A friend shared a page from The Light of Discovery, by Toni Packer. Toni Packer was a teacher of “meditative inquiry”, and the founder of Springwater Center. Packer was a former student in the Sanbo Kyodan lineage of Zen Buddhism, and was previously in line to be the successor of Phillip Kapleau at the Rochester Zen Center. She was born in Berlin, Germany, in 1927. This is an excerpt from the chapter titled, Yearning for Completion:
From the thought-feeling of incompleteness arises wanting and fearing. Wanting completion and fearing the absence of it. Wanting fulfillment, meaning, and purpose. Wanting and fearing.
In observing carefully, one finds not a moment goes by without some wanting or fearing. Even if there is a moment of fulfillment, there comes the desire for more of it or the fear that this moment will end. One wants to keep it, wants to prolong it. All of it comes out of this feeling of incompleteness, which inevitably goes with the idea of “me” as a separate entity.
~ The Light of Discovery, by Toni Packer
NLP draws heavily on the use of metaphors. By telling a client a story that is both relevant and symbolic, we are essentially using a metaphor to bypass conscious resistance and thereby allow the client to make connections at a deeper level.
Essentially all language is metaphorical.
Metaphorical magic is the artful use of language.
And everything is part of the magic.
The specific story you choose.
The tone of voice with which you tell the story.
The timing of the delivery of each word or phrase.
We understand this very clearly as it relates to our telling someone else a story, but I am wondering if it is perhaps even more powerful when we notice the stories we are telling ourselves.
The following “past-life story” was told at a week-long meditation retreat, by Aaron, channeled by Barbara Brodsky:
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I was a fisherman. I could go off for a day or a week, had ample water in my boat and basic supplies. I navigated by the stars. I always knew where I was, unless it was cloudy and rainy, and I also knew that eventually the clouds would pass, the stars would come out, and I would know where I was again. So, I didn’t worry much about non-existent compasses and other such tools.
I could always catch fish to eat. I was in no danger of starving anywhere. I carried a small bit of water, enough for several days. I would never be further than several days from land, where I could get fresh water. If it was clear, I would be able to find land easily, navigating by the stars. If it was not clear, it would probably be raining—again, plenty of water.
My life was quite relaxed. I would go out for a few days, bring home a cargo of fish, bring them back to my village, rest for a day or two at home, and go back out again. I loved my life. I had a wife and children, parents, siblings, friends. There was always joy, singing and dancing. Life was good.
Then I was caught in a severe storm and blown for 4 or 5 days, completely off course. My mast broke. My rudder ripped off the ship. Once the storm passed, I had just a paddle with which to propel myself.
I came to an island, was able to make shore on the island in what was the very broken remains of my boat. It was a small island; I walked all the way around it. There was one good sized hill in the middle. It was rocky along one shore, more sand and some coves on the other shore. A few small caves nestled in the rocks of the hill. There were a few small animals and a somewhat brackish pond. I suppose between rainstorms that’s where the animals came to drink. But there was enough rain, not really ever a dry season, so that small galleys and hollow would fill with water between rains.
I was heartbroken. I did not know how I would get home. I was able to read my location from the stars and saw how far off my course I had been blown. It would not have been a problem, if I’d had a proper vessel, but my boat was broken beyond much further use. I had nothing to use for a sail. So, I knew how to navigate my way home, but I did not have a boat to bring me home.
I was far enough off course that it was unlikely anyone would come looking for me there. Interestingly, while I loved fishing and I loved my family, I was grateful for the time that I had. All my life I had wanted to be more of a spiritual man, perhaps to be a shaman and connect with the various energies of the earth, of plants, of the animals. To have more quiet time, which time was mostly denied me as the father of a large family.
So here I was, on this truly idyllic island. Me, a fisherman—a very competent fisherman—and an abundance of fish. Adequate water, adequate shelter. Why would I wish for anything else? But I was heartbroken. I wanted my home; I wanted my family. I wanted my old life back.
Weeks passed and turned into months. I learned all the different plants of my new island, what were good for medicinal purposes, for example; which ones could be cooked and added to fish to create a tasty meal. Herbs that added flavor.
For the first year, I was very focused on “I want to go home.” But gradually, I relaxed and began to find real joy in my day-to-day existence.
I cleaned up the inside of the cave, added matting to the floor to make a comfortable place to lie down at night, a shelter. I created a good cooking area. I found coconut palms. After eating the inner fruit, had the shells; created a working set of eating utensils and food preparation utensils. I found spiny thorns of cactus and from fish and turned them into sewing needles. I found vines that I could use as thread to sew myself something to keep me warm and protected from the sun, and immense leaves thick enough to give some protection, .
My life settled down. There was no longer grasping. Sometimes yes, I missed my family, I felt sad. But there was no longer grasping, “I must go home! I must go home!” Increasingly I experienced gratitude for this gift of solitude I had been given. I spent many hours a day in meditation and reflection. I learned much better how to co-create with my environment and with love for that environment. There was gratitude for each living part of the environment, animate and inanimate.
The thought began to open, no longer, “I want to go home! I must go home!” but, “For now I am here, and I am grateful. I hold in my heart to see my family again. I know that one day I will see my family again. What can I bring back to my family when I eventually see them? What gifts will I have gathered here to bring to them?” And so, I gained deep knowledge of the plants, not too different from those of my home island. Deep knowledge of how to grow things; different cooking skills; a strong body; deep spiritual awareness.
One day some years later I saw that I had a very different approach to my life — enormous gratitude for all I was learning.
Take some time to notice what stories you are telling yourself. See if a new story, a kind tone of voice, a well-timed delivery of the meaning of the message might mean your different approach to life has resulted in a time in which you now have enormous gratitude for all you are learning….
Now, that, dear friends, is a magical metaphor!