There’s this completely horrid and dislike-able character on television or in a movie. The mean boss. The snobby girl. The vindictive teacher. The bully.

But then you find out that there’s a reason for their horribleness. A reason that makes them seem vulnerable because of the deep and awful loss they’ve experienced.

And once that reason is known, you start to find out that They’re Really Not So Bad.

I’m positive there is already a name for this phenomenon, and if someone has already found it on tvtropes.org, please tell me!

Lost in a tragic _____________ incident.

The awful boss was being so unreasonable about the deadline, but then it turned out that her entire family had perished in a tragic deadline incident.

The sadistic sergeant who sticks to the rules so strictly — he’s only been that way since his pet koala died in a tragic rulebook incident.

The boyfriend who refuses to talk about his feelings or even admit he has them, but then it all kind of makes sense once you discover that his brother was actually defenestrated in a tragic communicating incident.

It happens.

We all have our reasons.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember but we do.

But there’s another point here too.

When I write blog posts or teach a class or do whatever it is I do at Rally (Rally!), I always want people to know they can change the language.

If I’m referencing sovereignty and that’s not your word, re-work it.

If I’m talking about superpowers but superpowers are uncomfortable for you, re-think them.

It’s your experience. You get to have your own relationship with it.

And there are two ways to work with a word that doesn’t speak to you. You can rewrite the word (invent!) or you can rewrite the definition (translate!).

Either way, you’ll probably want to do some unpacking.

Unpacking is a metaphor, of course.

It just means figuring out what your associations are with a particular word or concept, both positive and negative.

Let’s see… I was in this yoga class and the teacher kept talking about SUPPORT, and I noticed that I started feeling uncomfortable. What qualities, aspects or attributes of support live inside of my personal definition of this word?

Support has — for me — some good things, like:

[+safety] [+sturdiness] [+held] [+can't hurt myself because I am cared for]

But I also have some not good associations:

[+having to depend on others] [+vulnerability] [+stuck]

Once you know what’s in there, you have choices.

You can decide to rewrite your definition:

From now on, I choose to interpret support to mean that I have internal and external resources which hold me up and keep me grounded and safe.

Support includes my own strengths, and also maybe a community of people that I can rely on.

It can also mean things like the earth, the floor, oxygen — anything that physically helps me move, walk, breathe and be.

Or you can use the metaphor mouse technique to find a new story or a new name for it.

I still don’t love support, but I adore the idea of a hammock. So from now on, whenever she says SUPPORT, I’m going to whisper HAMMOCK to myself, and feel the feeling of the hammock.

Either of these is much better than being in resistance.

It’s no fun thinking to yourself: Aaaargh support is so stupid!

It’s no fun being the person secretly grieving. How can they talk about support when I lost everything I loved in a tragic supporting incident! I’m being a little silly here but sometimes that’s really how it feels.

Sometimes we have pain around words and we don’t even know it.

So if a word doesn’t resonate with you, there isn’t anything wrong with you.

And there isn’t anything wrong with the word.

It just meant that it’s time to give yourself a new word or a new definition. Or both.

Unless, of course, you lost your ability to do that in a tragic dictionary incident.

Back to the ice cream.

Last night I was teaching Shiva Nata at the Playground, and we were coming up with words for the different positions.

The horizontals were Ice Cream, Panda, Sandbox and Barnacle. The verticals were Scrumptious, Cloud, Clam and Orange. It was highly entertaining.

It’s a cloud, shaped like a panda, in a sandbox, eating orange ice cream. Scrumptious panda has barnacle clams? The oranges are cloudy!

But even with silly, ridiculous play-words, you still never know what people’s personal baggage is. Who knows what tragic ice cream panda incidents live in their past?

Everyone has their stuff.

You don’t know what their associations are with these things. And even though it’s unlikely that they suffered awful losses in a tragic orange scrumbox clam-cloud incident, you never what what’s going on for them.

So it’s always, always, always useful to remind people that they have the power to interact consciously with language.

And if they don’t like a word, they can investigate their relationship with that word.

Or not. But change the word or rewrite it or replace it.

Once you remember that you have the power to do that with a word, you have the power to do it with anything.

Play! And comment zen for the giant blanket fort playroom.

If you want to invent ridiculous and imaginary possible tragic incident backstories with me, you are welcome to.

If you want to invent a new name for that particular trope, that works too.

If you want to rewrite words or investigate definitions or do some metaphor mousing, go for it!

As always, we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We take responsibility for our stuff and recognize that it’s ours.

We take care of ourselves and each other by making space for people to have their own experience and not giving unsolicited advice or telling people how to feel. That’s all.

Ice cream and pandas for everyone! Unless you don’t like either of those, in which case you don’t have to have one. I’m sure we have something else in the treasure box. What would you like instead?

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Metaphor Mouse and some post-imperialist destuckifying
• Very Personal Ads #131: whoah-struck!
• Hello, January.

But then you don’t.

And sometimes this state of Whoah This Is Really Not Happening is related to the fact that the some part of the project itself is kind of scaring you. Like maybe its existence, for example.

(Tiny little popsicle stick reminder here that avoidance is normal! And it always makes sense even when it doesn’t.)

Anyway, this is where proxying comes in.

Proxying!

Proxying is the sneakiest way of working on a project that I know of.

It is sneakier even than the OOD and sneakier than metaphor mousing.

It is outrageously sneaky.

Because you’re basically pretending to work on something else.

Something else that doesn’t scare you even slightly.

But that something else is a proxy. It’s a Secret Stand-In for the thing you really do want to make progress on.

Let’s say you want to write a novel.

What?! What?!

Instant monster freakouts ensue. Total paralysis! Devastating attacks of WDYTYA.*

* Who Do You Think You Are: one of the monsters we negotiate with in the Monster Coloring Book.

So you pretend that you don’t want to write a novel.

And instead you’re just going to ___________________ instead.

Lalala! I’m not writing a novel. Just kidding, monsters! I’m learning how to play chess. See?

And then you problem-solve for learning how to play chess. Assuming that learning how to play chess doesn’t scare you. (If it does, you’re going to need another proxy.)

But either way: you’re actually problem-solving for your secret project.

Like this:

• Hmmm, what steps might need to happen in order for me to learn how to PLAY CHESS?
• Who are my allies and resources going to be when I am learning to PLAY CHESS?
• I wonder what challenges I might run into once I start PLAYING CHESS.
• How can I move around my schedule to create pockets of time for learning to PLAY CHESS.
• How will I know when I’m ready to PLAY CHESS with other people and let them watch while I’m playing?
• How will I make sure that I feel safe, supported, sovereign and all the other things I want to feel while learning about CHESS?

(You don’t have to shout your proxy, but I like to say mine extra-loud for the benefit of the monsters…)

I did this at the last Rally.

Actually, I proxy almost all of my projects at Rally (Rally!).

But I was taking some notes about the giant project of producing a Shiva Nata dvd, which is the latest thing completely terrifying me right now.

I was feeling so intimidated. I couldn’t even say it without having a coughing fit, which is a sure sign that a proxy is in order.

And my monsters were laughing so hard at the idea of me doing this that they were choking a little too.

So I proxied it.

Lalala! I’m not making a dvd! I’m just compiling some business advice to give my friend for her food cart venture…

And then I came up with a list of tips I could give her for setting up her FOOD CART (see? see?).

Things she’d want to keep in mind. Possible first steps. Stuff to look out for.

It was pretty obvious how most of them translated to the real project, but it was all in secret code. Take that!

If you’re not sure when to use a proxy…

Let’s see.

When you start to think about a project and:

• you can’t say it out loud
• you break out in hives
• you hit a wall
• you suddenly want to go to sleep
• you urgently have to look up that one Hall and Oates song right this minute
• ohmygod if you don’t get to eat a popsicle and then clean under the fridge, the whole world is going to fall apart….

Well, in that case you probably want a proxy.

Lalala! I’m not launching a website! I’m studying octopi and their mating habits! No worries. Nothing to see here.

Why proxying is so magical. And sneaky. Mostly sneaky.

Your monsters and sad, scared selves and internal programming all want to keep you safe.

It’s a full-time job, and it’s a lot of work. They’re pretty exhausted. They want a break from scaring you almost as much as you want a break from being stressed out, but they can’t stop because you keep considering these projects of Doom.

But when you choose something for your proxy that doesn’t threaten to bring your shining radiance into the world…

Lalala! I’m not creating a product! I’m just documenting stuff about gardening.

Yawn. Snore. Your monsters are all asleep.

They’re so bored. There’s nothing to do!

They could try to bug you with “why are you wasting your time on this?!” but usually they’re just relieved you’ve backed off that Giant Scary Project of Doom you were so rashly and recklessly considering.

They poke their heads out and find you aren’t doing anything hazardous. Phew. Now they can take a break.

Lalala! I’m not planning a vacation! Me? I’m just going to write some notes about the history of California.

Tips for proxying!

Obviously, we are invoking the People Vary rule, so you may have to experiment and find out what works for you.

Often it helps if the proxy project is something you do all the time and is not-stressful for you.

Or you might try having a proxy project that’s completely preposterous so the proxying itself can turn into a goofball creative writing practice

You might always use the same proxy. Or you might have a box of them. Foxy hydroxy proxies.

There is no way to proxy wrong (that’s for your “You’re probably doing it wrong!” monster), but there is a lot of room for experimentation and trying stuff.

The main thing is that this is a form of playing. So we play.

Play with me? And comment zen for today.

This is definitely an advanced practice — it can take some time to get used to.

As always: we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We make space for everyone else to have their stuff, and we take responsibility for our experience here.

We do this through agreeing to not give each other unsolicited advice, and by paying attention to what we need.

If you want to play in the comments with this theme of proxying, that would be lovely.

We can brainstorm Silly Proxies, ask clarifying questions, come up with examples or start proxying. Whatever you like.

Love to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.

p.s. It’s Plum Duff days! Through Thursday morning.

Plum Duff! A special occasion and the thing sailors looked forward to most at sea.

(This one time? A ship-wide riot because the cook didn’t add molasses.)

Anyway. It’s officially Plum Duff time from now until Thursday morning or as supplies last (password = extraraisins).

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Friday Chicken #146: Get up for the downstroke.
• Very Personal Ads #97: mmmm toast
• The Treasure Map

And I’ve been thinking about all the beautiful wishes that have been wished for, and about everything that has happened as a part of this.

We can talk about some of those incredible Very Personal Ad stories at some point. But today I wanted to talk about those times when you ask for something and you don’t get it, because this is important.

First a hug!

There is nothing more frustrating than not getting what you want.

Oh, wait. Except getting up the courage to ask for it and then still not getting it. That’s even worse.

It’s an awful feeling. Vulnerable and lost.

This is the hug for all those times you have experienced felt the pain of unfulfilled wishes.

For all the various parts of you who have craved love, support and sustenance, and didn’t receive it when they needed it most. I am so sorry.

And after the hug, let’s talk about Very Personal Ads and how the whole thing works.

What a Very Personal Ad is.

A Very Personal Ad is about discovery.

It’s how you find out what your relationship is with the thing you want. And with the wanting.

That’s because it’s a destuckification practice.

And like any destuckification practice, Very Personal Ads are about conscious, loving, mindful self-inquiry. Playful self-investigation.

You’re looking for information. You’re trying to get clarity about what it is you are really and truly asking for.

You’re looking for the qualities and essence of the thing you want. And for new ways to interact with both the object of your desire and with desire itself.

You are collecting data about how you interact with the world and about what needs to happen for you to feel comfortable and safe connecting to the essence of the thing you want.

What a Very Personal Ad isn’t.

A magic fountain you throw pennies into. Suspicious beans that one might theoretically trade a cow for.

Of course, sometimes — even fairly often — outrageously and seemingly magical things happen as a result of writing Very Personal Ads.

They happen in part as a result of the new-found clarity and sense of purpose that come from investigating your relationship with the thing you want.

The problem with treating Very Personal Ads (or any other destuckification practice) as a form of external salvation, is that then we’re relinquishing responsibility. It’s like handing over your sovereignty.

If I give the tooth fairies and the fountains power over my happiness and well-being, I’m pretty much always going to end up disappointed.

But when I stay connected to myself and to the conscious, loving, curious, investigative approach, I will always learn something useful and vital about myself and how I operate. And something about faith as well.

An example of a Very Personal Ad not working.

“I want a million dollars! I want a new job. I want the perfect girl/boyfriend. I want ten new clients.”

It might work. It might not. It’s like the fountain thing. It couldn’t hurt. Toss the penny in if you want to.

But it’s not really a Very Personal Ad because there is no curiosity, no play, no experimentation, no mindfulness, no self-inquiry.

And how you would make that Very Personal Ad start working.

Let’s take the ask for the million dollars.

And put it through the filter of the conscious, loving, curious, mindful, playful destuckification appproach:

“Okay. I’m noticing that I just named a sum which scares me. I’m noticing that I can’t even say it out loud. Oh, and also this: when I think about large sums of money, I get this tightness in my throat. Almost like I can’t breathe.

So maybe what I’m asking for is to feel comfortable having — or even wanting — larger sums of money. And to have that comfort in my body too.

I’m also noticing a lot of internal rules about how things can come to me or that I have to work insanely hard for things and even then it’s not okay to get them.

It seems like this is about safety and trust. So one of my asks is to get better at bringing safety and trust into my life in relation to money and in general. And to brainstorm ways to get more comfortable with receiving.”

That is powerful stuff. And each week you can check in to see where you’re at, you can use what you have learned to edit and alter your request

The truth about Very Personal Ads.

As long as it’s a conscious practice, it can’t not work.

You get information about who you are and how you function. You connect to the essence of the wanting. For example:

How do I bring more safety, support and sovereignty into my life?

And then you try stuff. And you keep trying stuff.

You test your hypotheses. You do a spangly revue review.

After one hundred weeks of asking for three or four things a week, and several months of doing daily Very Personal Ads in my Hello, Day ritual, I can say that they always work.

Do I always get what I want? Of course not.

But I always get useful information that can lead me to what I want. Or to understanding how I’m getting in the way of what I want, and why I might be doing that.

And the hug again.

Every once in a while someone will say to me:

“I wrote a VPA for X but I didn’t get it so I stopped writing VPAs.”

And then I give them a hug.

Because that’s the only relevant response in that moment.

The moment of pain not the time to explain why. It’s not the time to respond to the content of their experience: just to the hurt.

It’s like someone you love saying to you: “I started looking at why my relationships are so painful but it’s a mystery so now I’m not going to love anyone again.”

You can’t really convince them to not give up on love. At least not immediately. All you can do is give them love.

So I know that a lot of what I have said here might not sink in right away. And if all you want to take from this is the hug, that’s fine by me.

The answer is usually somewhere in the ask.

And that’s why we keep asking.

But the asking is never prescriptive.

It’s always about wondering, discovering, finding out and being willing to be wrong about pretty much everything.

And comment zen for today.

The usual: we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process. It takes time.

We let other people have their stuff, and we don’t tell each other what to do.

What I would love today:

Stories of how Very Personal Ads (ones you shared here or made silently in head/heart) resulted in you discovering something new or interesting about yourself or the thing you were asking for.

p.s. Should go without saying but of course Shiva Nata is the great destuckifying pattern-untangler of all times. Most of my VPAs have been helped by doing some shivanautical flailing in order to get the insight needed to change the patterns.

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• A sandwich, a magic wand, desire, yes-but.
• Crossing the Line.
• Except.

Whenever he visits Hoppy House, I know that he’ll bring along crumpled paper bags filled with marvelous and unlikely things.

A loaf of bread he baked on top of his pot-bellied stove. A toy chicken that lays pretend eggs. A ridiculously enormous supply of my favorite feta. Beeswax candles. Something he found in the woods that makes a good tea or an unusual snack. Like pine tips.*

* I just found this entertaining post about pine tips. See also this one for recipes.

Once — at a wedding — he gave me a toy car wrapped in old newspapers in a shoebox inside of a shoebox inside of another shoebox. The car was blue. The real present was in the trunk.

I could go on.

Widdershins! One of his favorite words.

Widdershins comes from the fantastic German word widersinnig (of course it does!), which means something like against common sense.

I think of it more as against the grain. Which is basically my uncle.

Widdershins means taking a course contrary to the apparent motion of the sun — or going in a direction opposite to the usual.

Yes. Going in a direction opposite to the usual.

It is also quite fun to say. Widdershins!

Like opposite day, only better.

When I go for a walk in the park with my uncle, he says, Let’s go Widdershins! Do you want to?

And we do. I didn’t even realize that I always walked around the park the same way, but it feels weird and awesome to go the other way. It’s brain-tingly. Like in Shiva Nata when everything changes so that it’s similar … but different.

Svevo told me that when he teaches P.E. (he’s a sometimes substitute teacher at an elementary school), the kids unconsciously run around the track or play their games exactly the same way.

He taught them Widdershins! And now whenever he teaches, they ask “ooh, can we please do it widdershins?”

It’s magic. I love it so much.

And like on Rally.

When we’re on Rally (Rally!), I am constantly reminding people about another useful phrase, this one in Hebrew:

Meshaneh makom meshaneh mazal.

It means: Change your place. Change your luck.

It means: when you change perspective, your fortune changes too.

In my experience, the people who struggle most with their projects during Rally are often the same people who don’t move around. They stay mostly in the same room, the same position, the same attitude.

When we flail the shivanautical flail, they’re usually standing in the same place and getting frustrated about the same mistakes (in Shiva Nata mistakes are what we’re going for).

It’s not always fun to mix things up. And of course, safety first — you don’t want to ignore your comfort zone.

But if you can change your perspective? Do it. Widdershins!

And like Pineapple Upside Down days.

Pineapple Upside Down days are what I call weekends.

I’ve been deep in the practice of Not Working Weekends for several months now, and it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

The thing that has helped most is not thinking of them as weekends.

Instead, thanks to both Hiro and Cairene, I think of Saturday and Sunday as the days when everything is unlike how it normally is.

I take down the pirate duck flag (the Jolly Selma!) and raise the flag of Upside Down.

It is imaginary. And it features a carton of take-out with the invisible slogan Thai food for breakfast!

Not that that’s what I do. It’s just the symbol of Everything Is Different Now. How is this night different from all other nights? Etc etc. Widdershins!

And like Shiva Nata itself.

You learn a pattern. You take it apart.

You use the new pattern to take apart the old one. But you can’t get too attached to the new one either because the next one will be even crazier.

It teaches you ADAPTABILITY. AGILITY. FLEXIBILITY. FLOW.

The things that are most important in life and in business.

Oh, everything is like this now?! Okay. Got it. I can handle that.

That is power. Accepting the new way, and also accepting that it won’t always be the new way. Good for the body and good for the brain. Widdershins!

And like yesterday.

I was rewriting the page about the Shiva Nata Training in September.

Now known as:

The Shivanautical Academy of Hilarity and Play presents the most brilliant, fun and sparkly Shiva Nata Training ever!

And it was so damn hard.

I knew what I wanted to say but not how to say it, and I kind of … stopped believing that I ever could.

So I threw ten thousand panicking temper tantrums about how impossible it was.

But then I remembered about going the opposite direction.

Once I’m going an opposite way, it almost doesn’t matter in opposite of what.

I can start at the end and reverse-engineer. Or go randomly. Or tear everything up and start over. The point is, not in the way that I would normally go.

And now the new page is up and it is so much better.

Widdershins! Yes, I can’t stop.

Apply to anything and stir.

So. Comment zen for today!

Here’s what I would love:

• Many happy exclamations of Widdershins!
• Ideas, examples and stories about approaching things in an unlikely way or turning something around.
• I would also appreciate some rejoicing with me over having finished the Shiva Nata training page and about how outrageously great those three days are going to be and how we’re going to be doing things widdershins the whole time.

That is all. As always, we all have our stuff and we’re all working on our stuff. We own our stuff, and we’re respectful of other people’s stuff.

Love all around. And exclamation points. Widdershins!

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Tis the season.
• Friday Chicken #175: let’s bring back the phrase Hot Diggity!
• Friday Chicken #170: Chicken takes the gold!

The woman working there asked me where I dance and I said, oh I don’t dance.

Actually it was more like this:

Oh! No no no no no. I don’t actually DANCE.

As if DANCE is some concept or thing so far removed from me and my entire life that she might as well have asked me when I trained to be a rodeo clown.

Interesting. By which I mean: kind of hilarious but also disturbing.

Let’s look at this.

About three seconds after I said it, I realized how incredibly incongruous a thing it was to think.

Even though apparently I do think it.

I had to stop and make a list about why this might be something else I’m wrong about because even if my monsters have convinced me that I’m not a dancer, look at all these things that are also true:

The list.

Point 1: I am the number two teacher in the world of something called…wait for it… Dance of Shiva.

And even if I don’t consider it to be dance, it’s still a movement technique. It’s agility and coordination training. It’s flailing and flying, which are dance-like.

Point 2: Plus I’ve taught this method to professional dancers and choreographers in order to help them be better at what they do, namely: DANCING.

Point 3: I have been dancing for my entire life.

Point 4: Actually, I still attend a few dance classes every week.

Point 5: When I was nineteen I had a gig as the assistant choreographer for a children’s traveling folk dancing troupe. I also taught dance at a summer camp. Oh, and I taught Ironic Aerobics and Dork Dancing at last year’s Week of Destuckification program.

Yes.

But oh god no I’m not a dancer.

My fuzzball monsters were extra sneaky with this one because the sabotage had been so subtle I hadn’t even realized that they were there.

It was so obviously and unquestionably true that dancing has nothing to do with me. That dancer is something completely OTHER. It was easy for me to speak without thinking because I already knew the answer.

But then I remembered that this exact same thing happened last summer.

Here it is again.

The day before I flew to Taos last July to teach at Jen Louden’s Writer’s Retreat, I went to get a massage.

The massage therapist wanted to know what I was going to be doing in Taos, and I said teaching at a writing retreat.

She said, “Oh, you’re a writer!”

And of course I went into instant stuttering denial. Explaining that actually I was going there to teach yoga and other forms of movement cough – dance! and brain training, and that I don’t really write.

Even though this is demonstrably false.

This was the same writer’s retreat at which I had also taught the year before and gone through the exact same thing then.

Identity is funny.

Yes. Yes it is.

Just thinking about everything that comes together to create a sense of self…

The mind-boggling collection of internal rules about who gets to self-define as what. And why you don’t get to be a whatever-it-is.

The way we silently agree to be put into one box or another.

The number of flying shoes and perceived flying shoes that we’ve internalized over the years.

I’m remembering the girl at school who told me that my arms weren’t graceful enough for me to take ballet. “I guess you could always try gymnastics,” she said.

Remembering walking into my summer art classes, looking longingly at the kids doing jazz and tap.

And being determined not to admit that I wanted to be there too. Because I was so afraid of discovering that I wasn’t any good at it.

Identity is also fluid.

That’s the good part. Or at least, the reassuring part.

When we get to recognize the internal rules for what they are, we get to start deprogramming and destuckifying.

We get to stop being impressed by what the old rules say.

And then it’s not about I am a ___________ or I am not a __________.

It’s just play. It’s costumes and exploration and experimentation.

It’s messing around with choosing communities, changing metaphors, and rethinking how you approach the culture of your you-ness.

Hard stuff. But also amazing. Scary. But also empowering.

What happens next.

Here’s the funny part.

The best tool that I know of for taking apart these kinds of deeply internalized rules (“I don’t get to be a dancer because x, y and z”) is Shiva Nata.

So I am going to be using dance to take apart the pattern that says I don’t get to claim dance for myself, and to bring in the new patterns to replace the old ones.

I’m going to dance by doing algorithms with my body and making connections in space. I’m going to dance by whirling and blocking and crossing the midline.

I’m just not going to call it that. Until I am.

And comment zen for today…

Alright. Here goes. I do not wish to be told that actually I am a dancer, even though I know it’s meant to be reassuring.

And I don’t want to talk about how actually we need to get beyond identifying with one thing or another because we’re all one with everything.

Instead I want to think out loud about the bigger theme: the various ways that we deny or hide from aspects of ourselves.

So if you’ve ever had trouble admitting that you are a thing, do a thing, have a connection to a thing, I would love to hear more of these stories.

As always, we let everyone have their stuff and we don’t give each other advice (unless people ask).

Love to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.

p.s. If you’re considering coming to the Shiva Nata teacher training in September, please know that not being a dancer and never planning on being one is absolutely fine! Disastrous uncoordinated flailing is what we’re going for!

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Very Personal Ads #119: Zombie Nata
• The questions
• Thoughts and notes about thoughts and notes.

Permission to not know. Or not know how.

Permission to not have to follow everything to the end, whatever that is. Walking out of the movie is okay. So is changing the project.

Permission to wish for aspects of someone else’s superpowers, knowing that this does not in any way diminish theirs.

Permission to flail around and make mistakes, like we do in Shiva Nata.

To try things. To be wrong and have that be okay.

Permission to forget.

Even if you’ve forgotten about something that’s really important to you.

And permission to then remember it again.

When you’re ready.

Permission to be in the stuck for a while.

To hit a wall. Maybe even lots of walls.

To find yourself in the land of plateau. To stop and start. To stop and not be ready to start.

To put off X [example: reading my book on procrastination!] for as long as you want, without thinking that this is a sign that you will never get around to it.

It isn’t. It’s your process.

Seriously. It’s called the dissolve-o-matic for a reason. Dissolving doesn’t happen through force.

Permission to let everyone else have their stuff.

To return everyone else’s projections, as Hiro says.

To remember that the rising tide lifts all boats — what is good for others is not bad for you.

To cry when you need to cry and laugh when you need to laugh.

To not have to justify yourself to anyone.

Permission to not be ready.

To not have answers.

To not have a five year plan.

To not know what your thing is. To not have a thing!

To hide. To scramble. To wonder. To not know what you want. To not apologize for wanting it when you do know.

To come to the shivanautical teacher training even if you have no idea what you’re doing, just because it’s tingly.

Permission to make your own permission slips.

And tape them to popsicle sticks and wave them around, if you feel like it.

Permission to know that permission does not come from me.

It is yours. Amnesty belongs to you — it is an inherent thing like sovereignty, not something that I have and hand out. It’s everywhere.

I am going to the Playground to mess around with glitter pipe cleaners (arts and crafts supplies are so much cooler now than when I was a kid!) and make some more permission slips.

Aside! Do you know Amy? Amy also makes wearable permission slips (I’m pretty sure this is one of the ideas that she came up while rallying it up at Rally!).

If you would like to invent things to go on permission slips and share them here, that would be lovely.

And an extra permission slips for our permission slips to not have to be interesting, original or whatever. They are reminders. They exist for us.

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Friday Chicken #137: Bounce. Fly. Bounce. Fly.
• Generating perfect simple solutions (part 2?)
• The Book of Superpowers.

It’s completely brilliant in a fractal flowers sort of way.

The idea is this:

Everything you’re choosing to do for yourself probably has some sort of purpose or intention.

But don’t stop there.

Not only can you set some sort of intention about what you want, but you can also toss in everything else you want to work on as well, no matter how unrelated it seems.

Doing some sort of healing process for your back? Acupuncture for your knee? Or maybe you’re visiting your accountant for advice or having a difficult conversation.

Throw it all into the pot.

Without having to know how it’s going to work. Just naming the want.

Healing this ankle, please! Into the pot. To have some sort of insight about this relationship that isn’t working. Into the pot. And I’d really to get back to dancing. Into the pot. What do I know about these piles? Into the pot. Letting go of this old painful misunderstanding. Into the pot!

As if you’re making soup, and the thing you’re actively working on is the main ingredient or the type of soup. And everything else is vegetables from the garden and seasoning and surprises.

Or like a giant, messy, awesome Very Personal Ad.

We do this when I teach yoga.

That’s old Turkish lady yoga, of course.

We just throw it all into the pot.

Whatever we’re there to do (breathe, relax, stretch, be curious about our bodies, become stronger, happier and more resilient). Into the pot!

And all the things we’re secretly there to do. All the things we wish for.

The things we want in that moment, whatever they are:

Safety, peace, light-heartedness, support, companionship, solitude, inspiration, trust, freedom, simplicity. Into the pot.

And the things we want to let go of. Into the pot.

Not just with yoga, of course.

We do it with Shiva Nata. At Rally (Rally!).

Did you see the wonderful new pictures on the Rally page? Yay!

I do this with clients too. We throw everything into the pot.

And then we look for the essence.

We look for the essence, and then we throw that into the pot.

For example, what’s the essence of wanting to lose twenty pounds?

It depends on the person, of course. But it might be something like “feeling strong, radiant and more at home in my body.”

What’s the essence of making more money?

It might be peace and security. It might be freedom and possibility.

Whatever it is…into the pot it goes.

What the pot is.

It’s the thing that contains desire.

The pot contains desire and distills it into something you can use. An insight, a metaphor, an infusion of goodness, a strengthening of your force field, a glimpse of what might be possible.

I used the magic of throwing things into the pot this morning in the bath.

I wanted the bath to relax my aching muscles, help me download a Shiva Nata lesson for today’s Rally into my brain, and to teach me something about sovereignty (I did — it’s related to generosity, weird).

It all got thrown into the pot.

And now my job today is to notice. To notice and to release expectations.

And to keep tossing things into the pot, of course.

And comment zen for today…

Since I have extra superpowers today from being at Rally (Rally!) and hanging out in the Playground where everything is possible…

I have set up a very special pot for all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.

And you can bring all your wishes, desires and hopes for the day or the week or for your life and drop them into the pot.

You can find the essence. You can just say the thing you’d like to feel, experience, perceive, receive or know.

You can do it here in the comments or silently in your heart.

It all counts. Into the pot!

As with any conscious, mindful, loving practice, this one can bring up our stuck. So we make room for it. We find out what it needs. We give that need to the pot too.

And, as always, we let people have their own experience and we don’t give each other unsolicited advice (unless people specifically ask, in which case, go for it).

xox

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Hello, September
• Working with pain.
• Regret. And some patterns. And decisions.

All the snow globes have been shaken, and everything is sifting and settling in new and remarkable ways.

But processing it? Still a little incoherent. And useful. So here is some of what has come up in my journal, as I prepare for Rally (Rally!).

What I want from this Rally

A giant permission slip to not work on the thing I was going to work on. At least, not to work on it directly, but instead to fractal flower it.

I want to go back to the piling and the depiling, and reconfigure my relationship to the piles, something deeper, more powerful, not really sure what it is.

Oh, but my fuzzball monsters do not like this plan. They say there is no money in this and also waste of time waste of time.

So. Back to what’s also true.

I know that the essence of this old pattern of piling and hating the piles and fearing the piles and meeting the piles is about safety and spaciousness.

And if everything is connected, this new depiling could be a way of creating the spaciousness necessary to build the right frame for the thing I was originally going to work on.

The frame holds everything, remember?

The monsters are considering this. They are gnawing on their hands. But not in a menacing way. Just deep in thought.

They say yes but yes but yes but. The stuttering loop of yes-but.
What is it, guys? What do you need to happen so that you will feel safe and supported again?

Here’s the yes-but.

YES BUT YOU’LL JUST CREATE MORE PILES SO WHAT’S THE POINT OF GIVING YOUR PRECIOUS TIME TO SOMETHING THAT DOESN’T USE YOUR CREATIVE GENIUS?!

Aw. You guys think I have creative genius? I knew it!

So listen, I have to tell you something, monsterlets.

On the second day of the last Rally, we investigated the online piles. We tracked why things pile and how they pile and where the iguanas go.

Then we deleted 865 Direct Messages. And you said that within a month we’d be back where we started.

So?

So here we are, three weeks later. And how many DMs are in there? None. Zero. Still.

That’s because our creative investigative depiling team was able to identify all the ways (seventeen!) in which I was creating piles, so I could stop doing that.

And we also came up with our chart of the Thirteen Most Common Iguana Species, which we use all the time.

It gave me a system for handing things off. And for not creating. And for deleting when I’m done.

So that particular form of piling is done. Same with the Frolicsome Bar. So things can change, even when you say they can’t.

Sure, there is value in regular maintenance. And yes, maybe doing casual decluttering doesn’t shift the bigger pattern (though I think everything shifts the bigger pattern in some way, really).

But this is different. This is about conscious, mindful, loving, investigative de-piling, which helps me learn how I function in the world and what I need and how not to be in the patterns that keep me in pain.

Spaciousness, again.

Here’s the good part.

This new experience of not constantly being in direct interaction with piles, iguanas, flying shoes and other things that are not supportive?

It creates spaciousness.

AND.

All this spaciousness gives me peace of mind. When I have peace of mind, I am able to be both restful and active.

Creatively active, and physically active. And I generate gwishes, and I make stuff happen. All because of the space to do it in.

I am convinced that this next layer of depiling will change the way I interact with all of my space.

It will lead to a much-improved relationship with both the Wish Room (my home office) and the Pirate Queen Quarters (my office at the Playground).

Inside the thing that is inside.

Okay, monster council and scared, sad, lonely parts of me…

Here is what I know:

I know that these piles are stand-ins. They are proxies for things I am not facing.

This includes pieces of my past, and pieces of pain, and my aversion to confrontation.

And since I’m in the process of rewriting that pattern, using basic destuckification techniques and Dance of Shiva, this is the time.

Guess what we are going to do?

We are going to re-invent this thing that I know of as “confronting”.

We will metaphor mouse it. We will find out what is inside.

Because even though I have spent my entire life thinking that I am terrible at confrontation, this is not true.

Not true at all.

Every time I talk to a wall or negotiate with a monster or respond to shoe-throwing with sovereignty…

That’s a form of confrontation.

And I’m actually really good at that. But only when I think of it as acknowledging pain.

I can acknowledge pain.

So what if all the things I am currently seeing as confrontations, impasses, impossible situations… what if they aren’t that at all?

What if I just need to acknowledge some pain? I can do that.

See? That is the power of spaciousness. Bing! Shivanautical genius. I get it.

Anyway, back to the piles and the piling. I don’t need to “confront” the piles: just to acknowledge their pain and my pain, so the pain can dissolve and the new pattern can appear.

To be continued…

In the meantime, play with me? If you want to think about piling and spaciousness and patterns and all of these things, you are more than welcome to.

I would love the company.

As always, basic comment zen applies: we all have our stuff, and we let everyone have their stuff. We don’t tell each other what to do, unless someone specifically asks for advice. And we give everyone room to have their own experience.

Love to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads. Rally!

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• The Piling and the Depiling: Part II
• Magic markers, autonomy, a flying hippo pig.
• When things aren’t working.

It’s part of an ongoing process/investigation:

Figuring out why I create these giant piles of iguanas and doom, what their purpose is, and what needs to happen next.

So I’m documenting both the piles themselves and everything I know about them, as well as everything that I’m trying/learning/noticing/perceiving/experiencing in the investigation.

And I’m also documenting the variety of experiments that I’m using in this destuckification practice. And letting you peek.

Hey, piles. What do I know about you?

Oh, piles! Piles of paper, piles of information in my head, piles of Direct Messages on Twitter, piles of messages at the Frolicsome Bar, collections of things.

Why I make them

To not forget what is important.

To keep projects in view (even though I know from experience that the second one lands in the pile, it’s gone). But there is something calming about knowing that at least I will stumble onto it eventually. The security of knowing that it’s there.

So that’s the mission. Does it work?

No. Because knowing that it’s there also stresses me the hell out. And the only time I consistently look at piles is while depiling every other month or so.

Then what will help me remember what is important? Hmmmm.

How I make them

Everywhere. On my computer. In my documents. At the Playground. In the bedroom. In the gwish room.

I make them because the pattern says build.

The purpose they serve is…

Aside from reminders that don’t work? Hopefulness.

Oh! To hide iguanas.*

* Translation! Iguana = anything you don’t feel like doing.

Like that letter from X. I didn’t want to look at it because looking at it was reminding me that I had to deal with it, and that was depressing. Since I wasn’t ready to deal yet, I stuck it in a pile.

Ha! I am like the Witness Protection Program for iguanas.

I protect iguanas. I’m trying to protect me from them, but in effect what happens (bing! shivanautical epiphany!) is that I am protecting them from me.

On one level, there’s this beautiful attempt to be helpful: solidify, structure, keep everything together. I am compiling to create more order. Because better a pile than 70,000 papers all over the place.

On another level, obfuscation and hiding: keep the iguana away from me. But not too far away.

Really, I should thank my psyche for being so creative and for coming up with the best possible solution it could. That’s kind of sweet.

What I know about them, me and our relationship

Apparently I still need them. Both the piles and the iguanas.

I need safety. And the iguanas need safety.

Also needed are systems and forms to emerge that will hold things differently.

So this is about need, and releasing all these symbolic pieces that are not working.

I want to be able to say YES to needing things like support, creativity, order, freedom, hiding places.

And to identify the part of me who desperately needs worry, fear, iguanas, something hanging over my head what’s that called, dread. Ah, the dread.

Where the pain is

Monsters, iguanas and deadlines, oh my!

But really? Why am I keeping an iguana compound in my space? That isn’t helpful to anyone.

So I need:

1. structures and containers for things to flow into so the piles pile less frequently.
2. And when there is a pile, it still needs a box to live in. A home! And that box needs a date and a plan. And rituals that can be fun.

Ooh! Idea! International Iguana Depiling Day. I.I.D.D. Once a month. And time to work on the Book of Me.

Also the home for the Pile could be like a dollhouse. Or a Cardboard Box that is a house, with a door and a chimney. Oh, adorable. I want to make it a home.

Oh! My piles are pieces of me that are homeless. I identify with them. Just like there are safe rooms for my various selves, of course there is a safe room for my pile. But not to keep it safe from me. To keep us all in a general state of safety.

Oh! And I can spray the pile with the magical spray-bottle-of-making-things-better. And other rituals for it that can be fun.

What they symbolize

The parts of me that need containers, boundaries, a home. Lost little orphans who need love, support and acknowledgment.

Why I need them

To remind me of my creativity. To remember that I am the queen.

Why I’m done with them

Because the queen needs spaciousness to create. And piles are not conducive to spaciousness.

What is the connection between my past and piles:

There are people in my life who need boulders. Friction. They choose the way of friction.

Not out of intention but because they are disconnected.

This new thing is about committing to this new way of EASE and FLOW instead of living in friction.

The version of me who is done with them.

Ah. The me who knows about this ease and flow thing.

There is spaciousness. Support. Structure. Shiva Nata.

Sweetie, you are moving into the world where that old way cannot exist anymore. One day piles will really truly be like cigarettes. Or sugar. You just won’t need them anymore.

And you won’t even remember why you did.

What I don’t know yet.

How. But I’m closer to finding out than I realize. And that’s what the next Rally is for. Rally!

Playing. And the comment zen blanket fort.

My goodness. I have no idea if any of this makes sense to anyone who isn’t me. I was pretty spectacularly brain-melty from all the awesome Shiva Nata we’d been doing before writing this. God I love Rally.

What I would love:

If you wanted to think out loud about any of those questions, investigate your own relationship with piling, or do some of the super-speedy word association thing too.

If you would say Vhoooooosh! Which is the sound of stuckness dissolving and all the right spaces opening up.

What I would not love:

Please no advice, recommendations or pep talks. I am sharing a really personal and intimate process in my own way and in my own timing, and I need lots of spaciousness with that.

As always, we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.

Love to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• The Gigantic Scary Pile Of Iguanas and Doom.
• Me interviewing myself again. About systems.
• Very Personal Ads #121: clarity vhooosh?

I pile. I pile a lot. This is a known thing.

But it’s not just the usual Stacks of Useful Paper that I tend to think of inhabiting my pile-loving world. And it’s not just messes of iguanas and doom.

There are piles of information in my head, piles of Direct Messages on Twitter, piles of messages at the Frolicsome Bar, a wide variety of piles.

These piles serve a purpose for me. Or really: a couple of purposes.

And they are full of patterns.

The first adventure.

So I’ve been using the Rally (Rally!) — and all the madcap Shiva Nata we’re doing — to learn more about the patterns and lovingly rewire as necessary.

The mission: figuring out what I need and what the piles need and what the iguanas need.

There have been an astonishing number of resulting shivanautical moments of bing bing bing ohmygod that!!!

And much scribbling down of information and mapping of connections.

So. I thought I’d share the part I started with.

It’s a series of my Book of You questions. And here’s how I used them:

Two rounds. First round: total free-association whatever comes up. Second round: taking a bit more time to think things over.

The first round is here. I can post the second more-in-depth round too, if people are interested. Let me know.

Hey, piles. What do I know about you?

Let’s see.

Why I make them

Because it’s what I know.

How I make them

I can’t decide what to do. The iguanas take up so much space and so I hide them. I hide from them too, but mostly I am helping them hide.

The purpose they serve is

Monuments to despair and monuments to hope.

Reminders.

What I know about them, me and our relationship

We both misunderstand each other.

Where the pain is

Having things in common with X. Plus all the iguanas.

What they symbolize

Support.

Wait, what? Support?! Interesting.

Why I need them

An identity thing, maybe. Who would I be without them? No, it’s about death. It’s about goodbyes.

Why I’m done with them

They create walls and I am a wall-whisperer.

What is the connection between my past and piles:

Avoidance.

The version of me who is done with them.

She has other ways of working with systems and containers.

What I don’t know yet.

How to trust.

Playing. And the comment zen blanket fort.

What I would love:

If you wanted to think out loud about any of those questions, investigate your own relationship with piling, or do some of the super-speedy word association thing too.

A cup of tea.

If you would say Vhoooooosh! Which is the sound of stuckness dissolving and all the right spaces opening up.

What I would not love:

Please no advice, recommendations or pep talks. I am doing this in intimate thing in my way and in my own timing, and I need a lot of spaciousness with that.

As always, we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process.

Love to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.

If this seemed like your thing, you might like these too:

• Friday Chicken #169: there’s only one thing that’s overcooked and that’s me.
• Me interviewing myself again. About systems.
• The Piling and the Depiling: Part II