Find Your Sacred Place, Continued

More to chew on from the discussion between Moyers and Campbell:

Moyers: This sacred place does for you what the plains did for the hunter.

Campbell: For them the whole world was a sacred place. But our life has become so economic and practical in its orientation, that, as you get older, the claims of the moment upon you are so great, you hardly know where the hell you are, or what it is you intended. You are always doing something that is required of you. Where is your bliss station? You have to try to find it. Get a phonograph and put on the music that you really love, even if it's corny music that nobody else respects. Or get the book you like to read. In your sacred place you get the "thou" feeling of life that these people had for the whole world in which they lived. 

That's it, but wanted to share this with you. I'm reading fiction almost every night (right now, it's "Master and Commander" by Patrick O'Brian) and I'm loving the feeling of just disappearing into the story. Music, books, art, silence, whatever it is... Campbell is onto something, so find your bliss station, and spend some time there!

Find Your Sacred Place

I've been toying a lot lately with the idea of committing to a consistent meditation practice. I know I need one: a place of stillness and peace where I practice awareness and breath and just sitting and *being* for a few minutes every day. I do have a regular yoga practice, but while complementary and integrated, they are not one in the same.

I've been returning to Joseph Campbell again lately, as he is the one voice who, for me, can cut through all the clutter and noise and remind me how to return to what is highest, truest and timeless. I found this exchange in "The Power of Myth" the other day, and it has given me new motivation to find my sacred spot in the day where I can meditate and fill my cup.

Bill Moyers: You write in The Mythic Image about the center of transformation, the idea of a sacred place where the temporal walls may dissolve to reveal a wonder. What does it mean to have a sacred place? 

Joseph Campbell: This is an absolute necessity for anybody today. You must have a room, or a certain hour or so a day, where you don't know what was in the newspapers that morning, you don't know who your friends are, you don't know what you owe anybody, you don't know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation. At first you may find that nothing happens there. But if you have a sacred place and use it, something will eventually happen. 

Doesn't that sound exciting?

Here's to each of us finding our sacred place, and experiencing "what you are and what you might be."

Peace,
Tiffany

p.s. What ideas do you have for where or when your sacred place might be? How will you commit to being there each day? Since I'm serious about finding this, I'll post an update on how I've made this happen in my life.

Why We Need to Keep Asking Why

One of the most powerful practices you can enact is to simply ask “Why?” instead of giving into your most automatic impulses, thoughts and actions.

• When someone says something hurtful to you, ask yourself why they feel the need to hurt.

• When someone cuts you off in traffic, ask why they aren’t paying attention or why they are full of urgency or anger.

• When someone dresses in a way you find goofy or scandalous or slovenly, ask why.

• Then, ask why you are reacting as you are, or why you feel the need to examine others so closely. Know thyself first, right?

The thing is, we know so little, but we assume so, so much. We fill in the spaces of all we don’t know with our opinions, our emotions, our thoughts and our beliefs. We fill in the spaces with our family histories, our socioeconomic background, our race, our education, our religion. We fill in the spaces with our culture, our parents, our stories and our philosophies. We fill in the spaces with our egos.

 

Your curiosity is perhaps your greatest teacher, your best guide.

Your curiosity opens you up, accesses your observant awareness, closes down your impulsive, judging thoughts. Your curiosity is a path to your heart and your highest self.

My son hasn’t started asking “Why?” about the whole world yet (though he’s begun with “What’s that?” about many, many things!), but we all know the story about the child who drives his parents bonkers with asking “Why?”

When does that end? When do we stop asking why? Why do we stop asking why?

I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because we get frustrated once we realize that there are so many things we don’t know the answers to. Maybe we like living in a world of certainty more than we like having our minds and hearts challenged. To be sure, it’s exhausting to spend a lot of time in uncertainty. We don’t have answers, and we like answers, so we invent them, even if we must do so unconsciously.

I like answers. They are so satisfying. But they are not what the world and the people in it are here for. The world and people do not exist to give you answers.

We have so many answers in this world. Science and our faculties of reason and intellect have given us the path to almost as many answers as we want. Somehow, we have to reacquaint ourselves with mystery, and subsequent to that reacquaintance, we must find comfort in, or at least acceptance of, mystery.

This is one reason I love reading mythology or reading about it. Mythology is not, as is commonly explained, a way to explain a world before there was science. Mythology points directly at Mystery. Does its level best to deliver you into its midst, inasmuch as words and stories and art can deliver the ineffable.

Hmmm. How’d we get from judging less to talking about the Mystery? Are they related?

I think so. Because if we keep asking “Why?”, beginning with the most basic things – our bodies, our relationships, our world, our universe – we stay open enough to eventually arrive at the doorstep of Mystery. And there, knocking on Mystery’s door, but not really expecting an answer, content to gaze at the intricate carving of the door, the way the moon bathes the door in a bright and silver light, content to experience the profound peace that comes with accepting that the door has no key, no lock, no handle, we achieve a union with ourselves, with others, with Source, and that is the very definition of bliss as we can know it in this human lifetime.

One of the things I know now as a parent that I didn’t know before is that a newborn baby is an expression of the Mystery. Totally otherworldly, completely spellbinding. Open and beautiful and as close a window to the Mystery as we’ll ever get here on earth. Little by little, humanity overtakes them, and that is not to be mourned. But for a few brief weeks, these little sleeping, gurgling creatures are more like sprites or fairies or some other mysterious, magical being. Their peace (when not crying, of course!) is enough to move anyone curious enough to watch them to tears.

Many wiser than me have said that our spiritual journey here on earth is a process of reclaiming what we already know and have experienced – that we are one with Source, that our natural state is to be completely open and at peace and infinitely loving.

I agree, and advise that one tool we need on this journey is our curiosity. Of course, asking why can be a dangerous proposition: It can lead us to answers, and if we stop seeking, we get stuck, thinking we’ve found all we need to know. We stagnate there. We may be alive, but vitality stops. That’s why we must never stop asking why, why we must always make room for curiosity.

Peace,

Tiffany

In what areas of your life have you stopped asking why? How could you engage your curiosity to revitalize those areas? Please share any thoughts in the comments.

How to Stop Judging Other People

Today I’m going to argue for a life of less judgment, especially of others. It’s a really strange trait, and we all do it to some extent, but I’m asserting that the less you judge others, the happier and more productive you’ll be.

It’s curious when this begins in our lives--this need to have an opinion on the goings-on of other people. In my 22-month old, I don’t yet discern any judgment of other people. He does judge food, or books or music – “Mama, turn it off” or simply “No” to an offer of a food he doesn’t want.

But somewhere along the line, we begin to watch what other people do and decide to have an opinion about it. What people are wearing. What they are reading or how they are dancing. What political party they subscribe to, or what sexual orientation they possess. How they raise their children, how they decorate their living rooms. Whatever it is other people do, we decide to pass judgment.

To some extent, I think part of this impulse is rooted in the ability of discernment—in other words, being able to differentiate objects or ideas or people for qualities. After all, at some point we must decide which of something to purchase, whom we should partner with, or what ideas or faiths or philosophies will help guide us through life. I’d argue that there is such a thing as quality, too. Some items, foods or people or ideas are better for us; are higher quality or superior to others.

What happens along the way is that we begin to care whether other people choose the same things or ideas that we do. It’s a funny thing, and I can’t say I fully understand the “why” behind this impulse. My best guess is that we are insecure about our own choice, and so we need to feel that others have chosen poorly. Another reason, I think, comes from economic impact. The argument, for example, that people who smoke cost us all money. (Of course, that’s more a problem of a socialized system. I’d argue that it’s a trade-off: If you want the “system” to pay for people’s expenses, you have to accept that people will be people and do things that are expensive, especially if they are aware that they will not bear the full cost. But that’s another topic entirely.)

In any case, I will say that I think that for whatever reason we do it, it would be in our best interest to minimize it as much as possible. Even, if in the above example, you can find a direct link to another person’s actions “costing” you somehow, or otherwise affecting you directly.

The less you judge others’ choices or actions—and most especially people you don’t even know!—the more peace you’ll find for yourself.

Lately, whenever I find myself judging someone for any reason—for hairstyle, diet, different parenting style, whatever—I just say, “No skin off my nose.”

In other words, it doesn’t hurt me that they have chosen differently. Even the most charged of decisions can be handled this way: faith, politics, child-rearing. Because you should be concerned with yourself and your family, and make decisions for yourselves.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with observing someone else and wondering if they have something to offer you. Often you can benefit from learning more about what others are up to. Say your neighbors xeriscape their yard. Watch how the plants do. See if the maintenance would lower your water bills. If so, adopt what you admire, and leave the rest. If you decide it’s not for you and you think your front yard is just fine, no big deal.

The thing is, judgment is loaded with emotion. Namely fear, I think. Discernment, which is what the above process is closer to, is far less reactive and emotional, and more based in a calm and rational action. When you judge someone’s choices or behaviors, you become more distant from that person. Less kind, less forgiving, less helpful, less human. Less loving and peaceful.

Besides repeating “No skin off my nose,” something else that helps me when I’m tempted to judge is to remind myself that every single person was once a tiny, helpless baby. This is probably more powerful for parents than non-parents, but it opens my heart every single time. I remember to breathe, and I feel compassion and space for that person.

With this simple practice, I’m a far happier, more secure person. Almost no road rage. Less confusion. Greater focus. Better relationships. More patience and tolerance. After all, I think about how to take care of my own needs and wants first, and as I don’t waste as much time worrying about what everyone else is doing, I’m far more productive.

No skin off my nose. It’s such a silly saying for such a profound idea. But with practice, it begins to take hold, and once it does, you’re that much closer to bliss.

Love,

Tiffany

I’m curious what you do when you find yourself judging someone else, especially when you realize you’re being quite harsh. What is your internal dialogue with yourself like when you notice you’re judging?

How to Try on a Big Decision

All of my advice on making a big decision came from a person who didn’t have children. Now that I have a child, I can see how my decisions affect this new life that I’m responsible for, and let me tell you, it does complicate things. I don’t think my prior advice is invalid, but I feel like it doesn’t account for this feeling of responsibility for a child’s experiences and development.

So, as a giver of advice on decision making, it turns out I have been a huge hypocrite for nearly two years. For two years, I have been avoiding a decision about work and staying home with my son. I have been avoiding this decision by trying to do it all: I stay home and take care of him during the day, and I do my freelance work at naptime and at night, after he’s in bed.

When my workload isn’t that heavy, this feels totally manageable. I spend a few hours each day on work, and then get to bed at a reasonable hour, with enough time to talk to my husband and even read a bit.

But when things really get rolling, burnout approaches very, very quickly, and suddenly I’m cranky, tired and just feeling overwhelmed. Then, just when I think I can’t take any more and something has to give, work slows down and I feel like I can continue on.

But even when things slow down, I recognize that I am just avoiding a decision. For our family, day care isn’t the right choice. I intend to homeschool/unschool my son, so why would I send him to preschool? He is the most amazing person on the earth in my eyes, so I find it very hard to pay other people to spend time with him, when I feel like they should be paying me for the privilege of hanging out with him! (I’m only half-joking!)

Still, with much agonizing, I’ve decided to hire a babysitter to come to the house for a few hours in the morning, starting once a week, to see how it goes. The agony is not because I worry about him: The babysitter is also a mother, a smart cookie (she was homeschooled) and is very mature and responsible, not to mention the fact that she also practices attachment parenting, as I do.

The agony comes in because I perceive time in a very expanded way, which makes the day-to-day feel more weighty, I think. I often envision myself, twenty years from now, reminiscing about my son’s adorable little hands, his enthusiasm for his trains, the particular timbre of his little baby voice, and I know that I will be so pleased that I soaked up every moment. I recognize that this is a season of my life, and that it will pass, and I will one day have all the time in the world to do freelance writing, if that’s what I should choose.

But then there’s my desire to remain engaged in my work, as it is satisfying, it certainly is a help financially (though not absolutely critical to our survival) and it is something that if I give up now, I wonder if I’ll be able to pick up again. I also think there’s the matter of my son recognizing me as someone with an identity outside of mother and wife.

All of this swirls in my head at night until I’m so confused and exhausted that I just drop off to sleep.

The point is, I’m trying on a decision. I will see how taking a few hours to do work during the day and during his waking hours will be. I’ve already envisioned everything I can envision, and I am stumped. The intellectual process I’ve described can only go so far in certain instances, and this seems like one of them.

Now, I will have to experience the decision, and, more importantly, see how my son experiences the decision. If he’s happy and there are no ill effects, I can feel more comfortable with this decision. If, on the other hand, he seems moodier, clingier or is restless in his sleep, I’ll have to reconsider. (Same goes for me: If I am moodier, clingier or restless in my sleep, it may not be right for us.)

What allowed me to try on this decision was the realization that very few decisions (though there are some, and they are biggies!) are completely irrevocable or do irrevocable harm.

If this decision to hire a babysitter and get some more daytime hours for my work doesn't feel good after a real trial period, well, then, I’ll know which decision is the best one for me and my family. Likewise if it does feel good and me and my son and husband are happy and doing well. 

It’s true that some decisions are easier to try on than others. Moving, for example, is more difficult than hiring a babysitter! Marriage is a decision, yes, but it is also (supposed to be) a lifelong commitment, and one I believe should not be approached with a “let’s see how it works out” attitude. So, there are some decisions that you can try on, and others that must be made with the intuition and leap of faith approach.

But, for those smaller decisions, or the big ones that lend themselves to a trial run, it’s so good to remember that you can take the step and see how it feels. And that it’s OK if you need to change your mind.

It’s also important to realize that, when you make a decision in good faith, there is no “wrong” decision. In any moment of deciding, you make the best decision you can at the moment you make it. Sometimes it turns out that you were missing crucial information about yourself or others, so you stop, take a deep breath, and reevaluate. And if it turns out that yes, this decision you’ve made isn’t working, you make a change and start on a new path.

Remember, your peace (and/or your child’s peace) is more important than protecting the ego that might be embarrassed at having made a human mistake.

If you are in the grips of paralyzing indecision, as I was, and you think you have a decision that is try-on-able, pick a path and start walking down it. You can always turn around and find your way back to where you are right now.

Peace to you,
Tiffany

p.s. I will update you all on how this decision I’ve made works for me and my family. Only the experience will settle this particular question for me, so we’ll see how it all goes!

Primal Bliss (Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying And Eat Like a Caveman)

In the months since my miscarriage, I’ve been thinking a lot about health. My health, my husband’s health, my son’s health, and my parents’ health.

My health, because of the miscarriage: Not because I think I was in terribly poor health, but because I want to be in optimum health for another pregnancy, and of course just because it’s a good idea.

My husband’s health, because of course I want him around for a long time, and because, in conjunction with me, we serve as health role models for our son.

My son’s health, because I want him to have a radiant and happy life.

My parents’ health, because my mother is, for the first time in her adult life, taking responsibility for it, and because my father is feeling so poorly that he, too, is looking at making major changes, or facing curtains.

I realize ever more what an illusion “medical care” is. I think that it is wonderful in emergencies, accidents and a very few diseases, and I’m grateful that it exists. But too many of us, myself included, have trusted in medicine’s ability to swoop in and take care of our problems. This isn’t entirely our fault, as most of us have been trained in this mentality from day one.

For a host of reasons, beginning with the shockingly bad and careless treatment I received in the area’s “best” hospital after my son’s birth, I have started my own quest for personal responsibility in health, mainly so I can be healthy and happy and avoid as many medical practitioners in my life as possible. (As it becomes abundantly clear, too, that the system is hopelessly broken, it is in our financial interest to practice personal responsibility in health, too.)

However, I’m not into quacks, charlatans and other health gurus. That’s just making the same mistake of entrusting your health to a different subset of people. So it’s not really a move into “alternative health” that I’m making, but rather an alternative approach to health.

What that leads me to is that I am considering evidence—all evidence—from credible, science-backed sources and weaving that into a plan for what works for me and my family. I’m proceeding carefully and also radically into a mode of self-experimentation, starting with diet and fitness.

In short, I’m eating and exercising like a caveman.

Actually, after months of research, I’m following the majority of the advice behind the “Primal Blueprint” and a month in, I am shocked at how much better I feel (and look).

Before I go into what results I’ve gotten, I’ll just say that it’s a no-brainer that your health should be your biggest priority in life. If you are living in a way that shortchanges your health, short-term or long-term, you will have many obstacles on the path toward living your bliss, simply because so much of your time will be taken up with illness, discomfort or more serious problems. Trust me. I know how much time my dad spends at the doctor’s office. It’s mind-boggling.

And the thing is, I don’t think most people (my dad included) are lazy, have poor impulse control or are gluttonous overeaters. I think there is something wrong with the way we’ve been taught to go about fitness and diet and it is just not working, as evidenced by the chronic illness, obesity epidemic and even just people like me, who had minor, chronic ailments, despite doing everything “right.”

My troubles really began after my son’s birth. I had no problem losing the weight from pregnancy (which wasn’t much to begin with: about 25 pounds), but keeping my blood sugar stable has been a challenge for the last two years. I had a couple of hypoglycemia incidents that had me sick, nauseated and in bed feeling so bad that I contemplated going to the ER. Then the constant feeling of being run down. Granted, a newborn will do that to you, and since he didn’t sleep through the night until he was 15 months old, that had some hand in it, but I knew instinctively it wasn’t the whole story. Then, despite a regular walking/running exercise routine, yoga, “healthy” food and being hungry all the damn time, I realized I wasn’t heavy or overweight, but just puffy. If I was doing everything right, why wouldn’t I be in great shape?

I’m open to radical ideas; it’s just the way I am now. I listen to something, and apply my own analysis and do my own research to see if it’s credible or not. I am not interested anymore in “knowledge” that is received or common.

So I found the blog Mark’s Daily Apple linked from a favorite website and here I am.

I don’t eat any grains. None. No wheat, no rice, no corn, no oats – you get the picture. No refined sugars, either. I eat plenty of veggies. Lots of grass-fed, organic meats with lots of fat. Wild fish and shellfish. Pastured butter and organic heavy cream. Eggs. Nuts. Olives. Some cheese. Lots of coconut and coconut products. Fruits, some chocolate and some alcohol.

I follow the exercise advice, too: Move frequently at a slow pace. Lift heavy things. Sprint once in a while. That’s it.

In one week, I stopped being hungry all the time. Before, I couldn’t go two hours without a snack. Now, I could probably go from breakfast to dinner without eating if I wanted to. No more blood sugar crashes. No more foggy brain. Better sleep. Most of all, just so much more energy. My mood has improved, and I am happier and more even-keeled. I just feel better all around.

As if that weren’t enough, how I look has changed, too. My skin looks more radiant and is clearer than it has been in two years. (I actually got carded recently, which hadn’t happened since becoming a mama!) I think my hormones have balanced out, too, which helps with the skin issue. I’ve lost eight pounds, and my body fat percentage—immovable for years—has finally started declining. I can see muscles in my legs that I’ve never, ever seen in my life. My stomach is flatter, and my clothes just fit better.

I can’t wait to see what the next few months bring. I don’t expect that I’ll never ever eat another slice of cake or a piece of pizza, but I don’t plan on going back to the way I used to eat. If I should get pregnant again, I can add in some quinoa, sweet potatoes and other high-nutrition carbs to round things out. (Pun intended, ha ha.)

The point of this post is to share some anecdotal evidence with you, and challenge you to look at what advice you might be following regarding your health that you have never questioned or analyzed and see if there is room for changes that might improve your life.

Health--good or bad--is not permanent. I realize that simply because I have found a way of eating and living that is working for me does not mean I will never fall ill or get injured or what have you. But what it does mean is that I am comforted that I have found something that I can do, that I have taken responsibility for, and that the rest is out of my hands.

When I feel good and have my health and do daily work to maintain good health – that is part of the path toward a blissful existence. When I don’t feel good and have fallen ill or injured - that is the nature of being alive, so I will not agonize over it, but will do all I can to heal and feel my feelings and accept what is.

I wish radiant health and happiness to all of you.

Peace,
Tiffany

p.s. If any of you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them in the comments.

A quick hello...

I'll be back very soon with new posts. Have been very busy with work and travel. But fall always brings new insights and new ideas about how to shift into a more bliss-oriented life, so stay tuned...

For now, I will leave you with some images from my recent trip to Maine. (Which, by the way, was so good for my soul.)

How I Healed After My Miscarriage

Some lives are long, and some are very, very short, but they all make their mark.

That’s the sentence that came to me from somewhere that felt very much outside myself in the days after we lost the little sprout that we believed would be our second baby.

I’m a fairly private person, so I’ve struggled with how to discuss this here. But I talk so much about finding bliss and equanimity and peace even through the hard days, and there were no days I’ve had that were as hard as those.

So I’ve decided to open up a bit, and share how I found my footing and began to heal after this loss.

Note: If you don’t think you can handle hearing the details of a miscarriage, this isn’t the post for you. I have decided to do something scary, and that is to write honestly, which is something I am tired of being afraid to do. That’s a topic for another post, but suffice it to say, this will be a post that does not hide from life’s more uncomfortable realities.

First of all, miscarriage is something very few people talk about, but it is very common. I think it’s so difficult to discuss because it most often happens well before you begin to look or even feel pregnant. We had only told our families, and so in a sense, unless we said to everyone, “Hey, we had a miscarriage,” it was invisible to almost everyone, making our pain private and lonely. (I actually wrote to my closest friend in the days afterward, telling her, I said, so that she could be witness to this event in my life. I’m so glad I did, as I could not let this little life go without my closest friends helping me to acknowledge it.)

1. Reach out to friendly ears. Don’t go it alone.

When we found out we were pregnant again, we were stunned and happy. We were hoping to have a second child, but we were surprised at how quickly it happened, since our son took us some time to conceive.

I knew I was pregnant for a week (but I was 6 weeks along), and I wish I could say that I spent every moment being grateful and thankful for this new life. Instead, I found myself thinking about how I would fit a new child into our home, how it would affect my relationship with my son, even—gulp—what it would do to my body, as I felt I had finally gotten it “back,” whatever that means. In other words, I wasted more time than I care to admit in useless worry and what-ifs.

Once I saw the spotting, the fading line on the pregnancy tests that I took once I realized this pregnancy was unlikely to continue, and finally, the bleeding that told me that I’d never see this particular baby’s face in this particular lifetime, I was filled with regret, with remorse, for every second I spent not being grateful for this new life.

2. Won’t do that again.

Because it was an early loss, I trusted my body to do what it needed to do. No doctors. Just some ibuprofen for pain, and normal life. After all, I have a beautiful and energetic son to take care of, and a toddler, thank god, doesn’t stop for anything. Life went on as normally as possible, until…

Until I discovered my lost baby’s embryo. That’s what happens, isn’t it? One day an embryo was in my uterus on its way to being my second child, and for reasons I will never, ever know, that path ended, and it couldn’t stay inside my uterus any longer. And there, in the wavelike folds of toilet paper, I was forced to say goodbye to more than just an idea of a baby.

3. There is no denying the reality of death.

Do you know how you know you’re married to the right man? When he comes home that night, and you show him the little box (shipped to the house carrying the beneficial insect eggs he’d ordered for the garden—lovely green lacewings) into which you’ve nestled an embryo that you could identify from a drawing in a biology textbook, but that is your fused DNA, your lost baby, your lost daydreams, and he gets so profoundly sad, as sad as you’ve ever seen him, and you know that somehow, even though this is the most painful moment you’ve ever shared with him, that you are really, actually indivisible, because your sadness is a shared sadness that is so deep it could consume you both, but instead, your love begins to pour into the hole, filling it from the bottom up.

4. True love is salvation.

But it was into a hole, dug by my husband, that our lost baby’s embryo went, under a live oak tree in our yard. Watching my husband go to the garage in a deliberative quiet, retrieve the shovel, and then start digging a little hole with such skill and care made me fall in love with him in a way that had nothing to do with charm or wit or physical beauty or any of the things that people focus on when they’re younger. The seriousness and care with which he treated this tiny resting spot for our sprout is something I will never, ever forget.

In the dark, we kneeled and cried. We cried so, so much. There was a baby, supposed to be inside me, that was now under a tree. We said we were sorry we would never get to meet him or her, that we loved and wanted this life and that we would never forget it. And then we said goodbye, and placed dirt, and finally a rock, over our lost baby.

For the next few days, we cried and we talked, and we stared into space and cried some more. We needed to. We felt our feelings when they asked to be felt.

5. Feel your feelings.

So much of life consists of not knowing, and yet we try to pin life down, to find reasons for the way it is. I do this all the time, and it is normal, but misguided. I see a young girl on the playground with cancer, and I want there to be a reason: exposure to environmental toxins? Genetic mutations? How could it be that she was just unlucky?

Making this more complicated are the swirls of studies and scientific reports that seem to imply that toxins or genes can be the cause of cancers, or that external factors—controllable factors—can cause death, illness, disease. As though those things would not happen if we could eliminate all those factors.

The guilt I felt for the miscarriage was what descended on me in the next few days. I’d had a glass of wine. I am still nursing my toddler. I have been dehydrated a lot lately. I am maybe nutritionally depleted. I read an article that said nursing, for some women, is linked to miscarriage. I showed the article to my husband, and I started sobbing. Curled on the floor, my face buried in my hands, I cried, saying: “I killed my baby.” Because at that exact moment, that’s how I felt. So again, I felt my feelings, entrusting them to the most trustworthy person in my life.

He smoothed my hair, and just held me. No, you didn’t, he said. You don’t know why this happened.

Over the next several days, I realized that the suffering, the guilt, was based in my trying to find a reason that I could control. If I could figure it out, I could make it never happen again. But, once I felt those feelings and let them pass through me, I realized that I didn’t know anything for certain. Somehow, I had to accept that I would never, ever know why we lost this life. Sure, I might have suspicions, or theories or thoughts about why, but while I am alive, I have to accept the unknowing.

6. Know what you don’t know.

And I got to that acceptance by grieving fully and totally for something I have no power to change. Even if I could have prevented it, I didn’t, and so the baby that I loved from the moment I saw the pink line is still, sadly but surely, irretrievably lost to us for all time.

I had already gotten so attached. Imagining this little boy or girl playing with my son, imagining how his or her features would differ, what sort of personality I’d get to meet. I thought about the little toes I’d now never get to kiss, the little mind I’d never have the privilege of exploring, the giggles and tantrums I’d never witness. I kind of wanted to not think about these things, because every time I did (and even now, many times that I do) I had to experience an intense, painful sadness that brought me to tears. I was giving this nascent life its due, and in the process, letting myself be sad enough that I could properly say goodbye.

7. Purposefully meditate on whatever it is you can hardly tolerate thinking about.

The next few days I walked around in a fog. I was just numb, checked out. I was able to take care of my son and his needs, but I was less able to focus, and off in a netherworld that felt shadowy and gray.

I don’t know what was going on inside me, but whatever it was, I just let it happen. Almost as though after such intensity of feeling and awareness, I had to power down in order to restore a normal level of functioning.

And at no particularly important moment, I just started feeling better. I could laugh again. I could look at the world and not take it or myself so seriously. I could return to yoga and reading, my body and mind again willing and able. I began to pursue the care I needed—contacting a midwife for counsel, herbs and what I could do to prepare my body and mind for a healthy pregnancy, whenever we were ready. I could appreciate how many blessings I had, as well as appreciating and accepting all that I had lost.

8. If you’ve felt your feelings, time does heal.

No one wants anything bad to happen, and I don’t think there’s a “reason" for why things happen the way they do. I think that life is inherently a rising and falling wheel of fate that we can ride in one of two ways. 1) We can ride on the rim of the wheel, attached to good fortune and crushed by bad fortune, clutching and avoiding and suffering all the way or 2) We can crawl toward the center of the wheel, and witness the rise and fall from a place of equanimity, seeing it for the impermanent journey that it is while still being a part of it, while still fully experiencing it -- and embrace it.

Not that that’s easy to do, but, you know, that’s the way I think makes the most sense, so it’s what I practice at.

I have a friend whose nephew died when he was very young. I can’t imagine. How much grief I went through for an embryo of 6 weeks, so much more a child you have loved and nurtured and known. No one can mindfully say that there was a “reason” for his death, just as there’s not a “reason” for my miscarriage, or for that little girl’s cancer. That’s not the spiritual universe I subscribe to. My god has a little “g” and is not a being, is not wrathful or rewarding, is not a parent trying to teach me a lesson.

What I’ve come to is that bad, truly awful things can happen to us. And, if we can survive them, and feel our feelings and grieve our losses fully, we become new people in new territory. And like any new journey, we will come upon trials as well as gifts. Why spurn the gifts, especially if they are so hard-won?

I would never have chosen to go through the abuse I went through when I was younger, I would never have chosen to go through the miscarriage. I hope I won’t go through another one. But since I have gone through those things, and since I am irrevocably on the other side, I choose to accept whatever positive changes these great trials have brought with them.

The deepened love for my son and my husband.

The greater sense of self-knowing.

The gratitude for the many blessings I have.

The reminder of the shortness and sacredness of life.

The knowledge that I can deeply love another child, even one I will never meet.

The heightened awareness of impermanence.

Some lives are long, and some are very, very short. But they all make their mark.

About two weeks after the miscarriage, my yoga teacher closed class with “Keep Me In Your Heart” by Warren Zevon, which he wrote while dying. Eyes closed, on my back in savasana, I started to cry. I cried and cried. And then I felt an incredible lightness, a peace. At the end of the song, my yoga teacher said, “I like what Rumi said: ‘We haven’t truly begun to meditate until we cry.’”

Not only do I like what Rumi said, I think it is true.

I don’t know what the future holds for me and my family. Right now, I am choosing to stay as close to the present moment as I can, and find my balance by trying to move toward the center of that ever-rolling wheel.

Peace and love to you,

Tiffany

Returning soon...

Just a quick update to say that I am doing better, and that I am working on a post that will not only talk about the reason for my recent hiatus, but will also mark a turning point in the direction of this blog, I think.

Just been really, really busy with work and family and travel and healing, but look for my new post very soon.

Thanks for your patience and support.

Love,
Tiffany

A Brief Hiatus...

...as I recover from something I'm not yet prepared to write about. I will return to this space as soon as I'm able, and in the meantime, many thanks for your patience and any good wishes or prayers you feel able to send my way.

Love,
Tiffany