The Fluent Self » stuff I think about

The thing you think is less important is actually more important than the thing you think is the most important.

Havi Brooks — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 17:28:02 +0000

Your internal culture is more important than your thing.

By “thing”, I mean: Whatever it is that you do, or want to do, or think you should be able to tell people that you do.

Your internal culture is more important than your thing because your thing will change.

But the culture will hold itself.

Culture. Holds. Itself.

And the more time you spend learning about the qualities, the superpowers, the Book of You and all the other elements of your internal and external worlds, the stronger, more radiant and more sustainable that culture will be.

Postscripts.

You don’t need to have a thing.
See also: ten myths about biggification.
In fact, it is often *better* to not have a thing. I recommend it! Unless, of course, you’re tortured by having to get something very specific out into the world. In which case, maybe that’s your thing. Awesome.
I don’t have a thing. I do have an approach. And a strong culture that I’ve been developing over the past six-seven years. And spaces, both physical and online. But I don’t define what I do.
Speaking of things you don’t need to do or have… I also think you can skip having to take a leap or (tfu tfu tfu) face your fear, both of which are highly overrated.
Yay, Scanners! Everyone should read Barbara Sher’s Refuse to Choose.
This internet world is full of expert biggifiers who are deeply invested in the idea that you need to have a thing and to decide already. And to name it and define it. That tells you something about their culture. About their world, not about yours.
Everything that comes up for you around this theme is a pattern. And all patterns contain information about how to bring in a new pattern.

The commenting blanket fort.

Usual comment zen applies. We make this a safe space.

We do that by agreeing that each person here takes loving ownership for his/her experience. We meet our questions and pain with love. We make room for each other. And we don’t tell each other what to do or how to feel. We play. We process. Sometimes we also call silent retreat, and that’s always okay too.

Kisses.

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

I have studied 17 months to be able to say this.

Havi Brooks — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 17:20:00 +0000

Over the course of the past year and a half, I have been studying Rally (Rally!).

Studying it like I was doing a graduate degree in rallying, which I was. And also studying it because I needed to understand more about its kooky, marvel-filled magic.

It took me fifteen entire Rallies to do this. Trying to get a handle on the toughest questions about Rally:

What is it, exactly? What are the results and what are the effects? How does it change people and how does it change the world? How does it change my world?

And how do you talk about something that cannot be described in words?

I kept studying it.

I have gleaned considerable amounts of useful information from comments that people have left here on the blog. And I see how the way they interact with the material here changes after they have been on Rally.

(See Marisa’s sovereign and clear comment yesterday, so full of spaciousness and harmonious knowing– you can instantly tell that a Rally grad wrote it.)

People have sent sweet pictures and letters. And I have seen them do things after Rally. Fabulous, inspiring things!

But my main source of study has been my Kitchen Table program, which is now coming to a close after three intense years.

I’ve steadily been collecting evidence of the surprising and unexpected effects of Rally (Rally!) through observing how people change when they come back to our closed community after this experience.

Here’s some of what I’ve noticed…

Presence.

The people who have been on Rally are about a thousand billion times more present.

I don’t mean that they’re around more. I mean that they are so much more aware of their process and their experience. They’re more grounded and more sovereign.

Destuckification as the default.

They destuckify faster. Way faster.

They enter and exit situations and experiences more consciously.

When they’re in their stuff, they recognize that and do something to interact with it.

When someone else is having a moment and being in their stuff, the Rally grads are nearly always the ones who are able to show up with compassionate, wise, loving, permission-filled responses.

Beautiful boundaries.

The people who have been through Rally have stronger, healthier boundaries.

They apologize less. They blame less, placate less, falter less. They play more.

They are clear and intentional about what they need in any given interaction, and they ask for it, without attachment to whether or not they get it.

They remember how to play.

Rallions post-Rally are so much more likely to come up with creative, elegant, playful solutions to anything that’s not working.

They are more trusting about time. More aware of how time can be magic.

More likely to intentionally take a rabbit hole or take a time out (paws!). Or negotiate with a monster.

They’re less likely to go into intense avoidance mode, and more likely to remember to be curious about what is hiding inside of avoidance.

Congruence and harmoniousness.

When Rallygators get the thing they want, it feels satisfying and joyful for them, because they infused the whole process with intention.

They fractal flowered things. Sometimes with proxies.

They used their superpowers.

Speaking of superpowers…

They know so much more about superpowers. About their superpowers.

They trust their power more. They trust their instincts more.

They have MORE FUN.

That’s because they know how to make work be not-work. How to make it light-hearted.

And how to use costumes to channel different aspects of identity. You know who does this really well? Jenny.

But also it’s because they’re not impressed by their stuff.

The art of seeing pain but not being inside of it.

Once you have been on Rally (Rally!), you know so much more about your stuff. Your pain-fear-grief-anxiety-worry patterns.

And you recognize it for what it is — your stuff!

And when you forget, you go back to your force field and regroup. You make a blanket fort. You use the elevator shaft.

Hum more. Guilt less.

That’s how I would sum up the effects of Rally, actually.

The people who have been on Rally hum more. They guilt less.

They know about hidden solutions, and the patterns behind the patterns.

They use the tools. They can turn anything into a tool.

Rally is what changed the Kitchen Table.

Having Kitchen Table people come to Rally has completely changed our KT experience for the better.

Before we had Rally, there were times (not all the time, just occasionally) when it would seem to me that everyone was grinding wheels, while I was constantly modeling and reminding how to step out of the wheel-grinding.

But once a few KT-ers had rallied, I had allies. We were doing it together, and changing the culture, and then other people could figure out how to do it too.

We were a community of people who know how to do all the things that I was describing above. And it has spread.

So even people who haven’t rallied (I know, it’s hard to get here from Australia! Some day, my loves!) pick up the Rally-ness. They absorb the magic.

And we have seeded a deeper process of doing this work.

One more really important thing.

This. Since July 11, 2010 (or a week or so before that), I have invested insane amounts of time and money into Rally.

I have been willing, even happy, to run Rally at a loss — it takes three full weeks of each month to set up, [verb], recover, consolidate and review in order for a Rally to happen. That’s not calculating in what it takes to spread the word. Or to fill the Playground with toys.

And I have done this fifteen times. Totally 100% worth it. I do not have any resentment about the investment.

I got to be the venture capitalist, the inventor, the R&D team, the therapist, the explorer, the ship’s captain, and all of it. It has been amazing.

And I have learned that no matter what we charged for Rally, it would never cover what you actually get.

Never.

Because what’s the price of the equivalent of five years of therapy happening in a week? What’s the price of becoming someone who can generate creative solutions to stuck? Or the price of finally learning to trust your instincts? Or the price of being able to become secret friends with any project?

For the past six months I’ve been talking about how in 2012 Rally prices are going up so that they can be more congruent with what Rally is.

And I was doing the work so that I could be ready for Rally to cover its own expenses. I have graduated from my trainings. I have also learned (through Rally!) what it’s like when things are not reflecting congruence. Congruence is a door.

Here’s the announcing part.

On Sunday, January 1st (probably towards evening? Because everyone’s sleeping in?), we’ll bring Rally prices into congruence. To where they need to be now for Rally to carry itself without me paying for it.

There are nine Rallies in 2012. Two have already sold out. Two more are close to full. There will be only four Rallies in 2013.

If you want to come to Rally, and to do it at the old and much-lower prices, make this happen before Sunday. The page for signing up for Rally (Rally!) is here.

If you need a stowawayship scholarship, you can apply for one here.

And of course let it be clear that I love you completely and without reservation, whether or not you ever come to a Rally.

xox
Havi

Usual comment zen applies.

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process. We make this space safe by taking loving responsibility for our stuff and not putting it on other people. We play.

If you would like to say YAY RALLY, I would love that.

If you would like to sit with me in the giant communal blanket fort and drink tea or bourbon or whatever, that is welcome too.

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

Advice-Giving mode vs Helper-Mouse mode

Havi Brooks — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 17:04:36 +0000

Advice-Giving mode:

“Have you tried…? Why don’t you just…?”

Implied: “Have you considered that my way might be better?”

Helper-Mouse mode:

“What do you need? How can I help you get what you want? Can you give me more information about how you’d like to feel?”

Implied: “How can I help us get even more clear about what’s important to you?”

Right now I am filling a safe room with the essence of SHELTER. For every part of me who does not wish to be told what to do.

And I am filling another room with PEACE. Dropping all unrequested advice-givings into this room so they can dissolve and transform. This room knows about the core intention of helpfulness. Helping without any hidden expectations or attachment.

I am setting expectations and releasing expectations at the same time. The hardest and the most important practice.

We all have our stuff.

We all have our stuff and we’re all working on our stuff. It’s a process. There is nothing wrong with us for having stuff. We get to interact with it in ways that feel safe and comfortable, at our own pace and in our own way.

Hint! If you think this post is about you, that’s your stuff! If you feel anxious reading this, that’s your stuff! If you aren’t sure what it means, that’s your stuff! It’s always our stuff. And we always get to learn more about how our stuff works. That’s what we do here. With love.

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

An interview with the pirate queen.

Havi Brooks — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 16:59:51 +0000

So it’s been nearly three years since my discovery that my company is a semi-magical pirate ship, and I am a pirate queen.

Being a pirate queen has helped me through all sorts of business and personal challenges. Like the thing with the hackers.

Design challenges too. We now fly the Jolly Selma at the Playground.

Anyway, what follows is part of a conversation between me and the pirate queen.

Who is me. Sometimes.

Sometimes.

Me: So I’m an idiot, because I only just realized that I am Bruce Wayne to your Batman.
Pirate queen: You mean how you do good in the world through generosity while I do good in the world through being a badass?

Me: Not even close to what I meant but ohmygod that’s so true.

Which is funny because normally I resist the word “generosity”, but you’re talking about the process of giving information, compassion and amnesty on the blog. And that kind of makes sense.

Actually, I was thinking about how I become you when certain things need to be done.

Pirate queen: And I become you when certain other things need to be done.

Me: What?!?! What’s wrong with you? Why would you want to become me? I’m a mess.
Pirate queen: *grins her knowing grin*

I don’t get it.

Me: Seriously. I don’t get it.

Pirate queen: You can’t see what you are. Batman needs Bruce Wayne to buy cool shit and care about the tools. And to be in his Bruce-ness.

Except that Bruce is not particularly self-aware. But you spend your days destuckifying and discovering. You create the culture that allows me to soar.

Me: Soar? You know about that?
Pirate queen: Honey, I was there.

Me: Right. Sorry. I forgot.
Pirate queen: The point is, you being in your full Havi-ness, radiating and humming it… that’s how you help me. It’s not like I’m the cool one and you’re the dork. That’s Superman. We both have powers. Sometimes it’s more effective to have you making decisions, and sometimes it’s more effective to have me act on them. And since we’re aspects of the same unified whole, I don’t need to finish this sentence.

Me: *giggles*

Asking for help.

Me: So I’m really in the stuck right now. As you know. Except I’m not. I’m observing myself in it and I see all the ways around this wall that is not a wall.

Pirate queen: This is about how long it’s been taking to do X, yeah?

Me: Yep! And normally what I would do is find the useful. Now is not then. Alignment. Five clews.
Pirate queen: And this doesn’t count as normally?

Me: I need your help.
Pirate queen: Let’s use our pirate ship as a proxy. So we’re here on the ship and we thought it would take us five days to arrive at the hidden island. But it’s been two weeks and we’re not there yet. Even though you can see it from the crow’s nest.

The hidden island.

Me: Ahhhh, the hidden island. In all this frustration over things taking longer than expected, I forgot about the marvelous magical place we’re going.
Pirate queen: And what do we know about that?

Me: Everything is about entry. Conscious entry. Preparing for the voyage. Enter as you wish to be in it.

Of course! It’s taking longer because I need more time for entry. That’s the useful part that I couldn’t find. It’s useful because I need this time to release the things I can’t bring with me to the hidden island.

Pirate queen: See what I mean? It’s so great being you because you process things so quickly. It’s all the Shiva Nata.

Me: Okay, so if I want us to get to the hidden island, I need to be the version of me who is ready to be on the hidden island this time. I need to let go of the rules, projections, narratives and expectations that don’t belong there.
Pirate queen: Do what needs to be done and I’ll head the ship where she needs to go.

We both sing: “And we’ll point her nose for the southernmost star, and we’re bound for the Hidden Island! Away, Bullies, away….”

Let go. Switch. Exit and enter.

Me: First let’s return everyone else’s expectations to them. Everyone’s ideas of what needs to happen or how things should be. The things they project onto me. The things they desire from me that they really desire from themselves but put onto me because they don’t know how to take care of themselves. Giving it all back.

Pirate queen: Nice. Now there’s some wind in our sails.

Me: If there is anything on this ship that is not harmonious and congruent with our mission, it needs to be released or transformed. Immediately.
Pirate queen: That’s what I’m talking about, babe. This is the stuff you’re good at.

Me: Is there anything here that’s not from now? Anything reminding me of then? Here’s the deal. THIS IS NOW. This ship is only equipped to carry things from now. So we can make safe rooms for scared, hurt selves from then. But we are coming into NOW. This ship is powered by presence and by present time.
Pirate queen: Yes yes yes yes yes.

Me: We’re going to enter as we wish to be in it. The Hidden Islands need us to to be sovereign, strong, conscious, curious, loving, playful, courageous, light-hearted and peace-filled.
Pirate queen: Say it and we become it.

Me: We are ready.
Pirate queen: We are ready.

Exit and entry, again.

Me: So what happens now?
Pirate queen: Whatever you want.

Me: What do you mean?
Pirate queen: I’m taking us to the hidden islands. You’re going to tell people about the parts you can tell them about. And get us some more tools.

Me: That’s it?
Pirate queen: That’s EVERYTHING. Thank you for helping.

Me: Wait, so I come to you for help and end up helping you?
Pirate queen: Us.

Me: I still don’t know what to do.
Pirate queen: It doesn’t matter what you do. It matters that now we’re ready. Go eat breakfast, dance it up and find the most fun way to do just one thing. I know what to do with the wind.

Play with me. The commenting blanket fort.

Everyone has stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. Or playing with it. It’s a process.

We make room for people to have their own experience by not telling each other what to do or how to feel.

If you would like to return other people’s expectations, try it. It’s fun!

If you’d like to interview an aspect of yourself, or find out what you know, that’s welcome too.

I would also love hand-on-heart sighs or some singing of sea-shanties.

Also, does this make Barrington my Alfred Pennyworth? Far out.

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

And! For more practicing of conscious entry, see the Art of Embarking. The prerequisite for everything I’m teaching this coming year. Still at Plum Duff prices for another week or so.

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

Buy your project a beer.

Havi Brooks — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 17:01:57 +0000

The thing with projects is that they often like to talk.

When you’re willing to show up and buy them a beer.

And by project, I mean that mysterious thing that is anything at all that you’re working on or playing with. Anything you care about.

It could be the next chapter in your novel. It could also be remembering to put on lip balm. It could be making a change in your business. It could be having a happier relationship with getting up in the morning. It doesn’t matter. A thing that you are in relationship with. That’s your project.

Anyway, I’m a big fan of interviewing projects to see what they know.

And today I’m collecting interview questions.

Here are mine. These are the questions I generally ask a project:

I ask one or two of these in a very casual sort of “hey, project! what’s up?” sort of way, and I bring snacks!

What do you need, project?
Anything you want to tell me?
What do you wish I knew?
What are some of your superpowers?
Do you have thoughts on resources and allies that can help us?
Can you tell me why you chose me as your partner for this?
What would help you trust me more?
What would help you feel safe, supported and loved?

Play! Let’s come up with some more.

It seems like it might be useful to have a shared library of possible interview questions.

So if you have any or would like to invent some, go ahead and add yours here.

You can also use any of my questions or anyone else’s as a Stone Skipping, and talk to your project that way. Here in the comments or on your own.

As always, usual comment blanket fort zen applies:

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on it. We take loving responsibility for our experience here (and everywhere). We make this a safe space by not giving each other advice or telling each other how to feel.

I’ll start!

It’s a little early for beer but I am going to invite my project for today to join me for breakfast. I wonder if it likes pancakes.

Postscripting! Come to a Rally (Rally!) and turn all your projects into enthusiastic friends. The kind who adore you. And who buy you beer. January is sold out but we have two or three February spots still open. 2011 prices good for another 2 weeks.

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

Trusting my instincts.

Havi Brooks — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 17:58:48 +0000

I never end up doing that thing where people choose a theme for the year.

It makes sense, sure. I see how it can be useful to name an intention or invoke a quality. Kind of like my OOD practice.

But for whatever reason, that word theme — for me! — seems more loaded, somehow. How am I supposed to know the theme before it’s happened?

And then every year at about oh…. maybe mid-December-ish, the themes all become pretty obvious. I recognize them. They find me.

So, fine. This year has been all about that crazy, wonderful, bizarre, ever-changing thing that is trusting my instincts.

Oh, right. The same thing, just in different shapes and forms.

1. Putting my body in charge of the company, and letting it make the executive decisions.

2. Playing more enthusiastically with sovereignty, and getting to know some of the qualities related to sovereignty:

Autonomy. Presence. Curiosity. Permission. Courage. Delight. Experimentation. Trust.

3. The advanced practice of wanting what I want.

(Not having to necessarily do anything related to getting it, just having permission to want it.)

4. Also things like….

Taking joyful responsibility. Setting loving expectations. Running Enthusiastics.

So now I’m in the awkward position of having to practice it.

I have trusted my instincts and they have taken me somewhere. To today. To the place where I get to make a very big decision.

My instincts are all: YES YES YES YES THIS IS THE ENTIRE POINT OF WHAT YOU’VE BEEN DOING ALL YEAR! DO IT! YAY!

And here I am, second-guessing them.

Because of grown-up considerations and because of not yet knowing how.

So I am going to talk to Slightly Future Me who has already been through this, and see what she knows.

And I’m doing it here because I need company.

And we begin.

Me: Hey, version-of-me-who-knows-what’s-good! I could really use some help here.

She: You’re asking me to validate trusting your instincts? Because you don’t trust yourself to trust them?

Me: Okay. You’re right. That is a little problematic. And at the same time, you know my history because we share it. So you know how scary this is for me. Can you help me see what happens as a result of this new way of trusting?

She: You know what will happen.

Me: How could I possibly know what will happen? You’re the one who is there.

She: Come on. Use your whole body. Stay with me. Be fully here. What happens when you say yes to the thing that you have already internally said yes to but are afraid to say out loud?

Everything is quieter.

Me: Everything is quieter. And sturdier. The building hums. Wow. Really? So the building where the Playground lives can take me to the humming castle? Interesting. Anyway, there is a happy buzzing of activity, but it’s all really grounded. There is so much stability. The building IS stability. It’s steady. It radiates this deeply supportive warmth, and it holds things.

She: That is exactly what happens! It’s even cooler than it sounds. What else do you know about what will happen when you trust your instincts and we do this?

Me: The back stairs are important. There is this beating heart there. I have to be where the heart is.

She: Which means?

Me: I’ve been thinking that this is about the money and how to raise the money. But it’s about how to be at the heart. If I commit to that, the financial part comes from that commitment.

Ahahahahaaaaaaa. That is a SERIOUSLY CRAZY thing to say. That is not the kind of thing I can just bring to my accountant, you know? There are grown-ups involved in this. I need to be able to justify things to them!

Stay with the heart.

She: Stay with me, sweetie. We’ll figure that part out too. What happens when you and the heart of the building are playing together in joyful collaboration?

Me: Oh, wow. Joyful collaboration is such an unlikely and perfect phrase. That is exactly what it feels like. We’re working together and that connection generates all sorts of astonishing things.

I thought that the Playground Cooperative was the next piece, with the Floating Playground as its counterpart. But all this is really just the first piece.

Everything I have been doing for the last seven years has prepared me to be the person who can go into the heart of this and be at the wheel.

She: Exactly.

Now?

Me: Now can we talk about how to deal with the grown-ups who want numbers and projections and stuff?

She: You’re the pirate queen. You steer. You know. You hold the map and you remember the stars. You get to set the course and you get to set the expectations for discussing that course.

Me: Soooo…..?

She: Convene an Enthusiastic. Trust your instincts. Rinse. Repeat.

Me: Rinse-Repeat? That doesn’t sound like you.

She: No. Literally. Rinse and repeat. Your instincts always know that the answer is found in immersion in water and warmth. So do it.

Me: Do it?

She: Bath. Shower. Pool. Use the water.

What’s next?

Me: Got it. Water. Instincts. Enthuse. Is there a theme for next year or do I have to discover that at the end too?

She: It would spoil all the fun of discovery if I gave it to you now. Anyway, all themes are cousins. But the point is: you have just spent a year learning how to do this so that you can do the thing you are about to do. All of this blah-blah-practical-blah is taking you away from what you know. It’s not your practical knowing. Your practical knowing says that there are countless ways to make it work, and you will choose the one that is right for you. And if it isn’t fun, you’ll choose the next one.

Me: Right. Why do I keep forgetting that?

She: Because there is an entire world out there of people who cannot see the things you see. They need you to trust your instincts so that all those sheets of ice can be broken.

Me: I don’t see the sheets of ice…

She: Don’t worry about it. Take care of yourself and give yourself what you need.

Me: What’s next?

This is next.

I’m going back to the practice.

I don’t have to know what’s next.

I just need to keep learning about what keeps me safe. About what I want and need. To get better at navigating these internal worlds by paying attention. And of course, as soon as this stops being PLAY and becomes work, I have to pause (paws!) and re-enter.

Play with me. And the commenting blanket fort.

We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.

We make room for people to have their own experience, and we make this a safe place for that by not giving each other unsolicited advice.

What is welcome: Excited murmuring for the new adventure that I am apparently embarking on. Happy hopeful hand-on-heart sighs. Alliteration!

If you’d like to identify themes that have come up for you in the past year, that’s welcome too.

I am blowing a kiss to all the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.

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

Very Personal Ads #127: in this together

Havi Brooks — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 16:25:31 +0000

Personal ads. They’re … personal! Very.

Each week I write these VPAs to practice asking for what I want. And to get clarity on what that really is, even when asking feels conflicted.

I always get useful information about my relationship with various aspects of the ask. Join in if you like!

Sunday!

This morning I woke up with five sweet little wishes nestled in the palm of my hand. Like little colored puffballs.

That’s never happened before. It was a pretty cool feeling.

Let’s do it.

Thing 1: Ease and clarity for the rendezvous on Monday .

Here’s what I want:

On Monday I’m meeting with someone to discuss a possibility that is a really big deal for me and for the business.

I am so excited that I can hardly sit still. And also noticing some anxious what-ifs from some sad, scared parts of me who think that now is going to be like then.

I want to be filled with sweetness and caring when I interact with these parts of me-from-then.

And to go into this meeting feeling strong, confident, clear and ready. Grounded and present.

To enter as I wish to be in it.

To learn or to remember that this entire experience can go smoothly. What if it can be pleasurable and harmonious? What if all options are good? Yeah!

Ways this could work:

I can do five minutes of Shiva Nata on it and have realizations!

I can ask metaphor mouse to help me rewrite my words and experiences so that I remember that now is not then.

When does a meeting not have to be stressful and terrifying? When it’s a rendezvous!

I can prepare code words. And I can also do various entry rituals to prepare myself for the experience and to shape my relationship with it.

Oh! Of course. Find the version of me who knows how to be in this situation, and ask her to come to the front of the V.

My commitment.

To do my secret marathon training sessions (shhhh, this is a proxy and it’s actually relaxing).

To reflect. To investigate. To plant the wish.

And I will spend time hanging out with my new friend: the concept and essence of EQUALITY. Spending time experiencing this quality helps me remember that I am not a supplicant. I am not dependent on other people’s decisions, even when I am reminded of painful situations from a time when that was true or felt true.

We are all equals. We are all in this together.

Thing 2: What January name will the last Crown Pouncer hold?

Here’s what I want:

The January Rally (Rally!) is going to be so ridiculously great.

This Rally can hold fourteen people, aside from me. We have thirteen of these people. We had fourteen but then someone had to move her spot.

So.

We also have fourteen special-edition one-time-only navy blue Crown Pouncers. One for each person coming.

Thirteen of these Crown Pouncers are each secretly and gently holding a name in their navy blue mouths. And there is one lonely Crown Pouncer who does not know which name to hold.

What if the last person for the January Rally signs up this week?

Ways this could work:

I’m not sure.

It’s just going to.

There is someone out there who is going to know that this is the time.

I will also add that this particular Rally has three people coming who were at Crossing the Line, and two people who were at my Shiva Nata training. You can ask them all your questions!

My commitment.

To kiss the Crown Pouncer on the nose every day, and remind him that we can still love this person madly even if we don’t know who it is yet.

Thing 3: You need these holiday cards.

Here’s what I want:

Everyone in the world needs to read this blog post. And if you hang out at the Twitter bar, then follow @bradmcginty.

And then order his incredibly disturbing and super-awesome Christmas cards.

Five dollars. Because let’s face it, such an incredibly entertaining post deserves five dollars just for existing.

My dad said that instead of going to church on Sundays, my grandfather would often go “Irish fishing,” which entailed leaving before sun-up and returning late in the day with a bunch of stones. My father was never allowed to go with him, because he was half woman (on his mother’s side).

Anyway, you need these cards. Everyone needs these cards. I’m getting some too.

Let’s support this guy’s crazy-ass mission. I love it. So much.

Ways this could work:

I am telling you about it right now. Buy these cards.

Also I will alert the Frolicsome Bar.

My commitment.

Cards!

Thing 4: Thursday’s workshop.

Here’s what I want:

I’m running a workshop on Thursday for the hard rocking ladies of the roller derby team that I sponsor.

It’s on visualizations and how to make them work for you. And how to turn them into full-body Perceptings. And how to show up to a situation in your strongest force field, ready to break some furniture and take stuff apart.

It’s going to be awesome. Except that I want to be able to fit about seven hundred hours of material into two hours. Or, failing that, to plant all the right seeds.

Seeds. Got it.

Ways this could work:

Shiva Nata. Shiva Nata. Shiva Nata.

My commitment.

Doonsk doonsk!

Dance it up. Let it be fun.

Thing 5: Prep work.

Here’s what I want:

There are two big announcings that need to happen this week.

Possibly three, depending on what happens at Monday’s rendezvous.

This requires some deep internal and external preparations.

And some interactions with an old iguana.

Ways this could work:

Trust. Faith. Practice. Play.

My commitment.

Crown. Scepter. Bubbles. Force field.

To remember that now is not then. Now is now, and now is better.

Progress report on past Very Personal Ads.

Just to update you on what’s happened since last time.

I wanted to know how all my seemingly-contradictory wishes could fit together, and that happened really fast Hooray!

Then I wanted to write a HAT and I did not write that HAT. Though I had a very good reason for not writing it, and I learned something about why I’m not writing it. So that was useful.

I also wanted to arrange a holiday for the pirate queen, and I renamed it! It is now the First Absconding. And it’s in the works. Not completely planned, but the elements are all there. Progress!

Next I wanted to take steps on the Grand Enthusiastic, and that is going to be worked out during the Absconding.

And I asked for ease-filled monster negotiations, and we had lots of these. DEEP EXHALE.

Play-filled comment zen. Here’s what I’d love today.

Wanted: Your own personal ads, small or large. Updates on past ones if you like.
You can also do these on your own or in your head. You can always call silent retreat!
Leave your gwishes! Throw things in the pot!
Things we try to keep away from: the word “manifest”, telling people how they should be asking for things, unsolicited advice.
VPA amnesty applies, of course. Leave yours any time between now and next Sunday (or whenever, really) — it’s all fine by us!

xox

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

Long, Slow & Deep

Havi Brooks — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 16:30:43 +0000

This would be about eight or nine years ago. I’m not sure exactly — time is being slippery that way.

I worked as a yoga teacher in a studio in a northern suburb of Tel Aviv.

The studio occasionally sponsored workshops by various famous teachers, and this time we were bringing in Bryan Kest.

I wasn’t particularly leaning towards going — all of my money went to yoga trainings as it was, and this sounded like it might be of the the kind of yoga that didn’t especially interest me (power! core! work it, baby!).

But then things happened.

As they do.

The studio asked me, as the employee with the most English, to be the liaison. And to take Bryan on a tour of Tel Aviv.

I agreed, somewhat reluctantly, and then was delighted to discover that all my preconceptions were wrong.

Pomegranates.

Bryan approached Tel Aviv like a yogi and like a puppy at the same time.

With quiet receptivity and joyful curiosity.

Tel Aviv is the city I’d had a long, tumultuous and passionate love affair with, and he got it. He figured out all the right things about her right away.

My English was fairly dusty after a decade of not using it, but we were able to bond over the usual and less usual things.

(Like the fact that we’d both grown up in Michigan, and run away from Michigan. We’d been raised in eccentric and unconventional ways. We both thought that yoga and freshly squeezed pomegranate juice were the two best things in the entire world).

Surfing.

I found Bryan to be bright, unpretentious, sweet, caring and a noticer of things worth noticing. His yoga was deep and life-changing, and full of permission, amnesty and patience.

Some things in his class made no sense until you realized that he was coming from southern California, where his studio was overflowing with models and actors and models and people who wanted to be models and actors.

He would remind us not to look at what other people were wearing. This was just when yoga was starting to become trendy in Israel, but still a practice you did in sweats and a tank top. There weren’t fancy workout clothes outside of the gym. Though that was about to change as well.

Someone asked him if he still surfed.

He took a sip of tea. He thought about it. He said, “If there were forty eight hours in a day, I would surf. Surfing comes after yoga and time with my dogs and time with my breath and time with the trees. But if there were more hours, that’s what I would put there.”

I have used that answer for many things.

Ten minutes.

On the third and final day of the all-day every-day yoga workshop, he ran his Long, Slow & Deep class.

Long, extended holds in relatively simple postures. Simple as in: uncomplicated. Not easy.

We slowed down the breath and then slowed it down some more.

When a minute becomes a matter of maybe two breaths, ten minutes flow by with unbelievable speed.

Well, maybe speed isn’t the word. But time becomes timeless, and everything is somehow floating and grounded at the same time.

We’d stay in poses that I normally hated. For ten minutes. Or longer.

And it didn’t matter because time didn’t matter. I didn’t mind being in those formerly uncomfortable places because they were different now. Nothing hurt because we were just pure breath inside of curious beings.

Germany.

I moved to Berlin.

I used the thing about being pure breath when I became ill and couldn’t do anything but cry from the pain.

Actually, I used lots of things that Bryan helped me recognize.

When I’d met him, I had no ambitions to do things in the world.

I was already living out my biggest, most impossible dreams. (Become a yoga teacher! Get paid for something other than bartending in south Tel Aviv! Not working at some horrible company! Never write a resume again for as long as I lived!)

It didn’t occur to me that there was anything more for me to do than to teach yoga at someone’s studio.

But in Germany I taught my own workshops. I ran programs. I invented The Fluent Self. Not just the name, but an entire system of working on your stuff. Yoga for every aspect of being alive.

Bryan thought this was a reasonable and do-able thing to bring into the world. For me it was the tiniest of tiny, sweet things. For him, it was the natural extension of living by what I believed. And why wouldn’t I?

Yesterday.

At various points over the past however-many-years, I’ve gone back to that day of Long, Slow & Deep.

Or to aspects of slowness, length, deepening.

And at many times, I was on the verge of buying the audio CD he made of one of his Long, Slow & Deep classes.

But something would stop me. Something about knowing that I wasn’t ready yet to go into that timeless grounded floating again.

There were still things I had to learn about sovereignty and leadership and entry.

Yesterday, I was ready.

I went to a yoga class that was not my yoga class. And everything about it was not what I wanted or needed. Which, in itself, was exactly what I wanted and needed, because it told me that things had changed.

Gone.

It turns out that there is no more Long, Slow & Deep.

The CD is out of print. Or whatever the term is for audio. Out of production?

Anyway, there are people selling it on Amazon for fifteen hundred dollars.

And there doesn’t seem to be a way to find it.

Now.

Normally I would decide to just let that be my yoga for the day.

To meditate on wanting and desire, on meeting sadness. To find the useful, find out where the practice already lives inside of me and where I don’t need external things to remind me of the internal knowing.

And I did that.

But then I remembered some of that internal knowing. I listened to some of the things that the wanting had to say.

So in addition to my internal processing, I am placing a Very Personal Ad in today’s post. And asking for your help.

What I want and how this could work.

I know this blog has reach.

There are tens of thousands of people who see stuff here. There’s also the Twitter bar and the Frolicsome Bar (our Facebook page) and all the people that our people know. All the people that you guys know.

Someone out there has a copy of Long, Slow & Deep that they can donate to the Playground.

I will be happy to give that person any two of my products, and to thank that person here, unless they would prefer an invisibility cloak.

My commitment.

To know that this is possible.

To practice. To breathe.

To appreciate everything and everyone involved! From the mysterious coincidence that got me the job at that first studio where I met Bryan … all the way to now where I run my own wonderful center for secretly-yogacentric things.

From starting this website six and a half years ago to meeting you now.

To go back to the place where things are long, slow and deep, and to find out what happens there.

Can you help? And playing in the commenting blanket fort.

The full name of the CD I’m looking for is:

Bryan Kest’s Long, Slow & Deep, live from Santa Monica, California.

That’s also the link to the description of it.

Do you have a copy or possibly know someone who has a copy?

You can help by spreading the word. You can help by being enthusiastic about this wish. You can help by celebrating the wanting.

All of that is hugely appreciated!

Usual comment zen applies. We all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff. We make this a loving and safe space to process and experience things by not giving unsolicited advice or telling anyone how to feel.

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

And one day we’ll invite Bryan to the bigger Playground, and we will all play together.

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

Things I know about monkeys who wear clothes.

Havi Brooks — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 18:02:14 +0000

One of the things we do at Rally (Rally!) is make up a ridiculous and unlikely cover story for why we’re here.

My story for this week of the Great Ducking Out turned out to be that… get this, I have an obsession with monkeys!

Specifically monkeys who wear clothing. And that’s why I’m at the Playground. Because there are several of those here.

Not here to work on a big project, no no no no no! Nothing happening here, monsters!

What do I know about monkeys wearing clothing?

More than you’d think, as it turns out.

Certainly more than I’d thought.

We did some stone skippings after the morning shivanauttery, and one of the stone-questions was this:

What do I already know about why I’m here?

And since why I’m here is to be obsessed with clothed monkeys, the question became …

What do I already know about monkeys who wear clothes?

Things I know about monkeys who wear clothes.

I know that:

Monkeys with clothes are 300% cuter than monkeys not wearing clothes. FACT.
Clothes make the monkey!
A monkey dressed as a sailor is unmistakably a sailor. A sailor monkey.
Oh! of course. Wear the clothes of the person who runs Shivanauticon, and that is the next step!
Costumes are magic.
A clothed monkey is in a double-costume. And he probably finds that entertaining. I bet he chuckles to himself while adjusting his bolo tie.
Clothes are a kind of home. Wow. I did not realize that before but of course it is true.
They are (or can be) a container or a cocoon for the change that they symbolize.
That’s why CONGRUENCE is so incredibly important.
Monkeys are always playing.
Monkeys love Playgrounds. Isn’t it perfect then that I’m at the Playground?
They are graceful, agile, curious.
They find alternative ways to get places. YES!
“Monkey” was already my code word for the favorite place.
Monkey bars! Like parkour skills. Grace and balance.
Trapeze! Especially since Shivanauticon is a crazy circus!
Monkeys do not worry about whether or not people are taking them seriously.
And what become of the monk the monk the monk the monk….
Of course! The Animal Fair …. it’s a parallel to the Flairground (the flair-filled fairground where Shivanauticon is going to happen. Yes yes!

I probably know even more things about monkeys who wear clothes.

But that’s where I stopped in order to skip another stone.

Here were the other questions:

What will I need in order to do this?

What needs to change in my kingdom for this to happen?

What’s next?

The monkeys told me what to do, and now we’re cool.

One more thing I can tell you about clothed monkeys.

They can dangle from anything.

And this is fun for them.

They especially like it when you say YAY when you see them dangling from something particularly unlikely.

Isn’t that a reassuring thing to know? It was for me.

Play with me! And the giant commenting blanket fort.

So, obviously, this is not really about monkeys.

It’s about my project. It’s my subjective experience of these particular monkeys. Who aren’t real. One is a stuffed toy and the other is a picture on a wall.

If your experience of monkeys happens to be different (“Monkeys should never wear clothing! I feel strongly about this!”), of course you are allowed to have your own monkey-experience. That should be a given.

However, I’m going to ask that we play along with my version here today, in support of my mission and my secret project.

If you would like to make up your own cover story for what you’re doing today (double especially if you’re going to be doing something for American Thanksgiving!), go for it.

Then you can look for clues about it while making (or avoiding) the small-talks.

Let’s play! As always, we make room for everyone to do their own thing, and we don’t give advice. Unless people ask.

Lots of love. The monkeys and I are wishing you an extra-strong force field today.

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

A tragic scarcity of puppy photos.

Havi Brooks — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 16:17:37 +0000

So yesterday at Rally (Rally!), I was reflecting on my mysterious project.

And here’s part of a train of discoveries from the rabbit holes:

Puppies!

Apparently puppies sleep 90% of the day. For the first few weeks of being alive.

NINETY PERCENT OF THE DAY.

Sleeping.

Cuteness!

That seems like a really good plan.

In fact, it seems like that much hiding, shelter and processing would also be good for any tiny sweet thing.

For any Gwish.

For anything you really care about.

Pause, pause, and then more pausing. Paws!

So then I tried to ignore it.

In the afternoon my body wanted to nap.

But I was having so much fun playing with my project and hanging out with it that I couldn’t bear to go to sleep.

I said, How about we interview Slightly Future Me about the project instead?

Slightly Future Me gave me two useful pieces of information.

And I’ll tell you the second one:

Puppies are smarter than you.

She was right.

So I slept on it.

I planted the thing I wanted to know about my project into the nap and decided to fractal flower it by sleeping.

Then I woke up and did some old Turkish lady yoga, and then about six different outrageous shivanautical epiphanies made themselves known to me.

Which I can’t describe yet.

Being that intensely alive requires a lot of prep time.

Puppies are smarter than I am. They are also more trusting about sleep than I am.

These are related.

Ninety percent of the time.

NINETY PERCENT OF THE TIME.

That’s a lot.

That’s how much I could dedicate to the hidden parts — the processing and recovery and entry. And it would be a valuable investment of time too.

You know what else puppies are good for?

Enthusiasm.

Play.

Joyous fidgeting and exploratory movements!

Snuggling.

Slow sleepy breathing.

Puppies live yoga.

You can’t hurry a puppy.

So why do I try to hurry my deepest wishes and desires?

They’re just doing their ninety-percenting so they can play when they’re ready.

Play! And the giant commenting blanket fort.

Tragically, I do not have any puppy photos for this post.

You can help. Possibly.

The public needs adorable puppy pictures! Share.

Schmoo schmoo schmoo! Puppies!

Other than that, we can play with the concepts here in whatever way we want.

As always, we all have our stuff. We’re all working on our stuff.

Each of us is in charge of our own experience with this. We avoid giving each other unsolicited advice. We’re supportive and welcoming!

That’s it. Love to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads.