Category: Spiritual and Personal Development

Of Sows and Selves

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

Sow and pigletEarly on in my public shaming ordeal, when the frenzied media were spewing speculation and misinformation was spreading like a virus, I began regularly attending services at a Buddhist dharma center near my home. One day the teacher shared a poem that moved me deeply. It is titled, Saint Francis and the Sow, by Galway Kinnell.

The bud
Stands for all things,
Even those that don’t flower,
For everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
Though sometimes it is necessary
To reteach a thing its loveliness,
To put a hand on its brow
Of the flower
And retell it in words and touch
It is lovely
Until it flowers again, from within, of self-blessing;
As Saint Francis
Put his hand on the creased forehead
Of the sow, and told her in words and in touch
Blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow
Began remembering all down her thick length,
From the earthen snout all the way
Through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,
From the hard spininess spiked out from the spine
Down through the great broken heart
To the sheer blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
From the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing beneath them:
The long, perfect loveliness of sow.

The poem stirred something deep within, my own desire to relearn, to be told in words and touch.  I found myself thinking of it often over the next days.  Then, not long after, with the media feeding frenzy still in full force, an organization that I cared about deeply asked me resign from the board because they feared the media would turn on them due to their association with me.

Their abandonment and willingness to throw me away cut me to the quick.  At that moment it felt as though the media assault was taking everything from me — my reputation, my work, my relationships, my identity.   When I got off the phone with my once fellow board members, I crumbled into deep, spine racking sobs.  John held me.  It was the hardest I had ever cried in front of him.  As my tears and shudders began to ease he reached out and stroked my forehead and said, “You’re a beautiful person Cylvia.  You care so deeply about things.”  With his hand on my brow I recalled the poem and “the perfect loveliness of sow,” and I felt a flutter of the perfect loveliness of myself.

I came across this poem again just the other day and now, with all these months of distance, I am deeply and profoundly grateful for the healing that has taken place, for the growth I am experiencing.  I can see, now, that in the process of losing so much that I was deeply attached to, I found truth and a depth of self-approval I’ve never known before.  It is a lovely gift that has taken decades to unwrap.

Right now, in this moment, as I reflect on all that has taken place these past many months, as I am thinking of the long, thick loveliness of sow, I am so deeply grateful to those who saw the loveliness in me when others would not and I, at times, could not.

Cylvia Hayes

Love this post?  Please share it on Facebook.  Thank you!

Dreams Goals and Winding Pathways

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

lion-scars

                                                                                                         
What lies behind us 
and what lies before us
are tiny matters
compared to
what lies within us.
     —Ralph Waldo Emerson
​I think that very often we define ourselves by what we dream of being or becoming — I am studying to be a doctor; I am a lawyer, I am a musician; I am hoping to become a millionaire, etc.  Often we set goals for achieving certain things, for moving us toward the dreams that we use to shape our image of ourselves.

But so often our dreams don’t take the shape we expect.  Or at least the pathway toward the dreams doesn’t meet our expectations.  Or the goals don’t hit our deadlines.  It is easy to view those un-envisioned forks in the path as limitations, obstacles and setbacks.  It is easy at those moments to feel like a failure.

And yet, there may be another way of looking at life’s unexpected and unasked for situations.  I have always wanted to do important things with my life.  For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to raise awareness and motivate action to take better care of this planet and one another.  I’ve wanted to feel as though I have used my life well to make a positive contribution.  I’ve set a lot of goals and worked really hard toward that end.  I became a first generation college graduate.   Straight out of college with no financial backing I launched a non-profit organization to work on environmental issues.  I’ve taken courses, served on non-profit boards and volunteered for causes I cared about.  I’ve been politically engaged, even running for office and serving as first lady of Oregon when my fiancé was elected Governor.  It seemed like I was on a trajectory, slowly but steadily, toward my dream of making a positive difference.

And then, a year and a half ago, my life seemed to blow up and my career came to a screeching halt.  It felt like my whole life was off the rails and my dream of being a powerful force for protecting the environment and increasing kindness in the world was now completely out of reach.

For months the pain of that seemingly lost dream literally took my breath away, sent me restless nightmares and made me question the very core of who I was/am.   In my effort to cope with the loss and shame, feeling like a failure and a fool, I spent a lot of time writing.  And in that process I remembered that in addition to my dream of being an effective change-maker for good, I have long held another dream.  I have always wanted a big life, but I’ve never wanted to achieve that through becoming a famous singer or actor or musician, or even politician.  I have always, always wanted to become a successful writer and speaker in a way that served our common good.

And yet, for twenty-five years I had worked so hard on my education, my non-profit work, my consulting business and my political roles that I only occasionally wrote anything beyond personal journaling or technical work.  I wasn’t acting on that vital piece of my dream.

But when all the consulting, the political position, the busyness was yanked away, after several months of just grappling to get my feet back under me and start healing, I returned to my True North, which was not just to continue my lifelong effort to bring about healthier relationships with the Earth and one another, but to do so primarily through my writing.

Last August I started a blog about my personal journey through these challenging times.  I was super nervous about how it would be received and if the media would rip me apart, but I took the leap.  Taking that scary step resulted in my blog taking off and I hope and have been told that some of my posts have been helpful to readers who are navigating their own personal challenges and emotions.  That feels so good.  After learning how to blog I finally also set up my professional New Economy blog, which I’d wanted to do for a few years.  The blogs led to my becoming a salaried staff writer for a new exciting publication, Issue Magazine.  I have full freedom to write about the topics I care so much about and have worked on my entire career.  Who could have seen that coming?!

Next, by the end of this year I will have completed my first book.  I never expected my first book would be about the unbelievable experience of becoming click-bait and the bulls-eye in a sensationalist media-driven feeding frenzy and learning how to cope with being publically shamed.  But I have always dreamed I would write books and this is the obvious before me.  Who knows what’s next?

Many times through this transformational phase of my life I’ve encountered and been captivated by caterpillar and butterfly images and stories.  Right now I find myself thinking about how caterpillars in the cocoon, before they can transition, must reach the point where their previous form is in its most disintegrated, unrecognizable identity.  But under all of that mess, that seeming chaos, is their True North, and they emerge beautiful winged creatures taking to heights a worm that believed itself just a worm might never have seen.

May we all find our True North and our wings!

Cylvia Hayes

Love this post? Please share it on Facebook.  Thank you!

My Last Pair of Running Shoes

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

5606443_orig

Twenty-seven years ago I had a life changing accident.  In the attempt to gentle a young horse to be ridden he freaked out and threw himself to the ground, I leaped off and as each of us were trying to get away, he hit me with his leg and put my left knee to the ground sideways and backwards.  I would later realize that the loud “shotgun” sound I’d heard wasn’t his hoof hitting a rock; it was the sound of my ligaments snapping. 
 
I tore apart the ligaments in the interior of my knee, the inner side of my knee and even laid open the cartilage sack that holds the knee joint together in total.  The surgeon said it was, “as if I’d guillotined the joint.”  Many surgeries and a year and a half of brutal physical therapy later that joint carried me to a soccer scholarship that helped me become a first generation college graduate and after that a multiple-time state racquetball champion. 
 
However, once a knee suffers that type of damage it wears unevenly — like an out-of-balance tire.  In my case, this has ground down the cartilage on the inner compartment of my knee.  And now, after many flare ups, adjustments, and clean up surgeries the wear and tear has finally come to a head. 
 
Over the last several months I’ve had a golf ball sized lump of inflammation on the inside of my knee and I have been hurting!  I was recently interviewed on TV and they videoed me walking upstairs.  It was cold and I was wearing a big winter coat and my doggone knee was so sore that I sort lumbered and lurched up the stairs.  When I saw the footage I thought, “Good Lord. I look like a Grizzly Bear!”. 
 
So this week I saw the orthopedic cartilage expert.  I was hoping to hear that there had been some sort of breakthrough in cartilage regeneration and I had options.  Nope.  As X-rays and examinations would reveal, not only has my cartilage thinned, but the replacement ligaments have worn and stretched and bone spurs have grown in an attempt to stabilize the joint.  With all the screws and staples in my knees the X-rays look like a frickin’ hardware store! 
 
The long and short of it is I can do a couple of cortisone and cartilage enhancement injections but, barring a miracle, I am headed to a knee replacement in the near future AND – this is the biggest hit for me – my running and racquetball days are over.  I now have to stop running in order to be able to continue to keep walking, hiking, biking functionally. 
 
This is very hard for me.  So much of my identity has been that of a hard-core, hard-pounding athlete.  Now I have to let that go.  It’s another piece of the huge identity redefinition I’ve been undergoing over the past 18 months. 
 
I cried a bit and worried a bit with thoughts like, “Will I gain weight if I can’t run for exercise?”  And, almost just as frightening, “Will I have to give up good, microbrew beer to not gain weight?!”  But seriously, much more importantly, will I still be able to stay as strong and fit and physically capable as I’ve been lucky to be able to be so far?
 
And yet, surprisingly, mixed in with those fears there’s also relief.  I have worked and worked out so hard all these years, and because of the injuries that has involved “pushing through” a lot of pain.  Perhaps now, I can drop the hammer and move through life with this damaged, but wonderful, resilient body a lot less painfully. 
 
This is yet another phase of life, another stretch of the path.  Perhaps I will learn new things I might never have looked at, like paddle boarding which I’ve never done but the surgeon recommended.   Perhaps really falling in love with my mountain bike.  Perhaps I will welcome being able to exercise without gritting my teeth in pain. 
 
Perhaps this is my chance to switch from pounding my way through life, to gliding through it.  Perhaps this is my chance to learn that that’s really possible. 
 
Cylvia Hayes
 
Love this post?  Please share it on Facebook.  Thank you!

About Time

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

9275356_orig

This weekend I will be speaking at the annual Land Air Water conference at the University of Oregon.  My panel will be addressing the connection between how much time we spend at “work” and environmental damage and climate change.  It’s a bit of an unusual topic for me to speak about but as I’ve been working on my speech I’ve realized how much my relationship with time has changed over these past really challenging but hugely growth-filled eighteen months. 
 
I’ve had a lifelong struggle to be a human being instead of a human doing.  I have based so much of my identity, my goals and my time prioritization on being productive and delivering in my professional endeavors.  This has certainly partly been based on my oh-so-human self-fabricated ego seeking validation and recognition.  And I think it’s been greatly exacerbated by the fact that I feel such urgency to make change, to reverse the tremendous damage we are inflicting on this miraculous blue planet that I love.
 
It is hard to describe the shock, when my life blew up, of having all of the work I had been so deeply immersed in, abruptly yanked away.  My environmental and clean energy work, my work on poverty, all of it, even most of my colleagues, gone.  At first, I railed and thrashed and tried to force my work forward even in the midst of the terrible turmoil and pain.  It was to no avail and I finally gave in to the fact that I myself was too damaged, too worn out and freaked out to really “work” anyway.  I reached a point of surrender, realizing that all I could control or “Do” was the inner, spiritual work.  For the first time in my life I really slowed down.  Once I did, I was actually sort of shocked to realize how hard I had been working and pushing for so long. 
 
I had meditated for years but always treated it as a discipline, something to cross off the daily Do List.  Over these past months I have spent hours meditating …  unhurriedly.  I’ve studied spirituality and consciousness, and made space for lengthy conversations about those topics instead of the “work” that I had been so focused on.  I’ve read novels and watched movies.  I’ve volunteered building fences for dogs living on chains and rehabing injured wildlife.  Sometimes I forewent the intense, pound it out run in exchange for a long, slow hike.  I’ve taken time to really be present with, talk and interact with strangers. 
 
And lo and behold I like it!  I have realized, once I was forced to stop driving so hard, I didn’t want to drive so hard.  This has been a period of reflection, deep healing and powerful insights that is adding so much richness and depth to my life.  
 
Now, over the past six months or so I have been resuming the “Work”, moving forward again with my career and my efforts to protect and restore Nature.  I am working with some great clients again and doing a lot of writing, including for a new magazine I’m helping to launch called Issue Magazine.  It feels great to be working again, to be making a contribution to my clients and my cause and I am deeply grateful to be rolling once more. 
 
And yet, I am not rolling quite so fast or working as long or as “hard” as I did before.  I’m not allowing my meditation time to be the first thing to go when I feel the pressure of a deadline.  I’m committed to maintaining this new, gentler, more open relationship with time. 
 
And I am seeing amazing results!  Solutions just seeming to come easily, opportunities laying themselves before me and deeper, richer personal connections with my clients.  It is fascinating and exciting. 
 
I’ve always known that my work on behalf of the Earth was spiritual work, but in reality I was mostly giving that lip service, skimming along the surface.  This recent unasked for and greatly resisted sabbatical was something of a spiritual intervention and a gift.  Shifting how I prioritize time has brought me full spiral back to my roots but on a slightly higher rung.  I’m no longer spending time; I’m investing it. 
 
Cylvia Hayes
 
Love this post?  Please share it on Facebook.  Thank you!

Birthing the Past

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

2948399_orig

I have recently realized the past isn’t set in stone.  Much of it isn’t even real.  And we can control it.   
 
During the recent very challenging period of my life I was shocked when the hurts I was suffering in the present took me back to old traumas I thought I’d moved beyond.  I was staggered and incredibly angry.  Are you kidding?  After all this time, all the counseling, all the processing, my father, decades dead, still had that much power in my life?  Angrily, resentfully even, I leaned into working, once again, to heal those old wounds. 
 
Now, after a year of therapy, tears, facing deep primal fears and meeting my fuller self, I am finally free.
 
I realized I’d built my own self-identity on my past.  I saw myself as a victim… and a survivor.  As someone harmed but strong enough to escape.  For years I’d felt my hatred and anger toward my father was a sign of strength, even though part of me always recognized the ever-present love underneath. 
 
Now I see that those old experiences I allowed to define me aren’t even true.  It’s not that they didn’t happen, that there wasn’t abuse.  It happened.  It’s just that as I grow I’m finding that even my past can evolve. 
 
I’m not talking about magical thinking or denial of events that took place.   I’m talking about releasing old perceptions and the old need to view those events through a hard, narrow lens. 
 
The real truth is I can’t know what was going on with my dad to cause him to do what he did.  I can’t know the terrible difficulties my mom faced trying to cope with all of it.
 
I do know that along with the sickness there was a lot of love in my family and a lot of fun.  There was also a lot of good parenting in the mix. 
 
In the grand scheme of things maybe all these events, dark and bright, this crazy combination of experiences, is exactly what I needed to do my best with this life.  I gained a resiliency that has served me well this entire life, never more so than over these past sixteen months. 
 
But now, going forward I am going to harness it differently.  Up until now I’ve viewed myself as a tough survivor, a scrapper, someone who could fight my way through.  That, I think, has set my course and generated a lot of fights.
 
The other day I read a piece by Mark Nemo that got me thinking, or I should say rethinking.  Nemo explained that with miraculous breakthroughs in medicine it is now possible to operate on unborn children in utero.  Also miraculous is that those procedures leave no scars as the infant grows.  At our deepest level our repairs can become so much a part of who we are that they leave no scars. 
 
In many ways our inner selves are always in utero, always growing, fluid.  It is always in our power to treat, repair, heal and give birth to our perfect unscarred selves. 
 
I’ve realized that staying bound to my old perspectives on my past, holding rigid memories, was limiting me, keeping me in a certain mold.  And so I’m choosing to lower my fists, drop the fight and instead of fighting my way through life I intend to love my way through.  As part of that, at nearly fifty years old, I am choosing to have a perfect childhood.  I am birthing my past and my future simultaneously. 

By Cylvia Hayes

Love this post?  Please share it on Facebook. Thank you.

I Just Want My Mama

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

2709399_orig

One of the most precious beautiful jewels unearthed during all the ugliness of the past year is the transformation of my relationship with my mother.
 
Although Mom was very loving and supportive in my early childhood, due to a whole variety of family dynamics things fell apart in my early teens and my mother had not been my go-to person or safe harbor since. 
 
In fact, I was almost two weeks into the horrendously painful public shaming before I called her.  I did not know how she would respond to the mess I was sitting in.  She floored me with her fierce protectiveness and kindness.  She let me know with greater fervor than ever before in my adult life that she was extremely proud of me and respected what I had done with my life.  She ranted about how “mean and nasty” the media was and that she wouldn’t have anything to do with them, even though they kept calling her. 
 
Her words of love and support and safety flowed over me like warm rain or soft tears.  I found myself wanting to share with her how the current, ongoing attacks were triggering, once again, in a devastatingly powerful and inescapable way, the deep, dark family traumas that I had worked so hard to heal from.  This had always been something of a landmine subject in my family but that day, lonely and wounded, my need was overwhelming and I opened up to her. 
 
More than ever before she just listened, intently, warmly.  And then she blew my mind when she said, “You know those experiences from our childhood really affect us.  I’m 77 years old and I am dealing with that from my own childhood right now.”  She went on to explain how, having lost her husband of nineteen years only two months prior she was struggling to overcome fear of living alone due to events and programming she’d received as a young girl.  I was astounded that she was dealing with such things at her age and amazed and grateful that she shared them with me. 
 
This turned out to be one of the deepest, most mutually supportive conversations we had ever had. 
 
Just a few days later, still in the heat of the media firestorm, OregonLive posted a follow up piece in which my mother had spoken to a reporter in Oklahoma.  I was stunned, angry and deeply upset.  Although everything she said was supportive of me I was shocked that she would talk to the media without even telling me.  Feeling utterly under-attack, with stomach roiling, I called her. 
 
I asked why she had talked to a reporter when she said she wasn’t going to.  She stammered and said a strange man had knocked on her door, and, already unsettled being in her home alone it rattled her.  Yet, in her southern hospitality style she opened the door.  He jumped her with questions.  She tried telling him she had just lost her husband and was uncomfortable with him being there.  He just kept at her with questions about me and explained that he was there on behalf of the Oregonian. 
 
She told me all this nervously and then said, “Cylvia, I’m sorry.”  In that instant my anger melted, replaced by compassion and guilt.   I told her I was the one who was sorry, so sorry that she had been put through that as a result of my mess.  And then, for the first time in a long, long time, that warm fierce urge to protect her, to keep her from pain, surged up from below old, tired wounds and layers of armor. 
 
A few months later I decided to visit her and embarked on a long, car-camping road trip, just me and my beloved big dog, Tessa.  Over the next week, camping in beautiful, remote places, I crossed nearly two thousand miles.  It was a peaceful, soothing quest, but over the last several hundred miles I grew unsettled.  Uncomfortable remnant memories dashed around and poked at old deep bruises. 
 
I kept taking deep, belly breaths, focused on staying calm and open.  At the entrance to the long dirt road leading to her house I stopped the car, took several breaths and focused my intent on staying in a place of love, toward her and toward myself. 
 
Mom was waiting for me at the end of the driveway.  She looked very small and bright and familiar.  I got out and let a car-weary Tessa out to stretch her long legs.  And then I embraced my mother for a long, long time as tears welled in my eyes. (I am in fact crying right now, as I relive this memory through writing this post). 
 
Much later, after the best visit we had ever shared, and the long trek home, my mom told me that that hug felt different.  She said it felt like I had “accepted her back as my Mama.”   I realized the moment she said it she was right.  I may have been nearly fifty years old but I was at a place where I just wanted my mommy.  I got over myself, our past, the old identities and just let my heart fall. 
 
I am deeply, immeasurably grateful that hers was there to catch it. 

By Cylvia Hayes

​Love this post?  Please share it on Facebook.  Thank you.     

Choosing to Trust an Untrusted

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

2474290_orig

CLICK HERE FOR KATU
EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW

It was incredibly nerve-wracking to sit down with a reporter from KATU, a news outlet that had been part of the firestorm of allegations and speculation about me. 
 
I was so stressed that the moment I actually sat down in front of the cameras I had tunnel vision and it took several moments to be able to speak.  Once I regained some composure and pushed down the tears, the reporter asked me questions for an hour, including many that she knew I couldn’t fully answer because of the ongoing investigation into the allegations put forward by the media.  It has been so difficult not to be able to defend myself.   
 
Although I did my best to manage I was stressed and worried every day until the interview aired because I feared it would be cut and spliced into another sensationalized, inaccurate story.  It was hard to watch once it aired, but in the end I was relieved and I appreciate that the reporter stuck to her pledge not to over-sensationalize or mold whatever I said into a pre-created narrative. 
 
But then, I learned this reporter was going to be interviewed by another media show to give her opinions of what it was like interviewing me!  The anxiety spiked again.  Was she going to stick to her promise to stay fair not spin and sensationalize just to crank up ratings? 
 
I am beyond relieved and grateful to say that she did.  She stayed in integrity.  This feels like a big step in taking back my high-jacked identity.  I am grateful for the opportunity and for fair treatment.  And, I am so, so, so appreciative of all of my friends, colleagues and supporters who are sending kind and loving comments.   Thank you.
 

The Fierce Beautiful Strength of Vulnerability By Cylvia Hayes

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

2320301_orig

Last week I did something terrifying.  In order to move forward I faced a threat and immersed myself in extremely traumatic memories and experiences.  All I could do was trust the assurances of a stranger that I had good reason not to trust.

It was a place of extreme vulnerability and that is a place in which I have never been comfortable.

I was raised to believe tears were a sign of weakness; anger a show of strength.

But as life has torn and tempered, honed and healed me I have seen how backward that thinking is.

It takes tremendous courage to be vulnerable, to put our tender parts in the hands of another.  To have faith, to trust.

True strength is shown in our willingness to reveal our very humanness, pieces of ourselves we may think of as unflattering.  We look upon these threads in the tapestry of our Selves as shameful, but sometimes, taken as part of the whole, they are among the most beautiful strands.

One thing I’ve learned through this recent difficult season of life is that no one is invulnerable and real strength is exercised when, having had the armor ripped away and our soft, fragile parts stoned, flogged and flayed, we choose not to harden or hate but to soften even more.

A ribbon of lava because of its warmth, fluidity and flexibility cannot be broken or constrained.  It’s only when it turns cold and grows hard that it stops moving forward and can be chipped, cut, blasted and broken apart.
_________

For any of you currently struggling with shame and vulnerability I highly recommend Brene Brown’s work and her TED talk which can be viewed here. 

Cylvia Hayes

Love this post?  Please share it on Facebook.  Thanks!

​

Freedom through Forgiveness by Cylvia Hayes

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

9384925_orig

Forgiveness is such a powerful, and powerfully difficult thing.  As I’ve shared in previous blogs, for many months I have worked to forgive my attackers.  I have held the intention, meditated and read books about forgiveness.  I’ve made something of a mantra from the quote attributed to Buddha, “Hating someone is like drinking rat poison expecting that other person to die.” 
 
I’ve made progress.  I can definitely feel an easing in the intensity of anger.  I find myself thinking of “them” far less often.  But I still haven’t been fully free.
 
This past week I think I had a breakthrough.  One of the books I’ve been studying as part of my daily meditation practice recommended an exercise.  It suggested holding in mind the person toward whom we hold a grievance, recalling their flaws and the things that make us angry.  The main target of my ire jumped immediately to the forefront of my mind. 
 
Next, the instructions called for releasing that image, breathing deeply and seeing that person as the unique expression of God/ Spirit/ Creator that we all are.  Breathing and envisioning that person’s flawed humanness falling away to reveal the spark of divine creation behind it all. 
 
It was a bit of a stretch for me to see this person who had done me so much harm as a spark of divinity but I was able to get there.  After all I could feel the divinity in myself despite my flaws and weaknesses.  So I took some time trying to hold the image of that person’s higher self. 
 
The next instruction was to view this person as your Savior. ….   What?!!   Wait!  Screeching halt. … My eyes popped open!  That was just a bridge too far.  This person had tried to bring me ruin and I was supposed to look upon them as a savior?  For God’s sake.  …  Or, perhaps for mine. 
 
Despite my discomfort I knew I wanted the freedom of forgiveness so I stayed with it.  I realized the basis of my aversion was that thinking of this person as a “savior” felt like viewing them as powerful and justified in the awful actions they had taken against me.  But as I sat with it longer, I saw that by holding such a view I was still making it about that other person. 
 
There is just no question that I have grown immensely from dealing with the attacks and challenges this person brought into my life.  I know myself better.  I like myself more.  I am closer to Spirit.  I am more loving and more at peace.  I think in many ways these challenges became a spiritual intervention.  They didn’t break me down, they broke me open, and that is the salvation.  The salvation is in realizing what’s truly important and what I really want in my life, in taking time out (even though I hadn’t asked for it) to go deep and better get to know my higher self. 
 
Many months ago, finding profound peace in the midst of deep trauma, I said to my Beloved, “I want to live the rest of my life from this place, but without needing a crisis to get here.”  I recognized then the value of my attackers.  Spirit, the Universe, the Creator presented them so that I could grow.  Being harmed by their un-evolved humanness gave me an opportunity to awaken, grow and become more, and more powerful.  That is why they are my saviors.  It’s not about them at all. 
 
I wouldn’t have chosen to be attacked, to face these painful and   difficult challenges but I do choose to grow, advance and become more and more powerful as a result. 
 
This reminds me of a story that I learned of while reading some of Pema Chodron’s writings.  There was a renowned Buddhist teacher, named Atisha, who planned to go on a long, cross-country trek.  He wanted to bring a companion and many good people from his village wanted to go with him.  They were all friendly, companionable, compatible people.  And that was the problem. 
 
Atisha was afraid that his personal spiritual growth would be stunted if he only spent time with people who agreed with him and were pleasant to be around.  He believed that the people we find most obnoxious, frustrating or contemptible mirror and reflect back to us those very aspects of our selves that are obnoxious, frustrating or contemptible – and so they are invaluable teachers.  So he invited the most obnoxious, unpleasant person he knew, the boy that sold tea in the village.  Everyone, including the young tea merchant was surprised. 
 
For the entirety of the journey, the unpleasant, young tea merchant was a thorn in Atisha’s side.  Many times they wished they were not with one another.  But through it all they both grew. 
 
I can’t yet say thank you to my attackers but I can say thank you for them. 
 
 By Cylvia Hayes
 
Love this post?  Please share it on Facebook.  Thank you!

Temper to Tempered by Cylvia Hayes

Posted on by Cylvia Hayes

884800_orig

Tempering is a process used to toughen steel and glass.  It involves applying intense heat.  With steel the tempering process is done after the steel has been hardened.   The metal is heated to just below a critical point and then allowed to cool in still air.  This reduces hardness, increasing the ability to absorb energy and stress without fracturing.
 
Tempering glass requires putting the outer surfaces into compression and the inner surfaces into tension. This causes the glass, when broken, to crumble into small chunks instead of splintering into jagged shards.  These crumbly chunks don’t cut and slice like sharp splinters from glass that hasn’t yet been traumatized.
 
I have thought of this process of strengthening by fire many times these very challenging past fifteen months as I’ve moved through being publically shamed and personally shattered. 
 
For me anger, even rage, is easier than hurt and neediness.  I was raised to view a hot temper as a sign of strength.  So many times over these past months I raged and wanted to hit back.  But for the first time in my life I was in a position where that just wasn’t possible.  Unable to vent, unable to harness the diversion of attacking my attackers, I was forced to live intimately with the pain and the powerlessness. 
 
My ego clawed and snarled, then tried to hide in dark corners like a terrorized, caged wild animal.  My mind leaped and bucked, flapped and flailed tearing free of the lashings I tried to bind it with.
 
Gradually, through reflection, meditation, prayer, care from some wonderful friends old and new, and the healing power of Nature I regained my balance.
 
In that stripped place I learned things I didn’t know I didn’t know.  I touched God, that inner Spirit, the I Am, in ways I hadn’t known were possible.  Sitting in the puddle of my pain, amazingly I found pools of deep tranquility.  In surrender to my weakness I found strength I’d never known.
 
Like tempered glass I shattered.  Spirit and loved ones helped sweep up the pieces.  In the cauldron of facing my Self the crystalline crumbles melted, fused back together, molten. 
 
Now I can feel the reshaping, being molded and blown, new pigments added.  I can’t yet see the final pattern but I catch glimpses of radiant light through bright stained panes and facets. 
 
Like many who go through intensely painful ordeals, my soul, psyche and personality has burned in the refining fire.  Being hardened and then reclaiming my softness is tempering me like glass.  And like steel. 
 
Cylvia Hayes
 
Love this post?  Please share it on Facebook.  Thank you!