3/7/14—Taking Five Minutes

While the sun sets in my front yard, I sometimes like to watch from the back yard. You can see why in the picture. As the sun dips low, it reflects on the trees in shades of red and yellow. You can see this effect move through the surrounding neighborhood like a custodian switching off lights at the end of the day...first on the branches in the foreground, then the ones taller or further away.

The night I took this picture, I was sitting outside and the entire tree was lit up bright red. It was breathtaking. So I ran inside to get my camera. By the time I got back outside, possibly a minute later, half the red was gone from the trees. Shortly after the picture was taken, the moment had passed. With the speed at which the tree buds and the sun sets, it may never look quite this way again.

The great thing about nature, though, is that the next night there will be a different beauty, albeit again quite fleeting. But if you blink, you'll miss that one, too. One of the many lessons the sunset teaches us is the impermanence of things.

We probably have a million moments like that in every day. We can't stop and appreciate them all. But most people start their days like a cannonball out of a cannon and don't stop until they collapse. Instead of admiring the 10th flower your daughter drew for you today, you say "that's enough. I'm busy with something." Instead of stopping to watch a family of ducklings swim at the park, you walk by, hurried. Instead of watching the light move across the trees, you run inside for your camera and miss the show...haha.

My dogs help me appreciate stuff more than I might normally. If you do something a dog enjoys once, they will never let you forget. Sometimes I go outside with coffee in the morning and just sit with them as they watch the yard. So now, every day, rain or shine, they come in from their morning constitutional, eat their breakfast and then stare at me expectantly. I could break their hearts. Or I could take 15 minutes and go outside and sit with them....while they ignore me, btw. They need me out there so I can beg for kisses, only to be repeatedly rejected, because that shows the squirrels that NOBODY is the boss of them!

What it all comes down to is that we're all guilty of missing the light as it leaves the trees. But one of the lessons I'm trying to learn this year is that there's really very little that can't wait 5 minutes. Work, groceries, chores...it can all wait 5 minutes. Those aren't the things that feed the heart and fuel the soul. The special moments that go unappreciated are...being present for your children, the beauty of a flower, the unbridled fun of taking a spin on the merry go round. These things all fill you up and you end up being more productive because you feel less like an ox tethered to a plow all day. So what will you take five minutes for today?

3/5/14—Learning From My Reality TV Show Addiction

On Monday we talked about my weekly confessional and today I have something to confess: I'm addicted to reality shows that involve singing and/or dance. Sometimes schedules conflict to the point my DVR can't handle it, but if I could watch them all, I would. I'm neither proud, nor ashamed of this fact.

Generally, these shows make me very emotional. I remember when I was a little girl and we'd watch Miss America or something like that and my dad would get misty and say, "her parents must be so proud of her." 

I didn't get it then, but I get it now. I cry when someone does a good job. I cry at proud parents. I cry at back stories. I cry because it's beautiful to see someone channeling a force greater than themselves. And I suppose I cry a little for all of my own triumphs my parents weren't here to be proud of. (Oddly, though, I don't cry when they fail...haha. I have little sympathy for them when they screw up.) :D

Anyway, last night I was watching the Voice and was rooting for a guy named Robert Lee who didn't end up getting a chair turn. I couldn't find video to post so you could judge for yourself (but I do have a link to this audition from Idol that I'm still bitter about. Even Ellen is pissed.) He was a mailman and desperate to break out of that life to create a better life for his wife and children. But that won't happen this year. His audition wasn't perfect, but better than some people they let through. All the potential was there. He just needed to be coached. It always disappoints me when the judges get it "wrong".

My entire career has been a series of rejections...haha. More often than not, I'll send samples of my work to people and never hear from them again. That's part of being in a creative career and it's part of being a consultant. But sometimes, when you really want it or need it, that silence can hurt. 

If I weren't certain I'm a good, strategic writer, I never would have made it this far. You don't last 27 years in an industry as competitive as advertising without being your own best fan. It's less of an ego thing than it is a survival thing. Some of the rejections and comments I've gotten in my career still sting. I won't lie. But if I filed the rejections in my head using the information I have now, rather than the sensitivities I had then, I might have had just the added bit of confidence I would need to shine a little brighter. But would it have been worth bypassing the turns that rejection brought me? I don't think so. 

What do I know now that I didn't know then? Well, back then I realized it's all about opinion, plus a ton of other factors I have no control over. Maybe the person who got the work had better contacts at the agency or was more proactive in their approach or answered a question better or whatever. So I always knew not to take it personally. But deep in your darker reaches, you kind of do anyway.

What I know now, however, I owe to American Idol and its counterparts. And that is that rejection doesn't make me "less than" in any way. Sometimes the best talent is passed over simply because the picker has a lack of vision. Or they're in a mood. Or you don't fit their profile. Or, as I've always reminded myself, because they're an asshole you don't want to work for anyway...haha. Sometimes there's so much "rough" that it's hard to see the diamond in its midst.

Rejection doesn't mean you're not good enough or that someone's better. It just means the universe has you set on a different trajectory than the one in front of you. All the jobs I didn't get inspired me to freelance. Had I gotten those jobs, I'd probably be a creative director somewhere today working 5x harder for twice the pay, and afraid to walk away from the money to become an author. I wouldn't have had time to create my Amazon bestseller. I wouldn't spend so much time blogging and creating fodder for future books. 

In fact, I might be on a different path altogether—one where I don't watch sunsets every night with my Kizzie by my side. One where I have to worry more about what people think... where I have to hide my tarot cards, run from my flaws or deny my psychic friends in order to fit in. 

So Robert Lee is probably back at work today as a mailman with a hidden talent. That doesn't mean he won't make it or have a gratifying life. He'll probably have more time to spend with his kids this way. And Jessica Basset from Idol got her self-written song on iTunes, backed by Ellen. She might become a song writer or singer. Or something else entirely. 

What we end up getting in life is partly about what we put out, true. You have to be prepared to greet your opportunities. But more than that, what we end up getting in life is what fits the trajectory we came here to ride. Sometimes that looks like rejection, but ends up turning into a blog that's healing for its readers and writer. :) 

If you can keep your mind open long enough to get past the disappointments and all the preparation you have to do to greet your opportunity, you'll end up seeing the incredible wisdom and suitability of this life you created. You'll see how a hand much greater than your own guided you here. And you'll cry because it's beautiful. 

3/3/14—Looking for Trouble

Today I've been thinking about something I do on a regular basis that I don't think I've shared here before. To give some background, a few years back I set the intention to stop taking my spiritual lessons just when they come and, instead, create situations that would push me past my comfort zone. I wanted to accelerate my growth. 

Now, I think we can create all our situations, good and bad, with intention alone. I had specific goals—releasing my need for drama, improving my forgiveness muscles, learning to be more vulnerable and letting go of things more easily, among others. And in the stealth way the universe tends to work, I was presented with opportunities to address all those things. 

So, while I didn't quite realize it at the time, this blog, for example, ended up destined to help me learn to be more vulnerable. While I still hold plenty of "secrets"...haha...I've really let down my guard over the 3 1/2 years I've been doing this. There are times it really scares me to hit "publish" when I release something I'm sensitive about. And, invariably, those posts are met with thanks and affirmation from you guys. I'm so proud of—and grateful to—the community of people who read this blog, because you have been nothing but supportive. 

And so here comes the thing I haven't shared. Another one of those things that pushes me past my comfort zone sometimes is a post I make every Friday on my Facebook page called Friday Night Confessions. Now, first off, I confess that it's partly a tongue-in-cheek poke at fundamentalist fears about sin and the Devil. I also confess it's partly for some Friday night fun with friends. But from the very first day I made it clear that this thread was sacred and anyone with something to lift off their shoulders was welcome to contact me publicly or privately for "forgiveness" (by the authority of my mail order reverendship that, while I joke about it sometimes, I also take seriously.)

A good 95% of the posts on the Friday Night Confessions thread are along the order of "I confess to being gluttonous with chocolate," "I confess I lost my temper" or even "I confess I love my husband." All of those things are easy to forgive and, when I can, I affirm that they're not alone. I, too, like chocolate. :D

But then there are the 5% of posts that are serious confessions. A couple of them are things that have been really hard for me to forgive, but of course I have. And I don't just say the words "you're forgiven". I do a gut check and push past any boundaries I might have to forgiveness. I also try to talk to the person some to make sure they're OK in that moment and know they are OK and loved in the world...that they are not defined by whatever it is that they've asked forgiveness for. And, of course, I encourage them to seek professional help when that seems to be needed. And, while I do wonder about what progress they're making as to their confession, I never ask because confession should free you from guilt, rather than remind you of it. 

I am not, of course, a priest. I do now understand some of what they hold on their shoulders. They get way more serious stuff confessed to them, so their forgiveness practice is well honed. And they learn, I'm sure, to lift it up to God because its not theirs to carry. That insight has taken some of the tongue out of the cheek of doing this and has made it something truly sacred to me, even in those many weeks when the confessions don't move past "I confess I stubbed my toe and it hurt". 

To keep moving forward and growing and expanding, we have to push against our comfort zones. Of course, it doesn't require exposing yourself on a blog or taking peoples' confessions. You don't have to go looking for trouble when each day you're faced with a new opportunity to change your judgments about someone you work with, open your heart to a stranger, solve an old problem a new way, confront a bad habit or just take the higher road. None of us will do this perfectly or even fully consistently. I can forgive a stranger much easier than a disloyal friend, for example. But the more strangers I forgive, the easier it is to make peace with things closer to me. 

So what opportunities might this week hold for you to push past your comfort zone and expand your love into the world? To begin with, you have to see the opportunities as opportunities, instead of annoyances or shocks or everyday weirdness. Then you have to take a beat and think about how you can exchange your usual response for something more loving. What you'll probably find is that something you think you're doing for "them" is something you've actually done for yourself. You'll feel lighter, walk prouder. And you will have just become part of the solution, rather than part of the problem. 

2/28/14—Spotting Your Reflection

Still waters reflect the truth of our heavenly and earthly selves. 

Today's post is a classic post from 2/6/12.

This morning, after a long absence, I returned to my favorite park spot to greet the sun. What I found both surprised and comforted me.

Everything was exactly as I left it three years ago when I gave up my sunrise trips in favor of sleep and blogging. The lone pine that bravely sticks its head above the canopy of deciduous trees—daring to be an individual, daring to claim the nourishment it needs—was still there. The constant din of traffic was there, still challenging the profound underlying silence of the park. And the same glassy water was right where I left it, reflecting the beauty of the sky above.

I confess I don't know enough about rivers to know why they always seem so still at the liminal times of the day. Maybe it has to do with the moon or tides. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it has to do with passing boats. But it seems like the river's surface is calmer at dawn and dusk than it is in the middle of the day. It could just be this particular location. A few miles away at Great Falls, the river is never calm.

We're kind of like the river in our spiritual journeys, aren't we? Sometimes we're calm and still, reflecting back both the beauty that beams down from above and that which gathers around us in our lives. And sometimes we're jumbled and chaotic, reflecting back a more distorted view of our reality. We move in and out of the pocket of love, flowing with the tides and the forecast. 

Looks like a pigeon, but it's a dove.

The other day, a couple of miles upriver, someone came across two doves that had been decapitated in some sort of ritual. The article said that doves and pigeons are pretty much the same bird. "Dove" and "pigeon" are used interchangeably and not even experts agree whether there's a difference or not. But you know the difference, don't you? Doves are those pretty white birds that mate for life. And pigeons are those nasty gray ones that poop on everything. Right?

Turns out pigeons and doves reflect something back on us, too. 

Looks like a dove, but it's a pigeon.

Everywhere we look in life there's a mirror. Our friends and family reflect back our strengths and insecurities. Our words and actions reflect back our beliefs and attitudes. Even the things we don't do or say...the people we don't hang out with...reflect back on us. We may be able to successfully hide our truth from others, but no matter where we look or what we do, our truth is always looking back at us. That's both good news and bad. The bad news is that, wherever you see something you don't like, you're responsible for it being in your life. The good news is that you also have the power to change it. Even if you can't immediately change your circumstance, you can change the way you view or approach it. 

So this weekend, see how many mirrors you can spot in your life. What does your home say about you? Your choice of a mate? Your pets? Your job? Your response to the email you just got? The quality of your friendships? The condition of your shoes? If you see something you're not pleased with, why is it still in your life?

Moreover, check the state of your internal waters. Are they calm enough to accurately reflect back some higher aspect within you? Or are they choppy, rough and discombobulated? If they're the former, don't take that connection for granted. And if it's the latter, consider what stills you and move toward that. Ultimately, the difference between living a pigeon life and a dove life is all in the way you see it.

2/26/14—Getting Into the Rhythm

Interesting things happen when you start watching the sunset nearly every night. When I started watching in the dead of winter, it was dark by 5pm. Now it's dark at 6pm. Come summer and I'll be out there as late as 9pm watching the sun dip down (though my dislike of warm weather may deter me.) 

Along with the time differential comes a "neighborhood habits" differential. While some activity follows the sun—my back yard neighbor going on her dog walks, for example—other activity follows the clock. Like kids coming home from school and people returning home from work. Right now, I'm seeing one group of neighbors in their routine and in a few months, it will be another, later group in their routines. 

And then there's the changes with nature. As the leaves begin to pop, what I'm able to see of the sunset will change considerably over the coming months. Right now I get an eyeful through the branches, but soon I'll have less sky to observe. I may even be urged out of the neighborhood for more expansive views. But then I'll miss out on the unique rhythm that goes on where I live. 

Years ago my thing was sunrises. For two years I watched the sun rise twice a week at a local park, but I didn't have the same experience as I'm having with sunsets. There, I had my back to the hustle and bustle of the world. And even if I didn't, all there was to see was a blur of cars whizzing by on the Parkway. So while the sunrises were all different, the rhythm was usually the same. 

Also, Daylight Savings Time keeps sunrise times more consistent than sunset times. So the sun might rise between, say 5:45 at one end of the spectrum and 7:30 at the other end. With sunsets, the times span from 4:45 to 9pm—about twice the range of time in which to observe the life that happens around the sun's show. 

What I have noticed from these practices, however, is that nature's circadian rhythm follows the sun while much of our own rhythms follow the clock. One interesting observation I've had recently is that the first chirp of morning birds coincides nearly perfectly with the sensors on the street lamp behind my house. When the street lamp goes to sleep, the birds awake (though both are taking their cues from the angle of the sun.)

Last week I made a post about the data we've left behind because of technological convenience. This is sort of the same thing. Work starts at 9 whether the sun rises an hour before or three hours before. And it ends at 5, whether the sun has already set or won't set for another four hours. But if we, as animals, are tuned to the rhythms of the sun (and we are), they we're keeping "unnatural" schedules. 

Ancient man, who didn't avail themselves so much to artificial light, kept a very different sleep and work pattern than we do (called segmented sleep.) They went to bed much earlier. Woke for a couple of hours in the middle of the night. Then went back to bed. They still got 8 hours, but in two four-hour bursts. Then with the advent of street lamps and affordable artificial light, things changed. 

The move away from segmented sleep is blamed for everything from stress to addiction to obesity among modern man. If you look into the science of circadian rhythm and the hormonal and physiological nuances of how it all works, you begin to see why. Further, when you wake in the middle of the night and curse it as insomnia, what's really happening is that your body is trying to get into rhythm. But modern life doesn't allow that. 

I've veered of course a little here, because what I really wanted to point out is all the different rhythms that go on...the rhythm of light and dark and all that comes with that, and the rhythm of schedules and time clocks and all that comes with them. Watching the sunset really points out the difference between the two and gives you a view of the unique rhythm of your immediate environment...the rhythm that you and your community keep. So far it has led to many interesting observations about neighbors and how I fit into this unique neighborhood. 

What it comes down to, however, is that whether it's the rhythm of earth wobbling on its axis or of people tied to the clock or of our body's cycles of sleep and waking, we don't think too much about our rhythms and how they fit into the bigger picture. But there's a lot of information there, not just for knowing who you are as a person, but for understanding how you work as an animal and the choices you make as to which rhythms you move within at any given time. Being attuned to your rhythms and the ones around you could be key to waltzing more gracefully through the dance of life. 

2/24/14—Making What You Have Work

There's this tree in my neighbor's back yard, behind their shed. It's an evergreen...a cedar, I think. It's sort of a Charlie Brown tree in a way. It's not symmetrical. The branches reach every which way. It's top heavy. Awkward. Lopsided.

You might consider this tree "unfortunate" were it not for the fact that it has somehow managed to grow quite healthy with a shed on one side blocking the afternoon sun, a fence a fence and vegetation on the other side blocking the morning sun and a bunch of bigger trees above it blocking the daytime sun. But I've seen this tree grow pretty big over 15 years with all these obstacles remaining constant.

One thing that helps is that it's an evergreen. When everyone loses their leaves, the evergreen gets to bask in the sun. I have a pear blossom in my yard that buds and blooms before the maple above it gets its leaves. Otherwise it wouldn't get the sun it needs to do all that. Once it has leaves, it's happy to live under the maple, but if the maple grew leaves sooner, the pear blossom never would have made it.

Both the evergreen and pear blossom are able to get what they need to survive, partly because of the kind of tree they are. The evergreen is evergreen, so it gets a good five months out of the year without any competition for sunlight. The pear blossom is an early bloomer, so it gets a valuable month's head start on establishing its leaves and gets all the power it needs to bloom while the maple is still making whirlybirds.

But beyond the tree type...what's in its DNA...the evergreen thrives as an individual by poking its branches out wherever it can to catch sun and rain. Which is why it's so oddly shaped. It is, in fact, NOT oddly shaped, but instead, perfectly shaped to take advantage of its environment. Same with the pear blossom. It's grows thin and tall with more leaves higher up because it competes with two much larger trees and has to find that bit of clear airspace available to wash as much surface area with sun and rain to keep it going.

So there's a tall, fat tree using its tall fatness to make the most of its mission on earth—growth and light. And there's a tall skinny flowering tree that's tall and skinny for the same reasons.

Most of my life I've resented the body I'm in. Like the evergreen, I'm an apple...leaner legs with all my weight around the middle. It's no mistake I have this body, though. Like the evergreen, the universe planted me where it did for a purpose and I grew as I did for a purpose, too. Some of the evergreen's awkwardness isn't awkwardness at all, but what that tree needs in order to face the light...how it copes to both protect and expose itself to the right elements. I suppose I'm the same way.

Same with my pear blossom. In fact, one day the maple will have to come down and that pear blossom will change in all sorts of ways because of it, just as the evergreen would change if the shed or one of the trees around it came down. But then again, we don't know what other issues something like that may trigger. Right now, everything is thriving just as it is. 

And as long as we allow our special kind of DNA and our weird and awkward ways of coping to keep focusing on our unique missions of growth and light, it's likely we'll continue. What the trees don't have to struggle with, but we do though, is accepting that they will never be an oak or maple—tall with an impressive canopy to drink in the elements. Oaks and maples have their own issues to contend with. The lifespan of a maple, for example, is centuries less than the lifespan of a cedar. But that's just it...the trees don't struggle at all. They just work with what they have and make what they have work.

2/21/14—Transcending Limitations

Today's post is a classic post from 1/9/13, because I ran out of time tonight. :) 

Once a month, I go to a wonderful healing session up near Annapolis. The woman, Diane, practices the Bonny Method of Music-Evoked Healing. If you're reading on my official blog, you can see some of my past experiences here and here.

In today's re-post, I talk about a session I had a year go. But first, let me tell you the mechanics of what happens in these sessions because they're so unique. It begins with setting an intention and, in this case, it was about exploring false limitations. And then Diane guides me through relaxation the way a hypnotherapist would. Then she intuitively chooses music to help me on my journey. And as I listen to the music, I tell her the images that come into my head based on the music and she writes them down, while guiding the session.

Diane has a degree in music therapy, she's certified in the Bonny Method, she's a Reiki master, a Native American lodge keeper and really one of the best people I know. You'd think I'd have met her in some incense cloaked pillow pit lit by candles and black light, but I actually met her in an advertising agency I freelanced at some 15 years ago where she was a VP or some such mucky muck.

Anyway, I say all of that, because some will think, "oh, cool, let's get some gals together and do that Friday night," but it's not that easy. There's actually a lot of training that goes into it. And others will think "oh, this is one of Tierney's weirdo woo-woo friends." And while that's true, she's actually a very accomplished, trained and qualified woo-woo weirdo. And she would have to be, because sometimes these journeys can bring up difficult stuff and she needs to know how to handle that.

Gratuitous shot of the AWESOME Neil deGrasse Tyson & some white light. 

OK, so enough about that. The theme was about exploring false limitations. And because I've been doing this for quite some time, I almost immediately go into a subconscious state. By that I mean I go so deep that I don't even know what I'm saying half the time. "Tierney" has left the building. And I'm often shocked at some of the things she tells me that I say. I'm under for maybe 20-30 minutes? I don't know. It seems like a really long time sometimes. So this is a simplistic representation of what happened today.

I started out in this world, on a beach, in a cove. I was sitting at the back of the cove and saw an image in front of me that was, essentially, the statue of Jesus in Rio de Janeiro. Then the image ripped in half, like you would rip a photograph and a beautiful, white coral staircase appeared on the beach, beckoning me upward. This staircase led to another reality, which was essentially a black hole. I didn't want to stay there, so I went up to another reality and another reality, neither of which were inviting. All had some form of abyss and, while I was safe and on sturdy ground in each one, each was a portal to a world I couldn't see from my vantage point. So I stayed safe.

This is the Jesus I saw...from the back. 

Finally a hummingbird came along to whisk me away to the "top" reality. By that, I mean these realities were shown to me in layers and this was the top layer. Hummingbirds, I found out after the fact, are symbolic of the miracle of life, as well as joy, love and beauty. (Trust me, if I were consciously making all this stuff up, Jesus wouldn't be in it, nor would a hummingbird. And, in fact, I only vaguely remembered any of this upon waking. Which is why she writes stuff down.) 

So the hummingbird flies me to the highest reality and it's all light. At first, I am the darkness that cuts the light. But then the light overtakes me, too. First I lose my body and can feel my distinct consciousness in the light. Then the lines of the consciousness loosen and I *am* the light. Eventually I move out of the light and am part of the cosmos. The "all that is" and I are inseparable now. I am capable of anything and everything. I can do all sorts of tricks. And at that point I say, "now I remember that I always used to be able to do this. And I was good at it. Then the ability (was taken from me.)" The "was taken from me" part is in parentheses. It's what I said, but not really what I meant. At one second in the journey I knew the entire process of how we lose the capability, but in the next second I didn't and those were the only words I could think of. I could have just as easily said "I lost it", "I let it go" or anything else. It really bugged me that I couldn't remember the rest of my thought, because it felt like there was valuable wisdom there, but it slipped away. 

The rest of the session was spent floating in that place in the cosmos, pure consciousness. And based on some of the things I said, it would seem that I'm much wiser and more carefree in that state. It was a state of divine detachment and, gratefully, the music that started playing (no kidding) was a lullaby, so I just felt held in "mother's arms" as I experienced the silence and ease of the "all that is". 

But back to false limitations. What this journey came to tell me—and tell all of us—is that there are NO limitations. What we truly are transcends all limitations, including space and time. As I said in the journey, we used to know how to transcend our limitations, but when we came here, we somehow forgot it. That doesn't mean it's not still there within us. Heck, even the fact that we're earthbound humans is a false limitation that somehow got placed on us when we were born. 

I had recently heard someone say that the reason we have seratonin and dopamine and all those brain chemicals is because if we didn't, we'd be scared shitless at the "reality" we'd landed in on this earth journey. I mean, just think of it...going from a place where you are fully at peace, inseparable with the "all that is," to a place where cells, our bodies, our homes, our planet, our beliefs—everything in our "reality"—separates us from who we REALLY are. So this is why most of us are driven to find that oneness again through religion and spirituality. (Or drugs.)

So that's the thought today. What if there really were nothing to limit you whatsoever? What if you moved through life knowing you held in your hand the creative power of the "all that is"? What if you had the ability transcend even the limitations of having a physical body or being tied to space and time? How would that change things? Are you ready to take that leap?