Posts Tagged ‘this time i dance! creating the work you love’

Owning Pain: The Secret to Healing

Tuesday, December 29th, 2009

Dear Pinkies, We are honored once again to welcome the amazing Pink Goddess Tama J. Kieves to Owning Pink. We invite you to soak your tired feet in Tama’s brilliant message about feeling what we’re feeling. You can read more about her and her work at the bottom of this post- and if you love this post, grab a copy of her book, This Time I Dance!, which is our Pink book club selection in January. Enjoy, and big Pink thanks to Tama!

When we are on the path of creating the work and life we love, we will encounter pain. That’s a given. Yes, we will follow our bliss, and then rejection, fear, and confusion will find out where we live. How we deal with the pain will determine our success and joy. But most of us don’t love dealing with pain.

Recently, I had a fit of insecurity, a bout of self-comparison, and then a melt down. It’s the same sorry broken record that plays again. I don’t want this pain to return. It has come so many times to my house and broken the dishes and kicked in the walls. But when it comes I feel as though I have little say. All my years of therapy and spiritual growth, and even teaching, seem like postcards from a foreign land. I know that this “pain is optional.” But in the moment, it’s the only dish on the menu.

Ironically, I am at a beautiful retreat center when this experience happens. There are ongoing workshops on meditation and healing taking place.  I pause by a still pond. Barefoot meditators walk by me, smiling with peace. I want to trip them as they pass. I am not well, I tell you.

Heal my mind, I pray to any God who will listen. Take these thoughts away. I say the words, begging and demanding. I stomp my foot like a princess calling upon the powers of the heavens as though they are disobedient maid servants. Nothing happens. Evidently, I cannot even pray right in this pain.

“Try focusing on something positive,” I demand of myself. It’s almost embarrassing how much good there is in my life, and how I choose to lie down on a bed of nails instead. Seeing this makes me feel worse. There are children starving in Africa, and they’re probably singing, says my suddenly “spiritual” inner critic. Now I’m in more pain, thinking how wrong it is to be in pain.

That night, I talk to Nancy, a woman I have just met. She is a healer by trade. But more than that, she is a healer by the way she looks at me. Her face is as open as a window in springtime and her eyes have seen it all, yet look at me with burning interest. I feel the air slow down around her. I swear she is charming the molecules into sacred space.  I start telling her about my situation, strategically inserting only the details that validate my cause, and make me look pretty good, not at all like the ragged and hostile character at her table.  I ask her how to deal with the pain of the situation.

I am hoping she will give me some mantra or insight to make it instantly disappear. I am hoping she has some kind of talisman tucked up her sleeve.  I am hoping she will say something to prop up my wounded, terrified ego, maybe something like— you’re obviously a rock star who deserves better treatment. Or better yet, here let me wave my magic wand, and don’t worry, just for you, I’ll waive my fee. Or worst case scenario, but still fine with me, I expect her to say, I know a woman who can tell you which mother in which past life did this to you. I know a guru, a therapist, a lobotomist, a drug dealer, I’ll get you connected. But she says none of those things. She says something I am not expecting. When I ask her “What should I do?“—she says quietly, “I guess there is nothing to do— but feel the pain.”

Part of me wants to say, “Come, again?”

But the wise part of me, the one that instantaneously recognizes truth, wants to giggle and toss jellybeans at her feet. That part understands and claps its hands.

“Feel the pain,” she says, and she says it with the kindness of a thousand years like water that has loved a jagged rock and smoothed it into shining.  Her healer’s voice surrounds me with spaciousness, as though she can wait forever for me to take in this message.

I feel her recognize my sorrow and suddenly I recognize it—and I recognize that it’s okay to feel sorrow. I don’t need to deny it or make it wrong or try to sweep it off my doorstep and scrub away its shadow. The moment she says “feel the pain,” I feel as though the broken sorrows of the whole world are laid before me, the raw hearts of everyone, everywhere, meeting me in this single moment with knowing. Somehow we’re all in this together, and I would not make them wrong for anything—and, finally, I do not make myself wrong either.

This is what whispers to me in her words:  stop running and come in out of the rain. Wrap your little girl in a warm woolen blanket. Let’s put on a pot of soup. Forgive your ego, your frightened one for its tirade, for demanding the moon as proof of being loved, for needing things to be otherwise, for taking offense because the wind blew a certain way—not your way. Take those tight shoes off. Why, you’ve been running away from your truth for so long, you must be tired. Here, let’s soak those feet in lavender oil.

The moment Nancy said, “feel the pain,” I didn’t feel lonely or separate from my life anymore. I felt as though I could be in this exact moment, in this exact state of mind. I felt as though she was asking me to allow God, the Eternal Lover of the Present Moment, back into my heart. I felt as though she was reminding me of my Real Nature, a presence so beautiful and vast, it could sit with pain of any sort, frustration, anger, betrayal, and welcome every wasp, spider, or aphid into the garden. She was asking me to give myself over to the medicine and instruction of this moment. Suddenly I realized I didn’t need Spirit to take away the pain. I only wanted Spirit to sit with me while I felt the pain. I needed to sit with this part of myself. I needed to hear her story, not to fix it, or agree with it, push it away, or try to change the circumstances that caused it. I needed to sit with this frightened part of myself. She needed to be heard. She would know how to go forward from there.

In the past, I have envisioned the Presence of Love sitting down by my side. It’s the Holy Spirit, Jesus, Buddha, the Hebrew Shekina, or the spirit of ten thousand sequoia trees. Strong Love sits beside me. Strong Love sits behind me, before me and above me and below me.  Strong Love can contain anything. Strong Love can absorb the sting. Strong Love doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

In the end, pain opened my heart to myself. It’s always that way. I feel the love of the Universe when I feel my own love.  I feel that love when I stop running away from any part of myself or any experience I am having. I am willing to feel the pain. I am wiling to feel my love. I am willing to feel my life.

This month I invite you to sit with yourself in the middle of a feeling that is uncomfortable. Feel the pain. I hope you can hear me whisper this to you, with the love of the ages in my voice, a strength and gentleness that wraps around you. I have faith in your ability to heal yourself. I have faith in your ability to contain and absorb and dance with the truth of exactly where you find yourself in this moment.  I have faith in all of us.

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Tama J. Kieves is an honors graduate of Harvard Law School who left her practice with a large corporate law firm to write and to embolden others to live their most fulfilling lives. She is the bestselling author of THIS TIME I DANCE! Creating the Work You Love and is a sought-after speaker and career coach who has helped thousands world-wide to discover and live their true work in the world. Visit her at www.ThisTimeIDance.com and sign up for free inspiration and support through her monthly e-newsletter. Want to find your calling? Get Tama’s Free Report right now on “Finding Your Calling” at www. ThisTimeIDance.com.

Tama J. Kieves
©2009. All rights reserved


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Owning Your Dreams: Thoughts On Believing In Yourself From Tama Kieves

Wednesday, November 4th, 2009

11259-Pink-Pig-Flying

Hello Pinkies,
We are thrilled and honored to welcome Tama J. Kieves, who is an honors graduate of Harvard Law School who left her practice with a large corporate law firm to write and to embolden others to live their most fulfilling lives. She is the bestselling author of THIS TIME I DANCE! Creating the Work You Love and is a sought-after speaker and career coach who has helped thousands world-wide to discover and live their creative dreams. Wohoo, yes please. Big love and thanks to Tama. Enjoy, Pinkies!

I am committed to allowing myself to receive more freaking goodness than I can imagine. To start with, I am going to know that, independent of anyone else’s predictions or convictions, my life can be fantastic. I am going to stop calling negativity and limitation “realism.” I’m going to just start calling them negativity and limitation.

We have all bought into the superstition that goodness is a soap bubble about to burst. But I challenge you to think of sadness and strain as a bubble, too, a bubble that can burst as easily. It all depends on where you put your focus, what you call real, which altar you light your candles on.

Let me tell you a personal story. Years ago, to support the release of my first book This Time I Dance! Creating the Work you Love, I put myself on the road.  It was a brave move, investing money in myself, and speaking to practically any group that had cheese and crackers.  At the first event of my “tour,” I spoke to a high-powered women’s business group. They loved me and I did cartwheels inside.

That afternoon, still cartwheeling, I walked into a Cost Plus World Market, one of those stores that sell ethnic home accessories, fun art, and  things you really don’t need, but suddenly have to have.  I sashayed down the aisles, boogie author, she who had just nailed her first real talk on this adventure. I picked up a piggy bank, a leather olive green pig with red and purple wings. “When pigs fly,” I think to myself and grin. My journey of writing and launching the book has seemed like realizing the impossible. I hold the little crafted object. I should get this, I think, to symbolize shattering the customary, rising above the gravitational pull of doubt and fear.

“Yeah, but you know how things go,” another inner voice pipes up. It’s just the beginning of your trip. You don’t know how the rest of the events will turn out. You could be disappointed and then you’ll feel silly with your triumphant, hopeful totem here.” The voice throws me a bone.  “Let’s wait and see how things turn out,” it says. It’s my rational voice, the one that controls the checkbook, buys the sale flowers at the florist, and never orders a brownie with her tea. I put the pig back down.

That night I did a book signing that broke my heart. So few people came.  Then a man with long stringy gray hair interrupted my reading with wandering political rampages and very private jokes, every author’s nightmare rite of passage. The crowd, or more accurately, the handful, stared at me helplessly. I looked at the empty chairs, and thought about how much plane fare, hotel, and other “manifestations of faith,” this trip would cost me. I felt like a piñata, clubbed until the sweetness fell out of me.  “Good thing you didn’t get that silly triumphant pig,” said the voice inside. Now I felt ashamed. I cringed at the thought of having believed in myself, believing everything would turn out just right, believing I was now finally on that roll I’d always dreamed about.

Today, years later, I think I should have bought the pig. I should have bought my celebration totem, because in that moment I felt alive and I believed–I knew something true deep in my bones. The following disappointment didn’t change the truth of the original dazzling moment, until I let it. When I said, let’s wait and see, I turned my power over to outside circumstances. That “wait and see” was an admission that I could change my mind about myself, about what had already transpired inside me, about my ultimate path and the navigational skills of my Infinitely Loving God. That “wait and see” was a nod to the bitter pills, darkness and difficulties I had trained myself to expect. But more than that, it was also a vote to make moments of pain carry more weight than moments of joy and realization.

“I’m having more fun than I’ve ever had in my life,” a client said to me recently, giddiness in her voice. Her business is beginning to take off and she feels she is starring in a new movie, one in which she’s the lucky, leading lady. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she says. And I’m struck by how we do this to ourselves. We tell ourselves that life can’t be that good. It has to stop. It has to end. What goes up, must come down. “We are meant to grow and expand,” I tell her. It is our evolutionary instinct to strengthen, blossom, and develop heightened capacities. I share a quote with her from Esther and Jerry Hicks: “The better it gets, the better it gets.” She agrees to practice opening to her full expression, startlingly fabulous though it may be.

It’s considered prudence to prepare for rainy days and challenges. But we don’t do much to prepare for joy. Instead when love or abundance comes to our house, we think it’s a fleeting visitor, a lost butterfly, a hoax, or at best, a reprieve from the gray bulldozer of reality. But I invite you to consider that when you’re in your joy, you’re in your sane mind, your big mind, the part of you that is connected to a wholly alive stream. Everything else is the miscalculation. Just because negativity is familiar, doesn’t mean it’s significant. When you’re in your joy, you are more intelligent, resourceful, and present to possibilities.  It’s who you really are. Circumstances that follow may tempt you to forget your passion and your knowing. But it’s the disillusionment—that’s really the illusion.

For me, the path of being self-employed, having a dream and moving it into the world in a big way, has been one of constantly remembering a sweeter reality, no matter what conditions look like. The circumstances fluctuate, but my good does not.  I’m always on the road to even more grace. There are so many fantastic opportunities that are waiting to come into my life right now the moment I allow myself to fully accept my value and welcome them.  I’m not denying reality. I’m claiming it.

Yes, it’s easier to assume doom. We fit in. We’d probably even be seen as thoughtful, prophetic, and on the money. But fitting in is the booby prize. It’s not the point of this life. We’re here to claim our divine potential, raise the bar, break through old beliefs and prejudices, and allow the Creative Force of Love and Intelligence to have its reckless, abundant, glorious way with us. Our happiness can save the planet. Our laughter can coax the trees to grow, the rains to fall, and the stars to shine. We can do more good with joy than we could ever do with pain.  We are here to tap our own magnificent innate powers, shine, boogie, rock on and show each other what’s possible in this lifetime.

Of course there is suffering and pain in the world. But these are the places where we, the members of humanity, haven’t gotten it right yet. Why would we make these the standard of reality, if it’s not a reality we wish to create? By the way, I am not saying it’s wrong to feel pain. It’s a place we all explore, on our way to healing and joy.

Good things are knocking at your door right now. Open the door.  Allow yourself to believe that you can have the dream you desire. Take in the abundance wherever you are and allow more to shower upon you, with your arms wide open for as long as you can. It’s never too much for you to handle. You were designed to blossom.  Practice allowing yourself to be loved just as the Sufi poet Hafiz describes: “And the sun and the moon sometimes argue over who gets to tuck me in at night. If you think I’m having more fun than anyone else on the planet, you are absolutely correct.”

I urge you to try on a new sense of realism. When good things happen to you, don’t wait for the other shoe to drop. Expect something even better now.  You’re  just revving up. Remember, you’re in your power when you’re in your joy. I’d say the shoe on the ground—is about to fly.

With my love and blessings,

Tama J. Kieves

Visit Tama at www.ThisTimeIDance and sign up for free inspiration and support through her monthly e-newsletter. Want to find your calling? Get Tama’s Free Report right now on “Finding Your Calling” at www. ThisTimeIDance.com.

©2008-2009. Tama J. Kieves. All rights reserved.