As far back as I can remember, I have always felt different.
When I was four years old, I can recall my father and mother arguing in the
kitchen. I remember thinking, "Why doesn't he tell her he loves her and
that what she said hurt him? That's what he really feels." Even then,
I had an extremely accurate bullshit meter. I might have been too young to
translate those sophisticated and nuanced feelings into words but they were
always dead on the money and rarely let me down. Even in the midst of great
chaos, I learned to trust those feelings, and eventually they led me home to
myself.
In high school, I was in the best sorority and my boyfriend was on the
football team, but I was always attracted to things that were a little
strange. I went to all the parties and danced all the dances, but the
thoughts that were in my head were different than my girlfriends' and when I
spoke what came out was different too. Eventually, I quit the sorority (the
only one who ever did in the history of the Gibsons) and became
involved with a guy who rode a motorcycle and belonged to a fraternity
called Rebels. He seemed to appreciate my layered look at the world and
listened attentively while I dissected Emily Dickinson and Robert Graves.
I don't remember feeling particularly rebellious, but I do recall having an
overwhelming desire to express myself. I can remember saying things to my
girlfriends and having them look at me with both awe and confusion not quite
sure how to respond. I always saw a multifaceted universe and took more
delight in the process of human interaction than I did in the outcome of a discussion. Gossip for me was just that and only interested me in as much as I could better
understand human nature.
I couldn't wait to graduate college and a week later I was in Europe with my
best friend. We had a three month Eurail pass which meant I could ride
first class on the train from one end of Europe to the other. When we
landed in Luxembourg I remember thinking, "All these people, and they don't
speak English." In an instant, the world took on mammoth proportions and
simultaneously I took my rightful place in it. As I nestled under my down
comforter that first night in Europe, I knew this journey would be the first
of many.
I have strolled the pristine white beaches of Tasmania. On the Serengeti,
I watched as wild dogs bit the Achilles heel of a wildebeest bringing
it to the ground. I have climbed the healing mountain in Bogota, traveled
from one end of Australia to the other, and even seriously thought about
staying in Alaska. The more places I went and the more people I met, the
more I felt connected to all things human. I enjoyed the experience of
different cultures, - the food, the clothing, the customs - but most important
were the people. I knew their laughter and tears were the same as mine and
somehow that made me feel connected to something larger than myself.
In between traveling, I would work long enough to accumulate some money for
my next trip. Manhattan was simply the place to be. Often times, I would
walk in the Village and have the sense that all of this was a dream. I felt
like I was in the world but not of it. And then one day, crossing East 51st,
something happened. At first it was an aura, a feeling coming toward me,
enveloping me slowly. I wasn't quite sure what was happening, but I felt
the world shifting around me. It was pulsating with energy and suddenly all
of it - the people, the cars, the buildings, - were pulsating with that same energy. Everything was moving in slow motion and I was aware of every sound, smell
and color. There was no distinction between anything else and me; I had become
part of everything and everything was part of me. I knew that all the varied forms
of the universe were made from the same energy and that energy was God.
Regardless of what I called it - the Source, Divine Intelligence, Master Plan - I had
had an experience of Grace and that experience would stay with me throughout
my life.
My next stop was India. I spent ten years with my teacher, meditating and
living a very disciplined monastic life. And then one day I knew it was
time to come back. I got on a plane and came home. I went back to graduate
school, got a Master's Degree in Social Work and was a therapist for awhile.
I became involved with HMO's when they were just getting started and
eventually I was the Director of an HMO. I did consulting work for General
Motors in managed health care, had my own receivables management company,
created vegetarian gourmet restaurants, cooked for hundreds, and today, own
an art gallery.
These are just some of my "careers". I have always been less concerned with
the longevity of these endeavors than with their ability to be vehicles for
the development of consciousness. The adventure continues and although I
feel connected, sometimes I feel scared.
Looking back at my life there is a sense sometimes that perhaps it was not
my own. There are parts that feel so personal, so intimate, and there are other
aspects that seem so disconnected, so obscure. Perhaps the intimate parts
are when I allowed myself to feel, to establish a direct link between my
heart and my brain. Only at this point would I be able to intellectually
understand a little of what had just happened. The realness of these times
had nothing to do with whether I was happy or sad but all to do with the
connection I had made with my heart. Most important was my willingness to
allow the feelings to just be, regardless of what they were.
I figured out some time ago that thinking was a luxury I would allow myself
as long as I directly experienced my life. I could feel the process
happening. A feeling would arise and it would be something different than I
was expecting. Somehow I needed it to make sense, to somehow fit into a
framework that felt comfortable. The thinking would start and in short
order it was categorized, measured and fit into a familiar slot. Watching
this dynamic occur again and again, I began to realize that the minute we
think a rationalization takes place; an excuse for not feeling those new and
uncomfortable feelings. This thought process may bring us an instant dose
of solace but it ultimately robs us of stretching the boundaries of our
experience. Thinking our way through life always keeps us one step away
from the action. True living occurs in the moment and thinking takes us out
of it.
To say that most of us come into this universe without the necessary tools
to fully experience our lives is true but not quite accurate. Maybe this is
the way it is supposed to be. Perhaps the truth is more subtle, a maze so
obvious that we totally miss it. T.S. Eliot says, "It is ending up where you
began but knowing the place for the first time." Let us assume that
everything we have ever experienced is stored somewhere in our computer
chip. How then do I accurately look at my life allowing it to be as real as
possible and not distorting the parts I have difficulty accepting? What
does "ending up where you began" mean? How do I move back from a
place that has become so convoluted, so confused, to place of clarity?
Is my life simply a series of random acts strung together creating a panorama
that has no coherence and no gestalt, or is there a method to this madness?
There is a way the universe unfolds whether anyone gets it or not. Each one
of us has to find a way that gives a sense of congruity, equanimity,
dignity. We can not arbitrarily decide where to make the cut, to place one
experience in the realm of random and another in the pre-destined category.
What is true is true all the time.
It seems to me the only way to make peace with your life is to trust it.
There is no way to control it. The forms of the universe are unending and
tackling and crushing one manifestation only gives rise to another. It is
better to observe with awe and wonder the infinite variety of presentations
and do the best we can do at every moment. Sometimes we make good choices,
sometimes lousy ones. It is not about one life being better or worse than
another. Sometimes people say, "Why did this happen to me?" I say, "Because
what happened to me did not happen to you." It's a life. Yours is yours
and mine is mine. Either we accept responsibility for our lives or we do not.
Accepting responsibility does not mean we know the reason something happened
to us. It's nice to know or at least get a sense of what is going on, but
can we ever really know why things happen? Taking responsibility for a life
means feeling connected to that life. I own my life -- the good, the bad
and the ugly. It is not an accident, not even one, little, tiny part of it.
This does not mean that there was not room for improvement or that I might
not do things differently from where I now stand. All it means is that I
trust the process.
It is from this place of trust and this place only that we can begin to
connect to our lives and make them real. Trust has the ability to put fear
in its proper perspective. When we trust, we feel the fear but do it
anyway. We are brave enough to feel afraid and stay with that feeling even
though it is uncomfortable and very unpleasant. After all, it is fear that
has disconnected us from our lives. All our unpleasant feelings become
stuffed away with the assumption being that if they are truly felt they just
might annihilate us. As more and more feelings are jammed inside they begin
to gain critical mass. Although this process bypasses the intellect, our
being is aware of what is going on and compensates by becoming even more
clever in keeping those feelings at bay. The ultimate paradox is that it is
only through those feelings that we are liberated.
We must go back. We must begin again. If we look at our life the same way
we always have we will end up with the same results. That's fine if we feel
the way we want to feel and our life is going exactly as we want it to go. But,
if there is an incongruity between what we say we want and the life we live
every day, we need to be willing to look at our life in a new way. This is
never easy.
It takes tremendous ego strength and internal fortitude to delve into
unknown territory. What we are talking about here is the "healthy ego," a
sense of self that is strong enough to withstand scrutiny, some criticism,
and ultimately change. What is unknown is outside our conscious mind. It
produces chaos, a feeling of being out of control. The more we are able to
stretch our consciousness, move outside the familiar feelings, the more we
are able to expand our way of looking at the world. What ostensibly appears
to be chaos becomes the energy that moves us out of that stuck place and
provides us with the opportunity to grow. What initially is uncomfortable,
ultimately nourishes our soul.
When our soul is nourished, our life takes on a meaning all its own. The
reasons for doing things fall by the wayside and there is simply a movement
so fluid, so effortless, that at times we wonder what all the fuss was
about. Our life ceases to be conditional in any aspect. We no longer do
something we don't like because we hope it is a stepping stone to something
we do like or work with people who undermine our creativity in the hopes
that they will be instrumental in advancing our career. When our soul is
being fed, suddenly things simply become what they are. We do the work we
love and we are around the people who make us feel good. The glaring
distinction between who I really am and my life in the world is gone. There
is congruity and that oneness brings peace and inner contentment.
This does not mean that the rest of our life is on coast. All it means is
that for the moment we can pause and enjoy the feeling. We have done a good
job and now it is time to take the next plunge.
Visit Chandra Alexander at coachgirl.com coachgirl.com and also her blog at ChandraUnplugged.com ChandraUnplugged.com
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