On Memorial Day weekend, this younger aspect of myself was dragged out to play in the snow once again. But before I tell you about why I was hanging out with a sulking "Little Mickey" (my childhood nickname was Mickey) and why you might want to subject yourself to listening to someone's tale of their" inner child" 😝, let me share a powerful and true story from history, related to my icy memories and Memorial Day.
After WWII, there were soldiers who did not believe the war was over. One of them, Hiroo Onoda, was still hiding out in a Philippine jungle, conducting an occasional raids and refusing to surrender for 29 years after the war ended.
Dr Bill Plotkin tells the story of how,
"some Japanese communities helped returning soldiers successfully reenter civilian society by reframing the identities many of them had adopted as soldiers.Fr Richard Rohr has this to say about Plotkin's work on "discharging the loyal soldier":
The only identity many of them knew was that of being loyal soldiers to their country, having shaped this identity through the formative years of their lives. Many of them simply weren’t mentally or emotionally fit or prepared to reenter humane society. Some of their communities created rituals where the soldiers were thanked and praised in public for their service to the country. A community elder would stand, and with great fanfare, announce, 'The war is now over! The community needs you to let go of what has served you and served us so well up to now. The community needs you to return as a man, a citizen, and something beyond a soldier.' "
"This kind of closure is much needed for most of us at the end of all major transitions in life. Because we have lost any sense of the need for such rites of passage, most of our people have no clear crossover to the second half of their own lives. No one shows us the stunted and limited character of the worldview of the first half of life, so we just continue with more of the same. The Japanese were wise enough to create clear closure, transition, and possible direction...The voice of our loyal soldier gets us through the first half of life safely, teaching us to look both ways before we cross the street, to have enough impulse control to avoid addictions and compulsive emotions, to learn the sacred “no” to ourselves that gives us dignity, identity, direction, significance, and boundaries. We must learn these lessons to get off to a good start...The loyal soldier is the voice of all your early authority figures. His or her ability to offer shame, guilt, warnings, boundaries, and self-doubt is the gift that never stops giving. Remember, it can be a feminine voice too...The loyal soldier cannot get you to the second half of life. He does not even understand it. He has not been there. He can help you “get through hell,” with the early decisions that demand black-and-white thinking; but then you have to say good-bye when you move into the subtlety of midlife and later life. "
This "Loyal Soldier" is very similar to our Survival Conditioning, black-and-white subconscious thinking that we all (to varying degrees) received and internalized from our parents, teachers, culture, ancestors etc. And whatever you want to call it, this is what guides many,( possibly 95% ) of the decisions we make in any given day.
For a variety of both practical and spiritual reasons, (having very little to do with the Muslim religion), I decided to use the occasion of the month of Ramadan to do my own version of a fast and 3 mini "holy pilgrimages". In addition to not eating solid foods during the day and simpler dinners at night, I also cut out most of my addictive entertainments --like novels, movies and Facebook.
A big part of my motivation in removing these distracting addictions, was to bring my loyal little soldier out of the hidden jungles within and invite her to integrate (with all of her quirky gifts and superpowers) into my current life.
One of the main reasons for focusing even more strongly on my ongoing process of integration is that I have been steadily gaining weight. I am unwilling to try yet another restrictive dietary or hard-core exercise regime or "money-back-guaranteed" healing modality.
I loved this FB post I saw from someone named Jamie Kennedy:
"I'm amazed by people who lose weight w exercise. When I exercise nothing happens bc my DNA still thinks I'm a European peasant. So it's like 'Oh! Are we running from the English again, lass? Dinnae ye worry: we'll keep ye plump as a partridge to outlast the murderous bastards!'"
Part of my European peasants background possibly includes a starving Mickey from the potato famine of Ireland, (and of course it's complicated because I also have the DNA of murdering English bastards as well as of the raping and pillaging Norwegian Vikings).
But even though there is compelling research that shows we are impacted by traumas from previous generations, I think the more relevant "Mickey" is the one who was starved for other nourishments in her childhood* and whose favorite comfort was; large quantities of food --especially potato chips! Furthermore, (in her opinion) the best way to consume that food was curled up with books or TV and avoiding any and all extraneous activities.
My tastes have changed, and I no longer own a TV or qualify as a couch potato, but there definitely some similarities in our behaviors.
So my plan for this month of Ramadan, was to break some recent/ old habits (apparently "Paleo friendly, organic, sustainably sourced", salty, crunchy, snacks are not really that much better than potato chips as far as weight gain) AND to bring Mickey/ my strong little loyal soldier out of hiding where she has been sabotaging my food choices (like Hiroo Onoda conducting raids in the Philippines) for decades.
As soon as I made that intention to connect with her and find out what she wants and needs that can be satisfied without addictive behaviors, I received so many opportunities to hear her voice and feel her pain. SO MANY!
I spent the entire four hour drive from Marin County to Mount Shasta (one of my three mini pilgrimages), having a conversation with her. I figured that should just about wrap it up. Four long hours. With my inner child --😝. I figured I could cross that off my to do list and then I should be well on my way to total mental, spiritual, physical health. And maybe miraculously shrink back into to a size 7.
But she was not about to suddenly become a well behaved sweet little girl who was totally on board with with my agenda.
Nor was she willing to conveniently retreat back out of sight when the drive was over.
Things got particularly challenging when my friends I was visiting in Mount Shasta wanted me/us to really frolic (sinking with each step into the wet, cold, deep, snow) on the mountain. Not just the token photo op in front of the snow bank, and maybe throwing a snowball or two like I had anticipated when I learned there was still snow on the mountain and said I was ready to frolic.
And did I mention that I was hungry (due to my liquid diet during the daylight hours) and it looked like my eagerly anticipated dinner would be delayed due to this torturous plan? Yes I know, it wasn't the anguish of the potato famine, but it felt pretty intense.
These are dear friends who I was really excited to see. And they were really excited to play in the snow. I wanted so much to be a good sport/ good girl, versus a whining wet blanket.
After all, I am all about being playful and going on challenging Nature adventures. The previous day I had thrown myself repeatedly into a 33 degree creek (in between a hot bath and sauna). But I wasn't hungry. And I was by myself so I could control what I wanted to do and how long I wanted to do it.
The issue of 🔑control🗝 is key. Obviously, we can't live in total chaos and there are circumstances when rigid control, protective constriction, black and white thinking and distrust are essential for survival. But at least in my life (and I'm guessing in the lives of most of you reading this), those circumstances are pretty rare.
I am finding more and more that surrendering control, relaxing (especially physically) into whatever is happening --including pain and discomfort, and trusting in myself and my ability to handle the distress --as well as trusting in my circumstances; greatly reduces my anxiety.
And it turns out that anxiety has almost never protected me from anything genuinely harmful. What it has done is caused me endless misery and a whole lot of unfortunate side effects --including recently, the merry little dance between insomnia and weight gain.
Anxiety is also contagious and spreads to others in my presence and then ripples outwards.
AND anxiety has gifts to bring IF I am able to get curious and listen. Which is tricky to do!
On that snowy mountain, I finally forced myself (and a very reluctant little Mickey) to at least pretend have fun. I promised her I would make it up to her later. I threw myself literally into the snow. I log rolled down a hill. I threw snowballs. I made a snow angel.
And I even had a little bit of real fun.
On June 1, it was the nine year anniversary of my move to Marin (which was preceded by my first night in Mount Shasta) and the beginning of this new life where I have been happier than any other previous time or place.
I went on my second mini pilgrimage of a 3 1/2 hour loop hike to Phoenix Lake (with the whole "rising from the ashes" theme that was so alive for me 9 years ago) and back.
I had created a playlist on my iPod for the occasion and although most of the hike was silent, I danced and sang my way through some of the more deserted parts of the trails.
But not on the narrow trails where I was continually brushing up against tall grasses and branches, and where I was stopping every few steps to check for tiny poppy seeds sized, potentially disease infested ticks--I only found one and brushed it off before it latched on.
I refuse to wear toxic pesticide or only walk on the wide fire roads, and my homemade concoction of vinegar and essential oils has not been repelling ticks this year. I just found another little vampire attached to my neck last week.
Given the dangers of disease as well as just the overall creepiness of having something sucking your blood, this is a circumstance where control, distrust and diligent protection seemed legitimate.
The trick was to accept the paradox of choosing to go on this adventure with the necessity of protecting myself and the anxiety that there was no guarantee, even with the most careful control that I would be 100% safe AND to do my best to gratefully enjoy the experience and relax even though every part of my body constricted each time I brushed against anything --which was unavoidable and happened every few seconds on some of the trails. And there was a lot of poison oak as well. :)
I remembered the excellent example of watching my friend Kao, gleefully hoping to be attacked by snowballs the previous weekend. Whether he caught the icy cold ball in his mouth or got hit in the face by it, didn't matter in the least to him. He was just ecstatic to be out there playing.
I failed at relaxing more than I succeeded, but it was excellent practice, and I got better at it as I got closer to the lake. Mercifully the trails widened for the remainder of the trek back home after reaching the lake, but then I had a new challenge.
Because I am carrying extra weight and also have not gone on a hike this far in quite some time, my feet started to hurt more and more with each step.
There was no other option but to keep going, so once again I had the opportunity to practice relaxing and even gratefully experiencing the beauty and the joy, despite the pain.
I had so many opportunities to ask myself the question of whether constricting my body was going to save me from the ticks or from the pain in my feet. The answer was "no" every single time, because of course, resisting, resenting, fighting against the circumstances with constrictive "protection" did not protect me at all.
I'm a slow learner, and decades of old fearful patterns as well eons of evolutionary survival conditioning do not just disappear with a little bit of logic! AND there are magical portals right smack in the middle of pain and anxiety.
Through the game of Sparks & Leaps, that I am learning how to play (and developing to share), I am slowly learning how to turn adversaries (including ticks, physical pain and my anxieties) into allies. The more I am able to bring curiosity and compassion to challenges, the more trust and joy I discover is available to me.
Much like the Japanese soldiers, there are parts of all of us that are still fighting a war when we could be transforming those rigid, constrictive, protective energies in living a more relaxed, expansive, trusting, life. Life is messy, but it is also playful and magical. And it is most fun when it is not black-and-white. Dancing with paradoxes is way better than fighting with them!
6/1/19 --9 years of playing on these gorgeous trails!
* just to make it clear, I am not blaming my parents or other family members for any deprivations. They all were doing the very best they could, given their survival conditioning/ loyal soldiers/DNA and the logistics of limited resources-- and I lived a very privileged existence compared to so many others on the planet.
World War II, some Japanese communities helped returning soldiers successfully reenter civilian society by reframing the identities many of them had adopted as soldiers.
Dr. Plotkin tells the story of how, after World War II, some Japanese communities helped returning soldiers successfully reenter civilian society by reframing the identities many of them had adopted as soldiers.
The only identity many of them knew was that of being loyal soldiers to their country, having shaped this identity through the formative years of their lives. Many of them simply weren’t mentally or emotionally fit or prepared to reenter humane society.
Some of their communities created rituals where the soldiers were thanked and praised in public for their service to the country. A community elder would stand, and with great fanfare, announce, “The war is now over! The community needs you to let go of what has served you and served us so well up to now. The community needs you to return as a man, a citizen, and something beyond a soldier.”
Dr. Plotkin tells the story of how, after World War II, some Japanese communities helped returning soldiers successfully reenter civilian society by reframing the identities many of them had adopted as soldiers.
The only identity many of them knew was that of being loyal soldiers to their country, having shaped this identity through the formative years of their lives. Many of them simply weren’t mentally or emotionally fit or prepared to reenter humane society.
Some of their communities created rituals where the soldiers were thanked and praised in public for their service to the country. A community elder would stand, and with great fanfare, announce, “The war is now over! The community needs you to let go of what has served you and served us so well up to now. The community needs you to return as a man, a citizen, and something beyond a soldier.
Dr. Plotkin tells the story of how, after World War II, some Japanese communities helped returning soldiers successfully reenter civilian society by reframing the identities many of them had adopted as soldiers.
The only identity many of them knew was that of being loyal soldiers to their country, having shaped this identity through the formative years of their lives. Many of them simply weren’t mentally or emotionally fit or prepared to reenter humane society.
Some of their communities created rituals where the soldiers were thanked and praised in public for their service to the country. A community elder would stand, and with great fanfare, announce, “The war is now over! The community needs you to let go of what has served you and served us so well up to now. The community needs you to return as a man, a citizen, and something beyond a soldier.”
Dr. Plotkin tells the story of how, after World War II, some Japanese communities helped returning soldiers successfully reenter civilian society by reframing the identities many of them had adopted as soldiers.
The only identity many of them knew was that of being loyal soldiers to their country, having shaped this identity through the formative years of their lives. Many of them simply weren’t mentally or emotionally fit or prepared to reenter humane society.
Some of their communities created rituals where the soldiers were thanked and praised in public for their service to the country. A community elder would stand, and with great fanfare, announce, “The war is now over! The community needs you to let go of what has served you and served us so well up to now. The community needs you to return as a man, a citizen, and something beyond a soldier.”
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