Tag: book

The Shack (the Need for Forgiveness)

December 26, 2019 / Tom

I want to be happy, and share my gifts with the world. So, I must be willing to forgive. A lesson well learned in my time.

My love and I watched The Shack last night. It was the first time for her, the second for me.

I will be honest, the first time I saw it I was left numb, with tears streaming down my face (I don’t fear admitting that even masculine energy sheds tears). I wasn’t sure what to make of how I felt, or the fog that I was in as I rose from my seat. All I knew was that I was wiping remnants of tears from my face wondering what the fuck had just happened.

Art can, it seems, expose the deepest parts of our souls. It can expose the cracks in our armor and show us the places where water seeps from the stone.

Despite what appears to be poor ratings in Rotten Tomatoes, I highly suggest you read the book or watch the movie. I won’t spoil the movie for anyone who hasn’t seen it, but I will describe what wept from my heart as it unfolded.

While pain seems to be the focus of the story, it really isn’t. Forgiveness is the plot line, with pain being the catalyst for the plot to unfold. The story beautifully describes how I see the process of experience. Experience, for me, has always been a series of things known and discovered through contrasts. We know joy from sadness, light from darkness.

And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. ~Book of Genesis

(Contrast. What good would one be without the other?)

Forgiveness can be one tough cookie, and it is meant to be. We all experience varying levels of emotional trauma in our lives. It seems to me that that more cutting that trauma is the tougher the act of forgiveness. Emotional trauma is like lifting a very heavy weight that we just never seem ready to let go of. Our proverbial limbs quiver, our bodies shake yet we just don’t drop the weight.

Forgiveness is, in its beauty, the act of dropping the weight. Usually, though, it’s not as simple as letting go. We all have a need to share the pain inflicted on us and soon those closest to us begin look like our tormentors in the Id. In the absence of the abuser in our midst, others bear the fury of our pain, of our hopelessness, and of our fear.

Until we forgive our tormentor. Then a miracle happens, and there is no more pain or fear to share. It vanishes like a twilight when the Sun rises, and evaporates like the dew at high noon.

Anger is like drinking poison expecting the other person to die.~Buddha.

During the movie, I felt my mother’s presence. I couldn’t tell if it was around me or in me, but it was there. I could feel the pain in her that caused her behaviors in my childhood.

I uttered for at least the millionth time, “I forgive you.”

I felt my loving hand touching her childhood cheek, telling her it would be alright.

I felt my young hand holding hers. “You will be fine.”

I felt my teenage heart whispering to hers, “I will forgive you one day.”

Then I felt my soul touch hers and say, “I do forgive you. I truly, honestly, with all my heart forgive you.”

More weight fell, and as it did I realized I still am carrying some childhood stones in my pocket. It’s fine, I forgive myself for carrying them.

Our abusers, it seems, can stare at us back in the mirror most times. Until we forgive, we are usually the worst abusers we will ever know in our lives. We abuse others but, mostly, we abuse ourselves.

Something strange then happened as the tears again streamed down my cheek. I thought I heard her say, “Thank you, Tommy. I am sorry, and I am waiting. You are my son, and I am proud of who you have become. I’ve taught you well, although I wish I could have taught you in another way, a way I just did not know.”

Sometimes our paths are the only ones we know, the only ones we can see, the only ones we can find. Especially when we are unable to drop the weight and forgive.

More stones fell. The sound they made as they hit the earth sounded like a symphony. Good music is created by good energy. Sometimes so are tears.

(The book the movie was based on is by Wm Paul Young. Enjoy it!)

A Conversation With Mom

June 3, 2019 / Tom

Last night, a dream.

It wasn’t just any dream, but that lucid type of dream that somehow feels real yet your eyes open in the spot where you last closed them. It wasn’t just any dream, but the type of dream that left me shaken, stirred, yet completely at peace. It wasn’t just any dream, but a conversation between my heart and the greatest wound I had ever faced.

In this dream, I talked to my mother.

My mother had done horrible things to her son, taught him horrible lessons that would see many monuments of his life reduced to rubble. She had given him the gift of mistrust, of confounding fear that everyone in life was going to hurt him in the various ways they will, and those gifts would ruin so many wonderful moments and distort so many wonderful views along his path. So much pain. So much fear. So much to overcome.

I have long forgiven my mother for those things. After years of allowing proverbial and literal bloodfalls to pour from those open wounds, I came to the realization that she gave me those gifts but it was I who decided to hold onto them. I never did get to have a discussion with my mother about this in life. I never received an apology for the lies, for the pain, for the wounds inflicted on both my mind and my body while she breathed the air we shared. While many in my family continue the lie in denial of all that was, I was haunted by my mother’s ghost long before she died, and I still wince when those wounds are pressed, although the wincing is hardly noticeable by the world outside my own mind.

I don’t forsake that reaction. I face it and master it nearly every time I feel the triggers pulled. I just don’t feel the need to share those gifts with others any longer. I don’t care to write my story with a pen my mother gave me, on a book her husband held open for her, or with the invisible ink others in my family wish I would write it with. I wish to write my own story in a book held open with the hand of immeasurable self-love, with the scarlet ink of truth that cannot be denied, or blurred, because it is etched on parchment that readily accepts it, forgives it, and allows it to be with great honor.

I close my eyes each night with a meditation of remembrance. I remember the lesson, the journey of transformation. I hear the voices, and I tell them I love them too. I close my eyes knowing who I am, and honor the journey that has brought me to that fortunate space I wish all could see. Mostly, I remember who I am and say to the little boy, the young man, and my present heart “I love you.”

That has been my practice for years now. Last night was no different. As I dozed with the words “I love you” still echoing in my Being I could feel the familiar peace settle over my body and mind. I could hear a memory of the rapid flow of a nearby creek spilling from my ears. I felt the warmth of a Spring Colorado sun on my flesh, and the coolness of the northern breeze raising bumps on my skin. A memory of the clean mountain air filling my lungs as my legs turned on my bike followed by a desire to travel great distances in this way. My soul is alive, my body must continue on to meet its mission, my journey is nowhere near complete.

“Tommy…”

I heard her through the memory of the rushing creek.

“Huh?” My soul replied.

“I’m sorry.”

It seemed all sound surrendered to silence with those words. I could still feel all that was, but I could only hear the sound of her voice coming from all places in the landscaped scene around me.

“Mom?”

“Yeah. It’s me. And I’m sorry.”

“Well, you should be. You left and never said a word.”

“You have every right to be angry. I just hope you can forgive me so that you aren’t carrying that weight around with you. It’s not fair to you to be burdened with such a weight.”

“I’ve forgiven you, Mom. I’ve also forgiven myself for the weight I still carry. Perhaps in time I will be able to drop it all, but I no longer beat myself up for carrying it. I do my best, and when those leaves decide its time to fall from this tree, I won’t hold on to them.”

“I hope not. None of this was your fault. I can’t help the way things were. All I can say is that I always loved you, even when I could not show it. I always wanted what was best for you, even when I got in your way. I always wanted to be the best mother for you I could be, even though I failed. I just wasn’t strong enough to turn from my pain, my anguish, and my addictions.”

“I understand. Ending the patterns nearly killed me. I guess that battle can’t be waged by everyone.”

“True. I’ve seen what you went through. My soul has cried real tears for what I’ve done. I know, however, that you will do great things with what you’ve reclaimed from me. What I tried to steal from you…”

Her voice trailed off as if she was remembering. I sighed. She had hit the nail on the head. She had tried to steal everything from me – my identity, my story, my life, and my heart.

“Tommy,” she interrupted her silence.

“Yes?”

“I must tell you this. While I am not proud of what I’ve done, I can now see purpose in it. My pain was strong, very strong. But you needed it to be.”

“How so?”

“Look at your strong body. You know the value of overcoming resistance, how the harder the workout the stronger you become in the process of completing it. My pain challenged me and I was not strong enough to defeat it. I gave it to you, and you were strong enough to not only defeat it, but defeat the pain created in you during that process. My son, I am so proud of you. Death was the only way I could change. You’ve changed in life, with life, with so much more to go.”

“Yeah, I know Mom. I just wish it hadn’t been so hard, and that I hadn’t hurt others in the process of dealing with our pain.”

There it was. Our pain!

“I wish there was more in life that had brought us together than just pain. It overshadows those few, but important memories we could have shared.”

“Perhaps one day we can share them. When the time is right.”

“Oh, we will.”

I smiled, and closed my eyes.

“Mom, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Good, because I’m not a ghost. I’m not haunting you save the ability you give me to haunt you. I don’t reside ‘out there’. I live inside of you. When you pass you will realize that you live inside your own children and those you love. You will live in their actions, in their memories, in their trials and in their victories. You will be a part of every breath they take, every footprint they leave on the earth. You won’t be a ghost, you will be very real in the ripples you’ve sent with those little pebbles of you you’ve thrown out into the ether.”

“I really wish we could have had these types of talks years ago. Things would have been very different.”

“Exactly, but they weren’t meant to be different. All of those pebbles that you find, those stones you throw out into the ether, have a purpose. They aren’t there by accident. You’ve written about that before, you’ve seen that in your visions. Every moment in your life had and continues to have a purpose. It’s time you started realizing that purpose. It’s time you picked up those pebbles as well, and then toss them into the ether. Don’t hide from them. Don’t cover them. They have great value, and they need to fulfill their purpose.”

“How do I do that?”

“You will see. It’s time you and I write a book. It’s time we stop hiding in shame of what we have done and start lighting torches with that light. It is a light, my son, trust me on that.”

I thought it odd that the woman who had taught me so much about lying, about the abuse of trust, was now asking me to trust her.

“I know, it’s a crazy request,” she replied to my unspoken point. “But it’s important. Your forgiveness has exposed many things to you. It has brought your wisdom into the light. It has brought your strength to the forefront. It has shown you love, it has sung you songs of hope. It has brought me to you right now. So, you can either choose to use it, or not, and see what it brings you next.”

I knew in my entirety that she was right. I wondered where this woman was throughout my life.

“I am, what you feel right now, who I always was. Wise, loving, truthful…it’s who we all are when we rid ourselves of the layers others place on us. The layers we choose to keep swaddling ourselves in. We are all wise when we drop the veil of stupidity others place on us. We are all loving when we rid ourselves of the fear others gift us with. We are all truth when we drop the lies the shadows bring into our hearts. You know this, you’ve seen it. That is the first pebble you need to cast out there. It’s ripple will be felt far and wide.”

“I will. But how?”

“Well, first you need to wake up and process this. You need to be shaken. You need to quake with all your might. That will rid your tree of the weakest leaves, and allow those pebbles, those gems you’ve been holding on to, to fall to a space where you can pick them up and throw them. Then, watch what happens.”

“Ok. Mom?”

“Yes, Tommy,” she replied.

“Thank you. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“You don’t have to. I know. Remember, I am not ‘out there’. I am right inside you, so I know. Now, wake up!”

My eyes opened with a startle as the words “wake up” brought me out of my sleep. I looked around, half scared and half crying, shaken to my core. All I could hear as the quaking went on throughout me was “watch what falls. You will see….”

There will, I am sure, be more to come. For now, I’ll just watch what falls.

The Parable of the Moving Ball

August 11, 2011 / tomgrasso

“There is no way to be truly great in this world. We are all impaled on the crook of conditioning. “ ~James Dean

There’s a certain magic in that quote. It tells an entire story in two sentences. Even those few we cherish as “great” are only so because we allow a certain perspective to dictate to us who and what they are. Change your perspective and they cease to become “great”. George Washington and Gandhi were not “great” people to the British of their time. Mother Theresa was not “great” to the starving hordes in Northern Africa. Jesus was not “great” to the Sanhedrin or the Romans. Republicans are not great to Democrats and vice versa. It simply is a matter of how you choose to see something.

I often use the Hawking example of the “ping pong ball on a train” applied to my spiritual practice to understand perspective (a view by which we cast all judgment) so that I can extrapolate the effects of perspective, conditioning and attachment on our reality. Here’s

My Sacral Chakra Ball...(Source: http://www.assistedseniorliving.net/)

this analogy in all of its glory:

There is a ping pong ball sitting on a table on a train in a way that causes it to sit perfectly still. The train, however, is moving at 65 miles per hour.

To some people conditioned to be ON the train, the ball is not moving, never moves, and remains perfectly still.

To others conditioned to be on the side of the tracks, the ball is moving at 65 mph as it whizzes by.

Each has its own perspective because of its own conditioning. The ball is still a ball, but when we add ideas of conditioning to it we create a “moving ball” or a “ball sitting still”. If each is unwilling to waver from its perspective we have the conditions for war, violence or, at the very least, anger and fear.

Yet, each is right in their observation. Where they make a fundamental mistake is when they attach themselves to their idea of what they see or have learned and not what is REAL. The reality of this example is that there is a ball and an Observer, plain and simple. If they could agree that there is a ball then the BELIEF about the ball becomes MEANINGLESS! After all, all one has to do to change the way you see the ball is to change the view. (Change the world by changing the way you see the world.)

They would not have to add phrases from a book (in this case any religious text) that

Who is doing wrong here in the picture and why?

proves they are right and the other is wrong. They would not have to create “wickedness” in others who see things differently. They could simply “allow” the description by simply not needing one in the first place. (Those who know do not speak and those who speak do not know.)

In this analogy, no one has actually seen the ball. These people have READ about the ball and what it is doing. For the purposes of this post, the book says that the ball is moving.

Now because these people (we will call them Xtians) have never seen the ball but only have a book to rely on describing what the ball is doing (or was doing), they have created “faith” to ensure that the countless generations of conditioning that taught about the moving ball remains intact. They can’t prove the ball is moving, or that the ball even exists, yet this faith allows them to not only believe in the ball and what it is doing, but also condemn those who either don’t believe in the ball’s existence or have different conditioned ideas about what the ball is (or was) doing. After all, their parents taught them it was moving because they themselves were handed down the countless generations of conditioning that have gone into creating this “faith”.

In this example, the Xtians not only have created an idea of right and wrong, but are using someone else’s idea to do so. They are taking someone else’s experience or inspiration and making it necessary for everyone to have it. It isn’t real, it’s an imagined idea of an experience someone else had thousands of years earlier MADE real in order to support their own conditioned thoughts.

They could point to verses in that book that allowed for the conclusion that “I am right, you are wrong, the ball is moving,” and “I will be saved and you won’t be because I believe the ball is moving”. I mean something supreme told them that the ball was moving (or is), right? The book said that anyone who said the ball was still was a false prophet!!! BEWARE but remain hopeful because a savior is coming to prove to everyone that the ball was, in fact, MOVING.

The faith in the book itself would keep you from experiencing the TRUTH about the ball. You would not be able to experience the ball as still because, frankly, you could not get out of your box long enough to have the experience. So, you could not say for sure if the ball was moving or not, you’d just have to have faith that it was. Experience would be secondary to the conditioning and the belief in you it created.

Silly, huh? When you achieve a level of consciousness that allows you to experience the ball as moving and still, either idea becomes equally meaningless and equally valid. Ultimately though, it is not as important as the experience itself. You die when you stop having the experience of existing, and strict adherence to any religion, dogma or belief (religious or otherwise) is a death experienced by those who have forgotten their own breath. Once we start honoring experience as the basis for our purpose, we not only live for the experience but also find a deep desire to let go or it in order to see the sunrise as if for the very first time. Experience is dynamic and ever-changing, religion is not.

The New Experience of Religion (Source: http://www.canyonridge.org)

There is MUCH value in religion. It removes people from horrible darkness and debilitating despair as well as providing the impetus for humans to come to a deeper understanding of who we are. However, religion seems to be the “puberty of spirituality”, that stage of development that allows us to learn about ourselves in tremendously unique ways while still only being one stage of many. Unfortunately, it has been our history that we stop developing at this pubescent stage. We find comfort in religion, particularly if our parents are the ones who indoctrinated us into it or if it has pulled us out of some deep abyss, and remain in this stage rather than mature beyond it.

Religion is nothing more than an experience. You have it, and then you should let it go. Or else you begin to have the experience of stagnation as you live like a veal-calf in a box. You soon forget how to walk, and become so soft as to be desired by wolves. It would be like finding comfort on the seat of a roller coaster and never getting off to experience the rest of the rides.

Now, before you decide that I am judging religion while demonizing judgment let me just suggest to you that I am offering a unique way to describe my experience of religion not only from the inside looking out but from the outside looking in. I am not JUDGING, I am DESCRIBING. I am describing the ball while I was standing by the tracks and now as I stand on the train. I am not saying I am right to you, I am simply describing what I have experienced which, of course, makes me right to me.

In my experience, religion gave me a grounded understanding of my society’s morality, or at least a rosy picture of it. It also seemed to create a lot of society’s inner turmoil. Because of that, it remained for me just a step toward higher levels of consciousness. There was no comfort in the religious stage, only questions that would force me upward and beyond the confines of a book that taught me that ball was moving. I needed to experience it, to know it, to feel it and to understand it and then fortunate was able to let it go. In doing so, I stepped out of its confines into an experience that hasn’t stopped pushing me into deeper and more meaningful levels of understanding. Religion was a gift for me, it got me to a point where I wanted something it could not offer. It has also been a curse because it has cost me friendships and countless hours of guilt and fear as I began growing away from it.

So when someone says to me “you are wrong, the ball is moving” while unfriending me on Facebook because of what I see (or how I describe what I see), I can simply say “yeah, I saw that once too and this is what I saw once I stepped onto the train.” I now focus only on the ball, and keep my “eyes” firmly fixed on it as I let go of all the ideas I have created about what it is, what it does and how it does it. I simply experience the entirety of the ball, and have found something very powerful in this focus.

The ball does not exist. But that’s for another story…