"Lady Murasaki Sets a Bird Free from a Cage," by Yashima Gakutei (Met) |
It's probably telling that while Ravenswood bureau chief Caren Jeskey writes at the start of the day, as you will see, I do my most regular writing at night. Not the writing here, mind you—writing for public consumption benefits from the freshness of the morning. But my journaling comes, usually, in the evening, with few flights of fancy or deep thoughts, but a dull just-the-facts plod through what happened that day. I do that because in a year or five or 10, I might want to know some specific, and there it will be.
"You have lingered sweet, between our hearts, like an everlasting soul.”
I’m not sure where this came from; I found it written in the jacket of one of my hundreds of pages of journals and I like the ring of it. Over the years I’ve gone through periods of fastidious daily writing. I’ve also had times where I forget how important it is for the ink to meet the paper. Or I was too distracted, defeated, or exhausted to lift that pen and tend to my inner garden.
Writing is a way we can get to know ourselves and the world. Julia Cameron, in her book The Artist’s Way, teaches a daily exercise she calls Morning Pages. Per her instruction, when I was disciplined enough to do so, I’d roll out of bed each morning (maybe after a quick run to the loo), sit up, and spill three full pages of stream-of-consciousness musings onto the blank 8x10 sheets of lined paper. When I took the time to do this, years ago, I found that my innermost fears and hopes revealed themselves. Dreams were recalled in vivid detail, the mind fresh from sleep. Realizations and epiphanies abounded. The practice is to write non-stop, even if a sentence or two reads “I have nothing to write.” The goal is not to create a quality product, it’s to unveil what is hidden in the corners and crevices of the psyche.
I am not a fan of repression, nor of passive aggressive behaviors that stem from inner (often unrecognized) anger or pain that becomes a puppet master if not unsupervised.
The father of Cognitive Behavior Therapy (CBT) Dr. Aaron Beck died earlier this month at the age of 100. He contributed an invaluable piece to the puzzle as far as helping sentient beings (who sometimes forget that we are sentient, as we numb ourselves through various means) learn to hear their inner voices. There is usually an element of criticism in these voices. We judge ourselves and others, rather than focusing on our permanent values and goals. Once the messages are unveiled, we can learn to decipher the thoughts and beliefs that hold us back. Through CBT we can shut the mean person inside of us down when needed in order to move forward, take risks, and act courageously despite core beliefs that would prevent us from success and greater happiness. We can be our own worst enemies, or we can thrive by reparenting ourselves in gentle and loving ways that dispel the myths about ourselves that a patriarchal, shaming, unrealistically puritanical, capitalistic, materialistic society places upon us.
I’m a nostalgic person who has a hard time letting go. I sometimes feel regretful about opportunities I’ve squandered, and other mistakes I have made. Through CBT I’ve learned to be more accepting of my decisions and of myself, warts and all. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’ve always done the best I could with the tools I had, and I often fell short because the toolbox was near empty. I can also celebrate the many successes I've had, and I'm shedding the idea that I need to be better than I am while also striving to improve.
A cool, middle aged white haired hippy-ish man, an Austinite who works at Book People, a two story mecca where one can get lost for days, turned me onto a book called Taming Your Gremlin. He said it helped him hear his inner critic and say adieu to some of it. Clients have experienced their inner critic to sound like their own sometimes; other times it’s their mother’s, father’s, or a punitive nun or another authoritarian, judgmental person. The voice is mean, not inspiring or helpful. It does not say “you are valuable. You are good enough the way you are. You are lovable. You are safe.” (Why is Stuart Smalley suddenly coming to mind?) It says “You are a disappointment,” or some variation. The voice is not true. It’s not even yours.
I’m not sure where this came from; I found it written in the jacket of one of my hundreds of pages of journals and I like the ring of it. Over the years I’ve gone through periods of fastidious daily writing. I’ve also had times where I forget how important it is for the ink to meet the paper. Or I was too distracted, defeated, or exhausted to lift that pen and tend to my inner garden.
Writing is a way we can get to know ourselves and the world. Julia Cameron, in her book The Artist’s Way, teaches a daily exercise she calls Morning Pages. Per her instruction, when I was disciplined enough to do so, I’d roll out of bed each morning (maybe after a quick run to the loo), sit up, and spill three full pages of stream-of-consciousness musings onto the blank 8x10 sheets of lined paper. When I took the time to do this, years ago, I found that my innermost fears and hopes revealed themselves. Dreams were recalled in vivid detail, the mind fresh from sleep. Realizations and epiphanies abounded. The practice is to write non-stop, even if a sentence or two reads “I have nothing to write.” The goal is not to create a quality product, it’s to unveil what is hidden in the corners and crevices of the psyche.
I am not a fan of repression, nor of passive aggressive behaviors that stem from inner (often unrecognized) anger or pain that becomes a puppet master if not unsupervised.
The father of Cognitive Behavior Therapy (CBT) Dr. Aaron Beck died earlier this month at the age of 100. He contributed an invaluable piece to the puzzle as far as helping sentient beings (who sometimes forget that we are sentient, as we numb ourselves through various means) learn to hear their inner voices. There is usually an element of criticism in these voices. We judge ourselves and others, rather than focusing on our permanent values and goals. Once the messages are unveiled, we can learn to decipher the thoughts and beliefs that hold us back. Through CBT we can shut the mean person inside of us down when needed in order to move forward, take risks, and act courageously despite core beliefs that would prevent us from success and greater happiness. We can be our own worst enemies, or we can thrive by reparenting ourselves in gentle and loving ways that dispel the myths about ourselves that a patriarchal, shaming, unrealistically puritanical, capitalistic, materialistic society places upon us.
I’m a nostalgic person who has a hard time letting go. I sometimes feel regretful about opportunities I’ve squandered, and other mistakes I have made. Through CBT I’ve learned to be more accepting of my decisions and of myself, warts and all. I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’ve always done the best I could with the tools I had, and I often fell short because the toolbox was near empty. I can also celebrate the many successes I've had, and I'm shedding the idea that I need to be better than I am while also striving to improve.
A cool, middle aged white haired hippy-ish man, an Austinite who works at Book People, a two story mecca where one can get lost for days, turned me onto a book called Taming Your Gremlin. He said it helped him hear his inner critic and say adieu to some of it. Clients have experienced their inner critic to sound like their own sometimes; other times it’s their mother’s, father’s, or a punitive nun or another authoritarian, judgmental person. The voice is mean, not inspiring or helpful. It does not say “you are valuable. You are good enough the way you are. You are lovable. You are safe.” (Why is Stuart Smalley suddenly coming to mind?) It says “You are a disappointment,” or some variation. The voice is not true. It’s not even yours.
A free bird leapson the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.—Maya Angelou
I read somewhere that meditation can awaken memories long buried. Often, for me they are not fond memories but rather things I’ve done or said that are regrettable. Most, if not all were not done with bad intent but more the result of my lack of awareness and self-centeredness.
ReplyDeleteStill, it doesn’t excuse me and I still struggle at times to let those memories go.
Meditation has proven very helpful to me as I strive to become a better person so it is worth dealing with those memories.
It begs the question, “Am I who I am today or am I a sum of my actions?”
I think the answer is both. I feel free yet at times I feel caged.
good advice
ReplyDeleteNeil, your approach reminds me of a pal from 3rd grade who documented everything we did each night in her Chandler planner. Les, good questions to ask. I also free alternately free and caged.
ReplyDelete*feel
DeleteThanks for the image of the big blue birds, Mr. S. They were placed in front of the Cleveland Public Library in 2016 by Cracking Art, an Italian cooperative that installed brightly-colored sculptures in downtown Cleveland during the summer of 2016, just in time for Trumpfest. So much was going on in Public Square that week that I never even noticed them.
ReplyDeleteI spent four days at that circus, and ended up hanging around with the medical personnel (STAT: Stand Together Against Trump) whose march Mr. S covered and wrote about. I have plenty of souvenirs of the RNC, but my favorite is the yellow STAT shirt, which I wore a lot that fall, and wore with pride.
The Jay's potato chip factory at 98th & Cottage Grove, seen in that photo, has been abandoned since Snyder's bought out Jay's several years ago.
ReplyDeletePatience. Tomorrow.
Delete