I led a “fishbowl coaching” session last night, where brave souls agree to be in the middle, getting coached by me, while others support and learn from the coaching by sitting in an outside circle.

We had three 45 minute sessions together. The first slot was filled by an adult child/parent combination; the other two were individuals who wanted to work through some stuck places. As the night went on, there was a palpable sense of cozy intimacy, the feeling that we were doing sacred work together. The combination of the cold February night, the late hours, and the beginnings of a wind storm added to the tender connection between us all.

By the end of the evening, there was a pile of used and crumpled kleenexes. We all had had the honor of witnessing anger being experienced and moved through, fear being faced, new commitments being made. My heart really swelled, though, from watching people, over and over and over, be willing to face into their own unconscious patterns–in public, even!–and choose a new way. This business of getting conscious can feel pretty tough sometimes. To look the truth straight in the eye and make a shift, with no defense, no bluster, no ego–now that’s true courage.

Yesterday, I taught my annual One Day Intensive on Sexuality, Creativity, and Aliveness to a wonderful group of participants. It was a lively day, as we explored a subject that can seem so complicated, with its potential for triggering old issues and exposing the intricacies of trying to connect intimately with another human.

And yet–I felt sad. As the day wore on, it became clear to me that even these folks, who are so motivated to be conscious that they spent a precious Saturday immersed in learning conscious tools, even these wonderfully skilled people believe this myth: That passionate sexual and creative connection are not possible to sustain in long-term relationships.

What, you say? This is a MYTH?

Yep. And it’s an important one. It’s the Achilles heel of relationships, where people expect their ardor to dim and their passion for life, for their partner, to wane. They watch, often with a sense of inevitability and impending doom, as their aliveness decreases, as do their expectations for life to be full of energy and creativity. It’s the perfect set-up for people to choose the momentary pleasures of addiction, adrenaline-seeking activities, and affairs.

What most people don’t yet understand is that decreasing passion is the symptom, not the inevitable outcome. Watching the level of intensity of the fires of passion gives a direct read on one thing: How much authenticity is there in the relationship? 

Imagine the fire of sexuality and connection at the very beginning or a relationship. Often it burns brightly with the initial combustion of two people coming together, letting themselves skate the edge of safety and comfort, stepping into new connection and love. And then…they start to throw dirt on the fire by not telling the truth.

“Oh, I don’t care what we do.” Clod of dirt tossed on.

“Whatever you think, honey.” Another one.

“No, I’m not mad, I’m fine. Just tired, maybe.” Wham.

“Oh, you want to have sex? Well, you got kinda mad the last time I said no, so, well, ok, I guess.” A shovelful from this one.

Maybe it’s a teaspoon at a time, maybe it’s a whole bushel-basket. Bit by bit, the fire dims, unable to get the oxygen its flames need. All because people don’t want to say what they really think, feel what they”re actually feeling. And feel  the vulnerability of someone knowing who they really are, what’s really going on for them.

When I work with couples who don’t feel the fire (aka don’t feel “in love”), it occasionally is true that the fire has gone out completely from years of throwing dirt on it. Much more typical, however, is the almost instantaneous re-combustion that occurs when truths are spoken. Partners wake up, relationships rekindle when one or both people finally get up the nerve to speak the bottom line of their experience.

Do you have the courage to live in the fire?

Try a free month of the Relationship Ride Online Community! Listen to past teleclasses while you sample the RROC. Email Verna at VJWilder@me.com  for more information.

We humans are brilliant at storytelling, and, judging from the endless stream of movies, plays, TV shows, and celebrity gossip columns, we entrance ourselves with both telling them and hearing them. The stories might be long and drawn out: ‘Once upon a time, there was a little girl who went out into the forest…” “Have you heard what happened to Bob in Accounting when his wife found out what he was really doing when he said he was working late?” “It was the best of times….”

Or the stories might be brief, which are really just beliefs disguised as stories:

“The world is clearly heading for disaster.”

“Oh, what a beautiful day!”

“From the day we met, you never have understood me!”

Telling a story is a wonderful way to solidify our consciousness at a certain level. The sensory details we add, the beliefs we weave in, the emotions we evoke in others all act to cement us in at the state we’re describing. The stories become so convincing, it can be difficult to discern that it’s all arguable, someone’s opinion or simply a reflection of the state they were in at the time they invented the story.

While stories solidify our consciousness, paying attention to our sensations and emotions allow it to flow, shift, and change. Notice what happens when we turn our attention from the arguable”you never have understood me” to the unarguable”I notice that my teeth are clenched, my neck is tight, and my stomach is in a knot. I feel angry, and with that anger I feel afraid that I don’t know how to make myself clear.” The first statement solidifies the story, giving the other person very little room to do other than defend. The second shifts the focus to something that can easily change, sensations and emotions. Like the sun shining on ice and turning it to flowing water, our attention away from story and to feelings allows our inner–and relational–world to expand and move.

Try a free month of the Relationship Ride Online Community! Listen to past teleclasses while you sample the RROC. Email Verna at VJWilder@me.com  for more information.

There’s a part of me that wants to MAKE THINGS HAPPEN. You? Do you ever feel the urge to get it done, push it through, do it on your time, not someone else’s?

I can feel the difference in my body. I get that set in my jaw, the forward tilt of my head when I’ve let my mind take over. It thinks it has the solution and knows how it all should happen. If I really tune in, I get it that my ego, my Reactive Brain, is now in charge.

When I relax and breathe, feel expansiveness and notice space, I have an entirely different experience. I tune into my deepest self and feel my connection to all that is. I get that wonderfully exhilarating sense of letting go into some bigger flow.

I’ve been creating my vision board for 2012. I love the whole idea of manifestation, of sending out my intentions and having Nature respond with the raw materials to bring them into physical reality. This year has taken me longer than other times, however, as I’ve been especially aware of wanting to move out of pushing and into allowing.

I toss this out to you to see what you’re up to. Are there things you want to make happen this year? Do you have goals to achieve, milestones to attain? That’s one way to live, but maybe you want to try out a different pace this year. You might want to join me in enjoying the flow of the river, trusting it to take you to you. Our only job could be to stay present for the ride–tell the truth, feel our emotions, take full responsibility–so that we can fully appreciate every moment. It’s a different route into the magic of manifestation, the one which allows for the unimaginable. The miraculous.

Try a free month of the Relationship Ride Online Community! Listen to past teleclasses while you sample the RROC. Email Verna at VJWilder@me.com  for more information.

I was in my Bikram yoga class, late this January afternoon. I love that time, being in a hot, humid room as the sky outside darkens. I find myself going deeper and deeper inward as the world outside dims and its forms blend together into nothing recognizable.

The room was packed. Between the online deal that Radha, the studio owner, had recently offered, and the fact that it’s only January 8, so  New Year’s resolutions are in full effect, our mats and towels lined up to use up almost every available space.

During the Triangle Pose, one person caught my eye. I imagined she was new to this world of following the rat-a-tat-tat of detailed instructions, as she lost her balance a couple of times and had to pick herself up and start again. She didn’t have the slender body of some of the yoginis in the room; then again, neither do I, and neither did many others of us.

As I returned to my own rhythm of focusing, breathing, spacing out, pushing my edges, and resting, I floated through some thoughts about New Year’s resolutions. I considered how some people might judge the fact that many of us take time to list our goals, clearing the way for new habits, new directions. I thought about the commentator I heard last week who wondered why it is so many of us pack the gyms right after the first of the year, and then, seemingly inevitably, lose our resolve over time.

I wondered something else. What is it about our species that we keep resolving? We point ourselves in a direction, and then  head out into our lives again. Like one of those wind-up toys that starts marching along until it gets stuck on a rug or hits a wall, we get out of bed and start the day, carrying  those resolutions of balance and health–until something pull us off track. The overnight shift or the crying baby or just too many emails to answer trip us back into working  too hard or eating too much or that first cigarette.

And then something happens–New Year’s Day. A talk with a good friend. An ad in the paper for a yoga studio. And we bravely step into the unknown of sweat and heat and exertion and potential embarrassment, with yoga clothes that show way too much of bodies we normally  hide. We step out onto the edges of who we’ve been to give it another try. We resolve. We pull together our determination–one more time–and start again.

Try a free month of the Relationship Ride Online Community! Listen to past teleclasses while you sample the RROC. Email Verna at VJWilder@me.com  for more information.

Labile.

Moody.

Unstable.

Childish.

Erratic, fickle, fitful, flighty.

We have so many words to describe people who don’t control their emotions, who make the mistake of showing on the outside what is  going on inside. The message is clear: to be mature is to be “cool,” to not let any part of our bodies betray us by actually signaling what is occurring emotionally.

What would it be like if we completely trusted our emotional experience, if we matched our inner world with our outer expression? I’m talking real, authentic expression, with no blame, no stories, no projection. And where we all understood the difference between having an emotion and acting on it.

Imagine–grocery store lines where people jump up and down and stomp their feet when they got in the slow line.  Thanksgiving meals where, instead of overeating and drinking too much, people breathed and moved and talked about being scared of looking stupid, or mad about not getting enough attention. Corporate meetings where the time together meant flowing through the exhilaration of feeling glad and sexual from the intimacy of working on projects together, to someone noticing his body tightening because he was afraid of not having the right answer, to everyone noticing their frustration at all their good efforts not turning into profits. Football games would show the quarterback who just threw an interception on the sidelines sobbing.

I imagine that our world doesn’t look like this yet because we don’t have the emotional literacy required to skate the line between feeling a feeling and wanting to pin it on something or someone else. Most of us don’t yet understand that, just because we feel enraged or sexually aroused, we don’t have to beat someone up or have sex with them. We’ve only been speaking the language of emotion since the 1960s’; we’re pretty new at it. But we’re getting better at it all the time. Let’s start practicing being “uncool” now, sobbing and shaking and stomping and shimmying and whooping it up. Because a future where people ride through their emotions means we won’t have to rely on  alcohol, food, smoking, and all the rest to keep us tamped down. And I know life would surely be more interesting.

My partner and I just spent a few days in Las Vegas.

The idea of this makes me chuckle, as I remember when I thought Las Vegas was tacky, tawdry, and a way to separate fools from their (our) money. The only reason I’d go was because our families thought Vegas was a great place to rendezvous. I’d spend the time trying to stay “above” it all, and couldn’t wait to leave.

Then I noticed something.

Las Vegas is an amazing example of human creativity.

Where else can you find a 1/3 scale Eiffel Tower, a roller coaster hanging 20 stories in the air, a pyramid, water cannons that are synced to beautiful music, and a volcano?

I know–it’s all a matter of perspective. What about the people who are gambling away their last dime, or smoking and drinking themselves to death, or are homeless? What about the natural resources that are being squandered just so people can have fun?

These days I notice that how I see the world is completely the outpicturing of my inner state. When I focus on what is wrong–with the world, with me, with Las Vegas–I know I’m in Reactive Brain. When I notice the beauty around me–and Lordy, the attention to detail in color, texture, form, feel goes on and on and on in Las Vegas–I feel the sense of expansiveness that I’ve grown to cherish.

The last night, it became clear to me what we were really doing there. I got it that, over and over, I was being challenged to stay in a higher vibration. Win at slots? Could I really pause and celebrate? How about when I lost? Could I keep breathing, stay connected to myself and a friendly universe? How about when I walked down the strip and was jostled or got a big whiff of cigarette smoke? Having the space that comes from being in a new place and having plenty of time became on ongoing opportunity to see how good I could feel.

I have a new memory to add to my “bliss moments” catalogue. Kathy and I sat together, playing a wonderful video slot machine. I was tired, bleary, and totally enjoying the music and imagery of the machine (also human-created). As the images whirred through and the crystalline music played, I could feel, in my cells, how human creation is simply another version of the best of nature.

I’m a student of manifestation. I have ongoing intentions, I write them down and speak them out loud, I believe that living in integrity gives them more strength.

As I’ve played with all of this over the years, I’ve noticed that manifesting isn’t the linear path I’d imagined it to be. I might be verrry clear about what I want–to get somewhere fast, to get my tasks done easily, to have full workshops–then not actualize those things. So, what’s up with that?

When I’m Below the Line, in Reactive Brain, I’m usually thinking, well, this manifestation stuff is a bunch of hooey. Or–maybe it works for other people, but I’m clearly don’t have the gift. I’m just not expanded enough.

When I come back up the elevator to Creative Brain, I become really interested in what is happening, what I am creating. I start to see the so-called “obstacles” as messages from my divine self to my everyday, three-dimensional personality self. These messages might be subtle (the car that is driving “too slowly” in front of me) or maybe more aggravating (the piece I left off when I was replacing my battery last week, meaning I had to start over). Or perhaps they are totally frustrating, impeding my forward momentum completely (having no participants at a workshop I thought I was going to teach).

When I recommit to living in a friendly universe, seeing nature and all of creation as my ally, I tune in and notice how slowing down in traffic gave me time to breathe (and maybe avoid an accident ahead), having to re-do my battery replacement meant I noticed how I hadn’t made a strong enough connection (one of the wires looked like it was solidly on, but wasn’t) or the lack of participants signaled how I was going down the wrong path. The obstacles weren’t obstacles at all, they were simple nudges to stop and notice and tune in to the larger picture.

What are you currently seeing as obstacles in your life? What are they trying to tell you?

The other day, I sat down with one of my favorite spirituality-focused magazines. I looked forward to feeling the inspiration of the words, to connecting with kindred spirits.

I was surprised by what I found. Though the intention of the magazine is clearly to uplift and communicate principles of higher consciousness, I could feel my body being impacted by the victim-speak of the articles. One author described her trip to Las Vegas, and how difficult it was for her to interface with the rampant commercialism, and to see the suffering of the gamblers, smokers, obese people, and addicts who were there. Another columnist detailed the transgressions of Bikram Choudhury (founder of Bikram yoga) and how Choudhury has begun legal action against the columnist’s yoga business. Throughout the magazine (with some clear exceptions) I perceived the familiar story about tracking down who is the villain, who is the victim. And then, ultimately, the pull to step in and “hero” the victims. In other words, the story of being in the Karpman Drama Triangle.

Of course, even by writing about this, I’m in the triangle with the magazine, with a sense of being “at the effect of” the content. In my ongoing exploration of how I interact with the world, I am interested in how easy it is for even very well-meaning folks, people that meditate and breathe and do lots of yoga and study scriptures and write about spiritual issues, to be pulled below the line, where Reactive Brain and consciousness come together to create the ego. From this state, it is easy to make up stories about who are the enemies and to blame them for what’s “wrong” in the world. Because, from Reactive Brain, the world exists as good/bad, right/wrong, friend/foe.

My work with Creative Brain CommunicationTM gives me a solid sense of a new possibility. I know now that my state creates my thoughts, that my real power comes from knowing how to shift that state. I can move from Reactive Brain into Creative Brain by breathing, moving, wondering, loving, playing–and by not believing myself when I go dualistic.

From this new state (I can now add blogging to the Shift List!), I want to express gratitude to the folks at the magazine for giving me another chance to do what I’m here to do–support the planetary change from Power Over/Under to Power With. And for having the courage to put themselves out there so we can all continue to evolve.

Would you like to deepen your experience of The Relationship Ride but don’t want to leave your home? Be part of our ongoing Relationship Ride Online Community. Email Verna Wilder for more information.

Many folks believe that there’s something wrong with certain emotions. It might be OK to be scared and sad, but not mad–that’s mean! Or anger is acceptable, but not that wimpy stuff like fear or sadness. In some families, being happy was the only state allowed.

Trying to express only certain emotions stops the flow. As Katie Hendricks says, all emotions–mad, sad, glad, scared, sexual–come from the same hose. You can’t just turn off some of the water without slowing or shutting off  the flow of aliveness as well.

What is it about showing fear or sadness that people judge to be weak? Certainly in many families, allowing others (often siblings) to see one’s soft underbelly was an invitation for attack. The “predator/prey” response, where the aggressive predator hunts down the weakest of the herd and goes for the jugular, is certainly echoed in our mammalian bodies. It can be very challenging to shift out of the idea that expressing any of the softer emotions is just a bad idea.

So, why say, “I feel scared that you’ll leave me” instead of the much tougher-sounding, “Fine! I get it–you have a problem with trust! I’m OUT of here!!”? What advantage is there to expose one’s real emotions, knowing it leads to rank vulnerability?

Being truly connected to others requires connecting with one’s real, authentic self. Such authenticity requires tuning into all five emotions, not just those we’ve been conditioned to view as acceptable. Additionally, anger and aggression triggers others to automatically step away and give the angry person space, while fear and sadness naturally pull others in to comfort and soothe. If the truth is that I’m afraid, but I’m looking and sounding angry, it’s likely that I’ll generate responses of people moving away from me, creating even more reasons to be afraid.  And so the cycle continues.

So, does being afraid make you a wimp? One of the definitions of “wimp” includes “one who lacks courage.” My answer is no, as authenticity is clearly not for wimps. True power, real courage comes from speaking what is true at any given moment and then stepping into the unknown, the uncontrolled, of the world’s response.