A DIFFERENT STREET

by D’Elle Milton

If we choose to remain in our old patterns once we realize the detrimental results or self-sabotage required to do so, we have essentially given up on ourselves. No amount of another's effort, faith, comfort or support will alter this behavior. Excuses abound and will always be readily available. Familiarity, safety, brokenness and just plain 'failure' are all wonderful caves of self-comfort available to those who choose to stay locked into their pain.  

It is a valid choice . . . no one has the right to take that away from anyone else. Perhaps it is a karmic debt or retribution for past sins. Whatever our justification, we have the incredible ability to become self-righteous in our suffering.  

The first steps out of our self-created hell can be the most difficult ever attempted. Breaking through the membrane of self-hatred and doubt takes strength and courage we may not choose to access. Whatever our decision, there is only the truth left at the center of our experience of life. That is the mirror we face at the moment of transition. When confronted with the various points of choice that were pivotal in the direction of the life we created, the moment of truth confronts us all....   I fell, I rose, I fell again.... the next step is either accept defeat or choose a different road.   

Portia Nelson said it perfectly in her poem, Autobiography in Five Short Chapters:

Chapter 1

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the street.

I fall in, I am lost . . . I am hopeless.

It isn't my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter 2

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don't see it. I fall in again.

I can't believe I am in the same place.

But it isn't my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter 3

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it there.

I still fall in . . . it's a habit . . . but, my eyes are open.

I know where I am.

It's my fault.

I get out immediately.

Chapter 4

I walk down the same street.

there is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

Chapter 5

I walk down a different street.

D’Elle Milton, a founding member of TR1BE global, is also a teacher, facilitator, and writer on meta-physical topics. Her extensive travels as a singer-songwriter has helped develop her vision for a truly expansive conscious community.

We Are Our Stories

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We are our stories. We carve them in stone, we repeat them in our minds like a mantra, they become the fortress that is the "truth" of our life. We allow others to see us through the prism of our stories, told and repeated over decades. Indeed, this prism is the lens through which we see and understand ourselves. These stories, carefully packaged and ever ready to display, are borne throughout our existence. Yet in spite of new experiences offering us a depth and subtle shading to our perspective, our stories often remain frozen in the moment they were honed. Our understanding of the world is formed and reformed, but rarely do these self-defining stories change in the face of new experiences, new information.

The whole purpose of storytelling -- whether on a date, around the table with friends, or over the phone staying in touch with family -- is to help others understand how we think of ourselves and our place in this universe. Most of us have a catalog of stories that we go to for a given situation. These stories are the ones carved in stone. They reveal everything about us: where we're stuck, how we've evolved, our biases and desires. The epic stories we tell repeatedly: that Bad Relationship, the Unfair Divorce, that Life Changing Car Accident, of Graduating From College, or Why I Don't Talk to (fill in the blank) Anymore, are just stories frozen in time. Rarely do we bring them forward to examine in the light of new awareness, new perspectives, or evolved consciousness.

The downside of never reexamining the stories through a lens of hard-earned insights is that we remain forever in that fortress constructed from lower conscious beliefs. This realignment is a step beyond the exercise of recognizing the gift or lesson of a particular situation, or "seeing the pony," as one friend describes it. By tearing apart and rewriting a story that supports your awareness in this moment changes the way that you present yourself to yourself and, by extension, to the world. As we become aware of new ways of thinking (apropos of Maya Angelou's maxim, "When you know better, do better"), part of doing better is re-understanding our life stories with that new knowing.

In a recent conversation with a friend, an authentic and curious woman who firmly walks the path of awareness and higher consciousness, she told me a story about why she didn't get into Stanford and went to a UC school instead which, in her mind, was a tragedy. Her story described uninvolved parents, a (private) school advisor who unfairly wrote a mediocre recommendation letter, as well as a series of other unfortunate events that were supposedly out of her control. As we talked about the circumstances around her story called "Not Getting Into Stanford," which I had heard on several occasions, I asked questions with genuine curiosity. Her story telling was so completely at odds with her current state of consciousness, of taking full responsibility for her actions, that I was confused by it. When reminded of the principles that guide her day-to-day life, this carved-in-stone tale began to crumble. There was some resistance, some victim consciousness arose, but as she used her evolved awareness of how the universe works, she slowly began seeing and describing the event quite differently. Not only did the story change, she realized that where she went to school had been the best possible place for her. By releasing outdated versions of how she described her life, she allowed a forward momentum to take over and move her closer to her best self. She even reached out to the advisor on whom she had bestowed so much unfair angst over the years and apologized.

For many of us who have been on this planet for more than five decades, we have had ample opportunity for our consciousness to expand. Every experience we've had, and will have, is an opportunity to see the world, not through the blinders of ego and victimhood, but through a lens of empowerment and self-awareness. The stories you perpetually tell can either keep you frozen in place, in spite of hard work expanding your consciousness, or they can be re-written and re-understood in the light of awareness. It often is the missing stepstone that someone else needs as well.

The next time you are in meditation or quiet reflection, find one of those carved-in-stone stories. Think about what you know now that your younger self could not understand, what new information you can bring to that story to release it from the past and pull it into the now. This may be uncomfortable and sometimes painful because we are examining dissonance. If discomfort arises, use your breath to move through the physical and emotional sensations. See the feelings as you would thoughts during meditation. As they come into your awareness, recognize and then release them. As the release happens, see what thoughts appear that rewrite the story knowing that the only person that ever needs to hear the revised story is you.

It is often helpful after this exercise to journal the experience. Writing is the best way to make changes in your thinking and incorporate your new understanding of a past event.

Virginia Eaton is a health and fitness coach helping people reorganize priorities.

Contact Virginia via email.

The Giant Sequoias

A recent visit to the Mariposa Grove in Yosemite where the Giant Sequoias still stand, both touched and saddened me. They have existed for more than 2,000 years, weathering fires, earthquakes, logging, oblivious tourists, and who knows what else. Standing before these trees was humbling -- as humans we live an average of 70-90 years. But to these trees, that period of time is a fleck of dust floating by on a summer breeze. They have seen us, our parents, and grandparents come and go as these Giants stand in silent witness to history.

As I sat near these trees and listened for their voices, I felt dizzy with their enormity and dwarfed by what they have seen during their lifetime. If I could share a beer with anyone in history, the consciousness of a Giant Sequoia would be on the list. I sat quietly, picked up a low slow voice that may have been the tree, and felt some of what they felt with tourists scrambling around their roots. For me it was a memorable and touching half hour.

As tourists poured by me, phones in hand, I realized that they had a different agenda while standing before these enormous trees. It seemed their primary objective was to compose their social media photos to impress family and friends. At least one person in every group designated themselves as the director and when so ordered, the party struck their pose. These Giant Sequoias were only the backdrop for the photograph; completely absent was any sense of awe and respect for these Elders. From watching the streams of people moving past some of the most striking scenery, it seemed the purpose of vacations was about creating an enviable snapshot that trumped anyone else's vacation photos.

It appeared to me that the experience of being in Yosemite National Park had little to do with the immensity of nature, the hopeful connection to a reality that is not mediated through a television, iPhone, or other device. Today do we not feel a connection with the giant trees that drew them there from the park map or brochure? As long as the SnapChat or Facebook photo looks good, then all is good, and it's time to move along to the next photo op.

While enjoying Mariposa Grove, I reflected back to the 2017 nightmare of the Railroad Fire. This fire was unique -- it was unstoppable and uncontainable. Panicked residents threw a few belongings into their car and raced for safety. In modern times a natural disaster like this seemed inconceivable, and yet the fires unapologetically raged. Technology be damned, nature had her pound of flesh: 45 people died, more than 12,000 acres were scorched beyond recognition. But while most people fled and animals scattered, the trees were locked in place. Mariposa Grove within the Park's borders were mostly untouched. However, the inferno ravaged a stand of ancient, immense Sequoia trees in an area called Shadow of the Giants outside of Nelder Grove.

The Shadow of the Giants was one of those special semi-secret spots where Oakhurst locals knew to send their friends and family. It was a magical place with trees that literally spanned millennia. Since it was outside Yosemite, crowds were nonexistent. You could commune with and hug the trees to your heart's content. But to get there, you had to drive through a neighborhood and into the hills that led to the mountains. You had to know where to turn to find this hidden place. For the lucky few who did, WOW! The trees could have inspired one of J.R.R. Tolkien's stories; and if you were there for more than the photo op, you felt the magic that weaved a spell along the creek and through the grove. Lay your hands on the trees and they would speak, lean against them and they would lean back against you. You could glimpse how a being that lived 3,500 years might see the world.

But fire trumped time, cared not for antiquity, and raged through the stand of trees. Those who had been to that area couldn't believe the Giant Ones were gone, burnt beyond recovery.

Walking near the Shadow of the Giants now is like walking a Civil War battlefield. The dead are still present, their shells stand blackened and empty. In odd juxtaposition, wild flowers in epic bloom are running along the creek that fed the enormous trees. But the ancient ones are gone and sadness wraps my heart.

Out of my pocket I took a Sequoia seed cone that I had picked up in the Mariposa Grove and gave it a hopeful toss in the direction of the creek. It may not catch in the soil and may not become a seedling, a sapling, a Giant. But the seed cone of a Sequoia offers hope. Maybe, just maybe it will root, grow, reach for the sun and become like its predecessors. Life is ever hopeful, otherwise what is the point?

Virginia Eaton is a health and fitness coach helping people reorganize priorities.

Contact Virginia via email.