When You Have Lost Yourself | How to Find Your Way Home

I just got a new keyboard for my Kindle HD 10, so I can write again! But since I last wrote a post, Blogger has changed its format, and I can't say I like it. I'm not fond of Facebook's new look, either. I suppose I will get used to these things, but I'm tired. I'm exhausted from fighting against the insidious agenda of "the new normal." I can barely keep my eyes open to prevent becoming one of the pod people I see all around me. 

I'm not usually a person opposed to change. For example, I generally welcome the change in seasons, and my favorite, fall, is upon us. Yet I am craving more than anything a sense of the familiar, the normal things we once could count on. As much as I try to just live my life as I wish, I can't block out the stark reality of a world gone helter skelter. How can you hope to hold onto your identity when so many around you have lost theirs, to the point of living in a country that has almost entirely forgotten from whence it came to be? 

I suppose the first thing is a radical acceptance of what is. We have to accept what we cannot change before moving to change the things we can. The children have had to go back to school wearing masks. In my town, the school system has gone beyond even Emperor DeWine's mandates, forcing the kids to wear masks during gym and recess, and denying them the 5-minute break they are supposed to get. Communities are not willing to fight back against government tyranny, even for the sake of their children. Those who do oppose the party line are told to shut up, to not make things any harder than they already are. I fully accept that this satanic inversion of what is held sacred is really happening, and I accept the challenge of the battle, despite feeling I have no energy for it.

I admit to being deeply disappointed in people for being weak, for being lemmings, for running off the cliff obediently, doing as they are told. For being so gullible as to believe all that has been destroyed was for the common good, for the sake of public health. I've come to accept that people are not as smart as I had given them credit for. They are not as good, as kind, as sensible, or as faithful as they ought to be. Having consciously acknowledged my disillusionment, I must accept the truth of the way things really are, the existence of evils that are no longer even a little hidden, but in fact, are embraced by so many. I accept that I am disappointed in myself as well. Then there is the hard work of detachment from it all, which mysteriously includes holding on to a state of compassion for myself and others.  

I have not lost hope. There are still plenty of fighters, a remnant of the righteous and the brave. But if you are among them, you must come out of the shadows. Take off the masks, all of them, and come back into the light. Find yourself again in the One who truly knows you. Let me know you are out there, and that you haven't given up. 

I'm tired of pressing the reset button, of feeling like I have to start all over again, as if I have made no progress at all. But sometimes, when we seem to have come back to the same place, we have actually traveled further up the spiral. Having come around again, we have picked up new tools and information; we have indeed gained wisdom. We are brought back to a place that still has weeds to pull, yet the clearing has widened and room has been made for fresh things, for Beauty, for a deeper, more expansive dimension of existence.

I think that fairy tales have had such staying power generation after generation, because we can all relate to feeling lost, abandoned, and hunted by witches. We should not need to be reminded that we are sons and daughters of the King, but for whatever reason, we do forget. It's time to remember. It's time to wake up from the dreamspell and claim your place at the throne. 

The Spiritual Art of Detachment | Triggered by the Masks

I first learned about detachment as a member of the Al-Anon 12 Step groups for friends and family of alcoholics. I was an active member for 10 years, and the topic of detachment came up frequently. The principles and practices of Alcoholics Anonymous are based upon traditional Christianity, though the organization and its affiliates are autonomous groups with no religious affiliation. 

Detachment is difficult to both define and to practice. In the 12 Step groups, it's usually applied to emotionally distancing oneself from the problems and behaviors of another person. It isn't about not caring or going numb; we are supposed to feel our feelings and detach with love. 

Say, for example, that your spouse comes home drunk and passes out in the bathroom. You could lie awake for hours stewing in fear or anger, plotting the tongue lashing you're going to give him when he wakes up. Or, practicing detachment, you could check to make sure he's breathing okay, cover him up with a blanket, say a prayer, and go to sleep. You'll wait until he has sobered up to talk to him and will keep control of your own emotions and actions. 

Lately I've found that rather than needing to practice detachment with a particular person, it's the events of the outside world that are causing me anxiety, which could easily lead to obsession. Obsessive thinking, the desire for control, and an overly developed sense of responsibility are typical issues for the Al-Anon person.

I found myself worrying about people at Mass last evening, so many wearing masks, and knowing that it isn't healthy for them. I feel very disturbed with all the mask wearing, both forced and voluntary; loads of yellow caution tape in public places; and intense arguments and contradictory information in the news and on social media about COVID-19. Add to that the issues of civil unrest, murders, rapes, robbery, and destruction happening at the hands of Black Lives Matter and Antifa, and the debates surrounding all that. Top the bitter cake with the mismanagement of government officials in all of these areas, in many cases their blatant encouragement of mob rule, and we have a perfect storm of widespread insecurity and a desperate fight to preserve our safety, rights, and freedom. I will be shocked if it doesn't all rage to a volcanic explosion the likes of Pompei. 

The art of spiritual detachment seems nearly impossible to practice with the intense, prolonged, and multiple stresses we are all facing. Our own personal issues are quite enough to deal with. Adding so much extra baggage from the outside is too much of a burden for anyone. Sanity will not be possible without detachment. 

I will continue to explore detachment in subsequent posts, but for this one, I've gathered the memes to help define the concept, which is what one has to do before putting it into practice. Detachment really must begin with daily prayer and the Bible, or at least conscious contact with a "higher power." I highly recommend the Rosary. I have found that it not only calms me, but gives me clarity and stabilizes my thoughts and emotions. 

I hope you have found this helpful. Godspeed, Rita Michele

How to Let Go of Your Story (Part 1)

Zach Bush, MD

The following is an excerpt from Dr. Zach Bush, one of the very few triple board certified physicians in the U.S., on the Rich Roll podcast, #456, recorded at a retreat in Italy.

"The cubicle you're really living in is your story. You're gonna go back into an environment at home where everybody thinks they know who you are, because you have very carefully created a cubicle that you show everybody. You are a multi-faceted spiritual creature, that has innumerable facets and faces to you. There is such beauty and complexity in you, and yet you choose to show forth faces of a cubicle. And you have created that story of your life and who you are through training. And I would say that's the biggest problem that all of us face in this room, is the story that you now tell yourself of what your life has been. It's keeping you in a box."

Take a moment to breathe deeply and soak this in. 

I listened to the podcast weeks ago and have been thinking about how to do it, how to let go of my story, ever since. I don't have advice to give on how to transcend one's story, but I think I need to spend the rest of the summer trying to figure it out. I believe I was already in the process of doing this months ago, at the end of my grandparents' lives. I knew I would no longer have the key source of support and unconditional love that they had provided my whole life. Sure, I have other support systems and loved ones, but what my grandparents represented for me was unique and foundational to my story. 

I was somehow aware, through the grief and numerous mixed emotions I was experiencing, that I had been trained into a box of who I was supposed to be, and I felt the prison breaking open, turbulently, as I came to terms with my grandparents' passing. I knew that I must never apologize for being who I am. I owed no one an explanation, not for anything that came from my sense of dignity and the sincerity of my heart. It was okay for me to be weak. It was okay for me to be strong. It was okay for me to be myself. 

I do not believe that my grandmother lived in a cubicle. On more than one occasion, when I was thinking that the state of the world had grown so dark that there must have been a time in history that was better, that we could go back to, I asked Grandma what past era was her favorite. She was born in 1928. She would never choose, always telling me that she had enjoyed all of the eras of her life, including the current one. I understand now that she lived in the present. And because she did, because she wasn't boxed in by her own story, she could allow others the freedom to not be defined by theirs. I wish I could ask her how she managed to live this way. 

I had been told a story from my early childhood for many years, over a period of decades, that was always the same. It was a sweet story that I enjoyed hearing. And then the last time it was told, it was changed entirely. The new version cast me, as a small child, in a lurid light. What had been sweet turned suddenly sour. I knew logically that the revised version could not be true, as it was markedly different from what I had heard my entire life. After listening to Dr. Bush, I decided that not only must I let go of the version that hurt me, but the one which had made me happy as well. 

This was someone else's memory. It was not mine, and I did not have to hold onto it. It did not have to define me or have anything to do, either good or bad, with my present self. It was another person's story, that for whatever reason was altered, and it need not mean anything to me. When the story changed, I realized that it had always been an illusion. 

I don't think Dr. Bush was talking about "reframing" our experiences, though that could be a place to start. Rather, I think he was talking about a radical detachment. He doesn't even like the story that is told to introduce him in interviews about his rare accomplishment as a triple board certified doctor. These details of his life are not who he is. 

When we hang on to our story, we will find ourselves stuck. Our stories can play obsessively in our minds. Memory is not necessarily accurate, and the power of suggestion is strong. We have been trained by the stories others have told about us, and that they will not let go of, to hold onto our own stories as well. Curiously, my grandma didn't tell me stories of my childhood. Our relationship is not colored by her stories of me. For this I am profoundly grateful. 

What about you? I encourage you to take the time to listen to the whole podcast. It may sound a bit "out there" in places, but I think the basic idea of breaking out of one's cubicle is solid. Dr. Bush goes so far as to say that we can have a whole new life in a day! And I think the key is to start with small changes. 

Do you want to give up coffee, but tell yourself that you are a coffee drinking person? Do you want to be a dancer but tell yourself you are clumsy, because that's what you've always heard, and you have the bruises to prove it? Do you tell yourself that you are disorganized, a perfectionist, lazy, lonely, depressed, stupid, smart, fun, boring, offensive, nice... ?? What if you did start fresh, today, right this very moment, dropping every story? What a scary thought! Like standing on the edge of a cliff. 

But what if you could stand on the edge and not fall? 

These are the questions.