I discovered something BIG this week - during a Pilates class, actually it was after it really. 
I found a very powerful sense of embodiment. I felt really strong. It was more than just exercise. There was something else, something quite special. Bit hard to explain. A number of years ago I made this ticket (above), about feeling integrated after swimming. The ticket was kind of about feeling physically strong and being fully present in my body after exercise. The Pilates experience was different. It took me somewhere even more special. In trying to understand what it was I read that Joseph Pilates apparently developed his techniques (which he called  'Contrology') using the mind to control the body. While I had achieved that in Pilates, I also felt like the actions to physically centre my body had also centred my mind. It was like meditation and a bit more. I felt I had used my body to control my mind. My body and mind were talking to each other in a very clear way, aligning. I felt very embodied, strong, centred, alive. 
There are loads of Pilates books, DVDs and classes - I think Pilates is a great way of taking care.

Gavin is a freelance cartoonist who created a cartoon blog that adapts inspirational quotes into comic stories. His website is generous (freebies) and his work is in itself inspiring see: http://zenpencils.com 
I love this particular poster because I think one of the greatest and hardest things I have to do to take care of myself is believe in myself. It reads:

Men (and women) often become what they believe themselves to be
If I believe I cannot do something
It makes me incapable of doing it
But when I believe I can
Then I acquire the ability to do it
Even if I didn't have it in the beginning.

This week I was given a beautiful card by artist Susan Mrosek: (www.ponderingpool.com). The card depicts a woman with ‘guilt’ sitting on her left shoulder. The card reads: 

Guilt promenades its rotund ass across my unusually broad shoulders reveling in the ample room they provide. And instead of dissuading it with a jarring shrug, or even a disruptive twitch, I stand perfectly still … glad to be of assistance.



I find the card confronting. She embraces guilt, welcomes it in. I find the thought almost frightening. Earlier this week when I was talking about an emotion that I had – and didn’t want, a very astute friend responded: welcome it in as though you were a guest house and it was a welcome guest. Excuse me? I replied. My friend went on to share this Rumi poem called The Guest House with me:

This being human is a guest house.
 Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
 some momentary awareness comes
 as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
 Even if they are a crowd of sorrows, 
who violently sweep your house
 empty of its furniture, 
still, treat each guest honorably.
 He may be clearing you out 
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
 meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
 because each has been sent
 as a guide from beyond.
Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatttttt!
It takes my breath away.
I know this to mean it resonates.
I know this is what I need to do.
I am going to have to work hard to be grateful
for the things I currently find painful.
But I also know that – past a point - painful does not serve me well.

This week I had the joy of reading The Velveteen Rabbit,  a children's story written in 1922 by Margery Williams. The book is It's about a little Rabbit that becomes real by being loved. A popular extract from the book goes: Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.
'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'
'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'
'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.” 

What I find powerful about this story is the price of being Real. For the Velveteen Rabbit the price of being Real was losing his eyes and hair and looking shabby (such a great word). For those of us that are not rabbits, the price of being Real (of being loved, of allowing ourselves to love and to feel and to be vulnerable) is that life can hurt. Unlike the Velveteen Rabbit who doesn’t mind being hurt – we humans often do mind. Brene Brown talks about how we numb ourselves from this hurt with alcohol, drugs and  …. She points out that the problem here is that we can’t numb selectively for the painful stuff – when we numb ourselves we numb everything. We numb ourselves against the joy of life as well as the pain. I think it takes courage to be Real, but its worth cultivating.