Ooops~ A Rant on the Hazards of the Happiness Masquerade

Yesterday I read this quote, taken from an interview with Paula Reeves a Jungian Analyst:

"Following your souls journey does not grantee happiness.  The souls journey moves toward meaning.  Each time we uncover a piece of our unclaimed shadow we step into another initiation that leads us to an ever more meaningful relationship with the self. There is profound value in recognizing our own shadow, that is our own unlived, unquestioned, and rejected life.  The shadow is not a terrible, terrifying and reprehensible bit of our self that must be kept secret no matter the cost.  It is the repository for all the fragmented and unclaimed aspects of each life waiting to emerge into consciousness, allowing us to be authentic and whole."

I read this quote on a recent bus journey to my work at the Healing Center, early in the morning, on a rainy day, surrounded by fifty other people, stuffed into a cramped space, making their way to work with coffee in to-go cups.  It felt wintry and the first bit of November had soaked everyone with icy rain, hands were cold, clothes were wet and clinging to skin, the windows were all fogged up, and there was no fresh air to breath.  Most people were beginning their work weeks, and I think I can safely say that not too many of them were feeling positively thrilled about this.  

The thing that struck me as odd though was the great efforts people appeared to be going to, to force smiles onto their tired early morning faces.  The sheer amount of will it seemed to take for people to muster polite and enthusiastic conversation with co-workers and classmates, despite their contemplative tired expressions.  And I thought what a lot of bother we go to, to exude a false sense of happiness, and for what purpose does this serve?

As the day progressed I found I began to notice this phenom everywhere I went, this was not something only destined to occur on city buses, in the early mornings.  The lady at the grocery store was doing it too, the clients coming into the Healing Center were also dedicated to tight smiles and tuneful "how are you's!"

It wasn't that I felt the whole world should embrace a tendency to be depressed, or that I even thought people were depressed.  Mostly I just found that people in general are often more inward and contemplative then they are willing to reveal to the world.  Some people were sad, yes of course they were, and some might have been seriously depressed. But either way, most people are not naturally upbeat and entirely joyful with complete and utter zestful enthusiasm all day long, every day, and this is FAIR ENOUGH!

 

That we so often feel the need to display a sense of happiness when we're not actually feeling this way can be somewhat haunting.  We live in a culture with a strong moral sense of honesty, and yet, we can hardly manage the basics here, and as far as I can tell, this is a problem.  If we can't be honest about what we are feeling, what can we be honest about?  How we feel is the foundation for our experience of living, it's how we are perceiving and relating to the world.

Anyway, as I began to think about why this "need to be all smiles" was occurring I came up with many theories. The following is one, I have since cast out, but it made me giggle and so I thought I'd share with you.

At first I thought that this strange human way was perhaps a "New Age West Coast idea gone terribly wrong.  That this whole trend focused on "creating and manifesting your own reality through BEING the change you wanted to see in your life," had been taken to some kind of distorted and ugly extreme. That our spiritual desires for sweetness and light had skewed our perspectives in a big ol'way. Somehow I don't think that we can live a human life in a state of constant joy and I don't think that this is necessarily the aim.  The desire for a life free of suffering is like a world with no rain, or no night.  Sunshine and constant daylight would kill the living things on this planet very quickly, a constant state of joy is a kind of fire that would burn out eventually, not to mention create a lopsided experience don't you think?  Don't get me wrong I have great respect for the souls journey, but over the years I am more inclined toward the wholeness of my experience, including the dark depths, including the bits that bring me to my knees, including the rage and the tears.  

Later I realized that we live in a world where honest expression of how we are feeling is taboo. And the reasons for this are many.  You know what they are, they're cultural, they're social, we learn them at home and at school, from young ages, and we carry these ideas into our adulthood etc etc...( nothing new here) I don't need to list them.  

And so, the purpose of my rant today is to remind us all that there is something wonderful to be found in the quiet moments, something deeply healing in the sadness, something unbelievably peaceful in the resting, something beautiful in the ugliness, something new in the oldness, something meaningful in the rage, something real in the honesty, something worthwhile in the tears, something hilarious in the humanness, something glorious in embracing the shadow and re-claiming wholeness, something really wonderful about having the ability to feel and live and breath and BE!  

This post is dedicated to the Women in my dance classes.  I thank you for your company and the courage with which you explore the shadowy depths.  

Paintings by: Joseph Lederer and Charles Bragg

Oh to Dream~

  ~Image by Mara Friedman

I think that there is a secret in every dream, a message tucked away in a metaphor, written in the esoteric language of soul, to yourself from yourself.  I think that dreams are mysterious blessings. And this morning, I remembered these words from Mary Oliver, and I couldn't help but share them. 

Dreams

~ by Mary Oliver

All night

the dark buds of dreams

open

richly.

In the center

of every petal

is a letter,

and you imagine

if you could only remember

and string them all together

they would spell the answer.

It is a long night,

and not an easy one-

you have so many branches,

and there are diversions-

birds that come and go,

the black fox that lies down

to sleep beneath you,

the moon staring

with her bone-white eye.

Finally you have spent

all the energy you can

and you drag from the ground

the muddy skirt of your roots

and leap awake

with two or three syllables

like water in your mouth

and a sense

of loss-a memory

not yet of a word,

certainly not yet the answer-

only how it feels

when deep in the tree

all the locks click open,

and the fire surges through the woods,

and the blossoms blossom.

The Rains Have Come~

"It's going to rain for the next week," my man informs me," as he breezes by with his coffee cup this morning.  It's going to rain for the next several months I think, as  I look out the window, upon this dark autumn day, and for the first time this year, I can really feel the onset of winter.  

Living on the pacific west coast of Canada, is like living in a kind of northern rainforest.  During the winter months it can rain for weeks on end, day after day without sunlight.  

When I first moved here I felt like I was living in a constant chapter of "Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day."  Some people get very depressed when the rains come, and others fly away to sunny and exotic places, and as for me, well, I normally prepare for another kind of journey.  

The kind of journey I begin now requires no airplane or jet lag, no trains, planes, or boats of any kind.  No, this journey I speak of, goes in and down.  The suitcases I pack are metaphorical and they are filled with good books to read, blank pages to draw upon, colored pens to write with, cozy sweaters to wear, woolen shawls to wrap around, soft fuzzy hats to keep the warmth in, warm boots for walking on the muddy forest trails, hot spicy teas in potted mugs to hold and sip, hand quilted blankets to dream under, musical instruments to play, friends to sing and dance with, candles to keep vigil in the darkness.

Yes, indeed, we are moving into the dark time of year, with the Celtic celebration of Samhain just a day away to mark this sacred transition of seasons, both internal and external.  

I have always loved this time of year. I appreciate and cherish the dark season, as it gives me permission to rest and dream. Winter's darkness is not a kind of darkness that I am afraid of.  Instead I find this seasons darkness nourishes and soothes, it rocks and holds me like a loving mother. 

As I light my candles this dark and wet morning, in honour of my ancestors, I give thanks to this sacred time.  Each flame burns in honor of the mystery; of the magical beginnings stirring in the darkness, deep beneath the surface.  Now, at this time of year, I find it is easier to recognize that death and rebirth are two parts of the same whole.  

Samhain Blessings to all of you~  

(and to my blog friends in Australia, well, Happy Summer Solstice!~ I think)

Image Source Unknown

Singing and Laundry~

Yesterday, in an ordinary moment, in an ordinary place, doing the most ordinary thing, I met an extraordinary person.  

It was just after breakfast, and sometime before lunch when it happened. I had just entered the laundromat in my hurried way, thinking about the hundred things that needed doing. I was carrying an awkward basket of dirty clothes and they were spilling out onto the floor, when I heard it, the most beautiful singing. Singing that brought all my thoughts to a halt and begged me to do nothing but listen.   

It was as though I had entered a temple, somewhere deep in the jungles of south east Asia, not a laundromat full of loud whirling machines and abandoned stale coffee cups.  The singing was in an old and faraway language and the voice that carried it had the same quality of ancientness. The melody filled my ears and my heart. I put my basket of dirty things down and I went to investigate. 

And there, not far from where I stood, was a small elderly asian man, sitting on an old rickety wooden chair, with a wooden cane propped up beside him.  His eyes were closed and he was singing with all his heart to soapy laundry, swirling around in a sudsy spiral.  

When he paused for a moment between songs, I couldn't help myself but speak, to stammer out some kind of authentic, honest expression of the joy that had instantly sprung up in my heart upon hearing him sing.

To my poetic dismay, all I could manage was ,"I like your singing."  To which he replied, (and the poetry of this moment was all his); "me too, singing is medicine, it keeps the head from thinking, more singing, less thinking, less thinking, less sickness. Where I come from people sing when they do their work, because that way they don't have to think too much, and everyone knows that too much thinking makes the heart sick. I like to sing my songs to God," he said.  And with that he closed his eyes, and began another song.

I put my laundry in the machine, added the soap, and then the coins, before I paused for a long moment to give thanks to this wise person, whose song, touched my heart, as surely as it did Gods.  I do agree with him I thought, singing is indeed a kind of medicine, it heals our hearts in profound ways.  Soulful singing is not reserved for holy places, or stages, or the shower, but as this new friend showed me, singing brings the holy place to us, and can be done anywhere, at any time. 

Image source unknown

Goodnight Garlic~

I put my garlic in this week. Spent a crisp sunny morning in the muddy earth, tucking each little clove into the dark humus for a long winter sleep. And as I was doing this, I thought, isn't it amazing, the transformation that is born out of stillness, the magic that happens beneath the surface, the miracles that are rising up from underneath?

Faerie Lesson Number II

For those of you who don't know, my niece Senay is what you might call a "leading expert in the field of Faerie."  

( There is a post from earlier this month about this same subject, entitled, A Note About Faeries, should you care to read more about this topic.) 

I first discovered Senay's expertise in this area, while camping with her at the lake this summer, and since then, I cannot help but ask her more about this fascinating subject whenever I see her.  

You see, I too am a believer in Faerie magic, but since finding my way into the land of adulthood, I have had a slightly more difficult time connecting with these winged and ethereal friends. However, after talking at length with Senay about this issue, I am less concerned about it then I once was.  Senay has advised me not to worry because "the Faeries still love me, they have since I was a little girl, and they want me to know this."  Seeing them is after all,  just a matter of "looking for them."

During my most recent visit to the country I had the privilege of another delightful lesson on Faeries, while walking with Senay through the beautiful woods that surround her home.

Senay lives in the mountains of British Columbia's interior, in a little wooden house with her Mom, her stepfather, 2 cats, 3 dogs, and hundreds of Faeries.  The Faeries, according to Senay, are "everywhere," including in the soft fur of her dog Jenna.  Not so very long ago, she spotted four Faeries living there, one was pink, one was yellow, one was green, and one was black.

During our walk Senay took me to some of the places where she regularly visits with the Faeries.  The photograph here, illustrates one such place and captures her in mid explanation of Faerie habitat.  

I learned that most of the Faeries on her property live in trees, however, some of them live in the house, and can be found in the cupboards and even in the piles of soft blankets, on the beds. Since the weather in Canada is turning from autumn into winter I thought I might ask Senay if the outdoor Faeries would be moving indoors for the winter months, to take up residence in the blankets and cupboards of Senay's warm little wooden house.  To this question Senay responded without hesitation, "probably not Auntie."  She then went on to assure me that Faeries, "do not get cold."  To quote Senay directly, "They may need to wear jackets in winter Auntie once it snows, but for now, they are very warm, and it's because of all the flying around that they do."  

Furthermore, Senay not only sees Faeries, but she also acts as a spokesperson for them. More often than not she has messages for the people that she loves, from the Faeries.  During our most recent interview, I asked her if the Faeries had anything they wanted people to know, to which Senay replied, "yes, the Faeries have a message for all people,"  and this message is, "that all people are special."  I asked her if there was anything else the Faeries wanted people to know, to which she replied with complete confidence, "no, that's it." And the look that came afterward, seemed to say, "how could there be?"

This report was taken in October of 2008, in Cherryville, British Columbia.  It is dedicated to Faeries and the Friends of Faeries everywhere. 

Walking through the Faerie meadow.

To Papa Sigi~

After a whirlwind trip up into the mountains we're back with sacs of potatoes, onions, apples, pears, and 10 pounds of garlic seed. If I had to give this trip a theme I would say it was about gathering. Gathering people together, gathering the harvest, gathering stories.  It was about collecting those things that get us through the dark months, whether it's the peach preserve that goes on toast, or the stories, the ones that keep us inspired on dark winter nights. For me stories are a kind of food, they sustain me like the thick hearty stews that simmer on my winter stove-top.

Speaking of stories, I finally recorded the incredible life story of my 92 year old Japanese grandfather. He sat with us for three hours drinking strong coffee on a rainy day, and filling us in on the details of his life.  The kind of details that can make time travel possible; 

descriptions of sun on a dry bean field in 1933, the smell of a beef heart cooking in a pan, the feeling of a cold icy 

draft, coming through the cracks of a chicken coop, serving as a home to Japanese immigrant farmers.  The sound of an engine, in a Model T Ford, bought for ten dollars, working hard to get over the mountain pass. 

And like all good stories this one too had a theme, but it was not the theme you might expect. It was not a theme built from hardship, or heart-ache, or brokenness, although these were all parts of his story.  No, the theme of my grandfathers story, was, would you believe, LUCK.  Luck that he found work in dry bean fields for 2o cents a day, luck that there was a beef heart to eat from time to time, luck that there were abandon chicken coops to live in; shelters to keep the snow out. Luck that he did not have to go to war because he was an immigrant.  Luck that he survived, that he lived, that he got to have a bicycle and fall in love. Luck that hard work makes a strong body and that sometimes the people you meet, are kind.  

I have asked my grandfather to tell me his story many times, but in all the telling, I don't know if I ever knew of his gratitude before now. Or perhaps, what I mean to say is that I don't think I knew of the sheer enormity of his gratitude.

And this thing he calls LUCK, well, I think I am more inclined to call it perspective.  I think my grandfather has one of the most incredible perspective's on "living" that I have come to know thus far. My love and respect for him is limitless, and to use his words, I feel LUCKY, LUCKY to know such a remarkable man, with such a beautiful way of traversing this human experience. 

This post is dedicated to Papa Sigi Kuraoka, my grandfather, whom I love, with all my heart.

PS- Senay and  I also had a story telling session, so stay tuned for her up coming wisdom on faerie folk.