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Archive for October, 2008

It is difficult to see the picture
when you are inside of the frame.

— Author Unknown

Great quote, but what does it mean?

When we are enmeshed in identifying with our own story,
whatever it is, we can’t see the bigger picture or perhaps
even the picture at all.

How do we step out of the story and into a more neutral,
observer state?

There are many ways really.  One is to cultivate a willingness
to suspend judgment about a thing.   Refrain from drawing any
final conclusions.  Understanding that the nature of all things is
continually unfolding.

Another way to slip into one who observes you in the story – without
actually engaging in the whole of it emotionally, is to ask the first
two questions of Byron Katie’s work:

Is this true?
Can I absolutely know that this is true?

Once you ask the questions it seems to automatically snap you out
of being in the story while you question it’s validity in the first
place.

How else might we slip from one who is ‘in the frame’ to one who
is ‘outside of the frame’?  Or phrased Abraham’s way: one who has
his or her nose pressed into ‘what is’ or worse yet :) one who has
his or her face pressed into the pillow of ‘what is’.  A friend of mine
described it as looking at a gorgeous quilt but if you walk up to it,
plant your face up against one square of the quilt, that’s all you ever
see, a tiny section and a blurry one at that.  Step back and the beauty
of the entire quilt begins to take shape.

Step back and allow the Universe to show you the beauty of all your
quilts.  Step back with a faith that all that happens is unfolding for
your good.  Step back with an unwavering faith that this goodness
operates back of all things.

Step back.

Love, Bethie

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fleeting memories
of tangerine streaks
that swept the sky

lying there with you
pressed against my side

muted sounds that edged through silence
the soft rhythm of your breathing
the moist scent of you near

oh, that I could capture this instant
and rest till the curl of a pale crescent moon
raises overhead

I would lay there
and claim this moment
that it shall always
be enough

~elizabeth adams

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This poem is from Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God.
It is written that Rilke received these poems in what he called
“inner dictations”.  Anita Barrows describes it as: “words that
came to him mornings and evenings and that struck him with
their force and persistence.”  Yet the publication of these
poems was delayed and for a few years they were read only
by the woman to whom they were dedicated.  Rilke considered
them to be as private and sacred as prayers.  How grateful I
am that he has shared their sacredness with the rest of the
world as he asks the great questions below: who is it, that
lives this life?

And yet, though we strain
against the deadening grip
of daily necessity,
I sense there is this mystery:

All life is being lived.

Who is living it, then?
Is it the thing themselves,
or something waiting inside them,
like an unplayed melody in a flute?

Is it the winds blowing over the waters?
Is it the branches that signal to each other?

Is it flowers
interweaving their fragrances,
or streets, as they wind through time?

Is it the animals, warmly moving,
or the birds, that suddenly rise up?

Who lives it then? God, are you the one
who is living life?

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Yesterday I visited Whackville.  It’s an interesting place to visit but
thank God, I don’t live there.  Really the moment I found myself
in Whackville, I wondered how the heck I got there followed quickly
by why was I here?  And next met by it’s kissing cousin: how dare
you be here.  :)

Finally, you know what I did?  I gave myself permission to be in
Whackville, no-holes-barred-have-at-it-all-you-want Whackville. Ah,
that made Whackville such an easier place to be.  And as a result
I left it behind in less than a day.  But not until I received all the gifts
it laid out for me to see.

I was facilitated by Philip over at the Field Center.  It all started there.
I thought I was a control freak of mostly myself.  That’s all I was willing
to admit to at the time.  But in Whackville, I saw it all.  I was controlling
of mostly everything except maybe breathing and the beating of my
heart.  And, ok, I have no control over the earth spinning on its axis,
nor the ocean tides.  :)  Everything else, just call me Control Freak.

This was good to see, you know?  Just shine an honest spotlight on it
all.  Reveal the hidden payoff in control, the grand illusion that it would
provide me a safety net from all that I have feared.

And so is there life after control?  You bet there is.  I can’t say I’ve been
reborn, I sort of feel the same but different.  Freer.

I got in the car today and started driving and singing.  I was making up my
own words and my own tune.  I may work on it a bit more and turn it into a
song but I’ll include it below now.

Whackville isn’t such a bad place after all.

“she’s got the sun on her face
lives in a warm friendly place
light pours from heaven above
bathes her in glorious love
she’s got the wind in her hair
no burdens ever to bear”

With love,
Bethie

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