Timing and the journey with the conscious container

I learned the conscious container approach when I joined Kendra Cunov’s No Man Diet in January for three plus months (the container got extended beyond the dates of the course). Recently, I built a new container for money and dating. Since this was new to me, I keep looking at the container and adjusting it.

What has been unexpected is that I did not build a specific container for writing, and as I completed my container for money, felt a strong urge to go back to a daily writing practice as well. I am making the educated guess that these two relationships are connected.

I adjusted my web blog to support my daily writing and publishing. I am sharing these writings on my social pages. I feel like sharing my stories is an important part of my creative life. It is likely that eventually I will have some series which I place behind a paywall to allow others to support my writing and upkeep of my site.

Still, the main reason I feel called to write now is writing is so central to my process. As I turn the ½ century of life on the planet, I have found myself in some deep unraveling. I spent quite a bit of time reflecting on my life. I dove deeply into my 25th year which occurred in the middle of my first master’s degree, my MFA in film production.

During that time, I went through two pivotal break-ups, one which really sent me down some darker paths into a period of extended depression and anxiety. Armed with my journal I started at the time; I was able to piece together some of the actual events from my 25-year-old perspective. Along with the placing the memorabilia from my various films, as well as photos into the books.

The retrospective gave me some insights into how I ended up in such a dark place. It also balanced some of the lopsided thoughts I had about the break-up. Including the one where I placed my former boyfriend on a pedestal.

I realized that while I certainly contributed to the situation, I also saw where my boyfriend mishandled both my emotional needs and the sanctity of the promises he continually made. In the end, his behavior trigged some long-standing abandonment wounds, which coupled with a lack of resources available to help me handle the turmoil, led me to spiral.

Now and in the future, I can hold this container for myself and seek to surround myself with folks who have the strength of character to maintain a relationship of integrity and mutual respect. I can use my discernment to walk away from those who would treat my emotional wounds as a negative trait I should be ashamed of.

I know that I had a lot of issues with self-esteem and magical thinking in that relationship at 25 which also contributed to the breakdown. I was able to re-integrate those tender wounds and aspects of myself and make a kind of peace with it all that I wasn’t ready to complete until I turned fifty, another quarter turn of my life.

These timings and twists or turns which make up a life, are intriguing to me. It is as if, we need that time to fully process through certain events and experiences. If we try to rush through or “just get on with it,” it is likely they will come back around to be addressed later.

As I start this practice of being more conscious and deliberate about my intentions, I see that this level of attunement came from the journey I have taken thus far. While it may be exciting to imagine what my life could have been should I have gotten these tools earlier, I know that I would not have had the ability to accept them into my life.

It is why trying to teach others at a different stage of their purpose, is often met with resistance or rejection. They just aren’t ready for that level of self-awareness or examination. Some folks never are. Acceptance of this, is key to our own well-being.

It is my belief that the more those of us who are ready to create conscious containers and do the work, we open an invitation to choose a similar course, when another is ready. These relationships with ourselves are ever developing until our time on the planet is complete.

California Dreaming on the Floor Mat

Yesterday, I joined the JCC that my Mom goes to for the 3 weeks I will be in town. I joined her yoga class comprised of diverse set of folks, most of them in their 60s. Today I decided to try out the Pilates floor class and she came with me.

Mom

had been worried about going to something new but as it turned out, both of us got quite a bit out of the 55-minute class focused on the muscles and bones of the feet, and the subtle movements of joints.

We spent another hour in the dry and wet saunas before heading home. As the class instructor, Melinda mentioned – our joints got juicy. I hadn’t weighed myself since my post-surgery days in March. I clocked in about 10lbs heavier than when I had a stomach full of tumors (fibroids). It was a bit shocking but then again, my clothes had stopped fitting.

My stressful months putting up the corporate website and sitting a lot had taken their toll. I am also on a hormone reducer called Lupron and that doesn’t help either.

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Now I find myself re-committed to that healthy balance. However, having lost muscle tone and ability while the tumors grew rampantly last year and the trauma of the surgery itself, getting back into shape is a daily process.

Physical movements I used to do effortlessly for my passion sport, curling, are practically impossible right now.

The upcoming season is looming for many people who call the St Paul Curling Club their home for the winter. I know I couldn’t yet play a full game. To bridge the gap, lose some of the weight, and get back into shape as I t

urn 50 will take much more effort than it did even a few years ago when I tried a 10-week kick-boxing regime.

It is easy to get into a negative spiral in one’s mind. There is a lot easier path of staying sedentary that my body and mind could lean in to. It’s like working against a tide. And yet, once I end up on the yoga or Pilates mat, I realize that leaning into giving up is not the path I wish to take.

I do know that I will need to take complete recovery slowly and purposefully. My body at 50 is not the same as 40 or 20. The thing is, we all have a chance to live long and healthy lives these days if we concentrate our efforts on what that will mean. My years of being around health-conscious and active folks has led me to take more seriously this path of a powerful connection to my body.

Doing tiny movements on the Pilates mat or reformer could seem like nothing to a guy or gal bench-pressing 100s of pounds, however to me it means that I could avoid injury as I get more active. These are concepts I had no idea about when I was supposedly in my prime at 20 or 30. I would constantly over-do exercise and end up with long stretches where I gave up, in pain or needing surgery.

I had little sense of my body in space. It was a vehicle I barely paid attention to until it was in crisis.

I spent more time, high in the clouds considering spiritual matters and reading self-help books. If you look at pictures of me in those days, I had a much more wire-y body type and thin limbs. I wasn’t grounded in my physical presence.

Lately, I may be getting rounder and showing up on the scale with more weight, but my out-look on life is also grounded on the earth and enjoying real-life connections a lot more. I read fewer self-help books and enjoy talking to friends about the real events of their lives. It may have taken me 50 years of life to get to this point, however, it is worth the journey.

Not everyone is as committed to being here now, on the earth at this time. You see and hear about it in the multi-million-dollar spiritual industry hawking easy cures for life’s ills. Making up whole paradigms which include spiritual beings and entities who benevolently welcome us to ‘higher consciousness’ while absolving us completely of everyday responsibility.

The world burns and we find ways to escape as though we have “done all the work.” What if the work really is those subtle dance moves, the little recognitions of our physical body and its many glorious muscles, bones and sinews working in concert to take us to the next tiny step. Then at 20 or 50 we can be in our bodies, fully living instead of flying off pretending we are all knowing.

It is clear we are not.

Long and the no of it, a kitten named Ash

You don’t get to be my age without having been told no a few times and then chosen to do it (whatever it is) anyway. I am taking my cat to California on Monday. So in service of this, I started reading articles on what to expect when I show up at the airport.

The first one I read, mentioned not to bring your cat at all and leave them at home. I recalled all the cats I saw on planes in the last couple years and figured maybe I could ignore that advice. Ash and I have become bonded since she arrived in June.

The night I found Ash was a run-of-the-mill evening. I ate dinner. Watched some TV. Decided it was finally time to go to bed about 10:30 pm. The weather was still a little chilly so there was no need for AC or a fan. My window was open. As I started to get ready for bed, I heard an insistent mewling from outside.

I checked out my window to figure out where this cry may be coming from. Looking down in the Irish on Grand parking lot, a Mom and Pop store which houses a collection of Irish goods and hosts Irish dance lessons, I could see two tiny ears in the light pooled around the shed below.

Thinking this was unusual, I decided to put a hoodie and some shoes on and head out to investigate. As I circled the parking lot, I could hear the insistent cry. I saw her in the light. Alone. I wasn’t sure if she would try to run away as I approached so I spoke to her. When I arrived to her location, I bent down and picked her up and she kept crying. I noticed some blood and an injury on her neck.

I thought maybe her mother and possibly siblings may be close by. Taking a quick assessment of the area, I could see no sign of either mother or siblings. I had no idea how she might have gotten to this lonely spot this late at night all on her own.

What I knew then, was that she would need to come home with me so we could assess the damage. She was so tiny and frail. When we got back to my apartment, I tried to get her to drink water, but she did not. I had no food appropriate for cats.

I had to trust that if she lived through the night, I might be able to get her seen by a vet. I had no idea that I would keep her.

As I write, Ash, now 3 months is curled up next to me on the couch. I named her Aisling, an Irish name meaning imagination, in honor of her beginnings. She is also grey and black so her nickname, Ash is appropriate.

After all this, I wasn’t leaving my young kitten familiar to some house-sitter who showed up once a day to feed her. Also, even if they stayed in my apartment, Ash is a lot to handle. Between regular biting, she likes to escape down the hall for several rounds of the building on a regular basis. Big responsibility to take on.

While I maybe *should* keep her at home, I won’t be keeping her at home. Same with another trip I have planned in October. We’re buddies. Talk to me in October about whether my idea was a good one.