introducing Spirit First

i am honored to introduce you to my dream of an inclusive meditation center, a quiet sanctuary with beautiful gardens and labyrinths nestled in a wood. you can read of the unfolding of this dream at Spirit First.

stress

for several day i have struggled with how to put my thoughts and my spiritual viewpoints into words to put onto these pages. i've spent my life working on figuring out my spiritual path and now i struggle to put it into words. please forgive my fumbling in doing so.

i started our conversation about stories, about narratives, because frequently people from my audience come to me seeking help for stress management, sometimes people who are overwhelmed with extreme stress, and i find it difficult to offer help without building an understanding of how we live our story based on our beliefs. a corporate seminar break does not allow me the depth of conversation i would like to have.

what do we tend to believe is the cause of stress? traffic? difficult people? money problems? other things? the truth is, there is one cause of stress, only one, and always the same one. resistance. resistance is the cause of stress.

i am not saying resistance is a bad thing—i’m not even saying stress is a bad thing (i spend enough time in the gym to know that without resistance or stress, we would never develop strength). i am saying, though, that resistance is the cause of stress, and if we want stress management, we must know its source.

here is a simple example: last year my sister-in-law died and i grieved her death (for i loved her very much). one might say i grieved because she died, but the real truth is i grieved because i did not want her to be dead (resistance to her death). it is important to distinguish the difference. her death simply is, and simply is what it is. my resistance to it is what causes my grief.

every time we feel stress or pain, we can ask ourself the question, "what am i resisting?" and we then decide if we want to experience it or not (i chose to experience the grief of the death of a loved one but i choose not to grieve the loss of a job or the loss of some material thing).

photography by permission

cindy lee jones

stories and emotions

sometimes people get upset, sad, or angry, and then, claiming there is nothing they can do about their emotions, they say, "i can't help how i feel. it's just the way i feel." emotional reactions become something automatic, outside control.

sometimes someone will even say it is another person who makes him feel sad, makes him feel small, makes him feel unworthy (which, of course, then makes one into a victim). "you made me feel bad."

over the years i have come to deeper understanding of emotions, and i have learned that everything comes from what we believe, even our emotions. emotions come from our story, from our narrative.

it works like this...when i am driving down the street and another driver cuts me off, my response might be anger or even rage, and i may claim my anger is caused by the other driver's behavior. however, it is not the other driver's action that causes my anger, but rather it is my belief that the other driver is wrong that is the cause of the anger. the action (what happened) is simply what happened. my belief is the cause of my emotion. imagine the same scenario but this time i was cut off by a friend rushing to the hospital to save the life of a child. i believe cutting me off was important for so urgent and valid a need and i am not angry. the action is the same but the belief is different; the action is considered to be acceptable under this circumstance, and the emotion is different.

every time you feel an emotion (negative or positive), i ask you to go deeper and seek within, "what is the belief under this?" take all other parties out of the formula.

the beauty of this is that we decide how we feel by choosing what we believe. (i understand, of course, that changing our beliefs takes some work!)

stories

i have a story. you have a story too. it goes something like this….

a little girl is born (this much of the story is true). a little girl is born and she is told her name is katie (the name katie is not “true,” but is simply something that is being applied). she is told her name is katie and she is a smithsmart. she is told she is an american. she is told she is a christian. she is told what it means to be a smithsmart, what it means to be an american, what it means to be a christian, even what it means to be a girl. she is told lots of things, some things by the people around her and some things by the voice in her own head. she believes she is strong, or she believes she is weak. she believes she is smart; she believes she is stupid. she believes she is pretty. she believes she is ordinary, or plain, or ugly. she believes she is better than other people, or she believes she is lesser, or trashy, or poor. she believes she is a good student, a good employee, a good boss. or an okay one. or a bad one. she believes what belongs to her. she believes her house is hers, her land is hers. she believes what she believes.

everything, though, is a belief. everything is part of the story. we are living our story, our narrative.

the truth is that each one of us simply “is.” I AM, and everything else is a belief. diana christine is merely a name given to me at my birth, just a label by which to address me. american is simply a brand attached to me. everything i have believed since my birth is part of my narrative. everything you believe is part of your narrative.

and we need a story; we are here to play out a story and learn something from our narrative.

our problems arise when we become overly identified with our story, when we become attached to our story, when we believe our story is truth. we become stressed, we become depressed, and we become confused.

i am not here to suggest your story is not important, that it is not worthy of your best efforts. after all, your story gives a reflection of what is on the inside of you and provides a map for what you need to learn and how you need to grow. but i am asking that you recognize it for what it is, a story, and not “truth.” and i am asking that you spend some of every day in detachment from and observation of your story and your beliefs.

in truth you are whole and complete and pure. you are good. you are strong. you are beautiful. you are perfect.

so now, let’s bring that part of the truth into your story.

beautiful photography by permission

graham jeffery

eat pray love

during my travels of the past month i read a marvelous treasure. eat pray love. in between my many classes and studies, i read. i read while cramped in the middle seat of an american airlines flight, i read while soaking in a jacuzzi in a conference center hotel in las vegas, i read while sitting on a balcony under a bright sun in atlanta, and i read on a cool mountain ridge in the shenandoah valley. i read about italy and laid the book down, and then busyness kept me from getting to india until a week later and indonesia another week after that (it really won't take you a month to read the book). sometimes i cried and the people around me pretended not to notice and looked away. i cried a lot but laughed, too, as i followed elizabeth gilbert’s wondrous journey. liz gilbert shares with us her torment, her longing, her searching, and her coming into being. she is honest and vulnerable and very real as she takes us into her struggle and brings us into her light. what great joy eat pray love is to me—thank you, ms. gilbert, for such a beautiful gift as this book.

a man in atlanta

i’m in atlanta. last week i taught a course in las vegas, and this week i am in atlanta.

on sunday morning past, i walked about to explore my temporary neighborhood for where i might find fresh fruit, brown rice, tofu, or steamed vegetables (i don’t often find these in my lovely hotels). as i was walking about, a man approached me, and as soon as he caught my attention, he begged me to hear him out. “please,” he implored, “i am not a panhandler, but i need to ask you something.” i smiled at him and listened. he explained his situation of being diagnosed with pancreatitus, now needing to have a prescription filled and finding himself $6 short, thus needing my help. “i am not asking you for the entire $6, just something to help with part of it, and i will find others to help with the rest.” he explained that due to his condition he usually could not work, that he was subject to bouts of nausea and vomiting. he was as nervous as my conference attendees will be today when they must present a business case to finish their course. his hands were shaking and he was breaking into a sweat and had to pause for a moment to compose himself before he continued. “i have the prescription here so you can see….” he held out a piece of paper to me. i didn’t have my glasses on and, well, i didn’t need to see his papers anyway. where has it ever been indicated that the Universe’s request for generosity and an open heart needs to be supported with proof or documentation? i didn’t need his papers. i had in front of me an opportunity to be kind, generous, and loving. i quietly reached into my handbag and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, folded it into a tiny bit and slipped it into his hand. (i didn’t think it needed to be apparent to others walking about that i was helping this man; he was embarrassed enough to be asking for help.) oh, my goodness, he was so grateful and so shocked i thought he was about to pee his pants. tears filled his eyes, a rush of words ran from his lips…he explained that he had just asked for help from church people leaving their morning worship service and they had chastised him, told him he should be working, that he should not be begging. he was humiliated and devastated to be shunned by church people.

there are those who would respond to my story by asking me how do i know he was telling the truth? how do i know he won’t spend the money on alcohol or drugs? i don’t know. and it is my understanding that i don’t need to know. my work on my path is to give to the poor; his work on his path is to use wisely what is given to him. i am called to be loving and open-hearted. i am not commissioned to be his judge.

the man said he will not forget me, not for as long as he lives. he said it is my smile, and my acceptance in listening to him and not pushing him away, that he will remember the most. and you know, i believe he is telling the truth. he will not forget that on a hot day in downtown atlanta, for a moment he was heard and accepted and given to. he will remember.

surrendered

perhaps my greatest courage is in my moments of surrender to the present moment, surrender to what the Universe has for me, surrender to what wants to be, and opening to it joyfully and expectantly.

i would love for life to meet my expectations; i would like to be everything i ever wanted to be--be as good as i've wanted to be, do wonderful things i have imagined, have beautiful things i have dreamed of. i've worked hard, struggled, tried to pay my way. but just when i think i can figure things out, make it all come together, i feel my intuitions calling me to greater surrender, greater letting go.

not letting go in a way of giving up, but letting go into trust, expectation that the Universe has far more to offer than i can ever come up with on my own. surrender is only part of the work. the other part is in being open, expectant, and receiving. perhaps it is the greater part.

my meditations now are to hold my openness to the Unknown, and hold it with surrender and expectation.

i will let you know how this unfolds....

the path

finding our way is the purpose of our path.

“If you see your path laid out in front of you -- step one, step two, step three -- you only know one thing... it is not your path. Your path is created in the moment of action. If you can see it laid out in front of you, you can be sure it is someone else's path. That is why you see it so clearly.”

-- Joseph Campbell

photography by diana christine

taking in light

it's a simple act, really, yet profound. my friend plucks a tomato from her garden and hands it to me and i take a bite.

it's not the kind of garden you might be envisioning, just a few bits of basil and parsley and tomatoes in between coleus and lamb's ear and morning glory in the front yard of her suburban home. but no matter its unlikely setting, the tomato is a rich, ripe offering from the earth.

the juicy bite is hot, still resonating with the brilliance of the sun, and i suddenly realize i have just taken in light.

tell me, can anything i buy in a supermarket give me this?

photography by permission

cindy lee jones