Category: Polly Hansen

I was in the checkout line at the grocery store the other day. The young girl working the register and the old guy bagging my groceries were engaged in a chatty conversation. Every once in a while, the guy would hold my can of tomatoes or jar of almond butter poised for several seconds before carefully placing it in the cloth bag I had brought with me. The girl at the register would slowly reach for the next item while she considered her response to his comment as if she was carefully listening to him while at the same time trying to do her job. I thought, Could they possibly move any slower? Followed by, What does God have in store for me at this moment? Is this a lesson in patience? I mean, where else do I really have to be right now?

The old man was saying how tired he was, that he had been there since 6:30 that morning. “Wow, you really must be tired,” I said, sincerely concerned for his wellbeing. He was obviously retirement age. I wondered if he had to work or if he liked to work. Turns out it was a little bit of both. “I get up early. Real early. I like to be busy,” he said. “I like to get up and do things. I hate sitting around. I feel like I’ve lived a full day by 11 a.m. But these shifts are long. I can’t wait to get home.”

“And I’ll bet you’re just getting up at that time,” I said to the girl. She smiled and said, “More like noon for me, if I can.”

My participation in the conversation didn’t make the checking and the bagging any slower, but it did make the time more pleasant. When the guy reluctantly placed the last item in my bag, he held onto it as if he didn’t want to let go.

“Well,” he said, making a fist and lightly tapping a few times on my cereal box poking from the top of the bag, “you have a real nice day now.”

“Thank you, sir, and you as well,” I said.

As I walked away, I thought, How much trouble is it really to be kind rather than impatient? I probably spent less time shopping than checking out at that register, but I didn’t contribute to impatience and meanness in the world. That old man’s tap on my cereal box is what I remember when I say a little prayer for him, thankful for his service and hoping he is having a good day.

Possession in Great Measure

Fire in Heaven above:
Thus the superior man curbs evil and furthers good,
And thereby obeys the benevolent will of heaven.

The I Ching, hexagram #14 Ta Yu

The sun throws the shadows of nine bare crepe myrtle trees in sharp relief against the privacy fence. I watch as shade retreats from the yard.

The furnace hums.

My body feels rested though drained and heavy from yesterday’s illness.

I am content.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may
Have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take
Heart! I have overcome the world.” – John 16:33

The words we say to ourselves matter. Any time I find myself thinking:

I overate last night. I’m starting to binge again. No agent will accept my book. I can’t wait for the contest results. Life is passing me by. I’m a failure. I’m not enough. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.…

I switch it up with:

I am enough. I am golden. I am precious. All is well. I am loved. I am love. I am.

Quietude fills my head. My body relaxes. I breathe easily.

Phew!

It’s a habit, this distorted thinking phenomenon. And it is distorted, truly, for we are beautiful, incredible creatures, you and I. All of us, whether we believe it or not, are “fearfully and wonderfully made; wonderful are Thy works, [those works include you and me] and that my soul knoweth right well [whether or not my head does!].”

Our souls know we are good.

The next time you catch yourself thinking distorted thoughts, replace them with I am enough. I am golden. I am wonderfully made. Say those words out loud and feel your body relax.

Your soul will sing, and so will all the angels and saints and heavens. You can’t help but be good because you are. Repeat I am enough. I am golden. I am wonderfully made throughout the day as many times as you need and your body and mind will respond in kind.

Let go of distorted thinking. Relax. And breathe.

And if I say: "Surely the darkness shall envelop me,
    and the light about me shall be night,"
Even the darkness is not too dark for Thee,
   but the night shineth as the day;
   the darkness is even as the light.

For Thou hast made my reins;
   Thou hast knit me together in my mother's womb.

I will give thanks unto Thee,
   for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   wonderful are Thy works,
   and that my soul knoweth right well."

--Psalm 139

Heart slobber.

We are starting our third month in a new land of mountains and streams, having moved from our home in Illinois to fulfill my dream of 36 years to move to North Carolina. We have no close friends here, no family.

My husband commutes to his old job during this transition before he quits and starts a new one. He’s here with me in the mountains for two weeks and then returns to the cold flatlands of the north for two weeks. This pattern of the past two months will continue for another two or three.

I, meanwhile, sit at home alone with my dogs. Yesterday we hiked in the mountains among dormant rhododendrons and along a singing mountain stream. This morning I lingered in the quiet after an hour-long qi gong practice and found myself yearning for that time when I have friends and am involved in social activities.

And then I thought, wait. This is my life right now. Why yearn for a future that will come in time? Can I be present to this moment and be grateful for it? Yes, I can. This period in my life is a gift, this quiet meditative time alone. A retreat of sorts every two weeks. I appreciate and reap the riches and accept this phase for what it is—a kind of limbo, a further letting go into the unknown.

At the same time, I see no fault in leaning towards a future with hope and anticipation. Joy is present. Gratefulness for the change I live now is present. And so is loneliness and the knowledge that this too shall pass. I appreciate this time. I breathe it in and swim in it.

“You begin the warrior’s journey when you choose one path and stick to it. Then you let it put you through your changes. Without a commitment, the minute you really begin to hurt, you’ll just leave or you’ll look for something else.

The question always remains: To what are we really committed? Is it to playing it safe and manipulating our life and the rest of the world so that it will give us security and confirmation? Or is our commitment to exploring deeper and deeper levels of letting go?”

-- Pema Chodron Uncomfortable with Uncertainty, teaching #88

When I was little, my stuffed animals were my God. They spoke to me and loved me and gave me comfort. I spoke to them and loved them and returned that comfort. I kissed each one at night, saying their names and patting them on the head.

My parents didn’t go to church but by fortune of grace sent me to a nursery school run by the Episcopal Church. There I learned the Lord’s Prayer. I loved that prayer, though I didn’t understand all the words. I loved the poetry of it, the music of it. The words “Our Father” filled me with peace and hope. Our Father, everyone’s father, your father, my father. It gave me the sense that I wasn’t alone in the world. Same as my stuffed animals. They too, gave me the sense that I wasn’t alone and isolated in my body and mind, wasn’t a little “I” floating around all by herself out there.

The church song, “Jesus loves me, yes I know” I didn’t get. Who was this Jesus? I didn’t know Jesus, had never met him. It was as if all these kids who went to church belonged to a club I didn’t and I felt left out. But I figured Jesus must have been a nice guy, at least he was supposed to be, but I didn’t take that for granted. I didn’t like the Bible “telling me so.” That was my first tip off that something wasn’t right. The Bible? I hadn’t read it. Plus, Jesus wasn’t in heaven. Some book tells me this guy Jesus loves me? That was alright for all the other children, but I’d stick with doggie and foxy and Brandy the basset hound, and Our Father.

God comes to us however She may. If stuffed animals work, so be it. Whatever way She has to awaken our hearts to Her voice within works. I heard that sacred voice in my heart through my menagerie covering my bed side to side. “There’s barely room for you, bunchy bone,” my mother would say. And I would pat their heads and smile and say, “I like it that way.”

I still like it that way. There is barely room for me. God fills me fully and completely.

Oh Lord, fill me wholly with thyself. Let there be no room for ‘I and mine,’ only Thy and Thine.

The river of love overflows its banks and the lotus blooms in the devotee’s heart.

Kabir

Pencil illustration by Ele McKay https://www.elemckayartist.com/landscapes

Life is a playground, a workshop where the Master hones us into perfect diamonds. All the makings are inside—light, clarity, brilliance. Each hardship and heartbreak like a facet making us more gorgeous. We just don’t know it yet, don’t feel it. But in the quiet and solitude of meditation we become conscious of union with what is, with that perfect self.

Perhaps you were abused as a child, born into poverty, experienced the brutal arrows of racism, suffered illness, experienced brutality and loss. Life is harsh. We are powerless over it. But as the Star Trek Borgs say, resistance is futile. I say resistance is painful, and yet it is normal to resist pain. Eventually, we learn to go through the pain, to breath with it, endure it, accept it, and then it changes, dissipates, revealing yet another sparkling facet that lets in the light and makes our hearts and souls shine with the love they naturally hold, releasing that light in dazzling brilliance and color.

I embrace this grand human experience. I say let me know you Lord, Goddess of Wisdom, Source of All. Let me give thanks for the lessons You teach, bitter though some of them are. I am not alone. None of us are. The illusion of isolation evaporates when we reach out to one another with love and compassion and when we reach into our own souls and love the precious jewel that we are.

Open our hearts,

That we may hear Thy Voice,

Which constantly cometh from within.

Disclose to us Thy Divine Light,

Which is hidden in our souls,

That we may know and understand life better…

–Khatum by Hazrat Inayat Khan

There’s a concept in the ancient practice of Qi Gong, which translates as “energy work,” that our bodies are bridges between Heaven and Earth, conduits that channel energy from the ground up through our feet through the crown of our head to the heavens, and down from the heavens through our crown to the Earth. We are the connecting tissue. We are physical substance and pure energy combined.

I love to think of myself in those terms, to think of all humankind as bridges that channel sacred energy, the entire universe to this world.

What do we do when selfish people forget or never realize their function and purpose in life and hurt others?

I can worry about the stupidity of others and create anxiety for myself, or I can accept my powerlessness over the actions of others and chant the following phrase from the Rig Veda:

“Guard me against the grief that haunts the life of the selfish.”

The grief that haunts the life of the selfish.

That’s certainly been me at times, creating my own grief and causing grief to others in my pain and ignorance.

As a friend recently reminded me, self-awareness, self-knowledge, and good old shadow work are necessary to gain consciousness, to become more aware of the divinity that surrounds and permeates us. And that we let go, surrender everything we know to God. We are God’s channel, God’s conduit to one another and back to God. It takes getting rid of a lot of crud to become so.

It’s good to have friends, angels, and guides to help us along our way.

I am here to offer witness, presence, and company. And strength and hope in my capacity, as well.

Guard us against the grief that haunts the life
of the selfish. Lead us from darkness into light.

We will sing of your love as it was sung of old. Your
laws change not, but stand like the mountains.

Forgive me all the mistakes I have committed.
Many mornings will dawn upon us again. Guide us
through them all, O Lord of Love.

--"God Makes the Rivers to Flow," from The Rig Veda

Mother of God. What a concept when taken out of the Christian context. Mother of God! No wonder people use that term to swear. It is mind blowing, explosive. Mother of God!

She is gentle and kind and all embracing.

“You have held me in thine arms. I am free, playful and buoyant under thy tender glance and loving care.”

My life is exploding. I’ve done this to myself. Or maybe I just said, “yes, God.”

After 34 years in the same house where we raised our two kids, my husband and I and our two dogs are moving to Asheville, North Carolina. Yesterday I drove around visiting friends, saying goodbye, ending with the last in-person gathering with my women’s group of 30+ years.

Why am I doing this, saying goodbye to places and people I love?

Because it is time for a new adventure. Because God says, here, explore My world. Enjoy!

And so that’s what I’m doing, opening my heart and soul to the many more adventures before me before I die. Not that I’m sick or anything, just getting older and saying, more, please. Saying yes to finding more people and places to love and discover.

Yes, yes, yes.

Dying of Love is what I hope for.
When I shall see my bonds broken,
My God will be my Great Reward.
I don't desire to possess other goods.
I want to be set on fire with his Love.
I want to see Him, to unite myself to Him forever.
That is my heaven...that is my destiny.
           Living on Love!
--Saint Thérèse of Lisieux

When I was a young girl, I noticed that disabled and injured people got lots of kind attention. The girl in my class who had polio and leg braces was someone I didn’t particularly like, but I wanted to be friendly, kind, and helpful because I thought maybe the attention she received would rub off on me. I noticed that other girls would put her chair up on her desk at the end of the school day. I went home and used the crutches my mother had bought at the Good Will store as toys to convince the younger girls next door that I had polio and couldn’t straighten my legs. My braces were “on the inside,” I said.  Doesn’t that hurt? The girls asked me. Oh yes, I said, very much, and those girls were kind to me, opening doors, offering me cookies, showing me their dolls, and even giving them to me.

One day a friend of mine showed up in school with a cast on her arm. Even the teacher was kinder to Toni, a bit of a troublemaker, giving Toni extra smiles and patting her shoulder. Later at home, I found an elastic ankle brace for sprains and slipped it over my left wrist. At school the next day, I kept my arm bent as if wearing an entire cast and covered the brace with my sweater sleeve. Lining up in the hallway, the teacher walked down the line and bent over me, murmuring, Polly, did you hurt yourself? Are you injured? She saw the tip of the brace peeking out from my sleeve. I blushed and lowered my head, mortified because I was faking for attention, and it had worked. The teacher, who rarely ever noticed me, gently placed a hand on my shoulder and said I could be excused from recess if I wished and that I should be careful. I never wore that brace again because I knew it was wrong to fool people, and I was terrified someone would punish me if they found out. Instead, I internalized the wound and began to see myself as an injured person. People couldn’t see the damage, but I knew it was there and believed that made me unique.

I didn’t realize how I had internalized this message until I was an old woman, sick of the humiliation of self-pity and wondering how to shake it. When I realized where it began, that the seeds were planted in my childhood, I laughed, delighted to know this script I had written and the role I had perfected through the decades could be dropped.

There is nothing wrong with me.

I am one grain of sand among many, like a star in the universe, each one the center of it. We are all the center of the universe, equal and alike, no one more special than the next. Undamaged and perfect.

“God is always in you and you are always in Him.

He and you are one. This is the truth”.

Swami Ramdas