Author: Cylvia Hayes

Just Say No and Thanks by Cylvia Hayes

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

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For the most part, I like the Holidays.  I like the shift in seasons and the focus on gathering with friends and family.  I like some of the campy movies, especially the old Burl Ives Claymation cartoons.  I even like giving, and certainly receiving, meaningful gifts!

For me, things slow down a bit during the holidays.  Business and busyness slows down and I make more time for friends and family.  I think this is because I don’t much partake in the intense consumerism.  I definitely do not participate in “Black Friday.”   I truly detest what that day represents and what it brings out in us.  
 
The term “Black Friday” has come to mean the day that retail stores have enough sales to put them “in the black”, alluding to the practice of recording losses in red and profits in black.  I see a different meaning in the term.  I see it as a dark shadow on what could be a season of rest, reflection and connection with the things that really matter to us.  
 
“Black Friday” exemplifies the fundamental flaws in our current, consumption-crazed, economic model.  For people, it creates stress and debt.  So many of us spend our most precious non-renewable resource – our time – ravenously pushing through crowds, impatiently standing in lines, trying to ignore buyers’ remorse, buying stuff for people to fill a void we can’t quite name.  
 
Others of us have to work these jobs, spending long hours away from family and friends to keep the stores open and stocked.  My heart goes out to those who have to depend on “shoppers” to make ends meet.  Most of these retail jobs don’t pay much and the workers sacrifice a lot just trying to feed their families during this time that’s supposed to be about feasting and resting together.  Many years ago, I worked as a checker at a major department store during the holiday season.  It was not a joyous experience.  
 
For our planet, it creates waste, pollution and further degradation of our environment.   In the US, between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day, household waste increases by more than 25 percent.  Additional food waste, shopping bags, packaging and wrapping papers, ribbons and bows add up to an additional one million tons per week of crap going into our landfills.  
 
For our health, our planet and our wellbeing it is time to just say no to the God of Consumerism and reclaim the deeper meaning of our holiday season.  One way to take a stand is to participate in Buy Nothing Day, which has been building momentum since the early 1990s and now has actions in 60 countries.  
 
Another important step is, as much as possible, for the shopping you do decide to do, keep it local.  Products made locally usually require far, far less fossil fuel to reach store shelves, which means they produce far less pollution.  This is especially true of locally produced food.  In addition to being gentler on the Earth, buying local creates jobs for people right in our communities and provides opportunities to build community as we get to personally know the farmers growing our food, the sewers making our clothes and the brewers crafting our beer.  
 
Finally, no matter where you decide to shop, be kind and patient, especially with the workers in the stores.  They aren’t machines or a means to an end.  They’re people, trying to feed their families and pay their bills.  
 
I’ll close with a revised rendering of a well-known Christmas carol:
 
To the tune of GOD REST YE MERRY GENTLEMEN
 
Slow down ye frantic shoppers for there’s something we must say
If you would spare a moment all the stores would go away
Big business has been telling us what Christmas means today.
 
Now it’s time we decided for ourselves, for ourselves
Yes it’s time we decided for ourselves.
 
To some folks Christmas means a time for gathering with friends
And enemies might take it as a time to make amends
But TV says it’s time for pricey gifts and selfish ends.
 
Now it’s time we decided for ourselves, for ourselves
Yes it’s time we decided for ourselves.
 
Some people feel that Christmas is when Jesus makes a call
For others it’s a time to stress good will and peace to all
But advertisers tell us it means Santa’s at the mall.
 
Now it’s time we decided for ourselves, for ourselves
Yes it’s time we decided for ourselves.

For other anti-consumerist holiday songs click here.

The Jesus Thing by Cylvia Hayes

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

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My spiritual journey has been anything but linear.  I was raised with a heavy-handed approach to Christianity that was judgmental, blatantly patriarchal and frankly a bit terrifying.

Out of well-intentioned concern for our immortal souls my mother would cart my little brother and me to the tiny country church near our home in the forested foothills of Washington State.   Entering the little white church, we walked between two rows of wooden, red-velvet covered pews – about ten on each side.  At the front of the church on the wall just behind the pulpit was a many times larger-than-life painting of Jesus Christ nailed to the cross with a crown of thorns pressed into his bloodied head.  It seemed to me an odd backdrop while singing upbeat tunes like, “This little light of mine” and “This is the day that the Lord has made and I will rejoice and be glad …”, etc.

The preacher did his preaching from a podium on the left side of the red-carpeted stage just beneath the bloodied Christ.  He was an aging thin, slightly stooped white man.  Long, sparse ribbons of gray hair hung from his mostly bald, pink and brown mottled head.  When he really got going with one of his hell-fire sermons spit would fly from his mouth and his large Adam’s apple would leap up and down.  Suffice it to say, I did not find him to be a comforting childhood figure.

Once, when I was perhaps 8 or 9, he was giving some talk about the end of times.  In something of a rapturous state he looked out at us in his small flock and declared the glories of heaven to come.  He said that, “One of the rewards for us ‘chosen ones’ was to be able to watch the ‘unsaved’ gnash their teeth in hell for eternity.”  Even better, once in heaven, every time God came by we would all fall down on our faces on streets of gold and praise him.  Seated on the red velvet pew, I looked up at my Mom beside me and whispered, “Mom!  Mom, if that’s heaven I don’t want to go.”  Her head whipped around, her eyes bored into me and the color drained from her face.  Poor Mama.

A few years after this things turned very, very dark in my family.  Addiction, abuse and mental illness seized our lives.  Damaged and devastated I became very angry, especially at God, and did my best to shut the Spirit door.  But the quiet knocking never really stopped.

In my early twenties I allowed my heart to open again to the longing to connect with source, with the creator.  I did not walk the Christian path.  I studied Native American philosophies, goddess mythologies, and Buddhist practices.  All of this felt right and good and aligned with the powerful love of Nature I’d had since my earliest memories.  However, some in my family accused me of being satanic, and in fact, I was at times terrified that this was all just the Devil trying to lead me into damnation.

However, the pull of genuine spirituality was stronger than the fear of hell and I continued to study and reflect and find my own, more authentic relationship with God, whatever he or she may be.

Through all of this, across the span of nearly thirty years now, I have lived with a sense of uneasiness about the whole Jesus thing and about the bible.  I long ago reached the point where I believe all the spiritual faiths and philosophies are pathways toward the same fundamental truth that we are spiritual beings in a physical embodiment and that the chief purpose of this life is finding, exploring and developing our spiritual selves.  However, I was just too put off by the fundamentalism and judgmentalism of the Christian religion to sit with its teachings.

I am only very recently beginning to be able to reintegrate this powerful body of learning and insight into my own spiritual path.  Nearly a year ago, when my life as I knew it blew up a very kind someone gave me a little devotional book called, “Jesus Calling.”  It was a pretty little brown leather-bound thing but the title made me uncomfortable.  Nonetheless, I was at a very low and hurt place and I was grateful for any kindness.  I opened the little book to that day’s reading and it seemed tailor-made for me right at that moment.  The message was not about judgment or sin; it was about the sheer peace of being intensely present and sensing the I Am, that deep part of ourselves that feels the connection to Spirit.

Over this past year, like many of us when we’re facing extreme challenges, I have been much more immersed in and committed to my spiritual practice.  I have met and counseled with many preachers and teachers of various faiths, including Christians, who, while promoting the teachings of Jesus, were far from judgmental or fear-mongering.  I rejoined my old Unity Community, which often uses examples from the bible in the original Aramaic language; offering me new ways of looking at biblical passages and stories.

This past year has also been a time of deep reflection, looking within myself and trying to make sense of why things went so wildly off the course I had planned.  Much of it was well beyond my control, but I have tried to be very honest with myself about the pieces I was responsible for.  The most glaring and somewhat humiliating realization was how ego-activated I had been.  If I had been just concerned with doing good work and less concerned about being credited for that work I would have given the attackers less ammunition with which to build their allegations.  Over these many months, I have thought a lot about, read a lot about and reflected a lot on ego.  I have realized that when I am acting from a place of ego, I am usually trying to mask an insecurity, am separating myself and trying to feel superior.  When ego is running my show I am not coming from a place of love or awareness of Spirit.
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Just a few weeks ago I attended a well-known, mostly African American Christian center in Portland because I have a special friendship with the pastor and his wife.  Although I was still a bit uncomfortable with the deeply Christian message and symbolism, my heart was open to the underlying power.  The congregation was colorful not only in their skin tones but also through their voices in song and enthusiastic shouts of “Amen!” and “Come on!”  Although the little white church of my childhood did not have the incredible musicians and tremendous, soulful rhythm of these worshippers, it had taught me many of the old gospel songs and I had a great time, once again, singing those old tunes.

The sermon was well-delivered, lively and funny.  Its main message was the question, “What does Jesus mean to you?”  I was somewhat stunned to realize I had an answer, something of a reconciliation no less.  Right now, at this place in my development, Jesus to me represents the example of a human being living purely from the I Am rather than from ego, living empowered, despite human frailties, guided by Spirit.  As an example of how to be attacked without being hardened, of how to come from a place of faith and love to rise up again, there really is something to this Jesus-thing.

For the time being that’s my answer.   What about you?  What does Jesus mean to you?

(P.S. I love you Mama!  You walk your talk with your spirituality more genuinely than anyone I know.)

By Cylvia Hayes

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Shedding by Cylvia Hayes

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

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​We’ve all heard some variation of the saying, “you don’t know how much something means to you until it’s gone,” but recently I’ve experienced the polar opposite — I hadn’t realized how badly I wanted to be rid of some things until they were taken away.

When, just over a year ago, my life took a sudden unexpected, unasked for and unwanted turn I grieved for what I was losing.  I ached over the abrupt loss of the important–feeling work I’d been engaged in.  I was deeply hurt by the disappearance of so many people I had thought of as friends.  I mourned the shattering of exciting plans and dreams.  My ego cringed and snapped at and strained against its lost identity and sense of strength.

For months I resisted my changed life, and anger, resentment and grief bubbled, roiled and seethed through me.

All of this began in autumn, the time of falling leaves.  I watched the colorful cascade from a place of deep pain, seeing no beauty, only death and loss, seeing myself in the stripped barrenness of the wind-battered branches.

This past year has been sad, intense and reflective.  Gradually, over time and to my surprise, I now see that much of what I grieved over I don’t even really want.  I don’t want the rapid pace and enormous busyness that had become my norm.  I want more stillness, more deep reflection and creativity.  I don’t want to be surrounded by shallow, self-important people.  I want genuine interactions and relationships.  Just as old skin cells fall off to make room for new and healthy, I have shed disingenuous flakes for new skin and new friends.  I have learned you cannot lose a true one and I now know who and how valuable you are.  And, perhaps, most importantly, I am letting go old beliefs and ways of thinking that limit the fullness of what life can be.

It is now autumn again and leaves are falling.  This time though, I’m seeing the beauty. I am celebrating the shedding of old appendages and appearances.  I have dropped dead weight.  Like flashy, but no longer vital leaves dropping from trees, my old pieces are falling into the soil of my life, enriching it for what is next.

Sometimes leaves fall to the ground.  Sometimes life appears to fall apart – but, perhaps, it is actually falling into place.  The mighty winds that rip leaves from branches also, over time, strengthen the trunks of the trees they buffet.

Four seasons have passed and a new one is on the horizon.  I can feel it in the air.  I can feel it in my spirit.

Just like our beautiful planet each one of us cycles through season upon season.  Our past losses fertilize the soil of our souls prepping the grounds for rich, vital new sprouts. 

By Cylvia Hayes

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Sacred Spirals by Cylvia Hayes

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

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I saw a crow trying to eat a snail.  It pecked and poked the glossy spiral shell, tossing it this way and that.
 
The snail stayed tucked up tight.
 
The crow gave up and took flight. 
 
After several moments of still, the brave snail tentatively unfurled its delicate antennae and long, soft body and slid forward on its journey.
 
It was a significant decision.  The snail could stay curled up inside its armor and be safe from attack.  However, in order to move forward, find sustenance, and perhaps a mate, it had to extend its soft, vulnerable parts.
 
Each of us, on our spiraling human journeys, face that same choice over and over again.  Do we play it safe, keep our shields up, protected from potential pain or attack?  Or, do we stretch out our soft inner selves, slowly slide forward, expose our delicate antennae to love, and really LIVE? 
 
Do you choose to survive or thrive? 

By Cylvia Hayes

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Imagination Redirected Worry Released by Cylvia Hayes

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes
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Worry.  I have spent countless hours, days, cumulatively years of my life worrying.  Worry about money, about having enough, or not.  Fearful imaginings of what might come stirring up that gnawing, terrified feeling of scarcity and instability.  Fretting about performance, would I be good enough to get the job done, to impress?  Angst stoking deep insecurities.  Worry about loved ones, relationships, people who were kind to me, people who weren’t. 
 
Worry about what we are doing to each other and this beautiful planet.  Nervous foreboding leaving me feeling small and powerless. 
 
At some point I learned the concept that we attract into our lives what we focus our thoughts on.  Then I worried about worrying!
 
Yesterday during my morning meditation I realized I was doing it again.  I was worrying about money, worrying about getting my career moving again, worrying about all the things on my “To Do List”. 
 
Then, I had a profound realization.  Every single truly, deeply traumatic, life-changing thing that has ever happened to me – the episodes of abuse, horrific injuries, the public shaming – were things I had never worried about.  These were things I hadn’t seen coming.  Out of the blue, they just reared up and hammered down. 
 
Most of the things I’ve poured my worry into, drained my energy imagining, stirred my fear into a gut-churning tempest over, never came to pass.  In every instance the reality that unfurled was not as bad as the terrible visions I’d conjured in my mind.  It reminds me of a Mark Twain note I saw somewhere, “I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them have never happened.”  Amen brother. 
 
Moreover, those truly deeply traumatic events that I hadn’t seen coming, those that were so painful they defy adequate description – they didn’t break me down; they broke me open.  Through the cracks I saw into myself in new ways.  I met the calm, strong presence at my center.  Through those cracks flowed in spectacular beauty from extraordinary ordinary people and this magical world we share. 
 
So, if all my worried imaginings never come to pass anyway, and the really big things are unknown and beyond my capacity to perceive them let alone worry about them, what’s the best approach?  What’s a worrier to do with the existential challenge of realizing that worry is impotent? 
 
I’m going to try an experiment.  Each time I find myself worrying about some possible future problem I am going to take a deep breath and bring my mind back to the present moment.  Then I am going to spend a few moments envisioning that possible future, of which I’d been afraid, unfolding in worry-free beauty, abundance and joy.
 
In the words of Henry David Thoreau, “If one advances in the direction of their dream and endeavors to live the life they are imaging, one passes an invisible boundary.  All sorts of things begin to occur that never otherwise would have occurred.  One meets with a success unexpected in common hours.” 
 
Instead of letting my imagination drag me down, I am going to use it to rise up, to see what I want to be. 

By Cylvia Hayes

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The Comfortable Confines of Identity by Cylvia Hayes

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes
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​One of the hardest aspects of being publically shamed was losing control of my own sense of self-identity.  I had viewed myself as a hard working, deeply committed advocate working every day to try to make things a little better for the environment and people struggling with poverty.  I thought of myself as fairly effective, flawed but basically a good person.  I knew I had worked really hard to get to where I was in life.

And then, BOOM!  I was simply unprepared for the horror of having that identity torn apart and replaced with a one-dimensional, ugly caricature, a me I didn’t recognize.  It shook me to my core and ripped open deep knife wounds of self-examination and criticism.

In the most agonized moments of pain and humiliation I even found myself wondering if the disgraceful image of me, created by click-hungry reporters was accurate.  Who was I really?

The first important answer came during a particularly powerful meditation.  My mind stilled, the fear and anger eased to a point I hadn’t experienced in weeks.  In that stillness I could sense Spirit, could feel the subtle connection between my one small life and the vast, beautiful mystery of life in the big sense.  I touched my deeper, more powerful self, my I Am.

A few weeks later, still reeling, but having many times brushed against the powerful calmness of the I Am, it dawned on me that I still was everything I’d been before being publically dismantled.  I was still a lover of and fighter for this miraculous, small blue planet.  I was still a writer and speaker, a messenger.  Whatever talents and skills, whatever flaws I’d had before were still within me.

Realizing that I was still all of who I’d been, led me to consider that perhaps I was even much more.  What if, by clinging so desperately to the identity I’d crafted and was comfortable with, I was actually limiting my “becoming”?

This past year has indeed been one of becoming – becoming more self-aware, more compassionate and loving; slowing down and becoming kinder.  I cannot see where it is headed, truly a work in progress.  It is scary and uncertain but just in the past few weeks I feel a sense of anticipation.

Recently, on several mornings I woke unusually early, ahead of the alarm, and could not go back to sleep.  As I lay there in the warmth and soft darkness, listening to the deep, calm breathing of the big dog stretched beside me, I realized something profoundly hopeful.  For the first time in a year, I couldn’t get back to sleep not because I was stressed and fearful, but because I was excited about what was happening in my life and what was to come.

​I am most grateful for this step in healing and moving forward.   I can’t describe myself as readily as I could a year ago and in that I sense something deeply powerful and beautiful, a beckoning to become more.

​Cylvia Hayes