Sacred Pause: Bliss Like This

by Lisa Olson

"You are the whole ocean. Why send out for a sip of dew?" - Rumi

Oh Rumi, my Rumi.

If I am what I’ve been thirsty for, what have I been settling for all my life? To feel completion, wholeness, worth, I have embraced shadow comforts, danced with ghosts, I have entertained demons, I have looked into the faces of faceless people, looking for my own reflection, just wanting to drink of my own well but not knowing it existed deep within me waiting for its own discovery.

My happiness now comes not from quick easy highs and temporal thrills but from a holy sense of deep peace residing in the caverns of my soul. Like a hidden spring it flows through me, in and around crevices, through even my darkest places, always streaming, always flowing and all I need is to turn inward, to fix my gaze upon it, cup my hands toward it, drink from it, and I thirst no more.

Divinity flows through me, ecstasy is mine for the taking, bliss is my birthright.

Is this then, bliss? This moment of stillness and quiet, alone, on a recliner, slight aching in back, eyes swollen still with wake and with allergies, toes in sad pathetic need of a pedicure... Is this too bliss?

Does bliss need to shout from rooftops, announce its presence with cymbals and drums, declaring itself noisily, or can it slide quietly into this body without shouting, without drama, and just be, in me, flowing like a wellspring through me, needing not to tell tales, seeking not attention, just quietly, steadily aware of its own holiness, without the need for chills, spills and goosebumps-- just being, just knowing... it just is.

"Bliss it is in this dawn to be alive and to be me is very heaven." - Wordsworth

(c)2008 Lisa Olson

Sacred Pause: Jaded is So Overrated

by Lisa Olson

"Desperation Nation" the headline read, and I did not click on it. I would not. I'm not "clicking" on this headline that the media keeps trying to shove down my throat with fear-based propaganda and despair as fodder. Suddenly the words "The Economy" have become frightening and threatening. I thought about dressing as "The Economy" for Halloween... it would be ghoulish, no doubt, but I don't want to feed into this monster.

It's not "The Economy" we're afraid of. It's ourselves stripped down that terrifies us. Because if we're not our clothes, our cars, our stuff, our homes... what are we? Who are we? Will we be loved?

I won't buy into all this because I simply don't want to waste time. This is it. The Real Deal. This is what we're given- this reality, this world of potential, experience, this wide and vast canvas to create upon. This is it, and I will not spend my limited days here wallowing in despair for all that is wrong with the world or wallowing in cynicism. I will not. I insist on inhabiting my days.

"Desperation Nation?" I don't think so. If there's a "pervasive" attitude that's sweeping the nation... nobody asked me or my friends for our two cents. I'm still gonna party like it's 1999, as dated as those lyrics may be. I intend to suck as much juice out of this one sweet life, this flash-in-the-pan experience that I will never have again, as much as I possibly can, til there's nothing left but rind, and a seed or two. Doom and Gloom, eat your heart out. You don’t scare me.

I am no Pollyanna. I have dabbled in despair and flirted with doom. I have gone to bed with gloom. I've even had long-term relationships with depression. I am not immune or blind to these feelings. But when given a choice between misery and joy, I'll choose joy, thank you.

When given a choice between hopelessness and hope, I'll take hope.

When given a choice between hiding in the shadows or living in the light, I choose light.

I am not denying the existence or importance or validity of pain, of despair. It's vital, and serves purpose, for without darkness, how would we define the light?

But I've wasted enough time crawling around in the shadows of hopelessness, hiding under rocks, digging around in the dirt of my own despair. And I have no more time for that. If despair should find me- so be it! Bring it on. I am no stranger to despair. Even in despair, I trust in infinite joy, I will always return to my joy. I will find joy waiting for me, ever-present like the sun, though sometimes hidden by a cloud.

Each day, I can reach out for the hand of joy and say "I choose you." I will. I must.

I believe it takes more courage to choose joy, more guts to choose happiness, bigger balls to choose love. Despair and hopelessness are real. Depression is real. Pain is real. Anguish, heartache, loneliness. All real. But what I see so often, among so many gifted, creative, beautiful people is those things being used as a hiding place. As a saga, to serve a story, to justify one's limits. I see depression and despair and darkness and loneliness being used and overused. Abused, by so many brilliant people that were meant for so much more. So many have adopted despair and hopelessness as a way of being in this world, and I think that's a chicken-shit way to live. Just one more way to hide out, stay small, another form of cowardice. A slow death. A dark existence.

When given a choice, I will choose the light. I don't live in a "Desperation Nation." Or if I do, I'm a clueless, silly, happy illegal alien, just passing through.

"I’ve noticed a belief that somehow optimism lacks intelligence and that optimism stems from a lack of experience and naivete. I don’t believe that. I believe optimism is a choice. Cynicism isn’t smarter, it’s just safer." - Jewel

Sacred Pause: What is this longing?

by Lisa Olson

"What would satisfy me? My desires seem endless. I want, I want, I want – food, sex, entertainment, fame, money, gadgets. I fill my life with things that excite me for a moment. Catalogues come in the mail and I look for something new to desire. I am always wanting. No matter how much I get, I never seem to be satisfied. I am stuffed but insatiable.” – Sam Keen

If the UPS man could come every day, it would be so great. I don't know what i enjoy more, the anticipation of a package coming, or the actual opening of the package. The sound of the UPS truck brakes, squealing promisingly in front of my house: he's here for me, for me, he's got something for me. And on days when he doesn't come, I can comfortably fall back on the anticipation. The knowing, the knowing, that there is something coming, just for me, any day now.

It's strange and funny the things we hook ourselves into, the ways we get through our days, the sad and silly ways we find hope and promise, the ways we fill the hole.

There's something about knowing that something is coming that always gets me through, that keeps me alive, something to look forward to, something to open. The smell of a cardboard box upon slicing it open, the feel of a crisp new book in my hands, the book, oh here it is! THIS is the book I've waited for all my life.

Anticipation is one of my favorite past-times, one of my most beloved ways to escape. One day not so long ago, I reached out for the sweet distraction of anticipation, up in my head. Looking for what I once had heard aptly called a 'pocket': One of the most common ways we ditch ourselves, the intensity of our emotions or the plain old mundanity of our days is to hide out in our heads, to find a pocket up there to tuck ourselves into. Fantasies of what we should have done, replays of the past, anticipations of the future, conversations that we've never had, you name it.

On this particular day, I looked for the pocket that would provide me with comfort in thinking about my next package, that would give me a little swig of endorphins, a small jolt of an anticipatory high. I thought for a moment about what I had coming. Suddenly, I had a harsh and most uncomfortable realization.

For the first time in as long as I could remember, there was nothing coming. Nothing at all. No packages, no pending orders, no books, not even any magazines until the following month, there was nothing coming for me. It was a hollow, desperate feeling. It was one of the saddest moments of my life. There's nothing coming, the truth sunk in like emptiness, the words replayed like school yard mockery. There's nothing coming to save me. There's nothing coming.

Deliver me from emptiness. Sometimes it's not evil I need delivery from. it's just the dull ache of my own emptiness. Can I be with this emptiness? And what is this emptiness really, but a longing for God? So much of our lives are spent in longing. So we grab at what we can, failing, again and again to realize that what we long for is not only within our reach, but deeply residing within us, waiting for us to simply behold it, turn toward it. But that requires slipping into the caverns sometimes, or quieting ourselves long enough to really hear, and what we hear might not be what we want to hear. We are afraid to stare at the sun, because someone told us we would go blind. Some of us don't masturbate for the very same reason. Can't say I've ever been worried about that, but I know how to avoid truth with a comfy false belief.

I think that all longings are the longing for God. Whether we long for affection, attention, drugs, alcohol, love, money, stuff, whatever, when we strip down the longing to the hollow, hallowed center, it is emptiness, and it is longing for the Divine.

I am learning to recognize longing for what it really is when it shows up in my life. I am learning to understand longing as a desire to connect with the Beloved within. I am learning that emptiness is a talisman that tells me I've disconnected. I am learning to not go running for instant relief from anything that feels uncomfortable. I am no expert. But I am learning. It's a practice, something I must return to again and again, when the reflex-like impulse to react, to hide, to numb out shows up. I am learning to be with the emptiness. Like any practice, it gets easier the more I practice it. To stay with my emptiness, and not run to fill it, that is something I am only just beginning to experiment with.

I am learning to see that the longing, too, is God.

Sacred Pause: On Truth, Gurus, Detours and Ruby Slippers

by Lisa Olson

This spiritual path you are traveling is exactly the one you are meant to travel. All of it is part of the journey. All of it is sacred. Yes, all of it.

Often we feel we are on the "right" spiritual path until things go "wrong," and we get bamboozled or sidetracked or take a detour to become an addict or develop a compulsion for shopping or shoplifting or get fired or get divorced or get drunk or forget who we are or take up sleeping pills or sleeping around or sleeping all day and then we’ve blown it- we're "off" the spiritual path.

Way back in my church days, we called that "backsliding." It was all very black and white- you were either right with God or going to Hell. You were either saved or damned. you were either washed in the Blood or a back-slidden sinner. So of course, we were set up to be in constant struggle, anytime our humanity showed up and we found ourselves less than "Godly." And so began the split, the rejection of selves, the self-hatred and self-condemnation.

I can't believe that to be true anymore.

The addictions, the shoplifting, the eating disorders, the failed marriages, the broken hearts, the affairs, the distractions, the detours, the pain we face in our very complicated, very human lives- it's all part of the spiritual path. It's all an essential part of the journey.

Of course, these aren't the highest, brightest manifestations of our lives. I'm not saying go out, get wasted, rob a convenience store and sleep with your sister's husband just to write it off as part of your spiritual journey. That would be way too easy, and way too careless. Plus, our actions catch up with us: karma can be a bitch.

But I don't think there are any "detours" on the spiritual path, and I don't think we can ever leave it. The only danger to the spiritual path is unawareness.

But you know what? Funny thing is, even unawareness is part of the spiritual path! Atheism? Part of the spiritual path. Suicide? Part of the spiritual path. Cursing God? Despair? Yep. Part of the path. All of it.

All of it, meaning everything.

Your spiritual journey is all your own. It's meant to be exciting and adventurous. Think of Dorothy on the way to the land of Oz. She had to leave home to find home, just like we do. She thought she needed something outside of herself to get to where she wanted to be. Just like we do. She ends up going through all kinds of crazy shit to find her “guru” - the wizard. Just like we do. Only to find out she had what she needed all along, those ruby slippers, coveted by witches everywhere, to get back to where she wanted to be, just like we do.

As you continue on your spiritual path, I implore you to be as gentle and as compassionate toward yourself as you can possibly be. Keep in mind that it’s pretty normal and human and again, part of the spiritual journey, to at times be detached from your own inner voice, to not “feel” spiritual, to be completely disconnected from your soul’s language.

Even this disconnect is sacred!

We disconnect in order to feel separation. Without separation, we would not recognize connection. We must experience darkness in order to define the light. Without winter, how would we define spring? Without hot, how would we define cold? It's all part of the great and perfect totality.

If you are looking for a spiritual path, look to the ground. You're already on it.

If you’re looking for a guru, look in the mirror. You are what you’ve been looking for.

If you're looking for your sacred text, look within. You already are holy truth.

You're looking for your way back home? Guess what? You're already wearing the ruby slippers.

(c)2008 Written by Lisa Olson

Upcoming Sacred in the City events:
Sun., 10/5, Mon., 10/6: Sacred Start "Walking Prayer" Gatherings: 9-10am, Sun., Mon., Behind the Bath House, White Rock Lake, Dallas. More Info.
Fri. 10/24: Monthly "A Different Kind of Happy Hour" Group Gathering: 6-8:30p, More Info to come

Sacred Pause: "Stupid Construction Site"

by Lisa Olson

On my walk at White Rock Lake this morning, I was enjoying the peaceful serenity, feeling all lovey-dovey, soft and spiritual and began to approach a small construction site. It was loud and dirty and disruptive to my peaceful landscape. I thought “stupid construction site!” to myself, walking toward the abrasive, annoying obtrusion.

I thought about turning around so that I wouldn’t have to pass it. I tried to look the other way and find something ‘better’ to fix my eyes on. I scoffed at it.

Then I plum had me a God-Moment: I responded to my resistance by thinking “Even this is God.” “Even this?” I answered. “Even this.”

As I opened my mind a little, and observed the construction site more closely, I could see past the dirt and the noise at the group of men that were busily constructing a lovely walking bridge. For me.

And, as everything is a metaphor to me (I call myself a meta-whore.) It made me think of my life, and how I approach my own inner construction sites. How quick I am to judge them as inconvenient, messy, unwelcome. Yet each construction project has a purpose, and eventually, I get something beautiful out of it: a bridge to the next step. Healing. Beauty. Growth.

I invite you this week to look at the inconveniences and annoyances life puts on your path in a broader perspective: “Even this is God.”

Whether it’s a construction project of the heart that you’ve bravely taken on, a remodeling of the soul you’re pushing through, or a totally radical life makeover that showed up uninvited, whatever you’re facing and perhaps considering messy, annoying or inconvenient is, in fact, a construction project. And from that project comes something beautiful for your soul’s development, with patience and openness, something miraculous is built - a bridge.

(c)2008 Lisa Olson

"There is only one journey. Going inside yourself." Rainer Maria Rilke

Upcoming Sacred in the City events:
Sacred Start "Walking Prayer" Gatherings: 9-10am, Sun., 9/28, Mon., 9/29, Behind the Bath House, White Rock Lake, Dallas. More Info.