tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79151368647126298782024-03-06T00:05:00.525+01:00Tiffany at Patheya - On Being HumanTiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.comBlogger468125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-59676062262738651712021-04-30T12:59:00.003+02:002021-04-30T12:59:58.359+02:00Moved to Patreon! <p> So finally I've completed 300 pages to my book but I recognise it's not going to stop. But how to get paid? Patreon. Let's see how it goes. </p><p><br /></p><p>Welcome to <a href="https://www.patreon.com/user/membership" target="_blank">support me!</a></p>Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-75246037280582303382018-05-31T17:30:00.000+02:002018-05-31T17:30:19.356+02:00Embrace Change<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the face of hormonal activity:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I Embrace Change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I embrace change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The tightening over my womb</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I embrace change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My swelling breasts</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I embrace change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My heavy thighs </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I embrace change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My skin bloated</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I embrace change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My temperature high</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a child of this earth</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I embrace change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a daughter of the dawn</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I embrace change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the sun rises</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the day becomes night</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the spring turns to summer</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the clouds pass by</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the birds fly south</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the rain falls</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am change</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the breeze rises</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the flower blooms</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the wave crashes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I return to breath</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I return to sight</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I return again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Deep respect to all women who embody the phases of creation within their own body. Flesh of my flesh, says mother earth. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Each can be said with a breath in, and a breath out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-69869770856597443552018-01-16T20:50:00.000+01:002018-01-16T20:50:18.345+01:00Sharing Yoga Inspiration <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hello,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wanted to start sharing ideas with yoga students and teachers and opening up a discussion with you about different topics.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The idea started in conversation with two other yoga teachers and one asked 'how do you keep the classes fresh?' and 'how can you keep the student's engaged?'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I had a moment when I thought, but you're a teacher, you know. And then I realised what an assumption that was. Many teacher's teach what they have been taught, but when that has dried up your own interest, and you feel like you need inspiration, other people's perspective can help a lot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">So, here I am, offering my years of experience in teaching yoga, meditation and public speaking. Please feel free to comment, engage in conversation, ask questions. </span></div>
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Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-7227987786708040702017-12-22T11:07:00.001+01:002017-12-22T11:07:45.034+01:00Integration of Archetypes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've been interested in and working with Archetypes, consciously, for the past seven or so years.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmQUx3oWKZD_Ro-n5_tekys2fE9GzTyJ2XuztCzveuJxNqyCK6IAs0uqaxQ98qRrHY_bxEeOZi99pEmAplLb69H5X9IhIBDbaSyHoedwr3UN_s8wQlEditneCIDPB5Dwlhk0T9qqVrRc/s1600/IMG_20171222_095151_739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1142" data-original-width="1600" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmQUx3oWKZD_Ro-n5_tekys2fE9GzTyJ2XuztCzveuJxNqyCK6IAs0uqaxQ98qRrHY_bxEeOZi99pEmAplLb69H5X9IhIBDbaSyHoedwr3UN_s8wQlEditneCIDPB5Dwlhk0T9qqVrRc/s320/IMG_20171222_095151_739.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
It's time to live outwardly, bravely, all aspects of me calling out of expression.<br />
I think the dressing up/ glamour of the pin-up look with the yoga poses is a fun way to start the conversation.<br />
It's also incredibly challenging, because as an empath, my tentacles are up and out readying themselves to feel distain, disapproval, judgement. Funnily enough, those voices can never be stronger than the ones inside of my own head for years, telling me my ideas were stupid (saboteur), dressing up didn't go with the discipline of yoga (judge), what kind of role model would you be (teacher), who dresses like that when you train hard? (Athlete)<br />
I do. I love yoga. I love dressing up, I love teaching, I love healing/helping.<br />
The best person I can be, the best role model I can be, is one where I am honest to my own truth. Live your life according to your inner compass. I don't want to live my life in fear of the sour faces of disapproval.</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-56889584027252467312017-08-28T22:48:00.000+02:002017-08-28T22:48:07.920+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part twenty one <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the Subject of Acceptance<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was a little girl<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who had a little curl<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right in the middle of her forehead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When she was good, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was very very good<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But when she was bad, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was horrid. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Acceptance is the corner stone of true
continual spiritual awakening.
Acceptance is a fearful and
terrible thing to the little me fighting to be right all of the time. The
little me asks, ‘If I accept everything,
where will I be able to assert myself?
What will I control? Where will I be?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, without acceptance, we cannot
align ourselves to reality and we will only ever be forcing ourselves to be
separate and apart. We will only be
projecting a manufactured limitation on
what is essentially the great mystery. In short, we are constantly trying to
place mental limits on life itself, in an effort to feel some sort of control
and safety. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once I began practicing acceptance, I was
horrified to discover a vicious and bad tempered child residing within me. There was a bad tempered voice screaming deep
down within my being and I had been repressing it for years as ‘bad’ and
unwelcome, especially considering my profession as a yoga instructor and
teacher. I was shocked to find the rage
I remember as a 10 year old still screaming. It was difficult to admit that the
voice was there. I admit I tried to
repress it again, but the deeper my practice became, the more I couldn’t turn
away from the truth of my own nature. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The voice screamed with hatred. It was
angry, violent, vicious, vindictive and hurt and used foul language. I felt sick when I sat with it. It was
wrapped around my solar plexus; the self esteem centre. It’s tentacles infiltrated each and every
chakra point and infected my emotions, my love, my physical well being, my
confidence. Admitting and accepting this
voice was one of the hardest and most rewarding practices of the last few
years. Just sitting with it, without judgment, and with as much love and acceptance
as I could muster. It hasn’t
disappeared completely yet. But it’s voice is much softer and less insistent
and it doesn’t hurt to sit with it any more. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But let’s be honest. I can trace this rage
back to an incident, when I was about 10 years old. My brother and I were
sitting outside, beside our house. We were sitting back to back. We had been
bickering and my father decided we were to sit with each other until it was
settled. I was angry. But my brother was laughing. I remember him laughing and
there was a clear light in his eyes. I couldn’t think straight. I was full of
rage and hate and I started to hit him. He just held his legs up to his chest
and laughed. He didn’t seem to care at all. I screamed and hit and kicked. At some point I preferred to hurt myself and
I began rubbing my arms into the ground, and as the pain and the high mental
stress became too much for me, I drifted off. It’s my first conscious memory of
leaving my body. I was above. Everything was slow and soft and I didn’t feel
pain at all. I was just watching. I
could see my brother laughing and rocking on his bottom, his legs pulled up to
his chest. I could see my wild head and I was screaming and rubbing my arms
into the ground. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When life got beyond my comfort zone, I
noticed a pattern of returning to rage and self-punishment, perhaps as a way to
escape my body. Perhaps I felt there was a reward at the end, if I just got
angry enough. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For many years I just repressed it. It was
not what I believed in. I refused to give in to rage, and I kept a tight leash
on my temper. It wasn’t until I started with the acceptance process in my late
30’s that I could truly integrate this aspect back into my life. Part of the
path to allowing my consciousness to feel safe enough to admit this rage was
working with the child archetype with a dear friend and teacher. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s ok. Just as it is. It’s ok and you are
safe. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Breathe in and out. It’s all you need in
this moment. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-33786156558688462052017-08-21T22:45:00.000+02:002017-08-21T22:45:02.588+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - Day Twenty <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the Subject of Conceptualizing<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember clearly, as if it was yesterday,
when I realized the subtle form of performance I was undergoing once I stepped
out in public. The facial muscles
adjusted to look relaxed, the shoulders went back and the hips tucked forward. My
step became deliberate. It may sound totally studied, but I honestly wasn’t
aware of the power ‘others’ had over me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I come from a country that is renowned for
its casual approach to fashion. If there
was a traditional dress, it would be the old trucker’s blue singlet, some baggy
shorts and thongs. Perhaps a beer as an accessory. I now live close to
Barcelona. It is heralded for its carefully laid back chic. Short dresses,
sure, but with flat roman sandals. Hair seemingly windswept or tied casually in
a ballerina’s bun atop the crown of the head. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me tell you there is nothing natural at
all about Barcelona fashion and more so for it’s little sister town, where I
live. We’re close enough to farm land to
remember our roots and we struggle a lot harder to look citified than they do
in Barcelona. There is a little too much hairspray, the heels are a little too
Gloria (Modern family) inspired and the shorts are a little too short for
comfort, at least going by the fingers picking the seams out of the crutch at
every available opportunity. Truly, unless you’re a middleclass hippie (read
someone who doesn’t want to work yet and continue with the teenage lifestyle),
fashion has nothing to do with comfort. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the first year I lived here (and I have
been here for almost 4), I didn’t really relate to the people here. They were
different and interesting and didn’t have an impact on my sense of self at all.
As I began to relax and indeed, settle in, I started to notice certain social
expectations about fashion. I began to
become conscious that I was not ‘the same’. That I was in fact it was not
‘them’ that were different, it was me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A friend of mine from the United Kingdom
was interested in fitting in, wearing similar clothes and camouflaging herself
with the locals in an attempt to help absorb the language. So we sat in a café
and studied the women in an attempt to pinpoint their essence. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we started to notice more and more about
the women and their sameness, I became increasingly more aware of my difference. I had the wrong shoes, the wrong length
skirt, the wrong coloured hair the wrong shape of bag. My posture was nothing
like the women here. That was fine. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But then I started noticing that I did
react to this insidious wave of ‘what they wanted/expected/judged’, and that
although I did not capitulate in taste, I did reinforce my difference with
exaggerated ‘meness’. My shoulders
became straighter, my face more relaxed, my pace slower and I did not look at
people. Looking at people here is a national sport. I took it upon myself not
to look. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was not clearly conscious of any of this.
I thought I was just being ‘me’, that I was fulfilling part of my typical
patterning that we associate with personality.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then one day, as I was walking through the
centre of town, I recalled some words from an Adyashanti satsang about concepts
and I suddenly saw myself very clearly.
I was literally walking in a concept of myself. I was not Being at all.
I was moving as an idea. I was projecting myself from a contracted mix of fear
of not fitting in the group (again) and my typical insistence on my difference.
And in that moment, it fell away. Just seeing it clearly, the stiff cardboard
that had been holding me in place fell away and I felt life enter into my body.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was and is nothing more to it than
that. A deep seeing. In this instance, it was enough just to see that I was
somehow moving in a pattern that had made itself out of unconscious fears and desires. I was
merely an image of myself that was on offer to the vague group of ‘them’ to
judge (hopefully) alluringly different, but in reality, I was just a passing
and quickly forgotten image. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And the reality? Beneath the idea of my
difference, is just what I am, with no explanations or stories or concerns.
It’s ‘just’ me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let’s be clear. I still wear exactly the
same clothes as before and I still do my hair exactly the same way as before.
The difference is not in the action, it’s in the motivation. I am not dressing
to an idea. I am not walking to an idea. I stand at the entrance of my building
before I leave the apartment block and I literally check my body for tell tale
signs of projection. The chest lifted a little too high? The eye brows risen
with slight query? Perhaps the shoulder are even placed a little too low as a
sign of invulnerability. If I find a
part of me that has risen to react to some idea of ‘them’, I bring my attention
back in close, close to who or what it is that is looking from these eyes. And
immediately Life fills the body that was just moments before just an ‘idea’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That is the power of concepts in our every
day. This is just in the pertinent topic of fashion, but it is within all human
interactions. Being the good girl, being the bad boy, being held within a
concept. And this is the true prison that we live in. Confined by our ideas of
who and what we are, not listening and watching closely for the reality. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had thought that when I ‘woke’ up, that
would be that. But it wasn’t. My patterns of life, my conditioning, and even
new ideas came up between me and that which I knew to be True. Every day I stay
alert, watchful and aware of contractions in the body and mind. It is really
like shining the light of consciousness onto the dark shadow places of your
self that arise. Some are so subtle that it’s hard to spot. Some are so
entwined into who you think you are, like the righteous value of the truth
seeker that we refuse to even consider that it needs consciousness at all. Some
are so dark and hateful, like petty jealousy, violent rage or unfathomable
unworthiness that we can’t bare to look closely enough. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-25913810909263734932017-08-14T22:43:00.000+02:002017-08-14T22:43:00.247+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - post nineteen <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stories of broken hearts<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What breaks my heart, in my every day, is
facing my own divergence from the path of thy will. I don’t know many people
who have felt as though they have met with God. I have read about them and I
have listened to their stories, but I haven’t really met many people who talk
about God at all. I am usually the only one who is interested in the topic and
so far removed from caring about the opinion of my society that I mention God
all the time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If someone like me, who has had such a life
changing experience can not follow the will of God with ease, who can? And it
deepens my patience and it deepens my motivation to be able to somehow embody
the Goodness of God in any moment so that somehow, through pure channeling, it
can do what it has to do.. in this world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stories of Loss<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stories of <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Step mother<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the Subject of Discovery<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the Subject of Loss<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the Subject of Integration<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the Subject of Embracing<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My life without a Buddha<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What did giving up truth give me?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It gave me, paradoxically, the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I searched for the truth, I also held
it up high as a banner over my head, waving it as the highest most important
value to honour in all endevours within and without. When I found people not seeking the truth,
but enjoying their shadows, I felt <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Righteous<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Superior<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Judgmental<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The observer just observes. To clear the
glass through which we are seeing the world, we must remove obstacles. …
example? When I gave up truth I saw with greater clarity, the Truth, and with
it, came compassion for the fear people lived with. The fear of them, the fear
of them selves and greater, the fear that there was something beneath the
surface always looming but easily kept at bay by entertainment and constantly
shifted attention. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember to turn around and bow to your
path. Treat the past with respect. Turn every now and then and remember to give
thanks to your path. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the subject of surrender<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your physical flesh, your physical life
needs to turn and embrace the life force. It’s like a child who has been
constantly fed and taken care of and one day realizes that an actual person or
a family had been choosing to take care of him, of loving him and helping him
in times of need and when that consciousness arises, the child feels love and gratitude for the
first time for the force that had sustained him all these years. In the same way, when we awaken to the life
force within, we realize that nothing could have occurred without the life
force’s support. And the life force, the spirit, responds to love, awareness
and gratitude with joy and boundless support. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We move through samsara to nivarna.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I thought would happen and what really
happened.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is one main problem my students present me with.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first is inability to accept reality.
That is, there is a projection/expectation of what life is suppose to be, and
then, there is the reality.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The only practice that helps this is deep
level acceptance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The physical body – exercise…. How to do
exercises in acceptance… breathing, relaxing…
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The problems in accepting reality.. my
beliefs are soo strong.. I am right, I am so wrong… my upbringing said,
reaction for or against. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Insights<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Induced Chi Flow<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is no why, there is just do..?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally, once I have developed a practice
rooted in presence rather than rooted in the mind, the only information I gain,
at this point in time, is to embody Life itself. It’s very simple. There is nothing more to ‘do’.
What comes out of this simple practice, springs from a bottomless well of love,
joy, creativity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everything that is not acceptance, that
does not align itself with life, is a contraction. Every no, every judgment,
every criticism, every resistance is in itself a ‘no’ to life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the typical fears arising from this
practice is that if I practice acceptance, I am allowing the ‘bad’ things to
happen in the world. I need to fight them and resist them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If we take one concrete example, to work
through understanding ‘acceptance’ means.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We see a program on TV about starving
children in Ethiopia (?), and you come to class, and I say you must accept the
starving children. Your first reaction is to say no, I cannot accept this… I
must fight it, I must do something… I am unhappy, sad, frustrated and I need to
do something to help them, even if it is just giving money. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To begin with, there is nothing wrong with
this reaction. It’s a normal reaction. But it is also based on the story of
‘me’ giving and helping and alleviating problems of the world. I would feel
better, if I give or help or ‘do’ something. I would gain something. And let me
say again, there is nothing wrong with this. But it is based on the reciprocal
movement of giving and receiving. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, if we look from a position of deep
acceptance, just as an experiment, we just see what happens when we accept the
fact of starving children, that it is, what happens? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We notice our own resistance. Inside of our
own body we notice the physical ‘no’ to life itself. Life is playing out in an
uncountable myriad of forms and any resistance to Life is a contraction and a
movement away from life into suffering, despair, helplessness. Life is never
like that. Life is love, joy, creativity, movement, truth and beauty. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, imagine that you can accept the fact of starving children, your
perception changes. Suddenly, without all of the emotion, without all of the
blaming, without all of the story attached to the idea of the children, you can
see quite clearly that giving 10, 20 or 30 euro to a children’s charity hasn’t
really changed anything in the last 30 years of starving children. If giving
money could solve the problem, it would be solved. There is a lot more going on
than the outcome of starving children. What is the answer? That is for each of
us to discover. For each of us to wake up to. For each of us to face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today as I was walking along the river near
my house, I bumped into a friend of mine who told me that he knew someone who
didn’t like the river walk. I was
surprised. It was pleasant enough. No, he said, because there was a slaughter
house for pigs nearby, and some days you could hear the pigs screaming. Oh, I
said, does your friend eat pig? Yes he said apologetically. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> There is a very simple way to stop one of
those pigs from screaming in the slaughter house. And that is to stop eating
them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We always know what we need to do. That
does not mean that we can do it, or that we want to do it, or that we will do
it. But we know better than we behave, usually in all situations. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-2479116642894949002017-08-10T22:41:00.000+02:002017-08-10T22:41:05.112+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - post eighteen <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the subject of Humility<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lead us not into temptation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the Subject of a Relationship with God<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What was real becomes unreal. What was once
obvious becomes doubtable and what was doubtable become possible. There are no
rules, only the limitations that we place on the relationship with our own
minds. The path is purely detaching from every projection, expectation, belief
that you have created in all the years you have lived on the planet and
allowing what really is, to be. In other words, get out of the way of God. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the beautiful questions posed by Ms
Myss in Entering the Castle is ‘what is
your competition with God?’ What a thought. What a rich and rewarding question
to contemplate. It’s enough, with this one question to set you right for years.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I read in
Buddhist text ‘die every day’. And it’s like that. You must die every
day to what you have learnt thus far and wait, really like the proverbial
bride, for your groom. There is this sense of being fertile ground, awaiting
conception. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-34560572757839311302017-08-07T22:40:00.000+02:002017-08-07T22:40:09.047+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part seventeen <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the Subject of Discovery<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Earlier this year I gave my copy of You Can
Heal Your Life to a family member. It was a gift from a close friend of mine
many years ago. I liked to go through the book every couple of years. I was
surprise to find a package a few months after my nieces’ visit to discover the
new version of the book, plus two others! I took the book with me on my two
weeks break and started to go through the exercises and found to my
satisfaction that there wasn’t any residue from many of the topics lousie Hay
talks about. However, after considering one question, I fell back upon the
sofa, my jaw dropping, and I saw layers and layers of information sliding down
in front of me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With all of the work that I had done. With
all of the digging, releasing and forgiveness, the tears, the guilt, the mirror
work, I had totally skipped over ‘the
step-mother’. Something that would be instantly obvious to me in a student was
completely overlooked by my own eyes in my own life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was 7 when my step mother came into my
life. I had been living alone with my father in Sydney. I mentioned before that
my father had strict rules about how were to live our lives. He used to go out
at night and I would watch television. I watched the late, the late late and
the late late late movie. I developed a deep love for old Hollywood films. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One night, I am not sure why, I called the
woman who would one day be my step mother. She asked me where my father was. I
said I didn’t know, and that I thought he was with her. I then asked her to
please not tell my father that I had called, that he wouldn’t understand. She
said she wouldn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I came home from school the next day and my
father for the first time that I remember, grabbed me by the hair and dragged
me terrified into my bedroom yelling and screaming at me about social workers
and homes for abandoned children and why I would call this woman. In that
moment, at 7 years old, I made a commitment to myself never to trust that woman
again. I judged her as untrustworthy, as weak, and someone who didn’t know the
rules. She had lied to me and lies were not allowed in our house. I hated her and
it was the start of the 7 years of hate I kept alive in my breast while we
lived together. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I want to combine this story with another.
The first memory I have. My parents were fighting. I was small. I could hear
them. I walked around the hall way and I saw my father on top of my mother,
pinning her down. She was shaking her head, her sparrow brown hair flying
around her face and my father seemed calm and in control. Look, he said, I am
holding her down for her own good. And indeed, that’s what I saw. A crazed
woman and a calm and strong father protecting us. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, push forward into the future. I am
sitting, just a few months ago, on the sofa, my jaw dropped open and images of
my judgment of women sliding in front of me like a TV screen… folders of
information directly before me and lined up, right at the beginning, was my
step mother. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had always identified with men. I had
felt uncomfortable with women and at the age of 30 forced myself to embrace all
of the things about women I didn’t like. From high heels to make up and sitting
on stools and wearing provocative clothing and buying fashion magazines and
noticing handbags. I started to grow my hair and wear padded bras. I wore tight
jeans and eye make up. I listened to gossip and tried it out myself. I learned
a new set of female rules. I learned about sex and the female body. I explored
the nature of images and what worked and didn’t. I learnt about body types and
face structure and where to highlight the cheek bones. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And yet, underneath all of these superficial
changes, and although it helped a lot, I was in deep fury with women in
general. Something about the simplicity of men made me think they were more
honest. And yet, as I began to look closely at the information I had in my
head, I could see it wasn’t true. Still it persisted. This tightly woven mess
of ideas/beliefs couldn’t be lightly unraveled by pulling at one string. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What it needed, and sometimes this is the
case, is the brightest light of consciousness you can bring to bear upon the subject and then let it burn up. There
may not be any need at all to unravel this one. Just shine the light of
awareness on it, and ask yourself quietly, ‘is it true’. And relax and allow,
and if it resurfaces, again, ‘is it true’… and even in the darkest moment, it
is not true. And you can make a choice. You can continue to hold the patterns
of years or you can look at the new form in front of you and see it with
clarity. It is what it is, without any chain to events in your past. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, using myself as an example, every woman
I met was not, by default, needy, ignorant, crazy, helpless, untrustworthy,
stupid, annoying, embarrassing, exempt from the rules, an invader, unwanted and
a disgrace. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you had asked me in January if I had thought those things about women, I
would have been shocked or laughed out loud or curious about where you could
get such an idea. But the fact is, sitting on my sofa on June 2012, I was
looking back into a pattern that was so
subtle a contraction, so soft a shadow I didn’t see it’s beginning or
the length and breadth of it as it had run throughout my life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every woman I saw was under the umbrella of
my first memory of my parents and my deep hatred of my step mother. I am alert
and feeling for a contraction and now, when it comes up, I pull myself fully
into the present moment and release any woman I may have a block with from the
subtle attack of my mind. And let me say that I just didn’t know how deeply
this one was ingrained in my psyche. The only way for me to see through this
one clearly is to keep it close to me at all times and keep the light of my
inner eye steady in its gaze. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And just so you know that the universe is
listening, I had two e mails the following week from women I had judged, asking
to meet with me during the summer. I had the opportunity to closely notice
myself in action, with my new found awareness. I noticed a deep distrust of
their motives. I noticed a feeling that warned me about losing my position. And
because I could choose, I could answer lightly and force myself into seeing
what was really, and not what was a fabrication of my mind. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-84699291757517971312017-08-03T22:38:00.000+02:002017-08-03T22:38:00.157+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part 16 <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Brides Waiting for Their Grooms<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The prayer of thy will be done has been
likened to a bride awaiting the return of her groom and I relate to this
experience. It’s like I am maintaining my body healthy, I am keeping my heart
and mind open, I am creating a fertile ground waiting for the seed of the
divine to awaken within me. I am waiting to be called in any moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Sometimes it is quiet. Sometimes the mind
is loud. Sometimes the body is disturbed. Sometimes life events take the fore.
And then sometimes there is a deep ringing in the cells of my body and I pause,
waiting, alert, ready. Sometimes it’s a tree, or a deep long breeze, sometimes
it’s the earth rising up through the body and requiring a contact with this
physical frame and sometimes it’s a person who stands there and requires
nothing more than presence. There are no rules or structure to this movement.
It seemingly comes when it wants to and goes just as randomly. And my job? Just
to be ready and waiting. To clear as much luggage from the one called ‘Tiffany’
so that the One can manifest with the least amount of hindrance in this frame. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" /></span></div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-6596250071598929752017-07-31T22:37:00.000+02:002017-07-31T22:37:11.793+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part fifteen <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the subject of ‘Thy Will’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For years I prayed ‘Thy Will be done’. I prayed in a kind of repentance. Through the
years I had lost sight of what I was doing here on this earth. My judgments
came back in, my personality in all it’s glory flared up and took over. There
were obvious changes in my life that could be directly linked to my first deep
spiritual consciously spiritual experience, but I had diverged. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ten years after my initial experience, I
started praying. I started asking for guidance and I promised I would
surrender. Life opened up to me in many wonderful ways and I trusted the life
process. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">About 3 years later I started getting
little snipbits of guidance. Little images came to mind, as if adding depth to
understanding. I started seeing things
in several layers. Nothing seemed one dimentional. Not just in a knowing
in my mind, but a feeling in my body. As I began to listen and take notice to
all of the information revealing itself to me, life started to speed up. It’s
like the voltage of my experience doubled and extended way past my known
parameters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometime I didn’t listen. Sometimes I felt
I couldn’t. And then one day I learnt my lesson.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was in a Jesuit Church, about ten minutes
walk from my apartment. I ‘m not sure how or why I was there. I just popped in
and began to pray in the chapel. I remember a statue of Jesus there but it didn’t matter really what was
there, it was a place where I could pray and not be disturbed. I prayed, dear
God, dear God, please show me the way. Please please please Thy will be done. I
throw myself down and I let Your goodness shine in me.’ Something along these
lines. I prayed so that I cried and felt emptied out and full of my own
goodness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I passed a gypsy woman begging at the steps
and I smiled at her. I felt great. Full of myself. And not more than ten steps
later, I saw a woman shaking her little girl. The girl was about 3 years old.
The mother had obviously lost all reason and was verging on hysteria. The
girl’s head was being thrown about and the mother was shouting at her. And I
heard the voice ‘Go and pick up the little girl’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every part of me recoiled. I glanced around
the park. There were about 8 people there, all ignoring the mother and
daughter. I looked back at the scene. ‘I can’t.’ ‘Go and pick up the girl.’ At
this stage the little girl was on the ground crying and the mother was yelling
at her. All I could feel was deep humiliation
at the thought of interfering. I even said ‘why are you doing this to me? How
can I, I who can not touch another human without bracing myself, how can I go
and touch a stranger in the midst of their confusion?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then I heard ‘if you don’t go you will
regret it’. It was not a threat. It was a statement. The voice was emotionless.
It was just a voice. I recalled that not
more than two minutes ago I was on my knees in a Church praying for guidance
and here I was, saying no to a direct command. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was ashamed of myself and my weakness and
my will hardened enough to pluck up the courage to go over there. In actual
fact, the thought of it was much worse than the actual doing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I walked over and picked the little girl up
off the floor. She stopped crying instantly. The woman spoke in Spanish, and I
could only understand part of her story, but it didn’t matter in the least. I
wasn’t judging her. I wasn’t there to tell her or teach her anything. I was
purely there because I had to be there. Nothing else. I had no personal agenda,
no motivation, no reason to be there. And it was perfect as it was. I don’t
know what happened to the family afterwards, and honestly, it doesn’t matter.
If I was helpful or not is beside the point of just being where you are suppose
to be, when you are suppose to be there. Simple. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, we are so afraid of ‘blindly
following’, and I don’t mean that at all. There is choice in any given moment.
But what is your choice based on? Fear? Shame? Desire? What will they think?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This deep surrender truly takes practice.
It’s a way to know yourself deeply, to know what you are afraid of in this
world, and to help you answer the question Myss puts to us ‘what is competing
with God?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In this instance my resistance was within
my physical body. I recognized my dislike of touch. I have never really enjoyed hugging or
touching others and like many an empath, I have spent a lot of time alone,
purely to be away from the maddening crowd. It’s just too much information, and
when you are young and inexperienced empaths tend to confuse the information
they are picking up from others as their own turmoil, often leading to
instability. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My physical body recoiled from the idea of
touching a screaming stranger. Of inserting myself into a scene that I have
always avoided like it was the plague. I was going to break a social norm.
Generally speaking it is not encouraged to come between a mother and her child.
I don’t think I have ever seen it before. I was shy. To follow the will of God,
and yes, the voice was indifferent, emotionless and held the weight of ‘sure
knowing’ that rung with the truth of Divine Guidance, I would have to break my
comfort zone, I would have to break a social norm and I would have to do it all
without concern for the people in the park staring at us. And it was horrible
and liberating and humbling. Thy will really did know better than mine. I
walked away, not full of myself, not feeling joy and greatness, I walked away
feeling crushed, humble and in a space of not knowing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-31343801267283530462017-07-24T22:35:00.000+02:002017-07-24T22:35:00.192+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part fourteen <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Acts of Surrender<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Surrender is not just a physical action, it
is also surrendering of ideas and beliefs as they arise. I had trouble
accepting images that arose in meditation. On the one hand I was working deeply
with ‘Thy will be done’ and on the other, when something arose that I didn’t
like, I was quick to shift focus and project something else.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">During a full week I rejected the image of
Jesus in my meditation. I had asked specifically for a symbol of love and
devotion, and I fully expected a Buddha like figure or a Kuan Yin to appear. I
was horrified by the image of Jesus in while robes standing in front of me with his arms out in
a welcoming gesture. Jesus? Impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Impossible no. Finally, remembering what I
was doing, and recalling that I was humbly accepting guidance, not getting what
I wanted, I allowed the image of Jesus
and all that appeared to me to manifest. After Jesus there were other images of
famous avatars but Jesus is still the
one that has the power to enter directly into heart contact on the mere mention
of his name. As a side note, one of the funny things about living in Spain is
that you can actually ‘poke’ Jesus if you have one as a friend on facebook. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-29242943911603148492017-07-17T22:33:00.000+02:002017-07-17T22:33:04.928+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part 13 <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I should mention again that I didn’t dress
God. It didn’t look like anything. It was everything, deep inside all things,
but it didn’t have substance in itself. God didn’t look like Jesus to me.
Actually, if anything, I distrusted these images. Like many Westerners
searching for spiritual support, I looked towards the less familiar and less
criticized East for role models and images that were not tainted by the
Church’s stories of greed, power and corruption. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had no tradition. I didn’t come from a
religion. And the first great visitation I had was a great thick dark snake
like being that came in the night. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Release and surrender are only words until
you apply them. I remember lying on my bed with the sensation of this huge
being wrapped around my legs and moving in deep inside my spirit body. I was
terrified. I felt pinned to the bed. But, I could feel it was not threatening
me. I had never been consciously entered into in this way before. I
concentrated on my breathing. I relaxed as much as I could. I prayed to God for
protection, if I needed it, and all I knew was the need to surrender to this
entity. As I began to relax my muscles and to breathe at a slower rate, I
noticed a sensation deep down near my tailbone. And I lay there stunned. She
was cleaning me. Licking my spiritual body like a lioness washing her cub. I
felt shock, gratitude, humility in a flash and I continued to breathe as calmly
as I could. The next day I felt my root chakra for the first time in
meditation. I didn’t need a group, or a country or a family to stimulate it.
What I had was an emissary of the earth mother herself to call my root into
consciousness. I was at home when I connected consciously to the earth, no
matter where I was in the world. I was a blessed, root active nomad who could
lay her roots where she chose. I felt blessed, loved, chosen. Chosen for what?
Who knew? I certainly didn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, how do you talk about giant
snakes coming out of the earth and licking your root chakra awake? I sounded
bonkers, even to myself. I had to surrender the last piece of concern I had
about what ‘they’ might say or think about me. It was time to fully embrace the
knowledge that I was being given. For a reason I don’t know, I was being called
upon to wake up and to be true to that process. To engage with it and to speak
my truth when the time was appropriate. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember sitting with my mother and step
father, my partner and my son and finally speaking about how I felt about God,
what I saw, what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, and trying to be as
honest as possible. It was difficult to speak these things out loud. But I did it, and much to their credit, they
all supported me with a smile and wished me well for the future. I haven’t
looked back since. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I gave up pretending to be ‘normal’ or
caring about what ‘normal’ was. I gave up lying to myself and to others. I
spoke the truth, when asked or propelled and I didn’t consider the consequences
to my future, to my relationship or to other’s opinions. I surrendered to my
self to the path that was chosen for me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-39347223398637907792017-07-10T22:32:00.000+02:002017-07-10T22:32:08.056+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part twelve <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the Subject of Thy Will<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The study of life really does seem to be a
study of what gets in the way of God’s will. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How have I felt God’s will – the act of
surrender<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stories of Surrender<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For many years I had been playing with the
Lord’s prayer and mumbling ‘thy will be done’ half heartedly. I really didn’t
want God’s will done at all. For goodness sake, I knew better than that. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mentioned before that my parents were
atheists. My father’s parents were a mixture of Chinese, Welsh, English and
Scottish. My father, taught me the Lord’s Prayer, as a sort of safety device I
guess. I remember, as a small girl, reciting the Lord’s prayer before bed. And
at the same time, God was never discussed in a serious manner. Jesus in
particular was the butt of many jokes and believers were given no quarter.
Thinking about it, from an adult’s point of view, I can’t imagine why my father
would teach the prayer to me at all. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used to say it to myself as a kind of
goodnight mantra, right up into my teen years. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I spent years facing my demons – living
them out – women, the physical body, …. Learning about them…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One day, when I was 25, I was in in deep
meditation and I heard a voice say ‘Tiffany, come here.’ And I was so terrified
that I stopped meditating. I looked at myself and saw that I was in a highly
dysfunctional state. With the language I have now, I would say that my top two
chakras were vibrantly open, but the rest were firmly unconscious and
underdeveloped. I went on a crusade to ground myself in the physical body. And
I did it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After years or focusing on the physical
body and achieving in the physical world, I felt ready to return awareness to
meditation and my spiritual body. I started immediately seeing colours, feeling
vibrations, seeing the white glow around alive bodies, trees, mountains. And I
knew it was time to invoke the spirit into my heart and mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had to face the word ‘God’ again. I had
to align my feelings with words and culture. I felt, as always, alone, apart
from books. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While sitting in meditation, I was often
guided in my asana practice. My body moved itself into position, my hands
formed mudras I have never studied and I saw positions I was to practice. I saw
images of angels, guides and symbols that helped open up my awareness to the
spirit body. And my main practice became surrender.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I returned to my home country
Australia, I focused on my weakest chakra, the root. I had never been able to
feeling it at all. I had suffered sciatic pain in my right leg years ago, had
been hit by a car that literally dinted in my right thigh when I was a teenager
and had led a wander’s life since I was born. I didn’t identify as Australian,
I didn’t feel at home in my family, I didn’t have a group that I felt
comfortable in. I was highly developed individually and totally alien in a
group. I avoided groups and distrusted them. I needed to develop roots.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s when I met a giant dark snake. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-80604280634173499542017-07-03T22:30:00.000+02:002017-07-03T22:30:14.455+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part eleven <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">On the Subject of My Buddha Burning<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I remember sitting, stunned, on the sofa.
Blank. Even then, even in this moment of clearing and loss, I felt a greater
presence than myself reminding me of what I already knew. No image or statue of
a Buddha was more important than the teaching and practice of what the Buddha
stood for. My <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">clutching hands could not hold the essence of the Buddha. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don’t know what was driving me. I’m not
sure why I wanted to find it or really what I was looking for. Even thinking
about it makes me feel stupid somehow. But I was searching for The perfect
Buddha to take home from my travels in Thailand. We’d been travelling for
months around South East Asia, visiting temples, sacred places, tourist hot
spots, ancient Buddhist communities, killing grounds. I didn’t buy a lot of
things, but once in Thailand I started to crave the perfect Buddha and the
perfect set of prayer beads. I searched in every shop we went past, in every
market.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In some big touristy warehouse I found the
one I wanted. Its skin was white and it had on a purple robe. It was made of
wood. I loved it. All of the statues were slightly different, but this one is
the one that I had been waiting for. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We wrapped it well, bought another back
pack for it, and lugged it around with us until we finally returned to
Barcelona. I have a yoga/meditation/puja room. I take classes in this room and
I had a little altar on it with my Buddha, my prayer beads, some of my
favourite crystals and some incense. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One day I came home to the smell of smoke
in the apartment. I couldn’t discover where the smell was coming from at first,
but I realized that it was from behind the closed door of the yoga room. I
thought quickly, grabbed the closest blanket like thing I could find (beautiful
hand picked shawls from India) and opened the door. There was only smoke. There
wasn’t a fire as such, more of a slow ember burning for 6 hours in a room with
almost no air. I opened the windows, threw the shawls over the altar (it must
have been incense I’d forgotten and left burning that fell onto the cloth,
there is no other logical explanation)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was a lot of smoke. There was no
physical danger. It was dirty, with ash and dust everywhere. Neighbours called
the fire brigade and police also came to see what the problem was. It was quickly
established that I had everything under control. However, the firemen did throw
buckets of water over the altar and then proceeded to walk everywhere leaving a
much greater mess than there was before they arrived. But considering it was
all for the sake of containing fires, one cannot complain about ash being
walked through the hall, I guess. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I started cleaning, I would be cleaning for
weeks to get the smell of smoke out of the house, and discovered most of my
most precious religious tokens broken, cracked from heat, stained black, burnt
up and my beloved perfect Buddha with half an arm missing and half his face
charred. Not to mention my beloved shawls. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stared at the wet pile of rubbish on the
floor that just a few hours earlier had been the focus of my devotion and
attention. While light started spearing into my head forcing space. I didn’t
want space. I wanted my Buddha back, with this beautiful arms and his white
radiant face. I thought of how I had searched
and searched for it and how we had taken care of it on its way to its new home
and how I had loved it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was left with empty space in my chest. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And just out of mind, just to the back of
the space was a deep sure knowing that this experience was deeply symbolic and
deeply necessary for my ability to let go of another crutch I had grabbed on to
help me on this path of life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn’t need statues, I didn’t need
amulets, I didn’t need prayer beads (beautiful glossy red on white string) at
all and actually, it was, basically, just rubbish in the big scheme of things.
The big lesson. Let it all go. Die before you must die. Stop believing in the
structure of things that look like God. You know better than that. All is
Divine. There are no exceptions. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I called my partner. He was out with
friends and promised to return. He didn’t return for another three hours. He
says he didn’t realize just how important the apartment burning and fire trucks
and police entering our apartment and checking over my passport and pending
residential status was to my state of mind. It was another loss. I had to give
up thinking that our values were the same. That he would view important life
lessons the same way I did. That he would value me over the group, even though
I knew he was bound to life through his group, not through his individuality,
as I was. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I sat on the sofa, having cleaned what I
could for the moment, and let the shock of unlooked for loss settle in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Again, there was nothing. God was no and
all structure. God was in no thing and in all things. I knew this, but I was
not living it. But then I remembered that I had entered into a sure contract to
live through all that I must, to enhance understanding, compassion and to
embrace humanity. From the deep levels and prolonged exposure to my own hate that I had experienced as a child and
teen I had forged patterns of judgment and criticism that boarded on plain
self-righteous arrogance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every time I tripped up I won deeper
insight into the nature of human being. I could not judge those if I had lived
in their shoes. I had experienced the deep need to covet something of value and
to hold my own ‘precious’, and I had experienced the loss of it, and I could
sit there, on my sofa, and laugh, without humour, to myself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">God is not within the white body of a
perfectly clad wooden statue. But at the same time, God was in the burning of
his arm and the blackening of his face. And to this day I have my blackened and
burnt Buddha sitting at the end of my hallway beside an arm long banner painted
with ‘Awake’ – Buddha! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What better way to teach a lesson? </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-48141028323564637962017-06-29T22:28:00.000+02:002017-06-29T22:28:40.173+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part ten <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">In retrospect<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Without the inherent belief that my father
was the be all and end all of my life, without the crashing of this pattern,
without the void that was left in its place, there was no space for more. The
cup must be partly empty to pour more into it. I needed to believe and to
suffer the breaking of my illusion and to recover and discover what was really
there, before the belief. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Conscious and unconscious awakening… the
difference<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Lovingly embracing consciousness (like a
child)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-86405294980349975362017-06-26T22:27:00.000+02:002017-06-26T22:27:08.913+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part nine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With Every Loss There is a Gain<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These Losses were giant foundation stones
deeply embedded in the building of me. Their excavation left me capable of
seeing clearer than I had before. And yet, at the same time, there were little
subtle and invasive beliefs that surfaced through the years under different
experiences. Some of them were quite painful to let go of, and some of them
could be released by purely being aware of their existence. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the hardest sensations I had to let
go of was the subtle feeling that my value of truth, holding truth as a beacon
of light and assuming it was the highest goal of all, was only that- a value.
That blindly holding onto Truth as the sword of light was not necessarily kind,
considerate or of value to others. It was not a golden rule set in stone written
down by God. It was indeed, after careful searching, only a value. A value that
I didn’t even know I possessed until I suddenly saw the effects my insensitive
insistence of truth was having around me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember lying on the green banks of lake
Mjosa and facing my truth and my path and realizing one had to go. I could not
continue to live honestly if I held so tightly onto truth. And I allowed the
value to drop from my body, and I cried again. I had thought it was me. I felt
a part of my personality, what I had identified as myself, fall away into the
earth. It was a death, again. A deep loss. And a great space. And freedom in
that death. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s not what you look like…. Levels of
awareness .. the need to express physically what you know in your mind…</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-44777117547954817362017-06-19T22:25:00.000+02:002017-06-19T22:25:13.162+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part eight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Loss of ‘The One’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ever since I was a little girl, I, along
with countless others, was trained to believe that there would be a ‘one’. If you asked me straight to my face, I would
have to say no, it’s not sane, I don’t believe that, and yet, in actual fact,
when the situation arose, I have to say, I finally thought ‘ahh, now, here is
the end of my search.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Please remember at this point in time, that
I am someone who at a relatively young age lost what she thought was her belief
system, only to find that there were still beliefs to be lost. The angst of
knowing better and yet being pulled along by a force so much stronger than I
could bear mingled with every stage of grief.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was love at first sight. I have never
experienced it before and have never experienced it again. A certain knowing
that he was ‘the one’. A figure so unlike what I might be attracted to, and yet
a face known and recorded deep in my mind from a time past that I have no
recollection of it. Yes, it felt like destiny. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After countless misunderstandings and a
myriad of disappointments, I let him go to a barrage of tears and sudden
aging. Lines appeared where there had
been none before. Skin sagged and for the first time in my life, I looked my
age. But I prayed. I trusted the will of the Universe. I waited.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A year passed until I heard from him again.
And this time, I felt the strong urge in my body that said we were destined to
be together and at the same moment, it didn’t command me. I was not swayed by
it. I was patient, watchful, and part of me was healthily indifferent. Non
attached. It felt different than ever before. I was not a victim to the
overpowering flow of feeling. I experienced it, but I was not it. It was a
significant moment that I remember clearly. Being rooted in the observer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And even after the words ‘I think I have
misjudged you’ I did not flutter in hope. I saw clearly into the fear and
confusion in his own mind and I knew that it was not to be. He called later
with suspicion and his own delusion fully intact and I let my ‘the one’ go. I
shed no tears. And indeed, it was a relief. It was another illusion that I had
passed through, and this time I was getting the hang of it, understanding the
feel of emotion in the body and its influence on the mind. I’d had time to
absorb it all and learn from it, and to repeat the experience from a different
foundation. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-85262787437770308952017-06-12T22:23:00.000+02:002017-06-12T22:23:07.127+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part seven <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Integration<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It seems that I didn’t truly die. The old
ideas, the old me slowly came back and reformed about the body I was in. I
became a ‘me’ again. I never truly
believed the stories, as I did before this grand awakening experience, but I
have been blinded at times by the power of my patterns. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After the first initial break I started the
long slow work of digging up the foundation stones of what I believed I was. I
worked arduously, vigilantly and with continual dedication. I faced loss after
loss. I held moments of clarity so bright it felt as though there was no going
back, and then finding myself
suddenly tripping on another layer of
stone work a little deeper than the one before. Very well then. The sun does
not rise all at once. It takes it’s time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(And even this, ‘it takes time’ is a belief
that needs careful scrutiny and is addressed accordingly in Myss’s Defy
Gravity.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was 14 when I was left with my
grandparents. I saw children as a burden. I saw them as annoying, cloying
creatures that ate into your ‘real’ time. I certainly was not bought up to
think of myself as a mother and I was not a female who was interested in
children in any way shape or form. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Imagine my surprise when I discovered I was
pregnant! At 28 I looked at the plastic stick with the blue markings and
straight into the eyes of Responsibility and said I do. From that moment
forward, I found myself wrapped in duty towards my unborn child, regardless of
what those responsibilities meant to myself. I turned to my partner of three
years and committed myself to a ‘family’ with all that it meant to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know what is coming. The loss of my
ideals. The second great crash of my belief system, after the loss of my father,
was the loss of the ‘ideal family’. I
promised myself that no child of mine would grow up like I did. There wouldn’t
be lies, secrets, strange rules, drugs, instability or confusion. There would
be love, support, two stable parents, honesty, hugs and more ‘I love you’s’
than a child could count. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before my son’s second birthday I was a
single working mother in a foreign country. My son was handed between the
kindergarten, a baby sitter and the Japanese family I lived beside. I came home
one day to my son speaking Japanese better than I could and calling the woman
of the house grandmother and I realized, perhaps erroneously, that I needed to
get the hell out of there. I didn’t know the smallest thing about my son. I was
too busy feeling depressed, alone, victimised and confused. I was suffering the
death blow to my family values. The ideal family was pure fiction inside of my
head. What I had was exactly what I didn’t want. And I was still alive and
thriving and in retrospect, better off than I had been before. I had support,
money and care for my child. But I couldn’t see it at all. I was only feeling
the death toll of another belief system. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The father did not exist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The family did not exist. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I was soon to find out, ‘the one’ did
not exist.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-23213361049034341512017-06-05T10:00:00.000+02:002017-06-05T10:00:11.856+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part six <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is part of a novella. You can go straight to the beginning here, or go back to the previous post here. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Loss of the belief that there was no God</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Journey of the Magi ts eliot</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the first thoughts that entered my
head was but, how am I going to tell my mother? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were brought up atheists. My family
laughed at God and made bad Jesus jokes. People who ‘believed’, people who went
to Church, people who changed their behaviour to comply with religious beliefs
were all subject to ridicule for their blatant stupidity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And here I was, suddenly, with no rational
means to explain what had happened to me, what I felt and saw, what shifted
inside of me, and what it meant to my life. I lost all connection to people
around me who thought in the old way. I lost connection to the old ideas I had.
There was no way to follow back along the tracks when the storm had utterly
destroyed them in its wake. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I lost interest in the things I used to be
interested in. I didn’t care for the music I used to like. I stopped what
little interest in fashion I had. I cared nothing for my hair or face. I was
only interested in discovering a way to fit back into society with the
experience that I had had. I lost
contact points with everyone around me. I was anchor-less and felt I had no
guidance. I was not mature or knowledgeable or confident enough dwell with all
that I had. My mind had already taken over and I was reborn. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was 21, my life wiped away in a flash,
and I had no purpose whatsoever. But
there was God and the existence of the All in all things and that was that. And
for a very short time, that was enough.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-86498752993412376782017-05-29T10:56:00.000+02:002017-05-29T10:56:06.718+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part five <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Rebuilding </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Slowly, I started to reform myself. I
started the inevitable building of myself around this body. I reviewed the past
through washed eyes and I wrote letters of forgiveness and apology. And I knew, in the depth of my being, that
God existed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">God being within and part of all things.
God being All. No thing exists without God. God as alive, awake and Life
itself. A no thing and yet, a some thing that lies within the core of every
thing. One is not different from another. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I realized that because of the enclosed
shell of hate, fear and unhappiness I had built around myself I had cut myself off from the human
experience. I was judgmental, critical and arrogant. I couldn’t find a point of
connection with humanity. Humanity was, for
me, a great mistake. I had believed that humans were basically evil.
They lied, betrayed, killed, stole, cheated and were selfish to the core. I had
watched the news as a teenager and felt that the world was about to explode
with human stupidity at any moment. To maintain any level of sanity, I had to
dissassoiate myself from being human. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After my awakening experience, I made a vow</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-8954945227553468792017-05-22T21:27:00.000+02:002017-05-22T21:27:06.347+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned- part four <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>This is part of a novella. You can go straight to <a href="http://patheya.blogspot.com.es/2017/05/the-day-my-buddha-burned-introduction.html" target="_blank">the beginning here</a>, or <a href="http://patheya.blogspot.com/2017/05/the-day-my-buddha-burned-part-three.html" target="_blank">go back to previous exert here</a>.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvoKl0gl4waMZ95Mu4p8IIjzkY03IQooqz-VLD2QtpTaUAaVjhFW3b_BUKBpv4_mH1QCkk9SzyfzYJYbcCvE5EId3LvYJ_cGxRow2DlEK-oqqgFMSAo5NjJ970cnT-fEKO-gsECsb070/s1600/PC160902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvoKl0gl4waMZ95Mu4p8IIjzkY03IQooqz-VLD2QtpTaUAaVjhFW3b_BUKBpv4_mH1QCkk9SzyfzYJYbcCvE5EId3LvYJ_cGxRow2DlEK-oqqgFMSAo5NjJ970cnT-fEKO-gsECsb070/s320/PC160902.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>A Light </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At 21 I lived for almost a year as a
caretaker of a farm. I wrote, gardened, took care of dogs, inquired into life
and forgot about the world out there. I needed to get away from people. I
needed to escape from the noise in my own head. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One day, walking the dogs, the dried up
grass gold on the ground, Light struck the top of my head, changing my vision
for ever. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For three days and three nights I was only
light. My vision was clear, my body was nonexistent and I saw beneath the
surface. The top of my head was aglow, burning bright and beyond. And I
experienced, without doubt, down into the cells of my body, out into the
apparent differences in shape and form that we were indeed, all One. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I saw underneath the apparent surface, everything was made up of similar ‘stuff’. This stuff infused all things,
including air, and the space between things. There was no here, there was just
everywhere that existed in one moment. Up close and far away were the same.
Just ever increasing expression of shapes and colours. But we were all the same
stuff. Glowing alive magical stuff. </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Loss</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I lost my centre. I lost who I thought I
was. Everything was washed away with a light so bright it penetrated every
aspect of my previous self. There was no
me. There was only light.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Loss of identity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Loss of ideas. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Loss of beliefs. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Loss of ambition. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Loss of purpose. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Loss of all the things that came together
to make me ‘me’. It was gone. There was nothing, at least for those three days.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Read more</span></div>
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Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-79263500088346810492017-05-15T10:00:00.000+02:002017-05-15T10:00:02.601+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - part three<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboE4zBQ9SS7ihwYszBaS6FgOz34n2-8038o69WA79inMRFRkh169apZR3kBFlZAaAP9CS7drTO0DqAcV2ME4BNMkjAOri1ULQx8KUY5WPOAY46jxs1JNvrjNlNHP6q2u5Z7MtnF_hVUU/s1600/Storm+Rolling+In.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboE4zBQ9SS7ihwYszBaS6FgOz34n2-8038o69WA79inMRFRkh169apZR3kBFlZAaAP9CS7drTO0DqAcV2ME4BNMkjAOri1ULQx8KUY5WPOAY46jxs1JNvrjNlNHP6q2u5Z7MtnF_hVUU/s320/Storm+Rolling+In.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://patheya.blogspot.com.es/2017/05/the-day-my-buddha-burned-part-two.html" target="_blank">Part Two</a> </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘Wounded, abandoned, orphaned<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How many of you value the ability to think
independently? … to feel like you’ve taken the lead… <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Archetypically '… gods say to you.. pursue a` reality… that is
independent…’ Jesus’s contract… by getting you strong enough to see, you need
to be born into a family that doesn’t want you.’<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Caroline Myss</span></span><br />
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">‘Sometimes it feels painful, but I promise
you, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">the effort of feeling and <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">allowing feeling,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">is
like discovering gold.’<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">- Tiffany Jones</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of course I cried. I cried bitterly. I was
angry and confused. I felt abandoned and set adrift. I was left where I was not
wanted and I felt defiant to the last.
‘Let everyone suffer.’ I couldn’t
go beyond that. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was my 14th summer. Some weeks earlier I had been dropped off at my
grandmother’s house with the promise that my father and step-mother would come
pick me up in a week. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is a phone call I remember etched with
detail; the beige telephone in my left hand, looking into the brightness of the
old fashioned kitchen, my right fingers entangled in the spiralling telephone
cord, the cold bench I leaned upon, the noise from the small TV behind me, the
greasy scalp of my grandfather near my elbow. I was conscious of his withdrawal
and active internal world and knew he wasn’t listening to my responses. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My step mother told me, over the telephone,
that she and my father hadn’t had enough alone time. They had been together for
seven years and they had been surrounded by children; children from their
previous relationships. They had decided
I was to live with my grandparents, and they weren’t coming back. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My father, for the first and last time said
‘I love you’, over the telephone. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All I could feel was a rush of fury towards
my step-mother, coldness quickly followed and then raging disbelief. I remember
saying ‘OK’. I remember being obedient. I remember hanging up the phone and
living through those hours in front my grandparents as if everything was
alright. When I went to the fold out bed set up in the ‘best’ lounge room where
nobody ever sat, I turned my face to the pillow and screamed with rage and
frustration and hate. And I cried bitterly.
And I promised myself not to be hurt again. And to do that, I needed to
hate. And that’s what I did. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>On the Subject of Loss</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On that day, over 25 years ago, I lost my
father. I lost everything he meant to me. I lost trust, faith and protection. I
lost my idealisation. I lost one of the foundation stones of my belief
system. I lost a story. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had been a daddy’s girl. He had special
rules. He was a thief and a conman. He stole for a living and he was paranoid
and difficult to live with. He was also charming, personable and he was the
only rule in my life. There were rules
for the inside of the house. There was another set of rules for outside of the house. There were
things we didn’t mention. There were things we didn’t talk about. Intuition was
important and valued. Reading people was important. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Life drained out of me. Everything that had
sustained me thus far in my life, my belief in my father, was taken away from
me. I felt as though I didn’t have anything left. It was certainly death for
me. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Between 14 and 18 I had the most stable
environment I had experienced in my life. I slept in the same bed for four
years. I ate at regular hours. I had a grandmother who cared for me and asked
me how school was. I had a grandfather
who drove me places. I made friends. And I was festering with self-loathing,
bitterness, rage and despair. By 17 I was suffering severe migraines and was on
daily medication to cope with the pain. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At 20, for no apparent reason, I suffered
sciatica so severely I was sometimes unable to walk. Doctors couldn’t find a
reason. Massage and osteopaths didn’t help. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had cut off my relationships with my high
school friends. I felt like my life was a huge lie. I had never spoken about my
father’s lifestyle to anyone. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Once outside of the structure of high
school and the assumption of University for a bright girl like myself, I was
lost. I didn’t know what to do. I was continually suffering rage, hatred, fear
and confusion. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I decided to move to the country. And I
did. I needed to get away from the maddening crowd. I needed to find answers. </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-50723808006140822142017-05-08T10:00:00.000+02:002017-05-09T17:48:25.997+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - Part Two<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlc6LQzm75SfRhORxnciPH0OQoxHjI782FAHrxV7pupZBNXZU0pCIeGValxg8AcDhYbNLSWu1MEEBnqPQxB1E4qeCnQ0O5KKhHVB1pCL4wXJviNqQMa5heVl5Z-plhH0AuYHkgLrQMzjs/s1600/197401+Linda%252C+Tiffany%252C+wendy%252C+Hawthorne%252C+Victoria+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlc6LQzm75SfRhORxnciPH0OQoxHjI782FAHrxV7pupZBNXZU0pCIeGValxg8AcDhYbNLSWu1MEEBnqPQxB1E4qeCnQ0O5KKhHVB1pCL4wXJviNqQMa5heVl5Z-plhH0AuYHkgLrQMzjs/s320/197401+Linda%252C+Tiffany%252C+wendy%252C+Hawthorne%252C+Victoria+-+Copy.jpg" width="191" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here I am holding my big sisters' hands in the early 70's.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is part of a novella. Here is the first exert of <a href="http://patheya.blogspot.com.es/2017/05/the-day-my-buddha-burned-introduction.html" target="_blank">The Day My Buddha Burned </a></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Ideas like Building Blocks</i></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We are like small children with coloured
building blocks. We sit there totally
absorbed in placing one block on top of another and either because we haven’t
placed our blocks well, or because we get fed up, the blocks fall and quite
happily, and without questioning what we are doing at all, we rebuild. We often
rebuild without seeming to learn anything from the last structure we built. We
build without any view to an end point. We build until it collapses. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And then we start again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The coloured building blocks are ideas and
belief systems we individually construct within the walls of our minds. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We are all born with the building blocks
before us. Some of the ideas we build are based on the blueprints handed down
to us by our family, friends, society, culture and country, and others are drawn
up in direct consequence of what we have perceived as positive/protective
responses to life’s events. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Deconstruction and re-planning occur in the
teenage years when our hormones coupled with an expansion of perception create
some of the biggest conscious changes we have thus far been aware of. Many
people don’t change their mental landscape again until their retirement. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">However, for others, we have been forced by
personality or circumstance, to abandon ideas housed within our minds and
perhaps to put up temporary structures to aid us in different moments in life.
Perhaps some of us can even be called nomads, resting in easily constructed
rooms for comfort and being able to adapt according to the changing seasons. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ve written down some of the changes to my
thinking in the past 40 years. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7915136864712629878.post-73274457876830086552017-05-02T15:30:00.002+02:002017-05-04T16:19:30.536+02:00The Day My Buddha Burned - Introduction <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>I've been writing this short novel for several years. This is the first instalment. You're welcome to leave comments.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGKSDu-m_qzQOvupL4-BX3lGCyviVfCoUbQmZVAFOR62ksY8EROtVtXk9rctQuvLbmeXHDrl6aMuVI_Rjzgpg6PKdKaR1z7Dbip5lIZvEso3IomMFQZ9Bq4r5BQevJaEEi1CC76cOZFU/s1600/PC130314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGKSDu-m_qzQOvupL4-BX3lGCyviVfCoUbQmZVAFOR62ksY8EROtVtXk9rctQuvLbmeXHDrl6aMuVI_Rjzgpg6PKdKaR1z7Dbip5lIZvEso3IomMFQZ9Bq4r5BQevJaEEi1CC76cOZFU/s320/PC130314.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am writing in my journal on a train in India, 2007</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This sacred journey through life hits upon
moments of intensity that we know are special, different, as if they’ve been
dabbed with a fluorescent marker, to stand out as important. I’ve written down
a few.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I do believe we’re here to take another
step or two further along the pilgrimage of our soul’s journey. The sacred centers are
those moments that stand out high and above the normal every day scenery and
represent moments of clarity, of learning, of wisdom, choice, power. They are the
sacred centers of our life and sometimes we are so obviously shaken out of the
normal, we know we are in vibrant times, though sometimes we only recognise them
in the hindsight.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This book is dedicated, with love.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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The second part of <a href="http://patheya.blogspot.com/2017/05/the-day-my-buddha-burned-part-two.html" target="_blank">The Day My Buddha Burned</a>.</div>
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Tiffany at Patheyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17730314322737054299noreply@blogger.com0