And Then, You’re There

Posted on by KM Huber in Beyond Time, Oneness

Maybe a milestone is easy for me to miss, which seems contradictory, as I hold it in high regard, a true moment of significant development. Yet, such a moment did occur this past Thursday but it was not until Black Friday that I noticed.

Like many Americans who gave thanks this past week, I have food allergies/sensitivities that require some adjustment to the traditional Thanksgiving turkey meal: stuffing made with gluten/yeast free bread, organic apples and freshly ground sausage; organic sweet potatoes, green beans, and cranberries; no salt, no refined sugar.

When I woke up on Black Friday feeling not only fine but wonderful, I became suspicious. I had been careful with my meal preparation and ingredients yet I anticipated a bit of a reaction to the amount of carbohydrates I had consumed. There was none. 

Thus, it may have dawned as a Black Friday like any other–I am not given to participating in the holiday season gift frenzy—but it became  the day I realized that 26 months of fastidious eating habits had finally returned my digestive system to a state it has not known in decades: harmony.

When I first began eating gluten, yeast, dairy, soy, and sugar-free in August, 2010, I learned as I ate, which I soon discovered meant being precise in my eating and foregoing a lifelong habit of eating to please any particular craving that appeared. On Black Friday, 2012, I reaped the rewards of overcoming carbohydrate cravings, giving myself and my taste buds a new life.

New life is not really an exaggeration for I left behind all I had known—my well-worn, conditioned ways of living–for the freedom of the unknown–shed of past and future in favor of the present—a path that unfolds only moment by moment. Here, I trust my heart over my head–there isn’t room or need for any baggage–an open heart travels light.

In the early days, there are sugar cravings in as many forms as there are thoughts: a very dry, vodka martini shaken so hard that slivers of ice float on its surface evaporates into a cheese-dripping, twice-baked potato melting into a milk chocolate fondue for pound cake and strawberries. They are mirage, part and parcel of the past, ultimately powerless in the realm of the present.

In 26 months, the past has had its way with me. Sometimes, rather than giving into the image, I tried a “substitute,” seeking sugar in all the wrong places, always sorry the next morning and often, sooner. The taste of sugar always seemed just beyond me until I stopped reaching into the past. The last time I ate ice cream, I felt as if I were eating raw sugar from a sugar bowl. For the rest of the day, I could not brush my teeth enough, and the next morning, I had a hangover.


So, being able to eat apples, bread stuffing, cranberries, and sweet potatoes in one meal without an immediate or delayed reaction is a milestone. And, I have continued to enjoy Thanksgiving leftovers without any reaction, without any weight increase. In fact, for over a year, I have maintained a 50+ pound weight loss and for the last six months, my total loss has stayed right at 68-69 pounds.

My constant companion on this path has been steady weight loss, from the first day 26 months ago. Of course, my forays into the dark side of sugar always resulted in some kind of temporary weight gain but for the first time in my life, losing weight was not an effort.

My exercise is modest–mostly walking–although yoga is now playing a more active role. And while I would not have thought it possible, I truly enjoy eating a varied regimen of green, leafy and low carbohydrate vegetables, a few legumes, nuts/nut butters, infrequent fish/poultry, almond milk and now, some fruit.

Most of the digestive system resources are quite imprecise on how long it may take to return to what I call digestive harmony. Occasionally, however, I found this general guideline: it takes one month for every year the digestive system has been out of balance. In my case, 26 years of digestive disharmony is plausible, but more than anything, it is baggage from the past best left leaning against the Black Friday milestone. Soon, none of it will even be a thought.

A Change of Habit

Posted on by KM Huber in Lupus, Oneness

Autumn is my favorite time of year, in particular the week before Thanksgiving. For some years now, this is the time I assess the current year in preparation for its final toast on December 31. I love the season; it’s such a time of good feeling. There were years that I watched all the holiday programming television could provide. This year, I’m marking the season by not subscribing to any television programming for one year, perhaps forever. It’s a habit I’ve wanted to change for decades, and it seems the season to do so.

For me, most television programming is noisier than any form of social media on its worst day. And my limited engagement with social media is more free than not. Frankly, I can “click out” of either one quite easily but the television has held sway over me–admittedly, attachment–that social media does not have, yet. Television provides hours of images, day and night, and all I have to do is watch, mindlessly.

Cooper’s TV Reaction

Yet, for all of 2012, I have been exploring consciousness–being aware of being aware–by studying various ancient traditions, including the practice of meditation. Since July, I have been meditating daily, having missed only a handful of days in five months. Meditation is yet another change of habit that is a long time in coming.

In the posts I have written about meditation, specifically about being “in the gap,” I acknowledge my difficulty in learning to accept what is. Yet, it is that acceptance, the moving away from duality–not labeling a moment as this or that—that has allowed me to connect to consciousness, producing changes in my physiology as well.

The benefit of any habit is its consistency; in fact, that is the power of habit. Nowhere is this more apparent than in meditation. My daily connection to “the gap between thoughts”—where stillness or consciousness resides—always provides moments of calm, even relaxation. The more that I practice meditation, the less attention I pay to the constant chatter of my mind. Without attention, my thoughts do not attach.

Early on in my meditation practice, there were days the chatter was almost nonstop but there was always some point where I connected with the stillness.  And every connection affected my physiology. Frankly, when I was in the gap, I was not aware of any discomfort. In five months, I believe my discomfort level is significantly less, and while I do not yet fully understand all that may mean, I know it to be true.

There are other reasons for my improved physiology, including a healthy diet and exercise, but if I had to single out one aspect in the last two years it would be a change in consciousness. In other words, my reality has changed because my consciousness has changed, not my attitude but my awareness. It is not a matter of positive thinking for a change in consciousness has nothing to do with thinking and everything to do with being aware of being aware in every moment.

Autodidact that I am, I have sought out the ancient traditions and continue to do so but when I began my meditation practice is when I noticed the shift in my consciousness that affected my physiology. There is no doubt that the cumulative effect of the change in so many of my habits over the past two years is finally being realized–recently, I added a few fruits and legumes to my diet as well as sweet potatoes–but beyond the increased energy I receive from extra carbohydrates there is a hardened resilience born of acceptance.

I assure you that nothing in television programming can compare with all the realms I have yet to explore.

“In one atom are found all the elements of the earth; in one motion of the mind are found all the motions of existence; in one drop of water are found all the secrets of the endless oceans; in one aspect of you are found all the aspects of life.”–Khalil Gibran

 

Considering Critical Mass

Posted on by KM Huber in Oneness

Imagine what critical mass consciousness might mean for our planet. That’s what I have been considering this past week. In this context, I am referring to critical mass as “a threshold value of the number of people needed to trigger a phenomenon by exchange of ideas” (Wikipedia).

In a recent Super Soul Sunday interview with Oprah Winfrey, Deepak Chopra suggested the possibility of critical mass consciousness because of the advances we have made in technology.  Imagine all of us aware of being aware.

The idea of awareness or wholeness reaching such a threshold does seem more than plausible as we are able to communicate globally on a daily basis, if we are so inclined. Whatever technology may or may not be, it is bringing us together face by face, word by word, video by video, an ongoing parade of points of view. It seems there are few places or events that we cannot access.

The recent US presidential election is a good example of such an event. The reelection of President Obama revealed much about us as Americans, not the least of which is that we, too, are moving toward that segment of the planet where white is just another color. In revealing ourselves, warts and all, we relied on the risk that is hope, on the spark that is genius.

“Genius is a crisis that joins the buried self, for certain moments, to our daily mind” (William Butler Yeats). Whenever we are jarred into genius, we have the opportunity to become whole–once again aware—to perceive yet another perspective on what it is to be human. Through crisis, we absorb all that we have been so that we may be yet again anew and maybe, just maybe not as attached.

“The purpose in crisis, if there is one, is not to break us as much as to break us open” (Mark Nepo). Letting go is a lifelong lesson. To be broken open is to detach from the outcome of crisis, no matter how difficult it is or how long it takes. To become aware of all around us requires us to love enough to let go. As the Buddhists say, “to be a fisherman you must detach yourself from the dream of the fish. This makes whatever is caught or found a treasure” (Nepo).*

Perhaps that is what takes us to crisis, our ever narrowing inability to let go of the dream. We attach our lives to a candidate, to a belief, to a fish, and we close ourselves to any and all outcome outside of our narrowly defined dream. No such dream could ever come true for our attachment to its outcome is beyond the dream.

St. Francis told us that “[we] are what [we] are seeking.” As seekers, we break open, teetering on the edge of ourselves, where awareness begins. Extending all that we are to all that surrounds us is consciousness, motivated only by compassion, love, gratitude, and joy. Just consider that we have the technology to reach such critical mass consciousness.

*(All Mark Nepo quotations are from The Book of Awakening, Kindle version).

When Reality Calls

Posted on by KM Huber in Beyond Time, Writing

Perfect storm Sandy arrived as predicted, forever changing millions of lives, a staggering reality. Three bloggers that I read regularly have written about their new reality–thanks for making the effort to publish your posts–as usual, each of you inspires, making all of us a bit more grateful for you as well as the lives we have.

Poet Anne Michael’s reflective post: “Weather like this is refreshing, my sister says, even if frightening, because people need to be reminded that technology cannot control everything. The hurricane interrupted cell phone use, communication systems, transport networks, traffic, electrical grids. We ended up wet and cold and we needed to take shelter with friends and to share supplies and stories, to wait awhile before we hurry on our way.” Read more….

Bottledworder provides his usual thoughtfulness regarding his reality:  “In situations of such magnitude, you’re lucky if you can manage some description with integrity and so I decided to just record what I saw and provide my tiny bit of detail in the great picture of what happened. So here it is.” Read more…. 

Layla from Cat Wisdom 101 is candid: “I’m not used to being restricted with Wi-Fi but the past few days have taught me not to take anything for granted. Being a hardy Canadian, I’m used to harsh weather but nothing could have prepared me for Sandy. We’ve weathered Nor’easters, power outages, flooding, major trees uprooted but I’ve never wrestled one on one with a force like Sandy.” Read more….

Another blogger is not yet able to get online—Stephanie and her family may be without power for another fifteen days is the latest word—we have been able to communicate via Twitter, on almost a daily basis.  True to her generous and kind nature, Stephanie’s last “tweet” of the day is a “shout out” regarding other blogs. She’s like that.

While I am not a fan of Twitter, I have seen remarkable exchanges not only during Super Storm Sandy but during storms/disasters not so perfect or super. The reality of any storm, especially a perfect one, is that its seemingly omnipotence does end, leaving an aftermath of stories, lives forever changed as they rise in resilience.

Not in the path of this super storm, I watched and wondered. I began to consider all of the blogs that I follow and read regularly. Each is an invitation into a world I would have missed if it were not for that blogger. In myriad ways, their perspectives add new dimensions to my reality. I had not considered the world of the blogger in this regard.

And because I, too, respect all the forces that exist beyond humanity’s grasp, I do not want to wait a moment more before acknowledging some of the blogs that expand the universe on a regular basis.

Here are some other blogs that rock my reality:

Adrian Fogelin’s Slow Dance Journal: “I am both wonderful and a genuine waste of skin. Like water I assume the shape of the vessel into which I am poured. And that vessel is your opinion. I can’t be alone in this.” Read more….

August McLaughlin: “Blogs grow along with us. It only makes sense that they’d change as we do.” Read more….

Diana J. Hale: “Their dystopian vision of a world surviving on salvaging rubbish is not such a fantasy as might be thought.” Read more….

Matthew J. Wright: “The only real way to do it was abstract the whole thing – take the shapes out of the context and turn them into something else. A trick that writers use too.” Read more….

Sigrun: “What really impresses me is how Oliver manages to capture the mystery of the world, its vastness and beauty, in very simple, ordinary, everyday words. She makes it sound so easy, but of course we all know that nothing is more difficult than simplicity.” Read moreLinks….

Let’s all go out and rock a little reality.

Life: A Chronic Condition

Posted on by KM Huber in Beyond Time, Oneness

Life as a condition generally denotes the state of being human but when health is implied, the meaning involves a defective state. Thus, considering life as chronic implies a wearing away, a wearing down.

Often, I use “chronic illness” to describe my health, although it makes me wince. I am no more an illness than I am a writer, a family member, a friend or a neighbor, although I have met each of these conditions with joy and sorrow, success and failure, the usual mixed bag that is life.

Life with conditions resembles what the Buddhists call clinging, attaching ourselves to this or that. We rarely regard reliving a fond memory as clinging but it is; Michael Singer describes this fondness as “I don’t want this one to go away… I want to keep reliving that moment” forever attached, completely embedded.

Just as chronically, we eschew those memories that are less than fond, even though they are always readily available. From those moments we cannot run fast or far enough, unaware we are on a treadmill of attachment incapable of escaping what we know.

Ironically, a shift in our attention from the known to the unknown of awareness frees us. Being in the moment switches off that treadmill, shuts down that memory to experience what always is, the freedom that is in every moment we ever have. Conditions result from experience but in the moment—the state of being– there are no conditions only creations. Chronically, life is; only we attach.

The ancient traditions teach us that everlasting joy is inevitable when we stop pushing away or holding onto life. The freedom integral to peace and contentment is available in every moment. In truth, freedom requires risk and risk resides in the unknown, not exactly comfortable conditions, or has our chronic response to risk become comfortable.

Embracing risk feels as if we are opening ourselves to each and every moment changing us—we are–as if risk were a mere matter of inhaling and exhaling—it is, if we focus. In a mere matter of a breath, consider the strength of a sigh, an exhaling of what is no longer necessary.

Almost any form of meditation considers the breath. In learning to meditate, I focused on inhaling and exhaling and discovered the pause in between. As basic as the pause is, I had never considered it. Only recently did I realize my daily meditation practice has immersed itself into my daily life: inhaling and exhaling, I release all-too-familiar conditions, as if I were sweeping 10,000 rooms daily, which I do.

For me, it was chronically easy to cling to conditions in the belief they secure one’s life. Labels–gender, occupation, health, neighborhood location–categorize life, as if the familiar confines could stay the constancy of change. I spent a lot of my life that way but I admit to a fascination with risk, which has always served me.

It has taken most of my lifetime to realize that joy, love, compassion, and gratitude are chronically inherent in the risk that is life. These emotions eschew the ego and all of its conditions; these emotions launch us out of ourselves into all of life. They are worth every moment of risk.

Taking a Full Breath

Posted on by KM Huber in Writing

I usually mention “being present” or “being in the moment” in my posts but until I read Elizabeth Mitchell’s inspirational post, I did not realize how often I am my own obstacle. When I read Elizabeth’s words of “get out of your own way,” it occurred to me that I am only in the moment when I am not standing in my own way.

Here is another way to consider it: I am my greatest obstacle when I am least aware that I am aware, the opposite of Michael Singer’s definition of consciousness, “being aware of being aware…the seat of Self.”

When we are in “the seat of Self,” we immerse ourselves in each moment for the experience of it, allowing all of it to pass through us completely, not holding onto a single breath. It is as basic as inhaling and exhaling, the essence of living.

Breathing/living completely requires constant awareness and attention; if we get sidetracked, we attach first to this, then to that and we find ourselves short of breath. Our physiology constricts; our head is over our heart. We need to get out of our own way.

Currently, I am participating in Kristen Lamb’s two-month, online blogging course, which I highly recommend for all bloggers; I am about to engage in writing the initial draft of a second novel; I have a nonfiction manuscript that requires revision; the response to my blog pleases me more and more every day. Every one of these is an opportunity if I breathe fully and do not attach.

Fortunately, I have the luxury of being older as well as being chronically ill, and I’m serious in my application of the word luxury to both advantages.

Aging provides me a considerable archive of experience—albeit one of attachment—yet I pause, mainly because I’ve been there, done that, which is not being present. I catch myself relying on the known, which does not fit as it once did. So, I am considering the class, my writing, and this blog–each for what it is–through perspectives unknown to me. It is taking some time but in understanding that the moment is all I ever have, time is yet another luxury for me.

As I have written numerous times, chronic illness keeps me more in the moment than any resource in my life and as such, I  discovered worlds I would never have known, and there are so many more! Every day, I meet people with the most extraordinary stories, constant sources of inspiration and information.

Always, I am grateful for  my readers and for the incredible insight that so many of you reveal in your comments as well as in your correspondence with me. Frankly, your response is humbling and energizing. It keeps me on the search for blog post topics. Truly, I thank you.

As I reorganize and reconstruct, I am taking a break from blogging, returning on October 28.  As usual, Mark Nepo succinctly describes the coming and going that is living:

“Being human, there are endless times we need to be still and as many times that we need to move. But much of our confusion as modern citizens comes from trying to have the one we are more comfortable with substitute for the other.”

A Matter of Voice

Posted on by KM Huber in Oneness, Writing


When is a voice not a voice or why does the voice inside my head not resemble the voice in the movie, Field of Dreams? Beyond the obvious answer of “it’s only a movie,” there is also the reality of building a baseball field, which I could never do. That’s the kind of voice I hear.

Perhaps chatter is a better term but regardless of word choice, the voice is not reality, incessant as it is. The voice is so pervasive that it filters the reality of living for us, if we allow it. Why is that?

Michael Singer says that “…reality is just too real for most of us, so we temper it with the mind… As long as that’s what you want, you’ll be forced to constantly use your mind to buffer yourself from life, instead of living it…. In the name of attempting to hold the world together, you really are just trying to hold yourself together”(The Untethered Soul).

I admit I have relied on this voice for almost all my life. As a writer, I’ve considered voice essential for I do hear the word as I type or I did. Now that I use voice recognition software, I am not aware of hearing words before I speak them. Inadvertently, voice recognition software has helped me be more present in life.

In short, I am no longer interested in listening to the voice in my head “… [take] both sides of the conversation, [not caring]… which side it takes, just as long as it gets to keep on talking” (Singer).

As I understand space-time, past, present, and future are all occurring simultaneously. All we ever have is the moment, which is completely free for it is attached to neither past nor future but is simply occurring.

The present is not a comfortable setting for the voice, as it is attached to past and future outcomes. The voice builds on situations that exist in either the past or the future. Situation is the foundation for the voice; it is the known. When we listen to the voice, our focus (and thus our perspective) narrows so rather than exploring the infinite field of possibilities, we explore only what we have known for that is all the voice knows.

Vividly, the voice narrates image after image stored within our memory archives. When it reaches the end of that file, it creates one future scenario after another. The voice is like a pendulum, swinging toward what has been and then all the way to the edge of what might be, with nary a pause at what is.

When we are still, we are in the moment, where the voice does not reside. “There is nothing more important to true growth than realizing that you are not the voice of the mind–you are the one who hears it. If you don’t understand this, you will try to figure out which of the many things the voice says is really you.” And we are none of those things for consciousness—being aware that we are aware—is observing the voice we hear without engaging it. In being aware, our focus broadens.

We experience life as it is and only for what it is. “If you’re willing to be objective and watch all your thoughts, you will see that the vast majority of them have no relevance” (Singer). Rather than defining ourselves as past or future events—what has happened or what may happen–we immerse ourselves in the infinite field of possibilities that is the moment, free from past or future outcomes.

When we are in the moment, we are completely involved in all that is. There is nothing for the voice to attach to. We do not focus on the outcome of that moment, which is not to say that we are passive, not at all. It is to say that we do not react; we do not reach for what we have always known.

Rather, we “…decide not to narrate and, instead, just consciously observe the world, [feeling] more open and exposed” (Singer). Consciously observing the world is experiencing all that life is. It means that our every action is one that encompasses compassion, gratitude, love, and joy—maybe even simultaneously– for these are the emotions that are never felt in the presence of the voice, the ego of the known.

These four emotions reverberate throughout our physiology as it connects to our consciousness. In the moment, we are all that we are completely.  This possibility always exists if we forgo the pendulum swing of the voice of the known. Yet, it is not as if the voice will be still but we are not the voice. We are the oneness that observes the voice, for we have more to observe than we have ever known.

I consider it quite a challenge not to engage the voice but the unknown has always intrigued me. As a writer, the role of the witness is certainly not new to me but once again, my switch to voice recognition software provided yet another unanticipated benefit.

Obviously, using the software is a physical change in how I write but while adjusting to speaking my writing as opposed to typing my writing, I became aware of another voice. In speaking my words, there is an immediacy that does not exist with my typing. At times, the words are a pure surprise. Sometimes that is the software doing its best to communicate what it thinks I said while other times, I do surprise myself in the words I say.

Regardless, the thought is rough, meaning there is no longer any thinking through a sentence before I speak it. I wasn’t aware that I had been a writer who edited as I created but my voice recognition software revealed otherwise. Now, I am no longer aware of that voice even when I do edit finished drafts.

And there is this about writing: no matter how or what I write, it is story. In story, there is always a voice–as there should be–just as there is a conclusion–the outcome of the story–as there should be. In story, voice frees us from clinging to outcome, releasing us into the moment, perhaps into a field of dreams.

(All Michael Singer quotes excerpted from The Untethered Soul, Kindle Edition, 2007: New Harbinger Publications)

Getting Physical

Posted on by KM Huber in Lupus

Sjogren’s Syndrome has had my attention these last few days. Sjogren’s affects gland secretion, which means there is a general dryness throughout the body. It is often in the company of lupus so it’s been a joint effort. However, I’m happy to report that I have remained more in the moment than not and am simply working through my symptoms—dry eyes, dry mouth, fatigue–as they make themselves available. It is intriguing.

In examining these two autoimmune issues, I focus on what is occurring throughout my physiology rather than considering cause and effect. This began two years ago when I walked away from traditional medicine, and with a little knowledge of quantum healing, I began creating a diet for myself that would not make me sicker. I needed a distraction and food, which had been such a comfort, seemed the logical choice.

It was a no-brainer to eat whole foods and eliminate processed/refined products but I discovered I could not tolerate all whole foods, especially carbohydrates. Ultimately, I stopped eating yeast, gluten, dairy, and soy but mostly, I stopped eating almost all sugars, including fruit. I ate meat and still do, infrequently, but I receive more than my required protein amount from almond butter, plain goat’s milk yogurt, eggs, broccoli and even almond cheese, just to name a few sources. I quickly discovered that getting enough protein is not an issue.

Mostly, I found myself engaged in an experiment for health and not a diagnosis for disease. My physiology became my laboratory. As my sugar and high carbohydrate intake dropped, my joint pain began to decrease. Yet, not all sugars are equal. For example, I tolerate apple cider vinegar but no other. When I discovered that apple cider vinegar is a main ingredient in Eden’s Organic Brown Mustard, I finally found my condiment. This mustard is a marvelous addition to any sandwich.

Bread proved elusive until I learned of Paleo Bread—almond and coconut are my preferences—yet another source of protein for me. While the bread is expensive,  a local health food store is providing me a great discount. The bread is a significant source of fiber, contains no refined starch and is extremely low in carbohydrates. Yes, it is an acquired taste but like my ever-changing physiology, my taste buds are not what they were.

I discovered that change at my 60th birthday dinner. The waiter brought a complimentary birthday chocolate sundae, which I ate because it was my birthday and because I wanted to see what reaction I would have. Immediately, I was overwhelmed by the taste–too sweet, too much. For the next few days, that taste stayed with me, mostly in the form of carbohydrate cravings. No one is immune to the physiology of them.

In response, I ate more almond butter and drank more chamomile tea (with Stevia) until my physiological system evened itself out. By the way, the only natural Stevia that I know of is SweetLeaf; all the others have either sugar or a sugar substitute in them. Every time I meet up with sugar, intentionally or no, my physiology alters significantly. This may have been true all my life or not. Doesn’t matter.  I discovered a connection.

In quantum healing, perfect health is an ideal, of course, but its heart is “…the junction point between mind and matter, the point where consciousness actually starts to have an effect” (Deepak Chopra). That junction point is when “…quantum healing moves away from external, high-technology methods toward the deepest core of the mind-body system. This core is where healing begins” (Chopra).

My experimenting with nutrition is only the beginning of my understanding quantum healing. Mine is an undertaking that many question to which I can only respond that for the first time in 30+ years I have a connection to my body that is not external or chemical. It is right for me. I still have Sjogren’s and lupus symptoms–no worse and perhaps no better–I haven’t paid attention to degree of discomfort for I have been busy in my physiology laboratory.

“The healing mechanism resides somewhere in this overall complexity, but it is elusive. There is no one organ of healing. How does the body know what to do when it is damaged, then? Medicine has no simple answer….A man-made drug is a stranger in a land where everyone else is blood kin. It can never share the knowledge that everyone else was born with” (Chopra).

Yet, I am not unrealistic, either. I do not believe I will attain the health of a sexagenarian who has generally taken good care of her emotional and physical needs. I was not that person for 58 of my 60 years; I am only that person now. Thus, whatever healing emerges is from an awareness born of the mind-body connection. For me, it is about appreciating the incredible complexity that is my physiology and doing everything I can to support my body in its never-ending quest to provide me health. I am much more careful in how I live.

Our physiology communicates mainly through pain or discomfort but it is in the examining of the communication that we gain a broader perspective of our physical self. Physically or emotionally, we do not operate well on deprivation. No living organism does. Quantum healing is going beyond physiology—cells, tissues, organs, and systems–to that mysterious “junction point between mind and matter” where healing begins.  It is intriguing.

(All Deepak Chopra quotes excerpted from Quantum Healing: Exploring the Frontiers of Mind/Body Medicine, New York: 1990, Bantam Books)

Inner Energy of You

Posted on by KM Huber in Oneness

My last two posts have explored freedom through the pause we all experience in every breath–if not in every deed–and through the unknown, where the risk of hope resides. To write of freedom is to explore the oneness of humanity for it is the freedom that connects us all.

When I began publishing this blog in January, I created a homepage of oneness to frame the concept for my blog posts: quantum entanglement, my favorite term for the pure energy of the consciousness connection. Within a few months, I began a study of ancient traditions, primarily Taoism, Hinduism and early Christianity (pre Saint Augustine of Hippo), having previously studied Buddhism, Zen in particular. I sought a synthesis and considered it the rest of my life’s work. Still do.

I have discovered writers, ancient and contemporary, who have written most thoughtfully, and some beautifully, of the inner and external worlds of humanity. Then, I read the “elegant simplicity” of Michael A. Singer in The Untethered Soul. Yet again, I have Oprah Winfrey’s Super Soul Sunday program to thank for this discovery; currently, her website is offering a full episode replay of her interview with Singer.  Oh, that middle initial is important if you are going to search for Singer on Google.

Singer’s graceful prose is stunning. Quietly, he lays down one sentence after another, orchestrating a synthesis of thought, word by word. He  allows the reader to rediscover the spiritual energy within, as if it were the first time. “This flow of energy comes from the depths of your being. It’s been called by many names. In ancient Chinese medicine, it is called Chi. In yoga, it is called Shakti. In the West, it is called spirit.… All the great spiritual traditions talk about your spiritual energy; they just give it different names.” (The Untethered Soul).

We do seem to insist on labels for our innate consciousness and thus, the connection to one another. We identify with one label over another to preserve, and possibly to protect, the nuances within each of the spiritual traditions. It has been like this for over 5000 years, for one reason after another, both East and West.

“Consciousness is the highest word you will ever utter. There is nothing higher or deeper than consciousness. Consciousness is pure awareness…the ability to become more aware of one thing and less aware of something else…” (The Untethered Soul).

Singer removes any mystique regarding consciousness and leads the reader into “the seat of self,” the center of consciousness [where] you are aware there are thoughts, emotions, and a world coming in through your senses. But now you are aware that you’re aware. That is the seat of the Buddhist self, the Hindu Atman and the Judeo Christian soul. The great mystery begins once you take that seat deep within” (The Untethered Soul).

It was Deepak Chopra who described Singer’s writing as “elegant simplicity.” If you watch the interview with Oprah, you will see it is an apt description for the man as well. Singer’s book is not about one set of beliefs or any religion. It is a book about consciousness: “The more you are willing to just let the world be something you’re aware of, the more it will let you be who you are–the awareness, the self, the Atman, the soul.”

For me, Singer’s book offers an unanticipated foundation for my  synthesis of the ancient traditions and thus, an added dimension to this blog. Abraham Heschel wrote that to live a spiritual life is not a gathering of information but it is “facing sacred moments,” the rediscovery of what has always been, one open door after another.

The Power of Pause

Posted on by KM Huber in Oneness

Emily Dickinson wrote, “To live is so startling it leaves but little room for other occupations” yet how easy it is to be more startled by our occupations than living our lives. We slide into the demand of our daily requirements, although all of the ancient traditions advise observation–the power of pause—in order to act rather than react.

Dave R Farmer Image
WANA Commons

The power of pause allows us to trust the skies to clear, the fog to dissipate. It is the quiet courage of the heart resonating throughout our bodies while our heads consider whether or not to act. The power of pause requires us to listen as if we were hearing for the first time. It is that crisp, that charged.

The power of pause resides not in analysis but in awareness, a reach into the unknown. It requires us to empty our minds much like Randall Jarrell’s bored, sick child who entreats existence, “all that I’ve never thought of think of me.” It is a trusted leap from comfort to change, embarking on the voyage in to all that we are.

Within in each one of us, there is a unique, natural rhythm to living our lives. Only we can discover our own flow, our tributary that connects us to all life. It is a “startling” discovery, not lending itself to a life of daily lists or to the inertia of self-absorption but to commitment without being attached to its outcome. We take a breath, go “all in” and we’re in the moment.

Rather than outcome, we focus on the emotions not ruled by ego–compassion, gratitude, love, and joy–for they emerge from the thoughtfulness requisite to the power of pause. We go within ourselves to discover the best we have for the world outside of us and then deliver.

The power of pause requires us to quiet ourselves, to allow the storm of the world to swirl round the calm eye of our lives. In the stillness, we discover who we are beyond the business of the world of to-do lists. In the moment that it takes to breathe, we feel the spark of us–our own light–reveal our way.

There is a well-known story regarding two scientists who travel halfway around the world to meet with a Hindu Sage, eager to hear the Sage’s thoughts on their theories. They meet in the Sage’s garden. He pours tea and continues pouring although the cups overflow with the tea.

Finally, one of the scientists says, “‘Your holiness, the cups can hold no more.’  The Sage stops pouring and says, ‘Your minds are like the cups. You know too much. Empty your minds and come back. Then we’ll talk'”(Leroy Little Bear in The Book of Awakening).

No matter how frequently we revisit various versions of the two scientists and the Sage, the light of awareness flashes: empty our minds so we may live our life aware of our breath, as we begin yet again.

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens. (“The Red Wheelbarrow,” William Carlos Williams)