Feeding the Faith, part II

Welp, it didn’t go like I wanted. My choice didn’t win. Yes, she got more of the popular vote, but the electoral college put him on top. But hey, that’s the way it goes. About half of the folks in our country are elated. The other half is devastated. This is the nature of our democracy and the election process: somebody wins and somebody loses. That’s the way it is.

My heart grows heavier each day, but not because “my candidate” didn’t win. The most dis-heartening thing for me in the last couple of days is the amount of hate I have seen on social media. If love trumps hate before the election, doesn’t love still trump hate after the election is over, even if our side didn’t win?

As Dave Grohl sings, “Its times like these you learn to live again. Its times like these you learn to love again.” As I see it, I have two choices available to me in times like these: feed the faith or feed the fear. Feed the love or feed the hate.

I am making a very conscious choice in times like these. I will not hate by wishing ill on the president-elect, his family, or anyone who voted for him. I will not fear monger by energizing the idea that our country is ruined or that it’s not going to hell. I will not be a xenophobe by continuing to dislike those whose ideas feel radically different and even foreign from my own. I will not take part in this terrible storm of hate. No.

I am choosing to fuel the love. Call it a new-agey yoga platitude if you like, but I’m calling it staying grounded in the truth and rooted in what’s real. I’m calling it fueling the healing, not only in myself, but in the collective consciousness of which we’re all a part. I am sending my new president-elect (even if I still cringe when I say that) and his family well wishes and prayers for peace, clarity, balanced judgment, and openness to be the president for all of us, not just some of us. I am energizing the vision of this all working out for the greater good. I am consciously embracing the idea that others see the world differently from me and their ideas are just as valid as my own, even though I don’t agree with them.

Yesterday, I mustered up enough energy to head to the gym, noticing my tendency to look at everyone I passed, thinking, “Yeah, you probably voted for Trump.” It didn’t feel good to catch myself trying to draw divide after divide. Each time I noticed it, I would stop and consciously feed the faith, feed the faith. I had a moment to run to the restroom right before class started and a flyer on the back of the stall caught my attention: “Take what you need,” it said. It was a flyer from a TAMU service sorority with those simple words on the top and across the bottom were vertical strips of paper that you could tear off, each with a word such as confidence, love, forgiveness, etc. Many were torn off already, but one was right there waiting for me: faith. I needed it and I’m keeping it.





Election Eve: Feed the Peace

Election Eve. I think just about everyone is feeling the weight and heaviness of this political year. It feels kind of like we’ve been witnessing an ongoing boxing match for months and months that will finally, thank God, be over tomorrow. But, come tomorrow, about half of us in our country, maybe even the world, will be happy with the winner of this fight-–uh, election, and the other half won’t. The collective sense of feeling fed up and wiped out is palpable; so is the pervasive overtone of fear and anxiety.

When I cast my vote last Wednesday, I felt a very surprising and interesting feeling of lightness. A freedom. Not the type of freedom that comes from knowing I live in a democracy and that I was exercising my right to vote, though I was aware of that, but rather a freedom from being attached to a particular outcome. When I pressed the “cast ballot” button, put on my “I voted” sticker, and happily glided out of the fairly empty room, I washed my hands of this whole election. I’ve surrendered myself to the results, come what may. And the big insight that followed was this: Whoever wins this thing, be it Trump or Clinton, it will all be okay. Our country is not going to go to hell in a hand-basket, regardless of what the talking heads shouting at each on cable news are saying and despite the posts on Facebook from “news” sources I’ve never heard of are predicting will happen. Of course, I could be wrong, but the sane, rational, grounded, spiritually connected part of myself feels strongly that everything will work out. We will come together.

I’ve got faith in us as Americans, as humans living on our beautiful planet Earth. Yes, the squeaky wheels of the haters on both sides have been getting the grease of sound bites lately, but most of us in this country and in this world are not these squeaky wheels. Most of us are good, honest people who, fundamentally, want the same things: to live, love, laugh, feel free, and be at peace. I think when we take off the blue or red colored glasses that we’ve been viewing this election through, we will see that we have more commonalities which unite us, rather than more differences which divides us.

And, as yogis, I think it’s important for us to come together, as well, especially on a night such as tonight and in the days to follow. We all have our differences in the microcosm of the yoga community, to be sure. However, just as in the larger macrocosmic view, that which unites us is so much stronger than that which divides us. More than ever before, I feel that those of us who know how to get into our center point – and so many of us are highly skilled in doing this – need to do whatever we can to get there and hold this space for one another. Let’s use our strong visionary capabilities to visualize everything working out. We know how to do this. We can do this for ourselves and for the country and the whole world.

Tonight (as well as tomorrow and in the coming days), I invite us to turn off the TV for a few minutes. Put the phone down. Let’s settle ourselves into wherever we are and take some deep breaths together. In each of our mind’s eye, visualize things working out for the greater good. What does that look like? Feel it. Breathe it in. Breathe it out. Visualize each other rising up and embodying understanding; see ourselves listening to each other with compassion, forgiveness, and open hands reaching toward one another in love, regardless of what happens on Tuesday.

It only takes a few minutes to do this, but the few minutes that each of us brings to the collective consciousness can help, soothe, and heal the massive fear and anxiety on the national and global scale. It’s that powerful.

Yes, vote, if you haven’t. Do your civic duty and let your voice be counted. But let’s stay strong and not feed into the fear. Let’s feed the peace. Let’s feed into the faith in each other and in Spirit, who has us all safely held in the palm of His hand. Or Her hand.


The Blessing Box

I’m a member of a Baptist, African-American, gospel church. It’s awesome. I’m not
Baptist. I’m a confirmed Episicopalian, Yogi, spiritual seeker, lover of experiencing God in as many ways as I can through various traditions and non-traditions. I’m also not African-American, either. Most Sundays, I’m the only white person there. Definitely the only redhead. But, I’ve never felt more at home, more welcome, more ME at any church anywhere. Every Sunday I’m washed with the experience of what is essentially Bhakti Yoga – feeling my oneness with God through the pathway of the heart and the emotions. Our collective church experience is always spontaneous and organic, which feeds my soul to the brim and overflowing. And every Sunday, I’m blown away by the Pastor’s sermons that always, every single time, completely correlate to what I’m working with in my practice of living the Yoga.

About a year ago, he introduced the idea of a Blessing Box. The idea is to get a box of some sort and write down all the good things that happen to you every day; blessings that come your way that you didn’t create. A grace evidence box, of sorts. Put a date on it, write down the blessing, and keep it in the box.

The Blessing Box

I thought this would be a great addition to my life. So, I decided to use this cool wooden box I’d bought years ago for our ten jillion remote controls. We never used it as such and it was collecting dust on my shelf. Inside I placed strips of cut up paper and a pen. My first entry was January 2014: Dillon made it safely back to the USA! My son had returned safe and sound from a study abroad semester in Sweden. I had been a worried mom for months and I was so grateful and incredibly relieved he was back in the states. My intended practice had begun: Write a slip of paper every day.

Now, this may not seem like such a huge practice but, for me, looking for the good things that happen in my life is almost a monumental practice. I grew up in a way that taught me to always look for the negative, for things that are going wrong, as a way to stay safe and protect myself. Of course, one always finds what one looks for, as they say. Seek and ye shall find. If I constantly look for what’s wrong, well, then what’s wrong is all that I will find. Here is something very tangible and easy that I can do that will actually help me look for, acknowledge, and record the great things that are happening all around me. And, when I flip back to my “nothing good every happens to me” mode, I can open this box and take out all the hard evidence of the contrary. Blessings are happening to me every single day, in so many ways. I know I’m not alone. If they’re happening to me, they are certainly happening to you, as well! The question is what are we looking to find?

What a blessing this Blessing Box has been to me. I’m writing about it now – a whole year later – because I had forgotten about the box. Somehow, I had reverted the Blessing Box back to its previous job: collecting dust on the shelf. I flipped back into the old mode and got spiritually lazy over sitting down and taking a couple of seconds to write down something good that happened to me. So, last night, I took the box down off the shelf and moved it into my Yoga room, right by my meditation altar, where I’ll be sure to see it every day. I opened it up and read all the evidence from 2015. Wow. I had, of course, forgotten about almost all of it. But here was my proof. I’m hereby recommitting myself to this practice of looking for the good, the great, the blessings. The more I seek, the more I will find. And the more I find, the more blessed I feel. The more blessed I feel, the less depressed and dis-spirited I feel. I feel more abundance, more joy, and much more excited and grateful be on this life journey. It all comes down to what I choose to look for. Today I’m choosing to count my blessings.


A Special Hug from an Olympian

Last Friday I was on my way to the gym for a group exercise class. It had been a busy week, as all of them are, and I was completely wiped out, looking forward to sweating out all of my frustrations and negativity.

It an interesting thing these days, riding my bike over to the gym, which is the rec center on the Texas A&M campus. There are so many students walking by, but instead of the usual moments of “Howdy!” that used to accompany passing by someone, most students are walking with their heads looking down at their phones. In fact, many of the other cyclists are doing the same. I was noticing this and thinking about the bizarre lack of connection that we occupy the world with, when, as Brene Brown says, we are hard wired for connection and that’s what we so desperately seek. In fact, I’ve read an article recently that talked about the real cause of addictions is a lack of connection.

It’s a rare thing these days to pass by a pedestrian and actually experience a moment of connection, a moment of “I see you” and “I’m letting you see me.” To me, that’s the real meaning of Namaste. When we put down the distractions and defenses down long enough to see each other, then we experience our oneness, our unity.

So, I parked my bike and as I walked up I saw lots of people with matching t-shirts and lots of tents set up outside the natatorium and remembered that the Special Olympics was going on. I also remembered seeing an ad in the paper a few weeks ago, asking for volunteers to help with the event. “Too much going on for me to add anything else to my plate,” I thought.

I had a few minutes before class, so I went over to the big bay window that overlooks the natatorium. There was an exciting whirlwind of activity in there. People warming up in one pool, scores being gathered and posted, participants greeting one another, a new race just beginning in another pool.

There was a young man, maybe he was an older boy, standing near me, also watching the activity through the window. Every time someone came up to the window next to us, he enthusiastically asked them, “Do y’all go here?” I suddenly realized he was an Olympian himself, a participant, and I wasn’t sure if he was asking if the people went to school there at A&M or if they were participating in the Olympics. Nobody seemed to even acknowledge him. I was struck by how refreshing this guy was. There seemed to be no filters present that made him feel self-conscious, or feel like he was bothering people by asking them questions….all filters that I strongly have cemented in place.

After they left, I asked him if he was a participant. He lit up inside and told me about all the events….the 25 m, the 100 relay, and a few others that I couldn’t quite understand. His radiance was so vivid and bright. It just seemed to be erasing my depressed funk with every breath. We talked for a few more minutes. I asked him where he was from – Dallas – and he asked me, “Do you go here?” I laughed and said, “Yes, a loooong time ago, back in 1987.” He said he had a cousin who graduated in 1986. Our exchange was extraordinary. Totally uplifting and full of genuine authenticity. It was beautiful, actually. The amount of presence that he had was indescribable. So very present. So in the Now.

I said I had to get to class and so I wished him luck for the next day’s competition and safe travels back home. I started to turn around to leave and noticed he was walking quickly up to me, arms outstretched. Before I knew what was happening, he embraced me in one of the best, most awesome, most needed hugs I’ve ever received. I nearly started crying and realized I was holding back “for fear of what other people would think.” As I walked away, he shouted at me, “Good luck!”

Up the stairs I floated. What a God moment. The veil, for just a few brief minutes, was pulled back and I knew what just happened was something so special. Love was permeating every cell of me. Wow. “Why can’t every interaction with a human be like this?,” I thought. “Why do I insist on operating with these ridiculous filters of constantly holding back who I am?” I watched how the veil slid back over my eyes, back into abnormal normalcy.

Next year, I’m signing up to work the Special Olympics.

Finding My Tribe

Boy, it’s been a long time coming. I have felt like a fish out of water, teaching Yoga in College Station, Texas, for as long as I can remember. As I wrote in a blog post last summer, I felt like I’d been living on the island of misfit toys. For so long, I have dreamt of having a Freedom Style tribe; people who are into practicing and living a guided-from-within life, not people who come to my class because it’s the one on the schedule at 6:00 at the gym or the studio. I have struggled and cried buckets of tears and wondered if I had misheard my calling. I mean, where are the people who really want to live this stuff, not just perfect their dog pose or stand on their head as a measure of “yoga success?” WHO CARES about that?! I sure don’t.

For a very long time, I was the lone yoga teacher here in my town. There were no studios here when I first started out. In fact, I taught at a gym, then ran my classes out of a church. Somehow, I thought I would attain success as a teacher if I ended up at a big, beautiful studio, with 30 or 40 people in my class. As I continued down my journey as a teacher, I began to realize that my teaching – though it was all I knew and quite normal for me – was definitely not the norm. The way that I practice, teach, and live Yoga doesn’t fit into the generally accepted notion that yoga is a physical exercise, a workout, all about pushing edges, “building heat,” holding poses for as long as the teacher says, with instruction after instruction, vinyasa after vinyasa, yoga selfie after yoga selfie. Ugh.

I remember teaching classes at two new studios recently, filled with the shiny hope of finally finding my people, my tribe, my kindred that I have so longed to find…only to discover that people at large studios aren’t interested in what I have to offer. I recall many times during my classes discussions on what Yoga is about, seeing people looking at their watches, wondering when we were going to get to the “real yoga.” I’ll never forget looking up during the meditation at the beginning of class one day to see a lady doing arm balances on the back row. God, where are my people?! My tribe?! Asana (the yoga poses) is such a tiny, miniscule, microscopic part of what Yoga is about. Why are people so focused on asana?? I just don’t get it.

I think I would either be insane or I would have quit teaching altogether if it weren’t for my saving grace: a place called the Feathered Pipe Ranch in Montana. Talk about tribe, this is tribe in the deepest sense of the word, for me. Every July for one week, 30-40 Freedom Style yogis gather together to discuss, meditate, and do freefom yoga together, led by my teacher, Freedom Style colleage, and sweet soul friend Erich Schiffmann. When I get to the ranch, I breathe a massive sign of relief because I am home. Everyone there gets it, they get me, and we all get each other. It’s like family. I’ve wondered all these years why I can’t find this sort of tribe in my hometown?

Finally, last spring, The Universe did for me what I couldn’t do for myself and I was gratefully plucked out of the studio environment, altogether. As they say, when a door closes, a window always opens. Turns out, a friend of mine decided to lease a small studio space in the back of a large house, which she has called Westward MindBody Works. It’s a light-filled breath of simplicity. I’m back to running all of my own classes again, and, much to my complete shock and surprise, I have finally found my tribe! I’ve learned that it was never in big classes at a fancy studio. It’s in a small, intimate environment of 10 students at a time, where I can get to know everyone and they can get to know me. I’m blown away by the people who truly grace me with their presence: profound seekers who want to discuss Yoga with a Capital Y, people who want to explore bhakti yoga – chanting, spiritual dance, working with mandalas – and people who want to live the Yoga on a daily basis. Finally, I’m home!! I feel like I’ve been in the desert for a long time and I’ve found my way to the oasis, taking a cool, long, much needed drink. Man, does it ever feel so nourishing and healing.

Jai, Freedom Tribe! Thank you, Universe. It’s been a long time coming and I am so, incredibly grateful. Gratefully FULL.

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Lessons in Love: Good Grief.

The past few days I have really been thinking about Love. And loss.

For most of my life, I had always thought love and loss seemed mutually exclusive of one other, sort of like flip sides of a record – “Love” on side A and that terrible B-side song that nobody ever wanted to listen to: “Loss.” “Love” was the only song I was interested in listening to because, frankly, “Loss” sucks. Who wrote that tune anyway and why is it even on the back of a record with such a fantastic A-side?? There’s no beat and you can’t even dance to it. I rate that record a “0.”

Playing “Love only” is what I have tried to do, for a very long time – from the days before I got into yoga and spirituality and even when I was first diving deeply into it. The song “Love” that I thought I knew was always upbeat, joyful, and celebratory. I knew the words to “Love” and I could sing along, loudly and in tune, by golly. That song always made me feel good. And, isn’t feeling good what it’s all about? Isn’t that what life is all about? It’s all Love. Just feel the love, man. Love is all we need. But, whatever you do, don’t flip the record over and play that awful B-side song “Loss,” or any of it’s aliases like “Sadness,” “Anger,” “Depression,” or “Grief.”

My problem with all of this was that I was I had only been listening to one particular song called “Love,” over and over and over. This song made me feel great, which I thought was the whole point, and the more I listened to it, the less I listened to the B-side: “B-side? What B-side?” I thought – especially when I first began this journey – this was what living a spiritual life was all about: feeling more of the good stuff and less of the bad stuff. I thought this was yoga and that advancing in my practice meant that the more love I felt, the more I would abide in an ongoing, peaceful, calm state of homogeneous and unchanging bliss.

In those highly impressionable early days, when I didn’t know yet how to go inward for the truth, I had heard from many people and read in various literature that sadness, anger, grief, depression, etc. – in other words, all emotions most of us don’t want to feel – are called “negative emotions.” Not only that, but I had heard that these “negative emotions” are not even real, and that feeling anything but Love in any moment is not only a waste of time, but it’s not what living a spiritual life is all about. As someone who had virtually perfected the art of doing anything and everything possible so that I would never feel these so-called illusory “negative emotions,” reading and hearing this was A-OK with me!

I became highly practiced at living in my head, using my intellect and esoteric spiritual ideals to continue my life pattern of not feeling my feelings. When I felt sadness or anger, I began to equate that with a lack of practice: “Oh, I’m not doing my practices as much as I should be. This is why I’m feeling all these negative emotions.” So, I’d do the various asana and meditation practices I knew to get myself back into a blissful state. I actually bought into this for a very long time, thinking that not giving attention to these emotions was the way to make them go away. “Great! All I have to feel are the good things, the love, the bliss! I’m finally off the hook for having to feel the things I don’t want to feel.” The rest of that stuff isn’t even real. Only Love is real. It’s all I need.”

The other problem for me was that the more Yoga became my way of life and not just something I did on the mat from time to time, the more I began to feel more. Of everything.

Not only did I feel the bliss more, which was great and what I was striving for, but I also began to feel the sadness more…the anger more…the so-called “negative emotions” even more. What I began to discover is that, as much as I tried – and I’ve spent my whole life trying – it’s impossible to selectively feel. Feeling is like a light switch: it’s either ALL on or it’s ALL off. We can’t choose to only feel the things that we want to feel and not the feel things we don’t want to feel. Turns out, I had gotten pretty good at turning it all off, thinking I was achieving some sort of yogic state. Thanks to 5 years of recovery work and the discovery of Bhakti Yoga (the yoga of the heart and the emotions), I’ve thawed my frozen feelings and, gratefully, finally, feel it all. I’ve never felt more alive and more authentically me.

FullSizeRenderHowever, the past couple of weeks I have been feeling so much and everything I thought
about Love is changing and expanding. We found out that our one-year-old kitty, Addie, who had been incredibly sick for two weeks and not getting any better, had lymphoma and was at the end of her short little life. We helped her make a quick and pain-free transition and thus began the terrible grieving process…which, I’m learning, is also the incredibly healing process. And all of this has really gotten me to think about Love. And loss. And grief.

Those old yoga platitudes that I used to buy into would say, “Well, there’s really no such thing as loss or grief; everything is one. It’s all Love.” Or, my intellect would tell me, “She’s out of pain and in a better place now.” It’s so easy, under the guise of spiritual teachings, to keep freezing the feelings, to turn to the practices as a form of escapism to not deal with things that don’t feel blissful.

Yes, there really may be no such thing as loss because everything is, indeed, one, and my intellect and spirit knows this, but what of my sweet kitty-girl who is no longer physically here? I miss her. My heart aches to hold her and scratch her under her chin until she falls asleep, to feel the softest fur I’ve ever felt, to hear her purr as she presses her paws into the green blanket I have on my bed. Turning to spiritual ideals or intellectual pontificating does nothing to help me drop down to the ground in sadness and grief and feel this terrible soul hole of a loss, so that I can feel the love —not the one flavor of love that feels like bliss, but so I can feel alive with the infinite swirl of Love that has so many textures, colors, seasons, and flavors.

Yes, it’s definitely all Love, but love isn’t always happy happy joy joy, and it is most certainly not always bliss. It doesn’t always have a beat that you can dance to. Love, and the heart through which we feel it, is pulsating with all the variations of life, I’m learning. Sometimes love is passionate and romantic; sometimes it is most definitely a calm bliss with a peace that passes all understanding. And sometimes, it’s sadness and grief. It feels so good to love so deeply and fully; yet, what I’m experiencing is that loving that hard also hurts so much. I’ve loved Addie with the infinite vastness of all that I am. And now, the infinite vastness of all that I am is hurting. And healing. But, I’m only healing because I am feeling. The more I feel, the more I heal. And the more I heal, the more I’m real. That’s Yoga, to me.

*Note: If you’re interested in working with your emotions and learning about the gift that each one brings for us, I highly recommend Karla McLaren’s book called The Language of Emotions. This was a life-changing read for me and a book I regularly go to for deep wisdom.

Strength Through Powerlessness

It has been a hard couple of BeFunky_prayer hands on the ridge.jpgmonths for me. I’m in a swirling sea of change so deep that it’s hard to find my sea legs, or land legs, or any footing at all on which to firmly stand. The proverbial sands under my feet are shifting so radically that I have been way outside my comfort zone with just about everything. And when the going gets tough and I find myself uncomfortable and immobilized, fear and its sidekick, mistrust, step right up to offer their services. If I’m grounded and centered and my sense of self is strong, it’s easy to tell fear and mistrust “Thanks, but no thanks.” However, when I’m dealing with so much change and discomfort, I will often welcome them in with open arms, as if they were old friends. With fear and mistrust by my side, I drop into my very old coping pattern of trying with all my might to exert some sense of control, somewhere, somehow, so that I can reclaim my personal power and sink my feet into some good ol’ terra firma.

I know this is happening when everything “out there” starts to bug me. I find myself completely irritated with traffic, noise, all the things I have to do, all the things I’m afraid of that are unknown, and mostly, I become totally annoyed with what other people are doing. This old pattern doesn’t serve me at all, of course, but I do find that I subconsciously revert to it when things feel massively overwhelming. I let my sense of self become weak, my power begins seeping out of me – like a phone whose battery is nearly drained – and I try to power up with everything “out there;” that is, everyone and everything outside of myself. I try to brandish some sort of imaginary saber of control in order to reclaim my sense of self. It’s an awful feeling and, often, I don’t realize that I have reverted to this old pattern until I become utterly miserable. Then I sit down with my journal to find some enlightenment as to why I feel so awful and angry and why everyone is driving me nuts. And today, with my journal in my lap and pen in my hand, I gratefully, so very gratefully, finally remember Step 1.

I have been doing 12-step recovery work for 4 ½ years now and as we say in the program, “The twelve steps are the guiding principles for our individual recovery.” Step 1 says: We admitted we were powerless over ____, and that our lives had become unmanageable.” Each 12 step program fills in the blank with the issue of that specific recovery group; powerless over alcohol, powerless over drugs, powerless over other people, etc. When I remember Step 1, I put the pause in the pattern.

I am powerless over others. When others are doing things I don’t like or don’t agree with and I feel myself trying to exert control, trying to change what they’re doing, I remember this step. Usually, it means to me, “There’s nothing I can do. I’m powerless over what they are doing.” It’s a way of surrender and acceptance, but typically, for me, there is a sense of detaching from the person and situation with a feeling of reluctant resolve: “Oh well, I’m powerless. They are doing this thing anyway.”

But today, after days of flailing around, being so bent about what someone else is doing, I finally found some welcome freedom in working Step 1 – that is, meditating on it, thinking about it, looking at it from different angles. Today, I received some brand new insights about powerlessness.

I realized that admitting powerlessness isn’t about someone else and reluctantly resolving to whatever they are doing or not doing; it’s about me and restoring my own power. I have become power-LESS. Step 1 is a way for me to remember to stop in my tracks, and acknowledge that something has happened which has caused an upheaval in my life, and I’ve stopped doing the things that fill me up because I’m so overwhelmed. I have lost my footing, become caught in an eddy of confusion, and I’ve let my power drain away. Step 1 helps me put a pause in the pattern; to stop and be aware of what I’m actually doing. I’m power-less. I’m totally depleted, energetically.

Because I’m now aware that I’m caught in the eddy of overwhelm, admitting powerlessness is the way to seal the holes in myself through which I have let my power seep out. Step 1 helps me remember that I need to power up. I’ve been going to the wrong source for power by trying to plug into the wrong outlet. I have forgotten that the recharging station is the higher power within myself, and have unconsciously reverted to looking to others to reclaim my energy and power as I let mine continue to drain away. Others are never the source of my power; therefore, I must re-orient my inner compass from pointing “out there” to pointing straight into myself: the closet contact point to my Higher Power, to Source, God. There’s no other source for my specific and unique plug to plug into other than the truth within myself; however, when I’m overwhelmed and confused and feeling alone, I can so easily forget this. If I’m trying to pull power from anything other than from deep within myself, then that means my sense of inner power has severely weakened and, therefore, I need to plug in and do my practices – yoga, mediation, journaling, playing my guitar, doing something creative – to stay powered up. And when I’m powered up, I’m power-FULL, not power-LESS. Not powerful in the sense that I’m more than anyone else, but power-full in the sense of filled up with my own unique spiritual essence.

Admitting powerlessness helps me find my inner strength by helping me feel safe, secure, and bright again. When I’m powered up from within, my boundaries are strong and I’m free from the sway of external circumstances. I become untangled from others and their stories and whatever they’re doing or not doing. That’s so liberating – both for them and for me. What a beautiful thing. I’m so grateful for Step 1 today.

“It works if you work it…and you’re worth it.”