Do This, Don’t Do That

Do This, Don’t Do That

by Michelle Katz

I am a full follower of the Dalai Lama’s advice on learning the rules to know how to break them properly.

This week has been a real hardship for me in regards to “the rules”.  I have begun to ask myself if some rules are just made for rule-making sake? Or because some person’s indiscretion or exploitation, one bad seed creating an unjust system for everyone else? Or some practice of authority that is unchecked? 

Often times it seems like rules block progression, is keeps us caught in a system that doesn’t work and doesn’t benefit the majority.  Hoops to jump through that are actually not in service to the greater whole, leave me baffled.  This week, working my day job, has revealed to me how rules can be overly absurd and actually lead to people not seeing a greater purpose or keeping people from being of service to those who they are meant to be of service to.  It was as if rules were made to keep people down and powerless.  Then it occurred to me, that is what our systems have been doing for a long time to those who are disenfranchised.  My anger grew with the awareness of how the microcosm of my experience mirrored the larger injustices of the world due to rules created and imposed upon us. The world is trying its best to change, to struggle its way out of this restrictive cocoon we have found ourselves in: activists hitting the streets or bending the rule in back rooms hoping to not be discovered, young people with fresh ideas (the ideals of our country’s founding) fighting to be involved in politics which is over occupied by the older generation not wanting change.  Change is the purpose of the younger generation, listening to those who are younger helps our world move forward exponentially.  People have known and lived “the rules” for too long, it is time to speak about how they just don’t make sense anymore!

I come from a lineage of holocaust survivors.  All my grandparents lived though that traumatic act of injustice and genocide, rules that didn’t make sense to disempower people. One of the major teachings for the generations that followed: question.  We were taught to question what doesn’t make sense, what subjugates people, question, before it is too late to say something. Question, because silence and blind obedience can often lead to great loss.

I wanted so wholeheartedly to believe that in a post-covid world; a world full of loss, a world that’s practices have been challenged, had us stifled in our homes, had us hyper conscious about our health and wellbeing for the better of two years – we would prioritize a world of health and possibilities.  I wanted to wholeheartedly believe that in a world with racial upheaval; a world that watched George Floyd take his last breath in front of our very eyes, by the people we should entrust our safety to, the people who should hold all its citizen’s wellbeing as the soul purpose of their work in the world –that  we would take a good look at our systems and spring into action about changing them.  I wanted to wholeheartedly believe that in a world that is witness to an unnecessary war based on one man’s desire for power, we would question what leadership really means and how the heart of people is much more powerful than their might.  But unfortunately, all I seem to see is more injustice, more big brothering, less freedoms, less emphasis on caring for human beings over the systems we live in, more requirements and restrictions, and expectations gone rampant.  Less listening to each other and less actual change.  I am disheartened by the rules that keep us stuck, and for those of us brave enough to step out and question or find a way to break them, I applaud you, I implore you, keep going! Even though you face the hardships of the repercussions, I know you are doing it for all of us, for the better collective. Question.

With such great aggravation, I take a walk.

I walk the land behind my house, up and down the hills, navigating to now avoid newly (just in the last year) built fences of newly bought plots of land, fenced in.  “No trespassing” signs that once were never part of the neighborhood are now peppered throughout.  Rules, boundaries we are forced to move with when the space was once open and shared among the community.  I can’t help but wonder, rather than what are they keeping out, what are they hiding?  I’ll admit, we put up a “no trespassing “sign at one point to stop the construction workers building new properties from coming into our area to defecate, leading our dogs to eat it and get sick, we put a sign to explain our request, next to our “no trespassing” sign. A month later, when we realized our request was clearly understood, we took the sign down.  The others have not, and new signs are posted regularly.  “Signs, Signs everywhere a Sign, marking up the scenery, breaking my mind, do this, don’t do that, can’t you read the sign.”  How did a broken world leave us pushing away humanity?

Passed the hills and boundaries of new fences there is an opening.  My favorite part of this daily walk.  The opening to a large field that the monsoons have left bright green and covered with yellow coreopsis, towering over the dogs, leaving pollen on our tickled hands.  It is hard to not smile when reaching this bright and beautiful open scene.  Even in the winter, it is my favorite part of the walk, covered with a blanket of untouched snow that glistens in the late afternoon sunlight.  And when there is neither flowers and bright green grasses nor angelic snow, there is still an expanse and feeling of openness, a view of mountains or hills in every direction, an place that ask us to take perspective, and take in what is real and true.  A place that thrives with life: from owls and crows overhead, the coyote chasing the mice scurrying across the earth, vibrant juniper, blue grama grasses, and coreopsis and asters.  Life lives in this wild place surrounded by the starkness of a sandy arroyo and rocky hills.  It is soft here, things are flourishing in every direction of growth, unbound by hard edges that stifle development.  Even when standing on those rocky hills overlooking this part of the land, I say to yourself, “that’s where it’s at, where the beauty is, where I want to be.”

I sit here a while. Taking in this landscape that speaks to me of what is so needed in today’s world.  The hard edges all around this place, they are not thriving.  But, these special few acers, somehow, it knew how to break the rules of the surrounding landscape, it knew to make something different happen.  I look to this place, again and again for inspiration, for how to break the rules and thrive.

Defining Cerros

Defining Cerros

 by Michelle Katz

Over the years, many people have asked me why I named Cerros Consulting, “Cerros”.  As a storyteller, I feel this is an important one to tell.

I began this company just shy of a decade ago at a very pivotal rite of passage for myself.  At the time, the name of this business was “Oaks Counsel” named after the Oak tree I would visit frequently in adolescence, when home was Cleveland, Ohio.  Martin Shaw said, “All a tree wants is our fidelity.” And in the naming of the business, my fidelity to this oak seemed important. I remembered how that tree always had my back and I would turn to it for counsel as I watched a swift river flow below, teaching me of life being every changing, tumultuous at times, and still life giving.  The Oak gave me counsel and also consistency and trust.  There were oak trees around where I lived when Oaks Counsel came to be, in a sweet small California town, so the name seemed appropriate and related to the landscape of the practice.  Though a part of me always knew that I would return to Santa Fe at some point and the name would not be so relevant, Oaks Counsel remained the name of the business from its infancy into its adolescent stage. 

I returned to Santa Fe in 2016; but it took years after my return, in the first few months of the global pandemic, for me to seriously begin to contemplate what would bring this organization into full maturity.  I asked myself what was needed to reflect this notable time.  A rebranding/renaming was being called into actuality.  A connection to its new home and the natural landscape that surrounds this work. A step into adulthood and a clarity of purpose and gift to the world. Adulthood is about perspective taking, is includes being prepared and seeing the bigger picture. Santa Fe offers this in the most literal way through its mountain views and its desert lessons. 

Cerros whispered into my ear as I sat on the earth pondering this transformation. Cerros is the Spanish word for hills and peaks. Spanish being a largely spoken language of this city, thus more deeply connected the name to its landscape and people, the landscape, and people I know to be home. There are many places in the region with Cerro embedded in the place name, Cerro streets, Cerro trails and Cerro parks, Cerro often followed by a descriptor word or surname.  But Cerro truly can stand alone, strong and grounded at its foundation and base. Each Cerro is uniquely created of various ecosystems evolving off each other as the ground grows upward to its peak.

In reflection and contemplation of a name for what I wish to bring to the world, Cerros spoke to me of the life I have had and the lessons it has taught me.  Life’s turns and edges brought me to various trials and trails, the uphill battles, and the tumbles downhill, the landscapes of pause sometimes forced upon me and sometime self-created, unexpected experiences and long-awaited harmonious experiences, transformative and all contributing to who I am/am becoming.  Experiences that take us out of the comfort zone and reveal ourselves to ourselves are largely unpredictable and never straightforward in their lessons. Experiences can be ugly, though we must be able to see they are also encircled by beautiful ones.  I have had challenges beyond measure, bringing up questions of self and the world that I have wrestled with along my way. I’d find myself in a meadow of wildflowers with a trickling creek alongside me one moment only to turn a number of zigzags into a scene of rocky grounding, dry, windy and desolate.  I think we all know what the very top of the mountain looks like, and we all decide that the view is worth every bit of the uncertain footing along the way.

We all know the journey to the top is never a clear or carved to be a straight upward path.  It is full of switchbacks, different terrain, ducking down into the ravens, climbing up crevasses, pattering down paths, trudging up cliffs, meandering around boulders or trickling slippery streams, hopping across rock fields to avoid the cracks, screeing shale, and taking long breathers every now and again all before we stretch our arms victoriously to take in the peak.  And you know once we are up there for a while, the cold sets in, the sandwich and snacks get eaten, the storm clouds look to be rolling in or the sun ducks behind the western ridge and we must turn our backs to the glorious view and begin the journey down.  We cannot stay up there for too long.

The fact of the matter is that the peaks don’t exist without all that surround it.  Cerros gets its name from this deeper truth.  Hills don’t exist without their base and valleys between them, without their rounded and gaged and jagged edges, their changes in elevation and the different sceneries that are part of its makeup. It is important that we learn to wander and amble all the terrains to and from the top.

It is often overlooked that Cerro is also translated to mean backbone.  An important part of our physiology. The structure of our being, our standing in the world, our central support that is connected to our entire musculoskeletal system, the part of us that empowers us to move in the world: sit, stand, walk, twist and bend.  Our strength and foundation are in this essential part of our body. It is easy to note that our backbone is also made up of bones with valleys and peaks, curves, and bends in all directions, hard and flexible all at once.  It is also easy to connect the word backbone to the long-used idiom of “have a backbone” meaning to have strength in character.  To commit and live into your knowing and hold strong to your own decisions and feelings.  This knowing of self is the core value of the organization.

Cerros is named such for these two very essential reasons: 1.) It is a reminder that peaks and valleys exist together, and all inform/make up the fullness of a life, the perspective from the top is important in revealing this truth. And 2.) Cerros teaches us about the backbone, the base, the foundation of who we are. Remembering, connecting, and returning to this again and again, no matter where you may be on the journey, is what the organization aims to evoke in every person that steps in and enrolls into the services and offerings of Cerros Consulting. If we strengthen our knowing of ourselves it allows for us to find our home all along the way.  And if you care for a bonus reason, it is the story of my transition into true adulthood, the movement toward seeing a great perspective and knowing even in this great big world, connecting to my base self, day in and day out, is the practice of living into my best self.

Grief to Gift

Grief To Gift

by Michelle Katz

After my first break up with a serious boyfriend, in my grief and heartache, confusion and scrambling to make sense of it, my dad said to me, “when the groom leaves the bride at the altar, no one knowns who is the lucky one.”  I remember it stopping me in my tracks.  This statement, that I gave tribute to as some Ukrainian adage I imagine he heard somewhere along the way in his growing up, created true pause in my experience of loss.  Like a Zen Koan landing in my lap through the wisdom of a man I would never expect such a turn of a phrase be expressed.  Years and years later, I still remember that moment, that saying, and have applied it to the many loses throughout my life: relationship losses, career losses, losses that contributed to major paradigm shifts, the most brutal experience of friendship losses, even the losses and battles with my own ideas. 

This simple and profound saying offers me the greatest contemplation about loss: ”What if it was meant to be?” “What if this terrible unbearable feeling of grief, is actually for the best?”  Holy wow!  As the Dalai Lama wrote “Not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.”

We all have had losses in our lives.  Many of which have defined us, taught us a lesson about how to be in the world, taught us about great love and surrendering to what is.  In hindsight, all those losses can be seen as circumstances that were meant to be.  Grief for something that was once so wonderful can later be understood as necessary loss for the becoming who we are meant to be.

Loss happens in nature every day, from predator hunting prey to the extinction of a species due to the climate crisis.  There is even the line of thought that the global pandemic and it’s enormous impact on the loss of life can be contributed to nature running its course for the creation of a world that is more sustainable, conscious, community oriented.  It is a hard heart wrenching thought to bare, but, what if it’s true?  Could we bare it? There is much we grieve these days that is hard to bare. We are meaning-making-machines and it is often more about how we feel about how we feel than the feeling alone. What is the work of seeing the crack as also being the place that the light comes in (as Leonard Cohen wrote)? Are we able to see that a light is in both the broken glass and the diamond (Mark Nepo)?

Byron Katie, a great psychological thinker/author, among many others of her kind, teachers us to look at what is.  To ask the questions of what is really true? How we know it’s true? What is our reaction to our thoughts? Who would we be if we didn’t have that thought?  And what if we flipped that thought around and discovered ways that new thoughts might be true.  What an incredible, interesting, and unbearably challenging practice to take on!

Another great explored or grief, Francis Weller, teaches us the wildness of our sorrow and how the other side of it is gratitude.  Greif can be transformed into fertile ground for use to embrace the realness of life.

Vulnerably, I tell a story of the loss of a career I had been dreaming of for as long as I could remember.  My identity, who I defined myself to be, was wrapped up in this career. The loss of it left me utterly bewildered.  I failed, I wasn’t worthy of anything good, I felt depressed, hopeless, I could not see my life ahead of me.  Who was I?  How was I going to move forward?  Joseph Campbell offers, “We must be willing to let go of the life we’ve planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”  The freedom of this terrifyingly challenging action is inexplicable.  It feels like sometimes this action of letting go could kill us, it is that threatening to our existence.  But I have to tell you, every time I have been able to practice this letting go, it has been liberating. Acceptance of what is the greatest way to lead a peaceful life. 

I watch the trees move through the seasons, loosing their leaves in the autumn without resistance.  I watch the long days become shorter.  The fruit fall from the carefully planned and tended to garden.  I watched the winter come and cover the sands and soils that are marked by footprints that hold memories of walks with a lover or friend, the small plants that took root but may not make it to another spring, the tree trunks that once invited us to sit awhile.  I watch the once pristine glistening heavenly snow turn brown and dirty, patchy and slushy on its way to melt. I watch the buds of tress become leaves and flowers in the spring, the grass growing back the best it can in the face of drought remembering what it once was in the rainy year; the wind blowing the pollen of a juniper to it’s mate like a soul leaving a living being. I watch beautiful full forests become on fire and then turn into flood grounds and then become the landscapes the elk come to know and love as their greatest buffet. I see the bunny picked up by the raptor, the snake eat the mouse, the coyote on the side of the road and it’s mate howling in the loss. I see the fallen and decaying tree, becoming a home for burrowing animals and then on its way to become soil and new plants. The world is full of loss. The loss is an energy that creates something new, something equally or even more beautiful.  If we are able to do the important work we are meant to do with the experience of loss.

My losses created resistance, morphed into grief that spoke to an enormous love, initiated a creative process and revealed some beautiful gifts that would otherwise have been unseen.  So, if the groom leaves the bride at the altar, yes, no one knows who is the lucky one, but my bet is on both of them eventually grow lucky enough to live happily ever after.

Risk: A Recommendation for Living a Full Life

Risk, It’s My Recommendation

By Michelle Katz

Everything is in bloom as the rains have come to New Mexico.  We have had a very inconsistent monsoon season, heat and drought and fire, then early rain, then heat and no rain in sight for weeks, then little spirts of rain to something that resembles true monsoons. I have watched the roses in my garden risk their fill bloom and fall various times this year. Small buds seemed to burn off in the early heat of the season, small burst of blooming and then wind that carried them away.  Just in the last week they have become vibrant and full.  I cannot help but applaud them for their ability to risk again and again, to show themselves and then be hit by the weather again and again, until they found a perfect symbiotic union with the elements for the full expression of reds, yellows, and pinks in layered mandala like petals moving from the center into the world.

It is no small feat to bloom in the desert as the climate grows more and more unpredictable and harsh. It is no different for us. The world grows more unpredictable and harsh: in climate, politics, race relations, war, national health emergencies, the list goes on.  How are we to muster up the energy to attempt to bloom again and again if we get burned or tossed around and blown away from our base?  Risk. Risk and the courage to risk.  It takes guts to do what doesn’t quite make sense or is not popular, to embrace your vulnerability and show up regardless of how others perceive you or how ready the world is to see you in your fullness.

Love is a daily reminder of risk.  Before a relationship, we are vulnerable to the quick judgements of a potential mate, someone who doesn’t yet know us projects ideas (the good and the bad) onto who we are, while all we can do is risk revealing ourselves as we truly are. At the beginning of a relationship, the projections continue and the risk to show up as our true self becomes greater, worried about acceptance and reciprocity.  As the level of risk grows, the sense of potentially being obliterated increases, and so down goes our desire to show up. But if we do, if we risk to love consistently, eventually, love reaches a peak, a full seeing and showing up as our true selves with utter acceptance, reciprocity and the adventures together just get better!

Our hopes and dreams require risk as well. We risk every time we choose to step into the “arena”, (as Brene Brown calls the space where we are living our purpose). Especially right now, in the world of social media creating a platform for folks to rise each other up, but more often used to knock each other down. Following our purpose has the same path and require much risk.  We grow a bud, we are hit with the impossibilities and the nay sayers, we shrivel small and fall off our foundation. But our knowing still lives in us and under some almost ideal conditions we bud again, even unfold a few petals here and there watered by the few drops that nourish our ideas, until the failures and defeats let the purpose fly away. Still it lives in us. When the absolutely right conditions come to be and if we are consistent in following our heart, the bud shows itself again and flowers into its full bloom.  If we ever have risked to live into our dreams or to love another, we know this path well.  It’s the most courageous thing we do.

My path has had many iterations, and locations, many defeats, and re-creations.  Visions and loves that have come in and out of my life… tumbles and surrenders, abandoning and reviving, and oh so many beautiful revisions.  There have been truly huge defeats, circumstances that have caused me to question everything about myself, to reinvent, to become more vibrant in color with each reclaiming of love and dreams. The falls, in their incredible pain, more wholly defined my path, solidified my resolve, and brought depth to my being and my vision.  We never truly discard what lives in us, but it does require risk, despite the circumstances, if we are to live into our purpose, if we are to bloom.  I cannot help but risk myself for it again.  As Anais Nin reminds us, “and the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”  With this, I implore you, go out, bloom, risk it all to show your full self! 

Don’t Miss the Opportunity to Be Bored

Don’t Miss the Opportunity to Be Bored

by Michelle Katz

I have been hearing a lot about boredom lately. Bored in relationship, afraid to retire because of potential boredom, bored when alone at a restaurant. I listen and watch as people avoid boredom. Interpreting boredom in relationship as not working, staying in a job that’s sucking the life out of them, scrolling on their phones in order to avoid any sense of this very important experience. In my observations and listening I cannot help but see the disconnection from self in the desire to avoid boredom.

I am truly a believer in the wisdom of boredom, it can be the birthplace of genius, if only we approached it as such.

We live in a world full of distractions. Daily, I recognize my shortcomings in this world. I cannot keep up with all the waves of communication I receive, plus the 24 hour news and social media cycle. For someone who values boredom...this is all too much. I am distracted to the point that I cannot find presence. My partner, on weekend days, use to wake up asking questions like “what are we going to do today? Where are we going? What should we do with the dogs? How do you want to get there?” I ask him these questions jokingly and preemptively when we sit down for Saturday morning coffee and we laugh. He has grown increasingly more comfortable with just being in the year and a half we have known each other. What makes us so uncomfortable with unstructured time to truly be?

The amazing thing to me is that there is actually so much that happens in what we would call “bored” space! I learn this again and again and especially during 10 day meditation retreats and wilderness quests, where boredom is central to the experience. In these times, yes there is an unbelievable amount of time spent considering the struggle of every moment, noticing all the discomforts, letting the mind wondering into worry until your face becomes a big pimple, picking dirt from your finger nails with the pine needle you find beside you. But beyond the discomfort, which comes in waves, there is also the incredible realization that so much is happening when you are doing nothing! There are all these sensations in the body we never pay attention to that are truly magnificent and when noticed, can be all encompassing, sparking curiosity, interest and presence. On quest, there are all these way in which you come awake to the world alive around you and in the realization of that you too become awake to your own aliveness, knowing life is beautiful and precious.

This morning I walk out on the land, my daily walk for years now, and especially with public lands currently closed, it has become a bit mundane to me. I go over the first hill and plopped down into the first arroyo, fighting the urge to take this time to call a friend or my mom (something to distract the boredom). I see the way the shadows and sunlight make up my path. Staying with the boredom makes me awake to the present. I see a piece of litter (more now than ever with the high winds we have had) I pick it up to see it’s an answer page of a college board prep-test book, algebra answers explained in detail. I look up to the sunlit and juniper shaded arroyo, algebra answers in hand. I smile at this truly unique moment. I cannot help but think about how this page landed here, and the potentially bored teen who studied from that book, perhaps ripping this page out due to frustration. I carried it with me.

I climb to the top of a hill to my sit spot, where I speak words that are habit, meaningful but somewhat boring in the recital, after years of the same blessings. My dogs await for me ready to move, but I stay in it. I remember my last week’s writings about the Uvalde shooting as I look at the dead and living trees surrounding me. I remind myself to never forget these continual shootings, to feel them fully, to not allow them to become commonplace and to not forget it in two weeks time because all that is in place to distract us to do so. I look at the small rocks around my sit spot that I collected overtime. I imagine the cut of one particular rock was once an almost perfect square one side having sharp edged and the other side with well rounded edges. I contemplate perfection and how it never lasts, something cuts it and we must then figure out how to cope. What we do when perfection leaves is what matters. I place it next to my other collected rocks to honor this truth. I walk on, impressed with how the path I created with my steps has truly craved into the landscape. A testament to walking the same path over and over without deviation. The repetition is now hard to break and could have unintended consequences on the landscape.

I wonder about not only how I greet the two rocks to my left or the two infant pinon I walk between, these landmarks like friends guiding my way, but also how bored they may be, how they meet my passing. Life is not simply about our experience of the world but how the world around us experiences us as well. Perhaps I am the highlight of their day. Perhaps the movement through the boredom of our days could provide the most pivotal moment for someone along our way? Boredom seems to evaporate when I can see the world in the lives of other beings.

I take my usual route, but backward, utterly and totally inspired by my 13 year old dog’s decision to walk down the path we usually take back to the house. She looks back at me with a smile and I surrender to this invitation for something slightly different. The same path taken in a different direction can feel like a different path. I love that simple truth. Perspective is up to us and can color everything.

We meander through the juniper and pinon, familiar yet different, and drop down to the second arroyo, wider and more wild. I remembered seeing a healthy and beautiful coyote here just last night, the dogs strangely unaware of her until much later, as if her appearance was only meant for me. It is hard to not initially feel fear at the sight of her, but then it settled into curiosity. I worried about my dogs for a moment and stayed in one spot holding their collars. The coyote looked straight at me, a clear message of the trickster while I hold my questions about boredom and the stories of friends and family avoiding it. She pranced happily by and then was out of sight between the bush. As if she said, “Bored? Ha! Just stay still, that is when things happen.”

I heed this good advice this morning, I sit on the arroyo floor, the dogs, ahead of me, turn around to see me sitting still and come to sit down beside me, one on each side. Staying still, (what some may perceive as boring), that’s when things happen! The birds have a whole conversation, I get to ease drop on their events, joys and alertness. When you think nothing is happening, just listen to birds. I notice the growth of the trees over the years I have walked here, so much growth, seemingly slow as if nothing is happening, trees are always changing, adapting, learning how to be their full selves! Windstorms, rainstorms, snowstorms all come to rattle them a bit but they seem most content in the quiet still moments. I see that what has fallen dead has become new homes and the place of new life, lifelessness is actually a whole world of aliveness. I hear a pregnant silence that I know is the sounds of the process of creation. I pet my dogs and their desire to move seems to subside, perfectly content and in the feeling of love. I cannot help but smile at the beauty of boredom.

Staying still in boring relationship can stimulate the creation a new element of relationship, a new spontaneity to listen to, a new slow and quiet of growth, a presence with love. Retiring to embrace boredom can reveal a life in which you finally live what you value, knowing what is most important to you. Not grabbing for your phone when alone at the restaurant, you may actually hear the laughter from across the room that actives your joy. Take a new preservative on your usual “boring” path and bring your loyal companions with you because love is needed no matter what. Boredom is our greatest ally, it asks us not to create distraction but rather to become wildly creative and utterly present. I don’t know about you, but to me, this is an amazing opportunity we seem to frequently miss.

The mentorship groups provide unstructured time to connect to self and creativity. The summer session starts July 11th. Explore time outside to explore the beauty of what is within.

A Plea for Presence

A Plea for Presence

by Michelle Katz

Our nation sits with another very familiar tragedy this week.  I have written too many articles on mass and school shootings.  There is a part of me that is resistant and in disbelieve that here I am writing about this yet again.  A pandemic, an unnecessary war in Ukraine, wildfires, and still young people are taking guns into schools. It is all too much.  CNN reports at least 213 mass shooting for this year alone, that is more than the 144 days of 2022!  I think it’s most alarming to know the reality that every young person in our nation no longer feels safe to go to school to get an education and teachers, whose jobs are important beyond measure, risk their lives every day to bring kid the heart and passion of learning.  My heart is breaking.

Einstein, the man who helped the world break through some of the barriers of understanding the physical world and the universe, said, “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.”  So, what are we doing?  Is it about time we break through the barrier of how we are making sense of mass shootings?  I recall the American Dream that brought my parents to this country in 1979 from Ukraine, the dream of a better life, the dream for young, fresh, new and revolutionary ideas, for being the model for what others strive to be.  We are not what we once aimed to be, what the vision of this country feels blurred. Let us hear the voices of the young people, they are screaming out for something better and my heart is breaking.

A few weeks back I posted a video about asking the question, “what breaks your heart?” to help us get to know our purpose in the world.  Does this tragedy and others like it not break everyone’s heart?  What is stopping us from making drastic and real changes?  We need to love our children more than our guns in this country!  My heart is breaking.

As an advocate for social emotional learning and mental health in schools and for young people overall, these tragedies propel me into a trauma response.  If it’s doing that to me, it’s 100 times more traumatic for young people.  My colleagues and I turn to each other in the aftermath of every school shooting, retraumatized and recognizing that one after another we grow more numb.  Because of trauma overload, because of helplessness, because of the need to preserve our psyche. My heart is breaking.

Today, I stepped outside.  I sat at my sit spot on a hill between two living and two dead juniper trees and wept.  I gave myself time to feel.  I looked among the living and dead around me, beyond just where I sat, outward to the hills outstretched in every direction.  Who gets to decided who lives and dies? What can we do to help those still living?  How do we stop this?  How do we speak for those who are most vulnerable?  How can I be of service to heal our world so that this is not a daily headline?  My heart is breaking.

I worry that we have all grown numb to these events. I understand it is a method of coping, I can honor that.  But I plea to everyone to take the time to sit with it, to feel this enormous and persistent loss of young life. To recognize that parents are not meant to bury their children.  Take time to honor who those children are, to let them be remembered and live on through your tears.  May those tears move us, lift our boat from where is sits, stuck in the sand, to a new place that promises that these events won’t happen again.  My heart is breaking.

Every generation born to this world is meant to create change, to bring new ideas that lead to our evolution as human beings, but this cannot happen if we don’t hear their voices, recognize their needs or give them a chance to grown up into healthy purposeful adults. This cannot happen if we look the other way when a young person feels hatred, anger or exhibits mental illness, because we are too uncomfortable to deal with it. This cannot happen if guns are allowed to be purchased so easily on someone’s 18th birthday. I plea that we all feel this heart break.  And that we act on what we can do.  We are not doing enough, and we have far more power to do more than simply send thoughts and prays. My heart is breaking.

I stepped down from my hilltop seat, came home and read about those who have fallen.  First the shooter, curious about warning signs, about what was missed, what would have stopped his trajectory toward such callous reckless violence. Then I read about the teachers and the 9- and 10-year-olds.  How they sung and played and made the people who knew them smile. I plea with you, don’t go numb, be present to all that arises in you at this time. This may be our only hope for change. I cry, I worry, I grow angry and impatient, I bargain and grieve. My heart is broken.

Summer Threshold as a Birthplace for Genius

What if we allowed summer breaks to be an actual break!? Young people have built in time to connect with themselves, nature and their calling every year; adults should be so lucky to do this too! The intention of this time is rarely practiced but could have amazing benefits if we actually utilized this time to practice pause, reflection, and connection to self.

The Cerros Mentorship group program is all about creating space for unstructured time to explore who you are. The summer season mentorship group starts on July 11th, let’s come together to create space for you to discover yourself!

Finding Friendship in a Broken World

Finding Friendship in a Broken World

By Michelle Katz

I have been contemplating friendship a lot lately.  I attended a conference about the Adolescent brain in which Dr. Daniel Seigel spoke about the ESSENCE of adolescent brain remodeling, an acronym standing for Emotional Spark, Social Engagement, Novelty and Creative Exploration.  All of these elements are worthy of discussion, but for the purpose of this post, I am going to focus here on social engagement.  Dr. Seigel explained that social engagement is vital for adolescences because connection to peers, away from parents, helps create a sense of belonging and understanding through similar ideas, thoughts and experiences.  He explains that at this age, feelings of death can emerge in the experience of not associating with peers. I recall being young and wildly upset when my parents told me I couldn’t meet my friends for any myriad of reasons.  I can only imagine what it’s been like for young people during the pandemic.

A couple days after this conference, I had a meeting in which someone spoke about how children are going to friends to discuss problems they are having rather than coming to their parents or other trusted adults, implying that youth are not being raise by adults anymore, but rather raised by each other.  I found myself growing curious about this.  Is this developmentally appropriate?  Is this a sign of growing into adulthood, of turning more strongly to those who we feel belonging with?  Or even more so, those who we will inherit this new world with, those who we will come alongside to address today’s most pressing issues and hopefully offer an evolution for humanity?

Today’s young people face uniquely different challenges than pervious generations before them.  Doesn’t it make sense for them to bond closely with those who face similar challenges, to share stories of overcoming difficulties or navigating situations with those who can relate deeply to those situations.  Friendships have always offered me a foundation for understanding the world.  I think there is a way to access and connect with the wisdom of our parents but the color of our lives, from adolescents onward, is painted by our friendships and that truly grows us into who we are.

This week, I started with a new mentee. We are in a state of inquiry about her life up to this point, collecting stories that help me see her in the context of her greater life.  In exploring memories of significant events, friends have been central to her stories.

I recall reading a Guardian article about friendship and how the pandemic has effected these meaningful relationships.  This article spoke about populations most vulnerable to loneliness (single people, folks with mental health challenges like anxiety or depression, those in the midst of major life changes, and very particularly, youth).  The opportunity to make or cement friendships has been curtailed by this global event.  A counselor cleverly named that lockdown brought folks back to a schoolyard dilemma of picking their one best friend to be in their covid bubble.  She endearingly mentions the fear to ask and the fear of not being asked.  The pandemic became the grounds to rank and order our friends or the grounds for rejection, putting a dent in our confidence.  Now that things are opening, those who may not have felt lonely during lockdown, are suddenly struck with a deep loneliness.  The pandemic has changes how we all do friendship.

I love that there are so many different words for love in the Greek language, one of my absolute favorites is Philia- intimate, authentic friendship with a focus on freedom, joy, and deep understanding and also wanting the best for the other person. 

Throughout the pandemic I had a period of being single, experiencing some major life changes, and depression, making me wildly vulnerable to loneliness and the loss of friendship. At the start of the pandemic, I felt asked and did some asking in creating my covid bubble of close friendship. But, with ever changing circumstances, this bubble popped.  In the months of a fully open world post-pandemic, I feel vulnerable to loneliness. I struggle to know Philia in friendships I once certainly classified as such love and meeting new friends seems harder then ever, all while I avoid the effort to explain my story to friends I lost touch with in the last two years.  If I’m feeling this…I know young people are feeling it tenfold. 

The loss of long term and meaningful friendship is hard, especially if friendship is the central crux of your life. The question becomes, where do we go from here?  We must ask ourselves how do we truly honor ourselves by the people we surround ourselves with?  Is the one we ask to be our best friend during the pandemic, still our friend? If the friendship ground below us sifting in order to best promote better growth for all of us?  My mentee spoke about seeing changes in her friends and making the choice to lean on other friends in the face of those changes.  What courage! I recall a similar experience in my youth and choosing to actually keep my own company over companionship with others who I felt didn’t truly see me.   I remember turning to nature and finding the best connection to rivers, big oak trees and the stars in the night sky.  Eventually, this led to me finding 2 of the best people in my life.

I believe in order to harvest our true selves we must find a fertile ground of Philia.  I believe that in belonging to a nurturing group of genuine friends we certainly can grow each other into the people we are meant to be. Friendship, according to Aristotle, is central to a good life and what it means to be human.

Fireside Stories

Fireside Stories

By Michelle Katz

My mind is distracted, 

The winds rattle.

I am blown away.

I try to concentrate, try to focus.

There are yellow flowers blooming

Outside my window.

I pretend it’s a

Beautiful spring day.

But for the smoke that

Surrounds me. North-eastern

clouds smolder,

Western columns

rise from behind the mountains

The south, hazy.

Nighttime glows.

The wind rumbles

The forest down.

Fear, anger, grief, loss.

It grows, surrounds us

Rapidly, uncontrollable.

Despite our attempts,

We fall short of

The powerful flames.

The smell of burning pine.

I dream of campfire days

Along a riverside with

Friends. Telling stories.

The story today:

An elderly couple

Lost their home,

All they built through their lives.

Confounded and teary.

A family and their dog

Rack up hotel bills

They can never pay.

A shelter full of

Cots and sleepless

emergency workers

tending to bellies,

and hearts.

How do we know each other?

And ourselves?

How do we hold community

Around a 63,000-acer fire?

How do we make smores?

Where is the chocolate?

The marshmallows?

What stories can we truly tell?

Only memories are

loudly heard.

The sweetness rests

In tender looks.

Seeing each others’

Sorrow beyond simple

Vision. And holding one’s hand

For a just a little longer,

In a hopeful prayer

That the connection

Bring rain, not only

in the form of shared tears.

A New Path: Young People Carve the Way

A New Path: Young People Carve the Way

By Michelle Katz

Every morning I take a short walk up a hill behind my house to my sit spot, a down juniper trunk decorated with red, black, white and yellow rocks I have collected in my explorations of the surrounding land.  My two dogs are my loyal companions as I sit, naming all my blessings, as I look out over the Jemez Mountain range. When I rise, I walk east along the ridge.  It is a great way to start the day, with perspective, a 360 degree view, I feel the possibility of the day. 

I then descend into the water-and-wind-carved crevasse between two hills, the decent it a bit rocky and the way from there gets complex for a bit. I step into the narrow ravine, and I am aware of my feet. I ramble up and down cliffs, etched and carved conglomerate rock and sandstone.  The metamorphic nature that surrounds me mirrors something inside me. I weave through the obstacles of fallen juniper and unsteady rocks, hindering a natural flow.  After years of this morning practice, I do this more seamlessly, a path that was once complicated with many hurdles has become an instinctive dance. 

The last third of the journey opens to an arroyo and a sense of ease sets in as I enter the expanse.  The sand is soft beneath my feet, live vibrant green juniper along the hills’ edges, some wild grasses reaching upward for resources and the brush of my fingertips. During certain times of year, flowers make their appearance, offering color and joy. During other times of year, untouched snow but for my footprints and dogs paw prints of the days before, some rabbit and coyote also leave their mark.  The threshold close to the house was once also a hurdle to pass, the last hurdle of the journey, a large down juniper across the width of where the arroyo meets the larger arroyo that leads home.  There was only one place to step to cross it and I had to hold the hand of a branch to assist me on the way.  However, with my partner moving in with me, just months ago, in his gallant way, removed a number of dead branches to make that threshold passage more effortless. After that, I am on my way home, with one last view of the Jemez before I cross the gate to the yard, and onward to start the day.

I think of this little walk every morning as beautiful metaphor for every day.  Starting the day with prays, perspective and possibilities and then navigating obstacles, complexities and challenges with as much flexibility and grace as possible, trying to keep my feet below me.  And then, after the hardships of a workday, the day opens to a feeling of relief, expanse, ease, beautiful connection and in the end, my partner makes my way home easier than it was before (though, I still hold the hand of the tree to assist me on my way, because the connection is just so splendid.)

Recent developments to the neighborhood have changed things.  New neighbors, construction and fences have created new obstacles at the beginning of my daily journey, barking dogs behind wire fences and loud noises and strangers.  I have had to reroute, abandon and establish a new sit spot, moving rocks and carving new paths.  This shift offers a contemplation on change.

In the last few months, I had grown increasingly unhappy at my day job.  I struggled daily, asking myself, “What do I do?”  With a massive student loan, inflation and the cost of living in Santa Fe becoming increasingly more expensive, I struggled between values and responsibility.  When a new and exciting but less profitable position opened up for me, I struggled with indecision. I read this article about Millennials and Gen Zers choosing unemployment rather than being unhappy at work.  In the inner-debate, I contemplated happiness while reflecting on the months of grief and depression I had just experienced.  Do I choose money or happiness? Affording what I am responsible for with ease or respect, appreciation, a deep connection to my daily work? All this corresponding with the creation of a new uphill path, a new spot to sit to look out on the mountains.  I returned to the knowing of my values of integrity, purpose and community relationships. The new job opportunity offered all this. The article emphasizes the way young people are not interested in paying lip-service to work/life balance and personal fulfilment, they want to live it, despite all odds. It also highlights the desire for the alignment of values and personal empowerment in their daily work life.

The article brings the older generation’s approach to work into question.  The older generation may look at this with the belief that the younger generation is entitled, ungrateful, irresponsible. To that, I say, let us remember the important role of young people in our society; they are here to shift old ways of thinking, to offer progress, a movement forward to something better.  More and more, millennials and Gen Zers are making different decision than previous generations, prioritizing connection, purpose and well-being above all else.  What an amazing evolution, an advancement to prioritize what is truly important. This is meant to be celebrated.

I took the new job, working for the local public education department on a mental health grant for the state, and I am thrilled to be in this role, while also being able to provide direct service to young people again, offering my mentorship program.  Making this shift invites me to show up fully again. I am no longer being asked to be small, to only do one role for some company that doesn’t value me.  I get to show up, offer my gifts again, share my dreams, make an impact!

The younger generation is here to teach us something, and it’s important that we listen, especially in the wake of the last two years.  There is this saying that 'If you are over 45 and don't have an under-30 mentor - not mentee - then you are going to miss the fundamental shifts in thinking that are happening'. As a millennial, much over 30, I see the practice of mentorship as reciprocal, there is much to learn from our youth as guides toward a new future.  Intergenerational relationships encourage us all to become the best Self we can become!

My dogs and I get lost on the new trail a lot.  Out of habit we often start off on the old path and reroute, a bit disoriented in the process. The new trail, not yet obviously carved in the dirt, creates alternative path foot steps that are misleading and create distributions on the landscape (something my partner, who is a biologist, frowns upon). An excellent metaphor for the process of paradigm shifts. My new sit spot offers a closer view of home, reflecting my movement from a global to more local focus in my life, which I enjoy. It is also quieter and has a more comfortable large rock seat, making my connection to the land and Self more amiable.  The way east from there, toward the ravine is slowly becoming more craved and known. My companions often find themselves weaving between the old and new. Every day we all get more familiar and comfortable with this new way and seem to be better at staying on the path, reconnecting to values with each step.  Gratitude floods in as I navigate and find my flow, parkouring my way through the ravine, to the gentle meandering about the arroyo, making my connection to the juniper who assists me across the threshold to start my day.  The challenging part had come more comfortable than the beginning 360 degree view of possibility part of the walk, but I know that will not be true for long. Humans have a gift to adapt, and it all about how we approach the change. I know that this new path supports me.

What Breaks Your Heart?

There is beauty in the message “do what makes your heart sing” but there is also beauty and inspiration in the question, “what breaks your heart?”

This is one of the questions young people will be asked to sit with and wonder, during the spring session mentorship program starting April 25th! Learn more or sign up.

#cerrosconsulting #whatbreaksyourheart #purpose #natureconnection #youngadults #teens #mentorship #santafenewmexico #leadership #selfinquiry #discovery

Living and Being Alive

Living and Being Alive

By Michelle Katz

I tend to have these particular habits when something is missing in my life. Addictions are easy to fall into in these moments. For me, it tends to be watching TV or shopping. (I say this vulnerably and know I am not alone.) Another habit that’s equality addictive is searching or researching for what I think will help. Endlessly seeking a new job or taking an online class that I cannot find the time to finish and I keep signing up for another and another. I recognize these as addictive behaviors because I truly have difficulty resisting them. These, perhaps silly, habits/practices help me feel like I can grab a hold of some control when I truly have none. A feeling I know many of us experience.

In my work in the mental health field, I have seen this “something missing” feeling again and again. What becomes clear to me every time I see it, is that that the individuals experiencing this feeling are wildly intelligent and spiritual at their core. These seem to be the elements of self that are in hiding, somehow suppressed by some trauma, a sense of responsibility or life circumstance, or any number of other reasons I won’t pretend to know about. This begs the question, is something spiritually and intellectually engaging missing from my life when I turn to these particular habits?

I look to nature and I see nothing is missing. The spirit and intellect fully intact (despite any trauma or repressive occurrence). Storms, erosion, pollution, climate change – nature faces some pretty real hardships. I contemplate this in the shadow of my own personal hardships. In the natural world, when there is not enough of something, the creatures come out of their homes to hunt and gather what is needed, the branch of a tree stretches in the direction of the sun, the root reaches for the water. We are all find our way to what we need. Through challenges and comforts, the desire to live outweighs everything. It is the primary focus. Living. “Things just want to live,” a farmer once told me when I complained about not being a green thumb, “they will do whatever it takes to live.”

How is this defined for humanity? Is living...surviving? Is it following your heart? Your dreams? Your impulses/desires? Is it feeling joy in every day? What is living and is it different than being alive?

When something is missing, humanity seems to find a way to live. Though over time, living may not be enough. I wager to bet that folks, with all basic needs of survival met, a feel of something more will arise. Not knowing what to do with that feeling and going about business as usual, may lead to a huge sense of loss or longing or an experience depression or anxiety. This may lead to self medicating or doing whatever we can to feel better moment to moment with the latest and greatest purchase, the glass of wine at the end of the day, binge watching, etc. Surviving a pandemic does not mean we have lived through it. As things open up, there is an invitation to be alive, not just live.

For me, I have to ask, when something is missing, what is actually being asked to come in? I aim to reframe the problem. What is the desire/need/longing informing us about? When the mouse is hungry in mid-winter, when the plant looks thirsty, when the fox wants companionship...yes, it’s the food, watch and love we all need to live but it also asks us to be alive in the world, to participate actively in our purpose of exchange in the diverse gifts we offer. The mouse coming out in mid-winter offers it gift of keeping other unique species alive, but they also aerate the soil, spread seeds for more vegetation and spread fungi to supply nutrients to plants. Living contributes to thriving.

Purpose. What if purpose is a basic need (alongside love, food, shelter)? What if a sense of purpose is needed to truly live? It may be what’s called for when our other needs are met and we start to feel the missing of something?

Living creatures in nature participate in purpose as they contribute to biodiversity. Each elements of nature, the mouse, tree, fox survives through it acquisition of necessary resources. Collectively, however, these individual living beings show up as who they are with all their gifts and talents to create biodiversity, a better world. Nature creates and enhances our world beyond survival, it teaches us what thriving can be. It supports, consumes and produces. It provides oxygen, supplies, joy. It knows the power of resiliency, adaptation, health, and connection toward the wealth of a system. It unabashedly expresses it’s identity- the rainforest, the alpine desert, the ocean deep- each element contribuing to the greater whole.

What if we all lived into our purpose in such a way? We live our purpose and it betters the world. More and more I see the something-missing state and more and more I know what’s being called in is a depth of knowing the answer to the great overarching question: what are we here to really do?

It’s time for me to stop watching TV and buying things. My purpose is to mentor, to support others in knowing who they are and their gifts to better the world. I’ll be starting a teen/young adult group on April 25th. Do connect to learn more or sign up.

Social Emotional Learning Holds Everything Up

Our team has created this imagine after thinking about all our administrators holding up schools right now. There are so many elements that go into running a school. Social Emotional Learning (SEL) is the best way to hold all those elements up. Without SEL as a foundation, students can’t learn and staff struggle to teach. Our emotions are the foundation of all we do.

This week, a NM educator shared how she asked her nephew what he liked best about his teacher. He replied, “Her hugs.” “But what about her teaching?” She asked him. “I learned about her great hugs!” he replied. The emotional connection between a teacher and their students is paramount and the most memorable thing students remember about school. Students learn best from teachers they feel connected to. Teachers that help students feel understood and seen have the greatest impact on student lives. Teachers that feel an emotional connection with their students, via laughter, hugs or individualized handshakes, and empathic conversation have a lower rate of burnout and teacher turnover, because they feel more fulfilled.

Young people and those who care for them are more aware and sensitive than we realize or acknowledge. Today we face many crisis: racism, a global pandemic, discrimination, inequality, political divide, depression, anxiety, and climate change. Compassion for our students and ourselves is the most important thing we can do during challenging times. Compassion happens through social emotional connection. Everything else is secondary. When we feel safe, heard, seen, understood, we can learn grown and create a better world.

We are creating an incredible series of trainings for all school staff as they navigate these unprecedented times! Invite us in to learn about your school and how we can help you!

Storytelling & Dreaming Group

Cerros Consulting's Leadership Development Storytelling & Dreaming Group offering is starting soon! Don't miss out on this exploration into your purpose. htt...

Blooming in Right Timing

There are moments in life that feel awkward. These can include moments when we feel we are missing something, we are out of sync or out of right timing with what we have been told is suppose to happen, physically, psychologically or in certain life phases. When I experience these moments, I turn to nature as a mirror for my process. This tree has taught me that we all have parts of ourselves that must die for other parts of us to bloom and above all, it has taught me that we all bloom in the right time.

Being is Like Arriving Home

Being is Like Arriving Home
by Michelle Katz

May I remember myself
by the trickling stream,
carving its way through the canyon.
May I remember myself by the way
I shake hands with the river,
rushing thru the land wildly.
May I remember myself
by the way the trees and I lean in toward each other
to smell a familiar sweet scent.
May I remember myself by
the etched out lines of cracked rock walls.
May I remember myself by
the grains of sand and fallen trees.
May I remember myself by the way
the canyon and I embrace,
by the way the earth rises to meet my feet.

Out here, the question,
Who am I?
Is not asked, but lived.
A simple knowing.
Alive in being.
Do not loose identity 
in times of chaos or stress,
only know more of the Self.
The essence remains 
when all that is eroded is
Blown into the wind.

I feel the call to dwell 
in the caves of wild places
To truly remember who I am.
To feel the wind and stream 
erode what no longer serves,
To feel the sun  
warm my precious body,
melt my weary heart.

How did my soul find residence 
in a slot canyon?
Narrowed and well worked.
When I know it to be as expansive 
as the alpine desert?

Fallen oak leaves framing the wash
Offering a familiar comfort.

Between these tall walls,
what I have neglected for far too long,
Seems to be coming alive again.
Tingling and sparking,
Warming and flush,
Emerging and blinking eyes open.

Swaddled in the arms of the canyon 
The world is small and big all at once.
Safe and wild,
Dead and alive.
Emerging to meet the expanse,
while chickadees, magpie and crow sing out,
the grasslands, rolling hills and mountains recognize me.

No one knows what really happens in here,
Even for those who live it.
The nuance remains 
mysterious, yet simple.

If we can quiet our minds to the rest,
The heart beats like a drum for which we dance.
The soul bursts with joy like a light trail across the night sky.
Being is like arriving home.
The celebration is truly all that matters.

Lost Lately

Lost Lately
by Michelle Katz

I have been lost.

I go out, with the intention to find some sense of Self. But I must remember that one mindful walk with the intention to return to myself, does not a returned self make. Self, defined here as soul, psyche. As I walk, wanting to feel some semblance of who I know myself to be, I realize that my Self seems to have lost trust in me. I must say, I don’t blame it. I have said “not now,” “I’m tired,” “it’s too late” to it’s needs over and over again, for 2 months too long. I cannot help but wonder about those who have said this to their souls for nearly their entire lifetime.

My soul crashed the other week, having been ignored, it finally cried out for attention too loudly for me to not pay attention. The smallest comment was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. I cried into the night, then into the morning, till I decided to call a sick day, a day to remember myself, a day to remember the nature of all things.

There are the things in life that we do to live and the things we do in life that we do to live! The questions, “what do you do for a living?” still continues to feel like one of the oddest questions to me.  For the uncertainty of defining “living”. I have a job (besides Oaks Counsel) that pays my bills and takes care of my needs, and I know I am lucky because, most of the time it also gives me meaning, joy and purpose. But I also know that what truly brings me alive is being in the woods, by a river, in a canyon, or in the middle of the desert, feeling the elements on my skin and being remembered by everything inside me. It is here that I feel myself really living into meaning, purpose, joy, connection in a pure and genuine way.

Lost, following paths that somehow allure me for misguided reasons or a path that I take unconsciously or naively. I knew I was feeling lost for weeks now, walking on thinking it will all be okay while getting further away from the path I am meant to be on. The extended time in silence with the landscape helped me stop, wake up, look around, and no longer being distracted by everything else, I could not avoid the lostness anymore. With the space, I could make my own path, get conscious, become aware.

On this just-snowed day, moving to meet my lost feeling, I begin to hear myself ask those all too important questions again: Where am I?  Who am I? What is my way? How do I get back to myself? Where is my knowing of self? How do I access it again and nurture it to not leave? How have I forgotten my Self for so long?

I step into the snow, partially remembering the way and largely creating my own path through the woods. Walking in nature, particularly on a mountain, covered by untouched snow, felt wonderfully simple. Up is up and down is down. Complexity, of course, lies within the simplicity of it all. Up is further away, deeper in, toward peak, steep climb, tracked by changing mini-ecosystems as elevation is gained, its grows colder, more rocks, more snow, grander views. Down happens quicker than expected, brings us closer to where we began, nears more vegetation, more water, more population.

Stopping along the way to admire a tree, a boulder, a number of birds, to get inquisitive of tracks in the snow, or to decipher my own next step. If I lingered too long, the cold would ask me to keep moving on. Keep making my way, carving footprints in the snow, standing still offers too much danger. I grew curious and longing for different circumstance. One in which standing still didn’t feel like I’d freeze to death, but rather would offer healing, insight, connection, understanding. I reflected on how I have been moving too fast, perhaps for the fear of slowing down, my anxiety higher than usual, it feels like standing still is impossible in these moments. I know all I need is to slow down, to meet the pace of nature, to truly see what is around me in order to see myself.

I was incredibly annoyed by the incessant intrusive thoughts throughout the day, the thoughts about everything I was trying to get away from during this me time. Then, suddenly, as I was trying to call back the Self I have so been missing, I realized that the arising thoughts were me. They were something I needed to pay attention to and work through, the parts I don’t like knowing but must. They, in their own way, were footprints in the snow, craved and followed to their end. Some newly made with a fresh sound, some familiar, iced over slightly, dirty and going in the opposite direction, but both were guiding me back to myself. I had a whole journey between the path up and the path down, the different directions provided a new view and the views offered perspective. I choose to make my own trail rather than taking the main one, though there were overlap at times. The thoughts are no different: some familiar, iced over, dirty and in the wrong direction, some new with different views and perspectives, but all me.

The journey had me show up, speak up, value up when I was feeling so unseen, unheard and unvalued. Each step, I brought all the contours of what I know and how I feel into view. Taking a pause in getting curious about my knowing, growing interested in my patterns of where to step next, when to leave things behind, when to crave a more difficult new way, when to stay on flat ground or head for the top, or stubble down in the most graceful way.

I have a tendency toward burn out, I am passionate and give my all to all I do, this is part of who I am. I find these moments of burnout troublesome, unbalanced, off. I cannot understand if I am who I am or if I am simply what I do. I notice the mountain does not seem lopsided, it does not feel unbalanced when part of it is steeper than other parts, or when it dips and protrudes invariably, when parts of it have seen fire but lived through it to grow new life, it does not ask if what it does is who it is. On the other hand, I cannot help but feel something essential in me gets lost when I dip, and feel the burn of fire. I cannot help but wonder if what I do is who I am? My moments of tumbling and cracking are offering me an opportunity to refined the definition of who I am, will I stay burned and charred or find a way to grow in new ways? Or both, each in their own time. When I feel burnt out, I get sick, I quit and live out of my car for a while, I break up or fall in love, I break rules, I get wild, I fall to my knees, grieve the loss of a life, until I have the strength to get up and start anew.

The forest gets sick, breaks and falls in love, loses life and breaks rules but it does not leave, quit, and live out of a car. Severance is different than how I have conceived severance in the past. The severance I need now, it one about breaking away from a pattern, severing from the practice that simply no longer serves me.

At the peak, nothing feels indistinct. The cold and snow are crisp. The rocks solid, the edges clear, the sounds in the distance are known to be dogs even when they are unseen.  My thirst and need for water has arisen with no uncertainty, the icicles break cleanly from the branch and have the distinct flavor of the pine trees they came from. The vast distance views have clearly defined city, plains and mountains.

My task, feels to be, one of great importance. To be clear, crisp, well defined, distinct and known. There is nothing to bury under the snow here, nothing to intentionally place under rock or sand, nothing to break and throw, nope, that’s not the ceremony here.  Here, there is only space to feel and grow into, to know my edges, solidness, sound, flavor. To stand at the top and claim who I am, all of me.

And as I walk down, there is simple knowing of my journey and the ease-fullness in the pace, the gratitude for the solitude and the slowly encroaching warmth of lower elevations, even in the presence of a descending sun. I know what I must do and I am ready to do it.  It is a practice, one that requires consciousness and time, but, I hope the Self, soul, psyche, will trust me and return as I speak up and show up for what it needs to nurture my aliveness!

A Prescription for All Addictions

Photo credit: @hablachicho . (Thank you Chicho!)

A Prescription for All Addictions
by Michelle Katz

We all have at least one.  Maybe it’s one of the healthy ones like running, cycling or yoga.  Or maybe it’s the cravings for cheese (which is related to opioids), potato chips (pointing the finger at myself), or the call for coffee.  Maybe it’s one of the more problematic ones: drugs, alcohol, gambling, sex or work.  

Addictions are a human experience. This article is not only to those who are actively in treatment or living recovery, but to all those who are highly functioning with their addiction too.  At times, life is hard and we need things that feel good to us. Addiction is often stigmatized and avoided as an issue that needs our attention. It is clear to me that we fall into these practices to cope with the hard times because we are ultimately not getting something essential we need.

For me, stages of life have revealed many addictive patterns: first perfectionism, then potato chips (really), I am always struggling with being a workaholic, and the one I seem to really struggle with right now is TV. As a millennial and product of immigrant parents who were workaholics in order to make ends meet and support our family, I often found myself home alone propped in front of the TV.  This offer some sort of solace as I was waiting for mom and dad to come home, soothing the feeling of not being with my parents, and it would zone me and my brother out so we wouldn’t fight. Now, when I find that challenging moment of crossing over that threshold between alone (which I love and relish being in) and loneliness, I find that I so deeply want to turn on the TV. This was easy in my 20’s when I didn’t have a TV but with the advent and ease of Netflix, watching TV is all to easy, I don’t even need to be watching it, the familiar voices of old familiar characters in the background is enough.

I have faced the other addictions in my life, with much diligence, attention, and consciousness, while learning about the beauty of moderation of all things, including moderation itself. I eat less potato chips, I let go of being perfect if not every day, every hour.  And I take necessary breaks from work and participate in a more balanced life. Yet, still when things are difficult, all these arise again and again and I meet them the best I can. The TV one will be no different. In this, I also feel acutely aware of the growing addiction to technology in our culture, the dopamine and serotonin hits of illuminated screens and social media likes, screams out that something essential is missing in our lives. Yes, we are virtually connected, but more utterly alone than ever in human history.

Interestingly, I also find that I seem to partner up with men who show me the drug, alcohol, sex or work addiction, or some combination of them all. All of these people have been highly intelligent and good people with so much vibrance. They have well developed brains, maybe causing some anxiety, and in that, they have found ways to cope with their highly active brains being “on” all the time. I really get it and see it as a way that it makes us all more interesting people. I may even go as wildly far to say, addictions somehow contribute to the depth of each individual's’ personality and character.

Whenever something is over exaggerated then we are experiencing an imbalance, and we can hopefully come to realize whatever we are addicted to is beyond our control.  Working with addiction, seems likely related to the imbalance that has to do with: a lack of depth or meaning, a lack of connection or love, a lack of an experience of spirituality in life, or a lack of play (particularly in the life of a workaholic).  All these things really excite me! Imagine if we could invite more of these elements into our lives to heal our addictions! That feels incredibly worthwhile!

This week a friend asked me, “What does Oaks Counsel do for those struggling with addictions?”  

Nature connection!  Today I walked out onto the land, a storm on its way, and the snow on the ground had melted through the week, leaving patches of revealed earth here and there and a dusting of dirt on the once white polished snow. I walked the path, up and down slipping at times, crunching or sinking in other moments. Then the rain came (wishing it was snow). I could not help but admire the trees of the landscape. They withstand all things, winter storms, rain, flooding, heat waves in the summer. They just stay still with all the changes. They don’t turn to technology or food or alcohol. It’s not even in their artillery of choice. They just stay. They just see it all through. Seeing nature as a mirror, I wondered, what it would be like if humans had this as their only choice as well, in the ups and downs and weathering of life when it gets slippery and sticky, when we want to turn to our addictive coping, what if we looked to the trees as a model for what to do and stayed with that uncomfortable feeling.

As a therapist, clients struggling with any addiction issues tended to be my favorite to work with.  The reason for this is that I truly believe these are the people who are really the seekers of something bigger in their life. They are experiencing a call to that something bigger but they lack a clear path to get there, so they have turned to other things to ease the pain of the absence of this, this thing that more often than not, does not have a clear name. From what I have seen, it is the lack of meaning, love and connection, spirit or play. Nature and Oaks Counsel helps us connect to these much lacking and longed for pieces of life.

Meaning. (This is a big one for workaholics who falsely find meaning in their doing rather than their being of who they are.) For addicts, time in nature not only helps them get away from situations that perpetuate the addiction (offering time to slow down to the pace of nature, thus giving them more time to respond rather than react to a craving) but also helps individuals gain a sense of meaning, life, spirit and play. Oaks Counsel is perpetually positing the question of “Who am I?”  The Big Rite of Passage Question. Solo time in nature helps us sit with this question and see what arises within us, in a place that is balancing. Nature offers us balance, nothing is in the wrong place out there, and we learn that neither are we. We are utterly and completely accepted as we are and for all we have to offer the world, through the nature’s lens. No blade of grass is in the wrong place, as the Buddha said. So when asked, who am I? We can hold this in silence and contemplation and know that what arises is right.

Love and Connection. (A big one for sex addicts who rely on the fleeting physical experience when they cannot tap into this not so tangible consistent feeling. Also a big one for technology addicts, who rely on “likes” and wifi connection to meet this basic human need.) Our addictions give us a feeling of being “high” a serotonin or dopamine hit that is similar to the experience of love.  So often our addictions relieve us of feelings of not being loved or cared for and this can be related to the very present moment and go as far back as our childhood experiences. Being in nature, lying on the earth, looking up at the sky, interacting with animals and plants, feelings of love and being loved arise naturally even when human interactions cannot offer this. A big part of Oaks Counsel is also the creation of community. In the process of sharing stories of life, we find deep connection and loving of humanity. The people around the circle seems to mirror our experiences, and when we share our stories we feel heard, seen, and valued in a way that transforms us.  Johann Hari speaks about the importance of this in his noteworthy TEDtalk.

Spirit.  (I do not think it is a coincidence that alcohol is often referred to as spirits.)  People who struggle with addiction are often seeing an experience of higher consciousness, whether they are conscious to this or not. The 12 step program works because there is an element of connecting to a higher spirit.  Someone recently asked me “what is spirit?” The question stumped me, mostly because I couldn’t quite find a way to answer him as I think the definition is different for everyone. Here I am defining it as connection to something bigger than ourselves. (Though I know in a different context, this definition changes for me too). In nature, we can feel and see how related we are to the world around us, that we are part of something much more vast than us alone. In this state of knowing, we experience a higher level of consciousness, one that we so deeply crave in times when we turn to our addictions. Moments of Awe are also a big part of the experience of the spirit; and nature supplies this constantly in sunset and sunrises, in shooting stars, waterfalls, redwood trees, the ocean, mountain ranges, and animal interactions. The feeling of vastness and appreciation for being alive is deeply felt in these moments, as they transform us, it can feel like a deeply religious experience.

Play.  (Also a big one for those that find substances as a way to let go of their adult self in order to act goofy and outside their well developed persona.) Somehow, as we grow older we forget how to play or that play is important. So we turn to our addictions as a way to “cut loose”, to give ourselves some sort of contained experience of play when we can be something or experience some way of being that we usually are not.  (I find perfectionists really love to turn to drugs or alcohol for a good reason to let go of the perfectionism for just a brief time.) I chuckle in wondering what it would be like, if instead of pouring ourselves a cocktail or glass of wine at the end of the day, we met some friends at the local playground and all tried to see how many of us can fit down the twisty slide at one time. Or if we could let ourselves wrestle like we used to with our siblings. Forget organized or skilled sports as a way to let ourselves play, when is the last time you had a snowball or water balloon fight? Or if you are alone, when is the last time you built a castle in the sand or suspended disbelief enough to have inanimate objects talk with each other just out of your own imagination? When we turn to addictions, are we not aiming to play in this pure mind-suspending unadulterated way to balance out the seriousness of life?

Today, I was in my car, when right next to me at a red light, I saw someone I loved dearly and now never speak to. I immediately began waving wildly with both arms and grinning ear to ear with such exuberance that it would make anyone smile, he didn’t notice me and looked intensely serious, on his way to work and likely thinking about it already. I wished he looked around to notice the burst of joy happening toward him just in the next car. It is my wish for all us to look around more often to see the love, connection, spirit and play around us in every moment and that we all more truly see ourselves in this reflection, so much so we may just not need those addictive coping skills that are so well developed to meet our needs.

Oaks Counsel offers all this and more!  Explore yourself and your way through habits that no longer serve you.

Reflections of Grief

Reflections of Grief
by Michelle Katz

Through the dense and snowy junipers and the growing night just outside my bedroom window, a light suddenly come on in the distance. It is glowing brightly right in my line of sight. I wondered if it was a reflection from me just turning on the light, but it is not. It just sits out there, mysterious to me. It’s small but prominent and seems to be flickering as if the cold and dark are in battle with its warm glow. Like a candle frame on windy dark night. I cannot help but resonate with this battle.

My current bout with grief began in early autumn, when the leaves were changing colors and just beginning to fall off the trees. When I took myself to lay on the earth and parts of the ground were still warm as it held me.  When I took myself out to a cabin in the middle of nowhere so I can go out and scream and wail with my sorrow. A time when I felt I could call on my community and they could come to surround me and witness my grief when I was ready or more so, when I wasn’t ready but needed it most.  Now the snow has come, the earth cold to lay on and the holidays have my allies called to family. I feel the quiet of my grief now.

The stages of grief move through us in a pace that is completely out of our control. The seasons have changed and I wonder how much I have distracted myself in the past months, how much I busied myself with work and commitments, and hid from myself with too many outings and distraction in isolation. Only to feel that next season come in an abrupt way. Time has moved and the silencing of the landscape had me wake up with that familiar feeling, visited by the overwhelm of grief.  The I-will-not-leave-bed-island-all-day sort of grief. The time-passes-and-I-have-no-sense-of-it grief. The all-I-can-do-is-cry-or-stare grief. The everything-around-me-is-silence grief. The I-feel-utterly-alone grief. The denial-bargaining-sorrow-and-repeat grief. The my-heart-cannot-possibly-take-this grief. But it can, and it does, and grows even more resilient.

Nature teaches me a way through, as always. The snow covers the landscape and it seems like nothing can flourish or grow. Seems like the whole earth is hibernating under this blanket, it’s breath shallow and soft, quietly questioning life.

The landscape seems to be mirroring my grief. At times it feels like I am not able to flourish or show up fully, but for a single bud that sticks out miraculously above the snowline, saying, “I’m here, there is much more of me, it’s not able to be seen right now, the rest of me need times in the dark.”  

The sunlight is bright and glowing, though the night approaches quicker now and the clouds cover parts of the light.  On the other side of the sky a storm is brewing in its dark greys and purples, contrasting with the snow covered landscape even more. I am reminded of how so much exists at once.  How nothing is completely dark and nor completely light just as I know grief and love are truly elements of the same experiences.

Months have passed since the beginning of my current round with grief and I feel like I am back at the beginning again.  It’s a strange thing grief does. As a friend put it, “We can wake up and spend all day climbing a tree only to realize at the end of the day we are still at the bottom, sitting on the earth.”  We live in a culture that revels in continuous motion. Winter offers us the much needed pause; the invitation to silence and solitude. I am taking this time to pay attention to what I hold close to the heart. My grief has lived through a season, and in its way, matured and passed into the silence and solitude of this season.

I sense this season asks me to fully embrace the grief journey, to see my unwillingness to cross that threshold, to notice my avoidance of the silence as it amplifies the depth of my loss. It is in the ceasing of doing that I know I will reach a new level of intimacy with grief, by being open to what is present. (I feel the difficulty of this as I love doing. I really have to force myself to stop.)  It is not easy to step into grief, to give grief our attention and affection, to humble ourselves, to feel our deep aloneness. Silence is a process of letting go, or emptying space. So that we can see the howling of our heart, and feel the bittersweet memories of our love, the artifacts of betrayal, and the truth of impermanence. In silence we remember again how love and loss are intricately and beautifully woven together. When we know this place well, the person we wish to present to the world gets stripped away.  Grief takes us, it’s agenda is different than ours. We become wild and we must find a way to be devout to ourselves, wholeheartedly faithfully committed to our process. Allowing grief to seep in means to feel the heaviness in our chest, to carry its weight in our shoulders, to feel it in our bellies and in the muscles that grow weaker every moment and to feel it rest into our bones and the marrow of our bones. This is how we know we have truly let it in. To endure grief is to know ourselves more fully, to feel the weight of who we are, for in grief we have humbled ourselves completely.

The weight of the snow on the branches of juniper, pinon and chamisa has the whole plant life bowing down humbly. Though a single flake on its own feels light and fluffy, accumulated it weighs the boughs down, almost too much for it to bare, if not for its incredible flexibility and desire to live.

I feel grief accumulating overtime inside me, growing heavy and having me bow humbly to the ground, testing my flexibility to be with what is and my passion for this life.  

I remember that in time, as seasons change, because seasons always change and we can count on that, the snow will melt, the buoyancy of the plants will be revealed and the snow will melt to its feet and provide for so much of its continual growth.  

Grief offers us the same reward.

How intimate do you get to be with grief and yourself?  Explore grief and the cycles or human nature with Oaks Counsel.

Lessons from Suffering

Photo credit: @hillary.hilaria

Lessons from Suffering
by Michelle Katz

An elder once told me, and even more so, throughout my life, several times implied, that you are not living unless you are suffering. In my youth, with my big smile and almost annoying optimism, I refused to believe her. In my late teens and early twenties, I found myself called to Buddhism, recognizing that I related so deeply to the four noble truths and the eightfold path. The first noble truth clearly stating, “there is suffering.”  A familiar statement. However, this offered a little more wiggle room for other experiences as well. I suppose this truth of suffering became more and more clear to me with every big life transition. Though I remain adamant in my belief that life is not all suffering, it is an ever changing movement of many experiences: suffering, ease, joy, sadness, grief, love, and the endless spectrum between and beyond all these. How we meet all this informs our living.

Every year, around this time of year, I take a very particular walk. As the nights are long and dark and the sun slowly crawls its way back to us, I think about what it is that I intend to release, and what I wish to invite in for the year to come. On this walk, I contemplate, one intention at a time. I name one, I hold it thoughtfully, feeling if that intention is accurate for me with each step. If it is, I find a rock or stone that I feel embodies that intention. I pick it up and carry it with me for a time. As the next intention comes to me, I repeat the process, collecting about six stones, three to release, three to grow.

A Santa Fe snow storm came through this year, one we have been waiting for, and the sheets of white that have covered the landscape seem to shine and quiet the world. There is a mysticism in the blanket of white, like something out of a dream, there is this sense of wonder and awe that comes over me and this dreamy state is how I entered into this practice.

All this made it quite challenging to find intention stones. I found myself collecting the rocks at the roots of the juniper trees whose thick layers of branches have left small patches of earth beneath them bare and protected from the snow. The soil below is dark and damp but exposed and the home of many small stones. It became my practice to kneel down below the branches, crouching and tucking in, humbling my head to earth, getting close to the roots. I could not help but contemplate this repeated and necessary action for this task. I had to look toward the roots of what has grown in my life: my holding of my lineage, the dark unexposed parts of self that still feel the cold and wet of the world, the origins of my stories.

I began with what I wished to invite, what I wish to grow. First, the intention of love. Love in partnership and community, a sense of connection and belonging, a knowing that I can witness the evolution of a life and be witnessed in the evolution of my life, and be encouraged and challenged to do the good work we can only do together toward becoming who we are meant to be. A small red stone felt right for this. I picked it up and carried it in my hand. Then came the intention of good health, represented by a white stone that joined the red in my hand. Then, a life in balance, a multicolored stone shaped to a point, and I carried them all. Held them up in my palm, sometimes to my heart, repeating these three intentions as I walked on.

And because things are not all wonderful, because there is suffering, and the last year was not devoid of this truth. It came time to acknowledge the other side, the things I wish to release. First came dis-ease, the ways in which depression and anxiety show up in my life, the ways that certain moments of social awkwardness and discomfort in my body has me lose sight of the person I am, the ways that I can get caught in either/or thinking and not see the whole wild and wonderful spectrum of this world, represented by a large black and white rock holding this story. Then, brokenheartedness, with the symbol of a half heart shaped maroon and black rock. Then, the abandoning of self for others, all in a small black rounded square rock no larger than a marble.

I carried on in my walk, thinking of each of these powerful intentions, taking them for a walk, as if they were each a loyal sweet companion. Oddly enough, I noticed that I had unconsciously carried the rocks in separate hands. In one hand, the growth intentions and in the other, the give away intentions. I immediately came to cup my hands together, holding all six stones toward my torso, having them meet each other in the sandwiched shelter of my hands. The wet and the cold seeping slightly through the layers of my mittens. I chuckled at my love for mittens, not only because they are just so delightfully innocent and playful (which we adults all need a little more of) but more so, because I believe that the digits together create a supply of warmth that cannot be comparable to a situation in which they are seperated. Together the the things that are hard and the things that are beautiful sat in my hands, sharing space, meeting each other, rubbing up against each other, and getting warm.

I found my way to an overlook. I placed the stones in the snow, looked out across the vast landscape. One by one, I took the stones that represented the intentions for release and I named them and threw them into the abyss, with all the force in me. I watched each one take their own flight into the air and journey down with their full weight, to land in a place I will never know. (I wish I had a better throwing arm at times like these.)  I came to the ground and whispered, “may these stories I have held take new form in me.”

I collected my growth rocks. Still holding them with both hands, feeling the difference in weight but the increase in moisture from their time in the snow. I thought of how it can become so easy to know ourselves through our hardships. How we can come to define ourselves by what we have endured. I so wish for these stories to change their meaning for me, to become transformed by them, while not becoming victim to them. To continue to know and nourish my strength, courage and incredible resilience.

I made my way to the lowest ground, to the arroyo, wanting to bury my growth rocks here so that they had endless sky to grow into, and that come spring they can feel the water flow over them and offer some nourishment and movement in their coming to be. I found soft exposed ground by three juniper trees. I dug into the earth, three small holes, mimicking the shape of the surrounding standing trees. Naming each rock, I placed them one by one into one of the holes. Love, Health, a Life in Balance. And one by one, with my bare hands taking in the wet soil in every wintered dry crack and underneath each manicured fingernail, I covered them with soil, whispering, “ May you grow well. Take Care. Find your way into being.”  I stepped back, as far as I could, to gain perspective.

As spring comes, the flowing of water could have all things find their way to this arroyo. I wondered if what I threw out into the abyss, just further up the way, would find its way to this part of the arroyo. If, somehow, once again, that which I released would share space with what I wish to grow. Smiling at the thought.  Yes, there is suffering, this is an element of being alive, and suffering moves, flows into and with all the other parts of life, making the sweet parts, oh so sweet. It is in the meeting of all these experiences that we come to know ourselves again and again. The sky grew darker, I stayed with it a bit and then I found my way home.

What are you letting go of and inviting in this year? How do you meet all the elements of your life? Connect with nature to help inform you in answering life’s questions. Check out Oak Counsel’s programs and offerings!