Black Lives Matter.

In his book, My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies, trauma therapist Resmaa Menakem describes two kinds of pain. Clean pain and dirty pain. Menakem explores these concepts in the contexts of racialized trauma, but their application is quite broad. Clean pain, he explains, is when you can turn toward the pain instead of running away from it, and then let it wake you up. He writes, “Paradoxically, only by walking into our pain or discomfort—experiencing it, moving through it, and metabolizing it—can we grow. 

“Clean pain hurts like hell. But it enables our bodies to grow through our difficulties, develop nuanced skills, and mend our traumas. In this process the body metabolizes clean pain. The body can then settle; more room for growth is created in its nervous system; and the self becomes freer and more capable because it now has access to the energy that was previously bound, protected, and constricted. When this happens, people’s lives often improve in other ways as well” (pg. 20). 

Dirty pain, then, is the suffering that comes when we run away from our clean pain through avoidance, denial, or disassociation. Dirty pain is the pain that leads us to unhealthy coping strategies, like substance abuse, relational trauma reenactments, or racism. Dirty pain might feel relieving initially, because it is an avoidance of clean pain. But ultimately dirty pain feels terrible.

In my work as a somatic practitioner and certainly in my personal experience, I see the effects of dirty pain all the time. It breaks down bodies and hearts and minds over time in ways that lead to profound and entrenched suffering. 

Since George Floyd’s murder, I’ve felt in myself and witnessed in many of my clients a painfully intense emotional response, a sharp enduring pang of what, for many, is the door opening to what may well become a profound collective healing process. Exactly what this pain means is different for each client feeling it. But for all of us the work is the same: Turn toward the clean pain, learn what it has to teach you, let it transform you, and you will feel more free.  

I can assure you that this is hardly a simple four-step process. Deep healing work happens slowly and over time. But there is a way through, and I’m here with you to help you find it. Let’s do this.

My morning reading from Pema Chondron touched something deep in me, and I wanted to share it with you. The reading has to do with bodhichitta, which loosely refers to the tenderness of the awakened heart. Pema Chondron offers an expanded definition of bodhichitta as our profound human longing to engage in and bring deep love and compassion, awakened relating, and enlightenment to this earth and in this way be part of alleviating the suffering experienced by all. (See this video for more on this concept.) This reading hits on a similar theme. What I love about it most is how it describes this sort of relating is a descent, a descent into heart and into soul, toward a center, a basic ground we all share.

Here is the reading:

Spiritual awakening is often described as a journey to the top of a mountain. We leave our attachments and our wordliness behind and slowly make our way to the top. At the peak we have transcended all pain. The only problem with this metaphor is that we leave all the others behind–our drunken brother, our schizophrenic sister, our tormented animals and friends. Their suffering continues, unrelieved by our personal escape.

In the process of discovering bodhichitta, the journey goes down, not up. It’s as if the mountain is pointed to the center of the earth instead of reaching into the sky. Instead of transcending the suffering of all creatures, we move toward the turbulence and the doubt. We jump into it. We slide into it. We tiptoe into it. We move toward it however we can. We explore the reality and unpredictability of insecurity and pain, and we try not to push it away. If it takes years, if it takes lifetimes, we let it be as it is. At our own pace, without speed or aggression, we move down and down and down. With us move millions of others, our companions in awakening from fear. At the bottom we discover water, the healing water of bodhichitta. Right down there in the thick of things, we discover the love that will not die.  (Chondron, 2008)

May we all embrace the descent.

There is something deeply delightful to me about dreams. For many of us, these sleepy visions feel like portals to a remote and inner world, a world where we get to experience and explore the mythic and archetypal dimensions of our daily experiences and struggles. There, magic and mystery mix with the mundane. We come face to face with triumph and tragedy. We defy death, or it defies us. All the makings of myth—at no charge, and we don’t even need to get out of bed!

Carl Jung theorized that dreams do the work of bridging our unconscious life to our conscious life. It is through making the unconscious life conscious, a process which Jung called individuation, that we can find a greater sense of wholeness, self-awareness and ultimately wisdom and life satisfaction. Both in my practice as a psychotherapist and in my own life and relationships, I’ve seen again and again how attending to dream life can support the process.

What do I mean when I talk about attending to our dreams? By “attending,” I’m referring to how we feel into the experience of a dream, how we make meaning of its symbolism, and how we start to glean the lesson of the dream, applying it in our every day life.

Yes. I am going to give you a step-by-step approach to attending to dreams. But first, a few disclaimers.

Number One: Not everyone dreams vividly or in ways that they can remember. In fact, lots of people don’t. If you are one of those people, rest assured (pun intended) that there are ways to cultivate your dreamlife. Set an intention to build your capacity to remember your dreams, for starters. And maybe then check out this this New York Times article offering dream recall tips from a Harvard Medical School psychiatrist.

Second, sometimes dreams come as nightmares. Nightmares feel somewhat traumatizing. They provoke terror or horror or stunned powerlessness in ways that do not resolve. Nightmares can show up for many reasons but they often emerge in response to past or recent trauma. If you are having these kinds of dreams—especially if they occur frequently—feel disturbing to you, or leave you worried about falling asleep, I strongly recommend working with a psychotherapist to explore them. Even if you aren’t having full-blown nightmares, but are having dreams that just don’t feel good, please consider finding a professional who can help you with them. There is just no reason to try to face this stuff alone, people!

Finally I just want to make clear that I’m not one of those psychotherapists who thinks that every dream, or every thought, or every feeling, or every memory—or every everything!—needs analyzing. We don’t need to ferret out the meaning of every dream we have. It can feel complete to receive the experience of a dream with out having to take it any further than that—kinda like it’s fun to just enjoy looking at a beautiful sunset without trying to wax poetic about what the sunset might mean. It’s just something cool that is happening. And that’s enough.

In a similar vein, some dreams need to be felt more than they need to be understood. These dreams put us deeply in touch with a feeling that is needing some attention. The feeling might be fear, awe, confusion, joy—any feeling really. Very often it’s a feeling that we’ve pushed out of our conscious awareness for some reason or another. Fortunately our dreamlife dutifully returns it to our conscious mind. If we were to try to make greater meaning of a dream like that, we might skip over the feeling and miss the point entirely.

Of course, it’s almost impossible to resist analyzing a dream when it shows up dressed in rich symbolism. Sometimes these dreams have a particularly poignant or sparkling quality, as if your unconscious mind is saying, “Psst.. Hey! Pay attention to this one!”

A friend of mine shared a very sparkly dream with me when I met her for coffee a few days ago. It was a total ringer for dream analysis, so I asked her permission to share it here:

I’m in a cobalt blue room with very small door and the furniture is made of dark brown wood. There is a very small man there and he is eating slices of apple. He offers me a slice and I feel I can’t refuse. I bring it it to my mouth, but I stop when it touches my lips, suddenly aware that the apple is poisoned. If I eat it I will loose my memory of being in the room. I look back at the man, who now wears a menacing expression. I attempt to exit through the tiny door by crouching down and crawling through. My shoulder becomes stuck under the doorway. Panicking I stand up and as I straighten my legs to my surprise I lift the entire room off of the ground. I am free and no longer in danger. The sun is bright. The sky is cobalt blue now, almost the same color as the walls. I feel triumphant somehow, like my head reaches to the sky and I am very large and powerful.

Of course, this dream is chock full of this kind of sparkling symbolism that calls to our conscious mind, and my friend was curious about what it all meant. Knowing my interest in dreams, she was hoping I carried around some encyclopedia of dream images and interpretations so we could look up “blue room” or “poison apple” while we sipped coffee. I do know such dream manuals exist, but I tend not to find the dream encyclopedia approach very helpful or resonant with most of my own dreams, nor those of my clients or friends.

Several years ago, I came across Junginan analyst Robert Johnson’s Inner Work (1986), which offers a concise strategies for reflecting on dream meanings without resorting to cookie-cutter interpretations. Since then I’ve come to rely on it to help me gather insight and inspiration from the dream world. I’ve adapted it a tiny bit over time, but I tend to stay quite true to Johnson’s proscription. I walked through these steps with my friend and we came to some pretty cool interpretations. Here is the process, and I’ll include samples from my friend’s dream at each step.

Step 1: Write down the dream. Try to include as many details as you can remember. I did this above when I introduced the narrative of the dream.

Step 2: Make associations. Go through and list the major images and symbols from the dream. hen write down any words, feelings, thoughts, sensations, mental images, or memories that come to mind when you think of each of the symbols. Some associations may not seem relevant. Go ahead and include them for now.

The list of symbols from my friend’s dream include small blue room, dark furniture, small man, poisoned apple, tiny door, successful escape, bright sun, very tall. There are probably others. Any and all symbols are welcome!

Here are some associations my friend made to her dream as she considered each symbol:
~Blue room – Feels magical and mystical. Frida Kahol’s Casa Azul. Color of scarf I bought in Mexico. I love this color. But the room is claustrophobically small. Tightness in chest. Not enough air in there.
~Dark wood furniture – European Old World, antique. Traditional. Not terribly comfortable for me. But valuable. Not chosen but passed down. Dusty. I want to sneeze. Not my style though I can appreciate it. I somehow feel angry or constrained thinking about it.

And so on….

As you go through the process of making associations notice if any seem to feel “just right.” Often one or two will come with a “click” or a surge of energy that tells you you are on to something. Pay attention for these intuitive indicators.

3. Connect the dream to inner “parts.” Try thinking of each image or figure in the dream as a part of your inner self, representative of an aspect of you. This part could also be a younger you or an internalized sense of and now hold as part of yourself (such as an inner child, parent, coach, or judge). Jot down any thoughts, again noticing what “clicks.”

~The Blue room – This may represent the part of me that feels “magical,” or mystical and spiritual. It is a small room—too small! I want it to be bigger. I would like to develop this aspect of myself, but it feels dangerous as if I cannot trust what, or who, I will find there.
~The Small Man- This character is untrustworthy and dangerous. He is trying to make me forget about coming to the room. Maybe this is the part of me that tries to “protect” me from developing my spiritual side because I fear breaking with tradition to practice the way I want.

And so on….

4. Interpret – Ask yourself what this dream means to you right now based on your responses to step one and two. Reflect on why you may have had this dream at this particular time and how it may be guiding you.

I have felt cut off from my spiritual life and practices lately. I tend not to make them a priority even though they put me in touch with something inside that feels magical. Life has lost its “magic.” But my spirituality is always with me. The “blue room” is always there. Part of me defends against my developing my spiritual side and making the room bigger because it may mean some break with tradition. But I want and need an active spiritual life. Ultimately I want to “get out of the box” and would like to take more steps to connect to my own spirituality.

5. Ritualize what you have learned from the dream. This means taking some action, however small or symbolic, to set in motion the “lesson” of your dream. You may choose to enact certain aspects of the dream, if possible, or find or make objects that remind you of symbols from the dream that you want to hold in your conscious awareness.

My friend decided to paint a wall in her home cobalt blue to remind her of her intention to incorporate spirituality into her daily life. She also thought she might string a necklace of blue prayer beads that she could use for meditation or prayerful reflection to remind her of this important aspect of herself and her life. Any or all of these options may help her recall and solidify the message of the dream.

Not every dream lends itself to interpretation this easily, of course, but I’ve found that it’s often rewarding—and always entertaining!—to consider a dream’s meaning in this way. As you relate more and more to your dream life, you may find you have even greater access to dream imagery that emerges in your waking life. Yes! You read that correctly. We humans dream even while awake. Even the most focused of us spend a certain amount of time daydreaming, whether we are conscious of it or not. The emotional tone, imagery and symbolism of our daytime reveries—just like our sleeping dreams—can be harnessed and experienced more fully to bring about a richer, more satisfying, more connected, more conscious life.

As we approach the start of another new year, I find myself drawn in by the cultural tide to reflect on where I’ve been, where I am now, and where I’d like to be this time next year. I have several rituals I like to practice over New Year’s Eve to help me focus on this process, and I start with cleaning out my closet. I’m not using symbolic language here—though the metaphor is unavoidable, I suppose. I actually do clean out my closet. I give away or donate all of the items I’m ready to pass on. I pull out and dust off well-loved old coats or dresses to repurpose or refashion. Sometimes I try them on, revisiting former selves as I mop the floor and rearrange my shoes.

In the evening, I make some kind of art—ideally at a big table of friends and family who are also making art—as a sort of visioning process for what I want for myself for the coming year. In the past, I’ve written out specific goals for myself as a part of this process. Along the edges of my visioning art, I’ve scrawled such promises to myself as I will practice yoga for an hour a day, or I will get back to studying French, or I’ll research PhD programs, or I’ll do this or that thing that will make me feel like I’ve done something of value.

I’m not planning to write resolutions like that this year though. It’s not that I’m trying to avoid the particular anguish of breaking a promise to myself. It’s just that these sorts of goals tend to distract me from what I really want. Sometimes I keep the resolutions I make. Sometimes I don’t. Either way, I am still hungry for the kind of experience that is not captured by any doing.

What I want for myself—this year and always—is an inner experience. Of aliveness and vitality. Of connection. Of wholeheartedness. I want to connect to myself and to others out of love—not fear. That’s what I really want.

I guess what I’m saying is that I want to find the courage to take down some of the defenses that keep me walled off and sequestered away from people I love—and from myself. I’m not suggesting I want to be unprotected or unboundaried. I do mean that I want to start to deconstruct some of the typical fear-based patterns that disconnect me from my Higher Self. Patterns like not speaking my truth because it feels too vulnerable. Like not going for what I want because I fear I won’t get it. Like not reaching out even when I want to because I’m not sure how my reach will be received. Like running away from a close relationship instead of doing the hard and mindful work of healing it.

Instead I want to take the risk of showing up more. Of reaching out more. Of staying in more. Of going for it more. I want to take these risks even though I know full well that I still might get rejected, or misunderstood, or not seen at all. I want to lead with my Higher Self, the part of me motivated by love, not fear. Not because I think it will win more friends or influence more people. But because I think—actually I know—I will feel more alive, more whole-hearted, more sweet, and more connected. More like I want to feel in 2019 and more like I want to feel always.

So my visioning process for this New Year’s Eve ritual begins with this love letter to my higher self: Dear Higher Self—Wow! I really missed you so, so much during the times we were separated this past year. I didn’t even realize how terribly bleak things got. Unbearable really. Living disconnected from you is way too painful. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’m just so grateful that, after all the times I’ve tried to push you away, you are still here for me. Thanks for that! I want you to be with me always, Self. I know this may sound cliche but, well, you kinda complete me. Hey! I promise I’ll listen more and I’ll let you lead from now on. And I promise I’ll bake the chocolate cookies that you like so much. Will you stay? Say you will. I know you will. With love and much respect, Rebecca

 

 

The Heart Is Right

 

The

Heart is right to cry 

Even when the smallest drop of light,

Of Love, 

Is taken away. 

Perhaps you may kick, moan, scream

In a dignified 

Silence,

But you are so right 

To do so in any fashion

Until God returns

To 

You. 

 

-Hafiz (from The Gift: Poems by Hafiz the Great Sufi Master)

 

This early morning I opened an email from my neighbor and friend, photographer and digital artist Barry Stone. I saw and heard something like this.

Barry has started publishing these improvised moments in image and sound with his recent project Porch Swing Orchestra. He emails them out to his followers regularly, and you can sign up for them here. I’ve come to appreciate each edition as an opportunity to slow down and reconnect with my own wonder about the way life looks and sounds and feels.

Barry has a way of altering each image just enough to make you look longer, and differently, at something you’ve seen many times but moved right past. Some capture dailyness: a backyard scene from the neighborhood, a familiar tree canopy possibly from the greenbelt. Others, like this morning’s foggy shoreline, pull the viewer from routine with a reminder about vastness, or emptiness, or awe.

And then everything changes. The image/sound collages on Porch Swing Orchestra don’t stick around and they aren’t archived. When I emailed him this morning, Barry told me that they are ephemeral by design. “They come and go,” he wrote. “Also, sometimes the images are further subject to chance when I rearrange the code of the photo to create a generative glitch.” So depending on when you click the link above, you may or may not see a foggy shoreline—and if you do, it probably won’t be the same foggy shoreline because the glitch will have altered it.

Of course, that’s how it is. With all things.

Right now, my heart aches just a little that I can’t have that moment back, the one when I opened Barry’s email and delighted in what I saw and heard. Even if I do click back to the image before it changes, my inner response to it will not be exactly the same. That was a one-time deal.

Front Porch Orchestra offers me a small and easily digestible way to observe and explore what Buddhist’s call dukkha—a sort of suffering that results from clinging to what is impermanent. When I experience Barry’s work, I have a subtle but palpable inner experience that I want to hold onto—and it hurts that I can’t. But my suffering in this case is pretty small, so I can practice releasing my grip and even relaxing into the nature of ephemerality, letting it wash over me.

Many experiences in life are much, much harder to let go of. I long for them not to change, or for them to revert to how they felt when I enjoyed them the first time around. But like these images, it’s all fleeting.

I don’t know if Barry purposefully makes art about impermanence and dukkha, though I hope he’ll tell me. Doubtless he feels it just like the rest of us. All the time. All around. Impossible to miss.

Thank you, Art—thank you, Artists—for bringing me to this moment as you do.

I start every work day with the same ritual. Each morning, before my 8 o’clock client, I meditate for a period of time then I pick up my trusty Pocket Pema Chondron (2008) and hold it to my heart. I ask Pema for the grace of her delightful common-sense wisdom. Then I open the book to a random page and  read. This is what she had to say to me this morning:

Let the things that enter your life wake you up

Life’s work is to wake up, to let the things that enter your life wake you up instead of put you to sleep. The only way to do this is to be open, be curious, and develop some sense of sympathy for everything that comes along, to get to know its nature and let it teach you what it will. It’s going to stick around until you learn your lesson, at any rate. You can leave your marriage, you can quit your job, you can only go where people are going to praise you, you can manipulate your world until you are blue in the face to try to make it always smooth, but the same old demons will always come up until finally you have learned your lesson, the lesson they came to teach you. Then those same demons will appear as friendly warm-hearted companions on the path.  (pg. 107) 

I am spellbound watching this beautiful BBC news spot about Baby Naomi–a seven-month old who visits elementary school classrooms with her mother as part of a program to help children connect with their feelings. Check out the video here!

We all can learn so much about ourselves from watching and being with babies and young children. They help us feel, and ultimately learn how to nurture and protect, the young and vulnerable parts of ourselves–the very parts we tend to keep hidden, even from our own awareness. Spending time with, caring for, and delighting in young children and babies like Naomi is a great way to kindle the empathy that can help us hold compassion for all beings, starting with ourselves. Go Baby Naomi!