Brenda's Bicycles

My soul had a flat tire yesterday.

 

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I hit a sharp rock that literally sliced my front tire open. As the air rushed from my tire, the impact sent my body flying into a pile of gravel. I started sliding and rolling down a steep grade, and nearly fell over the edge of a cliff. Somehow, I managed to catch myself on an overhanging branch, just in time.

 

Only seconds earlier, I was naively coasting down what I believed to be an effortless and smooth completion of my two week mountain bike journey in Utah. I was supposed to be on the home stretch. The trail was gradual and smooth—at least it was before I turned that last blind corner.

 

I was sitting at my computer, preparing for a fun relaxing day, when the phone rang. My eldest son’s voice greeted me on the other end of the line. After exchanging a few pleasantries, the conversation soon turned somewhat serious. “I just thought I better call you to fill you in on what is happening,” he lovingly began.

 

Then as gently as he could, my dear son let me know that a recent post, the one where I wrote about being guided to my mother-in-law’s side in her final minutes, had caused some hurt feelings. Certain unnamed extended family members believed that I was insensitive, and had twisted words and facts, distorting my mother-in-law’s intentions.

 

Here is where I hesitate to even continue writing. I realize that anything I say, even from the bottom my heart and soul, has the potential to be misinterpreted. If you continue reading, please know the sincerity of my soul. My only desire in writing is to lovingly express my feelings, my deep experiences as I genuinely perceive them in my own heart.

 

My son continued by telling me that when my mother-in-law was asking for me last week, telling family that she loved me equally, she was really worried about me because I had strayed from the gospel. “She saw you as a lost sheep, and wanted to make sure you were included in the family so that one day you might again be able to repent and be with her in heaven.”

 

At one point during the discussion, my son even reluctantly advised me, “If you do go to the funeral on Saturday, you should probably lay low, remaining in the background.” He was worried that my presence might stir up resentment from some family members.

 

I calmly listened to my son’s loving words, knowing they were coming from deep within his own heart. I felt deep sadness as I recognized the huge religious and spiritual gulf that separates me from my family.

 

Several times during the hour-long conversation, I expressed gratitude to my dear son, “Thank you for having the courage to call me and share these feelings and insights with me. I deeply appreciate the fact that you can honestly discuss these things with me.”

 

As our discussion continued, we delved into several dark corners, shining a dim flashlight on places that conversations rarely, if ever, go with my family.

 

The overall impression I have received in the past few years is that my children were gradually learning to love and accept me for who I am. However, what I gleaned from yesterday’s heartfelt conversation is that my own children still see me very much through the eyes of their religious beliefs. Yes, to them, I do indeed seem lost. There is no doubt in my heart that they all love me—but an awkward gulf indeed separates us. My children see what I have done as a sin, and are not sure how to reconcile their love for me with that huge canyon looming dauntingly between us.

 

I am so incredibly proud of my children. They are wonderful, moral, righteous, loving, serving, caring, and giving. Those with children of their own are beautiful parents. All six of them walk the walk, and live up to their beliefs in ways that fill my heart with gratitude. They valiantly honor their religious and spiritual teachings. The part that stabs me in the heart is that their religious truth is absolute. The only way for them to reach their eternal spiritual goals is to remain true to that absolute truth.

 

I believe I can understand their sadness regarding me—that awkward gulf that separates us. I once stood proudly on their side of this same canyon. I know what it felt like having grown up in the Mormon faith. I know how distressed I felt when I witnessed others going astray from the gospel.

 

My huge dilemma is that now I know in my heart that I am closer to God than I have ever been in my life. When I connect with my source, I am more alive in my soul than I could have ever imagined possible. I want to cry out to my family: “I am not lost … I am right here … right here in front of you … I am deeply connected to spirit … I am on an inspired path … I love you all deeply.” But alas, I understand that their beliefs will not allow them to give even the slightest credence to my own beliefs and experiences.

 

I honor my children for following their beliefs. The irony is that I was a major participant in teaching those beliefs to them. While I would never presume to try to convince them to alter their path of truth—how I wish they could experience some of what I have gone through over on my side of the canyon.

 

Letting the Emotions Flow

 

In the past, I might have tried to be strong, stuffing down my emotions, and pretending like everything was peachy-keen. Not anymore.

 

As I ended my conversation with my son, I allowed myself to sink deep into the flow of my emotions. I have learned that buried emotions never go away. The only way to release such powerful emotions is to allow them to flow through my heart—to stand in the middle of the river and embrace the currents. After feeling their energies, I then gradually reconnect with my divine source, forgive my thoughts about the emotions, and release them as the nothingness that they are.

 

Minutes later, I found myself sobbing on the floor. A deep sadness set up residence in my soul as I pondered the meaning of that loving phone conversation with my son. I began to realize that my relationship with my children was indeed balanced on a very thin tightrope. The canyon between us no longer felt as if it were narrowing—it felt bigger than ever.

 

In the midst of my anguish, I felt words begin to flow in my heart. Picking up my pink notebook, I began to scribe the words as they streamed into my awareness.

 

How do I follow my heart when I know that people I love will misinterpret and not understand?

 

How do I follow my heart when I know that others will judge

and condemn me?

 

How do I follow my heart when I know my actions look slightly crazy to others who hold different viewpoints and beliefs?

 

How do I NOT follow my heart when I know that following my heart is the only way to be at peace, to be true to myself.

 

I’m too awake to the passions within. I cannot go back and live everyone else’s life—to please them and make them happy.

 

My own happiness—my very breath of life—flows from being in touch with my heart.

 

No, as painful as it seems, following my heart is something I must do—even if everyone I have ever loved disowns me. I have faced this decision before in my life. I chose my heart then, and I can do it again.

 

Alligator tears continued to flow down my cheeks as these words made their way from my heart to the paper. I cringed inside as I understood the meaning of the last paragraph. No, I am definitely not choosing to walk away from my loved ones—but at the same time I absolutely know that I must choose my heart. I deeply pray that my family does not view this as an either/or decision on my part. How I would love for them to be a part of my life while I continue to follow my heart.

 

Being the Observer

 

Having chosen to allow these emotions to flow through my soul, I temporarily slid down a slippery slope of feeling victimized by life. I began to feel a small pity party coming on. It was not long before I was making plans to go buy refreshments, wanting to invite others to join in with me. What amazes me, however, is that throughout this whole process I also found myself rooted in the role of observer—observing what I was doing, without really buying into the drama at the deepest levels.

 

Michelle is a beautiful friend and a wonderful sounding board, so I allowed the tearful floodgates to open as I poured my heart out to her. After unloading my pain, while still crying, I found myself saying, “This is beautiful … as soon as I work through this emotion, I know that I will experience some powerful growth … I always do.”

 

I continued to observe the ego battles going on inside of me as Michelle and I went to a movie and dinner. Still on the edge of tears, I watched my thoughts demand that I remain in my emotionally numb and disconnected state. I allowed the emotions and ego thoughts to play out a little longer. I continued to wallow in the deep emotional pain.

 

It was not until later last night that a calm peacefulness began to gradually return to my soul. This morning, as I attempt to write about my emotional journey of yesterday, the saga is fast fading into “just a meaningless story.” Gratitude flows back into my soul as I recognize that a few additional rough edges were broken off from my heart, leaving more polished surfaces of love and peace in their place. Recognition fills my soul as I begin to reconnect with the present moment, calmly trusting that I need not worry about the past or the future. If I am connected to spirit, I need merely act on the promptings of my heart. The rest will take care of itself.

 

I am comforted by the realization that when spirit is involved, there are never winners and losers; while it may not always look that way at first, everything is always win-win. I know in my heart that a beautiful path will continue to unfold if I simply remain in my centered space of trust and surrender. I can’t wait to see what happens next.

 

© Brenda Larsen, 2009