Divine Dreaming with the Plants

The dream that I had this weekend which I will share with you on this post has changed my relationship with life and my perception of what life is. I saw myself as a tiny particle of a gigantic mystery that is Life.

The plants remind me of who I really am, where I came from, and what I am.

In my recent dream, I had the pleasure of dancing with a spirit in the form of a goddess.

Confronted by my own trust and control issues in the beginning, I did not want to come with her. She waits and waits with her hand extended patiently, inches away from my own.

In the end, I chose to let go and I surrendered to her beauty.

In her arms, I found solace.

She was a sultry, seductive, otherworldly creature who took my hand in all her gracefulness and majesty. She had a long, black, curly hair. Her eyes were big and brown. Her skin was pale and her lips were blood red. She had a white flower on her head. Her dress was long, burgundy, and hugging every curve of her body.

She took me to the galaxy where the music changed several times until I felt at ease in my own skin. I started dancing like nobody’s watching.

And we danced and danced.

We played with the stars using the tips of our fingers, swirling them into our own version of the milky way.

And for a moment in time, we played together. Here.

I used my hands to mold shapes of different kinds and I threw it in the air while the goddess continued to dance and watch me play.

I am floating in the most welcoming, loving, and nurturing element of all which is “space”.

The space spoke to me and said, “mold me, move through me, do whatever you want with me.”

The goddess and I danced until the music began to fade…and slowly, slowly, a force pulled us away from each other.

She was gone.

Once again, I am traveling.

I felt my feet slowly touching the ground.

Suddenly, I was in the forest…mesmerized and curious. My senses were so heightened that I could hear sounds coming from afar, and I could smell everything. I could see life coursing through the ground, pumping life on each blade of grass, up to the tallest of trees and the unseen illumination of “space” in the dark of night.

I was a wild animal walking on all fours. And I could see and feel each pore of my body breathing and corresponding with the Earth. As if we were shouting, “I’m ALIVE” with each other.

Let me be you again.

I enjoyed walking and running with life in my animal form where I was blissfully driven by such powerful instinct. I climbed the trees and I reached for the brightest stars in the sky.

I am in love and aroused by life, and once again reminded of who I am in the depth of my being, beyond the many layers I wear in my day to day existence.

When I woke up the feeling of awe, loss, and sadness immediately washed through me. Once again realizing that I am living in a concrete jungle, living amongst the dominions.

I am still silently going through the grieving process on the loss of the world that I saw, the world that once was and the world we are avoiding to meet eye to eye. We can bring it back here in the now, but it will take a lot of work.

It won’t be easy but it will be worth it.

I will never see the trees, the plants, the animals, the space, and especially us the same way again.

I Miss My Dogs

I will follow you into the dark.

I would say that I had a fairly good childhood. My favorite memories were traveling with my parents and growing up with dogs.

When I was 7  ( year 1993), I had 5 dogs: Tasha, Butchik, Totots, Joco, and Hotdog. Since they’re mine, it was my responsibility to keep them fed, groomed, and somewhat tamed when visitors would come to our home. In the Philippines, the dogs can go in and out of our yard (and onto the streets and someone else’s yard) as they please. The female ones, Tasha and Butchik, came home pregnant more than twice. I was 9 and both my parents didn’t care about the dogs and if they are pregnant. The only thing that I would hear are my mom’s complaints about the smell from where I was nursing them.

I was fortunate enough to witness and help both dogs give birth to their puppies. I learned to break the amniotic sac before I even knew what they were. When Butchik stopped producing milk on her second litter, I bottle-fed the puppies. The same thing happened with Tasha when she gave birth to her second litter. I had healthy survivors but I also lost some of them after a week of being born. I gave them a funeral in our backyard. Nobody came because no one was invited. Mom was either napping or on the telephone with her friends. Dad was busy providing for us. Both my siblings were either not interested with the dogs or annoyed that I spend most of the time in our backyard playing with them. Our family friends gave the healthy puppies a home and continued to care for them as soon as they’re out of the critical period of being a newborn. Giving them away was always a sad day for me. I cried. I did not protest because I knew that I can’t keep all of them even if I wanted to.

Butchik, Joco, Hotdog, and Totots passed away before the year 2000, leaving me with just Tasha. It was the same year that we moved to a new neighborhood and a bigger home where I am not allowed to bring Tasha. I was powerless and developed a  resentment towards my parents. I couldn’t reason with either of them. Mom didn’t want her expensively landscaped garden to be desecrated by my dog and Dad agrees to everything she wants. I get it. They’re in love. Our previous home was then converted as my Dad’s office for  his growing company which allowed me to still visit Tasha on a regular basis and I was promised that Tasha will be fed and taken care of. When adolescence began taking over me, I visited less and less. I can’t remember how many times I’ve looked into her eyes and apologized for where my growth had taken me and why we were separated but she always understood. She was always happy to see me and I her. In 2004, Tasha passed away. If I can do this over again, I’ll bring her with me wherever I go. Perhaps I can stop by in her heaven when I leave to go to mine and I can ask her to come with me.

Most of my social learning as a child happened when I am with my dogs than when I am in school with kids my age. Truly. You can tell me that it was probably just my own projection but I really felt one with my dogs. They were my friends and they taught me a great deal of nurturing and companionship and what it’s like to just be–things that I never learned with a bunch of school bullies. To hang out with the dogs without any stimulation but my mother’s garden was the best part of my day especially after coming home from school.

Pitogo Sunset

These pictures were taken during our vacation this past December. It’s the view from the balcony of our home in the province of Pitogo, Philippines. Every afternoon we would watch this miracle happen before our eyes. It is truly one of the most beautiful offerings on Earth and yet it is one that is mostly taken for granted…almost forgotten by our busy bodies.

So much healing has happened in this place for both Scott and I–it is the magic of relaxation and being at peace.

Recognizing Feelings and Self-expression

“Look.”

The problem with growing up in a culture where feelings are rarely ever recognized and expressed is that a child can grow up and see themselves as a mind walking around in a body. Expressions are pacified through “intellectualizing”: getting out of the feelings and into the head. Many adults who model this type of treatment towards feelings learn techniques (like I did) of denying their own emotions from surfacing their external in fear of receiving judgement from the people around them or in fear that they might crumble if they choose to expose who they are and how they feel.

I attended a school for a long period of my life where bullies and bullying is not recognized by the teachers and the institution itself. So when problems and conflict between students arise, even the smartest teacher in the school didn’t know how to address the situation where a young student can gain social and emotional learning. It’s tough being a small kid and be bullied by boys and girls alike. When I’d speak to my teachers about it, they’d tell me to be a good Catholic and practice forgiveness. In other words, stuff it down, apologize to the other child even if you didn’t do anything wrong, and pretend like it never happened. I guess it’s better than telling a child to get lost. It was a cycle of experiencing my ego and confidence getting crushed by others for twelve years of attending the same school from kinder till senior high school. I didn’t say anything at home because I saw how my parents were already having a hard time with my elder sister (she was in high school then and I was in grade school). I was scared that I’d get in trouble for saying something and both mom and dad will give me a silent treatment. I was scared to be ignored and that I would feel worse than I already do. I learned to mask myself well both at home and school. I’d just tell my parents about the good things (academic stuff) and leave out all the rest.

By the time I’m in high school, I was a bonafide rebel. I’d skip school whenever I can and when that became obvious to my parents, I got into a lot of trouble. My parents thought there’s something wrong with me. Of course they did. They’d have a one way communication (talking-back-is-disrespectful) “blow out” sessions with me. For what it’s worth, I liked the ‘attention’ they were giving me but at the same time it makes me want to isolate myself even more and go far far away. I still didn’t have the nerve to tell them what’s going on with me. In my head, it would be like betraying myself and my hard work of masking. I was scared to lose the toughness that I needed to survive that God awful school environment.

In 2002, I graduated from high school and moved on to college. It’s such a relief to be in an environment where you are either admired or not seen. I had my first long term relationship (lasted for 5 years) with a guy whom I loved from my head. Everybody I knew were dating, so should I, I thought. Not recognizing and honoring my feelings back then has taught me a great deal of control: control on myself and control on the other person. I mastered stewing my feelings until it builds up and eventually boils over to a point of explosion. It felt good to explode and release the tension but at the same time, I felt the guilt that came along with it. That relationship did not last long because we weren’t real with each other.

I hated myself for being so horrible with myself and not really knowing how to create the change that I wanted to create in my life.

When I moved to the US and started working, I met a lot of cool people. I began to feel appreciated and valued. Thank you. You know who you are. One of the most remarkable events that happened to me during that phase of my life was when I recognized my own feelings of love, grief, and jealousy through the relationship that I have with one of my best friends (who is now my husband).

It’s pretty awesome being married to a man who has the same initiative as I do of working together to keep the practice of conscious partnering alive in the relationship. I can be angry without feeling judged. I can express my anger without exploding. I can say I love you from my heart and not be ashamed about it–or think of it as weakness. I can be happy and not associate it with shame. I can say ‘no’ without feeling guilty that I did not satisfy the need of the other person. I’m learning to let go of whatever control I think I have over something or someone. My relationship with my family has gotten so much better and secured.

Over the weekend, I attended a heart-opening ceremony where I saw my guide for the first time in 6 months. I wouldn’t lie, I get nervous every time I see him, thinking to myself, ‘oh boy, what is he going to see in me and reveal this time?’ He’s always spot on and doesn’t miss a thing. He saw how I disappear inside of myself and lose my expression when I interact with someone (in the most unobvious way to me). I am not aware that I do it. With his help I was able to dive in and navigate past the surface of my own darkness and sadness. I was able to get to a place of recognition and face the emotion that was laying underneath the surface of sadness, which was none other than emptiness. I got clarity. Why I fear emptiness is what I am exploring for the next months by practicing awareness of my own disappearances inside–it always starts with recognizing your own patterns and catching yourself in the act. I have to remind myself to handle it carefully and with respect because I know that I can be harsh with myself sometimes.

If you are like me who wants to break the habit of intellectualizing your emotions, see if you can find a person whom you trust and feel safe with (he or she can be a family member, a friend, or your partner) whom you can practice talking to about the things that bother you and notice the emotions that comes a long with it. Most of the time, the reason why we feel that we can’t express ourselves is that we don’t feel safe to express. Instead of ignoring the feelings, stay with it, recognize it. Stuffing seems like an easier route than facing who we are but it doesn’t do us any good, it can be damaging both physically and psychologically (ex. I know people who look 10 years older than their real age caused by stuffing so much of who they really are and how they really feel–it’s hard to pretend and mask the real self all the time). It can be destructive. Felt feelings bring emotional energy. How can we use this energy in a constructive way? We can use it to improve our relationships with the people outside ourselves, our friends for example. It is only when we are being ourselves, expressing, that we can truly deepen our relationship with another human being.

Death

Death.

Is life just a side effect of death? Is death just a side effect of the life cycle?

Whenever I think about my time to die I go to a place where I tell myself that I am happy, I have found my soulmate, I can go peacefully.
Silently my ego interrupts with a question of, “but are you ready?” An immediate no is my answer. At least not yet. I’ve got plans and dreams to tend to.

Death is something I was taught to fear when I was little. I would be chastised by the elders in our province back in the Philippines if they could hear me now (or if they read this blog). You see, I grew up in a culture where death is something you don’t talk about or even think about. It is believed that if you do, it’s as if you are drawing your own “demise” closer and closer, resulting to death claiming you earlier than it should. It is very similar to the “Boogeyman” in this culture or uttering the name “Bloody Mary” five times (and she will come to take your life). It is very urban legend-ish. I guess that belief in my culture is the elders’ way of protecting us from the truth. God Bless them. Really.

I came into this world less than three decades ago. I’ve only become conscious of my own journey about two years ago. I can’t deny the obvious that the physical journey stops when death happens. It is the inevitable. Death is a commitment I made before I was even born. You know this. You made it too.

Now I realize that the only thing I fear about death is to die unhappy or my last words to be, “how could you.” All the efforts of finding ourselves and doing things to make like worthwhile leads to that destination, death.

I consider both life and death to be equally precious. The only difference is that the latter is a surprise. No one has ever mapped that place. To die is fully jumping into the unknown.
It does make me wonder if we will be in another beautiful cycle like this…with give or take a hundred years to experience it, feeling the flow of the air’s magic course through our mystical existence, seeing rainbows and splashes of colors everywhere we go, feeling different textures and sensations, finding comfort in warmth, seeking pleasures in little pockets and wonders of our every day, saying I love yous to one another, or being with sadness when something or someone we hold dear meets its end. Perhaps it will be as beautiful…or perhaps it will be darkness…or even nothingness. Perhaps none of the above.

Life is a transition to death. Death is a transition to ____________. Everything is always in transition. Isn’t it? Look around you, almost everything that belongs to life is in a cycle. How many birthdays have you had? How are you different in your life this year than your life last year? However big or small the changes you’ve actually noted and continue to notice, you are in transit towards the byproducts of the choices you make while you are alive.

Showing up to my life to make my own choices matter. I’ve decided to help my story unfold by constantly creating experiences guided by my pursuit of happiness. I don’t always feel like I am succeeding but I know that stories don’t unfold by doing nothing. I am choosing to honor my death by consciously honoring my life.