Jake Eagle's Blog, page 12

The Things We Carry— emotional baggage

Last year I was a lab virgin. This year I’m a lab veteran, meaning I’ve been to a Reology Lab before. Why do the members of our small but growing community refer to these retreats as labs? Because they are places to experiment—to be totally honest, to ask for what you want, to explore your own depths.

I return home from this recent lab a different woman than the one who left home in early July. I left feeling good—maybe even a bit cocky—not only am I a veteran but I have the added advantage of having worked with the co-founders of Reology in their private practices. I have this thing down, I think; I’m going to be “fine.”

And I was fine—I had a great time at the lab and I also discovered a lot about myself and the “things” I carry. I chose this title because it reflects the idea that I come with baggage—emotional baggage—I move through my life carrying the weight of my beliefs, anxieties, hopes, judgments and ideas about myself and others. I also chose this title because it reminds me of a book.

About 2 years ago I read a remarkable book by Tim O’Brien, “The Things They Carried.” It’s an autobiographical novel about O’Brien’s experience in Vietnam as a young soldier. It reads like poetry; terrible, delightful, heartbreaking poetry and it has become one of my top 20 favorite books.

What do you carry with you?

In the book, O’Brien describes his small unit of fellow soldiers by illustrating the things they carry—he begins with the obvious—back-packs filled with extra clothing, food, medication, pictures of loved ones, canteens, weapons, ammunition, etc. As the book continues he reveals the other things he and his fellow soldiers carry— fear, uncertainty, anxiety, sleeplessness, prejudice, homesickness, anger, confusion and doubt.

I thought about O’Brien’s book often while I was at the lab this month because, like the young soldiers in the book, all of my lab mates, myself included, came with stuff we carry—some of us for most of our lives. Some of us came ready to let go of our burdens, others were shy in the early days and then surprised the group with how readily and completely they dropped some of their emotional baggage. Others held tightly to their backpacks of pain or sorrow and only in the final days did they begin to lighten their load.

What I found interesting at this Lab was how we chose to let go of the weight we’ve been carrying. Early on in the Lab, Jake talked about the process of growth which he describes in his book, ReRight Your Life, as “the 5 A’s”. The beauty of the process of growth is an organic movement from awareness to acceptance to asking to awaiting to acting—acting in a new way as a result of this process.

Awareness is the first step

The amounts of time between awaring myself (step 1) and acting in a new way (step 5) varies depending on the issue in question. Sometimes I carry such an intense “charge” about an issue that it takes time to go through the steps. Other times the process feeling almost instantaneous.

During the lab some of us chose to reveal and grow ourselves by sitting in the center of the circle and choosing a surrogate to represent the person we need to speak with. One of the questions Jake asked us in the early part of the lab was “what do you need to say that you haven’t said? What if you were to die tomorrow—who do you need to talk to and what do you need to say?”

With Jake’s help several participants sat in the center of the circle and spoke to a person who represented a significant other—a parent or sibling for example. Many spoke from different voices—at times they were still children, hurt and wounded and unable to care for or protect themselves. Other times they sounded like angry teens still smarting from their wounds but beginning to individuate and stand up for themselves. The growth happens when I can move myself from the immature voice of a child into the mature voice of my adult self.

We can change the meaning of our lives

Many of us at this year’s lab were middle-aged and yet we still carried wounds and resentments from our early childhood. With Jake and Hannah’s help we began to awaken ourselves to the idea that we can actually change how we make meaning of our lives. This involves accepting our pasts and recognizing how we have defined ourselves with our pasts, but then redefining ourselves.

Some of us were able to move easily from the child’s voice to the mature voice and experienced dynamic and profound shifts in how we view and define ourselves.

Other members of the group were more resistant in the early days feeling that the task was too difficult or too daunting to tackle at the time. The beauty of a lab is that there is no pressure and individuals are encouraged to own exactly who they are and how they are feeling in the moment.

For me, this is the grace of the second of the 5 A’s—acceptance. When I aware myself of how I am feeling and what I am doing, my next step is to be honest with myself and simply accept how I am feeling in the moment. The rest of the A’s help me grow myself, but acceptance, for me is the key.

The weight under which I’ve lived

I had a profound moment of growth and acceptance in the latter days of the lab and much of my growth was based on releasing a weight I have been carrying since I was very young. I wasn’t at all aware of this weight—it had become a part of me and I had lived with it for so long that I completely disoriented myself when it slipped off my shoulders without any effort on my part except my willingness and awareness in the moment.

It was the afternoon before the last day and we were doing one of Hannah’s sensory experiences. Hannah is one of the most remarkable women I’ve ever met and the most intuitive. She has the ability to read the group as we sit and talk, and without fail she chooses an activity or sensory awareness exercise that will help us bond as a group while at the same time deepen our connection with ourselves.

That afternoon she has us do the tunnel exercise. The group splits into pairs and forms a curved tunnel by having people face each other and standing about 2 feet apart. We have our arms extended slightly and the person at the head of the tunnel puts on a blindfold and walks blindly through the tunnel. In the background is music that matches perfectly with the experience and when it is my turn, I blindfold myself and step timidly into the tunnel.

I have my hands raised and slightly extended and each time I veer to either side a soft guiding hand meets mine and with a light touch helps me back on course. The first time I go through the tunnel I am uncertain of the help I need and I feel shaky and anxious. When I get to the end, one of my lab mates holds my hand and returns me to the “end of the tunnel.” I remove my blindfold and assume my roll as a guide for my fellow tunnelers.

My entire life changed

As I watch my lab mates find their way down the tunnel with the gentle and soft guidance of the others something begins to crumble inside of me and by the time I walk down the tunnel the second time I am weeping. By my third pass I am sobbing and after my fourth trip I am beginning to understand what is happening to me.

After we’ve all gone through several times, we sit down and talk about our experiences. I am not the only person to be deeply moved by the tunnel. Many of us revel in the delight and love we feel and how profoundly moving it is to feel supported and guided by our fellows. I am still sobbing quietly and eventually I share with the group that for the first time in my life I feel safe. And I’m aware that every part of me feels safe—I am mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually and “cellularly” safe. I am so moved I am unable to voice much more and when we break for dinner I return to sobbing.

Before I head to the dinner hall and another lovely meal, I spend some time settling into myself and my new sense of “safeness.” I stand looking west in the front of a large Ponderosa Pine and I feel myself extending my own roots into the ground and into a new definition of myself. I feel my arms spread wide and my head and eyes rise to meet the top branches of the tree as I announce myself. “I am here,” I say, “I am safe.”

The final day we say goodbye to each other. We are sweet and gentle with each other and ourselves. We are aware that life is precious, that nothing is permanent and we are all more aware of ourselves and the loads we have shed and the baggage we still carry. We move slowly and notice the world around us in a careful and attentive manner.

I changed the meaning of my life

When I leave I don’t look back—I have no regrets about leaving the weight of my childhood fear behind me—my fear is buried safely with the roots of the Ponderosa Pine and it lies at the foot of the Ocamora Mountain. I choose to leave my burden in the beautiful country of northern New Mexico.

It would be a perfect ending if I could tell you that I buried that weight several days ago and left it there for the rest of my life, but that is not true. I have felt the weight of my emotional baggage even since returning home, but the difference is that I know I can put it down. I know I have a choice.

Not only did I leave some baggage behind, I also carried home some effective practices and solutions. My expectations of myself are more realistic. Or as Hannah said, “That is exactly the practice. Lose ourselves, find ourselves, lose ourselves, find ourselves.”

If you’re in the habit of feeling anxious or if you feel you have lost yourself, it is my experience that a Reology lab can help you find yourself and you may discover along the way that much of the weight you have been carrying is unnecessary and ancient baggage. Life is short. There’s a lab in January.

 

 

 

 

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How To Be Happy: Poof

In my previous article I introduced one idea—one idea that can free me from most of my suffering. This idea is that meaning is made up. An event occurs, or someone says something to me . . . and then I make meaning of that event, or the words that were spoken. I make meaning based on all sorts of factors, but mostly based on my memories.

My previous experiences shape my current reality

And, I limit myself with my previous experiences, because I define myself with outdated ideas that developed when I was young and vulnerable and learned lessons from people who were limiting themselves. For example, when I was young I determined that I was scared, that I needed to use sarcasm to protect myself, that I shouldn’t express sadness for fear that I would look weak. I then built my life around these early ideas by finding experiences to validate my beliefs.

As I grow into adulthood I convince myself that my beliefs are true and right. But they aren’t. They are just ideas that I constructed. And what started out as five or ten ideas grew into an entire web of ideas in which I now live. I see the world through my web of ideas and beliefs.

If I go to therapy, most therapists will validate my beliefs. They may help me reevaluate some of my beliefs, this is at the heart of many therapies, but mostly they will inadvertently validate my beliefs because we will spend so much time talking about them. But they are made up. They are not real. Should we spend so much time talking about them?

It is not true that I am scared. It is not true that using sarcasm to keep people at a distance will serve to protect me. It is not true that I am safer when I act invulnerable. These are all made up—made up in an attempt to alleviate my anxiety. But made up nonetheless.

Do I really need to be courageous?

Being courageous will help me face difficult situations—this is a commonly held belief. But it is not true that I need to be courageous to face difficult situations. Actually, I have come to believe that I limit myself with this belief, because as soon as I think I need to be courageous I have framed whatever the situation is as adversarial. Framing it in that way is likely to make it that way.

For me, a healthier belief is that I don’t need to be courageous because I am safe—99% of the time there is nothing truly threatening me. Of course, this belief is made up too. But, here’s the point. If all of our beliefs and ideas and interpretations are made up, why not make them up in ways that are helpful and allow us to relax and connect and be compassionate and kind?

Learn to make meaning in ways that serve you

That’s the point—learn to make meaning in ways that serve you, that help you live the life you want to live.

This brings me to my newest therapeutic concept/technique, which I have assigned the formal name of Poofing. To Poof! is to intentionally shift consciousness by releasing thoughts, thus creating immediate relief.

The telephone rings, I answer it, it is a telemarketer, I start to focus on the idea that this person is bothering me, interrupting me and I begin to upset myself. I can follow that train of thought or I can Poof! that train of thought. Why would I want to upset myself over this momentary interruption in my day? I do have a choice. I can go Poof!

In a more serious situation, my partner and I make plans to spend time together on the weekend, but when the weekend arrives she doesn’t feel like doing anything. I can focus on how our marriage has become stale and boring, which will lead me into despair and a tendency to disconnect from my partner, or I can Poof! that way of making meaning. As soon as I Poof! that way of making meaning I have brought myself back to the present moment and it is in this moment that all sorts of choices open up.

I’ve learned many therapeutic processes over the years and I’ve developed a few of my own—and although this one has a jocular name, Poofing is as profound, maybe more profound than anything I’ve ever come across. It is not right for everyone in every situation. I think of this as a process best suited for people who already have a rather high degree of self awareness. Therefore, more mucking around in your story may not be necessary or terribly useful. Instead, by learning to Poof! I have been able to free up a great deal of my energy, because instead of using my energy to relive the drama of my traumas, I’m using my energy to deliberately make meaning in ways that are constructive.

I am the master of my fate

If “I am the master of my fate . . . the captain of my soul”* does it not make sense to choose my own meaning?

The choice that I am talking about is largely a matter of choosing what to emphasize and what to de-emphasize. When I am in relationship with someone I deeply love, if that person has a momentary lapse—maybe they aren’t listening to me the way I like to be listened to—I can focus on the lapse or I can focus on my desire to connect. I can focus on the lack or I can focus on the love.

The one caveat I have with regard to Poofing is that I do not want to repress myself. I do not want to simply pretend that I don’t trouble or bother myself with something if I actually do trouble or bother myself. So, when I Poof!, I must then pay attention to whether or not I have really released my emotional charge. If so, my Poof! was successful. If not, I may try again, but after Poofing twice, if I have not released my emotional charge then I assume that I need to delve into my emotional charge and pursue a different course of action.

Sometimes I can Poof! myself. I can release my thoughts. Other times, I need to change the meaning of an event by engaging with a person and coming to a deeper understanding of why they did what they did. Or, I need for them to change their behavior. In these cases, Poofing is not enough, there is something unresolved that I must address.

However, I will share with you that since I have been doing this practice—Poofing on average about ten times per day—I have been the happiest and most relaxed at any time in my life.

* A line from the poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley

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Why Therapy Fails

http://www.bobbiecarlyle.com

Tens of millions of people go to one form of psychotherapy or another because they want:

To be happier
To escape their anxieties and fears
To create a happy romantic partnership
To find their life purpose and feel satisfied

And when I look at the results I reach the conclusion that most therapy fails. It’s not your fault—it’s the therapeutic model. It’s flawed.

Have you been to therapy? And are you as happy as you could be? Do you live without anxiety and fear? Are you in a wonderful and deeply nourishing romantic partnership that is easy and playful? Have you discovered your life purpose and are you experiencing a continual sense of satisfaction?

I know very few people who answer, “yes” to those questions—very few. Sure, you may be better off today than when you started therapy, but why aren’t the results more dramatic?

It is possible for therapy to produce significantly greater results than what most people have become accustomed to.

I wish I’d known this 20 years ago!

I’ve been counseling people for over twenty years. Based on what my clients tell me, over 94% have found the process of working with me to be very helpful. Yet, I’ve limited my effectiveness—and therefore limited the results my clients achieved—because I didn’t know what I’m starting to share with you in this article.

By the way, no refunds on previous work, but I will offer all previous clients a copy of my next book for free. This book will go into detail about why most forms of therapy are limited and how to break out of those limitations. By creating a new model, I believe it is realistic for many people (not everyone) to achieve:

Consistent happiness
A life with hardly any anxiety and only experiencing fear if you are in physical danger
A happy romantic partnership that deepens and becomes richer over time
Clarity about your life purpose—and satisfaction if you become good at what you do

Today, I am starting a new conversation.

This will be the primary focus of several new articles in the coming months. We are considering, but haven’t yet decided whether or not to create a forum in which you can participate in this conversation. Right now we’re looking into the technology, trying to find the best way to make this happen. If you’d like to join a forum, click here to send me an email.

This conversation is for people serious about change. It is for people who have attempted various ways to improve your lives, and although you may have chipped away at some of your armor, learned to be a bit less reactive and less anxious—you aren’t fulfilling your potential and you know it.

So, here’s the starting point of this conversation.

Most therapy doesn’t work because it emphasizes the reasons why we are not okay . . . we were abused . . . we were timid . . . we weren’t loved . . . we were rejected . . . our hearts were broken . . . our dreams were dashed. And even “outcome oriented” therapies—therapies that look forward instead of back—they too reify our ideas and beliefs.

To reify an idea or a concept is to regard it as real. We define ourselves with these ideas—as if pouring bronze into a mold and creating a rigid statue. This is a huge mistake.

Therapists unknowingly do this all the time. A female client comes in saying something like, “When I was a child my father abandoned me and so now I’m very cautious of really opening myself up to be in a relationship with a man.” The therapist sincerely says, “I’m so sorry that happened. It’s really hard to open up and trust again after we’ve been hurt or abandoned.”

A male client comes in and says, “My wife shamed me last week by telling me that she doesn’t think I love her because I’m no longer the sexual partner I used to be.” And the therapist, again, sincerely says, “That must have been very hard to hear. I’m sure your wife meant well and at least she’s expressing her feelings. That’s a good start.”

Therapists have good intentions.

Of course the therapist is trying to be helpful, but the problem is that the therapist is doing two things—neither of which are helpful. I want to focus on one of those two things, which is that the therapist is reinforcing ideas such as “it’s hard to trust again,” or “that our partner can shame us.” Neither of these are necessarily true. It all depends on how we make meaning.

And that’s the point of leverage in our lives and in therapy—learning how to make meaning in constructive ways. Coming to understand that meaning is malleable. Beliefs are made up. Thoughts are made up—they have no inherent, fixed meaning—yet most forms of therapy act as if they do.

Based on the ways we think and communicate, we have poured ourselves into molds that are way too limiting. And, there is a way out. That’s what this series of articles, and a possible forum, will be focusing on for the next few months.

If you have a good friend that you care about, I invite you to share this article with them so that they can participate in this conversation and accompany you on a journey that I sincerely believe has the strong potential to radically change your life.

 

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How to Get From There to Here

Why are you reading this blog? I started reading it two years ago because I was trying to get from there to here—”there” being stuck and “here” being happy with myself. Since attending my first Reology retreat last summer I have transformed myself.

I know that sounds dramatic, but it’s the absolute truth. The teachings and the exercises I participate in at a Lab (that’s what we call these retreats) are designed to help me discover myself, see myself clearly and then transform myself into the person I want to be.

Am I here yet?

Mostly I am. Not 100%, but who I am today, or in ReSpeak, how I do myself today compared to how I did myself last year demonstrates the incredible transforming power of two things:

 Assuming personal responsibility, and
The power of using language to transform myself.

In Reology we use language more actively, we verb ourselves—and by using the language of Respeak I remind myself that I am the Captain of my ship, I am the master of my fate—I, and I alone can determine how I respond to stimuli and when I do this on a regular basis I discover my own power.

I’m no longer hiding

Not only do I find my own power, but I also find everything else I’ve carefully hid from myself over the years. Here’s a list of some of the things I hid from myself: gratitude, sense of wonder, joy, playfulness, love, sense of belonging, sadness, pain, loneliness, desire, intuition, creativity and sense of adventure.

I don’t know where you are in your life, but before I began working with Jake and Hannah Eagle, the co-creators and stewards of Reology I was mostly just stuck. I didn’t know how to get from there to here. I had spent much of my life reading self-help books and “working on myself,” but fundamentally I was still stuck. I still felt unhappy and I still labeled myself a victim—I had low self-esteem, trust issues, a fear of abandonment, fear of success, anxiety, depression and numerous behaviors that I couldn’t control.

I over ate, fought with myself to give up gluten and sugar and I struggled to exercise. I fell into long periods of doubt and depression and then would recover by fits of manic willfulness to do better. I hated the imbalance and the mood swings. I spent very little time in the present moment and most of my time I was either fretting about the future or being remorseful and filled with self-pity about my past.

I had tried a million cures—read the books, done the 12 steps, meditated, gone to Findhorn, read Seth and Don Juan but nothing seemed to make a permanent change in me. Regardless of what practice I tried, I inevitably fell off the wagon and slipped back into my old behavioral and emotional patterns.

The magic sauce of Reology is ReSpeak

I define myself and the world using language. Before learning ReSpeak, this is how I sounded: “I get so angry when the subway is late.” Or, “My boss really frustrates me when she whines about how hard her life is.” Or, “I wish my parents had been more loving,” or “I wish my kid appreciated me more,” or “I’ll feel so much better when I have more money.”

When I repeat these sentences I imply that I am powerless. I express the idea that in order for me to feel better circumstances around me have to change, which means, in common language—I am screwed. But in ReSpeak—I screw myself.

The late subway doesn’t make me angry. I make myself angry when the subway is late. I could instead choose to travel another way or I could accept that I live in a city of 4.5 million people and the subway is almost always late—why let it get to me? Bring a book. Leave earlier. Play some delightful music on my iPod. Ride my bike to work.

Same thing with my boss—if I work for a whiny boss I have several options: quit my job, accept that she whines and when she starts excuse myself and get back to work or I can ask her to whine somewhere else, in a kind and loving way. When I worked for a dentist I kindly and humorously reminded him that when he whined about money to me I found it absurd. He made in one month what I made in a year—he got it and stopped whining in front of me.

Part of what we do in a Lab is discover how we hurt, frustrate, anger, scare and depress ourselves and then we find creative ways to do ourselves differently. We find ways to love, enjoy, delight, encourage, support, enlighten and trust ourselves and when I am loving myself I am always kinder and more loving with you.

In a Lab we connect—we connect with ourselves and we connect with each other and we learn to communicate more honestly, clearly and responsibly and we remember how to play.

My suggestion to those who are coming to the lab

For those of you who are coming to Ocamora or are booked for the winter retreat in Roatan there is one suggestion I want to offer—stay in touch with your Lab mates. Like any intensive retreat I found instant and life long friends at Ocamora last year. I fell in love every day—with myself and with my Lab mates. Upon leaving we exchanged contact information and many of us signed up to do the continuing connection that the Eagles offer—we’d have phone conferences every two weeks for 3 months, as a way to continue and deepen our connection to ourselves, each other and the work.

But, like many others, after a few months I found myself drifting away—from myself, from the work and from my Lab mates. And I consider myself one of the more fortunate people, because although I am single and do not have a partner or friends in Toronto who have been to labs, I continue to work with Jake and Hannah privately. But even with my connection to the Eagles, I still found myself forgetting how to use ReSpeak and struggling with my old habitual patterns of powerlessness.

What’s the solution?

Find a buddy at the Lab—someone you connect to—and call them or email them on a regular basis. As I said, I fell in love with many of my Lab mates and in the beginning I felt close to several of them because we did make an effort to stay in touch via email, but one by one they drifted off and I didn’t make enough of an effort to reconnect—except for one person.

When I was at Ocamora last year, I found a friend who is as hungry for change and permanent transformation as I am and throughout this entire year we have stayed in touch. We have drifted at times, but never for very long—inevitably after a dry spell we would reach out and reconnect ourselves—by the simple act of a phone call we would remember ourselves, the work and the love we have for each other and for Reology.

So, if you are coming to the retreat in New Mexico, I look forward to meeting you and I hope you will make the effort to establish a connection with someone that you can rely on to help keep you plugged in to the work and to yourself. Jake and Hannah do everything they can to help us along, but in the end it is my responsibility to stay connected to myself and the funny thing is I can’t do that alone. I need you guys and gals to remember who I am and how I want to do myself. I need you in my life in order to remember myself. Isn’t that divine?

 

 

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Being Perfect

“The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself.”

~ Anna Quindlen

I recently returned from someone else’s 5-day workshop. I do this every year—attend a workshop—to keep myself growing and to stimulate my creativity for our own retreats. As usual, I chose a program that would push me beyond my comfort zone.

John Weir, our mentor, said that: “Growth only happens when we first disorient ourselves and then reorient ourselves with what we have learned.” The way I think of this is that when I make space for something new, something unknown, I expand myself and become more of who I am capable of being.

In order to do this, it helps to first admit that I am human and less than perfect. This is my starting point. Once I admit my imperfection, I’m a lot less anxious about moving out of my comfort zone. I’m less nervous about being seen as less than perfect.

I assume that we all want to be seen as being on top of our game, yet, by admitting that I am less than perfect, I have opened the door to becoming more accepting of who I am, more human, and likely more loved and more lovable . . . especially by and to myself.

In fact, if I give up my need to be perfect, in order to impress others, ironically, I feel a little more perfect! I’m not flawless . . . will never be . . . and don’t think that anyone is. I no longer believe that to justify my existence, or even to be loved, I have to be perfect. As long as I am kind and behave maturely, I can enjoy the freedom of just being human.

He who is most perfect is not worth the most any more! Yahoo!

And just because I think there might be a state of perfection doesn’t mean that there actually is one. So far I have never seen or heard of any human being that was perfect. Not any guru, not the pope, not the president, not anybody. I guess I’ll have to break the news to Jake

Will I always be in this frame of mind . . . will I always remember this and be perfectly free of my desire for perfection? No.

Even though I believe it’s fundamentally detrimental to humanity, I don’t believe there is a complete cure for perfectionism. I will not be perfect, and besides, I still need motivation to grow so that I strive to be more than I am at this moment. But I will try to stay aware of not striving to be perfect.

Salvador Dali once said:

“Have no fear of perfection—you’ll never reach it.”

In a Reology Retreat we learn how to stop being judgmental of ourselves or of others. We begin to see how uniquely different we all are, while appreciating our differences. We get to find what most matters to us and to follow our hearts without worrying about what someone else thinks or tells us to do or be.

Imagine feeling free to be exactly who you want to be, even if you’re not perfect!

 

 

 

 

 

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Emotional Toolbox

Spring is slowly arriving in Toronto. The trees are leafing, tulips and daffodils abound and the lilacs will be here in a week. The magnolia trees are stunning and the lawns are a vivid green from the months of snow and early spring rains. It’s still cool, but I’m only wearing one layer instead of four and this past week I wore flip flops and sneakers without socks. It’s a good time to be alive.

Periodically my neighbor Rob leaves town and when he goes I inherit his dog, Stanley. Stanley and I have been good friends for over ten years and I love when he visits, because when he is with me I walk him three times a day. My humble apartment building sits in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Toronto and across the street is one of Toronto’s loveliest parks.

Stanley’s Spiritual Practice

Three times a day Stanley and I head to the park—he chases the ball and I admire the beauty. This year, I am more stunned than ever with the beauty of the park and more in awe of Stanley and his way of being in the world. This morning as we were walking along I noticed that Stan wags his tail constantly when we are in the park. His tail never stops moving and even though he turned 11 years old this spring he runs and amuses himself with his tennis ball just as exuberantly as he did when he was 2. Every time in the park with Stan is a new time in the park—he never gets bored, he never mopes, he never complains about the heat, the crowds on the weekends or the muddy paths in the springs. He just runs, chases his ball and rolls in the grass in ecstasy.

Rob has been gone since Friday, he comes home tonight and usually I look forward to taking Stan home because I can sleep in a bit later in the morning and I don’t have to worry about getting home to walk Stan. But this time I am wishing Rob would stay later—this time I want more of Stan because I want more of what Stan represents.

Stan lives in the moment as all dogs do, but this time I am much closer to living as Stan does and as a result I am using him as my mentor for the time I have him here. These past few days walking with Stan I’ve discovered a cardinal that lives in the park and I’ve seen him three times in the past three days. This morning he flew right in front of me, so close I could have reached out and touched him. I’ve seen bunnies in the early evening and countless squirrels and chipmunks. This morning I could smell the pear blossoms long before I got into the park and I’ve discovered flowering shrubs and hidden gardens I’ve never seen before.

Take Yourself For a Walk

Nothing I am seeing is new to the park, just new to me—because this year I am closer to being present in my life than ever before. This year I am waking myself up. Earlier this spring I had my 58th birthday. For some reason turning 58 gob smacked me profoundly. For the first time I realized I am going to die—and not in the far distant future—in all likelihood I’ll be dead in 20-30 years. Twenty to thirty years—that’s all I have left! And who knows how limber I’ll be in 10 or 15 years? Who knows if I’ll be able to walk in the park in 15 years? And more importantly why do I only walk in the park with Stanely? Why don’t I take myself to the park, to the beauty three times a day? It’s only about a mile—the loop around the park—it takes less than 30 minutes—yet I never go into the park unless I am walking Stanley.

Since I went to my first Reology Lab almost a year ago I have been aware of the concept of living in the moment. But, this spring I am doing it. I am living my life more fully than ever before because I make an effort every moment to be in the moment I am in. And it really does take effort. I used to believe in the delusion that if I “worked on myself and my issues” long and hard enough eventually I would come to a peaceful resting place where I was in harmony with you and the rest of the world. Then, from that peaceful place I would live my life as an enlightened being. That was my game plan—work my shit out and then live my life in harmony.

But, turning 58 changed all that. I don’t have another 20 years to spend working on my issues and waiting for enlightenment to descend upon me—I only have 20 -30 years left to live (maybe)—if I want to live in peace and harmony I have to find a way to live well now. I can’t waste another 20 years struggling with myself and my issues.

And with this awareness I am awakening myself. With the help of Jake and Hannah and Reology, I am developing the practice of staying in the moment and living my life joyfully now. Like Stan, I am celebrating going to the park as though it were the first time, every time. Like Stan, every bowl of food is exciting and every caress is the best caress. In doing myself this way I am learning to celebrate myself in the moment. Like Stan, every moment is a party to be relished and enjoyed to the fullest.

My Practice Consists of Three Things

Each morning upon awakening I listen for my first thought—because I am new to living life joyfully I often wake with old thoughts or feelings—most often I wake with dread or guilt because in the past I behaved badly. But now that I am treating myself and others more kindly and with more respect I am able to quickly shift my first thought to one of gratitude: I am blessed to be alive and to have the next twenty years to do myself with love, compassion, joy and gratitude. Yesterday I made an effort to stay present and I was kind, compassionate and loving to myself and to others—so I have no reason to hold onto any feelings of dread or guilt. If there is something nagging at me from my past behavior I am fortunate today to have the time and willingness to clean up my past mistakes and live differently. And then I meditate—sometimes all I do is Jake and Hannah’s 4-minute meditation sometimes I do more. But I do it everyday.

Awake or Asleep?

For the rest of the day I stay awake. It’s really not that hard, it just takes constant attention—moment to moment awareness of how am I doing, thinking, saying, eating, walking, conducting myself right now? And if I find I have fallen asleep or had a momentary lapse of consciousness I simply bring myself back into my body. I do this with several tools—first I use my breath and my attention—if that isn’t sufficient then I close my eyes and think of Stan and the park and I touch my face or my left knee and I ask myself how do I want to be today? Do I want to be awake or asleep? Do I want to be completely alive or mostly dead? And if all that fails I remind myself that my clock is ticking—the last 20 years flew by—75% of my life is over—do I want the rest of my life to be my best years or my worst? The choice is mine.

Lastly, at night I return to gratitude. I remind myself how fortunate I am to be alive and still have the opportunity to be the person I have always wanted to be. I remind myself of all the beauty in the world and I think about the people and other creatures that I love. I think about the day and what I did. Did I struggle or was I easy with myself? Was I kind? Was I honest? Did I have any fun? How did I conduct myself? And then, instead of beating myself up if I reverted to old behavior, I simply acknowledge my desire to do better tomorrow and clean up any mistakes.

None of what I am doing is new to me, I just simply never did it. I would try to live with awareness for a day or two and then something would happen and I would upset myself and slip back into identifying as a victim or I would simply fall asleep and forget to wake myself up. But today I feel different. Today I have a fire in me that wasn’t there before and today I am using the tools in my emotional toolbox. If your emotional toolbox is empty or seriously in need of reorganization or if you’ve simply forgotten how to use them—come to a Reology Retreat. Come play and learn with us in the moment. Come and learn how to stay awake for the rest of your life. Come now, before you’re mostly dead or too tired to try.

 

 

 

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Preciousness of Life

Kyoto, Japan

It is Tuesday evening in Kyoto, Japan. We have just finished conducting a Reology Retreat. In our retreats, all participants use pseudonyms, no one uses their real name. For this retreat Hannah chose the name “Yuuki”, which is the Japanese word for courage, and I chose the name “Mr. Lucky”—which in Japanese is Mr. Lucky.

The quality that stood out for me during this retreat was a pervasive awareness of the preciousness of life. One of my favorite students—a beautiful elder—said, “I suffered as a child, then I lost the love of my life fifteen years ago, and now I have heart disease  . . .  yet still I love life; I appreciate every moment.”

It’s all very simple.

He came to the retreat “confused” and “anxious,” and left the retreat saying, “It’s all very simple. The pieces of the puzzle of my life haven’t changed, but through my new understanding and acceptance the pieces go together in a new way—I put the pieces together in a new way—forming a new puzzle.” He left the retreat joyous and energetic.

One woman, who survived brain cancer and was told by her doctors that the longest she will live is another decade, came to the retreat to gain clarity about her life purpose. She decided to create a Hospice program that will incorporate the principles of Reology. And another woman decided to join in this endeavor, because she had lost her husband to cancer when she was a young woman.

I amazed myself with how many of the participants told stories of losing loved ones—in almost every case it was due to cancer. Maybe this is what contributed to a sacred quality throughout the retreat. Maybe it was the beauty surrounding us. We worked in a training room with glass walls and outside the glass walls were sculpted trees, flowering bushes and moss covered rocks.

Tea ceremony—

One afternoon we participated in a tea ceremony. The tea room (pictured here) was bordered on two sides by water. These small ponds were inhabited by frogs—a species so rare that they are a national treasure—who serenaded us while our tea was served. And when the sun or moon shines on the water outside the tea house, the light reflects up onto the ceiling inside the tea house creating a light show that changes moment by moment. The tea is made and served with great reverence.

All so intentional, so thoughtful, so deliberate. And so was the retreat. This was the first time in all my years of working in Japan that I worked with Yuuki. I delighted myself in her presence. We danced all week long—even when we weren’t dancing. I had no desire to be anywhere else, doing anything else, or think about anything else. I was as present as I’ve ever been and delighted myself in my experience.

Sharing my delight with all of you.

Mr. Lucky

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Don’t Waste Your Life

I have a client I’ve been working with for a couple of years who recently fell off the self-help wagon and then found her way back onto it. I share this story with you because, to me, her experience is emblematic of so many people who are trying hard to make the most of their lives.

I also use this particular woman as an example because she is smart as a whip and equally committed to her own growth and development. When she is on the “self-help” wagon she is fully awake, appreciating all of life, being of service to others in the work she performs, and shining a light for others to follow. She is a leader who hasn’t yet found her footing.

I know there are many others like her out there—smart, capable, committed—and to all of you who haven’t found your footing, I share my most recent email to this woman:

Dear One,

I read your last email to me with great appreciation for your insights. I especially valued the following paragraph your wrote about how you are keeping yourself conscious and awake.

The combination of paying attention to my first thoughts upon awakening, doing my meditation and the 90 second reset has proven to be a huge advantage and is key to keeping myself awake every day. I am much more focused, cheerful and have energy and enthusiasm without being manic. I have this combination be delightful in me. I drift and slip around occasionally—catnaps of consciousness—but I am able to catch myself before I am so far gone that I get lost in the illusions of my own thoughts and feelings of “not good enough” or “should” or “never will.”

Nowhere To Go

In my opinion, what you are describing is enlightenment, or more accurately, “enlightening” ourselves moment by moment. For me, the answer to life’s challenges has been this kind of continuous effort that you describe. That’s it! There is no destination, just this continuous process of managing our thoughts and moods. Some of us get to a place in which we delight ourselves in this very process and we stop seeking a destination.

The way I think about this for myself is that I care more about my personal conduct than arriving at some destination. When my conduct is what I desire it to be, regardless of the circumstances of my life, I am completely satisfied. Whether I am responding to bad news or coping with my own limitations, if I conduct myself well, I satisfy myself.

What you describe in your email—I suppose for most people—may not sound very sexy, maybe not all that appealing. I will share with you what I see as a slightly sexier version of enlightenment, which has to do with learning to sculpt reality. This is what Reology offers us, the ability to become sculptors of our own lives. This involves understanding that meaning is malleable. To get good at this requires practice which leads to mastery. And although mastery means that we don’t have to manage our thoughts and moods as often, the need to manage never goes away completely—this is my belief.

Somewhere To Be

The work that Hannah and I are doing—teaching Reology seminars around the world—is our attempt to share this remarkable process of self-enlightenment. But, I think that many people seek the destination, not the journey.

I wonder if this path will hold your attention for the rest of your life or if you will bore yourself or disappoint yourself, veering off—looking for ways to avoid your feelings? Or, will you go looking for a quicker, easier fix? That’s what most people do. I think it’s probably what you’ve done once or twice in the time that I’ve known you, but something about your new level of awareness and awakenesss strikes me as different.

Maybe you understand how I frustrate myself at times with people who know all of this and drift off. I want to scream at them, “Don’t waste your life!”

But I no longer do so because I can no longer tolerate such loud noises, not even when it’s my own voice. And, I realize that I have certain advantages other people don’t have, so who am I to tell them how good life can be when they don’t believe that they have a great partner or a great job.

But, I got my great partner and my great job by following this path. I hope you choose to stay the course.

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How To Live The Good Life

John Weir

Who should read this article?

Not everyone. This is written for people who are truly curious about the process of personal growth and development, and for people who want to live the good life, an abundant life—a life that is, as my friend Dada says, “an absolute gas.”

The work that we now call Reology and ReSpeak, comes directly from our mentors, John and Joyce Weir. We studied with the Weirs for several years before being encouraged by John and Joyce to start offering retreats—also known as “labs”—just as the Weirs had been doing for forty years.

The Weirs referred to their work as “Percept,” which comes from the word perception. In 2013, we rebranded and began referring to this work—the same body of work the Weirs shared—as Reology, and we now refer to the language as ReSpeak.

The following article was written by a member of our community, a man now entering his elder years who had the remarkable good fortune to attend his first Weir lab when he was in his twenties. He attended another Weir lab a few years later. And then a gap of about 30 years before he reconnected with Reology. The work he did with the Weirs, and has continued to do throughout his entire adult life, has been so profound that he has been examining how this is so different than other approaches to personal growth and development.

In this article Dada shares his thoughts interspersed with comments directly from John Weir about how to live the good life:

I honestly don’t think

that John developed Percept

to “fix problems.” However,

(like everyone else at that time)

this is the way he started out.

“At this time I was having my first group experiences as a part of my internship in clinical psychology. I worked with groups of five to ten “patients” diagnosed as “sick” and given “psychotherapy” by the group “therapist” who was usually a psychiatrist, occasionally a psychologist. These were called “group therapy” groups and the goal was to “make the patient well.”

His focus then evolved

to investigate “group process”

where an individual

could discover

how his behavior

would function in a group setting.

“It was at this time that I began to learn about “T groups” and laboratory education. These were groups of eight to fourteen “normal” adults experimenting with an exciting new way of learning about human relations and collaborating in the study of group processes with the aid of professional educators (teachers, professors, scientific researchers). The leader’s (trainer’s) task was to help the members learn about group structure and process and their effects on individual and group behavior. People met around a large table and discussed whatever they chose, pausing frequently to identify the emerging interpersonal and social processes. The educational goal was to increase the member’s awareness of group processes, his skills in group membership, and his ability to give and receive personal feedback. Participants in these “Human Relations Laboratories” were mostly “newcomers” who had not been in a T group before.”

His relationship with Carl Rogers

then facilitated his realization

of the importance

of “individual responsibility.”

“In the late 1950s my earlier acquaintance with Carl Rogers developed into a deeper friendship. He had always astonished me with the ease and intensity with which he could give me his full attention, but now I experienced my autonomy, my personhood through him in a new way. His theory and application of NonDirective Counseling took on a new meaning and importance for me. I see now that, for me, I began to develop a new concept of individual responsibility.”

John then began to move away

from “talk therapy”

to experimenting with movement

and other modalities

of human expression

and discovery:

hence the Lab Experiment.

“In the early 1960s I became dissatisfied with talking as the only mode of communication. It was too removed from behavior. It was easy to dilute or distort or obscure the meaning or the intention of the speaker. It became clear to me that verbal expression and exchanges were, in a sense, behavior substitutes. I wanted to work more directly with behavior. In my first experiment in this direction, when one group member said to another, “I’d like to know you better,” I suggested he get out of his chair and say this to the other persons without words. They met in the middle of the group and expressed feelings with a glance, then a handclasp, then a hug, and finally a long, searching look into each other’s eyes. It was evident to everyone that a thousand words had been spoken with clarity in the two minutes this exchange required.”

He then began to look for

more effective experiments,

designed to facilitate

personal discovery and growth.

“I excited myself with a fantasy of how productive a group could be if it devoted much of its energy to this kind of exchange. I began to experiment with very simple nonverbal interventions. I did away with the table, heightened the emphasis on personal feedback, and switched theory input from formal presentations in general sessions to timely and relevant “lecturettes” during the T group sessions. To the previous goals were added encouragement to try new behavior, and efforts to increase the long-term effects of the laboratory learnings.”

He then began

to collaborate with Joyce,

using her experience

with “expressive dance, Yoga,

dance therapy,

group psychotherapy,

and the fine arts,”

to find even more ways

to experiment with

and experience oneself.

“We replaced much of the conventional T group verbal exchange with nonverbal and physical encounters, and increased the attention given to physiological and symbolic processes. We removed all furniture and began to work in an empty room, using cushions for the sit-down periods. We introduced the use of lab pseudonyms, improvisations, finger painting, clay modeling, and behavioral prescriptions. We designed sessions in sensory awareness, body movement, and nonverbal activities. To the training goals we added increased sensory awareness, behavioral spontaneity, and self-control.”

There are hundreds

of therapy modalities

that promise to “fix” the problems

that people have:

problem marriages,

problems with their kids,

problems with parents,

problems with the boss,

problems with friends

and coworkers.

But I think

there are very few programs

designed to help an individual

live “the Good Life,”

a happy, satisfying, interesting,

energetic way

of being in the world,

and of understanding

and discovering oneself.

“[As part of] our strategy to help participants make this journey we provide them with theories and with as many opportunities, techniques, and strategies as we can devise for them to experience and understand this differentiation process during and after the laboratory, and to acquaint them with various resources, internal and external, that are available for their continuing differentiation.”

“Our basic objective is to help them learn how to grow themselves.”

“A goal that seems identical with the nature of organismic development, that is to enable each person to travel toward his own personal distinction, to become more fully differentiated into his unique individuality.

This is our Laboratory

in Self- Differentiation.”

In this regard the Lab

could be  presented

not as “fixing” someone

who is “sick”

and has “problems,”

but rather as a place

where one might go

to explore and discover oneself

in a new, more vibrant,

interesting way.

And (dare I add)

a place where one might

have “fun” doing it.

Doing oneself in a way

that is different from the “fun”

of sliding down the World’s

Most Monster Water Slide,

eating too much,

drinking too much alcohol,

or killing oneself

with the latest Fitness Program

at the Luxury Spa.

Of course, one would have to

invest some time and money

to come to a Lab.

(How much does it cost

to “attend” the all-inclusive

Cruise to the Bahamas?)

One would have to take on

some effort, risk,

and personal responsibility.

(How much personal gumption

does one have to invest

to attend the Outrageous

Rock Climbing Adventure

in Peru?)

Indeed, how much does it cost

to go to New York for a week,

or to attend the Super Bowl

for a long weekend?

Attending a Lab might redefine

what it means to have “fun,”

what it means to

“have a good time”

in this life.

“Again, I am reminded that all experience can be, and usually is, growth producing. Only sensory isolation, awareness-dulling, and inactivity are anti-life and lead to a living death.”

Indeed, the results

from the Lab Experience

can be enormously rich,

satisfying, effective, energizing,

and lasting.

“Currently, we see that the ultimate biological function of personal growth is to enable one to develop the personal qualities, skills, and the life style for which he has the potential. Self-management enables one to do so in a conscious program of reaching for ever higher levels of maturity or individuation. This is done through the resolution of parental transferences whereby the participants discovers their unique identities, free themselves from dependence and counter-dependence on parental images, embrace their existential aloneness, and accept sole responsibility for the management of their lives.”

Try it, you’ll like it!

And it’s Fun too!

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Up Against The Glass

I’ve recently returned from a two-week excursion of channeling my mother. Not what I would call a luxurious holiday, but looking back I see it was a necessary fact finding adventure.

And, like many adventures, I found myself in turbulent waters, desolate landscapes and challenging situations. Although my mother’s mind and heart are familiar territory to me, I am not comfortable there. I am in emotional pain. Like many of us looking for more joy and more freedom in our own hearts I have had to look at who taught me to love in order to change my historical patterns of how I love. And the most crucial element is how I learned, or didn’t learn, to love myself.

No praise No blame

As I explore this by writing, I am keenly aware that I do not want to slip into praising or blaming either my mother or myself. This is one of the main principles of Reology—living from a place of acceptance where I neither blame nor praise anyone. My mother was a challenging woman to love, because she had little regard for herself. She judged me harshly because she judged herself harshly. When I opt to live in praise and blame I am stuck being my mother’s victim and I end up being just like her. When I move away from praise and blame into acceptance, I have room to expand my perception of my mother and I can accept who she was without needing to be angry with her.

For the past two weeks I felt like a fly against a window—I knew I was trapped in an old pattern of being unkind to myself and I knew that I would find a way out. But for two long weeks I felt myself banging up against myself—seemingly unable to stop being harsh with myself, causing myself such emotional pain. Finally last night I went to the fly-against-the-window-part-of-myself and whispered to her, “turn around,” and I remembered how to free myself.

When I am banging up against the windowpane I know what I am doing, I am completely aware that I am being harsh with myself. The puzzling thing is that when I am up against the glass I forget how to turn around—I forget about the rest of the room and all I know is I am trapped by my own perceptions. Initially, I didn’t panic—I’ve been a visitor to my mother’s heart many times and have always managed to exit in a timely fashion. But this visit was different, this visit I went deeper into the cold desolate landscape than ever before and last night I started to feel anxious.

The language I learned as a child

For the entirety of my visit I was paying close attention to the language of my mother’s world—I found myself starting most of my inner sentences with these phrases:

Why do I always…

Why don’t I just…

Why can’t I stop…

When I am ever going to…

As I lay in my bed last night, unable to sleep and unable to re-phrase or re-language myself I forced myself to distill the essence of the language I learned from my mother. I started by seeing that the language in those phrases was based on being powerless, it stems from a victim stance. When I language myself in that way, when my inner dialogue is created with sentences based on words like, “don’t, can’t, never, always, ever, when and why,” I have already lost. I saw that when I use my mother’s language I fail before I begin, I lose before I open my eyes. When I use my mother’s language I will always be a victim, I will never live in the room or in the world, I will always be trapped in the window banging my head against the glass.

As this awareness began to permeate, I distilled the message even more and I became aware that my mother’s language is based on, “No,” and I am fundamentally a, “Yes,” girl. I always have been. I believe in love and I believe in joy and in MY heart I dwell in beauty, abundance and compassion. As I lay in bed remembering my own language of “yes” I felt myself leaving the harsh landscape of my mother’s heart and walking back to the warm, sunlit landscape that is my heart.

For the next hour I felt myself intermittently struggle. I felt myself move away from my mother and into the sunlight but I didn’t feel solid yet. I experienced a small part of myself still clinging to my mother’s language and a feeling of heaviness reappeared and I felt myself sliding back into her world. I scared myself for a few moments with the strength and tenacity of my attachment to my own version of my mother’s language.

Leaping forward into myself

I learned in Reology that when I go deeply into myself I have the opportunity to effect great changes. When I am deeply struggling with my identity that is the time to leap toward love with all the faith and energy I can muster. I know how to live in desolation and harsh conditions, I know how to live against the glass. So, last night as I lay in bed I leapt—I prayed loudly to my own heart to rescue me. I prayed to the older and wiser parts of myself to send a beacon of light that would lead me from desolate to abundant, from harsh to gentle, from “no” to “YES.” And then, finally, I went to sleep.

When I woke this morning I was back. I still feel shaky and tentative, but my language has changed. My inner conversation is based on kindness and love, generosity and compassion and I know I’ve made it home, home to my own heart. I also am aware that what I did over the last two weeks—culminating last night—was to make an agreement with myself to be ME.  After last night I will never believe my mother’s language the way I used to. If I find myself trapped in her perception again I will always have the gift of the image of the fly against the glass.

Learning to re-language myself is what I learn in Reology. Choosing my own identity and loving myself is the result. If you live, or find yourself stuck in a barren inner wasteland, chances are it’s not your wasteland; it was inherited. I encourage you to come to a Reology Retreat and learn how to re-locate yourself and live gently in your own heart.

 

 

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