My apologies to anyone who’s noticed my absence these past couple of months, but things in my world became a tad full-on for a while, and the blog was an unfortunate but necessary casualty in the midst of it all.

Not that it was entirely unforeseen…though the fact is that I chose to over-ride the cautionary signs because a part of me has this ridiculous notion that I am some sort of cosmic Lara Croft who can somersault out of the way of boulders and laugh in the face of monsters.

Which, to be fair, I often can. But what I’d forgotten is that even Lara retreats to her country estate for some R & R now and then, and in hindsight, I too should have heeded the call to jettison the utility belt rather sooner than I did….but sometimes, in all the dust and grime of Planet Serious, it can be difficult knowing whether we’re being asked to stand firm and dig in, or take a deep breath and just let go…

To continue the metaphor from my last blog, there have been one or two upturned pots of paint in my world of late….which is an admission that I appreciate may come as a surprise to some of you, who may presuppose that those of us who help other people get their stuff together, would not be so remiss as to allow our own to become so messy.

Which may, on the face of it, seem like a fair enough assumption, though perhaps it was such unreasonably high expectations that led Krishnamurti to comment, “You mistakenly believe that by pursuing the spiritual goal you will somehow miraculously make your material goals simple and manageable”, and indeed, my observation is that many people who are endeavouring to walk a spiritual path at this pivotal point in the earth’s evolution, are actually experiencing a pretty bumpy journey, and that furthermore, those of us with the temerity to espouse spirituality in our work certainly don’t live in ivory towers. Far from it.

Take, for example Brandon Bays [of ‘The Journey’], who has built a global self-help empire based upon her willingness to share her own cock-ups, grief and losses with the world. I remember hearing her tell a packed conference centre at Earls Court that she’d once literally lost everything she owned in a fire, and I well recall the mixture of amazement and bemusement that met this indomitable and apparently switched-on New Yorker’s admission that she had been living the California Dream minus the safety net of household insurance!  And likewise, the renowned spiritual luminaries who were featured in Rhonda Byrne’s film ‘The Secret’ may be comparatively rich and famous, but in some cases, the jig-saw puzzle of their personal lives allegedly contains many missing pieces. 

And part of the problem is that all this manifestation malarkey overlooks some fundamental trip-switches; the first being that the Law of Attraction is certainly not operating alone out there, and another is that the more masterful we become with this sort of energy work, the more attuned we need to be to our own inner saboteurs, so that we can be sure that when we ask the cosmic waiter for champagne and caviar, we’re not simultaneously pointing to a picture of egg and chips.

And of course, anyone daft enough to try and grapple with such subjects in a public arena has to accept the possibility of being shot at now and then.  And so, in a scene where life started to imitate art, shortly after I wrote that last piece, Captain Ego was involved in a skirmish in which some hostile spiritual soldiers were basically running amok and firing off rumours that Juice was a hotbed of black magic and kinky sex.

Now, I should have been able to deflect the bullets with a quick flick of the wrist, but it caught me off-guard, and it suddenly felt as if my ‘baby’ was being threatened and that some defensive action was necessary to prevent people buying into the nonsense.  And so, Lara swung into action and endeavoured to pull off a rescue mission… which turned out to be a complete waste of time and effort, and succeeded only in winding me up and wearing me down.

Yours Truly at last year’s gorgeous Midsummer Night’s Dream-themed Juice event.  And for the record, that’s a child’s toy in my hand, not a sex toy!

Of course, in hindsight, I can entirely appreciate that salacious stories like this are inevitable; after all, they’re so much more ‘juicy’ than talking about what we really do….which is have a lovely time, with much healing, magic, fun and laughter in the company of gorgeously warm and open-hearted people. Yes, of course it has its juicy moments, but it’s all – as Kenny Everett used to say – in the best possible taste, in an atmosphere of trust and respect, which is designed to deepen people’s connection with themselves and others.

And maintaining the safety of that environment is important; people will only drop their mask and open up to the magic when they feel safe and supported. And so I go to great lengths to ensure that Juice provides a safe playground. Sadly, however, others don’t necessarily share this viewpoint, and I found myself in some hot water with certain influential people recently over my stance in respect of somebody whose conduct [outside of Juice, I might add] had given me – as well as others – cause for serious concern.

It seemed I was unwittingly in the middle of a battlefield, and a reactive part of me wanted to pick up Lara’s Kalashnikov and wade in all guns blazing; but there was another, wiser part of me that thankfully recognised the only sensible option was to beat a hasty retreat.  And so, I packed up all my kit and caboodle, and yomped off to safe house…a haven of solace and solitude in the middle of nowhere, where I’ve been able to spend time looking within and recognising my own trip-switches, and the dichotomies of where I have – and haven’t – been in alignment with myself.

One of the first things I had to face was that daring to ‘be seen’ creates excruciating vulnerability, and I realised that walking my talk would entail finding a way through that discomfort without numbing out or perpetuating the drama.   And I realised that, for me, this means taking a leaf out of Brandon’s book and being willing to be authentically ‘whole-hearted’;  to let go of who and what I should be in order to be who I am…which enables me to become what I have the potential to be.

And from this vantage point, I can see that other people’s opinion is none of my business.

Whatever we may feel about their judgements, ultimately, people’s opinions are their stuff, not ours. It’s what we do with what it brings up in us that counts, and what I’ve woken up to is the realisation that sometimes, people’s disapproval of us can actually set us free.

Self-sabotage through fear of what other people think is a huge tripper-upper, and I’d succumbed on all sorts of levels – both in respect of Juice and particularly with my deeper therapy work , elements of which I’m well aware just don’t stand up to rational scrutiny. And so, in fear that I would be maligned and misjudged, a part of me was hiding in the closet and scuppering a lot of my more visible endeavours.

But thanks to all these powerful lessons, I’ve re-discovered the missing key to my own treasure trove and have found the courage to finally step out into the light with a new website, fresh enthusiasm and a firm footing in this big old adventure we call Life.

In the words of sexual shaman Baba Dez [who was featured in my very first blog entry], people engaged in transformational energy work need to learn to “eat shadow and shit light”, and there’s a wry and raw wisdom to that statement.

And to that, I would add that we also owe the people who entrust us with their hearts and minds and bodies, a sacred and unflinching duty of care.

So it’s not, perhaps, the easiest work in the world, and there is a delicate balancing act between honing our spiritual muscles, whilst being mindful of the ‘fragile beauty of our own humanness’.* But the gifts of the adventure are beyond measure and I feel privileged to play a part in such wonderful transformations.

And maybe the biggest one of late is my own.

There is undoubtedly a huge karmic and cosmic recalibration going on ‘out there’, and we’re all part of it. Many people are experiencing similar unforeseen and unwanted ripples and undercurrents in their lives right now, which could well be connected with the ‘2012 effect’ that’s long been prophesied by a plethora of august seers and sages of old.

Perhaps the tsunamis and earth-quakes that our planet is experiencing are either reflected in, or a reflection of, our own inner, personal turmoil…and perhaps what we’re now being asked to do – as never before – is to get completely clear about where we are, about who we are, and what we fundamentally stand up for….and – without ego, and with humility – live it. Day by day, minute by minute. Even when it feels uncomfortable, and especially when people try to knock us down.

Because if we haven’t got ourselves, then what have we got?

So let’s get real, people… but in-so-doing, let’s remember that nothing any of us do is in isolation; everything we do, say or even think, sends out ripples. And just as with recent geological disturbances, whether something is perceived as a disaster or a transformation is very much in the eye of the beholder, and some fallout is unavoidable….in here and out there.

Crisis precedes transformation, and healing sometimes isn’t pretty…but it’s always beautiful.

 

Shift happens.

And remember – what the caterpillar sees as the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.

Join us for some Midsummer Magic at Juice on 26th June

Click here for more about Lynn’s Holistic Sexual Energy Healing work

* from ‘The Dance’ by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

 

 

‘A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step’, so a rather wise Chinese philosopher said a couple of millennia ago, and that’s often how it feels when I sit down to write. 

Where to start…and where am I going…?

It reminds me of a scene from a black comedy movie ‘Throw Momma from the Train’ starring Danny De Vito and Billy Crystal, in which the latter’s character has writer’s block, and his attempts to find the right word for the opening sentence of his novel veer on lunacy.  “The night was….”  Hot… humid… wet… steamy… and many other permutations were tried and rejected, and it’s not until the end of the film that the right word is eventually revealed.   ‘Sultry’.  The night was sultry.  Ah.  So those other words were close, but not close enough.  They lacked a certain something.

 

And how often do we act out a similar game in life, where such subtle nuances can wreak havoc in our world and in our mind?   The devil, they say, is in the detail….as anyone who’s ever attempted to find exactly the right colour to paint their walls will surely appreciate.  I once made the mistake of entrusting a decorator to procure some cream paint.  Suffice to say it was more peach than cream.  Three trips to B & Q and half a dozen match pots later, the ‘chosen one’ was finally applied….only to have a considerable quantity of white surreptitiously added to it by Yours Truly between coats when Mr. Painter’s back was turned. 

And that room never was really right.  A sad case of environment being a metaphor for other things being off-colour in my life at the time;  yes, on the surface, it looked great, but a lot of it was a whitewash.  People don’t just paper over cracks metaphorically, they often try to do it in reality too, and I’ve a theory that serial DIY-ers may be sending out a subconscious cry for help. 

Perhaps I should tout for new therapy and Life Coaching clients at my local B & Q :

 ‘Lynn Jackson – Life Decorator.  Adding colour your life’….

And as well as being an avoidance scam, that sort of perfectionist nitpicking can also flag up control issues, and obsessing over relatively minor details such as shades of cream or nuances of meteorological jargon are also indications that we have trouble accepting that we’re not always – if ever  – in control.

And so ‘The Secret’ – Rhonda Byrne’s phenomenally successful book and DVD about the Law of Attraction – appeared to be a lifeline for control freaks everywhere, with its message that we are in control…that we create our world with our thoughts, and that all we need to do is ask for something, engage the imagination and the emotions and – sooner or later – it shall be given.  Voila!

All well and good.  But the process also entails letting go, and allowing the universe to take care of the ‘how’….and therin lies the problem. 

In control, and yet not in control. 

And so, as ever when there’s an element of confusion and/or uncertainty, in marches the ego, barking that it’s ‘in charge’ like a blustering, bumptious and bombastic Captain Mainwearing in Dad’s Army, and the result can be the emotional equivalent of an upturned pot of paint on the living room carpet.

And if little things like paint and vocabulary can galvanise Captain Ego into action, what happens when our fundamental beliefs and perceptions are challenged…what sort of cosmic brush strokes will he and we tolerate and accommodate under those circumstances…?

For instance, the question as to whether there is a perfectly orchestrated Divine Plan or whether we have free will and an innate ability to manifest according to our heart’s desire is debatable, though both apparently contrasting viewpoints are accepted spiritual tenets.  But it’s fairly obvious that these two theories are not, on the surface at least, such great bedfellows, and apparent paradoxes like this can cause endless discord and confusion, with the resulting impression that a lot of spiritual and holistic disciplines are at loggerheads.

Take for example, the precision and certainty of Astrology;  how can this possibly co-exist with the Law of Attraction which stems from a belief in an entirely malleable backdrop of quantum energy shifts?  Or how about Osho’s statement that yoga and tantra are “contrary” (“Yoga is suppression with awareness; Tantra is indulgence with awareness”), and how on earth can Rhonda Byrne’s theories on manifestation square with Eckhart Tolle’s assertion that, “the ego wants to want more than it wants to have”….?

Which are questions that may set the cat amongst the pigeons, but this isn’t intended to suggest that one is wrong and the other right.  Remember, ‘hot’ and ‘sultry’, can be the same, but not always….and whilst off-white isn’t white, Barley White, I assure you, is absolutely not the same as Magnolia.

 

The perceived differences between various religions would be laughable were it not for the trouble they cause, and the same could be said of the ‘New Age’ movement, elements of which seem to have got themselves into a bit of a stalemate.  Ashtanga, Hatha, Iyengar and Kundalini may all be forms of Yoga, but in the eyes of some practitioners, their differences far outweigh their similarities, and ne’er the twain shall meet.  And that sort of internal conflict certainly isn’t limited to the world of Yoga.

And although I’ve been immersed in the holistic arena for some twenty years, I’d not fully appreciated the constipated thinking inherent in a lot of  it until I began promoting Juice. 

This PR side to my work has slowly revealed to me just how stuck some practitioners have become,  amongst whom there seems to be a vested interest in maintaining the ‘therapy myth’, i.e. that we’re all somehow broken and need fixing, and that this ‘fixing’ is inevitably going to entail ‘processing’ and often, suffering. 

And trying to sell such people a concept like Juice – where personal growth and transformation are presented within a spirit of fun, friendship and celebration – is proving to be an uphill task.  Do they just not see, or are they frightened to look…?

Yes, it’s vitally important that the holistic world observes high standards and ethics, and that we ‘do no harm’, but it sadly seems that outmoded egoic mindsets are interfering with our collective growth, and whilst there’s a lot of talk about coming together and forming vibrant communities in which people honour and respect their differences as well as their commonalities, the truth is that we’re just not walking our talk.

What’s so challenging about ‘other’…? - especially when it’s often so similar.  We may not entirely agree with it or fully understand it, but unless we engage with it, we’ll stagnate.  Whatever happened to the premise of walking in another man’s moccasins…?  Do we really want a world that’s the pale beige colour of those old walls of mine? 

Perhaps we do.  Perhaps we feel that a cacophany of vibrant colour as a backdrop to our lives somehow dulls or obliterates our own light, and so perhaps Captain Ego wants neutrality around us so that he can stand out and know he’s there.  Is that it…?  Do we secretly believe that we will disappear in too much colour and diversity?

If so, perhaps this fear can be embraced in darkness of a different sort.

My years of teaching meditation have taught me that most people who meditate love and adore the feeling of losing themselves, and as any artist or similarly-minded creative and passionate person will tell you, losing themselves in their art, craft or world, is when they’re at their happiest.

Disappearing bestows amazing presence. 

Dare to lose yourself in order to find yourself. 

Yes, more paradoxes, but this, it seems to me, is the fundamental building block of the universe. 

Everything is darkly light. 

Something and nothing.

And how about opening our minds to the possibility that we may sometimes have a closed mind…? 

That we don’t have all the answers – ever! –  and that now and again, another way might be good for us. 

And above all, can we open up to the possibility that feeling good might actually be good for us…?  To some, even that seems to be a paradox!

Can we forget safe little tester pots, and ignoring all the ‘stuff’….the contradictions, back-biting, in-fighting and fact-finding…. just dive in and open our arms and mind and heart and embrace whatever makes us feel good…?

Not that everyone will agree, of course….some people will probably tell you it’s very ‘bad for you’.  Cream cakes, champagne, chocolate, sunbathing, shoe shopping, Desperate Housewives and writing blogs till 3 in the morning, all spring to mind. 

Bad, but good.  Though less bad when done in moderation.  So, less is more.  Another paradox. 

But who cares...? 

Just follow your bliss, your joy.  Play.  Laugh.  Love.  Live. 

And paint the town…or at least your walls – and, most importantly, the walls of your mind –  in bright, beautiful, glowing rainbow-like hues of whatever shade, colour, tint or tone that makes you FEEL GOOD.

And if you want any help, I know a good ‘Life Decorator’, with an extensive palette and a stepladder to some very Grand Designs.

No whitewash.

And you might also be interested to know that we have a very colourful Juice event happening on Sunday, 20^th March. 

Check it out;  Burlesque or Hooping and Fire-starting, all in great company and welcoming surroundings…. lots of fun, growth and transformation!   

www.juice-kent.co.uk

Soooooo, the time is fast approaching when Cupid takes centre stage for the day, and the postman’s sack heaves under the weight of all those messages of lurve which will be dropping onto our mats in a couple of weeks’ time.

Or not, as the case may be.

 

I was spoilt rotten last year, and it was lovely, but I have spent more Valentine’s Days on my own than I care to confess, and whilst we may assume a laissez-faire nonchalance and say it’s all a load of juvenile bullshit, for many people, this can be a  pretty difficult day, which of course isn’t now just confined to what the postman may or may not bring us, but I imagine (speaking as a relative newcomer to social media) it is probably ramped up by the likes of Facebook, where the deluge or dearth of Valentines messages is visible for all to see. 

Of course, ‘Love Coaches’ advise us – quite rightly – to love ourselves first and foremost, but taking myself off on a Valentine’s ‘date’ as some of them advocate, doesn’t quite do it for me somehow.   A.N. Other really is a desirable and necessary part and parcel of the overall Valentine package, and I think this day can slap us well and truly in the face if that ‘other’ doesn’t exist.

And yet, it does seem as if we’re in a paradoxical state of flux over matters of the heart.  We all know that statistically, 1 in 3 marriages end in divorce, and with subsequent relationships even more likely to fall apart, it would appear that a lot of people have endeavoured to accept and embrace this inevitability and enjoy open relationships and polyamorous life-styles.

But is this freedom making us happy?

Apparently not…..at least, not according to the All Seeing Eye of those very clever people at Facebook, whose computers amass and analyse incredibly detailed information about us all for their dastardly and very lucrative marketing purposes.  Last year, their Data Team sliced and diced the language used in millions of peoples’ status messages, and then looked at how they varied depending on the relationship status the people listed themselves with.  Their conclusions were that married people are the happiest, and people in ‘open relationships’ are the least happy.  Furthermore, men are less happy than women in an open relationship (believe it or not) and more happy in marriage.  The study goes on to say that people in open relationships tend to be less positive than anyone else, including those who are single, scoring even less on the happiness barometer than widowed people!

So, what’s going on here?  What has precipitated this huge social change, in which divorce and relationship breakdowns are an almost everyday occurrence and despite – or perhaps because of – the plethora of online dating sites, single people of all ages and stages are an ever-increasing component of social demographics?  Are we just getting too fussy, or are we – like kids in a candy store – adopting a pick & mix mentality where variety is the spice of life, but where we know full well, a diet of sherbet bon bons and dolly mixtures is never going to satisfy us?

And yet why, having seen what a hash their parents’ generation have made of it, do so many young couples still elect to walk down the aisle in full knowledge that there’s such a high chance of a costly and often messy divorce further down the line…?

Our conditioning must play a part;  all those years of evocative and flowery stories about the archetypal maiden being ‘rescued’ by the handsome prince, surreptitiously but powerfully imbue impressionable young minds with the idea that, in order to be ‘happy ever after’, there must inevitably be a perfect relationship somewhere in the middle of it all. 

Of course, in the days of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty’s medieval origins, people were lucky if they reached the ripe old age of 40, and so perhaps in that context, the concept of being together ‘till death do us part’ wasn’t so unrealistic, but nowadays, is it possible ….or even healthy…. to remain in love with – and faithful to – the same person for half a century or more….?

A question I put to Kavida Rei – who is presenting the workshop at my next Juice event – who has recently announced her plans to remarry in spite of earlier protestations of “never again”.   It was no secret that she and her beloved were besotted with each other, but this announcement – coming as it did from a self-confessed tantric sex goddess who preaches emotional freedom and sexual liberation, and organises Sensual Soirees events for “singles, couples, polyamorists and beyond…” - surprised many people, including herself.

Apparently, the catalyst for her change of heart was not so much her partner, who had proposed several times, but a book – ‘Committed’ by Elizabeth Gilbert – the true story of the very anti-marriage author’s dilemma about whether to wed her lover when he was at risk of deportation, and her eventual and profound realisation, after much cultural research and soul searching, that as a private, public and political statement, marriage is the strongest and most powerful bond on the planet.

So, if both of these intelligent, independent and – openly reluctant – women have chosen to surrender to the formalised sanctity of holy wedlock, perhaps we shouldn’t really be so surprised that young people – without any personal experience of what a failed marriage actually feels like – would elect to pursue that same path. 

Is the combination of love and commitment what our hearts really yearn for?

A straw poll of some of my friends indicated, perhaps unsurprisingly, that the majority of us would ideally prefer to be in a relationship than out of one, and with medical evidence citing that single people die proportionately younger than their happily married peers, the question is why on earth are we opting for lifestyles which aren’t conducive to contentment or longevity?

Many sociologists have pointed the finger of blame at women’s demands for greater independence and autonomy as being a significant factor in this shift, suggesting that the sexual revolution of the 60’s and 70’s encouraged women to aspire to do, be and have too much…a case of wanting to have our cake and eat it.  Whether we ever entirely got it is a moot point, but in any case, it sounds as if that cake is becoming increasingly hard to swallow.  According to research conducted by the University of Pennsylvania, women’s levels of happiness, both in the US and across Europe, have fallen sharply in comparison to men, and they state that that women have a significantly lower sense of wellbeing and life satisfaction, irrespective of age, marital status or whether or not they had children.

So, it seems we have a combination of a collective inability to commit to long-term relationships and women’s dissatisfaction with life in general.  Are they connected, and could this be a chicken-and-egg scenario…?

Consider, if you will, this characteristically explicit discourse about male:female relations delivered by Indian mystic Osho in the 70’s:

“Women have a totally different kind of being.  Her whole body needs love.  It is not sexuality.  Her whole body is orgasmic.  That’s why there is tremendous trouble.  Man comes to orgasm quickly — within two minutes — and the woman has not even started.  The woman takes a little time.  Her whole body has to become ready, ecstatic.  Her whole body has to join the dance.  Only then can she feel orgasmic joy.  

For millions of years, women have suffered because man has not been able to give them what they need.  Man has simply used them for his sexuality.  They feel almost like a commodity to be used, and then the man turns over and goes to sleep and starts snoring. This is so ugly and the woman is crying.  She has fear.  After each lovemaking, the woman cries, because she has not got anything. Her standard of love is higher than the standard of man.

I would like the woman to become as feminine as possible, only then can she flower.  And the man needs to be as masculine as possible, only then can he flower.  When they are polar opposites, a great attraction, a great magnetism, arises between them.  And when they come close, when they meet in intimacy, they bring two different worlds, two different dimensions, two different richnesses, and the meeting is a tremendous blessing, a benediction.”

 

For a dyed-in-the wool feminist like me, this initially seemed like a pretty antiquated and culturally skewed point of view, but I’m increasingly appreciating its enormous perspicacity.  Perhaps we’ve simply forgotten that the two sexes have always been fundamentally as powerful and as valid as each other, but in our efforts to bring some much-needed balance to our male dominated society, our gender polarities have been muddied and muddled, and the dynamic joy, bliss and ecstasy of a truly bonded partnership have been diluted as a result of our collective levels of disappointment, confusion and unmet longings.

So, can we return to a more contented, happier state…?

No, I don’t believe we can. The battle of the sexes is over, and both sides, it seems, have lost.  There’s no going back. 

But we can go forwards, raising our game, and forging some conscious, new pathways.

And maybe what we truly ache for is the ability to love and make love with another in a way that fosters mutual harmony and deep contentment, with the freedom to develop as fully-expressed individuals from the foundation of a deeply committed partnership with an unbreakable bond.

And that, I believe, is the true essence of the oft-misunderstood path of Tantra.  It’s not, as most people in the West seem to think, just about sex….but neither is it not about sex either.  Like life itself, either and neither can apply.  And yes, it is full of paradoxes and apparent contradictions…but it is, I believe, The Way, and I applaud those brave and spirited souls who are having the guts to walk the path.

If you want some guidance, talk to either Kavida or me…we know many people in the business, and have ourselves got a lot of tools to help you.

And so, my sincere admiration and warm congratulations to her and Roland;  the date has been set, and I’m really looking forward to their beautiful tantric summer wedding.

And y’know, Valentine’s day isn’t really such a big deal.  Glittery hearts and red roses are all well and good, but ultimately, no amount of cards, kisses or chocolates are any substitute for undying love….and not something that masquerades as love either, but the real thing.  Something that never wavers, no matter what.  And it starts with opening the heart to really, truly and totally let it in wherever and whenever it appears, and [excepting outright cruelty] aligning ourselves firmly to it and holding fast whatever the relationship and the world throw at us….not out of fear or conditioning, but because that is the heart’s true desire.

This is Divine Alchemy.

 Simple and terrifying and magnificent.

And ultimately, I think, what we’re all here to learn to do.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

William Shakespeare

 

Join us at Juice on Sunday 20th February, for Kavida’s very lovely and sensuous workshop ‘Awakening the Senses’

So, here we stand at the start of a new year, and the dawn of a new decade.   

A fresh page, a new leaf.  Out with the old, in with the new!

Ahhhh….the collective exhale is almost palpable, as we begin to ‘get back to normal’, and issue the usual “never again….” assertions, resolving to somehow do it better in the next 12 months.

But is it just me, or is there a bit of an edge this year…?  2012, long prophesied by visionaries past and present as being something of a landmark, looms ever closer, and it seems that collectively and individually, we’re not quite sure what to make of it.  Of course, the ubiquitous Doomsday merchants are on red alert;  Hollywood has already offered us it’s rendition in standard disaster-movie format, and to be fair, this version of the possible scenario is not so far removed from what a lot of people in the past twenty years or so have also been describing.

For the uninitiated, the culprit for all this doom and gloom is the Mayan calendar;  the Maya were remarkable mathematicians, and their system of recording linear time was legendary.   What has many people worried is that their complex and elegant calendar ends on 21^st December 2012. 

Some interpret this as meaning it will be the end of the world;   other people feel it carries the promise of a new beginning;  and still others see it as an explanation for troubling new realities – environmental change, for example – that seem to go beyond the control of our technology, and are impervious to reason.

It would be lovely to assert with some confidence that this is all poppycock….those of us who remember [and made plans for....] the Millennium Bug could be forgiven for the odd arched eyebrow and wry smile, but with ancient sources such as the Hopi Indians and Nostradamus also telling us similar stories about these ‘end days’, such nonchalance is difficult to pull off.

So where’s this blog going…? I hear you asking me.

Isn’t it depressing enough that Christmas is over, and the dreary winter slog is shortly about to resume….?

Well, I might just have a little chink of light up my sleeve.

The only problem is that accessing it might entail losing your mind….

Stay with me here, good reader.   I appreciate that whilst all this psychological stuff fascinates me, this is the point where the vast majority of people switch off. 

However, I’m not actually advocating that we surrender to madness;  the mind offers us an amazing key into a different reality…..as – of all things – a daytime TV programme has rammed home to me.

I flicked the TV on randomly one afternoon just before Christmas, and watched transfixed at the most amazing documentary which re-ran an earlier Harvard experiment which basically suggests that reliving our youth can turn back the physical clock;  I’d read about the original experiment in one of Deepak Chopra’s books (Ageless Body, Timeless Mind) but actually watching it being put into practice was nothing short of astonishing.

Six well-known and ageing celebrities in various stages of mental and physical decline were transported back in time, and placed in a house which was meticulously styled as it would have looked in the mid 70’s [think Del Boy’s gaff]…..with the newspapers, magazines, music and the clothes they wore all from the same era.  In the beginning, watching it was all more than a little uncomfortable, as these lovely, frail people were expected to fend for themselves, and – for example – haul their own suitcases [and themselves] painfully up the stairs, and I almost switched off. 

But then the magic started to happen, and slowly but surely, the atmosphere in the house changed from being a slightly sad retreat for some very nice old people into a dynamic, living, breathing space where collectively, everyone was living as their younger selves.  And this was backed up by a battery of before and after physical and cognitive tests, which showed dramatic and very visible improvements across the board. 

And all they had done was to live as their younger selves.  For just one week. 

The experiment completely endorsed the findings of the earlier study, and proved that we all have the potential to think and behave differently about who we are, and the way we live, regardless of our age….that we all have the ability to change – we just need the right motivating framework.

So, how does it work …?  The volunteers weren’t subjected to any lotions, potions, injections, exercise regimes or drugs.  According to the Professor who conducted the original experiment, it’s simply about allowing the fertile soil of the brain to re-engage with a time in our lives when we’re at our most ‘vital’, allowing the mind, body and spirit to shift up a gear and follow suit.  And according to actress Liz Smith – the oldest member of the team – what it’s taught her is that she needs to keep pushing her own boundaries, experiencing new things and challenging herself.  As a result, she’s starting painting again and has joined a ballroom dance class.  And she is 89, and the survivor of three strokes.

Where, then, does so-called ‘reality’ start and stop?  Double-blind medical trials exist because doctors know without doubt that placebos work….sometimes more effectively than the drugs they are designed to replicate.  And hypnosis, for example, can be used to cure irrational phobias, stop unconscious behaviour like snoring, and even increase the size of a woman’s bust.

And so if the brain can be so easily and effectively duped, can this knowledge be used to overturn anything that we want to change…even something as haunting as the spectre of 2012….?

The answer, I think, is that it can.

We’ve long been told that our inner world creates our outer world, but never have I seen that so clearly demonstrated as in that TV programme, and I think the way in which the new paradigm will come into being will be dictated by our own thoughts and feelings about ourselves and about the world in general, and that what will ultimately unfold is that we all start to manifest our world on previously unprecedented levels.

And if this all sounds like so much new-age ‘Celestine Prophecy’ hogwash to you, then of course, you are right.  Our beliefs, in our own individual worlds, cannot be wrong.  But the point is that you do have the choice, and if the thought that somehow, you can create your own reality is remotely appealing to you, then what have you got to lose by trying it out…?

Have fun with it…play with it….!  What would you manifest today, this week, this year….if your future wasn’t based upon your interpretation of your current reality….? 

Who would you be, how would you look, where would you live, what would you do….?  It’s in your hands.  Or, rather, your mind.

But you can’t think your way along this path….you need to stop – or at least slow down – the mental chatter, so that the creative mind has some room to manoeuvre. 

How?

Let go.  Meditate.  Dance, walk, run, cycle or swim.  Paint, sing, cook, climb mountains or cultivate cacti.  Make love.  Stargaze, moonbathe or chase rainbows.  Do anything and everything to get out of your headspace;  you need to lose yourself…. and your over-worked and overwrought thinking mind. 

And with any luck, you’ll all smile indulgently at me in a couple of years’ time and tell me that all that 2012 stuff was as ridiculous at the Millennium Bug, and we’ll have a laugh. 

But at least you’ll still be mentally fit, and above all, happy….after all, you’ll have had a ball for the past two years.

 And, who knows, maybe if enough of us do it, any catastrophe will be averted by sheer dint of the level of our consciousness. 

After all, to return to an earlier question, what is reality anyway….?

This really is win: win stuff. 

And I offer most of it in various guises;   meditation classes, personal consultations, retreats or – of course – Juice. 

Happy New You, one and all. 

“Forget about the world and the utopias, and change yourself.  And this is the beauty: if you change yourself, you have already started changing the world.  Because with your change, a part of the world has changed.” ~ Osho

Funny isn’t it, how the ego so easily muscles its way into our endeavours without us noticing it;  when I first started this blog, I just sat down and wrote – with no expectation – whatever came to me on the day.  Now I know I have people who actually look forward to this little bit of nonsense, I find I feel a sense of obligation to somehow deliver something that will amuse and entertain….something that people will tell me they enjoyed reading.

But I also know that what I really want to write about this month might not deliver the goods.
So, what to do….?

Do I do the ‘sensible’ thing, and write to please, or do I take the risk of doing something to please myself…?  – knowing that when I reject the sensible route, I’m often berated, and yet when I try and please others, I usually end up feeling I’ve betrayed myself.

And the real laugh is that I only started this blog as a way of directing traffic to my Juice site!  Does it really matter, L.J.?  Isn’t it really all just an ego-trip…??

Maybe. 

But it got me to thinking how often we either do or don’t do (or say) something for fear of upsetting others, and/or through fear of the consequences?  Anybody who considers themselves to be remotely spiritual will be aware of the commandment: ‘To thine own self be true’…..a Shakespearian take on Plato’s dissertation to ‘Know Thyself’, but how many of us honestly adhere to such lofty aspirations?

And what would that be like if we did?  What would it feel like?  And what on earth would the ramifications be?

It’s sometimes too huge an ask, and it’s often so much easier to tow the party line [whatever that is in our own social circles] and do what we think is expected of us.  And isn’t it just waaaay to selfish to consider just our own wants and needs;  surely the collective good of all demands that we put the common good before our own?

Identifying the demarcation line between the often conflicting needs of self and other(s) can be quite a conundrum, and the process of adaptation and socialisation begins from the day we’re born, and usually requires that we learn to be quiet and do as we’re told…..and often, the result is that we lose sight of ourselves, and essentially disappear in the quantum soup of conformity we call everyday life.

 
And the underlying dynamic – as I’ve uncovered over and over again in my years of running classes and therapy sessions – is that either as a cause or a consequence, on one level or another, we all suffer from a basic core belief that somehow, we’re not good enough.  And that applies irrespective of appearances to the contrary;  in fact, I’d go so far as to say that the more appearances there are to the contrary, the deeper entrenched that feeling of lack and inferiority actually is.  Which perhaps goes a long way to explaining why so many people jettison what really matters to them, in favour of what is deemed acceptable to and by others.  And in so doing, we don a metaphorical mask and ultimately become invisible.

And I’d say that this applies – at least some of the time – to us all.

And therein lies our common humanity;  we’re all doing the best we can, often in very difficult and challenging circumstances, all hiding from each other as well as ourselves, and trying to bolster up the story that we’re ‘fine’…whilst knowing that at best, it’s only ever true some of the time.  And so all manner of illusory devices and smokescreens are concocted, just to prevent us from facing each other in the power of the truth of who and what we essentially are.

Christmas is, of course, the ultimate smokescreen in so many ways;  a time when vast fortunes are spent trying to preserve the idealist facade, and creating those wistful feelings of safety and contentment that have lined the pockets of many an ad agency executive for decades ever since Coca-Cola first put Santa in a red suit.

But reality….?  Hardly!

I will never forget the look of utter sadness and despair that crossed my eldest daughter’s face once, many years ago, as we stood in the queue to see Father Christmas;  she became increasingly quiet, and eventually mumbled that she didn’t think she wanted to participate after all that year.  I knew then that a bubble had burst, and Christmas would never be quite the same again, and I felt enormously guilty for having colluded in perpetuating something which was essentially a myth.  Okay, a lie.  Of course she wouldn’t foist such an ultimately hurtful illusion upon her own children….would she….?  Interestingly, it turns out that she would;  she feels that the magic of believing was worth the eventual disappointment of knowing.

So, if a story is better than the truth, why not be content to believe….why aim for authenticity or reality at all?  Maybe we would all be better off ensconced in Matrix-like cocoons, where – as in the film – we’re programmed to believe pieces of plastic are delicious fillet steak…? (or whatever our particular yen would be)  Maybe we’re there already.

And where do our individual beliefs and stories take us?  It’s easy to see that religious differences have torn us apart for millennia, and it seems nothing is about to change anytime soon. His-tory [and her-story, of course] is always going to be subjective, and scholars know full well that the account of any incident will be different depending upon the stance and viewpoint of the commentator.

And surely that’s a good thing.  We’re all totally unique;  there has never been another YOU, and there never will be again.  Nobody else has your DNA, your experiences and your temperament – and that applies to all of us.  In that context, there is inevitably going to be diversity, discussion and differences of opinion…it’s perfectly natural, normal and it’s how we stretch, adapt and grow.

But of course, there will be conflict whenever those differing viewpoints lead to inexplicable behaviour and uninvited personal consequences.  And never more so than with gender differences.  Seminal influences such as Germaine Greer’s ‘Female Eunuch’ rang in the ears of a whole generation of strident feminists in the 70’s;  the message being that women had become “separated from their libido, from their faculty of desire, from their sexuality”, and that as a result, they’d developed a sense of shame about their own bodies, and lost their natural and political autonomy, with resultant powerlessness, isolation, a diminished sexuality and lack of joy.  Her incendiary battle cry was that women claim the power of choice which had been denied our forebears, a message which – strangely enough given my own feminist leanings – is considered absolute hogwash by both my daughters, who believe that any feelings of powerlessness come from a woman herself, and that women are absolutely equal to men, but fundamentally different.

And perhaps such opinions are the proof that it was all worthwhile, and that unwittingly, contemporary young women have reaped the benefits of feminist militancy, and have become fully empowered within the context of ‘different’ without any requirement to be ‘same’.

 Hellelujah!

But wait.

A story recently reached my ears about an intimate interaction resulting in an accusation of rape – something vehemently denied by the man involved, who admits the basic act but rejects the label, asserting that it was merely a misunderstanding. 

And subsequent discussions with four close female friends reveal that two of them have also been subjected to the same violation, which due to the intimate nature of their circumstances, they felt powerless to report;  and further conversations with my youngest daughter reveal that ‘loads’ of her friends at uni have been in identical situations.

So, just how much have things really changed in the last forty years?

Greer may have promulgated female liberation and encouraged women to explore their innate sexuality, but whilst our libidos may have well and truly woken up, it seems that conditioning still pervades behavioural patterns, and due to a chronically diminished sense of Self, women (and men in a different way) are at risk from their own blindness to the fact that if we’re already hiding from ourselves, we’re apt to lose ourselves still further in sexually charged situations, in which loss of the ego is a worthy and beautiful attribute.

How to square this circle…? 

Perhaps that time-honoured Christmas message provides an answer.

LOVE

What if we could learn – as a wise and enlightened mystic suggested a couple of thousand years ago -  first and foremost to love ourselves, and then to love our neighbour?  And to have that as our default setting, and proceed in the world from that vantage point….

I’m by no means the first person to suggest this, and neither will I be the last, but I hope that somehow, here, today, this little message will make a difference.

Love is an inside job;  it starts from US.  It means taking care of ourselves, and listening to that little voice when it tries to tell us something doesn’t feel right.  And it has no expectations of others, only of ourselves.  It comes from a place of understanding that we are ultimately the only adult for whom we are responsible, and that it is not our job to caretake the effect that our empowered opinions and conscious decisions may have upon other people.

So, by all means, let’s say Yes to life, but also be empowered enough to say No in certain situations – as, if we can’t say No, our Yes is meaningless.

And this will sometimes mean being un-PC;  of daring to be misunderstood, disliked or shunned.  And in my case, this is going to mean that I accept that some of you will be a little uncomfortable, irritated or irked with what I’m writing this month.

My work has always been about freedom, healing and liberation;  I’m not a moralist nor a judge.  But the message I want to convey is that freedom carries responsibility, and we need to trust ourselves before we trust someone else, and not to assume anything or expect certain modes of behaviour from anybody except ourselves. 

And to do that, we need to love ourselves first.  And that, perhaps, is the ultimate spiritual path. 

In fact, it may be the ONLY spiritual path.

And although I’m sorry if any of you find this un-entertaining, I’m glad I’ve loved myself enough to risk writing what I really wanted to say. 

Let’s enjoy presence with our presents this year, and always.

 

And both will be in plentiful supply at Juice on the 19th.  Join us for our special brand of Christmas magic, with nurturing fun & games and warm connections.

www.juice-kent.co.uk

Apparently, I’m doing this blog stuff all wrong.  I thought I just had to write something vaguely interesting and/or entertaining, press ’publish’ and that’s it – job done. 

But no; that’s not the game.  At all.

No-one thought to tell me about keywords.  Apparently I have to do all the above and seamlessly weave certain words into the text which will activate the Google monster’s antennae and send my Juice website hurtling to the top of the holistic parties hit parade.

And now I feel faintly foolish for my ignorance of yet another element of the tekkie world of cyber speak that I was hitherto blithely oblivious of, and am now totally self-conscious about.   Death by metatags (or rather, lack thereof) edges ever closer.

A similar state of inertia greeted my initial forays with Facebook ;  I was a bit of a late starter, having decided early on that it was a silly fad that teenagers would soon tire of, and confess to having mocked my youngest daughter quite mercilessly over it.  Imagine her justifiably vitriolic delight when, a few years down the line, mother came crawling on bended knee for help with getting her own profile up and running. 

And, although the newbie phase soon passed, the prospect of committing social network suicide, with a posting being ridiculed or – God forbid – totally ignored, meant that I declined to post anything on there for several weeks, and then when I did, I remember obsessively awaiting the Facebook world’s pronouncement of my musings – and ergo, it seemed, of me in the process.

Having shared these embarassingly egotistical reminiscences with a friend the other week, I’m told there’s actually a name for this syndrome:  Facebook Anxiety Disorder – or F.A.D. for short (what else…?) – an apparently growing phenomenon and woefully debilitating psychological condition in which otherwise sane people are being tied up in all manner of knots over points of social etiquette every bit as laughable as anything which would have confronted polite society in Jane Austen’s day.

And it does all beg the question just who or what constitutes a real friend as opposed to merely a Facebook one?  I mean, a real friend would just tell us to get our heads out of our own arses and get a life….wouldn’t they….?

Though according to a quip on a recent edition of QI, “A friend is someone who will help you move house.  A real friend is someone who’d help you move a body.” 

I liked that.  Though I should hastily add that, by that definition, I have no real friends.  Absolutely not.

 

But I digress.  Apparently, anthropological research has revealed that the psychologically optimum number of friends is 150;  either more or less is Not Good, and anything significantly in excess of that number immediately  labels us a ‘Facebook tart’.  So, with some good friends (as opposed to real, body-moving friends, you understand) having more than 500 FB friends, I guess I know a lot of very promiscuous social media networkers. 

And I probably should have paid a little more attention to the comments of an ex, who made a point of telling me his tally of FB friends on our first date.  Yes…..the writing was well and truly on the wall, but I dismissed it as an amusing little folly.  Now I know better;  this, for some folk, is serious stuff, and it does seem that an unhealthy fixation on Facebook quantity over quality often has correlations in other areas of people’s lives.

But, with so much drivel on the telly, it has to be said that Facebook can sometimes be quite interesting and highly amusing (or perhaps that should read ‘addictive’…?) 

 A little ditty I read on there a couple of weeks back appealed to my funny bone:

“Facebook is where you lie to friends.  Twitter is where you tell the truth to strangers.” 

Ho ho. 

But actually, when you think about that, the humour conceals a decidedly un-funny point ;  is social media making us less real….is it all just smoke and mirrors? 

Perhaps it would more accurately be dubbed Falseblog….or how about Farcehook….?

And it seems to me that the complex and constipated social moirés which governed the likes of Pride and Prejudice are alive and well in Social Media Land (Blahnia…?) and I suspect future generations will view our twittering generation with the sort of mirth and disdain that we reserve for those antiquated social structures which governed the fluttering fans and tight corsets of those 18^th century social divas.

Gosh, good people, is it time to relax, and – godammit – get out there and live a little…?

‘Facebook’, so one of my FB friends’ posted, ‘is to socializing what masturbation is to sex’. 

Quite. 

Mrs. Bennet –  surely a modern-day Facebook stalker of epic proportions – would not be amused. 

Or is it too late?  Have we – me included – colluded with the Matrix, and become part of an insidious global conspiracy to star in our own Reality TV lifestyles, where image is the name of the game, and real flesh and blood human interaction has been relegated to the substitute bench of the Game of Life?

But what else is there?  We’re all living increasingly isolated lives;  we’re working longer hours, more and more of us are working from home, and conversing with computers at the other end of a phone line is a common occurrence.  Is it really any wonder that this phenomenon has been allowed to creep surreptitiously in? 

Social isolation is medically considered to bestow a level of risk comparable with cigarette smoking, and although the precise scientific reasons for this are hotly debated in academic circles, what studies of both animals and humans proves beyond doubt is that contact and affiliation with others reduces stress and is conducive to enhanced health and longevity.

So, as the world changes, it’s only natural that we’ve developed a plethora of communication options to try and satisfy our innate need for interaction ;  we can ring, ping, email, fax, text, post, comment, tweet, myspace, facebook or skype, almost anywhere, anytime.  And on that basis, we are easily the most connected society in the history of wo/mankind.

Yet, despite [or perhaps because of] our ability for constant contact, feelings of social isolation persist.  Psychologists’ offer the following top 10 tips for overcoming it :

1. Stop comparing yourself to others.  You really don’t ‘know’ anything about their internal world, irrespective of whatever external edited picture they may be painting.
2. Remember that any form of media is filtered, crafted and edited;  it is not ‘reality’.
3. Everyone feels lonely from time to time.  Feel the feelings, and remember….
4. Emotions are thoughts-in-motion…here today and gone tomorrow.
5. Be patient.  Friendships take time to develop.
6. Volunteer to help people who have less than you do.
7. Develop an attitude of gratitude.
8. Work through any deep anger, hate or rage productively with a professional counsellor or therapist.
9. Get off the computer and get out and start interacting with real people.
10. Do something that you enjoy with others on a regular basis.  It really is that simple.
11. Go to Juice – Kent’s only holistic party!

(Okay, so that last point wasn’t so artfully woven in, but you get the idea!)

Juice was essentially set up to fulfil this very real yearning for connection.  We need each other;  simple as that.  We might be spirit in essence, but we are having a human experience, and we do need to touch, sense, feel, talk to and interact with each other far, far more than we’re habitually apt to do. 

Community and communion matter.  And Juice is a safe, nurturing and supportive environment for people to grow, transform and celebrate life whilst interacting with others of like mind and spirit.

“For those who want to live — not to think about it, but to love; not to think about it, but to be; not to philosophize about it — there is no other alternative: then drink the present moment´s juices.  Squeeze it totally because it is not going to come back again. Once gone, it is gone forever.”

Osho

And an important element of Juice is hugging… 

…though it’s not compulsory (nothing at Juice is compulsory!)  but please be advised that friendly, warm, nurturing hugs may be offered.

WARNING

Juice offers real connections with real people.

And I must get news of to this blog posted on Facebook. 

Tart…. who me….?

The next Juice event is on Sunday, 21^st November, and features a workshop with special guest, one of the UK’s top Tantra teachers, Jewels Wingfield.

See the Juice website : www.juice-kent.co.uk for further information

Good job I don’t write for a living;  the muse has well and truly deserted me of late, and this empty sheet of paper has looked increasingly scary by the day….three previous attempts to regale, inspire and ideally amuse, have left me feeling a more than a little irked by my lack of inspiration this month.

Must be the time of year… a bit of a seasonal low, perhaps?

Which is all a bit laughable considering that my first career choice in the days of yore was journalism…. though, admittedly, what the eighteen-year-old L.J. really wanted wasn’t so much a creative outlet but a lifestyle;  you may have gathered that I was once a bit of a wild child, all long purple nails, a penchant for ear-splittingly loud music, liver-annihilating cocktails, and those coquettishly coloured cocktail cigarettes with gold tips…ah, those were the days!… but faced with increasing pressure to evolve some sort of a ‘grand plan’, I seized upon my vague ability to string a sentence or two together, and decided I quite fancied myself as a rock journalist, an aspiration I rather naively shared with my school’s taciturn career teacher one afternoon shortly before my A-level mocks.

And mock was indeed the word….though it was one of those silent, sarcastic roastings, achieved with a mere sniff and an icy glare over the top of her glasses.  I defiantly met her gaze, but she’d squared up to such recalcitrant prima donnas before, and wasted no time in swooping in for the kill.  “Well then, my dear, I suggest you learn shorthand and typing.  We’ll enrol you for secretarial college.”  Job done. 

And so it came to pass that my illustrious, post A-level career began in a typing pool.  It was, of course, only intended to be a stepping stone onto bigger, better and more exciting things, but dreams are funny things, and somewhere in between the endlessly exhausting commute and reliance upon an increasingly fat wage packet which spawned a designer wardrobe and a certain Mr. Tevor Sorbie as my hairdresser, I succumbed to the compromise of a monotonously grey 9 to 5, and NME was thus spared one more groupie who thought she could write. 

It’s probably true to say I wasn’t exactly the best secretary in the world.  As well as a stormy encounter with my typing teacher over her insistence that my beautiful nails had to be chopped off, in those dark days before any laws about sexual harassment in the workplace had come into force, chauvinistic office politics rendered the word ‘secretary’ an acronym for ‘doormat’.  That wasn’t something that came easily to me, and my battle of wills with the Evita-esque Senior Buyer of Marks & Spencer’s Ladies Blouse department became the stuff of legend, and even though I hated both her and the job, I nevertheless dug my stiletto heels in, and steadfastly resisted all attempts to get rid of me.

Was I happy?  No.  No way.  So why on earth did I hang on?

 Maybe it seemed easier, maybe it was conditioned expectations, or maybe I just wasn’t meant to marry David Bowie after all, but somewhere along the way, I forgot my lofty dreams and aspirations, and towed the line – just like the vast majority of my equally bright and ambitious class mates, all of whom ended up in more-or-less the same boat…willing victims of a Matrix-like world where we had all the trappings of a certain lifestyle, but very little in the way of satisfaction or inner fulfilment. 

It took me several years to turn things around, and even longer for the inevitable realisation to hit me that, ultimately, the only person my tenacious grip had really hurt had been me, but when it did so, I moved effortlessly on…and embraced a new life of motherhood with gratitude, relief and a rather surprising aplomb (at least, I was surprised… before having any of my own, I’d thought I didn’t much like babies). 

And it was to be a conversation with some other young mums at one of our kids’ birthday parties which proved to be the pivotal point in my life, as it was slowly and uncomfortably revealed that no less than five of them were on anti-depressants…. these nice, normal, yuppie-types, all decked out in designer labels and proudly driving their little darlings around in various status symbols on wheels (and yes, we were as bad; my husband owned a Porche), were bascially being drugged into silence, compliance and acceptance of their lot in life. 

Desperate Housewives…?  I knew them well.

 There and then, standing in that kitchen, I resolved it wasn’t going to happen to me.  And the rest, as they say, is history.  Instead of swallowing diazepam, I elected – Neo-like – to take the red pill, and began to claw my way out of the Matrix.

It wasn’t always easy of course, and the world often seemed to conspire to prevent me ‘bucking the system’.   As well as enormous gifts, there were huge sacrifices, and although I tried to process the ‘stuff’ as I went, I nevertheless hit the wall many times. 

Ah, life!  Such a little word for such a big experience.  And that’s surely what it’s meant to be…surely we’re meant to engage with it, feel it, be touched by it, and sometimes, be buffeted by it.  Goddamn it, we’re meant to live it.  And sometimes it’ll be great, and sometimes it won’t. 

But the question is, what happens to all that ‘stuff’…?  Just where do all the disappointments, betrayals, broken dreams and disillusioned expectations go, and what happens to all the hurt and emptiness that follows in their wake?  Swiftly moving on isn’t necessarily freedom;  in fact, doing so under the illusion of freedom, when in fact, we’re actually completely blocked by the invisible and oft unacknowledged shackles of inner bogey-men, can be just as stultifying as any amount of ‘grinning and bearing’ it ever was in previous, less ‘enlightened’ eras.

Author Caroline Myss says that our ‘biography becomes our biology’ – in other words, that our un-integrated stories and unhealed wounds become the energetic matrix onto which our continually renewing cells bind themselves, and that therefore, unless the energy blueprint is kept clear, the overall structure will be compromised. 

I too have no doubt that our vital juice gets dammed up by all the energetic, psycho-emotional junk…and to return to where we began this little essay, I think it’s that – not any seasonal dip – that has been my problem this month. 

Stuff.

 

Healer, heal thyself, I hear you cry!

Well, it’s begun.  It’s not finished, but it’s definitely underway.  I admit I did initially resort to flight mode, but then – thankfully – got down to some real work, and deployed a combination of meditation, ‘tapping’ (T.F.T.), massage and, the other day, I ran up to the top of a hill near my eldest daughter’s house in Devon, and there, in the middle of nowhere, put myself through the paces of Bioenergetics, a little-known process that I first became acquainted with a couple of years ago, that is brilliant for clearing the mental and emotional crap!  Wow….I raged and roared and let go…. and it felt utterly fantastic!

And today….well… it’s a whole new world.  How much of myself do I reveal to you on this blog….?  Suffice to say that I think I’m now about 90% of the way towards manifesting a little miracle.  And I can see my initial excuses were just that;  in the end, it was just me getting in my own way….but now I feel so much clearer, my creative juices are flowing once more, and I can set about co-creating my life and my world.

It might not bag me a rock star, but I think it will prove to be a more stable, infinitely more satisfying kind of rock. 

And, as ever, I know the freedom is within me, not outside of me.

And if you too want to try a session of Bioenergetics, join us at Juice on the 24th October, where two extraordinary ‘Energy Plumbers’, Raks and Ishan, will be with us to guide you expertly through this amazing process.

See www.juice-kent.co.uk for further details.

And we’re also celebrating Halloween this month too with a fancy dress party, so after you’ve cleared the junk, you can wear some – the weirder the better!

And  lastly….as it’s Halloween….forgive me for sharing one more thing – and I know that for some of you, this will be really scary….

Bowie’s seminal masterpiece ‘Scary Monsters’ is thirty years old this month.  Uttterly terrifying.

September 1^st.   God, I hate this time of year.   A sad admission – particularly coming from a fan of Eckhart [‘The Power of Now’] Tolle – but it’s a fact.

I vividly recall learning Keats’ lovely poem ‘To Autumn’ when I was at school, and although I share his love of the beautiful foliage and general ‘mists and mellow fruitfulness’, I have to confess that I really struggle with bidding farewell to the summer.

I think it’s partly a throw-back to the ending of that blissfully long school holiday;  I well remember seemingly endless days of indolent teen idleness, hanging out with my mates in various parks, fetes and funfairs, and can still feel the rebel within me rise to the surface as I recall having to strip all the pinks and purples out of my hair, and don the regulation pleated skirt and sensible shoes for the return to school and that awful descent into the grey abyss that’s known as the Autumn Term.

 And it got even harder when I had to surrender the incomparable joy of spending gorgeously relaxed summer days with my own children;  how I resented having to return them all pressed and dressed, back into the rigours of school timetables, lunch boxes, playground squabbles and the mum’s mafia.  I know there are parents out there who count down the days until their offspring are safely ensconced back in the bosom of the education system, but I was never one of them, and I absolutely dreaded relinquishing my babies at the beginning of September.

I’m finding that it doesn’t get much easier as they get older.  School is now thankfully a dim and distant memory, but the uni system of ridiculously long holidays means that no sooner do we become accustomed to our own company and freedom, than back they come, crashing into our hearts, minds and spaces with all their ‘stuff’….. a whole spare room-full in my daughter’s case.  And students, it seems, can’t function without the incessant buzz of some sort of noise in the background, and this drives me nuts.  As does the general disarray, sleep patterns that would put a vampire to shame, and an expectation that there will always be a full fridge and a cooked meal on the table.

And then, just as we begin to settle into it all and start to enjoy the company once more,  then wooosh, back they go, and we’re left to make the empty nest readjustment all over again. 

Letting go is never easy, and yet it probably ranks alongside the need to ‘remain present’ as joint number one in the annals of spiritual commandments.  Why?  Because, sooner or later, we all have to do it.  Life offers us a series of practice runs – small, medium and large – until we finally have to let go of life itself. 

Ah, that one.  Hmmmm….let’s go and make a cup of tea.

Amazing, isn’t it, all the distractions we find to avoid our stuff?  And I can be just as bad as anybody else!  ‘Resistant’ is what it’s called in the trade.  Bloody stubborn is another word that’s been used about me many times.  Oh yes, I’m a therapist’s worst nightmare, but from a clients’ perspective, maybe this isn’t all bad;   I’ve figured that if something works for somebody as difficult at me, then the chances are that it will work for most people…though, for me, it’s got to be heart-centred and honouring;  I’m not remotely interested in being broken apart and put back together again like a piece of lego, and only expand my boundaries at my pace, not as part of someone else’s egoic agenda.

It’s these powerful and empowering tools and techniques that I’ve adopted into my own healing repertoire, and I’ve been deeply honoured to witness the most amazing transformations in my clients over the years….though taking myself on that same journey has often been a different matter entirely!

And really, I should have become a seasoned pro at a relatively early age.  In anybody’s language, losing both parents by the age of 27 was a monumental baptism of fire, and as well as life’s other array of inevitable disappointments and let-downs, a painful divorce after a very long marriage was, I guess, another heaven-sent opportunity.

Relationship break-ups – whether they’ve lasted a day, a month, a year or a lifetime – have the power to hook us into our stuff like almost nothing else, and those feelings of anger, abandonment, loneliness and insecurity can be utterly debilitating and totally excruciating.  And knowing that it’s all part of life’s rich pattern just doesn’t cut the mustard.

And it was discarding an ex’s favourite mustard from my kitchen cupboard which finally allowed my own emotional dam to burst asunder earlier this year….it’s true we’d only been together for a matter of months, but it had been intense, and the ending was hard. 

The hauntingly beautiful song ‘The Little Things’ by the now defunct group ‘Bliss’ says it all :

You turn my bed down;  you make my coffee right.

You listen to my thoughts;   you hold my hand tight.

I meet you half-way home, I pretend you know my soul.

I met myself in you, and then I blame you.

You rip my heart out, you sever all my dreams.

You teach me how to die, then you abandon me.

How do we let go of all of the little things?

All of the made up stuff, sounds make it seem so real.

Must have been true sometime, sometime so long ago.

Now I don’t believe…. I can’t receive your soul.

You make my heart feel.

“You make my heart feel.”  Ah yes, that’s the one.  How we love it when people make our hearts sing, and how we hate it when they do anything that causes them to break.  Hurt hurts.

But it could be said that life is essentially about getting us to truly open our hearts and really, truly, deeply FEEL, and it is often the little things that do this so effectively.  I probably shed more tears over my beloved cat’s passing last year than I did my father’s all those years ago!  Coffee, cats, mustard and seasonal transits aren’t the issue in themselves, but they are the catalyst for the bigger stuff, and that’s absolutely fine….just so long as the release follows and isn’t suppressed. 

And just to put that song into perspective, it was actually written after the sudden death of the 80-year-old aunt of Andrew Blisset (he who gave Bliss their name).  Now, that’s real letting go.  Just how her partner subsequently coped with that loss after a lifetime together we shall never know, but it does put things into perspective.  There are different shades and depths of letting go, and perspective is very useful  –  and is something for me to consider as I contemplate the stillness of my empty nest, which is nothing in comparison to the gut-wrenching desolation of some of life’s brickbats.

The question is whether our coping mechanisms improve or deteriorate with time, and we’ve probably all witnessed the adaptability of children, as well as the taciturn resolution of some older people who steadfastly refuse to change.  But it’s this resistance that, over time, causes us to calcify, or perhaps to blow a gasket in the form of breakdowns, or – I suspect – develop symptoms like dementia.  We just get too worn down, or too overloaded, and basically conk out.

And so, all the little letting go’s along the way are actually really good for us, and thankfully, there are innumerable people out there who can help us, even though we often kid ourselves that we can cope without them.  But traversing the dark night of the soul alone can be a terrifying experience, and it astonishes me how scared we are of asking for help – though, as ever, I’ve often been my own worst enemy;  it took me almost five years to begin to process the loss of my parents – but once I got into therapy, I rolled up my sleeves and really got down to work. 

And that ending eventually became my new beginning, for it was to form the seedbed for my development as a Healer, and this is a path that has been trodden by many others, as in learning how to come to terms with our own losses – large and small – we understand how to help others travel the same road.  Even luminaries like Brandon Bays [The Journey] and Oriah Mountain Dreamer [author of ‘The Invitation’] have been very open about their own trials and tribulations, and the foundations of their monumental business empires were very publicly watered by the tears of their own suffering along the way. 

Which makes a complete mockery of the popular misconception that, somehow, healers, visionaries and warriors have got it all sussed and sorted….that they live in ivory towers, and never get sick, or sad, or lonely or scared.  Serene gurus in white robes delivering hugs or pearls of wisdom are wholly inspirational for some, but for me, I want down-to-earth real, and  my own choice of teachers and therapists has always been people who’ve been there…. who know pain, have traversed the path of their own sorrow, and emerged all the stronger for it. 

One such person is Tegwyn Hyndman, presenter of next month’s Juice workshop, ‘Hearts of Fire’, whose work was borne as a result of her journey with her six-year-old daughter Elkanna, who died ten years ago. 

Tegs is one of the most inspirational, bright, shining, passionate and fiercely protective warrior-women I’ve ever met;  she’s not scared to feel, and she can take others on the most amazingly healing and transformative shamanic journeys.  And the warmth of her laughter is highly infectious!  Unlike so many ‘old-age-new-age’ therapists, whose energies can be so heavy and serious, she embodies joy, fun and freedom, and brings those qualities to her work.  I’ve learned  from her that letting go doesn’t have to be hard.  It’s never the end….just the beginning of something new, and it can be enormously refreshing, rejuvenating and liberating!   

And indeed, it just so happens that everything we’re doing at Juice in September follows this theme;  we have Tegwyn’s seasonally-inspired workshop, or there are sessions in Thought Field Therapy, and my ‘Quantum Light Breath’ meditation….all of which will really help the transmutation of old, stuck energy into something unbelievably, amazingly, joyously wonderful!

And I know that my quiet, empty nest in the early autumn sunlight is imperfectly perfect.  My own little ray of sunshine may have gone, but she is walking a path of her choosing, and I’m so proud of her.  I relinquish her to her own life with open arms and enormous gratitude.

How do we let go?   By surrendering to the flow of life, and allowing every moment to die so that the next moment can live. 

And the brilliant leaves of autumn will show us the way.

Juice is on 26th September.  Please see the Events page for more information, or visit the website www.juice-kent.co.uk to book

 

Further details of Lynn’s therapy practice are on the ‘About’ page of this blog.

Ganga Nidhana, my co-presenter for the Juice workshop this month, is no more.  Or at least, her name isn’t.  For the second time in as many months, she’s changed it, and has asked me to tell everyone that she’s henceforth to be known as Roxanaah – which, interestingly, is more-or-less the name she started out with.

m

Strange all this name changing stuff that goes on in certain spiritual circles.  I was at Osho Leela last week, and a significant number of people who go to this well-known Dorset retreat centre are sanyassins (for the uninitiated, this is traditionally a Hindu spiritual disciple, but more specifically in the Leela environment, it’s a devotee of Osho, who’s chosen to live a life of totality and conscious awareness), and the path of a sanyassin entails changing one’s name to a new moniker given to them by their particular guru, as a  mark of their transformation from their ‘old’ lives to their awakened status as a conscious, free individual.

x

And, much as I respect Roxanaah’s decision – and indeed, anybody else’s choice to be known by any name they wish – I was rather amused to come across this quote by Osho himself :

“Don’t be deceived by the names.  You are always hankering to catch hold of something, to make something big out of nothings.  The names I give you are just like lovers’ sweet nothings.  Don’t make much fuss about them.

 A name is just a name.  You are nameless.  No name confines you, no name can confine you.  They are just labels to be used – utilitarian, nothing spiritual in it.”

Osho, The Diamond Sutra, Number 10

So, it seems that Osho and Shakespeare (“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”) perhaps have something in common after all….?!

x

‘Tantra’ is another word with several, widely diverse interpretations, signifying anything from a very high and pure spiritual path to a dodgy ‘massage therapist’ [and everything in between], and indeed that was something that was quite rightly addressed very swiftly last week at Osho Leela’s amazingly beautiful Tantra festival, and it was interesting just how many so-called experienced ‘tantrikas’ nevertheless continued to insist it’s all about intimacy, and male and female relations…..which, of course, it can be, but it’s so much more than that.

x

Tantra, sacred sex, sexual healing….they’re all phrases laden with taboos and all manner of misconceptions, and I entirely appreciate this is a difficult service to accurately place and promote.  Hence, I entirely sympathise with Baba Dez’s decision to market his wares to the tantra world, but my feeling is that what he’s actually doing isn’t so much tantra as shamanic healing of sexually-related traumas, as well, of course, as his totally shamanic ‘sex magic’ ritual, but of course, most people wouldn’t begin to comprehend the differences (or, indeed, the similarities) of those terms, and more importantly perhaps, most of them wouldn’t give a damn.  And, perhaps, if I adequately considered Osho’s wise words I wouldn’t either, but it’s an interesting dynamic. 

x

But however you describe Dez’s work,  the event I hosted with him in Kent last week was great, and as I guessed, he was the undisputed Superstar of the Osho Leela festie, and his workshops there were absolutely awesome….particularly the work about reclaiming the inner masculine, which was incredibly powerful.

x

And an amusing little postscript to my last blog is that my daughter actually met the man whose movie had precipitated her quip about needing therapy, as she kindly agreed to be his taxi service from the station, and when I later told him the story, he said what a pity it was that she didn’t stay for the workshop….and he was right.  His work is sacred, respectful and if enough of us get behind it, it could change the world.  Really. 

x

But to get back to the ‘rose by any other name’ analogy, I understand that there may have been some surprise – offence, even -  by the inclusion of the C-word in one of the responses to my last post. 

x

Lizzie, a grandmother and probably our oldest Juice participant, chose to use that word instead of the more acceptable spiritual description ‘yoni’, and I was taken to task by a couple of readers [...and far from being affronted,  I was over the moon that I even had any ‘readers’...!  - but I digress...] for including such an ‘offensive’ term in my blog. 

x

Interesting one, this.  I remember watching an interview around eight years ago with Knights of the Realm Michael Parkinson and Sean Connery, in which the latter used the ‘C-word’, and as my daughter was – at the time – an ardent fan of Mr. ‘C’, I was furious.  So furious that I did, in fact, don my best ‘outraged mother’ hat and penned a letter of complaint to the BBC.   They did reply, but to all intents and purposes, their response was basically ‘Bollocks’.

x

And I apologise to anybody who might be offended at that particular word, but why is it that we have created such a rich language of derisory, degrading language to define the sexual organs of both genders?  And, ultimately, who is it that decides whether a word is ‘acceptable’ or ‘offensive’…?  Clearly the BBC considers ‘cunt’ to be a socially acceptable post-watershed term, and so I decided it would be okay to post Lizzie’s comment without censoring it.

x

And why is it, that with both genders’ organs being derisory terms, it is the female anatomy that is still considered the most taboo.  Radical feminists in the 70’s (of whom I suspect my blog respondent might have been one) sought to eliminate disparaging terms for women, including ‘bitch’ and ‘cunt’, and feminist luminary Germaine Greer has dared to suggest on national TV that there is something precious about the word, in that it is now one of the few remaining words in English that still retains its power to shock.

x

So, if anything in my blog shocked, good readers, then I refuse to apologise, but would instead ask you to consider one question :   Why?  What is a word, after all, but a vibration, and ultimately, the only person for whom that vibration will have a resonance is ourselves.

x

And to return to where I began this little ramble, a beautiful and very experienced Tantrika by the name of Roxannah Cayrri Grainge (hitherto known as Ganga Nidhana) and I (Lynn Jackson – no alternative derivations that I’m willing to share here…) will be co-presenting a workshop called ‘Tantra Transcendence’ at Juice this month. 

We’re going to create a very safe, juicy space for a beautiful and blissful exploration of this sacred path, and we’ve got everybody from complete tantra virgins, to those with tons of experience joining us – and would love to invite you along too.

I think you’ll find that whatever you call it, what we’re doing really is rather lovely – essentially the formless being reached through form…. and that, actually, this is a rose that will smell very sweet. 

x

Juice is this Sunday, 22^nd August, from 3pm – 11pm.

x

The ‘Tantra Transcendence’ workshop will be followed by a bonfire ceremony and a live performance of sacred soundscapes by ‘Anima’ (kindly sponsored by Diviniti Publishing) as well as lots of other beautiful, experiential magic.

x

The online booking facility will be open until Saturday at 6pm. 

x

www.juice-kent.co.uk

www.Babadez.com

www.hypnosisaudio.com

www.nidhana.com

www.osholeela.co.uk

“You must get a blog, L.J.”

Why?

“Because it’ll help direct traffic to your website.”

How?

Google loves blogs.

Ah, the mighty Google god.  Hmmmm. 

But isn’t it all a bit self-indulgent?  Aren’t these on-line diaries just our ’15 minutes’ of fame’, and can I get over my own ego sufficiently to be able to share my innermost thoughts with the world…?

And, at the end of the day, will the world actually give a toss….?

Ego again, Lynn;  just get on with it.

But won’t it blow the whole thing apart?  Won’t people suddenly realise I’m not the sane and centred Wise Woman I’m supposed to be and see the ‘real’ flesh and blood little me behind the facade…?

Precisely.  That’s what it’s all about.  People want authenticity.  Just be yourself. 

So, I tell them about what an amazing time people are having at Juice and what an awesome Healer I am….?

Yeees…. but remember, this is where people get to know you, this is real ‘under the skin’ stuff…

 

Shit.

 

I tentatively dip into some friends’ blogs for inspiration.  Grandmother and well-known media guru Lynne is telling us all about her latest relationship break-up and her subsequent forays on various dating websites, whilst Kavida is sharing her recipes for raw chocolate mousse.  And no, she’s not a cook – she’s a sex goddess, and the chat isn’t so much culinary as cunnilingus-ly inspired [though I’m sure the purists of you out there will be pleased to know that the mousse is, at least, made from trendily healthy raw chocolate....]

 

But that brings me to my next point of concern;  precisely how much of myself do I share with the world?  How to make the mundane sound interesting, and the more ‘interesting’ suitable for my daughters’ eyes, should they ever get bored enough to want to read the musings of their – clearly delusional – mother, who seemingly believes that anybody would be remotely interested in her ramblings?

Quite.

 

And it poses an interesting conundrum:   just how do parents of grown offspring conduct their own supposedly private, ‘adult’ lives under the scrutiny and thinly disguised amusement and/or disdain of their kids?  My youngest continually complains that I’m never here whenever she’s home from uni, and it’s a fact that these days, I’m often out more than either of my daughters.   It’s not exactly a sex, drugs and rock and roll lifestyle, but, quite frankly, I’d have been utterly horrified if my own mother had frequented tantra workshops, trance dancing, goddess gatherings and ‘hippy’ festivals when I was my daughters’ age….in fact, any age – but is it the world that’s changed or our status….?  With me and the majority of my friends having long-since jettisoned our marriages, would things be different if we’d remained in wedlock?  Would we, like our mothers, by now be ensconced in middle-aged domesticity, and an endless diet of TV soaps and trips to the supermarket and garden centre, if we’d remained in wedded bliss….?

 

 

Should we, in short, be old enough to know ‘better’…?   

 

A very pertinent question, since my youngest (who’s now 20 by-the-way, just to give you some sort of context) burst into my room the other afternoon to find me watching the cavortings of sacred sexual healer Baba Dez in the soon-to-be-released movie ‘Sex Magic’.  I should add she’s a student in Brighton, so isn’t entirely unaccustomed to the ways of the world, but nevertheless, she was totally aghast to find her mother sitting watching ‘porn’ at 3 o’clock in the afternoon (whether it would have been okay at a more decadent hour was never entirely clarified), and after a brief but fairly intense hissy fit, declared that she would probably be in therapy for the rest of her life.

 

Welcome to my world, good people.  I am the healer, therapist, counsellor, life coach-type-person whom my long-suffering daughter would consult…. if only she didn’t think they were all as loopy as her mother. 

 

And actually, she doesn’t need therapy at all.  Far from it actually;  both she and her older sister have far exceeded me in the wisdom stakes, and I just love it that despite living a relatively unconventional life, I’ve managed to raise two such totally fabulous and wonderful daughters.

 

But I digress.  I look at the lifestyles of my three happily married friends, and, actually, they’re not so different from mine.  So it would seem that our choices have expanded, and our mindsets loosened.  60, so I once read in the Sunday Times magazine (my ex used to get it – I’d never be seen dead buying a paper….!) is the new 40.  Yippeee!  Perfect.  I’ve arrived at middle age [whatever that is] at a time when it’s okay for us to push boundaries, and turn back clocks – with or without surgery.

 

 Except in the eyes of our 20-something daughters, whose expressions sometimes tell a different story. 

“So, he’s a sacred sexual healer….and that means he’s healing people and not just having sex with them…?”

Exactly.  The guy’s doing some amazing work healing sexual trauma and releasing all kinds of psycho-sexual blocks.

“And you’re going to be working with him next Monday…?”

Yes.  But it’s a fully-clothed tantric ritual in a workshop situation, darling.

“Yeah, right.  Pull the other one, it’s got bells on it.”

No, really.  He’s currently doing a world tour, and he’s travelling with a huge entourage, including his son.

The guy does sexual healing work with his son in tow….?  Oh, good God!  Where’s that shrink…..?”     

 

Come and meet the amazing shaman and sacred sexual healer Baba Dez Nichols [and his son] in Meopham, next Monday, 9^th August.

Satsang – ‘Conscious Tantra’   £15/£2o

Ritual – ‘Conscious Manifestation with Tantra’    £40/£55

Combined Satsang & Ritual   £60/95

Call me to book : 07935 466029

 

And, for the record, my long-suffering daughter will be working with me at Juice on 22^nd August;  her help on the organisational front was nothing short of life-saving last time.  (Amongst other inevitable last-minute ‘challenges’, my juicer had broken down, and I had several kilos of fruit and vegetables to process in readiness for our new Juice Bar.  Yes, I know…..there’s some savage irony in there somewhere!)

So, please, come and say hi to her! 

Her mother’s co-presenting a workshop entitled ‘Tantra Transcendence’;  not sure she knows that just yet. 

 

And no, darling, it’s spiritual, not sexual.  Cross my heart.

 

Links :

www.kavidarei.com 

www.lynnefranks.co.uk