Whoa

Great news:  shopping is not my only way to fill The Void.  There's also food, reading, writing and listening to music! Essentially, anything that will preoccupy the mind from feeling empty and create the illusion of urgency and importance.

On my silent retreat (which I've talked about so much it's like saying, "This one time... at band camp...") I had the opportunity to witness ALL of my vices in a number of different ways.

1.  The food was, for the most part, very yummy, very abundant, and very healthy.  Mid-week we had "cookies" at lunch. Eggless, wheat flour fiber-bites, sweetened with applesauce. Not my idea of dessert. As such, I found myself in the dinning hall during the last walking period of the night eating vanilla yogurt drenched in honey. Pleeeeease.... give me something to satisfy this longing for sweetness!

2.  At one breakfast about midweek they offered sweetened chai. (Waaay better than the cookies.)  I had one glass and it zoomed through my veins like a drug. Instantly I thought, "I need more... I need to go get more before it's gone."  The scarcity recording started... there won't be enough, you won't get your share, there isn't enough to go around.

3.  At the last sit every night there was a little bit of chanting. By the second night the chant was spinning in my head like a 45. It was lovely! I could chant along feeling oh-so-spiritual because these weren't words... it was an official Buddhist chant.  After several nights I started to realize that this was just another ploy of the mind to fixate on something and separate from the moment.

4.  No reading or writing was part of the renunciation of words that I was prepared for.  I get that these can be another way to retell (and root) the "story" of identity.  It can also be very therapeutic and purifying, but it's interesting to take away anything that one leans on strongly.

5.  My fear this year (same as last) was that I wouldn't remember all of the amazing teachings. I wouldn't be able to process the insights and they'd disappear. Nothing would stick and I'd come home unchanged. I even wrote in my journal (irony noted) that perhaps we don't remember something we're not ready for. Even if I wrote the words, they may not have meaning or power in my life.

In some way, all of these experiences reminded me of the same gut-clenching fear that accompanies the scarcity-motivated need to shop. 

Just a little light reflection...

On another note, a consignment store opened directly across from the studio. Coincidence? I think not.

Silence is free

Off to my silent retreat at Spirit Rock on Saturday.  I did have to pay for the 7 days of food and accommodations. But the silence is free.

Money - that strange paper and metal stuff that only has value because we say it does - buys time.

Twice this week I bought someone's time.  

First, I had an energy session with a gifted energy worker. It was uniquely profound.  She moved her hands inches, sometimes feet over my body starting at my feet and moving up. Somehow this allowed the areas of the body to open so excess or blocked energy could release. 

She offered physical, emotional and spiritual ideas about what energy was moving and what was still holding on.  Even though she did not touch me, the sensations where at times very strong and intense, then sometimes so subtle I didn't trust my own feeling of them.  

In yoga, we say that they body remembers everything.  Our cells store memory and emotion that we are not able to process, look at, let move through. It was clear that this is true on the energetic level as well.  There were places that evoked emotion and at the end I was very very tired. 

The interesting money part came at the end. The session was two hours and this person gave me the "friend rate."  I thought even her full price was way too low (considering her training, skill and the time she spent with me), so I gave her a large tip. I was on my way down the sidewalk and she came out of her house to very sweetly dispute the amount of the check.

Multiple things when through my head at once:

1. I thought she'd just appreciate the tip (I did consider that this was masking the darker side of, "I thought she'd think I was fabulous and generous and rich," and I don't think it is).

2. Doesn't she think she's worth that?  I am offering her my perceived value of her time.

3. Now it's all awkward because she wants me to come back in and write a new check and I just want to quietly run away.

Then she said:

If you don't let me charge you the "friend rate," it will be like we're not friends.

Ouch!

Hmmm.  The exchange of money between friends can be difficult. But I don't think it has to be.

I used to pay Madeleine for monthly massages and that was not awkward. I take money from my friends when they come to the studio and that's not.... oh, actually that is awkward.  I'm often compelled to give discounts, or free classes, or give them the reasons that I can't do those things.

Sigh. 

It's so easy to see these things in other people and think that I'd be better at handling a given situation. It's that darn the people in our lives are mirrors so we can see ourselves thing.

This clearly deserves some more time. Which I'll have a lot of next week.

And there are way more words here than I wanted to use. Making up for next week when they will be stuck in my head with no emergency exit.

By the way, the second bit of time I bought was a Rolfing session today. It too was amazing in every opposite way.

And she charged me full price. And I tipped her. And we were both happy.