationship in order to even SEE those truths of someone else, let alone SPEAK/mirror them back to the other person. It requires a kind of recklessness, even, since it is the bucket of one's own soul (or it feels like it is!) that one lowers down into the deep well of someone else's real self in order to bring back the real water that's deep, deep down.

This is unconditional love: being a mirror, mirroring the goodness in the other to them, not knowing if they will reciprocate.

This is unconditional love: knowing exactly how one wants most to be loved and giving that to another without strings attached.

This is unconditional love: loving fiercely and extravagantly without holding back.

This is unconditional love: loving the other in all these ways EVEN IF the other person doesn't even "get" or "appreciate" that you are doing so, or understand/acknowledge the risk that it took for you to do so.

This is unconditional love: even allowing the person you love to walk away if they decide to but allowing your love to follow them for the rest of your life.

This is unconditional love: to choose to continue to see the other person for who they really are, and not to label them in a negative way, even if they reject you.

This is unconditional love: to, even after you are rejected, persist as far as you are able to communicate to the person in that mirroring sort of way all the beauty and goodness you experienced of them. In other words, thank them for the gift of the time they did give you, the parts of you they did show you and the way that you were altered in positive ways by having had contact with them.

I have felt this kind of love, coming and going, with and through other human beings. I have loved this way. I have been loved this way. And the only way to give this sort of love to another being is to look for, see and mirror the "real them" that I experience. That "real them" IS their spirit. The unconditional love you and I both long for is not the kind of love that says, "if...." "unless" or "until." It doesn't know time; it positions itself with arm outstretched, love offered, without condition, Now, Yesterday and Tomorrow. That love is IN ME. Not from an outside source or in spite of my nature. That love is called forth in me BY YOU. That love in me is only possible WHEN I am fully, completely and authentically ME.

Or perhaps it's this simple.

If I was standing before you and the fullness of who you are was visible, and I said, "I love the you that you are, no changes necessary and without regard to whether or not you love me back," how would you feel?

If I was standing before you and the fullness of who you are, and I said, "I love you because God is loving through me, and here is the goodness I see in you, which is only possible because God is good through you," how would you feel?

It IS that simple. Perhaps the last two paragraphs were all I really needed to write.

p.s. If you want to read more about some of my discoveries/experiences/thoughts about unconditional love, here are a few:
This one. But only if you don't mind the "f-word."
This one, inspired by a Ghandi quote.
This one about tattoos and love is one of my most-read posts.

Sadness and Silliness

What a strange season this is.

There are hard things happening. My precious grandfather's health is declining and it is such a heart-rending thing to watch. Some days I feel strong and then other days the tears sneak up on me when I least expect them. Today it was while I was on the treadmill. I ran while I sobbed.

But at the same time there are beautiful things happening. My nephew, Jack, will be born in just over a month, and we are all so excited to meet him. Three of my four sisters and I spent a sisters weekend in Napa this last weekend and had a good time.

In the middle of my sadness this morning about my grandfather, my sister, Whitney, sent me some wonderful photos from this last weekend in Napa that made me giggle out loud. I don't have any doubt that my grandfather would have had a huge smile on his face if he could have watched and listened to our sister silliness.

This evening I am struck by the fact that what is good, happy and fun weighs just as much as grief, pain and sadness. That I can feel "both/and," and that what really matters is the heart-to-heart connection with those I am sharing this life with that exists in, around and through both the sadness and the silliness.

Embracing the Loneliness

It might not be logical:
Never a moment to myself,
Friends all around
Who know me,
Love me,
Accept me
And yet...
I feel lonely.
So I am accepting it.
Or trying to.
So I say,
Out loud,
"I feel lonely."

Ephipany

In the quiet kind of way that these things do, a simple but life-altering thought crept up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder this afternoon. I wasn't looking for it; I wasn't asking to find it. In the gentlest way possible it just opened itself up, right in front of me.

Here it is:

What if my Real Self is like a candle, just waiting to be ignited?

It couldn't be simpler. Wax, a wick and a flame.

Every part of my body and mind turned and curled around this idea and if eyes could see what happened next it would be like watching a dark, empty house suddenly light up, every single light inside turned on all at once.

Next, the ramifications of this new idea begin to hit, one after another, like a set of cards being tipped over, one right after the other:

What if Jesus was simply a human being with that candle inside, lit?

What if God made us with that candle inside and his deepest longing is for that candle to be lit, not some impossible "complete surrender" or a certain percentage of the mind given over in mental acquiescence?

What if the crucifixion wasn't about Jesus' blood being shed to cover disgusting human beings so that a perfect God could stand to look at us? What if it was simply the repercussions of a human who lives with his candle lit, even in the wind?

Suddenly an old memory verse comes to mind from Matthew 5: “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. ¹⁵ Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. ¹⁶ In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven."

and

John 9:5: "While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

Not Jesus is the only light of the world. Not you will be the light of the world after you....fill in the blank. Not because I'm about to die you'll be the light of the world. Not go scare people into believing in salvation through Christ as the light of the world. No.

 You ARE the light of the world.

Perhaps it's just how my mind works, but this idea is quite simply blowing my gaskets. To this every cell in my body answers, "Yes."

The nature of a flame is to spread. The nature of a flame is cast light into dark shadows. The nature of a flame is to warm. The nature of a flame is to burn away the refuse under which lies a treasure.

I see I've been walking around this simple truth for awhile now. I knew inside in the deepest part of me that our hearts are not "desperately wicked," that truth is not "out there" or "up there," but rather, INSIDE.

My friend, Jonathan Brink, just suggested it's more like a candle hidden under a blanket. It was always there. That gets at the truth of all this in an even different way. I love that image, as well.

Tell me, does this "candle" idea resonate with you? If so, would you share it with me?

"Shaddaim" (A God with Breasts)

Brown. I am falling into a deep chocolate brown.  
Brown, yes, but somehow different than any other brown I have ever seen. It is almost as if it is the first color my eyes have ever beheld. Perhaps it is.
 
It is a deep color, a three-, or possibly three-hundred- dimensional color, something more alive and more real than any of the browns in my life: the bark of the oak tree in the middle of our yard in Clovis, the coat of my grandmother’s dachshund, Shautzie, the brown of my daughter's hair, still damp from birth, or the leathery skin of our housemaid, Mantuya, in Papua New Guinea. Those were brown and this is....somehow different.
 
I am mesmerized. I would be happy to see only one color forever, if it could be this color.


I feel myself being pulled and tugged, as if a rope is tied to my heart and the brown is holding the other side. I give in, letting myself be drawn I know not where by the invisible rope. As my skin, my bones, my mind and even my soul, are moved by this unseen force, I am filled with a feeling that can only be described as pure, ultimate joy. It is the feeling of finally moving in the direction I have always tried to move in but could never quite find the door to. It is the feeling of an aching need that has been as part of me as my own flesh being finally fulfilled more exquisitely than I could ever have imagined. I am not fighting. I am joyfully going where I am being taken, with every fiber of my being. It is a feeling of falling, deliciously, into joy.

And then I land. I am in The Brown. The Brown is all around me, enfolding me and caressing me. I have never known this deep, brown joy. I never even dreamed it. I spread my arms, my legs, my mouth, my pores in a joyous acceptance of The Brown. I drink it, eat it, breathe it in, spread it all over my skin and then turn my body around and around in it. I am wanting to be full of this Brown. A warmth fills me as every cell of my body willingly absorbs The Brown.

Now I realize: this has been my only unfulfilled desire. I thought I desired so many things, but now that I am here in this moment, I realize those desires were really only one. And here I am, being utterly satisfied. Every moment in The Brown is more lovely than the last, and as my heart and mind embrace the multi-dimensions of this realization, it is as though my capacity to desire grows. I desire more; it is fulfilled. I desire even more; it is fulfilled. I am fuller and fuller, yet I know I can never be too full. I know now what in some part of myself I have always known: Joy is The Brown; The Brown is Joy.

And then from The Brown, comes a voice. Not like any noise I have ever heard, but like every noise I have ever heart, all at once. My body responds without my mind willing it to. It turns of its own volition, toward the voice and moves toward it. My eyes strain, for in that voice was a call to look, and of course I must do just that. My body is full of eyes, it seems, all of them, looking, looking. I will know when I see what I am looking for. My ears were made to hear this sound and I have been, without knowing, straining to hear this voice all my life. Now, suddenly, it is close. It’s so close I can almost touch it, taste it and hold it.

And then it is here….right here. It was there all along, I realize, but my ears were not ready until this moment. My eyes didn't know how to see until this moment. They dance: here is what they were made to see. A feeling of deep knowing overtakes me, temporarily banishing all other thoughts and I can not help but weep with the emotion of it. Through my tears, I see the source of that voice. I see The Brown. I know what it is, and I remember that this is not the first time my eyes have seen this sight, after all. It was this memory, almost forgotten, that drove me on for a lifetime. And it has all been leading up to this….

Oh! I realize all of life was a wall with little cracks through which, every once in awhile, I could see bits of this. I remember seeing those cracks in the beauty of a sunset on Nissan Island, reflected in the pink, purple and orange waves. I saw a corner of this in the face of my newborn sister as she took her first breath. I saw a speck of it in a friend’s artwork, the colors and shapes mixing and meeting in a way that touched something deep inside of me.

I see Her.

The voice was Her voice. The Brown was her eyes - deep, dark eyes. Each second, more of her comes into focus. Everything makes sense, fits perfectly, and seems so achingly, beautifully familiar, more familiar than my own body.

My eyes drink in this beauty, but they can't keep up. My eyes seem to see in slower motion than the beauty is growing. Every nerve in my body responds to Her, moves toward her Brown, breathes Her in and is breathed in by Her. I realize that I am becoming lost in her at the same time that I am becoming more real, more solid, more alive than I have ever been.

Then I look deeper into the eyes. This is The Brown I saw first. This is what pulled me as surely as a magnet. This is what has always been pulling me. I gaze deeply, unblinking, into a pool of something both strange and familiar. Where have I seen those eyes before? I can not remember, but I know that I have seen these eyes, as surely as I know this is the first time I have seen them. This is not a contradiction. Both are somehow equally true, equally real.

I realize that she is looking at me. I relax, burn and become in her gaze. This is what I have always longed for: to be looked full in the face and to feel that I am understood completely, not loved in spite of that understanding, but because of it.

The Brown is love. Just as this Brown is different but truer than any brown I have known, so this love I see, feel, and know, coming from her eyes is different and true. I feel it settling into me, but it feels like a new feeling. As if I've gained a seventh sense.
I know even as I feel this love that without it I would never be happy or content again, yet I find within myself no fear at all. I have never known a love without fear. Love and fear are two sides of the same coin in my world. To love is to risk losing, to risk being betrayed, hurt, rejected and left behind. But these things are impossible to feel as she gazes at me, love in her eyes. I look for the familiar tell-tale signs of anxiety and suspicion in my heart and mind but they are nowhere inside of me. I am full of love and it is overflowing. I am so full. There is no room for fear.

She opens her mouth to speak and my entire body listens. My whole being becomes an ear, taking in this sound. It is a voice I know, that I have always known, I realize with surprise. From deep within me bubbles up a response that I can’t hold back, can’t not say. It erupts form me involuntarily.

“Mother…” I sob.

Another word wells up inside of me and explodes from my moth, from every pore in my body.

“Shaddaim,” I hear myself say.

And then what I have been longing for all along, but didn’t know to ask for or even want….what I have been hungering and thirsting for since my first breath in this world... fills my mouth, my heart and every part of me, utterly and completely.

It is flesh: soft, warm flesh and from it comes a taste that transcends any and all tastes I have tasted before. It is how truth tastes, I realize. How joy tastes. How pleasure tastes. How completeness and fulfillment taste. When I was hungry, I was hungry for this. When I was thirsty, I was thirsty for this. When I felt there was something I desired…something more…but couldn’t pinpoint what, it was this.

This is the milk I was made to drink and I drink deeply.

Runaway Bunnies, Breasts & Hell (yup, you read that right!)

Read this post over at In the Hush of the Moon. I understand the feeling of watching a little guy growing up...my youngest is going to be four in a couple weeks. Four is NOT a baby. I've asked him to stay three but he said no. sigh.

But this post isn't about that. This post is about The Runaway Bunny that Emily referenced in her post. I read the snippets from the book that she included and that thing happened that often does when I read a children's book: a little piece of truth went around to the back door of my brain, snuck in quietly and sat down when I wasn't looking. Funny how that happens.

I have tried several times, in several venues, to write about why I don't believe there can be a hell. It's because I am a mother and I know how I love my three little ones. And I'm not even the best, most well-balanced, unselfish mother, either...but I'm their mama. So as a mama, with a mama's heart (and I daresay it's similar in a daddy's heart), I can't help but love my children unconditionally. I don't know how to do otherwise. My heart says the words of The Runaway Bunny (below) right along with Mama Bunny. My heart already knows these words by heart because they mirror it perfectly.

The words of my heart, and any mama's heart, are not the voice of a God who made a hell with a door that opens "in"....but not "out." Not ever. Maybe as my friend, Jonathan, suggests in his book, the verse about hell's gates means you can leave hell when you want to, that it's not God's hand pushing you back into the hottest part of the fiery inferno to make sure you really "get" how stupid you were to not believe in Jesus and his death on the cross, the inerrancy of the Bible, or whatever.

So read the words of Runaway Bunny as the words of God, if there is one. Don't even bother trying not to cry:

Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away. So he said to his mother, “I am running away.”
“If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.”

“If you run after me,” said the little bunny,“I will become a fish in a trout stream and I will swim away from you.”

“If you become a fish in a trout stream,” said his mother,“I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.”

“If you become a fisherman,” said the little bunny,“I will become a rock on the mountain, high above you.”

“If you become a rock on the mountain high above me,” said his mother, “I will become a mountain climber, and I will climb to where you are.”

“If you become a mountain climber,” said the little bunny, “I will be a crocus in a hidden garden.”

“If you become a crocus in a hidden garden,” said his mother, “I will be a gardener. And I will find you.”

“If you are a gardener and find me,” said the little bunny, “I will be a bird and fly away from you.”

“If you become a bird and fly away from me,” said his mother, “I will be a tree that you come home to.”

“If you become a tree,” said the little bunny, “I will become a little sailboat, and I will sail away from you.”

“If you become a sailboat and sail away from me,” said his mother, “I will become the wind and blow you where I want you to go.”

“If you become the wind and blow me,” said the little bunny, “I will join a circus and fly away on a flying trapeze.”

“If you go flying on a flying trapeze,” said his mother,“I will be a tightrope walker, and I will walk across the air to you.”

“If you become a tightrope walker and walk across the air,” said the bunny, “I will become a little boy and run into a house.”

“If you become a little boy and run into a house,” said the mother bunny, “I will become your mother and catch you in my arms and hug you.”

“Shucks,” said the bunny, “I might just as well stay where I am and be your little bunny.”

And so he did.

“Have a carrot,” said the mother bunny.

What do you think? It touches something deep inside, that something that whispers, "That's the love I've waited my whole life for."
So, as you know, if you read my blog, I really am not sure about there being a God "out there." However, I am sure that I love my kids with that love that runs after a runaway child and never gives up. I can't help it. I feel it. I don't have to believe it...I know it. And a God who doesn't love that way...I have no use for.

A God who doesn't just not chase down his child, forever, but actually goes so far as to create a place of eternal punishment for that child, just because he or she "didn't get it"...that is a God that does not love like a mother does. If God is real and I am made in his image, how is that possible?

I dearly love one translation of the word, "Shaddaim," one of the names of God in the Old Testament: "a God with breasts." I know how my kids' eyes looked up at me when they nursed as infants. That utter rest, peace and satisfaction. A mother with milk in her breasts doesn't give sustenance when her baby acts like he loves her enough. In fact, if she waits too long to give the rooting infant what he wants, the milk begins to leak out! A nursing mother becomes the most terrifying being in the universe if someone tries to tear her nursing baby from her breast.

So, as Emily eloquently describes, when that same infant becomes a toddler and toddles away, a mother is watching a piece of herself walk away. I have no idea how it feels to watch them move out when they reach adulthood; I don't even want to begin to think about it. All I know is no matter how far my children try to go from me, I will always find them.

I'll storm the very gates of hell if I have to.

Teaching Our Children to Trust Their Instinctual Nature

A couple of weeks ago Kristin commented on this post and mentioned her desire to be mindful of the attack on our instinctual selves while parenting her girls. Her comment got me thinking: it's all well and good to talk about the way we as women (or men) can "unbind" the feet of our instinctual self and run free, but what about our children, whose feet may have not yet been bound or have only been bound for awhile? Can we as mothers and fathers parent in such a way that our children are given tools and understanding so that living out of their natural, intuitive selves is second nature?

My experience so far in talking to my kids about their intuition has shocked me. I thought I'd have to teach them about their "knowing place," but as soon as I mentioned the term and described it, they nodded and said, "Oh, yeah, I have that," as if I was kind of silly to not have known that already! :) I asked them where it was and they pointed to their chests.

Still you kind of have to wonder if my kids have heard me talking about this stuff, but I've noticed other children have similar responses. I was substitute teaching for 3 weeks in a row for a friend's kindergarten class last Spring and on the last day, when we were ready for recess early and they were sitting quietly, I asked them if they had a "knowing" inside and they all nodded. No one looked confused or asked for clarification. They acted just like my girls had and all but two of the children pointed to their chests when I asked them "where" that knowing came from. Two girls pointed to their tummies. These are kids that, without exception, have grown up in very poor homes. English is a second language to all but a couple of them. Several began learning English that year, in kindergarten. It seems this "knowing" is something people from all different backgrounds, cultures, religions and traditions understand and can identify.

One interesting conversation happened when my eldest told me she had gotten a "step" (the first step in the discipline structure...it's basically a warning that's on paper you have to have your parents sign and return) for talking out of turn. She was upset; she felt it was unfair because someone had talked to her, and then she had responded to them, but only she was given a step. When I tried to ask her why she thought she got it, what she could have done differently and what she might do differently in the future, she couldn't stop arguing and defending herself. Then I said something without thinking. I said, "O.k. Emily, so you feel it's not fair that you got a step, but did you KNOW in your knowing place, when you were talking to your friend, that you shouldn't be?" She stopped in her tracks, the arguing stopped and she said, "Well, yeah..." I said, "O.k. that's all I'm saying." We talked about how she could listen to that knowing place in the future.

I think the most interesting part for me in Emily and my conversation was the distinction she made between "obeying the rules" and "listening to your knowing." Obeying the rules is good, we decided. Listening to our knowing is also good, and perhaps even better.

So I've been asking myself, "What else can I do to foster this listening to their knowing, encourage them to trust in themselves and their inner wisdom, and stop binding their instinctual feet in the way I inevitably would if I didn't intentionally choose to do something different?"

Here is one exercise I'm going to do with my kids next Sunday when we have our family time. We are going to read, "Horton Hears a Who," discuss it in the way this article describes and then do an activity of some kind that I haven't settled on yet. I want to hear what they think about the story and how they identify with having a "knowing" about something that others don't necessarily see, hear or understand.What should we do when we "know" or "feel" something others don't? Should we persist in trying to communicate it? Should we keep it inside? When is it important to insist that others listen to us? How can kids insist that adults listen to them?

Do you have any ideas for talking to kids about their instincts, knowing and feelings? I would love to hear any ideas.

Binding the Feet of Our Instinctual Selves

In Clarissa Pinkola Estes' Women Who Run With the Wolves, she talks about the "Wild Woman" who is not "wild" in the sense that we'd call a teenager who is running around doing reckless behavior and is a whirlwind of excess and has no sense of self-control. No, this is a "wild" nature that is closer to the word, "natural," "instinctual" or "original." The best way to understand the nature of this "wildness" is to think about another example that is a little further away from ourselves before we turn and look at our own natures.

In early Chinese culture there was an insidious practice called foot-binding. When a girl was born to middle or upper-class parents, they would break her toes, bend her feet backward, wrap her feet with cloth, wrapping it around and around, her toes tucked under. This process began in early girlhood. By the time she was a woman, her feet would be actually folded in half; the bones grew bent back and up. A woman with a "lotus foot" was one whose feet were 3" long. The tinier the foot, the more desirable she was. The more desirable she was, the more hope she had of being married to a rich man. Of course this is eerily like the practice in our culture of starving women until they are thin as possible, but this isn't that discussion.

Besides the obvious discomfort that women endured as their feet were taught to bend backward, wrapped tightly in a position they were not meant to be in, there was the awful reality that this practice essentially crippled women. They could totter around but not walk fast or run. They moved around with tiny steps on their little nubs, but this was o.k. because if they were married to rich men, they wouldn't need to work or do anything physical anyway, except of course sit there and lie there and be the objects they were born and raised to be. They were simply ornaments and ornaments can be changed, revised, cut in pieces, tied up or any number of methods for making it into something that a man will want to consume, have, own and control.

When you imagine these women with their little nubs that they had to totter around on, you can picture them sitting in richly-decorated rooms, sipping tea with other nub-footed rich women, their every whim being indulged and no work required of them. It becomes a different story altogether when you imagine these women as young girls who wanted to run and play like their male contemporaries but physically couldn't. It becomes heartbreaking when you imagine a nub-footed young woman who is being physically victimized but can not outrun her attacker. Perhaps the worst image is one of a woman with bound feet, who knows the pain that it means, tearfully binding her own daughter's feet, knowing it is the only way she will find a husband.

It is easier to imagine that this happened in the early centuries and that the practice was obliterated long before modern culture. The awful truth is that foot-binding was finally outlawed in 1912 but couldn't be enforced in all cases. Lots of things are outlawed, but when women are the property of their fathers or husbands, the law takes a back seat to things like cultural traditions or financial gain. This story explains why a woman today, in her 60's has the tiny "golden lotuses" even now.

This movie is nauseating, sobering but imperative that we watch it:

*The narrator has the date when it was outlawed wrong, or at least it sounded like she said it was outlawed in the 1600's. In fact it was outlawed in the early 1900's.

This video is a woman's direct memory and narrative of having endured this practice as a young girl. These are very painful to watch, but that is why we must.

Contemplating the concept of the "Wild Woman" after the thoughts and feelings we have while watching and reading about the Chinese foot-binding process, the reality of the "cobbled feet" of our own wild/natural selves springs into stark relief. Modern woman don't have our feet bound, but we are bound, nonetheless. We come into the world with instincts intact, possibilities and potential as wide open as the ocean. We aren't repressed the way women used to be. That does not mean we aren't cobbled. This cobbling happens first when our instincts are repressed, bound up and allowed to rot away inside beautiful shoes.

Estes writes: "Sometimes it is difficult for us to realize when we are losing our instincts, for it is often an insidious process that does not occur all in one day, but rather over a long period of time. Too, the loss or deadening of instinct is often entirely supported by the surrounding culture, and sometimes even by other women who endure the loss of instinct as a way of achieving belonging in a culture that keeps no habitat for the natural woman....Most women have been captured at least for a brief time, and some for interminably long period. Some were free only in utero. All lose varying amounts of instinct for the duration." (p. 269)

The good news is that the feet of our instinctual, wild nature are not impossible to un-bind.

Estes goes on to explain, "Whether the injuries be to your art, words, lifestyles, thoughts or ideas, and if you have knitted yourself up into a many-sleeved sweater, cut through the tangle now and get on with it. Beyond desire and wishing, beyond the carefully reasoned methods we love to talk and scheme over, there is a simple door waiting for us to walk through. On the other side are new feet. Go there. Crawl there if  need be. Stop talking and obsessing. Just do it...." (p. 272)

A bit further on she tells the reader, "If our own wild natures have been wounded by something or someone, we refuse to lie down and die. We refuse to normalize this wound. We call up our instincts and do what we have to do." (p. 273)

Estes talks about how we can not wait for ourselves to heal completely before beginning this reclamation of our wildish nature. She says,  "The real miracle of individuation and reclamation of Wild Woman is that we all begin the process before we are ready, before we are strong enough, before we know enough; we begin a dialogue with thoughts and feelings that both tickle and thunder within us. We respond before we know how to speak the language, before we know all the answer, and before we know exactly to whom we are speaking." (p. 274)

There is a song that we all hear that our feet long to dance to. We may hear it only faintly. But we all hear it. It is that song that gives us the motivation to unbind our feet, hoping that someday we will be able to hear that song clearly and that when that time comes, we will have feet that can dance. Perhaps we don't know how to dance yet. We may not know another soul that dances. But there is still a kind of "muscle memory" of dancing; we KNOW deep, deep down in the knowing part of us that we hear the song. Just because the old woman with bound feet in the second video could never dance doesn't mean she wasn't made to. Her feet "know" they are meant to dance, not hobble around. We can plug our ears and tuck our feet under our chairs but we can always hear a note now and then, reminding us that there is "something more than this." 

For each woman (and man, for that matter), the binding of the instinctual, wildish nature is slightly different. Of course that means that the un-binding process is a unique one for each one of us. Our un-bound feet will propel us to dance different songs. We will each dance into a different reality. We may not know exactly what that is, this side of it. But we all know the edges of it. Why do I know that? Let's start with this...

*What would you do if you could do anything, no one would be hurt by it and no one would reject you?

*When you imagine a little, free-as-a-bird child "you" inside, playing as children do with utter lack of self-consciousness, stopping only when a hungry tummy growls, what is that little self doing?

*When you imagine finding that little "you," her chubby cheeks glowing from whatever busy-ness she was involved in, her bright eyes lit up with fun and pleasure and you imagine pulling her sweet little self up on your lap and telling her, "You are so good at _______" (whatever she was doing just then) do tears spring to your eyes? Do you feel a tightening in your chest? The song grows just a bit louder, doesn't it?

Our grown-up minds rush in with cautionary words about how we must be mature, we must be adults and how we don't have the luxury of doing what we want. If there is a stern, religious voice inside of us, it may say, "Your heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. You can not trust that little you or that 'knowing.' That is your sin nature and doing what you want is going to always end with you in wreckage. Your true nature is bad and must be redeemed."

But there is still that still, small voice. There is still the haunting notes of that song. Your feet tap a little, however hard you may try not to let them.


What would happen, if you unbound your feet? What would happen if you followed that song right into vibrant, soulful, rich-as-chocolate, thick-as-mud life? What if you danced right into the middle of that life, let your feet take over and your heart lead?

"...one ought not dare, nor presume to call oneself artist, poet or knower. One ought agree to agree, to subdue sparkle, bow to others, pretend to not sense the fiery meaning inside meaning, the extra-sensing within all the senses." - Clarissa Pinkola Estes

****************

What do you feel when you read that?

Nope...not what did you THINK....what did you FEEL?

Did you feel a burning or a warmth in your tummy or your chest?

Did you feel emotion rise up into your throat?

What is it that you "shouldn't do," according to the voices around you that tell you that you can't be an artist, you can't be a writer, you can't love your someone deeper than you presently do?

How would you sparkle, if you were allowed?

What firey thing would burn bright inside of you?

What is that voice that tells you that you shouldn't, can't?

What if that voice belonged to a body and that person sat your own child down and told her she can't, shouldn't be the "her" that you know she really is, deep down inside? Would you show it the door? Ask it to leave?

What is blocking you from asking that voice to leave?

What "work" would you do if that voice were to leave and you were left to do what you wanted to do?

What would you create?

What would you sing? dance? write? say? do? Where would you go? Who would you call? What would you do?

Now go do it...

The Field

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there.” ~Jalal ad-Din Rumi


Thinking a lot about this business of "right" vs. "wrong," "good" vs. "bad," etc. It keeps coming up, everywhere from the book my husband and I are reading to discussions my children and I have been having. I have some thoughts about this that are all over the map, and I'm going to spend some time blogging about them.
These thoughts may seem unrelated to one another, or perhaps, like me, you see, hear and feel a kind of "golden thread" running through it all, leading to....I don't know, but it's there...in that field Rumi is describing in the above (very ancient) quote that life happens. Somehow I know that it's there in that field that I'll find the Tree of Life that Adam and Eve felt "driven away from." The "good" and the "bad" sorting system will collapse and it will just be...us. To imagine the sort of love and connections we could have without that sorting system governing us is stunning. THAT, to me, would be "heaven."
I'd love any feedback you have. I won't publish Anonymous comments. Cowards comment anonymously. But I WILL publish any comments that are not hateful and are not anonymous. So let's hear what you think!
So let's start with the Rumi quote at the start of this post. Thoughts? Feelings? Even if your answer is, "Darn if I know!" I'd love to get your input.

Questions

I know it's been a long time since I've talked about it, but I'm the 2010 guest editor of The Porpoise Diving Life. Curious about what the HELL that could possibly be?!? Think it sounds like I'm a closet marine biologist? Uh...unfortunately, no. Still curious? Go HERE to find out.

This month's issue, which is going to be released in the next week or so, is on the topic of "Questions." I'm writing a piece for the issue myself, so I've got this topic on the brain.

Here are some quotes that have me thinking:

-“But we have been taught to see before our eyes have found a way of seeing
for themselves.” (Arthur Symons)

-“If the doors of perception were
cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.”(William Blake)

-“Hardly anyone is able to see what is before him, just as it is in
itself. He comes expecting one thing, he finds another thing, he sees through
the veil of his preconception, he criticizes before he has apprehended, he
condemns without allowing his instinct the chance of asserting itself.” (Arthur
Symons)

-“Our normal expectations about reality are created by a social
consensus. We are taught how to see and understand the world. The trick of
socialization is to convince us that the descriptions we agree upon define the
limits of the real world. What we call reality is only one way of seeing the
world, a way that is supported by social consensus.”
(Carlos Castaneda)

Here's my thoughts today...

Early on in our lives we learn to process our experiences, our feelings, and even our senses. We are taught “right” and “wrong,” “acceptable” and “unacceptable,” “normal and abnormal,” and this skill helps us to process what happens around us as we grow in awareness. Everything we see, hear, think and feel must be qualified: is it this or that? But what if those designations are merely mental constructs and not the irrevocable truths we have learned to call them, whether that be something as complex as a moral designation or as simple as what color an object is? What would happen if we, as much as possible, separated what we see, hear, feel and experience from the “sorting system” we’ve been conditioned to use when processing our experiences?

Thoughts?

The Real Me

First, watch this:



Now watch it again, but imagine sitting on a bench with the wounded, aching, afraid-to be-herself YOU. She's sitting there with a veil over her face, hunched over, alone no matter how many people are around her. The real HER is never o.k. to show to others; the real HER has been rejected far too many times; the real HER has fucked up too many times to count.

But you see HER.

And now listen to the song again, but change the lyrics to this, and imagine addressing that veiled YOU there on the bench:

Foolish heart looks like we're here again (fond smile, stroking her head)
Same old game of plastic smile
Don't let anybody in (tip her chin up to look at you)
Hiding your heartache
Will this glass house break?
How much will they take
Before you're empty?
YOu're scared to let it show?
Does anybody know?

Chorus:
But I see the real YOU
Hiding in your skin
Broken from within
I unveil you completely (lift her veil and look deep into her eyes)
Now you can loosen your grasp
There's no need to mask your frailty
Oh, Cause I see the real you

Painted on
Your life lived behind a mask
Self-inflicted circus clown
You're tired of the song and dance
Living a charade
Always on parade (lift the burden on her back off of her and pull her toward you)
What a mess you feel you've made of your existence
But I love you even now
And still I see somehow

Chorus:
I see the real YOU
Hiding in your skin,
Broken from within
I unveil you completely
You're loosening your grasp
There's no need to mask your frailty
Oh, Cause I see the real YOU

Bridge:
Wonderful, beautiful
Is what I see
When I look at YOU
You're turning the tattered fabric of your life into
A perfect tapestry

Oh, I know you just wanna be you
You wanna be YOU

Chorus
And I see the real YOU
Hiding in your skin
Broken from within
I unveil you completely
You're loosening your grasp
There's no need to mask your frailty
Oh, Cause I see the real YOU
And I love you
Just as you are
Wonderful, beautiful
Is what I see
When I look at YOU.

That's powerful, isn't it? Why?

But let's take it one step further. Can I put someone else that I love on that bench in front of me and sing that to THEM? Give them permission to be THEM, messes and all? Can I just love them, without trying to change them? Can I choose to trust that there's a real THEM inside that is longing to be loved with a love that never leaves, no matter what, and respond to it with simple, abandoned love?

We all know that our projection of ourselves being loved is NOT the same thing as the REAL US being loved. I want to have the courage to show my real self AND accept the real self of the person in front of me. And what will happen there is love...real love...that we are all longing for.

________________
If you drawn to the spirit behind this post, I invite you to read this post from earlier this year. Same spirit.

More on "Understanding"

Thinking more about this topic and just have a simple question:

What do you most wish that someone in your life understood?

Let me elaborate just a bit. In my experience a lot of pain comes from feeling misunderstood. Broken relationships can often be traced back to someone grossly misunderstanding something about the other person.

Yesterday I felt some serious discomfort upon finding out that I have been misunderstood by someone in my life, perhaps for years. Immediately, I felt defensive, hurt and even angry. The questions swirling in my mind were along the lines of: don't you know me better than that? does that sound like something I would do? what kind of a person do you think I am?

So I had to take a look at that. Why did that bother me so much? On the surface I felt mostly offended. But what's underneath that?

It's the pain of feeling misunderstood. I don't need a therapist to tell me why it's painful to feel misunderstood. We interact with others and we develop relationships in which we feel safe and part of that safety comes from knowing we are seen for who we are and loved. When I feel most loved (i.e. safe) I feel that someone sees to the center of who I am...the REAL ME...and loves that Cheryl. I am then...well, SAFE.

The opposite of course is feeling unloved...unsafe. That's why it's so painful to find out that someone with whom I've shared myself, who has experienced me, who I trusted to see me as I am, misunderstands me. There is an immediate flash of fear...WHO have they been experiencing all this time? It wasn't ME. They've been experiencing another version of me, not seeing who I really am. I trusted them with myself, believing that they truly saw/loved me; to find out they didn't when I thought they did is just plain painful.

So back to my question. But think about it in a slightly different way. What makes you feel teary or emotional when you imagine that person in your life really "getting" you, seeing you, understanding you? I can think of a few people/situations that make me want to sob.

If that person could somehow understand what I was feeling when I did what I did....
If this other person wanted (really, truly wanted) to understand the pain I was feeling when....
If that person met me with a desire to understand ME, not approve of everything about me...

Of course I can't make that happen. If I've learned anything, it's that we don't understand one another unless we WANT TO. I can't force someone (or even ASK them to, really) to want to understand me.

But there is something I can do. Something you can do. It isn't easy. It's not comfy. It stings a little because it means putting ourselves out there with no guarantee we will be "met" in a reciprocal way.

We can approach people in our lives with an honest desire to understand them.

We can say things like:
"What do you wish I understood?"
"I want to understand how you felt. I won't say anything in response. I just want to hear how you felt and what you experienced."
"I have no desire to change you. I want to "get" you - the REAL YOU."

Typing those sentences makes me cry. Why? Because if someone approached me with that sort of desire to understand ME...it would utterly change the inside of me, help to heal wounds in a way nothing else can and make me feel loved in a way nothing else would.

So I want to give that to others. Not wait for them to reciprocate. Not expect them to do that for me in return. But freely give that to them.

I know, I know...that's hard as hell. But isn't that love, after all? Seeing the one who hurt you curled up in a ball of pain and rushing toward them with comfort you have the power to give, even if they don't comfort you in return? I don't mean lying down and taking more abuse from them. I don't mean sitting there while they tell you how rotten they think you are. That's not what I mean. It is offering an ear, an open mind, an open heart and a desire to understand the other person....with no conditions.

If we all did this, I can't help but think our world would be an utterly different place. I can't know that for sure, but I do know it would most certainly change ME. And YOU.