From the Molten Core

Reflection 1 · March 1, 2015

Molten Core

I am in a constant dance with my molten core, that place inside that is loaded and saturated with creative energy. This molten core is my link with Source. I am its link with the outer world. It relies on me to give shape, color and texture to the impulses that emerge from it. We have an arrangement. It is always there, pulsating, humming and keeping me alive. And I draw from it when I grow weary of the predictable patterns of my life. When I’m thirsty for a drink of deep refreshment, I go to my molten core. When I’ve temporarily lost my way, I find it again in my relationship to it. When my sense of purpose becomes too fixed, too rigid, or overbearing, the lightness of my molten core is there to bring me back to a more delightful sensibility.

The Dance with Molten Core

The dance with my molten core is one that I love and revere. And at times it terrifies me. It demands such commitment. When I’m not present to it, I suffer in inexplicable ways with a vague malaise that robs my life of color and joy. When I wander away and get lost in the details of work projects and the need for too much control, it tugs at me to come back. But I don’t always listen. I think I can do without it. It feels frightening to relinquish control again. Yet the letting go is essential and the fear is never warranted. I am always met with life-giving nectar that fills my heart and soul with hope and promise. My molten core remains true to me even though I’ve wandered. It holds the eternal space for me to return, always. This is part of why I love my molten core and am in such a deeply committed relationship with it.

Reflection 2 · March 15, 2015

Get Up and Create

A friend asked me the other day, “What is it that makes you want to get up in the morning?” I thought to myself, why don’t you ask me a really hard question? I felt an inner smiling at how simple the question was and also how provocative it was. Because there is getting up. And there is wanting to get up. As I reflected on this, I realized that on the days that I really want to get up it’s because I imagine something exciting or interesting is going to happen and I’ll be part of it in some way. That is a great way to start the day.

But let’s face it. Life doesn’t promise or deliver juicy, exciting enticements each day, to lure us into the adventure of participating in a new day. Some days it does. More days than not, however, it seems that the delivery system for enticements is down, and we are faced with the simple fact that it’s now morning and time to get up. This is where the dance with our own aliveness comes in.

Wanting to Get Up

Each day really is an encounter with the unknown. The beginning of the day is similar to facing a blank piece of paper. The question is: what will I put on the open page of this day? How will I engage with life, the people I care about, and the work I’m committed to, with joy and love? Taking on this question is PART ONE of getting up in the morning. PART TWO is where it gets interesting. PART TWO is what makes the difference between getting up and wanting to get up. It’s the juicy proposition between me and my molten core. It’s looking for and responding to a creative impulse so that something can spark. It can be big or small.

Respond to the Creative Impulse

Last week it was a small thing that was oh so satisfying. I wanted to make sesame crackers and to try adding pumpkin seeds and walnuts. I had this desire to have what I imagined, be in my mouth. How would those crackers taste, with these new ingredients? I threw myself into those crackers and they were the best crackers I’ve ever eaten. But the most satisfying part of the process was responding to the impulse to create them. More than anything, I was feeding my relationship with my molten core. It then fed me with energy and enthusiasm. That’s what makes me really want to get up and take on the boldness of a new day.

Reflection 3 · March 29, 2015

Brilliant Green

Today I sat across from a client, listening to her describe her week and some of the challenges she was courageously facing. As she spoke, I noticed the green knit scarf she was wearing and how she wears that color in a way that few people can. The green color was so alive, like a growing plant wrapped gracefully around her neck. Then suddenly the plant on the table beside her, and the ivy plant to my right all seemed to be glowing the same color. Maybe it was due to a change in the light coming from outside the window, but for a moment I was struck with how the green seemed to be a living presence, quietly offering itself, to no one in particular, and for no apparent reason. It was just there, glowing, beautiful, brilliant green.

The Gift of Brilliant Green

There was nothing unusual going on at all. But it was an exquisite moment. One where I was present to what was in the room, receiving a gift. As though it was saying—See this! Open to this aliveness and take in the refreshment of brilliant green.

The moment came and went as I continued to listen and work with my client. But it lingered, and reminded me that she LOVES this color and is more alive and vibrant than she lets on. This prompted me to focus more on the living, green place inside her, and less on her words, which were not telling the whole story. This subtle guidance was a powerful catalyst for the rest of our meeting, where she also began to remember more of her own glowing, green nature that loves life with such enthusiasm.

Reflection 4 · April 12, 2015

Live Feed

When I need to tap into the “live feed” of my soul, I often sit down and write. I’ll give myself 20–30 minutes to handwrite three full pages with no censoring. This is intimacy time with me, and my molten core. I learned this technique over 20 years ago when I attended a workshop by Julia Cameron called The Artist’s Way. I went on to write Morning Pages every day for over seven years.

Even when I sit to write and it feels as though nothing is happening, or my attention isn’t being captured by something interesting, there is always more going on underneath the surface. When I’m present to the moment and follow the stream of consciousness that flows in such a lively way from my mind, I seem to always come back to my molten core. It’s as though I’m being pulled back to what’s truly important, as I sift and weave my way through the surface thoughts and allow myself to feel more deeply.

This process of engaging through spontaneous writing creates a kind of intimacy with my molten core. I choose to pay attention to the stream of words, thoughts and feelings. And my inner core reaches out in a mysterious and intuitive way. It guides me with a pull to focus more on this or a nudge to explore that. And somehow after writing three pages, I’m more whole; a more complete human being.

I offer such gratitude to Julia Cameron for so wisely articulating this practice, which is so beloved by so many writers, artists and others. In her words, “It is impossible to write morning pages for any extended period of time without coming into contact with an unexpected inner power.” This practice never gets old, because the “live feed” is always fresh.

Reflection 5 · April 26, 2015

Outflowing

The nature of my molten core is to flow. This intense, fiery place inside especially wants to flow outward, towards others and into the world. It’s what gives me the desire to connect with people. It inspires me to envision a better world and to take steps to help build that world. This outflowing is like a fulfillment of a promise I made deep in my heart—rooted in some time and place that I can’t even remember.

Choose

Outflowing is totally natural. Yet for me, it can be much more comfortable to stay tucked away behind the scenes than to come out in the direct spotlight. I love to connect, but the line of least resistance is to stay more interior and to limit my outflow. This creates a crusty barrier between me and my molten core. Not to mention me and the people I care about. I really don’t want that crustiness. And I really DO love the outflowing, once I get moving and feel the joy of it.

Generosity

In fact, once this outflowing starts and gets some momentum, something deep and warm starts to emerge as a kind of blossoming generosity. It happened tonight, after a day with a lot of outflow. I was talking with a dear friend I haven’t seen in a long time. As we talked, it was no effort at all to reach farther into my own heart and to touch her heart as she was sharing about her struggle with her husband’s declining health. But I still had to choose to reach out. Once I did, the connection was as natural as breathing.

Fulfillment

Outflowing allows something natural to be restored. It also adds something to my sense of self. It’s a feeling of fulfillment—knowing I’ve taken steps to keep a promise I made somewhere in my heart, to show up, to offer, to participate and to take the necessary risks. My core gets very molten about this!

What happens to you when you make the choice to outflow, to reach out even when you may not feel like it?

Reflection 6 · May 11, 2015

Returning to Home Base

Last night after a very long evening, I sank into bed, said some tender good nights to my husband, closed my eyes and dropped into the core of who I am. This feels like going into the heart area of my body. My heart seems to be like a doorway to this deeper place inside that feels like home.

Moi?

I’ve searched for this nameless place most of my life and have also pretty much ignored it. It seemed like just me. And that seemed like the least likely place to find what I was looking for. I wanted something more magnificent, more ecstatic, more whole, and thoroughly complete. And I searched for it outside of myself—for so many years.

The Me Place

It’s been a long road of return to the core of me. And along the way something profound has been illuminated. This me place is like a room that feels like home. There is nothing in the room—no stuff, no objects. It is empty and at the same time, so full of existence and awareness. And more importantly it is the precious place where I can truly land. It is where I feel both my human existence and also the massive, open, light-filled door to another place that’s so far beyond me. A place where I am released into an ecstatic freedom, joy and love that is beyond words.

Home Base

The me place is where I go when I need to pull in, after outward activity. It is also the place I need emerge from as I extend outward after a period of intense inward activity. It is my home base. It is there when I need the comfort of home and also when I need to expand beyond the confines of home. It is precious, just as my existence is precious. And when I honor my home base, and visit it frequently, somehow I am blessed with more of what my heart desires.

Reflection 7 · May 26, 2015

Sympathetic Joy

When expansive joy for another’s well-being overtakes the smaller feelings of competition, jealousy, or self diminishment, you are experiencing sympathetic joy. The term “sympathetic joy” is described in Buddhist teachings as rejoicing in the happiness of others. This state of course belongs to no religion and can be cultivated in a variety of ways. When I feel this kind of joy, it seems to be a gift from my Molten Core.

Joy in the Happiness of Others

The other day I was so happy as I received news about a great success for a friend of mine. She’s a few years younger and in a different field of work (technology sales) and her success isn’t something I had ever aspired to, but I felt her joy and was filled with my own joy for her. Another friend is going on a trip to Bali that I would love to go on. Again, I was filled with an upwelling of warmth and happiness for this delightful adventure she was about to embark on. And last weekend when I proudly watched two of my grandkids dance in a competition I was filled with joy for how gifted they are (in ways I will never be) and how much better their life will be because of the confidence they have so faithfully earned.

Splashing Out

I’ve not always felt joy in the presence of someone else’s success, joy, or good fortune. Far from it. But something has shifted that is allowing this bubbling up of joy to spill out onto others and to splash over me at the same time. Many things have contributed to this—I’ve worked hard to choose expansion over limitation. But it’s the miraculous upwelling from some deep place in my being—the place that I call my Molten Core—that is the Source of this great generosity. I cherish this, and today I am in humble gratitude.