About Justin Wise

Writer, co-founder of thirdspace coaching, organisation consultant, parent, educator, computer scientist, philosopher, musician, coach.

Seeing to the Heart

Here’s episode 55 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

This week we take up parenting as a question, inspired by a poem from William Martin. Our definition of parenting is broad here as we ask each other what it takes to guide anyone into the world – our children, other people’s children, our families, colleagues, friends and even our own parents. In the midst of our conversation we consider what it is to actively choose what it is of ourselves we want to transmit to one another – rather than asking what behaviour we want to get from others. And we wonder together about how to drop the ‘image management’ it’s so easy to get into when our super-egos (or ‘inner critics’) run the show.

Seeing to the Heart

Some behaviour in your children will seem “good” to you.
Other behaviour will seem unequivocally “bad”.
Notice both in your children
without being overly impressed by one
nor overly dismayed by the other.
In doing so you will be imitating the Tao
which sees our behaviour as a mask
and sees immediately beneath it
to the good within our heart.

Above all, do not attack your child’s behaviour
and attempt to change it
by endless talking and scolding.
Stay at your centre and look beneath the behaviour
to the heart of the child.
There you will find only good.
When you see the heart
you will know what to do.

by William Martin (from the The Parent’s Tao Te Ching)


Photo by Juliane Liebermann on Unsplash

Organisations, projects, and our capacity to forget our own humanity

You may know the story of the Tower of Babel. A whole generation of people, those who have grown up after a world-devastating flood, conspire together to build a sky-tower like none ever seen before and are punished and dispersed across the world for their hubris and arrogance.

Our hubris, problematic? Yes, when it dislocates us from the rich biological and social world of which we are an indivisible part, when we over-extend ourselves in pursuit of our wants with no heed to the consequence and impact.

But the story itself is problematic if taken as a caution against human boldness and creativity, because these are the very qualities we most need in order to bring about a world in which we can all live.

It is our capacity to imagine, to invent, and then to act in cooperation with others that have brought about medical, technological, social and political advances that have transformed the quality of life for billions. Confidence in our ability, acted upon with due consideration of the wider world, is no compromise of our humanity but a dignified and important expression of it.

In an imaginative retelling from the 1st century work of Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, there are no stones available to build the tower, and so thousands of people are marshalled to bake bricks until the construction is some miles high. Those with new bricks climb the tower on the eastern side, and those who descend go down on the western side.

Sometimes a person climbing up or down falls. When a person drops to their death, nobody notices. But when a person falls with a brick the workers sit down and weep, not for the life lost but because they do not know when another brick will come in its place.

In this interpretation the compromise to our humanity comes not through building itself, but through the way in which we build. Or, said another way, our projects can bring about great changes in the material world at the same time as they bring about great changes in our social and inner worlds. We are inevitably shaped both by what we do and by the manner in which we do it.

The danger here is not that we hope and dream and build and make and create. The danger that Eliezer is so keen to point out to us is that we easily do so without paying sufficient attention to the kind of people we are becoming through the doing. We become means-to-an-end, objects, ‘it’ instead of ‘I’, ‘it’ instead of ‘you’.

In this reading the story of Babel is a reminder of our endless capacity to forget ourselves and others as human beings even as we pursue our most human of goals.

Photo Credit: ‘J’ via Compfight cc

The Dakini Speaks

Here’s episode 54 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

This week, in a week of further news about the mess we’re in with climate change and the urgency and despair all of that can generate, we begin with the poem ‘The Dakini Speaks’ by Joyce Wellwood. We talk together about the various ‘deals’ with life that we take up – ways of being that we imagine will protect us – and how living in the midst of such deals can distance ourselves from our lives and from our contribution.

We consider together the bracing possibility that owning up to the limits of our control, growing up into a more mature appraisal of life’s losses and impermanence, can free us into a deeper kind of hope – one that’s not contingent on how things turn out. And we explore together the necessary kind of wildness in ourselves that this all calls for.

The Dakini Speaks

My friends, let’s grow up.

Let’s stop pretending we don’t know the deal here.

Or if we truly haven’t noticed, let’s wake up and notice.

Look: Everything that can be lost, will be lost.

It’s simple – how could we have missed it for so long?

Let’s grieve our losses fully, like human ripe beings.

But please, let’s not be so shocked by them.

Let’s not act so betrayed,

As though life had broken her secret promise to us.

Impermanence is life’s only promise to us,

And she keeps it with ruthless impeccability.

To a child, she seems cruel, but she is only wild,

And her compassion exquisitely precise.

Brilliantly penetrating, luminous with truth,

She strips away the unreal to show us the real.

This is the true ride – let’s give ourselves to it!

Let’s stop making deals for a safe passage –

There isn’t one anyway, and the cost is too high.

We are not children anymore.

The true human adult gives everything for what cannot be lost.

Let’s dance the wild dance of no hope.

by Joyce Wellwood


Photo by Dominik Scythe on Unsplash



Here’s episode 53 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch future episodes live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

In this episode we take up the enormous possibilities that come when we can find a way to drop our defences in the face of feedback from other people, and whatever gift may be hidden within while maintaining our own dignity and the dignity of the other while we do.

Along the way we laugh together at how messy we can be as human beings, the cost of walking around in life with our defences up all the time, and the kindness we have to show to ourselves if we are going to allow ourselves to open to the wonders that can be learned from other people.

The source which is our leaping-off point is written specially for us by Lizzie.

Undefended – by Lizzie Winn


When someone tells you that you fell short, that you did not reach the standard. That how you are behaving or who you are being is not working for them. What you did was wrong. When criticism comes and hits you right in the heart, where it hurts most.

The defence system rises up to protect. All the responses that push away come to the surface and turn into language and action. All the things that could be said to attack back. A route worked out to escape and hide. Deny and avoid, attack and divert.

All so I don’t have to feel the feelings of inadequacy, failure, deficiency, half-bakedness. And face my own self-criticism, self-hatred, self-disappointment. Better to direct it outwards rather than inwards.

This is an invitation to experiment with undefendedness. An ‘in the moment’ invitation to breathe and find space. To let the criticism wash over us like the wind that passes through trees.

We see it and feel it, but allow it to pass and give ourselves the opportunity to really hear the person in front of us and take it all seriously without defending or attacking back.

And we gently open to what might be being brought to us as if it was a gift.

We open to finding the small spaces in between ‘the happening’, ‘the reaction’, and ‘the response’.

So that maybe…… just maybe, we don’t have to believe our story of deficiency that gets poked by others’ criticism.

And we can stand, undefended, unapologetic, responsible and guiltless, admitting to our humanity and imperfection without collapsing, fighting or blaming.

And here it is that I can accept what’s in front of me, welcome it even (however badly wrapped) and receive the gift of becoming more open. More vulnerable, more undefended and more loving to myself and others – in words and in action.

Photo by Linus Nylund on Unsplash

Telling Ourselves the Truth

Here’s the first birthday episode, number 52, of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch future episodes live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

In this episode we take up the topic of truthfulness with ourselves. We talk about how our efforts to turn away from what’s true about our experience can be a kind of violence to ourselves. And how easily that becomes a way we suppress the truth of others’ experience.

Along the way we consider how the life-giving and dignity-bestowing act of honesty with ourselves can open up the possibility of a deep welcome to others and to life itself.

Telling Ourselves the Truth – by Justin Wise

The more I look, the more it seems to me that among the most personally damaging acts each of us can take is that of turning away from truth.

I’m not talking grand universal truths here – the kind that people claim apply across time and space and across people. It’s quite easy to see that establishing truth in this way is fraught with difficulty.

No, I’m talking about something more basic and immediate: what’s true about this moment, this experience, from the place in which you stand.

If you pay attention, it’s not so difficult to tell when you’re turning away from truth in this way. The truth that you are sad, or joyful, or angry, or despondent, touched or numb, feeling whole or split apart. The truth that this is difficult or painful for you. Or the truth that this is bringing you to life.

The truth that these thoughts you are thinking, whatever they are, are what you are thinking. The truth that what you’re feeling in your body is what you’re feeling. The truth that this place is where you are, and that what you are doing is what you are doing.

When we deny these simple, basic truths to ourselves and others – when we speak of ourselves inwardly or publicly with deliberate inaccuracy – we assault our own integrity. And we cause ourselves tangible harm, in our minds and in our bodies, by putting ourselves at odds with ourselves, fuelling the inner battles that pull us apart.

And then being whole again requires a kind of return, a turning back to the part of ourselves that understands how things really are. A turning back to something simple, and straightforward, the heart of which we’ve known all along.

Photo by Daniil Kuželev on Unsplash

Seeing Systems

When you start to see that your organisational dramas (see this recent post) repeat themselves in organisation after organisation you can also start to see that your difficulties are often not so much personal as they are systemic.

Another way to say this is that what you might think is the problem with Dave or Jill or Aggrey or Sue (or with yourself) is often being brought about by the wider system in which everyone is participating and not simply by the person themselves.

We are not used to looking in this way.

We blame Jill, who is in a senior position, for being aloof, distant, and unresponsive to our needs. But all the while Jill is experiencing her own position as overwhelming – caught between her personal accountability for the organisation and all the problems others keep on bringing her.

We blame Aggrey, who is in a middle position, for being unable to respond to our reasonable requests for information or support or action. But in order to respond to you he needs the cooperation and response of others. All the while his experience is that of being pulled in opposite directions by the demands of his bosses and the demands of the people on his team.

We blame Dave, who is a team member, for complaining that he is under-resourced, while missing that Dave is experiencing the vulnerability and uncertainty that comes from others deciding what work he will do, or even if he will have any work at all.

Jill, Aggrey and Dave are experiencing the archetypal difficulties that come with being in a hierarchically ‘top’, ‘middle’ or  ‘bottom’ position. And we judge them, mistakenly, with archetypal and personal judgements, which misunderstand their situation.

We come to believe that for anything to happen they must change and that until they do we must wait and put up with it. While we wait for them to change, or demand that they change, we reserve the right to complain. We don’t see the particular difficulty their positions bring, and we don’t see that our very complaints are part of the problem.

Our complaints assume the difficulties we experience at their hands are personal, and that the solutions to them are personal too (which is to say that Jill, Aggrey and Dave simply need to get their act together, buckle up, and do what we need of them). But much of what we’re experiencing – and much of what Jill, Aggrey and Dave are experiencing -is systemic, which is to say it’s being brought about by all of us. Until we see that, we’re trapped in a cycle of judgement and blame which asks the impossible of our colleagues.

The first step required to get out of this drama is compassion – which includes finding out what the world is really like for those whom we find troublesome.

The second step is seeing that we keep these systemic difficulties going through the stories we tell about others, and that there are many alternatives to the stories that are most familiar to us.

When we find and act upon stories that account for people’s actions more accurately than our usual blame and judgement stories, many possibilities for connection, responsiveness and partnership open to us.

For a wonderful, articulate and very practical exploration of all this, I can’t recommend Barry Oshry’s book Seeing Systems highly enough.


Dramas – the stories you spin into being, which although perhaps painful and frustrating and fearful, place you right in the centre of the action.

Dramas – all your stories of how people are not paying you due attention, seeing you in the way you want to be seen; all the ways you are left out, overlooked, your needs and wishes unnoticed and unmet; all the ways in which others are conspiring against you or, at least, taking care only of themselves; how the world seems organised to particularly frustrate your personal hopes, your longings.

Dramas – perhaps unsurprisingly – are a powerful way of generating some sense of self-esteem in the midst of a world that’s confusing, contradictory, and chaotic; a world far beyond our understanding which does not obviously attend to our particular needs and wishes as quickly or as completely as we would wish.

Once we start to see that our dramas are not the way the world ‘is’ but a purposeful activity on our part to make ourselves feel better, or to get seen, or to manipulate others to get our needs met, perhaps we can begin to loosen our grip on them a little.

Because by placing ourselves in the centre of the world, our dramas seriously reduce our capacity to respond to the needs and longings of others. And in this way our collective commitment to keeping our dramas going brings about exactly the self-centred world we fear is excluding us in the first place.

Photo Credit: Pandiyan via Compfight cc

Difficult times


We seem to live in uniquely difficult times.

We face multiple, simultaneous, almost intractable difficulties. The widening inequality of our societies. Economic uncertainty, and the undoing of many of the assumptions upon which we have built our economy. The effect we’re having on our climate. Billions living in slums. The rise of violent religious and political fundamentalism and populism. An uncertain energy future. Rapid population growth.

It’s understandable in such times that we should feel afraid. That in the face of all of this difficulty we should get caught up in protecting ourselves, before anyone else. That we sooth ourselves and numb ourselves with glowing screens, with our busyness. That we distract ourselves from the buzzing, whirling sensations in our bodies and emotions that try to show us that something is wrong. That we amass whatever we can for ourselves as we try to cling on. That we wait until we feel better before we step forward and make the contribution we’re here to make.

But as we do this, as we pretend we’re fine while all the while feeling very afraid, we forget that the world has always been this way. Human life has always been perilous. We have always been faced by crises and by threats to our very existence. We have, most probably, always told ourselves that our own times are particularly troubled ones.

Seeing this opens up two new paths.

The first is that we stop adding to our very real difficulties with our stories about the uniqueness of our troubles. Those stories make us mute, frozen, self-obsessed. When we know that we human beings have, for millennia, found ways of responding creatively and with great resourcefulness to what life brought us, we can begin to trust our own faculties more. We can begin to turn towards one another and the world again, and ask ourselves what’s needed, and what we can do.

The second is that we remember that it’s right in the middle of difficulty, when we are most uncertain, that our most noble and life-giving qualities can emerge. When there’s trouble and we find ourselves turning towards our neighbours, towards people we hardly know, towards community, and towards the society in which we live, we remember that compassion, care for others and being in relationship are powerfully life-giving and meaningful activities.

Which way we turn – towards defensive self-centredness or towards relationship and compassion – is not just a matter of choice but a matter of ongoing practice. In other words, we live lives in which through our actions we cultivate one path or another.

Let’s not wait until we feel safe and settled before we start to cultivate the second path, one that can bring great meaning – and great healing – to ourselves and those around us.

Photo Credit: “Stròlic Furlàn” – Davide Gabino via Compfight cc

The Abyss of Defunctness

Here’s Episode 51 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch future episodes live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

Our conversation opens with a piece written by Lizzie, reproduced below, which launches us into a conversation about openness, shame, and the nothingness we often find when we make contact with ourselves. We consider that such ‘nothingness’ is another way of talking about the ground of all being from which we come and to which we return, and the life-giving and healing possibilities that come when we’re open about the aspect of ourselves with others. Along the way we talk about the importance of being met and seen, with simple welcome, by others, the gifts of community, and how the lives so many of us live keep us away from such straightforward and life-giving possibilities.

Here’s our source for this week, written by Lizzie specially for this project.

The Abyss of Defunctness. And the joy of one another.

There’s nothing here, nothing to hold me.

And maybe this, right here, is where all of life comes from. The nothingness that you can’t even begin to account for and yet we’re all running around trying to fill ourselves up with stuff, or food, or experiences, or money, or speed, or status so that we don’t have to feel what I’m feeling now.

What I am feeling I will call ‘The Abyss of Defunctness’. Like I’m not worth a thing. Like I truly am nothing. Like all my strategies for living have failed. All the ways I have tried to make things work are just a collection of thin and useless, failed and flawed efforts to have things turn out in ways I think they should.

And in this nothingness I have you. My fellow traveller, my friend, my sister, my brother.

There are real beings right here as I feel this; joining me in the abyss as I dare to bare this truth to another who is settled, open and kind – I glimpse the possibility that even in this state I am OK. Because you are here and you didn’t run away.

If we join with another when we or they are in The Abyss, The Foresaken (or so it feels) Place – the fruits of relatedness are borne.

In the loving, accepting gaze of another (who is not trying to fix or change the situation) – the parts that we’ve rejected become welcomed. The opinions of ourselves that hold hurt and shame are held warmly, gently in an open heart, body and mind. The unacceptable becomes part of the conversation.

How do we face ourselves in all our glorious opposites, our brokenness, our wounds, our joys, our hurts, our truth? Maybe this kind of loving, accepting connection is the answer.

Imagine a world where our appetite to be seen is satiated, where our wish to be witnessed is fulfilled, our hunger to be seen is met with just what we need.

On the contrary, if we’re repeatedly unseen, maybe that’s what we become. If we are repeatedly blind to one another’s goodness, others, then, become this.

We perpetuate unseen-ness. By unseen-ness I mean a presence that doesn’t know / see or feel its Self. A presence that has no idea of who or what it is because no one is here now (or was there then) to mirror back to us the bright and shining truth of our being.

Maybe the ones who welcomed us didn’t have it to show us? (Maybe we didn’t have within us as part of the welcome of the ones we once held ?)

It’s possible it wasn’t it in their eyes when they greeted us. Their bodies didn’t tell us who we were, so we didn’t get answered in our call for love. And by then we’d forgotten who we truly were – it slowly slipped away as we became more and more embroiled in this physical world.

We didn’t get received in our wish to bring love because the space in the people who welcomed us wasn’t cultivated to see or receive us. They had not received this space from those who welcomed them.

And maybe this is the game changer. The time in our own personal histories where we come together and change the story. And bring to one another what we so long for.

Maybe the ultimate act of growing up is becoming this loving space – even when we don’t know how.

I wonder about softly edging into the vulnerability of feeling like we have not got it to give. And then doing our best to bring it alive from the nothing that we find in that place that feels so empty.

From a space of emptiness, of not knowing, we begin drawing on something that feels real and we begin offering it to the soul in front of us. And we might even offer it to ourselves when we get practiced at it.

All the ways we feel wounded, deadened, deaf to the call of this particular life, lost and afraid – this togetherness makes it OK. Because togetherness means we can learn from it all, make it our path.

When someone is there with us to live this life alongside us and show us again and again, in our darkest moments, that it’s good to be alive because there is our togetherness, it shows there’s hope and purpose here.

Simply because we’re us, because we’re connected and our nature is to love. And we’re here together. And this is our path.

We’re bringing each other alive.
Together we awaken into life.
In separation, we stay asleep and our true nature remains hidden.

By Lizzie Winn

Photo by rawpixel on Unsplash

A lifetime’s work


Saying the same thing to the same person in the same way
All the ways we use jargon or business-speak
Predictable reactions to what you’re feeling (lashing out, withdrawing, self-criticising)
Tuning out from what’s really happening
Most of our habits
Always knowing, always being sure
Excluding certain emotions
Keeping conversation within predictable, narrow bounds
Saying “I am this way”


Asking “What’s needed now, here?”
Tuning in to the wholeness of the situation – with mind, emotions, bodily sensation
Relaxing your need to know what to do
Letting go of feeling safe, so that what’s needed can arise
Allowing yourself to be surprised – at yourself, at others
Feeling it all
Giving up defending, clinging on, controlling what’s happening
Doing what’s called for, rather than what ‘one does’

We easily become masterful at automatic. 

And although responsive is our human heritage, for most of us mastering it takes ongoing practice because so much of what we’ve learned – at school, in work, in our families – gets in the way.

We could do well to remember that responsive – much needed in our lives – is a lifetime’s work.

Photo Credit: smilla4 via Compfight cc

Automatic or alive

Two paths available to all of us, that are an inherent part of being human.

(1) The automatic path

Our bodies and minds have an exquisite ability to learn something new and then reproduce it without our having to pay much attention to it. It’s what we rely on to get us around in the world. Navigating doors, cooking utensils, cars, speaking, phones, cities, social niceties, and paying for things would all be practically impossible were it not for this capacity. Without our automaticity we would have to learn and relearn how to interact with just about everything in the worlds we have invented.  Indeed, without our capacity to automatically respond to the vast and rich background of culture and tools in which we live, culture itself and tools themselves would be impossible.

(2) The responsive path

We also have an exquisite ability to make sense of and respond to the particular needs of the current moment. In any given situation we can find ourselves doing or saying something we’ve never done or said before. Sometimes our creative response can be surprising, sometimes clumsy, and sometimes we find ourselves able to respond with beautiful appropriateness to what’s happening. From this comes our capacity to invent, to respond with empathy and compassion to others, and to change the course of a conversation or meeting or conflict mid-flow. Without this capacity we’d hardly be human at all. We’d be machines.

But here’s a problem. We so often call on or demand the automatic path when what’s called for is the responsive path:

We fall into habits shaped by the strong feelings that arise in our emotions and bodies.

We tell ourselves ‘I don’t like that’ (and so don’t do it).

We say ‘I am this way’ (meaning I won’t countenance being any other way).

We insist other people stay the same as we know them, and put pressure on them to remain predictable in all kinds of overt and subtle ways.

We institutionalise or systematise basic, alive human interactions in our organisations, insisting on frameworks and codes and processes and procedures so that we won’t get surprised.

We repeat ourselves again and again – saying the same things, the same jokes, the same ideas, the same cliches.

We think rules, tools, tips and techniques will save us.

We form fixed judgements of ourselves and others which we can fall back upon when we’re in difficulty.

We turn away from anything that causes us anxiety or confusion. We prefer to know rather than not know. We’re hesitant to step beyond the bounds of what’s familiar, and comfortable.

We would often rather settle into the predicability and sense of safety that our automaticity allows. Sometimes we even call this professional or businesslike.

And all the while what’s most often called for in our dealings with others, in our businesses, in our work and in our organisations is the responsive path – our capacity to respond appropriately to the particular situation and its wider context; to be unpredictable, creative, exciting, unsettling, sensitive, nuanced and, above all, alive.

Photo Credit: Chirag D. Shah via Compfight cc

Returning To The Path

Here’s Episode 50 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch future episodes live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

Here’s our source for this week, from Alan Lew’s ‘This is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared‘. In our conversation we talk about tantrums, what we do when life falls short of our expectations, the simplicity and difficulty of returning to intimacy with the truth of our lives, and how we can only really do this in the company of others.

Returning to the Path We’ve Abandoned

Spiritual deadness is a habit. Something in us wants to be dead – wants to escape our reality – and we’ve expressed this desire in a hundred little patterns and habits. So a physical shaking up of our stale routines might actually serve to loosen us up inside and lead the way to inner change…

But … eventually [this] stops working too, and sooner or later we have to address the inner roots of the problem of burnout and routinisation directly…

The first thing we should do when we feel we have lost all our passion is to try to find it. This involves a kind of inner turning, an expression of will, an expression of faith, the belief that this passion exists even though we neither feel it nor see it at the moment.

There is a paradigm well mapped out in the novels of Hermann Hesse, especially Siddartha. Siddartha is the story of a young monk who is lured away from a long and extremely devoted spiritual path by his lust for a beautiful woman, a lust that alters the course of his life. He becomes a businessman, totally involved in the corruption and the pleasures of ordinary life. He marries, becomes dissolute, takes up gambling and adultery, and loses his wife. His son rebels against him and finally rejects him altogether, causing him unbearable pain. Finally, broken and despairing, he becomes a recluse, a ferryman, carrying people back and forth across the river. And there on the river, the deep and abiding wisdom he sought in his youth begins to ripen in his soul, until he finally comes to the following understanding:

The world. . . is not imperfect or slowly evolving along a path to perfection. No, it is perfect at every moment. Every sin already carries grace within it, all small children are potential old men. All sucklings have death within them, all dying people – eternal life. . . . Everything is good. Everything is perfect, . . . death as well as life, sin as well as holiness, wisdom as well as folly. Everything is necessary. Everything needs only my agreement, my assent, my loving understanding, my turning toward.

The critical moment in this story is a subtle turn of mind — a moment when the hero must bring his consciousness back to the path he abandoned, back to the path he has imagined doesn’t even exist anymore.

Photo by Erik Kossakowski on Unsplash

The horizon that is visible is not the whole sky

When we take the automatic path (see this post, and this), we try to resolve our difficulties by doing more of what we’re already in the habit of doing already.

We try to deal with our overwhelm by getting busier. We think that if we can just go a bit faster we’ll soon get on top of things.

We can’t see that it’s not a question of faster but more often a question of priority, of deciding what’s important and saying no to everything else.

We try to deal with other people’s apparent lack of commitment by speaking more loudly, being more insistent, yelling. We think that if we’re just more forceful then people will do what we want.

But we can’t see that involving others is not usually a question of force but a question of enrolment – that we’d be better turning our attention to inviting a genuine relationship that supports commitment in arising.

We try to deal with our anxiety by turning away from it, numbing ourselves, only to find out that anxiety forced underground is just as painful and, in many ways, causes us much more difficulty.

We can’t see that feelings are there to be felt. That our anxiety can educate us, have us reach out for support, teach us about what’s most genuinely important for us.

In each of these cases, and in many more, we’d do well to remember Martin Buber when he tells us

“The horizon visible from one’s station is not the whole sky”

Or, in other words, the resolution to many of our difficulties is not to continue on automatic but to turn towards what we’re not currently paying attention to.

It’s to find out that what we’ve taken to be the ‘horizon’ – the way the world is, the way we are, and what we have to do – is only a part of the picture. That the resolution to our difficulties, or at least the lessening of them, is often in finding out that the world of possible relationships, explanations and actions is way bigger than we’d imagined.

This, then, is the path of responsiveness, and the path of development. 

And it’s worth working on with everything we can bring to it.

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Being witness

Many times

the biggest help you can be

is to turn a listening ear towards another

to hear everything they have to say

no matter how troubling how painful how confusing

to give up for a while

being another judge, another critic, another fixer of troubles

to be a welcome to all of it

all of it

and in your seeing and hearing embrace

find out how healing

being witness can be

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The Blue is the Light That Got Lost

On Sunday 9th September Lizzie Winn and I were live for Episode 49 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch future episodes live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

Our conversation opens with an exploration of the blue of the sky and of the sea, from Rebecca Solnit’s ‘Field Guide to Getting Lost’. We consider together how it’s the very incompleteness of a human being that gives us our particular kind of beauty and possibility, and the mistake we make when we try too hard to compare ourselves to others or to some perfect ideal of how and who to be. Along the way we talk about self-acceptance, making and sharing art, the importance of community, coaching as a way of bringing art to one another and the gift that human beings can be to one another when the conditions are made right by all of us.

Here’s our source for this week, from Rebecca Solnit’s ‘Field Guide to Getting Lost

Photo by Maximillian Conacher on Unsplash

What endures

Time and again, we human beings have had to find out that what we took to be most secure and most solid, was nothing of the sort.

We put down roots, build houses of bricks and mortar, make plans for ourselves. And then, perhaps, we find them swept away in a storm or flood, in a war or earthquake, in political or economic upheaval, in illness or accident, in the ever surprising turns of life.

And sometimes we realise this is how things are for long enough that we remember to turn towards the people around us, our travelling companions on this most audacious and risky of journeys, and appreciate their beauty and magnificence, their sadness and their love, and are able to just be with them for a while.

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Learning to Nourish Ourselves

On Sunday morning 2nd September we were live for Episode 48 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch future episodes live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

Our conversation opens with an excerpt from Christine Caldwell’s book ‘Getting Our Bodies Back‘. We consider together how the culture most of us live in actually encourages us to take up addictive behaviour as a way of distancing ourselves from our experience (and we include in our definition of addiction here anything that we do compulsively, habitually, at odds with what is life-giving for us and which puts us to sleep), at the same time as evoking deep feelings of shame and hollowness.

As we go we discuss how the first step in our reclaiming our aliveness, and our capacity to nourish ourselves, is the art of paying attention to our lives, and the felt-sensation of our bodies. And, as often, we return to the power of relationship – places and people with whom we can be open about ourselves – as the path to recovering our capacity to properly nourish ourselves and one another.

Here’s our source for this week, from the introduction to Christine Caldwell’s book ‘Getting Our Bodies Back

Learning to Nourish Ourselves

Some years ago […]  on a trip to the local mall, I bought a large cookie to share with my four-year-old son. As we settled down to eat, my attention was drawn to him as he murmured contentedly, munched noisily, and consumed his half with delighted joy. I inhaled my half with obsessive greed, worrying about how fattening it was and wondering if anyone I knew was watching. The contrast in our experiences, given that it was the same cookie, shook me. I felt a stab in my heart as I realized that somewhere along the line I had lost the happy relationship with cookies that he still had. The difference between us in that moment seemed to be that he was awake and alive, while I was shut down and withdrawn.

I vowed to myself that from that moment on I would let myself eat as much sugar as I wanted, but only when I could stay “awake” and truly celebrate the experience as much as my son had. […] What I subsequently discovered was that it was almost impossible for me to do this. At the first sweet bite I would enter a state of oblivion, eat quickly and furtively, and then feel miserable. In short, I was not awake and alive, and this was not a pleasurable experience. It felt more like a driven experience, with the same familiar outcome of self-absorption and self-hatred. As I stuck with my commitment to eat sugar only when I could remain present, I occasionally stayed conscious for a few seconds at a time as I nibbled, and I began to explore this awakeness. In those brief moments, I could see the cookie; I could luxuriate in its smell and texture; I could savor the taste and truly treasure it. I was actually having a rich sensory experience, albeit a fleeting one. I was amazed to realize that I derived immense pleasure more from the act of staying awake than from the actual eating of the cookie. Sensation was wonderful! And as I continued to stay awake, I found that I didn’t really want much sugar. The experience of eating it while awake was so rich and full that a very small amount was all it took to satisfy me. […]

I found myself eating much less and enjoying it much more. A little bit of something sweet once in a while was enough to occasion great happiness. And my body told me when to stop. This in itself, this feeling that my body was choosing, making a clear yes or no statement, was quite amazing. […]

I hadn’t expected my body to wake up as a part of this process, and stumbling onto this result was astonishing. What I was discovering was the incredible power of self-regulation that is our birthright. This choosing power had been lost in the throes of the addiction. […]

The benefits of my awakeness practice have been far-reaching. When I inhabit my body, I can self-regulate; […] I can also know when things like behaviors, relationships, and thought patterns are toxic, neutral, or nourishing. I have only to tune in to myself to know, and from there I must go on to the next, even more challenging step: that of tolerating and even welcoming the joy and health that result from actually being in my body and consistently choosing nourishment.

Christine Caldwell – from Getting Our Bodies Back

Photo by Ibrahim Rifath on Unsplash

The four of you


When you’re talking with another person, remember that there are always more than two of you present.

At the very least there’s you, and them, and your inner-critic and their inner-critic.

Whatever the two of you are visibly up to, there’s an often hidden dynamic between the two inner-critics (who work hard to keep themselves invisible) as they jostle to keep you in line, watch out for attacks or supposed attacks from the other, spur you into defending yourself (often times when no defence is called for), have you be insistent or rigid or judging or withdrawn.

And each critic spurs the other on, inventing slights and hurts, and anticipating what’s it imagines is yet to come.

All of this is one reason why you can sometimes look back on a conversation with bemusement and confusion. ‘What on earth happened there?’ you ask yourself. ‘I thought we were only talking about this morning’s meeting, but now I feel hurt and uncertain, and so does she’.

One way to help yourself and others is to spot all of this and give name to it, at first to yourself. Learn the ways it shows up and what it gets up to when your attention is elsewhere.

And then, over time, bring the existence of the critic and all its manifestations into conversation. This takes courage and openness. But bringing the inner critic out of its hiding place allows it to be seen and talked about, and responded to, and lessens its power to manipulate behind the scenes.

Your inner world is always making itself known in the outer world, whether you like it or not, and it’s true for everyone else too. The more you can give name to, and the more you can bring it forward from its otherwise invisible background, the more chance you’ll have of working with it in service of you and everyone around you.

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The Silent Work of Loving

Here’s ‘The Silent Work of Loving’, Episode 47 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch future episodes live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

In this conversation we consider together how the act of loving what we’re in the midst of, and who is around us, can be the first step to a more expansive and inclusive orientation to life. And that this itself has the possibility of relieving difficulty and bringing a necessary lightness to our endeavours. Along the way we consider the gifts of frustration and disappointment, explore how love is not so much a feeling but an intentional practice, and explore the merits of washing dishes and crochet as a path – like any practice – to the kind of intimacy with life that we need in order to face our biggest challenges with grace, courage, creativity and patience.

Here’s our source for this week, by Eileen Caddy, from ‘Opening Doors Within‘.

“You have a tremendous work to do. It is the silent work of creating more love in the world. It is like the yeast in a lump of dough which does its work very quietly and without any fuss, and yet without it the bread would be a solid lump. Therefore love those souls you are with, love what you are doing, love your environment, and love those souls who are your seeming enemies. There is far more grace in loving the seemingly unlovable than in simply loving those souls who love you. Feel the need for love in every soul, and allow yourself to become a channel for love’s sake, so will the heaviness in the world be lightened, for love brings an element of lightness where there was heaviness and darkness. Love starts in each individual, so look within your own heart and draw it forth. Give of it freely and with real joy.”

Eileen Caddy

Photo by Nick Casale on Unsplash

Both sides

In the ancient Jewish tradition, people are thought of as having two primary orientations to the world – an inclination towards good (yetzer hatov) and an inclination towards evil (yetzer harah).

The inclination towards good draws us out of ourselves towards what is most compassionate and most principled. And the inclination towards evil draws us towards our most self-centred interests, from which we care only for ourselves and not for others or the world.

Surely, in this way of thinking, the inclination towards good is itself good and should be cultivated, and the inclination towards evil is bad and should be extinguished? No, say the rabbis, they are both good, and both necessary.

How can this be?

With only the inclination to good we risk spending all our time basking in the wonder and awe of life. Many possibilities for action are denied to us, because they cannot be known to have positive outcomes. The inclination to good, on its own, is noble but paralysed, unable to decide what to do when uncertain about consequences, when the world in all its complexity and unknowability becomes apparent.

And so we need the inclination to evil also. Given free rein, it dooms us to a life of self-centredness, of action purely for our own gain. But without it, say the rabbis, nobody would create anything. We would not build houses, bring children into the world, nor do the difficult and creative work of shaping the world around us. The inclination to evil, with its indignation and rage and cunning and huge creativity is what brings us into purposeful action.

Denying either side leads to trouble. It takes both inclinations in a constant dynamic tension to have us act in the most human, and most humane ways.

And this is the foundational task facing each of us if we want to act with integrity in the world: we must find a way of knowing ourselves fully so that we leave nothing of ourselves out. We have to stop denying and pushing away the parts of ourselves that we don’t understand, or don’t like so much. We have to take our fear and confusion as seriously as our hope and our joy. We have to stop pretending to have it all together.

Integrity is exactly that – integrating all of it. When we bring our hope and our fear, our nobility and selfishness, our love and our disdain, our serious adulthood and playful childishness, our light and our darkness, each informs and shapes the other in a constant dance of opposites. And this is what brings us into creative and purposeful and appropriate action in the complexity of the world.

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I Place My Trust Only in You

Here’s ‘I Place My Trust Only in You’, Episode 46 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

This conversation begins with Norman Fischer’s Zen-inspired translation of an ancient Hebrew poem, most commonly known in our culture as ‘Psalm 16’. Norman has done amazing work on bringing out the simplicity and beauty of words, revealing the deep possibilities of these poems so often obscured by flowery and complex translations, and in this poem he points into a topic we’ve been exploring for some weeks on Turning Towards Life – the ways in which we might develop the kind of faith in life that can sustain us through the inevitable difficulties we face without us turning away.

Here’s our source, from Norman’s beautiful book ‘Opening to You

I Place My Trust Only In You (Psalm 16)
Zen-inspired translation by Norman Fischer

Protect me from fear
For I place my trust only in you.
My soul has said “You are my guardian
Sole foundation of my happiness
And I will find my delight
In all that is yours on earth”

As for all that shuts you out –
Great will be their sorrow
I will not pour out their offerings
Nor call their names – even in my dreams.

You, you, only you

Are my share and my cup
You have drawn my lot
And it has fallen out agreeably

Lovely indeed is my estate
My heritage is pleasant to me
I bless you who brought me to this day
And even at night in the trying times
My trembling body is tethered to you

Your presence is always before me
In all the deeds of my hand
I will not be shaken from it
So my heart rejoices
My spirit is glad
And my body rests secure

For you will not abandon my soul to darkness
You will not suffer me to be overwhelmed in terror
You will teach me the path toward life

Your presence is my sweetest joy
Your right hand is my chief delight



Photo by Suhyeon Choi on Unsplash

Wake Up Lovers!

Here’s ‘Wake Up Lovers!’, Episode 45 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch future episodes live and join in the lively comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

In this conversation we consider together the perils of seeing ourselves as separate – from one another and from life – and how our mistaken sense of separateness leads so easily to fear and isolation from the deep sources of relationship, love and courage that are available to us all. Along the way we consider what it is to be in a long-term relationship or marriage, we talk about words for the ‘source of everything’ that can constrain or liberate our aliveness, we explore the politics of division that’s arising in so many places in the world, we chat about the joys of wild swimming, and we remind ourselves of what becomes possible when we look into the eyes of another – even one very different from ourselves – and remember the shared beauty that’s there and that gives rise to each of us.

Here’s our source for this week, by 13th century poet Rumi.

Wake Up Lovers by Rumi

Wake up lovers, it is time to start the journey!
We have seen enough of this world, it is time to see another.
These two gardens may be beautiful but
let us pass beyond them and go to the Gardener.
Let us kiss the ground and flow like a river towards the ocean.
Let us go from the valley of tears to the wedding feast,
let us bring the color of blossoms to our pale faces.
Our hearts shiver like autumn leaves about to fall,
in this world of dust there is no avoiding pain or feeling exiled.
Let us become like beautifully colored birds
and fly to the sweet land of paradise.
Everything is painted with the brush of the Invisible One
let us follow the hidden signs and find the Painter.
It is best to travel with companions on this perilous journey
only love can lead the way.
We are like rain splashing on a roof let us find our way down the spout.
We are like an arched bow with the arrow in place
let us become straight and release the arrow towards the target.
We have stayed at home scared like mice
let us find our courage and join the lions.
Let our souls turn into a mirror longing to reflect the essence of Beauty.
Let us begin the journey home.

Photo by Joshua Ness on Unsplash

Until it Flowers from Within


Here’s ‘Until it Flowers from Within’, Episode 44 of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Lizzie Winn and Justin Wise dive deep into big questions of human living.

You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch future episodes live and join in the comment conversation on this episode. You can also watch previous episodes there, and on our YouTube channel.

So many of us are brought up in a culture that’s essentially corrective, which has us pay attention to all of our shortcomings and what’s absent in ourselves and in other people. And it is easy to spend a life mired in self- and other-criticism because of that. But, in order to respond with courage and grace – and even joyfulness – to the difficulties and challenges of our times, we think something else is called for. This wonderful poem by Galway Kinnell will be the starting point for our conversation about this on Sunday.

In this conversation we wonder together about what it is we’re forgetting about ourselves and about other people when we take up a punitive, corrective stance, and we discover together that ‘remembering’ is, quite properly, ‘re-membering’ – a putting back together of everything that’s been left out. When we remember ourselves more completely, and when we remember others in this way, we very often find ourselves in contact with a deeper, more life-giving possibility for relationship than we’d been inhabiting. And this, in turn, can open profound possibilities for resolving differences and bringing qualities to bear that would otherwise be neglected.

Towards the end of our conversation Lizzie mentions a radio series on BBC Radio 4, in which “Anne McElvoy asks figures from opposing sides of a political issue to listen to each other, and explore the roots of each other’s beliefs, with the help of conflict resolution specialist Gabrielle Rifkind.”. You can find more details about the series, Across the Red Line here.

Photo by kazuend on Unsplash


In Judaism, it’s traditional practice to attach a small ornamented fixture to each doorframe, a mezuzah, inside of which is a scroll handwritten by a scribe who’s dedicated themselves to their craft.

One reason for this, among others, is to mark out transition places, the thresholds between one space and another, with a call to remember. You can see people touching them as they walk past, honouring this and reminding themselves – remembering – their deepest commitments.

Mostly we don’t give thresholds the attention they’re due. How often we sleepwalk from activity to activity, meeting to meeting, work to home, taking what hooked us or preoccupied us from one place to to the next, reacting to each situation from the frustrations of the last. It’s as if, for many of us, we’re never quite here in what we do and neither fully in contact with the people we encounter. And we miss the opportunity to use the liminal spaces – the transitions between one place and another – to return to ourselves and to what we most care about.

Thesholds – in space and in time – are sacred places in the way that they invite us to pause on the brink, before moving on. They call on us remember ourselves, to drop our preconceptions, judgements and our self-absorption so we can fully meet the situation that awaits. They call on us to be open and impressionable, ready to encounter something new.

Approached in this manner, thresholds are an opportunity to wake up to this situation, to these people, to stop rushing all the time so we can be in it all afresh, present and responsive to whatever’s coming.

When you walk into your house at the end of a long day, can you pause in this way to mark the magnitude of the transition from one world to another that you are about to make? Then you can meet the people waiting there for you with your own genuine face, and with your love for them, and they in turn can meet you with theirs.

Photo by Brennan Ehrhardt on Unsplash

On Friendship

Here’s ‘On Friendship’, the 43rd episode of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

In this episode we start with a source from David Whyte’s beautiful book ‘Consolations‘. We consider what constitutes real friendship, and explore together the life-giving possibilities of friendship that is both truthful and in which each person is committed to seeing and elevating the sacredness and goodness of the other. Along the way we explore our own friendship, which has been a source of great joy for both of us, and we talk about the circumstances in which it might be better to draw a friendship to a close if it’s not life-giving.

We are live on facebook each Sunday morning at 9am UK time, and we’d love to have you with us. You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch live and join in the conversation.

You can find our source for this week on David Whyte’s FaceBook page and read more about it at Maria Popova’s amazing BrainPickings blog.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

The Gift of Not Knowing

Here’s ‘The Gift of Not Knowing’, the 42nd episode of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Justin Wise and Lizzie Winn dive deep into big questions of human living.

In this episode we start with a source from Christopher Goodchild’s beautiful book ‘Unclouded by Longing‘. We consider the limits of trying to live a life in which we know everything about what is happening, and the possibility, as Wendell Berry says, that ‘It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work, and that when we no longer know which way to go we have begun our real journey’. Along the way we explore what happens when we make ourselves vulnerable and open to the unexpected, and the gifts of contactfulness with ourselves and others that can come from this.

We are live on facebook each Sunday morning at 9am UK time, and we’d love to have you with us. You can join our members-only facebook group here to watch live and join in the conversation.

Here’s our source for this week:

The Gift of Not Knowing
by Christopher Goodchild, from ‘Unclouded by Longing

Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door.
Emily Dickinson

Letting go of trying to work everything out in your head can lead you directly into the most sublime mystery of all. Your heart. Your true Self. To open yourself to this mystery, you will often have to pass through the discomfort of the rational mind simply ‘not knowing’.

What at first might seem like an impending breakdown can easily become a profound breakthrough. This is beautifully conveyed in ‘The Real Work’ by Wendell Berry:

“It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work, and that when we no longer know which way to go we have begun our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.”

The emotional distress that often accompanies losing your direction in life cannot be glamorised nor underestimated, when you are unable to come up with a rational solution to your predicament. However, it is true to say that one of the greatest gifts you have received in this life is the gift of desperation directly linked to the rational mind not coming up trumps.

In many ways ‘being’ in uncertainty and mystery is a necessary rite of passage you must go through in order to enter into the heart of what it means to be most alive. As a writer you see it as a vocational calling for you to invite the unfamiliar. In living your life in this way you surrender into something greater, your perceptions are stretched, as is your imagination — pushing the boundaries of what is unknown and unforeseen.

The breakthrough experience, whereby you move from lost to found, is exhilarating. The attachment to the small self is loosened, and an infinitely larger, more expansive Self is glimpsed. It is here, in these glimpses that a startling new landscape, or perhaps a radically new way of seeing, is opened up within you. Here the words of Jesus come to mind, ‘For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.’

To embrace the gift of not knowing is to embark on one of the greatest adventures, and one that if fully entered into will change your life forever.


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On Relationship to Experience

You’re never just in life, this situation, this moment. You’re also in a particular relationship with it.

So often this is transparent, like the air you’re breathing as you read this. But it’s illuminating to understand that the world you’re experiencing isn’t ever simply ‘the’ world.

Perhaps your relationship is to welcome whatever is happening. Perhaps you’re pushing it away, or denying it. Perhaps you’re treating what’s happening as a huge opportunity. Or perhaps as a curse or problem. Maybe you’re relating to what’s happening with a longing that it be over. Or maybe you’re trying to cling on to it, already mourning the end of it, even before it’s gone.

Another way of talking about this phenomenon is mood. Every mood – anger, joy, love, resentment, frustration, cynicism – opens up a particular kind of relationship to what’s taking place.

Can you see how your relationship to it all shapes so much of your experience and what’s possible for you at any moment?

That each brings forth a distinctive kind of world?

That what’s possible from resentment is different from what’s possible from anger or love? That what’s possible from relating to it all as a curse is different to what’s possible from an orientation of welcome?

Once you see all of this, you can first become an observer of your relationship to everything. Reflective practices can help here – a regular journalling practice and sitting meditation are two that are enormously helpful.

Much more importantly, once you can observe you open up a second possibility of taking responsibility for your relationship to it all.

Because while what’s happening might be just what’s happening, your relationship to it is something in which you’re always a participant.

Or in other words, the world you experience is never just happening but also, inescapably, something you are doing.

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Never Not Broken

In our work as integral development coaches, we draw on stories, metaphors, characters and myths to open up worlds of possibility with our clients. This week we explore a narrative that is deeply aligned with both Turning Towards Life and thirdspace coaching and which expresses the the invitation present in our work.

In this episode of ‘Turning Towards Life’ we explore the possibilities of knowing ourselves at once as perfect and always unfinished, broken, incomplete. We consider the life-giving possibilities of owning up to our messiness, and the opportunities for deepened contact with ourselves and with others when we do so. And we explore the way our attempts to look as if we have it all together (does anyone, really, have it all together?) add unnecessary suffering and difficulty to our lives.

We are live every Sunday morning at 9am UK time, diving deep into topics like this. You can join our members-only facebook group here to be with us.

Never Not Broken

Akhilandeshvari, The Goddess of Never Not Broken, represents the kind of things that people shy away from. You may have bumped into her occasionally hidden in the dark alleyways of life, but turned your gaze away. You’ve likely fallen into her embrace once or twice: in hospitals, at work, watching the news, or in your car, but broke away as quickly as possible.

She’s the kind of goddess you don’t want to take home to meet your mother — she’d give your mother nightmares. But her power is unparalleled.

Pronounced ah-kee-LAN-desh-va-ree, “Akhilandeshvari” translates as “Never Not Broken.” She shows us the power and opportunity of being broken into pieces by heartache, disaster, great fortune, and other life changes and traumas.

However she takes this to the furthest extreme, purposefully keeping herself broken wide open, allowing herself to flow with every current, creating and fragmenting and recreating herself endlessly. She steadfastly refuses to paste herself together into a stable form, shunning the limitations that she’d have to abide and the false identities that would hide reality.

She rides on a crocodile: the very survival-fear that keep most of us chained to the known and routine is her flying carpet!

She is not controlled by the need to keep her identity consistent, or even alive.

She dances and spins and breaks herself into shards of light, tossing out new possibilities for herself like flower petals from a cherry tree.

The goddess Never-Not-Broken promises that the greatest magic is in the transformative moments: the heartbreak, the uncertainties, the pause before we hit the ground… and what we do with ourselves after we land.

She is the goddess of Surrendering to Change, and we are getting to know her well these days.

It’s normal to fear and resist change, but Akhilandeshvari whispers to us also of freedom — liberation from the past, from habits and wounds, from stifling routines, from everything that once was good but has become a burden or a prison.

Liberation, indeed, from all the illusions of the ego.

She is, in the same instant, the personification of destruction and rebirth. But not like Kali the Destroyer who levels us all with her sword. Akhilandeshvari yields to the destruction of herself, her ego and self-identity, so that she can remain in contact with truth — the Divine Source that is manifesting Itself as one individual”.**

**Edited for the purpose of our Turning Towards Life Sunday morning broadcast from this website where you can read more.

Photo by Scott Rodgerson on Unsplash

Through the Wall of Flame

Sometimes stepping into our lives means stepping through a wall of flame into something bigger that we cannot yet see.

In this episode of ‘Turning Towards Life’ we begin with a piece written by Mark Nepo, ‘Through the Wall of Flame’, which you can find below. We talk about how easy it is to imprison ourselves in a smaller life than we wish for, as a way of trying to keep ourselves away from danger and out of painful experiences.

And we ask ourselves a big question – “What is it that we’re so dedicated to not feeling, that we’re willing to ruin our lives to avoid it?”. Along the way we consider the liberating possibilities that come when we’re willing to encounter what we’ve been avoiding, and to do so with the loving help of others.

You can join us for a live conversation on facebook every Sunday morning at 9am UK time, for a deep dive into topics like this. Join our members-only facebook group here to be with us.

And you can find our more about our work as thirdspace coaching here.

Through the Wall of Flame
by Mark Nepo, from ‘The Book of Awakening

As a frightened man in a burning boat
has only one way to the rest of his life,
we must move with courage
through the wall of flame
into the greater sea.

Living long enough, we each find ourselves surrounded by an old way of being, thinking, or loving that is going up in flames. In that unexpected moment, we usually find ourselves full of fear, feeling trapped by an old way of life coming in on us. But this is the passage of rebirth that we must move through if our lives are to unfold. It is the momentary and painful crossing from what is old into what is new.

It is understandable to stall at the wall of flame, not wanting to face all that is burning around us. Yet old ways can burn forever, and waiting for the flames to go out seldom works. We can waste years in the waiting.

Like the frightened man in the burning boat, we must trust that the greater sea we are jumping into will douse whatever catches fire as we move through. This is what faith is all about.

Without trying to be brave and with great fear, I have stumbled and jumped through many walls of flame. The first time, I think, was in leaving home—needing to go, burning at the edge, afraid I wouldn’t survive beyond the flame of anger in which I was raised. Not much later, I had to move through the flames of first-love rejection. Here the broken part of me was almost willing to be burned alive. I felt certain there was nowhere to go and nothing that could soothe me. I more fell through this wall than jumped and, of course, once in the sea of life beyond myself, the world continued and I healed.

Perhaps the greatest wall of flame I had to jump through was the pain of cancer and the prospect of dying. It seemed the entire sea was on fire. Even once overboard, drifting farther and farther from the flames, I thought I might drown. How could I know that greater sea was the womb of a deeper life? I’m sure this is the same for anyone struggling to break out of any form of addiction, illness, or abusive relationship.



Photo Credit: bryanshoots Flickr via Compfight cc

You were always in safe hands

Here’s ‘In Safe Hands’, the 39th episode of Turning Towards Life, a weekly live 30 minute conversation hosted by thirdspace coaching in which Lizzie Winn and I dive deep into big questions of human living.

This week we begin with a poem by Jeff Foster which makes the radical suggestion that what we’re trying to get to, and what we’re trying to run from, obscure a simple and vital truth: that we’ve misunderstood what we are. And that what we need is right here, just where we are, waiting for us.

Along the way we talk about what it is to find language for that part of human experience that is, essentially, unsayable. And we remind ourselves that while we’re often far away from ourselves it’s always in returning home that healing happens.

You can join our members-only facebook group for live conversation and community here.

Here’s the source for this week’s conversation, written by Jeff Foster.

In Safe Hands

You get tired of half-truths, don’t you? 
You get tired of pretending 
You get tired of the world’s promises 
You get tired of… waiting. 
You even get tired of getting tired.

You get tired of ‘you’ – 
The one who ‘gets tired of’.

A divine disillusionment 
And a great paradox – 
For who gets tired of whom?

In the midst of despair 
You find yourself staring life in the face 
Naked and unprotected 
in front of its sacredness. 
And for the first time 
(For whatever reason) 
You do not turn away.

It breaks you open 
It shatters your dreams 
It burns up your certainty. 
Even your dreams of enlightenment 
do not stand a chance.

You shit yourself with fear 
You cry out for help 
(Why has it forsaken you?)

And then 
For the the first time 
You feel deeply alive 
Undivided from life itself 
Resting in the arms of the One 
you always sought 
Unprotected yet utterly safe 
Free at last 
Free at last.

It destroys the one you thought you were 
But it never touches the One you are.

This is the road less travelled, they say 
A road leading not to the future 
Not to the promised land 
But to the one reading these words now

To the one who knew all along 
That all along this road’s ancient edges 
lies the shed skin of lost identities and unkept promises.

Clean yourself up, my friend 
You were always in safe hands.

– Jeff Foster

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