Author Archives: Satya Robyn

How do we find home?

AM prayer flags flutteringFirst: if you’d like to reconnect with what’s at the heart of it all, join us for Spacious July.

This weekend we welcomed someone who hadn’t visited the temple before. Today they told me that they felt at home here, that they had a second home. How did they do it, and how do we find our way home?

For me, home is where I feel safe to be myself. This is easier in some places and with some people than others, but it relies more on my attitude than it does on anything else.

If I worry about being rejected, then I change myself to ‘suit’ others. If I worry about being misunderstood, I stay quiet. If I worry about not having enough, then I feel needy. If I worry about things not suiting me, then I feel critical and controlling.

When I remember to lean in to the Buddha, I don’t have to worry about any of this, and I can be at home regardless of where I am and what is happening around me. Ironically, feeling more secure often makes it easier for other people to accept me and to offer me things.

What do you lean into when you feel wobbly or alone? What helps you to do this?

If you’d like to explore this further, join us for Spacious July (including a private Facebook group where you can share your experiences with your fellow course participants).

Take good care, Satya <3

The difference between self-care and self-indulgence

kahlua-cupcake-by-stacyI’ve never been very good at self-care. My tendency is to make myself safe by making sure other people are okay, and so I often neglect to factor in my own needs.

When I do try to look after myself, I often end up eating too much cake or watching too much television and feeling slightly sick, spaced out or hung over.

Recently I’ve been pondering the difference between self-care and self-indulgence. I think that when I feel over-tired or overwhelmed, I try and reach out for self-care but instead grab onto self-indulgence. These activities bring me instant comfort but also anaesthetize me, helping me to continue avoiding the things that got me into a mess in the first place.

When I am able to choose differently and write in my journal or go on a walk or sit and look at the sky for a while, I often feel worse before I feel better. If I keep going, sticking with the uncomfortable bits, by the end of the day or week I feel replenished rather than zonked.

Self-care doesn’t always feel good to start with. But it never leads to a hangover. And it always turns us back towards the light.

What do you do tend to reach for when you feel depleted? Which of these things anaesthetize you and which nourish you? How can you get better at self-care?

Let me know your thoughts. And advance warning that I’ll be running Writing & Spiritual Practice in July, for the usual discount. I’ll write again to remind you – I hope you’ll join me.

Go easy, Satya <3

How to write a love letter to yourself

12229693393_291520d542_kHow are you?

How are all the different parts of you? Do a quick sweep of your body. Where is there tension? Aches? Lightness? How are you feeling? What has happened this week (or this year) that has been difficult? What different versions of you are living inside yourself?

Life often moves fast, and it can batter us about a bit. I would like to suggest that you give yourself the gift of half an hour and sit down to write a love letter to yourself.

Start with your name – Dear Satya – and then see where the pen takes you. Remember, this is a love letter written from the perspective not of a smitten early-days lover but someone who has been married to you for as long as you’ve been alive – a marriage with ups and downs, but one that has brought you much joy and one which contains much hope.

What do you need to hear? Write it. What questions do you have? Write them down. What do you appreciate about yourself? What do you struggle with, and what would it look like through the eyes of love?

Do make time in your diary to do this, and when it’s done, keep it somewhere safe. You might need to read it again.

I’d love to know how you got on.

Much love from me,

Satya <3

You are beautiful beyond measure

Blue BuddhaYou are flawed, you are stuck in old patterns, you become carried away with yourself. Indeed you are quite impossible in many ways. And still, you are beautiful beyond measure. ~ John Welwood
As I type, a blackbird is singing his heart out as dusk comes on. I spent three hours this morning in our shrine room, doing the same. In my Buddhist tradition we chant the Buddha’s name as a way of connecting with something infinitely compassionate and wise.
It is a powerful practice. As I sat, the usual mental chatter arose. Oh, there aren’t as many people here as there were last time. That person is singing out of tune. Why am I doing this again? When can I go and eat chocolate and watch television?
I am quite impossible in many ways. This practice, and the practice of writing small stones, puts this foolish being into relationship with something that accepts me just as I am. Whether we see this ‘something’ as the gaze of the Buddha, the Good in the Universe or the spirit of blackbirds doesn’t matter. What matters is being honest about our flaws, and feeling loved anyway. If we can get even a small taste of this, we can begin to pass it on to others. This is our most important work.
I’d like to pass on the merit from this morning’s practice to you all – all of you reading this post in different parts of the world. My teacher says that merit can be seen as ‘happy mind’ – the joy and peace that we generate through our practice gets passed on to whoever needs it most. I hope you can feel it.
A few of you have come over to check out our friendly ‘virtual temple‘ where we talk about this practice and get to know each other so we can support each other in this funny old life. You’d be very welcome.
Deep bow, and I’m still planning on writing a new WOWH course on ‘Creating Sacred Space’ – watch this space!
Satya <3

 

The magic habit I’m taking up again

desk shrine“Build gaps in your life. Pauses. Proper pauses.” ~ Thom Yorke (Wake Up in March starts tomorrow)

My days, maybe like yours, can get a little crowded. I balance running the temple, my psychotherapy practise, writing, and other necessary things like keeping the flat clean, doing my taxes, going to the dentist…

These days I do a much better job of making spaces. We take every Monday as a Sabbath day, and we keep this sacred day completely free of appointments or duties. I am currently on a ‘checking email once a day’ schedule, which (believe me) creates a lot of spaciousness. I attend the three Buddhist services we run a week – a bonus of living on the ground floor of a temple.

Nevertheless, on days like today my feet don’t touch the ground. Before I know it, I’ve said goodbye to my last client to collapse in front of the television with a bowl of pasta.

And so I am intending to pick up an old habit, which I’ve let drop. During March (and hopefully beyond) I am going to pause once a day, notice what is around me, and write it down. It’s time to create a daily small stone again. I wrote one earlier, in fact:

a concentrated drop of light on the Buddha’s golden chin

Just ten words, but the result of a deep noticing of how the light gathered on the Buddha in the picture, a minute’s search for the word ‘drop’, and a profound feeling of gratitude for the ordinary beauty that surrounds me.

I can’t wait for the small stones to start dropping into my lap again. I can almost feel them queuing up… I wonder if you’ll join me?

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Wake Up in March: Writing Ourselves Alive starts tomorrow – maybe you’ll start a daily small stone practice again as a part of this course?

On being prepared to die

Embroidery Sample by Allison Giguere(Write Yourself Alive during March for half price.)

The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. ~ Mark Twain

Lately I have been a little preoccupied with death. It started when my therapist asked me whether I was ‘preparing to die’. Her question burrowed into me.

She was reminding me that we all have a limited stretch of time remaining. More importantly, she was reminding me that I love to paint, and grow vegetables, and write, and to look after this temple. She was encouraging me to do more of those things, and to do them with my senses wide open.

This image of a vibrantly embroidered skull has been haunting me. It hangs around as if it is a message for me – the gorgeous flowers growing over the forehead and through the eye sockets, the rich lusciousness of colour, the clean lines of bone.

Of course, real death involves a lot of mess before the flowers come up. Mess and loss and pain. Life does too – when we bring ourselves into closer relationship with ourselves, others, and the world, we can’t flinch from the stinking compost that nourishes the Spring flowers.

The skull seems to be saying to me – strip it all back. Don’t get waylaid by petty worries or concerns about what other people think about you. Don’t go to sleep when things get difficult. Stay awake. Relish stroking Peter bunny’s soft fur. Taste sorrow deeply. Drink in the pink cherry blossom. Keep your frightened heart open.

What is it saying to you?

If you’d like to spend March opening your heart and living more fully, my self-study e-course is half price until the 3rd – more information here.

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Image by Allison Giguere via CC, source of the embroidery sample unfortunately unknown.

You do not have to be good

 

sunflowers by yovko(Writing Ourselves Alive, our self-study e-course, is half price for a few days.)

Satya writes: All week my husband has been on Buddhist business in India.

I had planned a solitary retreat day on Monday. I had it all worked out – virtuous food, no television, reading holy books, gazing wistfully into the distance as I contemplated the great mysteries of life… you know the sort of thing.

Here’s how my retreat day actually looked. Glued to email and Facebook. Far too many muffins. Trashy television (I’m ashamed to tell you what I watched). Agitated. In denial. To bed too late, fizzing with caffeine from all the chocolate I’d guzzled. 

Before I went to bed I emailed Kaspa a long confession, detailing the extent of my failure. When I woke in the morning he’d sent me a single line. 

“You don’t have to be good.”

We think we do. We think that in order to be acceptable, we need to try harder. Do more spiritual practice. Be nicer. Build up multiple passive income streams. Post more beautiful photos of our beautiful lives on Facebook. Get rid of all those snitty and mean-spirited thoughts. Work out every last psychological tangle. Improve improve improve!

We don’t have to try and be good. We just need to notice what is there, offer it up, and turn towards the light. 

We can be curious too – that helps. Oh, I’m eating another muffin. Oh, I seem unable to stop myself from checking my email. What is that about? Does this relate to the dream I had last night where there was garbage covered over with plastic? 

What process am I currently engaged in? Where is my soul heading? How can I be kind to it as it transforms? How can I be more patient, more understanding?

Oh, I’m checking email again. There’s a feeling in my stomach too. Is it loneliness?

Let me remind you – real change is slow. Deep down transformation – not the change of affirmations and stuck-on smiles. For it to happen, we need to get out of the way. It’s counter-intuitive, I know. But it’s a great relief. We can hand it all over, and get on with the job in front of us. Do the washing up. Call a friend. Write in your journal. Weed the garden. Chop wood, carry water. 

In the meantime, you do not have to be good.

True grace comes when we let go of this endless self-building project and allow the love of the universe to enter us. It’s just there – take your eyes off yourself for a minute and you’ll start to feel it.

Deep bow _/\_

(PS This post is from my archives, but it feels like it could have happened last week! Change is slow… and change has happened.)

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And here is Mary Oliver reading the beautiful poem from which the title of this email is taken. Much gratitude to her, for her luminous and loving presence in the world. 

Do you need a sacred conversation?

mugs of teaRecently I’ve had some complicated interactions with people that have triggered all sorts of reactions in me, some of them strongly emotional.

So what’s new?! This seems to be how life is – we think we’ve solved a problem, things go quiet, and then a new complication rears its head. Sometimes it’s not new complications, but old patterns that come back over and over and over again.

How do we work with these tricky situations? Where we don’t know what to do about a relationship, when we get stuck with our creative work, when we can’t make sense of what’s going on, where we feel powerless?

I’m lucky enough to have several sacred spaces in my life where I can look at these complications. Every Sunday we gather together in the shrine room and share from our hearts. I’ve just finished a year’s worth of therapy (over my life I’ve dipped in and out of therapy when I need to). I write in a journal. I do Buddhist practice. I have a supervisor who helps me look at tangles or confusions with my clients. I have supportive conversations with Kaspa.

What all these spaces have in common is a taking care, a respect of the people involved including me. I might do a little bit of moaning or blaming in these spaces to let off steam, but mostly I’m interested in what I’m contributing to the situation, what I can change from my own side, and what I have to hand over to the other person and learn to live with. They are safe spaces, where I can allow myself to become a little vulnerable. They are spaces where I can move towards honesty, and clarity follows.

Do you have enough sacred space in your life? Where could you find more?

If you’d like to book some sacred space with me, I have a couple of Skype slots for coaching, psychotherapy or supervision at the moment – read more by clicking on the words or get in touch to see if we can find a time that works for both of us.

Go gently.

 

Letting ourselves be helped

interfaith-worcesterEverything and everyone around you is your teacher. ~ Ken Keyes     

At the weekend I said no to the offer of a cup of almond-milk hot chocolate.

We had been standing on the freezing cold streets of Worcester for a couple of hours with our Christian and Baha’i friends, advocating friendship amongst those of different faiths. I said that I’d share some of Kaspa’s cup instead, and when it arrived the sips I had were warming, sweet, creamy & chocolateylicious. It was only later that I realised I would have loved a cup of my own.

A lot of the decisions we make are made in the way I made this one. We find ourselves saying something (‘no thank you’), then make up some reasons why we said it (I only want a few gulps of hot chocolate) and only later discover other deeper layers (I was worried about Lorraine spending too much money on me and, underneath that, it makes me feel vulnerable to receive things).

I’m glad that I took the time to see those deeper layers more clearly. It reminds me how hard it is for me to be helped, and it gave me the opportunity to confess to Lorraine. It might help me to say yes next time. And maybe next time I’m in town I’ll buy myself a cup of that almond-milk chocolate.

Have you said or done anything recently that doesn’t sit right? Might there be some deeper layers?

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If you’re interested in getting some help to explore the layers, Kaspa is offering our self-study Journaling Our Way Home e-course for half the usual price between now and the beginning of January.

The mouse incident

baby-mouse-by-nick-harrisLast night a mouse ran up my trouser leg.

I had cornered our cat Roshi on the stairs up from our flat. He dropped the mouse, and then suddenly the mouse was nowhere to be seen.

I squealed. I felt a soft lump up near my hip, moving fast. I wailed some more.

I’m lucky enough not to feel that level of fear very often. It rendered me utterly useless. After a short while Kaspa came along and told me to take off my trousers, and the mouse came off me with them, but if he hadn’t been there I don’t know how long I would have stood there on the stairs, petrified.

Sometimes we are too preoccupied with our own needs, our own survival, to see things very clearly. This happens in very subtle ways all the time. We manipulate our friend into spending time with us because we’re afraid of being lonely, and they silently resent it. We buy stuff because we’re afraid of feeling bored. We give advice because we’re afraid of being with the other’s pain.

The more fear, the less clearly we see. This is why it’s helpful to listen to wise others. This is why it’s helpful to sleep on things, and to recognise the fear when it’s present and look after it as best we can. This is why i’ts helpful to take refuge in something bigger than us (nature, a trusted group, the Buddha…) so what-we-take-refuge-in can slowly dissolve the fear by showering us with safety and with warmth.

Little mousey was released into the garden and we both made a full recovery. I’m smiling now, remembering the squirmy little dance I did on the stairs. Go well mousey, and go well you x

(A final reminder that if you’d like your emails to start, neatly, on the 1st of Nov, sign up for my Nourishing November: Writing Towards Healing self-study e-course today.)