28 Jan The Beginning
This year I’m apprenticing with Michael Neill. It’s not a small investment of either time or money, and after much time pondering whether or not I could manage to do it, I took the leap. The apprenticeship starts off with an intensive at Michael’s lovely home in LA. Those three days were amazing, yet in a surprising way, very quiet. Michael facilitates what seems to be a casual conversation, all the while helping you to see something that is transforming you to your core.
I had driven down to LA, and was a bit apprehensive when I left on the last day of the intensive in the midst of evening rush hour. I spent that first hour sitting in the infamous traffic of the Los Angeles freeways, but then I was off into the darkness, off on the long drive north through California’s central valley.
That drive home felt like how I experience life. I know I want to be home, and I have a sense of where that is, but I don’t know exactly what’s in the way, or what the journey will be like to get there. I want to speed through any discomfort so I can just be home. There is tremendous desire for the comfort of home, but I’ve got to find my way through what seems like endless darkness.
The intensive was that way too. I dislike talking about my past, but could see, with Michael’s help, that resisting what comes up – especially feelings in relationship to my past – only stops me from being in the moment, stops me from being fully present to the beauty that is. The area of my life where I feel the least clarity has to do with my family and past events. It’s the area where I can fall into a mind space where I can insist there is no god, that there can’t possibly be a benevolent force that has my back.
I’m amazed how many people in my life are certain they know exactly what I need to do to heal my past. All I’ve ever truly wanted is for someone to hold my hand when I feel sad, to be with me and to love me in this moment, to not try to fix those parts that can feel so broken.
Because the truth is, I’m not broken. The bigger, truer, deeper part of me always knows that. But there have been many times when I have thought that the broken bits were all that existed of me. But they are just relics from the events of a very human life. I have spent too much time, and too many resources, trying to fix something that doesn’t exist other than as a thought, as memory. The past is gone.
In some misguided way, it’s been how I have known myself. Broken, yet trying to hide it. Trying to hide my human experience. Trying to hide my divinity, mostly from myself.