Inward Bound

It's been awhile since my last post. Thanks to those of you who are still with me, still checking this blog for signs of life. Part of the time I was in California, at a retreat designed to help people reconnect with themselves. And before that I was fighting a cold and a fever, which almost made me consider cancelling my trip. And after the retreat I have been letting my experience sink in, pondering how to write about it. I felt that I had to address it first before scribing about other things.

Inward Bound is the best way for me to characterize this retreat, called the Hoffman Process and organized by the Hoffman Institute. In my class were 39 other people, from across the country and the world, of all shapes, sizes and hairstyles, with a variety personalities that defied Myers Briggs categorization, ranging in age from 20s to early 60s. What we shared was a common determination to free ourselves from, in many cases, lifetimes of emotional pain and suffering that was interfering with the quality of our lives. Many of us were veterans of different therapies and therapists, myriad medications and spiritual practices, as well as practitioners of strict diets and exercise regimes to render medication unnecessary. The collective healing expertise of our group was impressive, even if - as our presence at Hoffman indicated - these complex formulae and heartfelt efforts have not consistently eased our distress. And most of us had learned about the Hoffman Process from other people who had done it and who had experienced meaningful if not lasting results, many of which have been documented in research studies. It was the combination of scientific proof, and the fact that the person who referred me is a Harvard educated CEO, that persuaded my highly skeptical intellect to invest time and a not trivial amount of money in this experience. At the same time, my ego was convinced that it was so special that the process wouldn't work on me, and so there I was, deeply wanting to put an end to my existential and emotional angst yet concerned that I would simply get in my own way, that I would be one of the people for whom this didn't "work".

As we were told early on in the retreat, there is no way to "fail" the Process. True enough. Simply by showing up one has demonstrated a commitment to heal. But many of us were hoping and wanting to achieve an enormous transformation. Fast. And forever.

Although we didn't scale sheer walls, navigate a rope course or leap blindfolded off of a platform into a safety net of interlinking outstretched arms, the process was probably more intense than what I imagine an Outward Bound course would be like. On several days we did exert our bodies to an exhilaratingly and sometimes painfully sweaty degree, stretching ourselves beyond previously established limits, but we did this indoors, not outside. And the exertion was designed to physically, and ultimately mentally, disconnect ourselves from many of the unproductive or negative thoughts and behaviors that we had picked up when we were children and have clung to us like life-force sucking leeches ever since. Hoffman refers to these as "patterns". Sometimes I've thought of them as programming, or conditioning. Whatever metaphor works is the one to use. Disassociating from the patterns was actually liberating and fun, and most of us looked markedly stronger and more powerful after that emotional and highly physical exercise than we had just a few hours before. In fact, a few of us were ready to pack our bags and go home at that point, having accomplished what we thought we had come for: a psychic purging of negative and self-defeating inner voices, voices that had once protected us but no longer serve us.

But we were only on day three of an eight-day retreat. There was more to come, said the teachers, a group of people of a variety of backgrounds who are trained specifically to deliver this process. I preferred to think of them as guides or shepherds, steering our group of sometimes unruly and resistant sheep from one session or activity to another and keeping track of the handful of sheep who'd inevitably wander off, either mentally or physically. Come to think of it, we were more like cats than sheep. Our large class was divided into smaller groups of eight, which periodically met for more intimate processing and discussion, and each group had its own catherd (if it isn't already a word, it is now).

One reason I had a hard time thinking of the facilitators as teachers is that much of the material they presented was not completely new to me, and sometimes I experienced their delivery as uninspired. Having attended retreats, personal growth seminars and dozens of yoga classes, many of them led by emotionally open and enthusiastic people who willingly shared elements of their own spiritual journeys, I was occasionally disappointed by what and how the person at the front of the room was trying to "teach" us. And at times my intellect would protest, "What are you doing here? You know this stuff already. What a waste of money!"

But then it occurred to me that my broad exposure to all kinds of healing modalities and spiritual writings meant that maybe I was a personal growth junkie who could talk the talk, perhaps even more effectively than these teachers, but, let's face it, still wasn't able to walk the walk. My resistance, thicker than a coconut shell and spikier than a porcupine, had gotten in the way of translating intellectual understanding of spirituality and healing into new ways of being and behaving. And at the times that my intellect was trying to invalidate what it was hearing, I reminded myself that I came for the group energy, which I believed I needed to complete some of the healing work I had started in individual therapy, and because the time had come to just do it. I decided I was not going to let my reactions to the teachers get in the way.

The only way out is through.

I had found that it was quite difficult for me to go through some of the less pleasant emotions in a 50-minute hour. It often would take me until minute 40 to soften and relax enough to let my feelings out. And by then it would be too late, because my ego - eager to protect my appearance at all costs - didn't want me to leave the therapist's office while I was a blubbering, vulnerable mess. And if I did manage to release some deep emotion, it was very difficult for me to sustain a more open and yielding emotional quality between sessions. I'd return the following week, feeling as if not much had happened. And so on. I would stay stuck, out of a powerfully toxic combination of stubbornness and fear, both unable and at times unwilling to free myself from some rather heavy baggage.

The Hoffman Process and the group helped me through, and I was able to tap into, feel and release grief that I didn't even know I was carrying with me as well as reach deeper levels of some more familiar sorrows. How did this happen? The Process is neither magical nor manipulative, but it does creatively utilize and sequence some time-tested tools - guided visualization, meditation, expressive writing, music and physical movement - to allow suppressed feelings to surface and be released, to give voice to parts of ourselves that have been shut down for decades. Equally important is that each person came to this retreat with a strong intention and motivation to allow this work to happen. And the setting - a resort in Napa Valley with gourmet catered meals from a Bay Area restaurant - nourished our spirits and bodies. The food in particular gave me something to look forward to each day after a few hours of riding an emotional roller coaster or two; between my cold and the tears, I probably consumed a full box of tissues each day.

The release of so much negative emotion and energy was palpable, with many people literally blooming, growing taller and sparkling before our eyes. And because each of us was feeling comfortable enough with ourselves to remove our social masks, we could now finally see each other as individual people, rather than as the projections of our fears, hopes and judgments. Many people told me to look in the mirror. I did. I recognized myself again, after years of seeing the reflection of a stranger.

Integration

Somewhat dissatisfied by my Sukkot experience of shaking the lulav in a not very mindful fashion, I went online to read more about the meaning of the plants and fruit that form the core of this ritual.

The lulav (palm branch) is flanked on either side by branches of myrtle and willow. According to one rabbinic video on the subject, myrtle leaves are shaped like eyes, willow leaves like mouths, and the lulav itself is like a spine, straight but flexible. The etrog (citron) represents the heart. We can choose to use each of these parts of ourselves for goodness....or not. Does our heart lust after things and people, or do we open our hearts to other people? Do we choose to see the good in others or to use our eyes to find flaws? And, most importantly, can we integrate these parts of ourselves so that we're acting as a whole individual, not a person who feels one thing yet says and does another. Had I been more aware of the symbolism at the time that I joined the etrog to the lulav and waved them in six directions, I might have felt more open to the experience and to imbuing it with my own meaning.

Integration is something for which I strive. In a popular culture that encourages us to act from our heads, not our hearts, that appeals to our material lusts rather than spiritual needs, and that treats the body as an entity distinct from mind and soul, it is very easy to disconnect from one's true self, to dis-integrate. I don't believe that is an exaggeration or overstatement - people can and do fall apart when they can no longer hear what their heart and soul are trying to telling them. Yoga is a means by which I am trying to link myself back together, to bring all the seemingly disparate pieces of myself into a coherent whole and to learn to act from a place that is located between my crotch and my clavicle, not above my neck. For decades I gave my head veto power over what the rest of me wanted to do, and it's about time that my decision making authority be transferred to a more appropriate place: my heart. But first I need to flex my heart muscles some more, because after years of being ignored it has atrophied somewhat and isn't always in a position to override my highly trained brain.

One of my main heart-head struggles has had to do with my level of observance of Judaism. My heart is increasingly inclined to observe the Sabbath in some fashion, not necessarily strictly adhering to Jewish law but also not doing things that explicitly violate the Sabbath, like working. Having had a retail business for the last few years which relied primarily on weekend, and especially Saturdays, for selling, I've found myself with a conundrum on my hands, especially with the holiday sales season approaching. In American culture, Saturday is a much busier shopping day than Sunday.

Yesterday I decided to do an event at my studio, but started it late enough so that I could attend Torah study at my synagogue and stay for the shacharit (morning) service, one of my favorites. But leaving synagogue mid-way through the morning felt unsatisfying, and the fact that I didn't open my studio until 12pm meant that fewer people came. Both experiences were compromised.

And I was somewhat bewildered, in an amused way, by the fact that I (presumably a single individual) had had such a diverse day yesterday, beginning with the study of the Book of Ecclesiastes ("Vanity of Vanities, All is Vanity!"), followed by the intense chanting of morning prayers, to the sale of my jewelry (in which I felt Ecclesiastes' sense of futility), to attendance at a highly frivolous event celebrating marshmallow Fluff, during which a college friend treated me to chocolate ice cream with Fluff, boosting my blood sugar levels to heights not recently experienced, and ending with an outing with a new friend to hear the band Sol y Canto, whose lead singer also attended my college, perform.

I got home close to midnight and all of us - the studier of Torah, the chanter of prayer, the businesswoman, the friend, the Fluff-lusting inner child and my Latina persona - went to bed.