I was on the beach and there was a man and his dog. The dog was grey and shaggy and you just knew it was one of those dogs that barely has two brain cells to rub together. Adorable.

The dog had left a little gift on the stones, and while the man dealt with that, I watched Grey Shaggy as he repeatedly dropped and picked up the ball he had in his mouth. It was like: drop the ball….where’stheballwhere’stheball?!?….ahhh there it is….pick up the ball….drop the ball….shitwhere’stheball??…. Over and over.

It was hard to tell whether the dog was doing it for its own amusement or whether it actually was freaking out every time the ball left its mouth. I decided on the latter because it was funnier.

My point is, isn’t this exactly what we do, with our thoughts, our beliefs, our ways of viewing the world? We hold onto them tightly, so that we cannot see another way or another perception that may serve us better, and then when we do manage to drop them for a few moments, we get all panicky and frantically look around until we find them and pick them up again, clutching them to our chest even while the more thorny amongst them dig into us and often hurt us. At least they are familiar, and the unknown is so scary, right?

If we dropped the ball and waited a few moments, or a little while, and lifted our heads and looked around us at the diamond-sparkling sea, the families playing at the water’s edge,  sniffed the salt in the air or listened to the crunch of feet on stones, might we not naturally fill the gap left by those old painful ways with something new, that would serve us better?

I went on a meditation retreat weekend recently, and am much occupied with such thoughts lately. I am becoming more and more familiar with my particular ways of viewing the world and myself {same thing, actually} that limit the possibilities for joy or expansion or something that simply might work better.

In a strange and also totally normal synchronicity, after writing this I read an article by Martha Beck, who said:

“In Expecting Adam, I wrote about a moment when, exhausted, sick, and heartbroken, I sent out the thought “I just can’t do this. Maybe you should drive.” I didn’t know what I was talking to, and I still don’t. But whatever it was, it surrounded me with an inexplicable sweetness. It picked up my heart and held it like a baby. Ever since, there have been moments when I have climbed out of the driver’s seat, only to grab for control again when my inner lizard raised its fearful, scaly head.”

{my emphasis}

Jeanne talks about standing aside and letting Spirit {or whatever word you wish to use} drive ~ a surrender that can be incredibly hard in the moment, but which produces shifts in perception and outcomes my tiny ‘inner lizard’ could never have imagined. Our egos cannot let go; we must choose with the greater part of ourselves and not buy into the ego’s need to be right at any cost.

I am practising letting my ball go and developing the trust and patience to see what comes to fill that space. Naturally in moments of stress or upset I often default straight to ‘shitwhere’stheballwhere’stheball??’, but then sometimes I don’t, and then I am always graced with something lovely.

I don’t know about you but I always like an example with such metaphors. These things are all well and good in the abstract but I like a bit of concrete evidence, or at least my lizard does. So here’s an example: when D and I ‘broke up’, I went straight into a lifetime’s programming about what that meant, namely sadness, some anger, disappointment, a feeling of enormous and crushing loss and at least initially a searing pain like an actual knife twisting inside. {I know, ok? I’m not immune to drama.}

Thanks to D himself and many discussions with Jeanne, I am coming to truly see that what I limitingly thought was loss is actually merely a shift. I put my ball down long enough to perceive it differently. Marianne Williamson talks about miracles being a shift in perception; well then, I’ve been experiencing miracles lately. I’m not going to pretend it’s all easy peasy and skip off into the sunset singing; apart from the fact that that would be a lie, {and really annoying} it would also be way too neat. Life is not neat. But if you are at the very least willing to put your ball down and  see what else there is, do not be surprised if you receive miracles in return.

The beach does lend itself to such metaphorical and philosophical thinking. Normal business will be resumed once I finish my current painting.