Saturday, December 4, 2010

Winter Musings (c) 2008 Joan M. Newcomb

(c) 20108 Joan M. Newcomb

Just walked to town during a snow storm (wimpy by New England standards, very exciting by Seattle standards)! I'm writing this from the libary for a small break before walking home.

It was quite an adventure. I bundled myself up, taped plastic bags around the bottom of my jeans, put on earmuffs, a hat, and pulled the hood up on my stadium coat. My husband's snow gloves were a smart addition - kept my hands warm because of the extra room in the fingers!

I had a jolly time walking. My hat ended up being low on my forehead so I couldn't see very well. It was like being inside a snowglobe. Just me, my thoughts, and my Expanded Self.

I wanted to have a conversation about the issues I've been working on - fear, foundation, the need to be being taken care of (a driving force since I was 22), to name a few. The thing is, my Expanded Self responded immediately with one sentence to each issue, so it wasn't much of a talk.

Fear is a body issue, bodies are concerned about survival as life and death is very real to them. I got an immediate picture of the whole game, with bodies being a part, and the programming that holds everything together. But this is an illusion, bodies are an illusion, survival is an illusion. How can Tibetan lamas levitate or control their body tempatures in artic conditions, how can Indian gurus stop their hearts and start them again, how can there be spontaneous healing, people defying the statistics for AIDS and cancer, if this were a solid and set reality?

Foundation is within. When I asked about this I felt solid in my lower abdomen. I realized I was focused and asking this from my heart, but the response was lower. First chakra. Except chakras are an illusion, too. But this is my focusing point, this illusion of a body, so it's my foundation within the physical.

The need to be taken care of. I immediately got that all my needs *are* taken care of. Everything that unfolds is perfect, my Expanded Self is creating this all down to the smallest detail. Everything *is* being taken care of. But, but, but...

Not a satisfying response to a body that wants to feel secure and loved. (You ARE loved, I immediately hear). I want to win the lotto, so I'm financially taken care of forever (or at least for the 26 annual payouts). I don't want any more surprises or heartaches in my life. So that means my kids have to be happy and taken care of for the rest of *their* lives, too. Or at least until they're 73 and 76, since an on-line insurance quiz said I'd live to be 104. Everything has to be hearts and flowers for everyone.

Sounds like I want to live in a Disney movie, without the villians.

Even writing about this has triggered a deep, deep thread in me. It's probably a core resonance for everyone, stemming from infancy when we *needed* to be taken care of, or die. And I realize this loops back to everything I've been writing about - this is an illusion, the body is an illusion, this is part of the survival program that holds this illusion together.

I got the picture of one of those robotic babies that they given teenagers in Health Class (okay at schools with big budgets; other kids just get 5# bags of flour). The babies are programmed to cry, to need to be changed, be fed, and will stop working if these needs aren't responded to. We're all walking around in giant robotic babies. And mine takes over typing this blogpost occasionally.

What I do about this is to see myself as both the one with the need and the one able to take care of it. There's a wise, all knowing part of me, my inner Obi-Wan, and when I imagine it stepping forward, the needy part of me is comforted.

The library is closing early (no surprise), so I think Obi-Wan and C3PO are going to walk home now.

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