My son Frank hasn’t lived at home for more than ten years. My daughter Charity, quite a bit younger, is catching up with that span of time. During their most recent visit home, I had to explain how to turn on the stove since we remodeled the kitchen recently and have a fancy new digital flat-glass cooktop.
“Oh, you have to press the ‘on’ icon really hard,” my son told her, ever helpful. Actually, you don’t. The icon reads the heat in your finger, but it takes a few tries to feel that out. “Sheesh!” my daughter replied, shooting me…
Is it selfish to focus on healing my personal trauma? Shouldn’t I care more about people who have it far worse? The very question comes from the heart of a spiritual warrior, someone whose history makes them acutely aware of injustices done to other people. Such a person is primed to question the status quo. The good news is that healing from personal trauma is an intensely social, even a political act.
Healing is a movement from isolation to connection. As psychotherapist Matt Licata, PhD, points out, virtually all trauma involves relational wounding. Someone we should have been able to…
The Civil Rights movement created a new era of legal equality in the United States, but racism and injustice merely shape-shifted into new forms to accommodate the letter of those laws. As Ibram Kendi writes, “Racial disparities persisted after the (Civil Rights) law was passed because discriminatory policies persisted under a patina of colorblindness… America is still hemorrhaging from the racism of police bullets, health disparities and environmental catastrophes. The black unemployment rate has been twice the white unemployment rate for 60 years.”
Equality’s a good thing — until you see how a small child standing on his equally-sized box…
This first appeared on the Association for Spiritual Integrity blog. Used by permission.
Try telling a goldfish that it’s wet. Assuming you speak its fishy language, it’ll probably say you’re nuts. The water it depends on is so inextricable from its goldfish self that it can’t perceive water as a separate thing.
It’s like what the spiritual teacher Adyashanti says about enlightenment. Our consciousness is our arena for awakening, yet consciousness so permeates our being that we can’t feel or grasp it. We can’t experience how obvious enlightenment is until our preconceptions are utterly confounded. …
We in America are quietly assaulted with messages generated by an industry behemoth. The estimated worth of the mindfulness industry is projected to be 2 billion this year. “Spirituality” is cool. It’s a catchall term, covering everything from yoga as a fitness modality to the most austere Buddhist practice. What used to be dismissed as “New Age” is now mainstream. Christian churches don’t just rent their community rooms to outside meditation teachers, along with AA chapters. Now they encourage meditation, albeit with a Christian spin. The domain of “religion” is popularly understood as focusing on outward conformity, rules, and ethics…
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Who We Are: Collective Power is a space for inspiration and movement-building. With the Collective Power podcast, we form Collective Power Media, both produced by the Home for Good Coalition. H4G’s…
Damn you, emotion! Sometimes I want to surgically excise you from my life. Mostly, I want stick you in bottles, so I can guzzle down joy until I’m good and ready for sorrow.
Only that’s called addiction. And I know where addiction ends up. For reasons I can’t fathom because I present a lot of risk factors, I’ve never struggled with a serious addiction. But emotion? …
My Great-Grandmother, Mary Haines, died at home in 1885 from what was then called childbed fever. She was 29, and she had just birthed her fourth child.
In its epidemic form, as in hospital settings, childbed fever had a 70 to 80% death rate. It was a gruesome death. Some women went crazy; most did not. All experienced severe abdominal pain. As it turns out, Mary’s death was completely preventable. It was caused by the dominating assumptions of patriarchy.
The Haineses lived in the Germantown section of Philadelphia, then an enclave of well-to-do Quaker families. The large fieldstone houses were…
May, 2020: Most people would say that 32 years ago, my first child was born. I know better. Like gold, my son was mined. He was excavated while I lay numb, terrified, and wide awake on an operating room table.
My due date had come and gone nine days earlier. When I lumbered into bed the night before, I‘d been having contractions every few minutes. They didn’t hurt a whole lot, and they weren’t quite regular. I lay awake, hoping my husband Steve would get some sleep, then resenting his little snores when he did. I was learning that actual…
Years of healing, years of spiritual seeking. Together, they bring transformation. Co-Editor, Collective Power