Making Room

Deciding is like a breath of fresh air.

It’s the permission we give ourselves to release pressure, like a welcome exhale after an extended held inhale.

It’s true that first comes a time of consideration; a pause between the notes, the direction at the crossroads, the weighing of the yes or the no. But ultimately you have to decide. Ultimately, you need to take a step and commit. To live in indecision kills growth - you can’t hold your breath indefinitely.

Here is where personal honesty comes in. This is where hard conversations emerge, and relationship patterns become trackable. This is the place where leadership steps up or indifference misleads.

And all of this begins within. These are the things we need to do with ourselves as we turn that laser focus inward. To see all in your life is happening FOR you is one way to shift away from cycling in victimhood and holding a perpetual breath of indecision. (Take a minute and reframe any resistance you may have felt as you read that.)

What if the unpleasant things in your life right now are happening FOR you? As an observer, does that change a perspective or assumption? Does it help defuse the fight that is fogging the real choice in front of you?

It could actually come down to you recognizing your position on CONTROL versus TRUST.

The broader perspectives and experiences asking for space in your life are also asking you to make room for them. The tight little containers we’ve gotten comfortable in are filled to the brim with the stale air we’ve been holding too long. And to change that, means we need to trust our gut, step up as our own leader, and trust the natural cycles of life.

Making a decision brings in a rush of clarity and emotion. Deciding opens the valves for movement and next steps of inspired action. And if the decision takes you three steps right into a wall, then so be it…because as you turn around, the perspective has changed and the muscles of choosing have been flexed.

Breathing life into life is what we’re here to do. Creating rich, deep, connections that elevate you will inspire others to do the same. It’s not about the old game of security the way we’ve known it…it’s about the emerging from the soil as new growth in spring…discovering our reach towards the sun and living into our true form.

-Asia

Discovering Rest

This is for my generation - the ones whose grandparents lived through the great depression and passed on the callous nature of survival to their kids.  

 This is for my generation – those schooled by parents with a “hard-work” mindset who turned survival tactics into a road paved with the promise of predictability and security.

This is for us, the ones who were taught that rewards come with a price, a tangible currency of sweat, blisters, good grades and the best schools; who learned to justify shortcomings and scramble for a slice of the prize before it bejeweled someone else’s crown.  This is for those who believe the more you do, the more you qualify, the more you perform, the more you are.  That to be the master of “more” proves your value. 

It’s a lie.

Sound harsh?  It is. 

Yet it’s been my part of my “standard operating procedure” program until just recently.  As much as I’d like to say I had embraced the belief that I was good enough, worthy enough, smart enough or “anything” enough, ideas like those I just described, directed how my mind organized things.   It operated like a strong undercurrent running thought streams in directions I assumed were accurate.  And why not?  Society, family, work and social systems all tapped into the same well of thought.

The system’s measuring stick has not only been used to bloody my knuckles or rap on my head, but has stretched out in front of me, taunting me, baiting me to keep running its never-ending race.

I’m talking to those who intimately know how to create their own designer series of hamster wheels.  I had convinced myself that this ability was a gift, but in reality, I discovered it’s been the gateway to distraction. 

I had an odd satisfaction that came from “doing” things.  In a mortifying way, I eventually saw how I was like a lab rat repeatedly hitting a button for a drug, unaware of how it depleted my body and soul.  Ironically, that meager reward came around less and less – as my definition of ‘reward’ began to morph and become less attainable, and then I began to dream smaller, or not at all.  Survival replaced the dreams and the victim assumed the helm.

Sound familiar?  It’s like this crazy illusion we know is harmful, but can’t figure out how to jump off the tracks. 

But I did.  I stepped off the wheel and stopped running that insane race.  And the first thing I did was sit.  Truly.  I had to sit down to take in what had just happened and process.  The unraveling and deprogramming has been a journey all together – and it came to place where an opening occurred, and I stepped through. 

 Last week I released an outdated definition of work & reward and opened the door to living in a way that celebrates and supports the true essence of being.  Doing has been redefined and desires weigh in as trump cards. 

Never underestimate the ways your subconscious shows you keys and clues.  My liberating moment happened as I was jotting notes to myself as I listened to a mastermind course I’m part of.   I read my words: “Hard work = money & the privilege of rest”.  I dropped my pen.  “….the privilege of rest?”  Where did that come from?  I immediately knew that rogue thought had jumped some well-worn tracks and crashed through barriers to splash itself onto my notebook. 

I recoiled at the lie running my world.  Rest had been a privilege to me - an illusive reward for hard work, which for a resilient ‘worker-bee’, something that would rarely come; the job was never done, the tasks never complete. The only way to qualify for rest was to be where there was no responsibility – a place that did not exist in my world.  There was always something to be responsible for – or someone – you know…the biblical brother’s keeper?  Not to mention all the other titles I could sport: mother, wife, employee, volunteer, entrepreneur, among others.   My mantra for years had been “there’s always something to do”.  And I wore it like a badge of honor, pinned to my lapel by the sting of guilt, ere I ever venture into slowing my pace, because rest was a privilege. 

I collected myself, cried a little, and sat, stunned at the sudden liberation that burst through me as I realized my world was changing as that illusion dissolved.  

This is so fresh for me that I can’t offer much in the way of new actions taken, other than I did rest, in a rather luxurious restful surrender to joy.  And because of that restful space of relief and joy, I wanted to share it with those of ‘my generation’ who might find value in my moment of personal emancipation.  If you’re running on a similar wheel and are looking for an exit, trust there is one.  If you’ve been working on yourself, observing the mirrors, looking under the mattress for that damn pea, or having conversations with yourself you’re not sure you even believe, keep going.  You’ll find it.  One day it will happen, and you’ll witness something come forward that changes things for you.  And when it does, playfully applaud, laugh out loud or cry with relief, because it’s real.  You did it. 

The reward is not a piece of some pie that someone deemed you worthy to receive.  It’s yours – the whole damn pie is yours.  Because the truth is there is enough for all because we all have enough within us.

5 things that helped me move through change

The aftermath. The fallout. The parts I didn’t expect after making a decision that restructured my life.

When I shared thoughts about leaving my home and a 25 year marriage, I got an unexpected response. Not only did it receive 200 comments on Facebook, I also received 5 private messages and 1 email from women telling me how they were directly affected by my words. The private messages I received expressed hope, personal hardship and gritty determination to trust self and courageously act.

It was a demonstration to me that love, compassion and connection are essential for humans. We love connection.

Life is shifting and it’s intense. We are living in an era that demands our full attention and requires brutal honesty as we’re shedding the things that no longer serve us.

So as I contemplated on the messages and the responses from that post, I thought I’d share 5 things that helped me move through the transitions that came along after I stepped out on my own.

WHAT’S THE NEXT STEP?

There were too many nights I’d lay in bed, stressed to my limits. And the best phrase that calmed the mind chatter was when I’d ask myself what the immediate next step was. It reduced things to a micro-level and suddenly it felt manageable. The next step is just one thing.

Is the next step to put gas in the car? To make a meal? Or tie your shoe? Then, once it’s done, ask again. You can diffuse that monkey mind quickly if you pull it back to the micro moment just by asking that question.

WHEN IN JOY, STAY WITH JOY

I had always enjoyed the time I spent with my kids, but after the marriage split, I began to relish it. The moments and minutes meant so much to me, even if it was just doing house chores. I also recognized the magic could be hijacked if I allowed the upcoming ‘good-byes’ to happen in my mind before they were actually happening in reality. So I practiced consciously staying with the moment I was in and give it my full focus.

ALLOW YOURSELF TO FEEL

Emotions. All the feels. All the ugly cries. All the anger and heartbreak. All the new discoveries and feelings of freedom. All the wishing and loneliness. All of it. You can’t escape yourself, and ignoring your emotions or locking them away is not going to silence them. It’s actually a recipe for a future explosion or breakdown. Laughing the laugh, crying the cry, screaming in the car – whatever it is – do it.

(Of course, use wisdom discretion as to when and where this happens.)

DO SOMETHING YOU’VE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO

The first Christmas I was single arrived only 2 months after I moved out. With the disruption so fresh, not everything had been divided or settled and I found myself without the means to replicate familiar family traditions. I thought about how different this holiday would be for me and my kids.

One of our past traditions was to get a tree permit, drive to the mountains and cut one. It was a fun activity but it required things I no longer had (like a truck & chainsaw). It was clear that this time I could do it differently, and I got quite excited about it. I honestly had always wanted a full, bushy tree (that you couldn’t see the other side of the room through) but I debated on if it was worth the cost or the trouble. Yet I couldn’t deny how excited I felt when I thought about the possibility. I realized my excitement was raising my emotions and took that happy energy as the sign to follow through.

So my youngest son and I went to a local lot and picked the perfect tree. The sales guy tied it to the roof of my car (with us in it) and asked if I had a pocket knife to cut the string once we got home so we could get out. We had a blast, laughing at how we’d have to climb out the windows because we were tied inside, and working together to bring it in.

It wasn’t a huge thing as far as doing something I’ve always wanted, but I still remember how fun it was to allow that desire to manifest and that’s what matters.

TAKE LONG BATHS

For some people, this is a no-brainer. For others, here’s your reminder to let your body relax and do a little self-care. Think about it… a bath requires thought and planning (even if its minor). It makes you slow down and it can feel luxurious. I found myself making it a weekly ritual. I lit candles, dropped essential oils into the water and sometimes played soft music. It was rejuvenating and I slept really well afterwards.

Yep…do that one for sure.

What are some things you’ve found to help you through transitions? What raises your vibration and helps you feel empowered or rejuvenated? I’d love to know.

Personal Sovereignty

Ten years ago, September 26th, I did one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

I moved out of my home, said goodbye to a 25-year marriage, and started a cascade of events that affected not only myself, but also the eight souls that made up the nucleus of my family.

This move required nothing less than a commitment to an unseen force that comes from within…there was nothing else I could fall back on or trust.  Getting to that point was a long bumpy road, full of tentative unknowns and unsecured hopes, and although the path I was walking felt more like hacking through a dense jungle with a pocket knife, I knew it was the way to move forward.

The process was lonely, refining and painful.  But what I came to realize was at the end of the day my decisions need to be made with integrity, knowing I could stand next to myself as a true support.  This allowed me to face all the unknowns with courage and trust what I was doing.  I firmly believe that when I do what is in the highest and best for myself, it ripples out to others – especially those who my choices will affect.  I can own my decisions with honesty and clarity and step into the consequences without trying to veil anything. 

I was nearing the eight-year mark of intense therapy, recovering memories and putting chunks of traumatic experiences together that surrounded my involvement with satanic ritual abuse from family, church and community.  This environment made the situation of physically moving out of my home especially lonely as I felt I had no one I could ask for help.  Over the years I had narrowed my friendships and had cut off all relationship with my birth family and in-laws since members on both sides were connected to my abuse as perpetrators or reporters within the cult. 

Trekking through the needed actions with moving called up some very primal energy as I followed the impulses and logic guiding me.  After the movers, the apartment, the deposits, and the date, were in place, I worked and processed many emotions for a few weeks.  As the date came closer, I started the process of telling my kids and husband I’d be moving out and we would be making new living arrangements.  The entire thing was intense and stressful.

Just a day after the move my husband came over to my new home and asked if there was any way we could work things out.  I stood there dumbfounded.  I asked him why he hadn’t asked me that question a year prior when I told him I wanted a divorce. Why didn’t it come up when we had spent months in couples therapy and family therapy? Why wasn’t that question present in our divorce discussions.  And his response was, “I didn’t think you’d go through with it.” 

I don’t know if I was more shocked or insulted.  Linked arm in arm with his request to work things out was a very real marginalization of who I was.  It seemed clear that I was never taken seriously – until I destabilized his anchored world.  And although my heart softened at his sincerity, I was done.  There was no going back.  I had nothing inside to re-do because so much went into getting where I now was and this process was not done flippantly.  Six months later our divorce was final. 

 Since that day, I have met and lived with natural outcomes and challenges that stem from dissolving a marriage.  I learned that everyone in the family was looking at the divorce from his or her own lens and each of those views were real - there was not just one truth, there were eight.  I navigated my ex-husband’s hurt and anger as well as my own.  I learned that my kids’ fears were intensified because of the belief that I had been re-accessed and reconditioned by the cult.  And although that wasn’t true, their fears needed time to be felt and worked out, knowing all I could do was be my authentic, messy self and allow the time required for them to trust me again…if ever.  

 I have traveled a very real road of survival, recognizing how I had been conditioned by the social dynamic of a woman’s reliance on her husband to provide for the family and my agreement to that role.  I experienced the devaluing of a woman through the eyes of a system that allowed my husband to feel justified in claiming I owned nothing because I didn’t contribute to the family financially.   As a stay at home mom, I had over 20 years of experience of excellent mothering and home management, but no references for a resume that would demonstrate workforce skills for a well paying job.  This new dynamic of providing for myself led me deep into realms of my subconscious loaded with toxins like entitlement, lack, fear, unworthiness, anger, and hopelessness.  I saw life reflecting all of these back to me through experiences that ranged from homelessness to business ownership and a sundry of other things in-between. 

Mixed within this past decade were human relationships that taught me about myself, unveiling more and more as I danced between personal connection, community involvement and self imposed isolation. I gradually saw my part in the nuances of each relationship and how I contributed to its dissonance or its harmony.  I recognized the co-dependence in my marriage and how I looked to others after it ended for protection or a place to hide.  I saw how I doubted myself, how I didn’t trust my abilities and how it undermined me each time.  As I’ve learned all of this I see I’ve become curious instead of defensive, honest instead of avoidant, and kinder all around.  I am truly grateful for each person and our experiences together. 

Now ten years later I can see the journey from a perspective with clearer eyes and deeper wisdom.  When I left, I dubbed this date as my “Sovereignty Day” to celebrate what I needed to celebrate in that moment and every year thereafter.  I have lived a very thorough unraveling where brutal honesty, courage and joy have been present.  I have cried rivers and shed layers of pain.  I have rebuilt new relationships – especially with my kids - from a foundation that is genuine to each of us.  I have learned to respect the work my ex-husband put into providing for his family from a new level, as one who has punched a clock as well as from the eyes of an entrepreneur.  I have learned the definition of self-trust and personal authority and have employed a powerful partnership between my soul and my body.

This rite of passage is only one version of the hero’s journey so many of us can relate to.  Where we are now is not where we were ten years ago.  The demand for discernment and self-trust is exponentially greater.  Lessons from the past have trained and refined us. The learning curves are flattening and the calls to action are requiring full contact and spiritual presence.  Courage and conscious participation are needed to play full-in, facing false belief systems that have woven themselves into our identities, questioning propaganda designed to isolate and confuse, and disabling the attacks aimed at self value.  It’s an incredible path to trod, and one to celebrate moment by moment.

Letter To my ancestors

With satanic ritual abuse as one of the unseen anchors in my life (up until I discovered and unhitched from it), I have harbored a robust distaste for who I’ve known my “ancestors” to be. Because of my birth order as one of the eldest of the grandchildren in my respective birth families, I was able to have interactions and conversations with grandparents and even great grandparents that I can still reflect upon. Of course beyond them, I’m clueless as to any of the others who are in my generational line, besides stories passed to me through the filters of others’ impressions. Glorified or not, I’ve wanted nothing to do with knowing or learning about these people; I’ve held them as guilty of passing direct and indirect influences to me - manifest through trauma and pain.

So I surprised myself in October of 2020 when, on Halloween morning, I sat on my patio with a warm cup of tea, thinking about my life - how far I had come, and where I had come from. The following letter is the result of my musings which produced a profound healing experience that I believe extends to me, through my heart and beyond….to those past and present I call generational family.

********************

October 31, 2020

A Letter to My Ancestors.

I have ignored you.  I have been angry at the legacy that created me, and I feel those emotions are justified.  Ages and ages of collective choices fashioned a pain that manifested in me like an ever-present ghost, haunting a body it had mistaken as its own.  And I will tell you it has taken dogged determination to exhume the bones you left that have shackled my life. 

I saw all of you once.  Remember?  That huge auditorium somewhere in the ethers that houses unsettled souls.  I was brought there in a dream to address things about my life - not yours.  And yet, you were there.  I was puzzled as to why so many souls were interested in me, in the work I was doing. The seats were full in this nonphysical place you inhabit, and I felt a little like a spectacle as I walked forward, not understanding why there were no empty seats.

[Allow me to interject here, for others reading this letter, the “work” I refer to was a very long process of memory recovery of the horrors I had suppressed so I could survive some semblance of normalcy.  A strenuous and exhausting process that inserted itself into my life, demanding attention and a good portion of my life source energy.] 

So there you sat, stoic witnesses to my efforts, and I resented it.  I could sense your collective attention behind me as I talked to the council of beings in front of me.  I realized what I was doing directly impacted each of you, allowing you further movement or progression.  As this came clear to me, I made it clear to the council that the grueling work of healing and recovery I was engaged in was for ME, NOT for you.   I felt no kinship to you.  I felt no desire to help you, for it was you that created the generational hell I was born into.  If you wanted to watch, fine, but my loyalty was to me.  My motivation to heal was fueled by a tenacious desire to be rid of the uninvited darkness that occupied parts of me, not to emancipate you.

I was successful too.  I’m sure you know this, you’ve been watching from afar all this time.  I had skin in this game.  I was all in and, as it turns out, I lost it all too.  No more of anything. Poof. Gone. Crumbled and obliterated.  Who I thought myself to be was no longer; my identity vanished as the mushroom cloud of truth did its job demolishing the foundations I had built everything on. The fallout from that inner war rolled through my marriage, my religious beliefs, my friendships, and my family, and naturally, it all traced its way back to you.  

I believe you watched from your lofty seats as my marriage and support systems dissolved.  I think you witnessed me struggle as I experienced desperation and survival in an entirely new and gritty way, with nothing to fall back on, or kin to call upon.  I couldn’t trust you or the ones still alive, because they were the ones who hurt me, and you were the ones who hurt them.  One long generational line of hurt, and I’d be damned if I allowed that near me again. 

For years I carried this realization that I did not belong to any kind of tribe or clan, and I made little effort to know my roots.  I became a nomad, adopting family by choice over family at all.  I was ashamed of you.  I had become the generational “chain-breaker” and I didn’t look back.  I didn’t care where I came from or to whom I was related. I looked forward, holding my hard won liberation as sacred for my children and myself.

But today, something shifted.  It’s Halloween, an evening full of candy and costumes, and false identities that I never really understood.  I find I’m more familiar with the nature celebration of Samhain – an ancient Gaelic festival that marks the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter.  So in that spirit, I chose to begin my morning with a quiet connection to the nature around me.

As I did, I read a quote from Chani Nicholas that said “We are made of blood, earth and stardust. The ancient sources of life that built our bones and pulse through our veins proclaim that we are because someone, many ones, gave us life. We do not get here on our own.”  And for the first time, the isolated wanderer inside of me felt like she was sharing her fire with more than pain filled ghosts.  I saw a connection materialize.

What happened next liberated us both.  Sitting under branches of the cherry tree that arched over my patio, I contemplated a new understanding that contained a stream of genius (an elixir perhaps) that helped me see our connection as a way through and out of our stagnate condition.  I believe our DNA has been seeking a cure to balance all the failings, evils and shames we carry, and I suddenly recognized my ability to hold both dark and light for all of us.  I understood my work didn’t have to be labeled as “mine” and “yours”, but as a continual process with certainty of balance as its outcome.  What I had been responding to was rooted in a generational marsh of decay, conscious only of the separation that generated self preservation, unaware that this evolutionary process of human experience was growing a better version of itself as it passed coded lessons through each of you to me.

I saw the folly of holding you hostage by refusing you all this time. I felt a free flow of energy begin, as I un-dammed, the dammed.  I held compassion for all of us and spoke out loud to those I knew in this life: Grandmas and Grandpas - great and grands.  Each were acknowledged and remembered. I hold no ills, yet I do hold compassion for the responsibility all of you have for your actions.  I do not condemn as I had, but offer a stream of love to Source that you have full access to until you discover your own love that flows to Source.

This all changes with me, for what you have birthed is what you have been yearning for all along. 

It is now gratitude that guides my feelings and I can smile and say thank you. I am here.

With Love

Dreamscape

“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”

~Zora Neale Hurston

 The woman stood alone on a small barren island no larger than a child’s wading pool.  Endless blue water stretched out in all directions, its waves lapping rhythmically past the isolated mound of sand.  Color drained from her face as she watched the island edges crumble away at an alarming rate and dissolve into the salty water.   As the sand disappeared she began to sink, her fear rising as quickly as the water that would soon engulf her.  There was no thrashing, no gasping, just sinking. And then, the air was gone.  Her lifeless body drifted downward, and as it did, her soul emerged and gently helped her physical form settle to the ocean floor.  Her spirit essence arranged the body nicely and then found a rock to sit on while she contemplated the situation.  After a moment, she rose and stood a few feet from the head of her body and tossed what looked like a peach towards it.  As the fruit was about to land on the head, the body instinctively raised its hand and hit it away, causing the fruit to fly at and hit a small wooden cupboard only a short distance away.  Again the spirit tossed a peach, only to have it batted away.  This happened three times before the body got up and walked over to the cupboard.  As she did this, the spirit came over and rejoined her body.  The woman opened the top glass doors of the cupboard, reached in, took out a purple onion, peeled off the outside paper skin and took a bite.

My dream ended there.  I read and re-read my journal entry and swallowed against the awareness that was emerging from the symbolic dream I had had years earlier*.  At the time, I woke up knowing the woman was me, but had no idea what the fruit represented, or why I would prefer an onion over a peach, and I was all too familiar with that sinking feeling.  I realized that what I had been unearthing during my therapy sessions fit the dream in an oddly symbolic and consistent manner.

I must give credit to my subconscious in regards to preparing myself for the onslaught of images I was recovering in weekly therapy sessions. I didn’t waste any time in plunging right into the horror, but then again, I was asking for the truth - and the truth was horrible. I could easily see how I was demonstrating my preference to the layered bitterness of an onion over accepting a “sweetened version” of what I thought my reality was, and in a very real way I had to immerse myself in the fluid memory recovery, separate from an old way of thinking to allow myself to reengage in a new way of partnership with myself.

Dreams have always been a mysterious and wonderful part of the human experience.  Their messages and symbolism can perplex the best of us.  They have a tendency to create enough of a disturbance, that upon awakening, the dreamer knows that something had moved in upon a quiet moment of rest, demanding an audience with the consciousness. 

Often, as dreamers grapple with the intrusion that created such an internal stir, the dreams are repeated to others in serious, playful, or even mystical ways that gives one permission to validate the experience.  It can soon become apparent that patterns and symbols from the unconscious make little sense to a practical mind, and can even teeter on the absurd. Within this context a choice is offered to the one whose unconscious braved an attempt to communicate: forget and dismiss, or listen and understand. If the dreamer succumbs to the analysis of common reasoning, the dream is surrendered and drifts away on the wind of forgetfulness.  When a desire for internal communication is present, then hopes of interpretation move the dreamer to ask questions.  It is truly a beautiful process of self communication that one embarks upon when discovering the messages that are offered from within. 

Maybe it stems from hopes of making this process easier that books and articles have been written to offer a template to those wishing to interpret their dreams.  But what soul is designed from a mold or created from a template?  I would propose that the dreamer knows the dream and it is only the inner-language that needs to be learned.

There is a parable that illustrates God as a potter shaping clay; using no template or cookie cutter as the creation is designed.  Mysterious, puzzling, and potentially inspiring, dreams offer each individual an invitation to step inside and listen to their own stories.  Asking The Creator and Yourself for answers is an honest way to connect and understand.  There are examples of interpretive help, such as the Bible story of Joseph interpreting Pharaoh’s dream of the seven ears of corn and the seven kine, that boldly illustrates the effectiveness of giving audience to odd symbols or strange metaphors and desiring an interpretation of them.  Heaven does not leave you without guides as you embark on the terrain the dreamscape offers. It will manifest its message just as fully as it you give it time and space.

After years of unearthing the truth, I can confirm that the symbolic ground I previously stood on has crumbled from under me and I quickly felt consumed.  I rested in the depths of the water - a spiritual conduit - as I honor my spiritual self for contemplating the state I was in, and then witnessing choice when offering a sweet peach (more than once). My Self was able to join my physical form when I chose to address what was previously closed (or ignored), open the doors of a cupboard that lay in the deep and draw out an onion; a bitter, layered, unpleasantly raw experience that I willingly bit into.

Dreams, books, key friends, and personal experiences each played a part in guiding me into unfamiliar territory where questions became more abundant and the journey to answers beckoned. 

*This dream occurred in 2000, and therapy began in 2003. The original composition of these thoughts were written in 2005. Much of what I have written has been waiting for close to 20 years to be shared.

What is the truth?

“Three things cannot be long hidden; the sun, the moon, and the truth.”   

~ Buddha

“Some Things Are True Whether You Believe Them Or Not” the message on the roadside billboard stirred a multitude of thoughts and emotions within me.  The change in my life over the last few years seemed to be summed up in that simple statement.  A personal search for truth had turned my orderly life into chaos.  I looked at the cars traveling along side of me on the interstate and wondered how many others noticed the sign, and of those, how many had paused at the significance of its message.  My mind slipped into its familiar pattern of shifting inward.  How many truths am I still ignorant of?  What illusions do I still cling to? What questions do I still need to ask?  Once again I thought of the thousands of people that passed the sign and wondered how any of us ever know what questions to ask.

Belief shapes who we are and how we view the world, but as history verifies, it does not always describe truth.  Old values did not support the fact that the world revolved around the sun and to think otherwise was often labeled heresy, punishable by death.  Sailors would distance their vessels from the horizon line for fear of falling of the edge of a flat world, and untold numbers of virgins have lost their lives to bubbling volcanoes to appease volatile Gods. 

So how did society move away from false beliefs to an awareness of truth?  Someone asked a question.  The simple act of wondering created an energy that gained momentum and eventually truth was discovered.  As that “truth” was challenged, more questions were asked and more evidence emerged to confirm it, and gradually the truth became recognized and accepted as such.  But truth rarely surfaced without great effort.

Regardless of the time it takes for truth to be recognized, it patiently exists, regardless of popular belief.   The billboard seemed to echo a statement I had just recently read “Truth is not determined by human desire, nor by human decree.  Truth is the harmonization of the human mind and heart with what is.  It seems necessary to say these things because all too often power, common opinion and tradition are taken-for-granted synonyms for truth.” -Rev. Terrance A. Sweeney, Ph.D.  [Margaret Starbird, The Woman with the Alabaster Jar, (Vermont: Bear & Company, 1993) Forward, p. XIII] 

One thing I had come to understand is that truth just IS.  It stands there, waiting to be recognized, unmoved by anyone’s emotional attachments, secret desires, or practiced beliefs.  Truth does not care what you want it to be or not to be, and because of that very trait, truth can appear as brutal and callous.  It does not sugar coat anything or bend to allow for inadequacies.  I imagine that is why we create illusions.  It seems easier to choose to believe only what we want to believe in order to support the fragile insecurities that escort us on our life’s journey instead of entertaining a truth that will inevitably smash an illusion we have become attached to.

I found myself irritated as I contemplated the odds that any of the people I saw that morning were actually aware of the illusions that held them hostage (let alone seeking freedom from them) and damned the complacency that secured their ignorance.  I wondered what would move me, once again, to reach beyond my current comfort level to an awareness of more truth.  I knew more was to be discovered because I was still asking questions.  My process of emerging had been exhausting, and whether it was tenacity or courage, I was dedicated to freeing myself and healing, knowing it required brutal honesty and inner searching to separate the truth from the lies. 

Jesus once said “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). Often, when we pray to God we ask for guidance or instruction and in essence, if it’s a sincere request, we’re actually asking for truth. When I hear someone say they “know” something is true, I honestly wonder what process they personally experienced to claim that knowledge.  In order to really “know” anything, one must be open to the truth, regardless of how they feel about it, which requires a willingness to acknowledge either side of an answer, yes or no.  Anything else is only asking for the current belief to be reinforced. 

As I drove the freeway that morning, I felt overwhelmed at the process truth must endure to ever be accepted, especially if the implications cause a breakdown of core beliefs.  Resistance and rejection is almost guaranteed when one senses an attack on the ideals they’ve built upon.  Peter B. Medwar illustrated this when he said “The human mind treats a new idea the same way the body treats a strange protein; it rejects it.”

  Life is defined by beliefs, and in essence, to break down beliefs means to break down life, and to break down life means, to a certain degree, to die.   And that’s exactly what had happened to me; I had died.  The person I thought I was had undergone a transformation through the death of some deep, core beliefs, and the healing process I was still recovering from had reframed everything, creating a place for truth and rebirth.

So why is it that the truth brings freedom?   I would suggest it is because each soul is fighting for the liberation of what truth brings.  Perhaps it is the soul’s desire to be free from what is not; frustrated with the consequences and emotions that stem from the lies and illusions that have been accepted in place of what is.  Jesus identified himself as the great I AM, an expression of a perfect knowledge of self; and I believe each soul is on a quest for that same awareness.  We want to know, and knowing takes courage because of the very nature of truth.  Truth is truth, whether you choose to believe it or not.  

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For Mormons:

“While I believe all that God has revealed, I am not quite sure that I understand what he has revealed, and the fact that he has promised further revelation is to me a challenge to keep an open mind and be prepared to follow wherever my search for truth may lead.

We have been blessed with much knowledge by revelation from God which, in some part, the world lacks.  But there is an incomprehensibly greater part of truth which we must yet discover.  Our revealed truth should leave us stricken with the knowledge of how little we really know.  It should never lead to an emotional arrogance based on a false assumption that we somehow have all the answers, that we in fact have a corner on truth. For we do not.”

~Hugh B. Brown (BYU address 1969)