Inside me, with you, among us
In this post, I’m delighted to share a poem from one of my Focusing colleagues, Herbert Schroeder. I love this poem – and find that it’s applicable to ALL “those helpful people” – whether it’s the folks who surround me and/or the “treasure map” multiple parts inside of me.To All Those Helpful PeopleTo the people who thought that they couldMake me feel the way that I should,I say: “Let me be real,Whatever I feel;Stop trying to make me feel good!”
There’s work to be done that’s part of the whole grand scheme of oneness that’s here with me.
What’s most important is how I am in the doing of my life.
I’m not alone – and it’s not all up to me.
And yet, it does somehow start here with me – however humble the beginning.
No need to save the whole world.
If I can brighten the space within and around me, a light will spread through those whose lives I touch.
It had been one of those weeks. I simply couldn’t muster up the energy to greet the work I had wanted and planned to do – let alone face the small mountain of tasks that sat persistently awaiting my attention.
On the one hand, I had LOTS of logical reasons for my lingering ennui. And loads of sympathetic friends who urged me to “give yourself a break, ‘Mar’—you’ve been through a lot this past month.” Yet, as good as all the logic and sympathy sounded, I still felt stuck [and certainly not likin’ much the feel and sounds of THAT place!] and unable to move forward.
A welcome Focusing partnership time offered me an opportunity to “be with” this experience in a different way. That is, instead of thinking or affirming my way out, I chose to pause and attend to that place that Gene Gendlin describes as the “there where” I usually feel things. I could then invite a sense of “what all of this stuckness” felt like. And then, allow myself to be present with the as-yet-unclear sense of all of that. All the while trusting that I would be in that place deep within me from where new steps forward could eventually come.
What follows below is the story of my Focusing process that day.
My first sense is of struggling to move forward (can’t even describe it as walking) through what appears to be knee-deep, dark, thick muck. With both legs stuck in the muck, my upper body feels especially out-of-balance. Ah, yes – that resonates somewhat with how I’ve been feeling this week. And yet, I know there’s probably something more – and I’m curious about what it might be.
With a great tugging effort, I manage to pull one leg upward out of the muck, that brings a distinctive “sucking-up” sound that somewhat resembles an upward-pitched “ch…l…uhrrrrr…p…s”.
With one leg free of the muck, it’s even harder to keep my balance. Then, as I move my free leg forward a few inches to re-enter the muck, the “sucking-down” sensation and sound is present, yet harder to describe. As I start to describe it as something like the opposite of the previous sound “sh…..p…..rrrr…..” I’m suddenly interrupted by a shift in my perceived experiencing.
Oh, it’s not ALL muck after all. The muck appears only ankle deep now, with cool, water that’s becoming clearer as the muck settles and feels refreshing against my lower legs.
Ah, and a memory comes of a shallow river in which I love to relax and be with friends. However, since, in this current scenario, there is “no chair” on which to sit, I choose to sit straight down in the muck.
It feels ok to be here with it. It’s cool and refreshing. Perhaps it will let me understand it better.
Suddenly, I feel-hear a soundless voice that catches my attention, as if with an urgent message – and find myself responding, “Oh, yes, excuse me – you’re telling me you’re MUD, not muck!”
And then a gleeful something inside that offers a playful-serious reminder: “You know, some folks pay good money at health spas for mud-baths!”
And somehow, right now, it feels really good to just sit here, resting, curiously and playfully in the mud and the water.
Oh! – this playfulness is interrupted with a “suddenly-serious-knowing” alert – “I OWN this mud and I’m the one who makes it into the something-serious-about-it-muck-that keeps-me-stuck-and-off-balance. The mud itself is playful, cool and comfortable…..and also rich and fertile.”
As I reflect that back to the mud in which I sit, the mud affirms: “Ah yes. Thanks for hearing that!”
So, I sit playfully in the mud, noticing how much I’m enjoying how the thick wet substance that oozes through my wriggling toes.
And, oh – what’s this? I notice something solid and with substance there between my toes. Not sure what it is yet, but there’s a “knowing” that it might be some kind of buried toy or treasure that my toes have unearthed from beneath the surface of the mud.
Oops—it’s time to go for now. I leave this space with gratitude – for both my body’s wisdom and its process, as well as for my Focusing Companion and her sweet listening and reflections. I know I can (and want) to come back again to this place inside – for whatever new something is there for me to discover and be with. And, for now, I’ll also carry the image of a playful mudbath in my heart and mind as I go through the rest of my day and week.
You might be wondering whether anything changed as a result of this Focusing session. So, here’s a little Focusing-oriented addendum/postscript to the story above:
The morning after this Focusing session occurred, I noticed that I was still carrying some residual ennui-stuckness from earlier in the week.
I paused for a moment to invite a fresh sense of the playful mudbath image. To my surprise, I was greeted by something inside of me that calmly, quietly and resolutely informed me that “I just don’t feel like having to get cleaned up again today, so please give me a break and don’t expect me to get all muddy again today.”
Yet, I’ve also become aware of a respectful sort of rhythmic dance between a gentle forward motion and serendipitous arrivals of new opportunities—that somehow seem designed as invitations for me to play in the mud.
I’ve chosen to share this story with you to help give you a flavor of the kinds of wondrous gifts that can emerge from within a process of Focusing. However, it’s important to remember that no Focusing session is ever the same, and that each Focuser’s own process and stories reflect their individual uniqueness.
And yet, each process (whether my own or a partner’s) always feels a bit “magical” – even though Focusing is actually a skill that each of us already possesses (to one degree or another). Far too often, it’s a skill that we’ve forgotten we have, let alone remember how to best utilize it to help us carry our lives forward.
Would you like to experience a Focusing journey of your own? I’ve provided a couple of options for you at the ASK ME House website:
Who knows what you’ll experience and insights you’ll gain?
Some days bring us costly lessons. Some lessons simply cost us money.
Today’s lesson came in the form of my monthly telephone bill. As I briefly scanned the bill, I felt (and then heard) the sudden gasp escape from my throat: the amount due was TRIPLE its usual cost!
As I looked further, I discovered that the additional charges stemmed from a business call I had placed last month to the Bahamas. My colleague and I had experienced several delays in making scheduled appointments–due in part to interruptions in her internet-based telephone service, plus we had dismissed her cell phone option as too cost-prohibitive. So, when she gave me a new land-line number to use, I didn’t even think twice. I made the call and we had a productive 60-minute conversation. What I didn’t know at the time was that the call was being billed at my phone company’s “primetime overseas rate.”
Yikes! But also, DUH! I’m so spoiled with my unlimited long distance service plan that I didn’t stop to think that it only covers the US. Plus her phone number “looks” like a regular US number (that is, it doesn’t have any international code prefix to the number).
Once upon a time, I probably would have reacted with anger, frustration and tears, punctuated with feelings of blame and self-loathing for having made such a “stupid” and costly mistake. I might have then railed against the telephone company for what I believed to be exorbitant rates, and/or harbored a lingering, unspoken sense of bitterness toward my colleague for not having “protected” me from my ignorance.
Instead, this morning, I chose to take a deep breath and quietly pay the bill. And, without shame or blame, acknowledged my simple (albeit costly) error in judgment, that was based merely on my not knowing that which I didn’t already know. And then pondered some lessons to be learned from my experience–to help me and others not make a similar mistake in the future.
There are days in life in which we learn costly lessons. And some days in which our lessons simply cost us money.
Learning how to avoid the first type altogether while also minimizing the second is perhaps one of our most important lessons in life.
