Spiritual Self Archives - Page 2 of 4 -

Bring in the Light

By Simone Lipscomb | December 22, 2013

I awakened this morning thinking of the Solstice…yesterday’s Solstice. Geez…I didn’t even mark the event, I thought but then quickly realized that I had climbed 177 steps toward the light in a tight spiral. Upwards I climbed with my daughter and son-in-law until we were almost inside the many-prismed glass sculpture that housed the light of the Pensacola Lighthouse.

We had just visited the Naval Aviation Museum with my mom and decided to stop at the lighthouse and make the climb. Mom waited for us in the gift shop as we made our way up and up, winding tighter circles in the brick structure built in 1859. The wrought iron steps were chilly on my bare feet as I abided by the climbing rules and carried my flip flops rather than risk tripping on the steep stairway.

As we climbed I thought of the lighthouse keepers from years past whose jobs were vital to the safety of those traveling by ships. Before there was GPS, LORAN and other modern navigation tools, there were only charts, stars, sextants and lighthouses to keep sailors on course. The lights were illuminated by a lamp fueled with oil or kerosene instead of electricity. The rotating element was introduced in 1790’s houses and the Argand parabolic reflector system introduced in the early 1800’s. Electricity and carbide or acetylene gas began replacing kerosence around the turn of the 20th century. At that time the lamp could be automatically lit at nightfall and extinguished at dawn, eliminating the need for a keeper to climb the stairs carrying fuel and tending it during the long hours of the night.

I tried to imagine how gallons of fuel might have been carried up the steep, tight stairway and marveled at the dedication required for those keepers all over the world whose job it was to bring light to all who needed it. As I reflect on the Solstice and the season of light, I ask this question: Are we any less in need of Light today?

Walking through the Naval Aviation Museum I noticed the machines of war…planes, aircraft carriers, markings on the sides of ships and planes denoting how many enemy planes, ships and other targets were destroyed. I felt such sadness that through the long history of humanity we still have not evolved beyond war. Success is still measured by some people and governments by the number of enemies we destroy. We continue to live based in fear. Fear that if we don’t destroy others, we will be destroyed.

In the spiritual tradition in which I was raised, I learned that Light entered the world through the birth of a man, a messiah, a Light that taught us to move from the Old Testament ways of an eye-for-an-eye to lives lived with compassion and love. But I ask….where is love when decisions in our lives are based only in fear, in retaliation, in one-upping, and taking out (in one way or other) those who don’t believe like we do…dress like we do….worship like we do…look like we do.

By making the commitment to climb steadily toward the Light we reach greater understanding by seeing from a higher perspective. No longer operating from fear, we are able to see with new eyes, with open hearts.

We have spent far too long living with the mind-set of fear. Now is the time to bring in the Light.

Years Pass, Love Remains

By Simone Lipscomb | December 10, 2013

Thirty-two years ago my father transitioned from his physical body. He was in his early forties and had been sick for many years. The memories of him seem distant now, faded like old photographs.

I was a senior at Auburn, my brother still in high school when he died. I remember my grandfather telling me, years later, that he wished he could have gone before daddy because the grief was so terrible. He said even worse than that of losing his spouse…our grandmother…after over 60 years of marriage.

When someone we love leaves, a hole is left in our being. No matter the cause or how long the illness lasts or if it is sudden, losing someone is difficult, it’s painful and we’re left behind trying to make sense of life.

At my daughter’s wedding this past summer I thought of how my father would have loved seeing Emily and Kevin get married. He never got to meet Emily….or her cousins. Or see me graduate from college.

The morning of my college graduation I woke up before everyone else and felt my father there….strongly. I had no doubt he had come to congratulate me. It was only six months after he had passed.

With Christmas being 15 days after his passing, less than two weeks after his funeral, none of us felt in the spirit; however, mom and my brother came to Auburn, where I lived at the time, and we celebrated the holiday as best we could. It was a difficult Christmas.

In an illness that is lengthy and mysterious and debilitating as was my dad’s, all the attention is placed on on the patient, the one that is sick. And of course that makes sense. But the hero in my father’s struggles was my mother. She managed to work a demanding, stressful job at the post office, put one kid through college and help the other graduate from high school during the worst of dad’s illness. That’s what parents have to do isn’t it? Keep on going for their children.

We never really talked about his illness and at the time there wasn’t much available as far as family counseling, grief counseling. Each of us did the best we could. My grandfather and other men cared for my father while mom was at work, when he got too sick to be alone. I was at Auburn, Lance in high school. And mom juggled it all.

When I got the call that he had passed, I had just finished my final exams the day before. Mom had gotten new tires on her car, at his request. I supposed he was tending to those last details, exercising what little control he had, remaining in his body until he could slip away peacefully, his mind at ease, his family as prepared as could be.

I’m not sure I’ve ever thanked my mother for being such a strong force during those years. I am so grateful for her strength and dedication to my father, to our family. So while I think of my father, it’s my mother I want to remember especially today. And thank her for everything she did for us…and continues to do.

Renaissance of the Self

By Simone Lipscomb | October 29, 2013

The use of underwater breathing apparatus was referenced in medieval codices. Then Leonardo Di Vinci used his studies of lungs and respiration to create a watertight chest bag and valve that regulated airflow that allowed individuals to breathe underwater. Wooden barrels were used as primitive diving bells in the 16th century. Then British engineer John Smeaton invented the air pump and when it was connected to the diving barrel, allowing for more air to be pumped into the barrel. Rigid diving suits appeared in the late 1800’s but weighed over 200 pounds. Fast forward to the early 1940’s and Emile Gagnan and Jacques Cousteau co-invented the modern demand regulator that pushed technology for scuba diving far from the hollow reeds used as snorkels by our ancient ancestors.

*Photo by Turtle and Ray Productions, Curacao*

Can you imagine what divers from Leonardo’s time would think of our recreational pursuit of scuba diving today?

*Photo by Ed Jackson on a cave dive with Simone Lipscomb and others*

Can you imagine what they might think of divers able to penetrate caves? The farthest I have been into a cave was one half mile but there are people who go so much further by staging dives with multiple tanks and gas mixes of helium, oxygen and nitrogen. What would Leonardo think of Tri-Mix? Or rebreathers that scrub carbon dioxide out of the air, mix the cleaned air with fresh oxygen which divers breathe again.

Another of Leonardo’s inventions was boards that kept humans upright as they walked on water. A historic attempt at stand-up paddle boards?

I wonder what he would think. I imagine him loving the advance in technology by joining me for a river paddle. Knowing the amazing mind and spirit of Leonardo Da Vinci, he’d invent something even grander than a carbon fiber and teak board and carbon fiber paddle.

He is known for his greatness and genius in mathematics, geometry, physics, engineering, anatomy, geology, botany, geography, music, sculpture, architecture and of course painting (whew). And he was known to be handsome, have strength, dexterity, brilliance, eloquence, generosity, charm, spirit and courage. I think of Da Vinci as the true Renaissance Man.

While the other guys wore long robes of somber colors he work short doublets and tights of blue and crimson velvet adorned with silver brocade. Never mind that he was born to unmarried parents who were not well-known or wealthy. This self-created man who wore wildly different attire created art and inventions we marvel at centuries later.

When my friend Phyliss sent me photographs from the “Da Vinci–Genius Inventor” in Rome, I began thinking about how humans have the capacity for such greatness, such amazing creativity as well as the capacity for such destruction. Today, as I sit at my desk in my comfortable home with the ancient live oaks draped around it protectively, the fuel rods at Fukushima are being removed by a crane. The potential for catastrophe not know before hangs by a thread of balance and timing.

Our world seems, of late, to be in a constant state of hanging-in-the-balance due to human misbehavior and ignorance. Oil spills in corn fields, in the Gulf of Mexico, in a neighborhood in Arkansas; plastic creating an island the size of Texas in the Pacific Ocean; people starving while countries spend billions of dollars in war efforts. So much darkness…such disappointment in the human species.

Yet paralleling this darkness, people of amazing light and love for the planet, for life, emerge from every country to create a better world. In Leonardo’s time, it took a some creative geniuses to bring humanity out of the Dark Ages. Today each of us is needed to bring forth our skills and talents with great passion and dedication, with wild abandon. We are called to step forward in service to our communities, to the planetary family of life. Nothing less than a renaissance of the Self is needed.

A Sensitive Heart

By Simone Lipscomb | October 13, 2013

“I have sea foam in my veins, for I understand the language of waves.” Le Testament d’Orphee is a movie I’ve never seen but this quote from it touches me deeply. It was quoted in an article I read this morning during my hammock time with my ginger cat, Stanley. It was a piece about sensitive souls…the traits and behaviors…the feelings. As I read it a mirror to my soul seemed to open. FINALLY! There are others out there. (Deep sigh).

My first memory of my inner life being at odds with the outer world was when I was about eight years old. My father and I were watching a movie about an old man who saved up hard-earned money to purchase a pane of glass for the only window in his shack. He installed it and it had only been in place for a brief time when his mule kicked a bucket that went crashing into the window–which shattered. The man beat the mule. I cried and my father laughed at me for crying. He asked why I was crying. For the mule, for being beaten, of course. It was then that I begin to learn that my sensitive heart was in for a rough ride.

The article states, “You absorb sensation the way a paintbrush grasps each color it touches on a palette. The ethereal beauty of a dandelion, the shift of a season, the climax of a song, or the scent of a certain fragrance can sometimes move you to tears…Basically this means if you are sensitive, you have the ability to see colors and feel energy the way others hear jet planes.” Victoria Erickson, the writer, goes on to quote research that says sensitive souls make up about 20% of the population. People who are super-sensitive have nervous systems that respond easily to stimuli which can be overwhelming and exhausting. “Sometimes your sensitivity makes life extraordinarily painful and you want to shut down and hide your raw self from the loud chaos that accompanies this earth’s continual rotation.”

Victoria lists six ways to stay balanced….create, enjoy the company of animals, seek out water, recognize what is only your energy and emotion (its easy to absorb other’s energy), surround yourself with people that understand your nature and nurture that connection, retreat, replenish and rejuvenate. Her advice was so good that I saved the article to my desktop so I can review regularly.

After I finished reading I sat in the hammock chair with my cat buddy and pondered the eye-opening information. There have been many times I have been laughed at, made fun of, and generally put-down because I am sensitive. And I know there are others who have experienced this treatment. When this happens we close down, little-by-little. Our experience of the world narrows as we deny the very ability we have that feeds and nurtures us.

When my daughter was born, I begin to reawaken to the part of myself I had closed off, lost even, through my childhood, adolescence and young adult life. Her arrival into my life was a catalyst that pushed me onto my spiritual path and steered me deeper into my heart. When she was born I suddenly knew what it was like to truly love someone.

Everything didn’t change overnight. It takes an immense amount of work to learn to stay open to the beauty around us and not close down when the rest of the world seems to not notice. There were many, many rocky years and times when the dichotomy, of what I knew to be my truth and what the world told me my truth was, was difficult to sort out. I carry many battle scars.

About eleven years ago I reached a very low point in my life when things literally fell apart around me. It was as if everything I cared for shattered and shifted and I was left feeling completely beaten down and also, oddly enough, feeling incredibly open. At that time a man came into my life that helped nurture me so that I could put my life back together, in a more harmonious way. His was a sensitive heart, even though he didn’t like to admit it. The light he shined into my life helped me believe that I could be myself and live fully. At first he kidded me about talking to trees but before our relationship ended, I caught him talking to trees….although he would most likely deny that now.

I was blessed to have someone who believed in me, that stood beside me as I lifted myself out of the rubble of my life.

What does the world do to a sensitive heart? How do we survive the challenges, the fears, the chaos we encounter simply by living on this planet? This fragile beauty, this light within us can be so easily destroyed, snuffed out. The magnificence of a sensitive soul can be chased into hiding by the stresses of daily life. This, to me, is the greatest loss we all experience. When we lose our brothers and sisters whose sensitive hearts and souls bless this place, then truly we have lost great treasures. I know there are many whose light has been diminished or hidden by the stresses of life. May we reach out in understanding and love and stand with them as they work to find peace and wholeness.

When these lights go into hiding it’s not simply a personal loss, but a planetary loss. We need more people now than ever before who are in touch with their hearts and in communion with the beauty..and who are unafraid to show it. May we support each other always in finding and staying connected to our true selves.

Love’s Grooves

By Simone Lipscomb | April 8, 2013

Each morning, as I walk my SUP board to the small river beach, I greet a beautiful, old cedar tree that stands on the bank. Its gnarled trunk is scarred with places where limbs used to be and the deep fissures in the bark invite my fingers to explore them and touch the texture with gentle regard.

This morning after paddling I walked my board up the trail and felt a gentle nudge from the grandmother tree to come back and visit. After settling my board on the grass, I returned and placed my hands on the trunk and looked up. What a massive tree, soaring far into the sky. Usually I see only the section I pass by, rarely stopping to notice the entirety of the tree.

We do that to ourselves and others. We focus on one small part of ourselves…normally some behavior or personality flaw we don’t particularly like…and obsess about that. Or with other humans we see something we don’t like and dismiss the person without taking time to view the whole person and their many good qualities.

If I only looked superficially at the cedar tree I might say it has a lot of scars and bumps and imperfections. But when I step back and gaze at its entirety I see such magnificent beauty and oddly enough, it is the flaws make it beautiful.

In my first book, Sharks On My Fin Tips, I wrote a story about my grandfather and the depth of love’s grooves worn into our hearts by those we love. In taking a moment to visit the tree today I thought of that quote. People, wildlife, oceans, rivers, bays…all the things I have loved in my life have made an impression on me. There may be scars but mostly the memory of interacting with loved ones–people and animals–and wild animals and places has worn beautiful groves into my heart, that will remain forever.

Like the cedar tree’s beauty, our beauty comes not from perfection but from the imperfections we grow through and overcome and the impression love makes on our hearts as we risk opening them to love others.