Dear friends,

I have this paper at my altar that says, “Identity, healing, and self-love are personal journeys.” It’s my reminder that I am responsible for my own experience. It reminds me to look within and to bow with great honor to a journey that is mine alone to take.

I need some time to myself this week. I’m craving silence, simplicity, and solitude. I’m craving space to think and to be, and to interact with my own private journey.

And so I am taking a break from writing my blog. I will definitely be back next Monday, ready to engage in a new adventure.

Until then, my loves, I wish you a lovely, fulfilling, adventurous, and satisfying week.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

As this week comes to a close, I’m struck by the idea that living in the middle and honoring the process comes down to living life. Really living it.

My friend Kristine captured this sentiment in a quote she shared: “you will be lost and unlost. over and over again. relax love. you were meant to be this glorious. epic. story.”

Our lives are indeed epic stories. Every single one of them. No one on this earth is without an epic story. Yet we fail to acknowledge as such. We fail to our honor our processes and those of others.

As we live life, we move in and out, up and down, around and around. All of nature is designed this way. Everything is constantly moving. Everything is transitioning through a process. Think of the tides. Think of the solar system. Think of the seasons. Think of the life cycle.

We have no reason to resist our nature other than our social conditioning that tells us we must.

We can change our social conditioning. We can become aware of it, acknowledge it, and let it go. We can soften. We can be lost and unlost. We can be our epic stories by embracing our humanity as it is.

We can do any number of things to be in the middle and honor the process. We all have a responsibility to do so. We can no longer base our lives on that which extends no farther than the corners of our own rooms. We must contribute what we can to our collective story.

We must give ourselves space to experiment, explore, and fail. I think our society pushes us to do things perfectly. Mistakes are punished, and people judge us based on our competencies. To mess things up and not know what we’re doing are criminal offenses. We often lose jobs, relationships, opportunities, admiration, and credibility for not having it all together. Is this not ridiculous? Is this not completely contradictory to the human spirit? In a quote that I shared on Facebook this week, Buckminster Fuller said, “The true business of people should be to go back to school and think about whatever it was they were thinking about before somebody came along and told them they had to earn a living.”

What in the world would we do if earning a living were a concept that did not exist?

What would we think about?

What actions would we take?

How would we treat each other?

We’ve come to believe that we have to earn our right to be human.

This must end, my beloveds. We must do right by each other.

We must be willing to face what’s in front of us with courage and power. We must learn how to embody our human right to brilliance, happiness, and peace. We must embrace ourselves and others and LOVE ourselves and others as we’re whipped through the washing machine of life.

We must give ourselves and others room. We must forgive. We must embrace. We must soften.

We are ok. We are safe. We are, when we let ourselves be, “the middle” embodied. When we honor that, we honor the process.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Part 4.

Tonight I went to a level 3 (challenging for me) yoga class. Toward the end, as I lay in crocodile pose, the yoga teacher said, all that you have to do now is soften. Nothing else. Just soften. Perhaps that’s true.

I had this thought today: peace exists exactly where I am. All I have to do is be there.

We spend much of our mental-time in the past or the future. When we do, the middle exists. When we cease to relate to a past or a future, neither of which actually exists, we eliminate the middle. What’s available when we cease to relate to a middle?

My friend Shoshanna mentioned the other day that for her, the liminal space—the space in between where you were and where you will be—is a space of pure possibility. I agree. The middle can be the liminal space when we let go of our attachment to where we were (the past) and our speculation of where we might end up (the future). What’s available in a space informed by neither past nor future?

I went to my money seminar on Wednesday night, and the Landmark Forum leader said something like, you know the dash on the between your years of birth and death? That tiny little line is all you get. That’s your whole entire life. It’s short as hell. What are you going to do with it? That little dash is the middle. The middle between life and death always exists, even if you have no relationship to past or future. Who are you being and what are you doing in that middle? Who could you be and what could you do in that middle?

When we’re in the middle, there’s this breath-taking moment when we let go of what once was. It can be scary as shit. But when we let go, we invite something truly new to emerge. We invite in new versions of ourselves and our lives.

As we’re allowing something new to emerge, we can help it along by doing things differently. Even changing simple things—the order in which we dry off our body parts after a shower, the way we drive to work, or the name we call our spouse, for example—can stimulate newness in times of transition. Newness facilitates power and possibility.

Here are some questions I have for you:

• What do you want in your life that you haven’t yet gone after? When are you going to go after it?
• What are you willing to embrace in your life right now that you’ve thus far been resisting?
• How can I be of service to you? What kind of service does our world most need?
• What would our world be like if we all softened and let go of what was? What would happen if we truly created from the space of the unknown?

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

PART 3

I believe that the body provides a reflection of the world and everything in it. We can study our bodies and understand any issue or phenomenon happening in society. If I can understand how my body operates, I can understand how our world operates. I find that really fucking cool.

I turned to my body today to learn about the middle. I asked my body, what can you tell me about being in the middle, being in process, and being in life?

Here’s what it said:

The middle is messy.

It’s all guts, blood, puss, and poop. (Wow. That might be the grossest sentence I’ve ever typed.)

Think of the middles of our bodies. They are filled with so much messy stuff. If we stripped away our skin, we would expose all kinds of craziness. None of it would be clean. All of it would be messy.

Most of us avoid our messy insides. We turn our heads during gory scenes. We’re grossed out when we see vomit. We quickly flush after we poop. We avoid anything that isn’t the outside. We hide, avoid, and ignore the inside.

When we’re in the middles of life, we’re in the mess. We’re in the conflicting thoughts and emotions. We’re in the what-ifs. We’re in the I dunnos. We’re in the tears, the pain, and the confusion. We’re in the risks, the chances, and the unknowns.

We’re in the guts of life, and we would rather turn our heads.

But here’s the deal. The middle is where life lives. Ask any body what it would do without the middle, and it would tell you that it would die.

The middle gives the body life. The middle gives the human life. The middle contains the processes that keep life living.

The middle contains the inside. The middle is the inside.

When we’re faced with a middle in life, we’re granted a unique opportunity to witness the inside. We’re given a profound moment to observe our inner workings and to bow to that which gives us life. We’re invited to strip away our superficial skin. We’re invited to witness what’s within.

Our middles are arguably the most messy and disgusting parts of our bodies. But they’re also where the magic happens. They are where breath lives and hearts beat. They are where the body comes to life.

When you are in the middle, you have an opportunity to awaken to life. You have an opportunity to embrace your mess and notice that it gives you life.

The middle is where life lives. The middle is where you live.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

Random Thoughts:

• The whole entire mess is part of a life-giving and sacred process.
• I have two friends with whom I regularly discuss bowl movements.
• Being in the middle sometimes feels like being submersed in a colon.
• When I’m in the middle and let go of control, I feel like I’m sitting on the most beautifully beating heart and being held by the source of life.

PART 2

My mind got a little trippy after my blog post yesterday. I started to think about the middle and all of its impacts on life. Then I got all Alan Watts on it and really got crazy. I typed an entire six pages on whether or not a middle can actually exist and what its existence or lack thereof means for the human condition. It was one of those pieces that made total sense as I wrote it, but when I went back…well, let’s just say there’s a reason I’m not posting it today.

Here’s what I’m present to: the human mind is a crazy thing. Our entire world and everything in it is operated by neurology. How strange is that? People starve because of the organization of our neurons. Our neurons created capitalism, inequality, ecological violence, and so much more. Our neurology also keeps that stuff in place.

As I’m typing this, I’m sitting at a Whole Foods in Los Angeles. Hundreds of people have walked in and out and are busy milling around. I’m trying to look at them as a collection of particles being walked and moved around by neurons. When I tap into that, I see a giant circuit board operating in front of me and around me. I’m a part of it, of course. We’re a collection of machines being moved by biology. How weird is that? I feel a bit like I’m surrounded by robots right now.

I’m struck now by the futileness of resisting the process. A computer boots up exactly as fast as it boots up. It also takes the exact amount of time it does to power down. Food takes a certain amount of time to cook. Water takes a certain temperature to boil. Lights take a certain amount of energy to turn on. Everything takes a certain amount of something to happen.

Our human bodies are collections of chemical and biological processes. If we strip away the soul and some other ethereal stuff, that’s all we’ve got—one giant set of processes. Each of those processes takes exactly what it takes to execute.

What if our biology dictates our processes that seems to be processes of something else? What if processes like breaking up with someone, longing for someone, changing careers, moving houses, and worrying about money are all just biological processes? What if our rush to push through sorrow, hardship, confusion, uncertainty, and everything else is completely futile? What if there is no amount of enlightenment, personal responsibility, or transformation that can make the process disappear?

As I ask these questions, I’m thinking, duh. Of course this is the case. All spiritual and transformational bodies of thought land us squarely in the midst of this very human condition. I’m also thinking that there are definitely ways that we can move through processes faster. The Landmark Forum, Access Consciousness, certain spiritual practices, and pranayama are just some examples of the bodies of work that shorten processes.

But maybe we don’t even shorten them. Maybe we just become magical beings who let go and honor the shit outta them. Maybe we become so clear and honoring that the process just becomes a process and all of our suffering around it disappears.

That seems totally obvious to me now too.

So here’s an idea. Just for this week, let’s let our processes be processes. Let’s see if we can just observe them and grant them being. Let’s let our feelings, emotions, thoughts, actions, inactions, and everything else just happen. No resistance. No resistance. No resistance.

Do this in just one area. Pick a processes and observe and honor it. Give it time and space to do its thang. Notice when you become impatient, and let that shit go. Let your process be.

Processes I’m Observing and Honoring This Week

My addiction to starchy, sugary foods. I’m on a cleanse and observing and honoring the process of my mind and body letting them go.

My attachment to clarity. I’m observing and honoring the processes of anxiety, confusion, and despair in my search for answers.

My judgmental mind. I’m observing and honoring the process of my mind going through it’s various, not-based-in-reality-at-all thoughts like “I’m not beautiful”, “I’m not safe”, etc.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

PART 1

Where in life am I resisting?

Where in life am I not honoring the process?

I tend to love beginnings and endings. I love the space of creation and the celebration of completion. I love the idea of things, and I love accomplishment. The in-between sometimes gets a little rough.

I’m challenged by the spaces where patience and endurance are key.

I counteract my tendency to bow out in the middle through structure. I take yoga classes so that I don’t quit the moment inspiration fails. I run to somewhere so that I can’t quit mid-lap or get off the treadmill. I clean temptation out of the house so that I can’t eat cookies mid-cleanse. I give my word and create accountability so that I’ll do what I want to do even when I don’t want to. Much of my life is a series of life-hacks designed to support me through the middle.

I also do things to avoid the middle. I make decisions. I search for answers. I eliminate gray areas. I asked for clarity. I require promises. These and other things give me the illusion of a clear outcome. They make me feel like I’m safe and in control.

I’m starting to notice the impact that not being in the middle has on my life. I’m sad. I’m anxious. I’m confused. I’m bored. I’m waiting for some other day. I forget to be present. I forget to be loving. I forget to honor the beautiful insights and experiences that belong distinctly to the in-between. I miss out on the textures and nuances of life.

This isn’t always the case, of course, but it’s happening right now in some important areas of my life. I’m trying to skip the middle and get to the end where I’m clear, certain, and accomplished.

I’d like to stop, breathe, and learn a little something about being in the middle. I’d like to live in the middle.

This week I’m practicing being in the middle and honoring the process. I’m exercising patience, curiosity, and endurance. I’m practicing being right here with exactly what’s so.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

What was meant to be an adventure in meditation and prayer turned into something much different from than that: ordinary, day-to-day life.

I followed the call to prayer schedule on Monday and totally ditched it along with intentional prayer and meditation on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I plan to skip them today too.

But here is what I noticed: I meditate and pray a lot. I take moments to breathe, enjoy what’s around me, and sense my own and others’ goodness. I infuse my life with love, clarity, and authenticity. I treat people well and with respect. I notice when I’m a jerk, and I take responsibility for my actions. I bring love to myself and to others in moments of suffering, confusion, and despair. Some of this I do intentionally; other of it I do naturally and easily after years of practice.

My life is a living prayer to God.

Could I be more connected? Yes. Could I benefit from more meditation? Yes. Could I benefit from more intentional prayer? Probably.

I spent a bit of time beating myself up this week for not following through with my intention. Each day, I considered not posting. I considered punishing my inaction by taking more inaction. The thought that went through my mind was something like: “you didn’t do this perfectly, Annie Rose, so you don’t have a right to your self-expression.”

This tendency of mine, by the way, is something I became acutely aware of this week. I mentioned several weeks ago that I’m in the Money Seminar at Landmark Education. As we explored our relationships to money, I noticed that I have a particular disempowering conversation about myself: “I’m not valuable, and if I’m not adding value, I don’t deserve to exist.” No wonder I sometimes face bouts of depression; depression is a way of existing without having to actually exist.

I have other conversations that are equally disempowering:

• If I can’t do it perfectly, I shouldn’t do it at all.
• If I make a mistake, I deserve to be punished.
• My value lies in being a mother, having an established career, and having a clear direction in life (and I don’t have these things, so I must not be valuable).

All of these float around in my subconscious and direct my actions. They give me permission to enjoy life and express myself, and they take it away.

What if I didn’t have to let those conversations guide my life? What if I could be fully free to express myself no matter my conditions?

After all, I love being expressed. I think we all do. Expression is a gift from God, and we all have an inherent right to it. It cannot be taken away. It is all that we truly have.  

I love expressing myself through bright colors and clean lines.

I love expressing myself through creating beautiful spaces with texture, color, and soul.

I love expressing myself through sexy, rooted dance.

I love expressing myself through giving really great hugs. (Seriously, you should let me hug you.)

I love expressing myself through being funny and making people laugh.

I love expressing myself through being authentic.

I love expressing myself through being forgiving.

I love expressing myself through going on adventures and pushing my boundaries.

I love expressing myself, and I deserve to.

So do you. So do we.

I think God asks us for our expressions. God asks us to not wait until we have it all together, know what to do, and can take action without mistakes.

God asks us to be who we are and to forgive and love ourselves and others.

God asks me to be me and you to be you.

And so it is.

A Fun Little Insight

My yoga teacher said last night that when we are walking, we’re constantly falling forward. It’s not scary for us because we know how to catch ourselves and keep ourselves balanced. Balance, he said, arrives only when we allow ourselves to fall. What if we could all let ourselves fall and trust that we are working towards balance?

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

How do you love a jerk?

You either do or you don’t. There are no tips or tricks for loving a jerk.

It’s that simple.

When we love assholes, jerks, mean people, idiots, or anyone else we don’t naturally and easily love, we have to do so unreasonably–literally without reason.

This is challenging for me, as I often find loving jerks pointless.

However, the more I make contact with God, the more I remember that love is it. It’s the final resting spot. It’s home.

So we love, or we don’t love.

It’s up to us.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

I once went to church in Lesotho, Africa. The church had one room and folding chairs that the congregation set up on days of worship. I had walked by the church every day, and a young man with whom I had become friends invited me to join him. He was nowhere to be found, so I settled in between two strangers.

What happened next was something I had never experienced. The entire congregation started to sing, and soon, a woman stood up, shaking her fists in the air and sobbing. She started yelling and crying out, her anguish clear. She was speaking in Sesotho, so I had no idea what she was saying, but I recognized her pain. People around me nodded in agreement, and a few people put their hands in the air, swaying to the rhythm of her sobs.

A few minutes later, another woman stood up and started singing. I loved her voice and was delighted when everyone joined her, their voices equally stunning. What seemed like a few verses in, a man stood up. He was quietly crying, his shoulders visibly shaking. He kept shaking his head and putting it in his hand. The singing stopped, and the man started yelling. I was surprised by the anger in his voice, and it punched me in the stomach. I recognized his emotion too. When the man stopped yelling and returned to quietly crying, another women stood up and started singing a different song. Once again, everyone joined her.

We continued like this for four hours (and that was just half the service!). People stood up and bore their souls, and others stood up to sing to them. This dance of call and response was profoundly beautiful.

This experience is among the most profound in my life. It popped into my mind this morning as I drove in Los Angeles traffic, trying to remember God.

I reflected upon the Divine power of being witnessed and held. To love someone as God does, I believe, is to bear witness to them; it is to grant being to every depth of their soul. It’s to offer them comfort simply by seeing them—all of them—and not turning away. To love someone divinely is to step closer and to witness and to hold.

The gift is a simple one, and one we all have the power to give.

On My Mind Today:

• I’m ready to spend some significant time in Africa. She’s calling me home.
• Simplicity and divinity are profoundly connected for me.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose

I’m struck by a few things as I write my blog this evening.

1. It is so easy to get wrapped up in wondering what people think of me, my writing, and my blog! What a funny mind fuck that is. I’m letting that go and returning to my intention to simply explore and to share.
2. Sometimes I think I should be more “positive” or happy than I am, so I try to be positive and happy and end up wanting to punch someone in the face. Just kidding. It’s not that bad. And I’m a pacifist. But maybe trying to feel something I don’t is actually the source of my depression.
3. I’m really uncomfortable with the idea of praying.

My exploration in meditation and prayer has not gone as planned. I followed the call to prayer schedule yesterday, and that was cool, but I didn’t do it today.

It seems like I added something to do to my schedule.

Did you convene with God yet, Annie Rose? Yes? Check! On to the next thing.

Yesterday, my schedule and my life easily allowed for stopping what I was doing, sitting down, and connecting with God. During Duhr, my noon(ish) prayer, I stopped my walk, laid in the grass with my arms spread open, and closed my eyes. Moments later, a dog started licking my face. I didn’t flinch, and I wasn’t surprised. I loved it. I love dogs! He left after a few rounds, and I sat, remembering God.

The calls to prayer in Muslim culture are meant to give people an opportunity to remember God. I’ve been thinking about that phrasing—remembering God. Not thinking about God, not praying to God, not wondering about God. Just remembering God.

I can remember God. I saw God in several of my medicinal journeys. I saw God when my friend died. I saw God on that one wave. I saw God when I walked El Camino de Santiago. I saw God in meditations, love-making, conversations, and more. I like the idea of pausing and remembering the experience of those moments.

I remember God not with my mind but with my molecules. I let go of my thoughts about God, and I let go of my memories of God. I just sit there and I be with God.

Today, I am thinking that God lives in a moment. When I pause to remember God, I pause to be in a moment. It’s that simple for me right now.

Insights for the Day:

I have no idea how to say in words what I think God is.

I love God.

I’m not religious at all.

I feel God in churches and mosques, sometimes to the extent that I’m moved to tears.

I honor people’s beliefs about God unless they believe that God is in any way judgmental and hateful. Then I think their beliefs are silly. What does that say about me?

I long to be steeped in those moments where God is.

In love and liminality,

Annie Rose