Chain Mail

It was only the smallest square of souvenir chain mail but as a young girl, it fascinated me. So I kept it in a carved antique lock box, next to pre-pubescent love notes, a few baby teeth and my “top-secret” diary. “Nothing!” they told me at The Higgins Armory Museum Store, could penetrate these links. So, my vulnerable self let the silky cold metal slide through my fingers as I imagined an impervious existence; a life without fears or chinks.

However, when we took a family road-trip to visit New Hampshire’s Castle in the Clouds, I stood before Thomas Plant’s tiny suit of armor and laughed at the knee-high knight, out loud.  My amusement at his stature, though, pointed one finger at his prized costume and 4 fingers back at me. I too felt small and scared in a big world, longing for protection. Would I soar or surrender in my battles? How small or great would I be?

Indeed, the warriors were waiting and I would be tested around this fragile age. During my first year of Catholic girls’ high school, while peaking in my power, I was bullied by several older classmates in a terrifying way. Death threats were put in my locker and worms hurled at me at lunchtime so even my closest friends dare not stay. I was a 14-year old chased through the hall with scissors by 17-year olds who wanted clip my mane. “Kill yourself or we will kill you”, their scribbled notes would say. As class president, I organized a fund-raising dance for the entire school but the sophomores, juniors and seniors boycotted it as a symbolic spit in my face. When a few of the Heather-like harassers heard I’d be attending with a hunky senior from the boys’ school, they attacked me outside the dance with skunk spray. They wrapped the bushes in toilet paper and vandalized the decorated gazebo windows with vulgar words of hate. They did everything in their power to torture and torment me let alone embarrass me in front of my date.  

Later that week, when my school uniform was stolen as I attended swim class, I kept my cool and pretended I was stronger than their threats.  However, decades later I realized that what we bury in adolescence can lead to a lifetime of post-traumatic stress.  I ultimately switched high schools, slid into a corner, dimmed my light and kept negative memories at bay. But my secret past was a ghost who sat silently in the chair behind me. I dared not stand out, speak out or shine in any way.

I recently was made aware of my own banished parable when I heard about the movie “Bully” and felt every second of the featured children’s pain. Though I was often the friend and defender of the bullied, MY oppressors were too many and I simply couldn’t be saved.  I share this tale not to cement my story but to show that “victim” is a role I no longer choose to play. It was ironically my strength and what I had going for me that made me a target. Have you ever been punished for your power, speared for your success or burned at the stake? Life taught me early on that the most treacherous path of all is the one where we aspire to be great.

Indeed, we start young, creating our armor, link by link, chain by chain. Meanwhile our REAL power is that vulnerability that links us to all humanity, where we are uniquely powerful and yet sweetly and softly the same. Most bullies are the fearful ones, who pose as powerful but lack self-esteem, so they tear down anyone who is unlike them and interesting, moving confidently toward a dream.  When the bully is finally banished and our heroic journeys are penned, we can rediscover our true essence. Behind the brick wall there is a neglected but beautiful flower garden protected by an iron fence.

Whether symbolized through a tiny piece of chain mail or a shrunken suit for a miniature magnate, sometimes shields are needed and the world is not safe. But as Gandhi said, “A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave.” Passion for self, others, pursuits and principles is what is most needed now. It is our unbridled inner enthusiasts, not our cautious conformist selves that we must celebrate.

So, the challenge is to express ourselves truthfully in the face of fear and own all that we are and have the potential to be. Glorious and victorious is the unarmored knight who drops the sword, speaks his word and wears his heart and humanity on his sleeve.

The Chosen One

When the news circled swiftly around the internet that Steve Jobs had died, I was amazed by the mass grief. Yes, I had an iPhone and iPod and was still hedging on the iPad, but I found the overwhelming response to his passing beyond belief. Was I not enough of a techno-geek or did I take his inventions for granted? Was I simply annoyed that my new iPhone was faulty and needed to be replaced? Or was I assuming the term “great inventor” belonged under a portrait of Henry Ford or Thomas Edison. Was I scouring my history books for inspirational figures while “genius” was there, mock-turtlenecked, staring me in the face.

The reason I wanted to comment on this wasn’t to repeat Steve Jobs’ life story or to hammer home the obvious rag to riches clichés. I just wanted to highlight a few sentences uttered by the visionary that make me shudder to this day. When speaking about his early life and being adopted, this is what he had to say: "I wasn't abandoned. I was chosen. I was special." His whole axis turned on this one childhood epiphany and his destiny was shaped.

What one little boy decided about himself changed millions of lives forever. There is no discounting the power of perception when it comes to self-esteem. We can choose to see ourselves as perpetual victims or we can use our circumstances to fuel our dreams. Indeed, his life was a winding path of outer uncertainties, but Steve Jobs pieced together a perfect puzzle with the glue of a compelling belief. Thankfully, the “chosen one” took everything that happened to him good or bad, and chose what it would mean.

A Portal of Possibility

At 9:00am, September 26th, on the grounds of Omega Institute, a cloak of clouds coasted over rain-soaked clover, leaving the hottest and most unexpected sunbeam in its wake. Sitting there silently in meditation among a sea of 1,600 sweltering seekers, I heard “The Entity” was about to enter the tent and I dutifully stood to pray. João Teixeira de Faria (aka: John of God) walked slowly and powerfully, supported by assistants into the palpably sacred space. When he looked into my eyes facing him fearfully from the front row, I felt my chest and abdomen start to vibrate. I had done my research and watched several YouTube videos. What if he whipped out a serrated kitchen knife and tilted my head back for a cornea scrape?! But what I was experiencing was not human terror after all. No New Yorker neurosis would this calm being tolerate. I wasn’t standing before a butcher. I was in the magnetic force field of a king, a master, a healer or a saint.

As his deep Portuguese voice bellowed The “Our Father” and “Hail Mary”…time stood still as though anchored by João’s physical and spiritual weight. Our eyes closed en masse for only a few devotional seconds before he disappeared like a fleeting apparition. Could this be the same lumbering being who had taken so long to reach the stage? My friend, sitting beside me turned my direction and her expression mirrored my befuddled face. “Where did he go??” we whispered in unison. It was just the first of many mysteries to unfold in the hours that followed. João was no ordinary man and this was no average Monday.

As a student of mysticism, I am endlessly seeking answers but there are things I cannot explain. So, I search for symbolism and mine for meaning hoping I can teach others to do the same. I could share in detail about the unusual warmth and softness of “The Entity’s” hand, the electricity of his aura, and how on my second passing before him, João’s body transformed and his countenance changed. He reached into his pocket and handed me something invisible. Without a second thought, I extended my arm to take it and his assistants hurried me away. Buzzing from the inside, tears rolling down my cheeks, I wondered what I had been given. Was his physical gesture an effort to convince me I had received something from a higher plane? Despite my tendency to believe the Abadianian folklore, my thirst for tangible proof was probably printed on my forehead like a marquee on Broadway.

Awestruck and exhausted, I drove back to the city unable to even speak of the experience to my eager and investigative husband. The details seemed clouded over like the clover. What had I seen? What exactly had taken place? How could I share such a foreign and bizarre story with others? After all, I was cloaked in white, sitting in a swarm of spiritual soldiers. The words “Hale-Bopp” hung in my head and rolled off my tongue to the great amusement of my buddy. This was real and inexplicable but would others find me insane? Was I standing before divinity incarnate or was I participating in a Brazilian “Heaven’s Gate”?

Cynicism aside, it is reported that Medium João selflessly heals thousands and has done so for over half a century. His Casa in Brazil has no official website. There are no blatant commercial aspects. The humble man credits his gift to God and works tirelessly often without a break and always without pay. His very existence opens a portal of possibility. When we quiet the critic and humble our humanity, there is potential for profound faith.  Symbolically, I am left with that learning. What if we spent our lives forcing our will instead of leaving room for grace? What if belief was the bridge between the mundane and a miracle and 10 daily, quiet, meditative minutes was all it would take? What if everything was possible, even miraculous healing, if we were only willing to pray?

My epiphany was a beam of light that cut through the questions, like the sudden sun through the soggy tent on that unforgettable day. A-Ha! Moments were not meant to be prodded for proof or dissected like lab frogs. When we swap our complex certainties for spiritual simplicity, child-like curiosity cleans our skeptical slates.  If we had all the answers, what would be the purpose of hope or faith? Through that portal of possibility, there is opportunity for evolution. “What if?” is engraved on the door plate. We can live life as we have always known it or cross the threshold to a new one. A world of wonder is a world reframed.

Mind The Gap

In ten days, we’ll be flying to Europe…our annual late summer trip to The Mediterranean Sea. I can’t wait for buttered baguettes at breakfast, chilled Rosé at sunset, perfect salads and unlimited Brie. When we are unencumbered by our routines and responsibilities, we realize just how relaxing life could and should ultimately be. Too bad most of us only know this feeling once a year, and for two very short harried weeks. Lifestyle Design expert Tim Ferris asserts that our popular paradigm is passé and that we spend our best years awaiting “paradise” in our old age. If retirement could visit us when we have endless energy and bikini-bodies, perhaps our values would change. What would life be like if we didn’t wallow in wanting and we abandoned the mirage of “someday…” Would our worlds become a banquet of pleasure and possibilities? Might we suddenly find magic, meaning and even “paradise” in the mundane?

Happily, power isn’t found in a passport; our minds can always travel to a new place. Our pockets are lined with unlimited airline vouchers; we can choose any mental destination and board any psychological plane. Reframing our current realities is more refreshing than constantly running away.  So, how does an engineered epiphany happen and how might we bridge the border between work and play? It starts by minding the gap between our fantasies and where we are today. “Minding the gap” is taking inventory of undervalued blessings; the people, places and things that make our lives great. The cozy bed we prefer to any hotel accommodation, the friendly neighbor, a peaceful ride home on the train...the child who leaps to the door to greet us and the bills that are thankfully paid. When we welcome in joy and gratitude, our disgruntled demons pack their bags and escape. When we saunter through life saying silent “thank you’s”, our wanderlust is kept at bay.  It is hard to long for "other" when our hearts no longer ache.

So, the key is to ask the question, “What is standing between me and “someday…”? Sometimes all it takes is to notice what IS there. Paradise is a matter of perspective...A shift is all it takes.

A World Reframed

Click on photoOver the course of my transformational studies, I have seen that it can take an epiphany of epic proportions to catalyze permanent change. So, as I peck away at a book proposal this summer, written words seem only a skeleton to the full-bodied message I am aching to convey. Seeking solace in my favorite titles, I scoured my shelves to see what the masters had to say. However, each sentence only had significance if I had lived it, for better or worse, in some way. Elegant expressions, yellowed pages and highlighted statements that I was SURE would lead to an earth-shattering about-face. Yet, alas, Amazon shareholders cashed out their profits while my stubborn psyche remained. I cannot speak to anyone else’s experience, but perhaps you feel the same…I had to LIVE life with the intention of learning from it to become the person I am today.

Even in my darkest moments, I have known an empowered perspective was sitting next to me with hands folded, begging to be reclaimed. Yet, it takes persistent practice to free ourselves from routine reactions. It takes a labor of love to liberate our incarcerated brains. We need to lay fresh hopeful eyes on cemented certainties, and link our individual struggles to humanity’s collective chain. It is a gift of our evolution that we can now stand outside our circumstances with blessed objectivity. When we stay stubbornly stuck in our sad stories, we are dissing our dynamic DNA. Possibility is born when we own the power of perspective and realize that even our most obstinate opinions can change.

So, while I return to my words; my skeleton, fleshing out the one-dimensional page, please click on the photo to enjoy this 8-minute experiential journey. It is a compilation I created out of images to the song Three in One by Gerald Brunskill. It is titled, “A World Reframed”...