Sometimes my own words just don’t want to come out, at least not in a cohesive way that says what I really want to say. Today is one of those days. When this happens, I go to the quotes I’ve snatched off of Facebook and/or Pinterest.
Yea! Yippee! Music cued and I’m doing the happy dance! Okay, really, I’m just sitting at my desk typing, but in my mind, I’m dancing. Yesterday was day 28 of my own personal yoga challenge, and I am happy to say I did it! Of course, if it would not have rained all last night and this morning, I would have had 29 days in a row since I always do beach yoga on Sundays. Unless, of course, it is raining. When I realized beach yoga would not be happening today, my first thought was, ‘I’ll go to Bikram;’ my second thought was, ‘what’s wrong with you? Your body needs a break.’ So, no yoga today. My body truly does need a day of rest.
This what I learned from doing 28 straight days of yoga – it is exhausting. For whatever reason, I definitely need a day off to let my body recover and recuperate from all I ask of it on a daily basis. I also think if I did beach yoga 7 days a week, I’d probably be okay. It was the Bikram that I found so difficult. And not difficult in that it was hard, but, rather, it was the heat and sweating like a racehorse that did me in. Don’t get me wrong, I kind of liked it, or I at least liked the challenge of doing it. I did not manage to fall in love with it, though I will continue to do it, but only one day a week. What I also learned is I need to walk. It is like breathing to me, and when I am unable to do it, I feel like something vital is missing. I simply did not have the time to do yoga every day and walk, too. Maybe if I didn’t have to work… but I did, I do.
I was so busy getting through last month’s challenge that I never thought of anything to do for the month of March. Like I mentioned a few posts back, January was cleansing and no sugar or alcohol; February was continuing to eat clean, and though I did drink alcohol a couple of times, for the most part I stuck with not drinking, and, of course, my yoga challenge. I think for March I will take it easy and spend the month deciding on a challenge for April. It seems a good thing for me to challenge myself.
Below are a few quotes about challenge that spoke to me. Perhaps they will inspire something in you, as well:
“To be a champion, I think you have to see the big picture. It’s not about winning and losing; it’s about every day hard work and about thriving on a challenge. It’s about embracing the pain that you’ll experience at the end of a race and not being afraid. I think people think too hard and get afraid of a certain challenge.” ~Summer Sanders
“Challenge is the pathway to engagement and progress in our lives. But not all challenges are created equal. Some challenges make us feel alive, engaged, connected, and fulfilled. Others simply overwhelm us. Knowing the difference as you set bigger and bolder challenges for yourself is critical to your sanity, success, and satisfaction.” ~Brendon Burchard
“I want to challenge you today to get out of your comfort zone. You have so much incredible potential on the inside. God has put gifts and talents in you that you probably don’t know anything about.” ~Joel Osteen
“Scientists have demonstrated that dramatic, positive changes can occur in our lives as a direct result of facing an extreme challenge – whether it’s coping with a serious illness, daring to quit smoking, or dealing with depression. Researchers call this ‘post-traumatic growth.'” ~Jane McGonigal
Of these four quotes, the last one explains, perhaps, the why I feel it necessary to challenge myself. I guess in some ways I am still healing from my sexual assault, and this is my brain’s way of continuing my ‘post-traumatic growth.’ I like it! It makes sense to me. I think so much of what we do, of what I do, is more unconscious than not. These small or not-so-small challenges I set for myself are a way of being more conscious in my life. And if life truly is a journey, not a destination, as Ralph Waldo Emerson believed, then the way I see it, the more conscious we are, the better that journey will be. So much, well, really, everything, changed in my life on 24 September 2011, which has turned out to not be a ‘bad’ thing. I’ve just had to learn how to embrace what now is. I will continue to challenge myself, and, hopefully, continue to grow. And that, I believe, is a very good thing.
Loved this post on KINDNESS BLOG…
DeGeneres wrote on Twitter: ‘Congratulations Graham Moore. That speech was beautiful. You should think about being a writer.’
While Grande posted: ‘Anyone else want to hug and thank Graham Moore?’
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While trying to decide on which book to choose for today’s post, this one practically jumped off the bookshelf and into my hands. CRASH INTO ME, by Liz Seccuro, was published in 2011, and that’s when I read it. How I was even able to at that point, I’ll never know. The only thing I can think is I was still in shock and my brain simply shielded me from the horror of what I was reading. (It continues to amaze me how my body and brain protect me when I don’t even realize that’s what’s happening until much later.)
From the inside dust jacket: “Dear Elizabeth: In October 1984 I harmed you. I can scarcely begin to understand the degree to which, in your eyes, my behavior has affected you in its wake.
In September 2005, Liz Seccuro received an apology letter from William Beebe, the man who had raped her twenty-one years earlier. Liz was only seventeen when she was assaulted at a fraternity party at the University of Virginia. Although she reacted as best she knew how–going straight to the hospital and taking her story to the college administration–the school’s deans discouraged her from going to the city police, and effectively denied her the kind of justice she sought.
For years, Liz struggled to put the trauma behind her and lead a normal, happy life. The letter brought it all raging back. Terrified that her rapist had tracked her down, Liz began an email correspondence with Beebe, and became determined to pursue the criminal investigation that should have happened years earlier. She wanted justice, and the case seemed clear-cut: she had a confession from the man whose face had long haunted her. But as the highly publicized investigation progressed, a narrative unspooled that was darker than she had believed: a gang rape with at least two other assailants and numerous onlookers, and a wall of silence among the fraternity brothers that persisted two decades later.
Liz Seccuro’s experience of campus assault and justice deferred is an all-too-common one, but it is a story we too rarely hear. In CRASH INTO ME, Liz tells her story with candor, courage and hard-won hope.”
Truly, I do not know how I read this book, as I was right at the beginning of my ordeal. It is easy now, though, for me to see and understand that as difficult as it was and as hard as I had to fight the justice system to make sure my attacker was convicted and sentenced to prison, I actually had it better than a lot of women who suffer similarly. I had the support of family and friends. I also had the maturity to not let anyone keep me from what I knew was right and necessary to do. The ignorant comments from the police (Are you sure it wasn’t a robbery? I HAD NOTHING TO STEAL! and Are you sure you didn’t just trip? YEAH, I TRIPPED AND MY CLOTHES FELL OFF!) not withstanding, there was no way, NO FLIPPING WAY, I was letting this drop. It was too late for me to be safe from him, but getting him off the streets and keeping other girls and/or women safe was my responsibility.
Although Liz Seccuro’s book is a difficult read, I do recommend it, especially if you or someone you know has been sexually assaulted in any way. It is also another example of how it is possible to go on and live a normal, happy life after surviving a horrendous event. In the end, getting the justice you deserve is its own reward. It may not be easy, but is it ever worth it!
Two of my last three posts have been about, basically, being active and moving my body, and how important it is to me. It’s why I am challenging myself to do yoga for 28 days in a row. What is amazing is that I am able to do all that I do now. I was born with metatarsus adductus, which is commonly known as pigeon toe or in-toeing. Apparently, it is quite common, and most cases are mild. Mine, however, was extreme. The causes of it are still unknown but, in my case, while in my mother’s womb, my feet bent and stayed that way. My feet were so crooked and turned in that starting somewhere around 8 months, I had to wear a polio brace, the kind that had the metal bar from knee to knee. I searched and searched for a picture of this type of brace but I was unable to find one. So, there I was, an 8 month old baby, a quite active, climb-out-of-my-playpen kind of baby, wearing a brace on my little legs to try to straighten out my feet. I started walking at 9 months, and I must have been a sight. I clearly liked walking from a very early age and didn’t let the fact that I was in a brace keep me from it. The picture below is me on my first birthday. You can see the angle of my left foot, even after 4 months of being in a brace.
At some point, which I of course do not remember and neither does my mother, the polio bar brace was replaced with a brace similar to this one…
This was as close as I could find to what I wore. For five years! I seem to remember that the metal bars went down both sides of my legs, but I could be wrong about that. All I do remember for sure is how much I hated, despised is probably a better word, wearing it. And I had to wear it 24 hours a day. The only time I didn’t have to have my braces on was bath time and when my feet grew and I had to get new shoes attached to the metal bars. Other than those two times, I always had them on. I wore them through kindergarten. Thankfully, by the time I went to first grade I was finished with them.
As if this wasn’t enough, when I was 11, I had a growth spurt that messed my knees up, pretty much, for life. I grew too tall, too fast, and this caused my knee caps to slide and for fluid to accumulate on my knees. Luckily, it was never enough that I had to have a giant needle stuck into my knee to remove it. When it first happened, I was splinted, told to take aspirin however many times a day (don’t remember exactly) and given my first pair of crutches. And from then on, I was on crutches at some point every single year until I was 19 years old. I ‘broke’ my splint within a week. I couldn’t stand having my leg immobilized and each day would practice bending my splint until it broke. Of course, all that meant was I had to go back to the hospital and get another one.
So, like I said, at some point in each year from 1971 to 1979, my knees would flare up, and back to the orthopedic doctor we would go. If I remember correctly, I only had a splint the first time, but I would have to use crutches for a few weeks at a time until the pain went away and I could put my full weight on it again. And I took so much aspirin that it stopped working for me. I then switched to Tylenol when that came on the market, until that stopped working, too. Now, ibuprofen is the only pain reliever that (sort of) works for me. Actually, thinking about it now, that first growth spurt was big, but I continued to grow until I was about 20 or 21, which is probably why I had problems all through my teens.
When I was 17, I was sitting on the back of a metal folding chair and fell over backwards and when I hit the ground, my foot somehow hit the seat of the chair and my heel broke. You can’t really cast a heel, but you can use crutches. I had permanent calluses on my hands and under my arms from using them so often. Then, when I was almost 19, the night before I was leaving to spend the summer in Wildwood, New Jersey, I stepped on a rake handle wearing Dr. Scholls sandals and broke three bones in my right foot. That necessitated a trip into Atlanta (at the time my parents were living in Canton and there was no orthopedic doc on staff at the hospital) to get x-rays and a soft cast. I did make my flight the next morning, on crutches, though that made it impossible to get a job as a cocktail waitress, since I couldn’t tell potential employers exactly how long I would be on said crutches. Instead, I worked in a sea shell shop on the Boardwalk.
Though I continued to have periodic problems with my knees, especially my right one, I more or less stayed off of crutches until my later 30s. I was in Barcelona and tripped crossing the street and tore cartilage in my knee. Not, of course, my ‘bad’ right knee, but my left knee. While in Spain, it was misdiagnosed as severe tendonitis. I stayed off of it and by the time I got back to the States a month later, it seemed fine. Six months later, though, it started clicking. Long story short, I had to have surgery, where 30% of my meniscus was removed, and fun, fun, fun, I got to be on crutches yet again. When I went to physical therapy after my surgery and told the story of the history of my knees, my therapist was astounded that it had taken that long for me to have had a serious problem. Well, really, if I wouldn’t have tripped and wrecked my better knee…
I do know that yoga has helped my knees over the last 3 1/2 years. And while there are certain poses that I will most likely never be able to do, that’s okay. At least I am still able to walk, and I am happy to say I have not been on crutches since 1997, and I am doing my best to keep it that way.
When I was young I was always climbing trees, swinging on the monkey bars and always, always upside down in some fashion or another. I taught myself to do front handsprings when I was about 7 or 8. I was always able to walk on my hands and stand on my head. So, naturally, I became a gymnast. The only problem was I was tall. And I developed early, so I definitely did not have a typical gymnast’s body. I could do floor and beam, because even with my height, it wasn’t too much of a problem. Vault was a little more challenging because of my long legs, but I was able to do it. I didn’t like it, but I could do it. The uneven parallel bars were another story entirely. Although I was strong, there was simply too much of me and I’d go swinging off the bars and land on my head. I can’t tell you how many times this happened. (Actually, this probably explains a lot about me!) The other ‘problem’ I experienced was an incredibly flexible back and an inability to control just how much I could bend backwards. Not only was I able I touch my feet to my head, both from the floor or on my hands, I could lean my head back even more and put my feet over my eyes. My back basically bent in half! While it sounds great to be so flexible, I also had trouble when attempting back handsprings and back flips. When you do a back handspring, you are supposed to take up approximately your body’s length on the floor. For example, if you were, say 5’5″ tall, when you go backwards, your hands should land about 3′ behind you and as your body continues back and your feet flip over, you are supposed to land about 65″ from where you started. Not me! I would go straight up and straight down and my hands would land in front of my feet. What this mostly meant was I landed on my head more times than I can tell you. It was a little better with back flips because my hands were not involved. However, this was not the proper way to do it and I would always be marked off at gymnastic meets because of it. Something had to change.
I was already on a swim team. Honestly, the only reason I ever joined the swim team to begin with was because there was a boy on the team that I liked and this was a way to spend time with him. What can I say? I was 13 years old. Now, this swim team was a summer team and not my high school team, and this particular boy went to a different high school because our neighborhood was split. Still, I decided to join my high school team, as well. Then I discovered the team had only one girl who was a diver. Ding, ding, ding! The bell went off in my head…become a diver…how hard can it be?!? So I told my mother I wanted to dive. I do not remember how this came about, but I suddenly had a private diving coach, Billy Ray Schmidt. At the time, he was the coach at The Westminster Schools in Atlanta. I would be taken several days a week to practice. This was 1974. I was 14 years old, and that first year I placed 12th in Georgia for the high school championships. I had been diving for about 3 months at this point. My high school got 1st place, overall. It is not as good as it sounds; still, I had found my new passion.
While diving at Westminster, one of girls I dove with was Jenny Chandler, who went on to take the gold medal for 3 meter springboard at the Montreal Olympics in 1976. She was so good and an inspiration to watch at practice. I think I only dove with Billy Ray for about six months, or so. Then I got a new coach, Carlos de Cubas, the coach at Georgia Tech. I had diving practice every day of the year, and twice a day in the summer. I loved Carlos, and he really changed the way I dove, and he made me into the really good diver I eventually became. He was a gold medal winner from the Olympics in, I think, 1936 (I could be wrong about the year.) He was originally from Cuba and had a really thick accent. It took a while for me to even be able to understand what he was telling me.
In 1976 I had been diving for 2 years, and I had a decision to make…should I train for the Olympics in 1980? Since I came very late to the sport,and since I wanted a life outside of diving, and really, was I actually good enough to compete at the Olympics, I ultimately decided not to train with that goal in mind. I continued to dive through high school and then because I had two cousins who swam at Florida and for one of the same reasons I chose not to train for the Olympics, that being I wanted a life that consisted of more than just classes and practice, I made the decision not to dive in college. Oh, I dove intramural, and beat everyone, the boys and the girls, but I never competed again after high school. In the end, 1980 was the year the USA boycotted the Olympics in Moscow, and boy was I glad I had made the decision I did back in ’76.
It has been years, many, many years since I’ve even been on a diving board. I like to think I could still do some of the dives I used to. Realistically, though, I’m pretty sure I can’t. As for gymnastics, I can still stand on my head, and though I am relatively flexible, I am nothing like I used to be.
The pictures below are from a meet in the summer of 1975 when I was 15:
Reverse dive, layout position
Front 1 1/2 somersault, pike position
Inward dive, pike position
Front dive 1 1/2 twist, layout position
Inward 1 1/2 somersault, tucked position
I won first place.
Today’s post is short…
My mother always said it was far easier to be nice or kind than it was to be mean or unkind. I didn’t really believe this when I was a teenager. I had brothers who were always mean to me and when ignoring them did not work, I thought being mean back was the best solution to the problem. It wasn’t. As an adult, I can understand that being kind is the only way to go through life. A smile, a compliment, a simple ‘good morning,’ though all seemingly small gestures, may make the difference between a good day or a rotten day for someone, whether a friend or a stranger. Really, how difficult is it to smile at each person you meet? Even if you are feeling less than great yourself, the very act of being kin to someone else will make you feel better. Since it is impossible to tell what people are going through or dealing with simply by looking at them, kindness is always the best bet. We’ve all heard stories about someone who had made a decision to end his or her life, but because of the kindness that a friend, or even a complete stranger showed, perhaps a smile that was directed at them, they felt a little less alone and decided that, maybe, just maybe, life was worth sticking around for, after all. We have also all seen the bumper sticker MEAN PEOPLE SUCK, and while it is true, why must we put out such a negative thought into the world? Why not have a bumper sticker that says, KIND PEOPLE RULE or ALWAYS CHOOSE KINDNESS or KINDNESS IS THE WAY?
The quote below, stolen from a friend’s Facebook wall, pretty much sums it up:
The yoga studio I most go to when not doing beach yoga is Mosaic. Starting on the 21st of this month, they are beginning a 30-Day Challenge, which includes doing yoga for 30 days, eating clean, and meditating. I thought I would participate, but after looking at the studio’s class schedule, I realized there was no way to make it work for me. So I decided to make my own challenge. I started on February 1, which makes today the eighth day of my challenge. My usual yoga schedule for the last year or so has been beach yoga on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays, with the occasional class at Mosaic when it rained.
I love to walk, and as I’ve talked about before, pre-attack, I used to walk 60-90 miles each week. The reason I got so much mileage is living on Coronado Island and walking everywhere. My actual workout walk would be anywhere from 6-10 miles, depending on the day. As I have also mentioned before, after my attack, my walking went to zero miles per week. I could barely even walk to the grocery store in the middle of the day. Eventually I was able to get back to walking, but only after the sun came up. I have never gotten back to the kind of miles I used to put in. That is partly because of not walking in the dark and partly because I’ve been really busy with work and don’t feel like I can take the time to walk when I need to be working. In any case, my schedule of late has been walk on Mondays, walk sometimes early with my friend Mike on Tuesdays, bike to beach yoga on Tuesdays at 8:30a, Wednesdays sometimes walk, but usually this would be my off day, Thursdays bike to beach yoga at 8a, Fridays walk, Saturdays walk and Sundays walk to beach yoga at 9:30. It may sound like a lot, but, really, it isn’t. I need to move my body. A lot.
For the month of January, I decided to drink no alcohol, eat clean, cut out sugar and processed carbs. Though I was not 100% successful, I’d say I was better than 90% ‘good.’ I was actually in bars 3 different times during the month and drank only water. That wasn’t as hard as it sounds when one of the bars I was in has drinks that are $15.50 without tax and tip! Anyway, I chose to begin the year with a cleanse of sorts because I have yet to lose the weight gained after my attack. And while it is not much, at most 10-15 pounds, and since I am tall and was thin to begin with, it’s not like I look bad; I am just not comfortable, and so decided that 2015 is the year to make it happen. I have to say the biggest benefit of not eating sugar, which is what alcohol becomes, is very few hot flashes, and even the ones I’ve had have been tiny and not disruptive. That alone should be enough to keep me from ever drinking again! And to be honest, I did have one, and only one, glass of champagne on the 31st, so I did not remain alcohol-free the entire month. I haven’t had anything since though, so that must count for something.
For February, with the idea planted in my brain to do yoga for 30 days, I decided to challenge myself to do it every day this month. Saturday was an easy choice: go back to doing the ashtanga class I used to do in Pacific Beach. Now I just needed to fill Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. The obvious choice for this was to do Bikram yoga at the studio here on the island. Best of all, they have a 6a class on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Perfect! (I did a class there almost 2 years ago, and though I didn’t hate it, I had never gone back. It really was difficult with hot flashes and made them worse. I couldn’t see torturing myself even more so.) I got a Groupon for $99 of 2 months unlimited yoga. So, I had my schedule down: M,W,F Bikram, T, Th, Su, beach yoga and Sa ashtanga in Pacific Beach. I figured the biggest challenge would be M,W,F, and oh, was I right.
I did okay on my first Bikram class last Monday. Yes, I sweated buckets, but, thankfully, the heat did not give me hot flashes (must be the no sugar.) Also, since I am a year more into my practice of yoga in general, I am simply stronger and better able to do the poses. So, my first class was okay. Since beach yoga is never a problem, Tuesday’s class was uneventful. I did choose to walk to it, just to get some walking in. Wednesday’s Bikram class had me wondering what I was thinking making this challenge for myself. I was so sore. I have been ‘Epsom salting’ myself on a nightly basis, which I’m sure helps, but I was really hurting. I went to bed at 8:30p and slept 9 hours. I also took ibuprofen in the middle of the night and woke up feeling much better. Thursday beach yoga was good, as usual. I wasn’t so much dreading Friday’s Bikram class as I was looking forward to Saturday and Sunday, which meant no Bikram. Talk about a vacation!
Yesterday’s ashtanga class, which I had not been to since June, was awesome. It is a pretty challenging class, but I love it. This class is outside, on the grass above the ocean, not on the actual beach. Steve Hubbard is the instructor and this class has grown from just a few at the beginning 7 or 8 years ago to over 200 people today. There were between 230 and 250 yogis at yesterday’s class! And today’s beach class was also wonderful.
Tomorrow it is back to Bikram at 6a. I think, maybe, hopefully, the first week was the hardest. While I cannot imagine ever loving Bikram the way I love doing yoga on the beach or my class in Pacific Beach, stranger things have happened. I will continue to keep my mind open and enjoy the challenge I set for myself.
The picture is from my Saturday class, taught by the wonderful Steve Hubbard. I took this shot from Steve’s Facebook page. You sure can’t beat the location!
I was recently asked, given what I went through because of my sexual assault, if I trust again. I was pretty sure what I was being asked, but I replied, ‘You mean people in general?’ Hesitantly, he said, ‘Yes.’ I suspect he was asking if I trust men again. What I told him was, ‘Yes.’ He thought maybe I look for ‘the lie’ when dealing with people. No, no, I don’t think I do. I’ve thought about it a lot in the last 10 days or so since the question was posed to me, and the longer I think about it, the more I know this is true.
I have definitely been accused in the past of being naive. Seems hard to believe that someone would think that of me just because I tended to expect the best from people, and tended to give people the benefit of the doubt. As Anne Frank said, “Despite everything, I believe that people are good at heart.” I do my best, though I am not always successful, to live my life this way. The truth is, even immediately following my assault, when I was still in shock, afraid of most everyone, men, women and children, I still knew, deep inside, that in spite of what had happened to me, most people were not bad. And just as I really hated living on Coronado for a long time after 24 September 2011, I also knew that it wasn’t the island that had done something to me. It was one person; well, and the entire process did not help, but it was never Coronado that hurt me. Didn’t make it any easier to live there though, until I got through it. I can’t even tell you exactly when it changed back for me, but one day I was walking home from uptown and it suddenly hit me that I no longer wanted to move away anymore.
I believe what I am told…is this the same as trusting someone? I don’t think people are going to lie to me. If you tell me something, I trust that you are telling me the truth. Somerset Maugham said, “It’s a funny thing about life: if you refuse to accept anything but the best, you very often get it.” I prefer to live my version of his quote: It’s a funny thing about people: if you expect the best from them, you very often get it. Or as Claude M. Bristol said, “We usually get what we anticipate.” I think Anne Frank, Somerset Maugham and Claude M. Bristol sum up the way I used to be pre-attack, and the way I have, finally, gotten back to after a whole lot of work. Part of what made my healing process so difficult was getting my head around the fact that it happened to me at all. The only thing I did ‘wrong’ that morning was be tall, thin and blonde, and was be in a place that a predator was looking for just that type of woman. I never expected it to happen to me. Never. And in spite of doing everything I was ever told or ever heard about how to behave in a situation like I found myself in, nothing worked, starting with no warning bells going off in my head when I first encountered DCD. I attribute that to the fact that I didn’t expect to be attacked. I trusted that I was safe. Turned out I wasn’t, and my world turned upside down as a result.
What I do know with absolute certainty is I cannot, I will not, live my life being afraid. Part of the reason I worked as hard as I did to heal from this was because no way was I letting one person, one awful event, determine the rest of my life. I was very lucky that at the time of my attack, I was in a healthy, happy, loving relationship. I know that my healing process would have been very different, and much more difficult, had that not been the case. The fact that my boyfriend was very supportive and encouraging made all the difference, and even though, ultimately, the relationship did not survive, he was there for me through the worst of it. For that, I will be eternally grateful to him.
Back in 2013, I chose TRUST as my word for the year. This is what I wrote then:
“I TRUST that everything is working out. I TRUST that I am right where I am supposed to be. I TRUST that I am doing just what I am meant to do. I TRUST that everything happens for a reason. I TRUST that even if it may not seem like it at the time, everything truly is happening for my highest good and to make me a better person. I TRUST that the right people, the people who can be helped by my story, will read my story. I TRUST that the right people show up in my life at the right time. I TRUST that even in the darkest hour, there is light. I TRUST that I am safe. I TRUST that even behind the clouds the sun is shining. I TRUST that I am making a difference. I TRUST that all my dreams are coming true. I TRUST that everything happens in perfect and Divine timing.”
Yeah, what I said more than two years ago! And since I am two years further along my healing path, I can honestly say that, yes, I do trust people again, though I’m not positive I really ever stopped. And last, but not least, my new favorite quote from Pinterest:
And while the patience part is challenging, I do TRUST my journey.
THE FIVE LEVELS OF ATTACHMENT: Toltec Wisdom for the Modern World is a wonderful book by don Miguel Ruiz Jr.
From the dust jacket: “Building on the principles found in his father’s bestselling book THE FOUR AGREEMENTS, don Miguel Ruiz Jr. invites us to gauge how attached we are to our own point of view. In THE FIVE LEVELS OF ATTACHMENT, he will help you gain awareness of the agreements you have been implicitly making all these years that shape your reality and affect your future and show you how to release the attachments which no longer reflect who you really are.
This method is twenty years in the making. When don Miguel Ruiz Jr. began his apprenticeship into his family’s Toltec tradition, he was just fourteen years old. His first task was translating his grandmother’s talk from Spanish into English. One day, as he struggled to keep up with her, she asked him: Are you using knowledge, or is knowledge using you?
Finding the answer to this question would shape the destiny of his life. In this groundbreaking work, Ruiz explains each of the Five Levels of Attachment in detail and shows that as our level of attachment to a belief or idea increases, ‘who we are’ becomes directly linked to ‘what we know.’
Our attachment to beliefs — our own and the beliefs of others — manifests as a mask we don’t realize we can take off. But with don Miguel Ruiz’s help, and some Toltec wisdom along the way, we can return to our True, Authentic Selves, unhindered by judgement and free to pursue our true life’s calling.”
The foreword of the book was written by the author’s father, don Miguel Ruiz. In it he says, ” My son has spent a great portion of his life silently rebelling against the way other people live, creating many judgements and opinions. He did not realize that in doing so, he was becoming attached to those judgements and opinions, and his emotional reactions were becoming increasingly intense. One day he had a conversation with his grandmother — a conversation that would forever change his life. During this conversation, his grandmother, a faith healer, helped him understand the attachment she had to the rituals she used for healing her patients. My son saw his own reflection in this interaction with his grandmother and was able to clearly see all of his attachments. This is how his rebellion came to an end. Although it took him a couple of years to completely assimilate the experience into his life, he finally decided to share it in a book. THE FIVE LEVELS OF ATTACHMENT is that book, and it is destined to transform the lives of millions of readers.”
And in the author’s words…”In this book, I will teach you the Five Levels of Attachment. The are guideposts for gauging how attached you are to your own point of view, as well as how open you are to other opinions and possibilities. It is my hope that you will engage in this book to measure how attached you are to the various beliefs and ideas in your life that create your reality, your Personal Dream, and contribute to our collective reality and the Dream of the Planet. Only with this deeper awareness of yourself are you truly free to pursue your passion and experience your full potential. The choice is up to you!”
mosaics, gardening, creativity, nola living, dress up, flowers, color, happy shit, upcycling, creative freedom
"Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things" -Marcus Tullius Cicero
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