30 Jan Resistance
This morning I woke up early, after a night of lucid dreaming. Well maybe it wasn’t lucid dreaming. But I was having the experience of knowing I was dreaming, and knowing I was lying in bed, yet was also captivated by the stories unfolding in my dreams. Plus, oddly enough, I knew what time it was.
When I finally did get out of bed, I started reading “Tattoos on the Heart,” a book by Gregory Boyle. As I made my way through the first chapters I could not stop crying. I was deeply touched by Boyle’s stories of love and compassion. I was awed by his ability to see wholeness/beauty/God in gang members from the roughest parts of LA. As I read and cried my entire body relaxed. All week I had been aware of growing tension in my back, in the area behind my heart. Finally, relief. Something was shifting, something in me was letting go.
Most weeks I paint on Thursday nights. It’s rare that I suffer through an evening of painting, not that I suffered this Thursday, but I could tell I wasn’t completely letting go into where painting wanted to take me. Something was holding back, something wasn’t surrendered, and Barbara and I spoke of how, even with that awareness, there is no forcing that deeper letting go. I had this same feeling during the intensive with Michael. There were things I wasn’t seeing clearly, especially my view of myself and my life, but I couldn’t force a clearer seeing. Michael and I talked a lot about whether I knew I was God, and whether I knew that everyone else was too. The answer during much of those three days was no. Especially in regard to myself. Why is seeing God in myself such a hurdle? And how is it that some part of me knew to read Boyle’s book, knew those stories would break open my heart and open my ability to see clearly again, at least in this moment?