Tag Archives: fear

The Buzz of Adventure

I watched a documentary on Nostradamus tonight. I am a sucker for historical documentaries, and I love a mystery. But it didn’t have the same effect on me as it would have in the past. I was not afraid. I suppose it is easier to believe in death and destruction, to watch the news and chastise each other. But I won’t tonight. I’m not at war with myself anymore. Right now, peace fills my mind. If it takes forever to get it, that’s all it takes to make up this mind.

As we witness to so much fear and insecurity in this world of chaos, we adventure to know ourselves better, to build new life based on truth, not dire warnings and “facts”.

It is spring in the minds of many, who see fall not as end, but beginning.  The rays of the mind’s day keep me warm at night, buzzing with new adventures and life.

There is no war in ourselves, we are safe to explore. No dynasty to pursue. Only what’s true. The traveler’s path is wide. Our knowledge may be thin, but our collective wisdom vast. We must not go it alone, but venture together if we are to find our true path.I feel the heart’s passages in the heart’s mind, written for all time,  just in time, in no time at all.

We are on this path. We wear our backpacks bouncing with promise (and pens!).  We chant hymns. We seek the sky at night. We foresee great adventure and everlasting joy.

This may be an idealist’s story, but my vision is not just my own. It surfaces everywhere in the collective mind. It is the eternal ray of light, not of fire but of Life.

I feel the buzz of New Life crackling out of the old. Whatever has been saved is now mine to hold. Much like with archaeology or ancestry, the old is not forgotten or denied, but something new shines forward. It has to. That is our job now. Our collective cradle if you will. Ironically, it is the most solid stance from which to begin.

We are fortunate to live from this place. To have the permission, the passion, the fire in us that won’t go away. I am stirred to be the one to tell it, sing it, believe in it, shape it and mold it into being. I am grateful to share it with those who want it more than anything that has gone before. To open that door… That is all we are up to. That is all any of us, if we are honest, really wants anymore.

Ahh, to take up permanent residence through the Heart’s door.

Mmmm…… Isn’t it sublime to be You at last?

I Can Only Be Me

Today I have had a bit of a day. You know what I mean? I really can’t say I was happy today, and that bothers me. I have been so conscious lately of my effect on the world – meaning my little family, friends, work, what I can perceive as being around me. I don’t even realize all the ripples that go out beyond that!

No, today I feel like I failed at being me. Does that sound crazy, or what?! But it’s true. When you come in contact with your “best me” it is very hard indeed to fallback into the old patterns of “poor me”.  And it is very hard for others when we fail to deliver the best of what we can be.

All of us are human, and thankfully, that includes me. I have to remember that as I am walking uphill with my dog pulling me very hard from in front. Staggering to catch up with myself, grumpy and  mean, sad even.  I don’t need to explain. You know the feeling.

It doesn’t matter “why” we are sad, mad, very angry or even glad. What matters is that we recognize we are HUMAN after all. We are a SPECTRUM of varying colors and patterns. And although I loath to admit that I might be weaved into some undeniable shape or pattern, it seems to be. I fight it, I try to rework it, I struggle and want to tug and pull and tear it to pieces sometimes. But, it’s me. All of it.

Now, what is this pattern/shape/colour?  Is it real. Is it something to get all worked up about? Are our failings so important? Is our bad day really such a big deal? Or is it all surreal… A cloud over a darkened sky – an inconceivable darkness that just won’t seem to go away – all the while knowing that tomorrow is ‘another day’.

I know it is and will be. I have experienced the colours and shapes of my fabric on life, my ‘take’ that varies from day to day. These variations make it all the more obvious to me that I don’t really have a clear picture at all. That my moods and variations are really a seam, a division, a kind of separation.  I don’t see what is behind me or before me, above me or below  me.

I don’t really see.

This is good news!  Like a giant sleeping in the grass, who doesn’t know how big he is until he stands. All he sees is the tiny grass waving in his hands and the dark and scary night.  He has  no idea that he is surrounded by a tiny world in great need of what he brings. His strength, his power, his gentleness.

the unhappy giant

Yes, even a giant can be kind, though he may appear to be quite grumpy to those running beneath his feet.

3. The Death of the Ego

Inner Light

When we talk about death we often talk about the physical body. But that has been the least of my experience. Yes, I have been through death: death of a mother/father figure, death of an aunt, death of nearly all my grandparents, two dogs and a cat, not to mention the young ones on the periphery, those who I didn’t know well, but touched me still. And those in war-torn countries whom I’ve never met. I feel them all.  But death is not just that.

Death is of the ego*

In my understanding, the ego identifies with the body to separate itself and create a separate identity. It can be special, definitive and alone.  The ego is that part of ourselves that is not aligned with life. With communion. It is the part that sides only with death.

But what if death was something simpler? What if death could be embraced, not as the death of the physical body, but as the ending of a cycle? Or the end of suffering?

Like I discussed on the radio show with Cezarina Trone, death is a daily thing; a constant dance of change.

What if death could be a temporary passage to the beginning of a Life magical?

In my recent talks with women, I have learned the common story of how death wraps itself around us when change is on the horizon. We hide into our selves and think something is wrong with us, that we cannot survive, or that we are alone…

   …but death is nothing, if not a harbinger of change.

The larger part of us, that knows life, that embraces change, whether you call it God, Your Higher Self, or the Miracle, is what pulls us through to that other side of Life. Not just the “light at the end of the tunnel”, the consolatory image so often attributed to the “after-life”, but to the light of Life that exists always within us, right here and now.

Change is difficult, and surrender of the ego is harder. The ego wants us to cling to our old ways, to other people’s visions of us, to the bonds that tie us tightly to one another, to our old identities, and to conflicts  between disparate personalities/groups/countries.

But I have seen another light within me, within all of us, that holds us in balance at the worst possible pronouncement of death calling for us to crumble. No! we say from somewhere inside. NO! I will not pass away, not unto death, but to Life! To Freedom! To the Strength I didn’t know I had.

This death is harder – more contemporary. It is the death of what you once were, your illusions about your self. About what life is for.  And when you let go of that, you do not have death, you have something unchanging and new. A vision that swells and drips with purpose, that comforts you. It grows even as you rest. Even as the rain drips down from the balcony and the heavy curtains seem to close…

I champion those who are willing to go through this curtain;  who have the courage to cling, not to the ego’s grip, but to a new hand, a new day;  who have the courage to peek through the curtain to see the light shining back at them, the happy faces in the front row waiting for them, for You, to Rise.

This is your day. Become the ultimate Scene-Stealer. Bow only to Life.

*based on a study of A Course in Miracles.

Day 19: Gratitude, My Tiny Listless Friend

beloved

beloved*

This is what came to me while silencing the creeping need to fret away the time…  a moment of grace in a busy day.

GRATITUDE

I am exposed
Half  hairs showing
Fingernails too long
Guff and scarred
But still growing
I am not a mystic warrior
With supporters beckoning from behind
I need to assert myself
Delve in
Not mistake countenance
for sustenance
 Not for a moment forsake
The purpose I am here.
 I need to keep going
Offering up
Hands bent back and afraid
- And  yet -
The frightened stares of my intellect
Are no match
For my tiny, listless Friend.

Why is this called gratitude? It occurred to me too. A little strange, but somehow true. All that chaotic intellect shining and getting in the way; all the competing voices yelling this way – no, that-a-way! All the uncertainties with puffed chest standing in the way…

And yet, this voice comes. This voice that tells you no, not that way.  You are here for a reason. All this will go away. Keep writing. Keep going, though your neck be too long, or your will not that strong. Keep fighting past the insecurities that time throws in the way. It will all go away.

And in the meantime, when you are silent, and no one is around, this voice will find you.  Your one, true, tiny and listless Friend. She will comfort you. She will ring true. She will be your one true confider, who will tell you: it won’t be long now. Just keep going.

The world awaits you.

Amen.

*This work is part of a poetry collection Krista has published on Amazon called “Song of the Beloved”.  The First edition is now available on Kindle, but it is continually being updated.

Day 18: Intimidated

Today I feel intimidated. I am afraid to write this post!  I am embarrassed that someone will read it, which they probably will! So I told my son who is a musician and can understand this kind of fear, and he said:

“Write like no one will read it. You can always worry about it later.”

Brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that?

Last night I was wildly embarrassed about my post and deleted it on Facebook (you can read it here if you want - I am committed and it remains Day 17).  I suddenly felt more aware that people are watching, reading my work. I was becoming afraid of my audience! This is not good!

What do I do about that? I have learned soooooo  many ways to deal with that feeling of Intimidation. There is no one (at least not openly) judging me, certainly not as harshly as I judge myself. And a lot of folks have been quite nice. I just didn’t want to have to go through it, this feeling. AGAIN! Why can’t I get this right? After all, I am well-trained, highly evolved! I should know better, Damnit!

But, here I am. Embarrassed. Intimidated.

But wait – why is my life so amazing? Isn’t that what this blog is for?  Yes, it is. I have no excuses. My crybaby worries won’t work anymore. I’m not getting out of this.

Nor could I get out of my audition today: the things I had to do to prepare; the nice man I was supposed to audition with but had to go in with someone else instead; the courage I felt in doing my best despite awkward glances; the compassion I showed myself by saying ”thank you very much”, and patting myself on the back, even if I hadn’t really “nailed” it.  Despite all of that, and the dusty hot streets I encountered as I walked to the car…  I felt good.

I wasn’t afraid anymore. Not because my source of discomfort was gone, but because it didn’t really matter anymore. I was there for a time: I connected, I shared, I laughed, I sighed. And now it was time to move on.

I am still here and my whole life as well.

At least I am not intimidated by her anymore, that little girl inside myself. I have come to love her qualities, the different temperatures and landscapes of her inner world; I am beginning to see them as passing mist, nothing to get too worked up about. And sometimes, to even cherish awhile.

When I got home, there was a pool to put up, kids to feed, a dog freshly groomed and running about. Happiness filled the moist, grassy air…

It was heaven on earth.

Oh, what was I so worried about?

P.S. I can’t say I followed my son’s advice to the rule, or that I “nailed” my post either, but at least I did it.  And so, I  continue another day. Amen.

Day 14: I Belong!

This morning I went to a yoga class I hadn’t been to in a while. That’s me, slipping in and out of things – alarming! Seriously, I ask myself, why do I get into things and then back away? I was even tempted to start all over – find another, better class; another, better teacher. But somehow, it all comes back to me. What am I so afraid of? That they won’t like me? That I won’t like them?

Are there really any better “anybodies” out there?…

I took a course last summer that changed my life – the Feminine Power series, with Katherine Woodward Thomas and Claire Zammit. I learned we women need to belong; we need to feel we are an integral part of something and that our contribution matters.  And our way of stopping that is to over-do and try to please others, while “sabotagingly” (yes, I invent words) neglecting our own needs, wishes, desires. Our own Power.  There are many ways this shows up:  perfectionism, fear of failure, wanting to be loved but pushing other people away ( “reject them first”), working too hard or hiding behind work (“maybe I’ll get promoted and then they’ll like me”); hiding behind other people who know more than we do; pretending to like things we don’t just to fit in; and sacrificing ourselves as a whole.  It doesn’t matter what it is; I saw “me” looking back at myself – backing away from things, from people, from life.  A lot of it, disturbingly, spoke to me.

The solution is obvious but alarmingly overlooked: there is nowhere else and nobody else to go but within my own self, to talk to that troubled girl and help her find her balance again. Her strength. We learned to make power statements that spoke to this deepest part, to stand in the strength of our best internal instincts – our fierce protection of what matters, just as we would protect a child. The part that cries “No!” or “Yes!” without any hesitation at all.  Or my way of saying it:

The Lioness in Us Will Never Lay Down

I Belong. I am an integral part of Life. I have a right to be here. My contribution matters. I matter. I am a unique, perfect and absolutely irreplaceable part of the Universe. I cannot be annihilated or forgotten. I Belong! Damnit!

So, today, as I walked back into that class, I hesitated at the door and said these simple words to myself first: “I Belong.” I breathed in and imaged all the pleasant faces I would encounter, and the energy I would have.  This is what I heard and saw upon entering:  my previous teacher sitting pleasantly with some others in a colourful room brightly lit, cheerful music playing, sunny smiles abounding, and her eyes happily lit:

“KRISTA!!!…. Oooh, Where have you been?!!…..”  (Her hands sweetly hugging her chest)… “We MISSED YOU!!!….”

I will never, never do that again. Assume I don’t belong. Or that they don’t want me.  I was wrong. Beyond wrong – because I missed out on their life, and they missed out on mine. I realized through their eyes, their smiles, how dynamic I was, how much I brought to them.

Whether you know it or not, whether people tell you or not, you are needed in this universe of things. I no longer seek another, better universe to belong to.  I Belong now. I’ll take this one, and – whether it pats me on the back or not – this one is more than happy to take me.

chorus of song

Remember Mr. Percival Singing? I Belong!!

YES!!

Day 12: The Climb

1

.

“Jump off the high dive, woman.”
She looks at him.
No.
Yes.
No.
“OK, have it your way.”
He picks her up and throws her in.
.
2
.
“Jump off the high dive, damnit.”
“NO. I can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes you will if I have anything to do with it.”
She pauses.
He smiles.
She runs.
He chases her.
She jumps in.
.
3
.
 
 “Go on, you can do it.”
“I know” she says and smiles.
But she doesn’t.
He pauses.
She looks at him.
“Why should I?” she asks.
“What are you waiting for?” he answers.
He waits.
She goes and climbs the first step.
 .
4
.
 
“It’s cold up here.”
“So.”
“I’m hungry. I want to come down now.”
“No.”
“Why?” she asks again.
“Because you don’t want to.”
“OK.”
She goes one step further.
.
5
.
 
“It’s high up here.”
“I know.”
“What should I do now?”
“I can’t hear you…”
She contemplates.
Nobody is there.
She is all alone.
What do I do now?
Keep going.
She doesn’t go.
She tries to come back down,
But something keeps drawing her nearer.
 .
6
.
 
She comes back down and rests.
She does other things to distract herself.
He doesn’t care.
He waits for her.
Then, when she is ready, she asks him again.
“What should I do now? Go again? Do you want me to?”
“Do you?”
“I do. Something is calling me nearer.”
“Then go if you want to. Do it.”
 .
7
.
 
She goes again,
This time she is one step nearer.
Suddenly there is a crowd.
Only a few looking up at her.
She is doing something newer.
They are cheering for her.
This is fun again.
She climbs to the top and takes a peek at all there is to see.
She freaks and comes back down.
They pat her on the back, but she has a frown.
“What’s the matter?” they ask.
“I didn’t do it yet. I pretended to. I didn’t climb the whole way. I didn’t jump off.”
“So. You tried. That is enough.”
“NO. I want to go again.”
“Good. Then go.”
 .
8
.
 
This time there is no one around.
She creeps out into the night.
She climbs the ladder fully and stands at the top.
She sings her song to the mountaintops and the trees.
She is free.
No one is listening
Or so she thinks.
In the morning there are people everywhere,
Crowding her for a time,
Congratulating her on her mountainous climb.
She is dumfounded.

“How did you know?”

“We could hear you.”

.

.

P.S. So, what number are you on?…

Krista Moore’s “The Climb”, written by Krista Moore June 1, 2011, posted on “Krista’s ‘Little Book of Miracles’”.

Day 10: Anxiety and The Chorus of Dreams (Sing!)

I’m not sure what to call it:  this inexplicable feeling of unease, at times wafting through me unawares. I am going about my business, preparing for my daughter’s Brownie graduation, actually sewing (yes, me!) the final badges she’s received onto the veritable Brownie sash on the very last possible night – to be seen for all of 15 minutes in the briefest of ceremonies. (But the kids had fun.)

So what is this wafting sense of alarm as I am riding in the car? Or walking down the street? The birds are singing their usual chorus, I am walking to the beat, while the dog is running straight ahead.  Maybe it’s something like a bad dream that wakes you up in the middle of the most perfect summer night… There is no explaining it. We can try.

But it all comes down to this:  Does it really matter what fear is for? Does it really matter why we are afraid? Why we wake up in alarm, when there is no clear or present danger?  Maybe it is a signal from above, or from below. Maybe it is the carrier of change in the breeze.  The train coming at us, or for us, or the one we are riding on – it is all the same.  Some danger can be avoided; most is just our resistance to what lies ahead. Is it a cliff?  A drop-off point?  Or, the point of no return? Isn’t that…  a good thing?

Sometimes I am grateful for the sound of an alarm bell going off, when I really have to go.  And sometimes, it is best to bang the damn thing off and go back to sleep, lulling in the morning air and that faint and tasty dream; dispelling all rumours of noise and forgotten slings and arrows. It’s time to put our swords down – our impulse to protect and defend everything.  It’s time to Sing.

I find myself singing all the time lately…  Not professionally, though that was extraordinarily fun to sing in front of a live audience (and get paid!).  No, it is just as much fun, beyond fun – downright Joyous ! – to sing out loud in the midst of a chaotic front the world puts on.  All its soldiers lined up, coffee cups stained with resistant defense against the dawn.  No, this is the time to move on.  Move on, my friends, move on.  Join the choir of song that is sounding out loud in the  morning, even if you are still luxuriating in your treetop bed of surprises.  As I lay there, I think of what I am grateful for, even if I still feel a bit of distrust.

To join the day, unaware of what lies ahead, to join Life, not knowing what it or I shall bring, breeds excitement, not danger; is reason for celebration, not anxiety (or a host of other unsightly things). And maybe the pulse that beats in my heart (and in my eardrums) is not one of anxiety, but of Life itself calling me to Sing!

chorus of song

Mr. Percival and Babe sing! by John Frederick White

Sing! my friends, sing!  Though there be clear and present danger all about, Sing! Because the world needs You, Your voice, Your calling, Your sound!

The sound only You can make.

Day 6: New

There are some things I am still afraid of. Some people think being an actress makes me immune – instant courage. Not so. I admit I have a larger heaping teaspoonful of it, but sometimes I am not who I say I am. I’m…  shy.

When I was born my mother said I was a big crier – not for no reason – for the most part I was a very happy baby, and I have the ‘toothless grin’ photos to prove it.  (Hmm.. I’ll have to dig them up.)  I loved to eat anything my mother put in front of me, and once my mom and Aunt Jane took turns shoving teaspoonfuls of jam into my mouth (yum!), between which I would cry bloody murder if they were just a little too slow. I was, and still am, voraciously in love with life. This is fairly new. Although I started out that way, life got in the way. Moving. Loss. Failure, disappointment.  It’s called the 20s. My 30s were all about change. Huge transformative never-looking-back change. Phenomenal. And now that I’ve just entered my 40s, I’m on a new path – again.  Instead of the baby crying out for another huge heaping teaspoonful, I sometimes hold back. I wait. I wonder. I question. I ponder.

Where does this hesitance for life come from? Fear. Lack of experience – and too much experience.

This past week we were introduced to our new neighbours. For the past 12 years we’ve been hanging with our ‘old neighbours’, who had really become family. I was sad to see them go (even though they’re only 12 minutes away).  I also knew that change was good – for them and for us. They needed to grow as much as we did.  We still visit them in their new digs, and they are just like newlyweds fighting over paint chips (after 45 years of marriage).

For us, we are like new as well. Our ‘new neighbours’ are younger and have a baby. That old house where our old neighbours used to sing and burn sticks outside and host boxing day parties is slowly changing into a new time, a new shape.  Funny how perspective changes everything.

My shyness came in introducing myself, wanting to hang back and “give them some space”. I did that for about 3 weeks – well, almost 2 months.  Once we emerged from our dwelling places into the sun of our first summer day we noticed each other out back, waved hands, joked about the leaves and the pile-ups, everything home-owners lack.  The husband popped his head over the fence finally and asked, “Is it too early to ask Steve to have a beer?”  I laughed and said, “No, he’s about ready” as my husband came climbing down a ladder with eaves-trough goo in his hands.

men on a break

That night the young couple came over with their baby and his mother. We sat on our deck and had a few. Talked and talked, laughed and shared stories. It was grand. I felt so lucky to be there with these new people, welcoming them in, and them too. I felt just as new as they did. It opened up a new era in our lives, a new possibility for sharing, for being a couple who can go out for dinner and leave the kids behind (we’re lucky, ours are 8 and 14).  And of course, for our kids, babysitting. New days open up, sparkle and give new life, new energy, changes, comings and goings.

And – Ooh – Food!  Lots and lots of food. My inner child was very, very happy. We feasted that night, broke bread together, shared the wine and the beer, and sat over an open fire.

This is a life worth talking about. Worth sharing. Always and forever, New.

P.S. I have such great pictures to share – I’ll hunt them down and insert them later. Love.