Tuesday, September 14, 2010
A Gift of Ease
Fade in to a young boy grabbing a fistful of cat food and bringing it towards his mouth. Turn to see his brother unsheathing that all-too-real toy sword, seemingly preparing himself for an attack of the leather couch. The kitchen's a mess. The phone rings and the dog struts happily in through the dog flap carrying the leg of an unknown animal. Someone's coming over in 5 minutes...
This exact configuration of events is entirely possible in our home. Any one of these, in and of itself, has been known to make me uncomfortable. And how many times can I choose happiness in the space of a single minute? There's not enough time for an Option Process Dialogue. Starting to freak out... What to do?
(Ism. Ism. Ism.)
I've been watching how I give myself comfort, or more often, how I give myself discomfort while intending to comfort myself. With my son, Devin, I sometimes make myself angry about something he's doing and subsequently "give comfort" to myself by yelling at him. Nice, right? Not nice. In fact, totally NOT working for me (or Devin, obviously). So what's a different way to "give comfort" to myself, um, even if I am the creator of my own discomfort? What WOULD work for me?
Taking a deep breath has never worked for me. Setting an intention to not be angry never worked, either. Go figure! Asking myself that question, "What can I do in a challenging moment to un-challenge it?", an idea popped up. Samahria ways the word "easy" in a way I love. It evokes images of flowing water and what I imagined when my German professor defined gemütlichkeit. The idea is to give myself a taste of this whenever and wherever, oh, and everywhere. I let go. I close the umbrella of pressure I've opened up in myself. The thing that makes giving myself ease effective is having a reference point for it - a clear memory of what it's like to completely let go in a challenging situation + having the belief that it WILL work for me to just feel comfortable for a second. At first, it was a little jump off of a big cliff. Quickly, it's becoming a reflex, a second to connect to my loving side and turn off my left brain.
What surprised me the first time I did this with Devin, is that I laughed, the easiness continued, and I felt wonderful and explosively loving. And Devin laughed with me, with an air of relief, perhaps sensing the storm having passed.
I'm not hitting the ease button every time, but I love how often I do. My parents often said, "Take it easy" to their friends in parting. To you I say, "Give yourself ease."