Guided by external teacher vs. claiming one's own inner teacher

I recently participated in a gathering.

Those who attended the gathering referred to the one in ''the chair'' as their ''teacher''. I was confused. Utterly confused at the word ''teacher''. In my experience, a teacher is one in a hierarchical realm, and I prefer to roam in collaborative realms.

On the first day of the gathering I remained silent. My intention was to get a sense of the culture of this gathering, and if the spirit moved me, I'd speak on the following day.

On the second day of the gathering, one of the participants approached me and suggested I ''have an interaction'' with the ''teacher''. ''For what purpose?'' I asked, and the response included, ''When you speak it benefits everyone''. I said, ''I'm ''.

Though I didn't feel moved to speak, I began to sense that here was a precious opportunity of being with about a dozen people, who are sitting with me in a room, and possibly - just possibly- sit with me as I sit with the enormous terror that resides in my body.

Something in me had the notion to ask for the microphone (in this culture, the speaker holds a microphone in hand), and to hold it in silence. From me, there would be no words, only silence. And in the silent attention of the people, the terror inside of me would have a sense of companionship.

Just as I was about to ask for the microphone, another person took it. As she was holding the microphone she went around the room and asked each person if she/he wants the microphone. When I was asked the question, my response was, ''If I were to want the microphone, would you give it to me?''

Her response was, ''If the teacher - pointing to flesh-and-blood teacher sitting in the chair-tells me to give it to you, I'll give it to you.''

I was beginning to feel somewhat dizzy inside. Dizzy and confused and unable to make sense of what was unfolding.

I said, ''I'm a bit confused. Who's sitting in the chair now, you or the teacher?''

I'll pause here. I'm wondering if anyone here gets what my confusion is about. I'm unable to articulate it, and sometimes it supports me when non-verbal experiences are articulated.

''You'll Owe Me''

I'm trying to feel the foot below the ground, so befuddled and foncused am I.

Some shock as well.

Since the police invasion, I have a paralyzing terror and I'm immobilized most of the time.

Basic tasks are left unattended.

Pat is one who is willing to support me, if I am to offer her cash in exchange for her support. I tell her of my impoverished financial situation, and I tell her of a possibility: I can apply for a home aide, via the almighty City Of New York. If approved for services, the almighty City of New York would offer cash to the one who assists me with my daily living tasks.

Pat likes the idea. She accompanies me to the doctor. The doctor completes the appropriate documentation, indicating that Angel is physically weak and in need of someone to help her with basic tasks.

I submit the documentation to the appropriate almighty New York City agency.

A human being has been assigned the task of evaluating me in person. She says she can come to my home on Wednesday.

Pat says, ''You MUST have someone with you in your home when the agent comes to evaluate your status. I am willing to be there''.

The next day, Pat receives a call from the agent. (I wince at the notion of speaking with a City agent, and have asked Pat to be the intermediary. Pat has agreed, and now the calls are directed to Pat instead of me). The agent calls Pat and says she wants to reschedule the appointment. She wants to come on Monday instead of Wednesday.

Pat says to me, ''Monday is not a good day for me because I have group therapy on Monday morning and it's very important to me to attend the group therapy. But I told you I would be there when the evaluator comes, so I will be there on Monday and I will miss my group therapy''.

I say to Pat, ''I'm feeling uncomfortable about you missing your group therapy. Is there a possibility of the agent coming on Tues. or Wed. or another day? Would you tell the agent I'm not available on Monday?''

Pat says, ''I think we should get this over with as soon as possible. This is long overdue.'' Pat is not willing to tell the agent I'm unavailable on Monday.

I say to Pat, ''Perhaps we can figure out a way that you can have your group therapy on Monday, and I can have someone here when the evaluator comes.''

Pat says, ''I'll give up my therapy on Monday, and I'll come be with you, and you'll owe me''.

I ask, ''What do you mean by that?''

Pat says, ''Eventually you'll have money to pay me, and you'll pay me''.

Those were the words that shocked my system. I cannot make sense of ''you'll owe me'' :(

I recognize yet again my naivete, my innocence.

Mother as Human Being

Jenny was her name. Her hair was blond. Her body was slim. She was a good girl, ever ready for me, always by my side. I have no recollection of the stuff we talked about. Or if we talked at all. It's very likely we communicated without words. I recall feeding her, taking her for walks, washing her gorgeous hair, combing it to a smooth finish, bathing her. I tucked her into bed at night, and awoke to her dedicated need for me each morning.

And though Jenny accompanied me through my childhood years, she was never quite enough for me. There was a certain void Jenny could not fill for me. She just didnt serve a quality of connection I was longing for. After all, Jenny was a plastic doll. And though I took care of her as best I could, there was so much more I wanted out of our togetherness, and plastic is only so functional.

I wanted the real deal. I wanted to be a real mother, to a real baby; to raise a child, to nurture it, to fashion it, to form it, to mold it into a well-balanced person who would go out in the world and rescue the universe, as I'd dreamed of doing myself.

My fantasy wasn't satisfied with the dream of only one child, I had a mind to have twenty children and raise them to be healthy, well-adjusted people.

I could not give a rational reason for wanting to have and raise twenty children, it was just an inner drive that needed expression and fulfillment.

Before long, my dream began to take shape, though not exactly in the way I thought it would.

I had thought that raising twenty children would be easy as pie. That I'd magically know how to be with each of my children in a way that would spare them the pains of growing up, the pains of not having every want met. I had so much love to give that each of them would feel satisfied every minute of every day. Most of all, I wanted to give them all a sense of safety and security, that nobody would ever hurt them or take away their innocence, that they'd be raised in a world that knew not of pain or suffering or deprivation or hate or violence or discomfort. I wanted to nurture and nurture and nurture some more. In my mind, I had an infinite storehouse of nurture that was seeking vessels within which to pour them. My milk was flowing and I wanted to feed the hungry; both to relieve myself of the engorgement, as well as to relieve the others of their hunger.

I have to say that raising children was not a new thing to me. Growing up, my mother rallied my help in raising my many younger siblings. By the age of fifteen my skills were so well-honed, I was already dubbed the family's ''psychologist''. I do not know what notions they harbored of those with the title ''psychologist'', though I reckon it had something to do with being a source of relief to those in distress. When the younger children needed comforting, they came to me. When any of the children had a tantrum, my parents would summon me to take care of the child. Within an instant, the tantrum abated. Magically. My medicine was so easily retrievable from my medicine bag, and so eagerly sipped by my sisters and brothers (as well as my mother). I had unique ability to comfort them when they were agitated, irritable, or otherwise unhappy. My spoken and unspoken message to them always was, ''I'm here for you, I hear you, I support you''.

I believe my attitude was borne out of a desperate need to have had someone do this for me, to have had someone be there for me, to hear me and to support me.

So then I began to have children of my own. All seemed to go as expected. The nighttime wakings. I was used to that. I had done it for my siblings. The feedings. I was accustomed to that; I'd done that for my siblings (not the breastfeeding part-- no oh-- only the bottle feeding and spoon/fork feeding) The bathing; oh how much fun that was! Being immersed in the water was the most fun part of the day! Putting the children to sleep was the sweetest part of it all. The quiet that reigned was nature's way of offering me what I needed after a day of taking care of the children's needs.

The years came and went,and now my children are older. Gone are the days of nighttime feedings, diapering, tending to runny noses, swinging and sliding in the park, gleefully jumping in the water puddles after a rain, joyfully jumping IN the rain! Gone are the days of innocence, when all that mattered was MOM.

As I take a look at my teenage children, I shake my head in dismay. Ever the perfectionist in the arena of ''child-raising'', I note every scratch, every dent, every mistake I have made in raising them. And I want to rectify. I want another chance. I want to do it again, and do it right. I want to do it again and again and again until I get it down pat. Until I manage to churn out the well-adjusted, healthy, functioning child that exists only in my imagination.

There are moments when I look at my teenaged children and my heart soars with pride and joy each time I note that I've affected them in positive ways. And there are moments when my heart writhes in pain, grief and guilt at the damage I have created.

And I want another chance, another opportunity of witnessing a brand new life unfold and not getting in its way.

So that is where I see myself in ten years from now. I see myself continuously striving to perfect this craft called mothering. In the meantime, I am hard at work honing the instrument so essential to this endeavor.

---

I wrote the piece above about three years ago, at a time when I was considering completing a degree in the ''helping'' profession. I wrote this piece in response to an admissions question, ''Where do you see yourself in ten years from now?''

Ultimately, I chose to not enroll in the program despite their clamorings- ''We're offering you a scholarship, please enroll with us!''

I chose instead to engage with the ongoing query of what it's like being a human being who is accompanying smaller human beings in this lifetime. I've set aside my decades-long pursuit of ''how to be a mother to these children'' and am ever so gently engaging with ''being a fuller human being with these children''.

Thank you for reading and accompanying me as I weave my way through time and space, to re-order and re-integrate my fragemented being.

Reweaving the fabric of human connection

By the time I was (?) I had been dragged, dumped, and left abandoned on a path of human destruction. I awoke to a world devoid of humans, my former sense of security, community, connection, but a heap of rubble beside me.

Alone I wandered in this space of desolation and despair, an unscreamed scream lodged in my throat.

I wandered in this space until my legs could carry me no longer.

Exhausted and weary, I lay on my back, the laptop propped on my belly.

The laptop that is connected to the world wide web- it's been branded as ''unkosher'' and ''unholy'' and ''sinful'' to have in one's home.

I began to connect with people who cared about our shared humanity.

A new fabric of community was being woven on this weaving loom.

It was as though I was witnessing a caravan passing me in this barren desert.

Hope stirred inside of me.

My legs began to hold me up again.

I walked, nay ran, toward the human beings. I walked beside them, trying to keep up with them.

But my legs were weak, and I couldn't keep up with their speed.

Would they slow down enough for me to walk along with them, or would they walk off without me, and leave me stranded in the desert yet again?

Fuck You to the current education system of coercion, rewards, punishments

The other week I received a letter in the mail:

 ''Dear Ms. A., Each year the Scholarship and Awards Committee selects outstanding seniors who have demonstrated excellence in scholarship, leadership, and/or service to the school and community during their years at our high school. This year your child will be honored during the Senior Awards Program for his/her achievement.

The Awards Ceremony will be held in our school on Wednesday, June 10, 2015 at 4:30 p.m. We invite you and your child to attend this important event. At that time, he/she will be presented with his/her award(s).

I want to take this opportunity to congratulate both you and your child on this achievement''

So what's my dear daughter doing at home at a time when her fellow classmates are gathered in the school auditorium, and her name is being announced and the expectation is that she will walk across the stage and delightfully reach out her hand to receive the award being bestowed upon her today?

I reckon she may be announcing, in her own way, a ''Fuck You'' to the system that runs so counter to her intuition and integrity.

In witness thereof,

Mom

The Body Knows

My current conception of things is that the body houses the soul. Dents in the soul manifest as dents in the body/psyche.

So when I say, ''The body knows'' I am at the same time saying, ''The soul knows,'' for the soul is letting itself be known through the body's textures.

Today I attended two Quaker meetings/worship. My body began to decompress. I felt my sinuses open. I felt my ribcage loosen. My appetite woke up. Experiencing this direct feedback in my body, I chose to remain in the Quaker space for a number of hours. My body liked it there. Generally, when my body is responsive in this way, it is picking up on intentions of the space holders.

My body says, ''I want more'' and I intend to tend to its request.

Still, I have a sense that there's something ''better'' out there. lol. Can Angel ever be content?!

For someone who was born into a highly oppressive situation, all of this exploration of the wider world is truly exhilarating to me.

Can you relate to one's body responding in different ways when in different spaces?

Rant on Mental Disabilities

This rant was inspired when I began to read this link that a friend shared: (http://www.onbeing.org/program/wisdom-tenderness/234#.VXc-Ds9Viko)

''Mental disabilities''?! WTF- a human being who is impacted by life's experiences, (and likely is sorely lacking human support) is labeled ''mentally disabled''. Disabled in what sense? Unable to process brutal experiences? Yah, what's the disability about that?

Sigh.

Professional Boundaries vs. Human being-with

This question has been niggling at me for years, and when I ask it of the general population I have a hard time making sense of the response.

So I thought I'll ask the question here, and see what arises. I feel like a little kid who's walking around town asking the grownups a question and waiting patiently until I come across the one who offers a response that settles something inside of me.

My wondering is about why people go to psychotherapists- what do they find in the encounters with the psychotherapist that they're unable to have with ordinary people.

To me, psychotherapy seems another way to commercialize basic human interactions. The license is a piece of it. I see the license as something that gets in the way of authentic connection.

I guess this post is driven by an encounter I had yesterday with one who offered me a ''free coaching'' session. Why not, I thought. I've got lots on my mind and heart, and some support may be of use. I approached the encounter with caution, and with an understanding that if the coach was wanting to engage the mind, to the exclusion of the body, I'd graciously bow out of the free session.

So we got started with our free session. Shortly after the start, the coach said that hearing me speak gave rise to an impulse in him to want to help me, to help put an end to the suffering I'm experiencing on account of the government. At the same time, said the coach, there was the issue of boundaries.

At which point my innocent naive being wondered what the grown-up term ''boundaries'' meant. I have heard this word used before. I've heard it used many times before. I've heard it used so often, I wonder if it's just another currency- like money.

I recall a number of years back, when the CPS drama began to unfold, I went to a psychoanalyst to air my distress. The psychoanalyst offered to write a letter to CPS, indicating their actions were harming the family. I then asked her if she'd be willing to offer me money to pay for effective legal counsel. She said she would not offer me money. I asked her why not. I mean, really, why not. If she was so moved to help me with a letter, what was keeping her from helping me with some money? The question remained hanging in the air, her truth well protected behind lock and key. We eventually parted ways, not without a heaping of reprimand hurled my way. Thankfully, my soul stirred and steered me out of there.

When I ask about the meaning of boundary, I ask what it means in your own heart. I'm not asking what the dictionary says about boundaries, or what the social workers are taught in school about boundaries. I ask what is going on for you in your heart and soul in that moment when you say you have to keep boundaries.

Can you relate? At all?

The Insanity of some systems

About six years ago, when I was diagnosed with cancer, I was able to obtain ''third party reimbursement via Medicaid''- Medicaid paid the monthly premium for an Oxford plan. The Oxford plan reimbursed me for out-of-network services. This arrangement worked for about four years. It was marvelous- for the first time in my life I had access to quality care- yummmm. I was able to see a physical therapist who's a practitioner of ''myofascial release'', and it was so life-restorative. I was also able to see other amazing practitioners I'd otherwise not have access to. It was just amazing- I had private insurance, and Medicaid was covering the monthly premium.

Then, about two years ago Medicaid ''bumped me off'' and discontinued paying my premium.

A little bit of background: The surgery was on my neck and as a result of the surgery I was left with one functional vocal chord.

As a result of the one functional vocal chord, my swallowing mechanism functions less efficiently than is ''normal'', and drops of water drip into my windpipe.

As long as I had the treatments available to me via Oxford, all was fine. I was able to cough up the water on a daily basis.

Then, when Medicaid stopped the payments, I was unable to find a way to pay for the treatments that were helping me..... and so for the past two years the water has been drip dripping into my windpipe , and as my body is too weak (on account of the terror, I believe) to cough up the water, the water remains stuck inside.

In February of this year, the water in my windpipe was clogging the space, and my breathing was becoming more and more difficult. I realized that if I did not get help asap, this breathing difficulty was gonna be my kiss of death. So I mustered up whatever amount of courage was available to me, and I made an appeal on a local radio station. I described the situation to the audience, and the host did his piece, ''If you want to help Angel live, please support her. She's a single mom to three children, and too young to die. Her children need her to stay alive, so please let us help her''. Folks opened their hearts and wallets and the donations added up to a considerable sum, all of which went directly to a practitioner of ''breathing coordination'' and one of ''myofascial release'',

When I went to the breathing practitioner, he said something along the lines of, ''Angel, I have been at this work for 37 years, and my sense is that you do not have water in your windpipe- you have a tumor in there''.

For about two months, I had twice-weekly treatments with him, and I felt my body was coming back to life. He worked hands-on with my body's breathing mechanism, releasing my rib cage, releasing my spine, from the frozen posture they're in, on account of my constant state of terror. I was jumping for joy at having my breathing restored. My purple fingernails returned to their natural white color, and remained so throughout the time this practitioner worked with me.

I imagine if I would be relieved of the ongoing CPS/court drama, my body would make a complete u-turn. Yet the CPS/court/apartment issues are ongoing, and this means my body needs ongoing support.

When the donations were exhausted, I made another appeal on the radio, and this time, the response was about a hundred dollars. Hm - what a contrast to the response to my first appeal.

Realizing that I could not draw on the radio station's financial resources for ongoing breathing treatment, I proceeded to apply for ''home care'' from Medicaid. My thought was, ''If I can hire someone to be with me, and the person would be willing to make the calls on my behalf, advocate on my behalf, we may succeed in reeling in the money that would help me access ongoing breathing treatment''.

The other week, a rep from ''the city'' came to my home to evaluate me. My body had a terrifying response to her. I coughed non-stop on account of the cologne that was sprinkled on her. Today, another person came to evaluate me. A male. He's a nurse with an unusually tender heart. He wondered why a male was assigned to me. I told him I had requested a fragrance-free, cologne-free individual, and I guess it was a challenge to find a female who met my criteria. lol. He qualified me for care, on account of my breathing problem.

I told him that as long as I had quality insurance I had access to care that supported me.

So now I'm somewhat foncused. Medicaid is willing to pay for me to have in-home care, at the rate of approx. $12 an hour. If I add up the hours, and the amount of money they're willing to pay for my home care, I want to scream the question, ''Would you please resume payment of monthly premiums? If I can have the insurance back, I won't need the home care! And the premiums will cost you less money than the home care!''

End of rant.

Well, end of this rant and the start of another. A million rants reside in this body. Like the colorful streamer the magician pulls from its mouth....miles and miles of streamer...miles and miles of rants....

The new rant is about ''how the hell am I going to find people with whom my body can be totally at ease, and unwind from all the terror it has been storing for the past three plus years?''

The Radical notion of Human Dignity

The notion that I might know what I need or want, and that perhaps I am the only one who knows it, is utterly absurd to many in the helping profession. At least the ones I've come across. I'm very much wanting to meet those in the other camp- and I imagine if they're in the other camp they would not be found in the helping profession....huh?

I've recently encountered many in the profession of healing the body/soul.

As in the business of psychotherapists, I've encountered those trained in modalities such as ''Bodytalk'', ''Ilana Rubenfeld Synergy'', ''Breathing Coordination'', ''Alexander technique'', ''Feldenkrais'', ''Somatic Experiencing'', and others to whom I've turned for support in supporting this terrified being.

In the past few months, I received life-saving treatment by one trained in ''breathing coordination''. Hands-on work to release the trapped breathing mechanism. My body was responsive- it coughed up water and more... and after two or three sessions the practitioner declared he believes I need to see a homeopathic practitioner. If I didn't see the homeopath, he'd not want to continue to offer me the life-saving treatment.

At the time, I did not know of others who do similar work, so I felt coerced to go to the homeopath. It was only later that I found there are others who do similar work.

When my organism experienced his telling me that he knows what I need, and that I better do it or else, my organism was no longer responsive to his breathing treatment. A large part of my u-turn, if not THE u-turn, is having one who supports my innate wisdom. As long as the other's attention remains on my innate wisdom, the organism is on a path of returning to life. When the other's attention shifts to his/her ideas, my organism loses sight of the life that wants to unfold. LeShan gets it, and his book- The Mechanic and the Gardener is one of my sources of support.

I'm reminded of Pikler's way of being with infants.

This week I went to one of the others I'd discovered. She immediately began to rock my rib cage and I was in such a state of shock, I was speechless. After a few seconds I was able to speak and tell her I have a very sensitive organism and it is responsive to gentle touch, sans the vigorous movement. What I really wanted to say was that my organism responds to her intention, less so than to her hands. This is a conversation that many practitioners I've thus far encountered have a hard time wrapping their minds around. I hope my encounters with like-knowing individuals is round the next bend....

So this practitioner put her hands on my diaghragm and she began to exert very gentle pressure, yet pressure nontheless. I asked her to back off. I said my body tenses up any time it feels it is being pushed beyond its limits, and that my organism will do what it needs to do to unwind from the trauma. It only needs support. She seemed to get it and my organism settled into a space within which it was able to begin to return to unstrained breathing. The quality of her presence became such that I said, ''In this moment I experience you as my midwife''. She was able to relate to the midwife concept and said- ''You listen to your body, and I'll listen to you, and you tell me how I can serve you,''. I asked her to keep her hand on my diaghragm as that is where the terror became bound. Unfortunately for me, her next client came in soon after, and it was time for us to part.

She asked if I want to schedule another appointment. She went into some detail sharing with me that at first she was not going to offer me another appointment, and that seeing how responsive my organism is has made her change her mind.

When I checked in with my being, there was a very clear ''no'' to going back to her at this time. The organism has registered her as someone to be frightened of, someone who shakes me without checking in with me if that would be ok with me. A basic, or perhaps radical, sense of dignity for the human being before her. To check in with the person, ''I'm thinking to put my hands on you to coax your rib cage out of its tension. How would that be for you? Are you up for that?''

Flow amid Structures

This is partly a rant and partly an invitation to my inner world.

It's a rant against a world that is obsessed with structures and walls and rigid rules and roles. And I like structures and walls and rigid rules and roles. Heck, without them I'd be a slimy shapeless being stretching into infinity.

And so, I have created structures- blood vessels within my body, membranes on the surface of inner organs, skin on the surface of my body,- so that I'm not a glob of blood and soft tissue strewn all over the planet. I have managed to contain myself within the parameters of my skin. The blood flow is contained within the arteries and veins and capillaries and whatnot.

Structure is invaluable to my very functioning. At the same time, within the structure, there is an invitation for free flow of blood and lymph and other energies. What a relief it must be to all of you. Imagine if I was not contained in this way- I'd be sprawled across the planet and I'd be in your way, wouldn't I.

So I've managed to contain this glob of blood and tissue and bone and whatnot, with one exception. My love. My passion. My life force. I cannot contain it. It flows. And its flow may get in your way. Your way of what? Where are YOU headed? I am willing to take a detour and head your way along with you. I am willing to walk beside you so you are not alone on your walk.

I have had the experience of childbirth on a few occasions. In the experience of childbirth, when I am one with the waves the experience is an ecstatic one. When I resist the waves, the pain is excruciating.

A couple of years ago I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia- chronic pain is one of its hallmarks. I was offered pain relief drugs (vicodin) and blissfully take no pain drugs to date. My experience with pain has been that when I attend to the felt-sense of the tension in the body, when I am accompanying the tension, pain is not present. Pain only arises when I am however subtlely moving away from the sensation.

Riding the wave of my intuition is equally ecstatic an experience. Pain arises when I walk away from the intutive sense, and succumb to rationality or other force. Meet like with like.

I have no idea why I'm writing these lines. To a degree I do. On some basic level I am aware of the degree to which some and others are comfortable with/without structure. There is no right way or wrong way. There is simply a way in which my organism functions optimally and a way in which your organism functions optimally.

What arises now is, ''Out beyond ideas of right and wrong there is a field; let us meet there''